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[center][b]Kalar Splint, Chief Ranger of Galuntrung Keep.[/b][/center]

[center][b]Outskirts of Okly.[/b][/center]

Kalar leased another arrow, his powerful arm operating the giant weapon with practiced savagery. The white feathered shaft flew through the air, arcing upwards, before finally falling onto a bandit who'd made the mistake of standing still. The man fell backwards, Kalar's arrow embedded in his neck. The Ranger Chief's eyes surveyed the massing carnage, as a dozen of his enemy lay in the mud, some squirming in agony, others as still as a plank of wood. His attack had scattered, but it had failed to break. Even now he could see the bandits and their comrades regrouping behind the cover of rubble, scorched wagons and gutted structures. 

It would not be enough, but at least Adria had managed to back away from the Red Eyed Terror. 

And then the all too familiar sound of a bow twanged from further away; Kalar caught a glimpse of Liara, who had skewered a bandit's hide from the flanks. He smiled, oddly joyed that she was unharmed, and confident that with her at his side, victory would become a distinct possibility. 

"Horsemen," one of the Rangers cursed, fiddling for an arrow.

Kalar's head swung around, and he looked upon two knights charging his line, having seemingly appeared from nowhere. His heart fluttered for but a moment, until he saw the banner of the Kingsguard upon their silvery. "Not them, they're friendly," he yelled out. 

The lead rider, an Elf, approached the Rangers. Kalar knew the warrior instantly, and he was relieved but disgusted in equal measure.

 "Seems I've caught you at exactly the right moment, Splint," the Elf shouted over the rising chaos. "I trust we won't also be the aim of your fire?"

Kalar reached for another arrow, and refused to look the Elf in the face. "I'm heartened to see that the Crown sends its most noble warrior to assist the peoples in their darkest hour, White Scourge." He released the projectile, and drew another. "Whatever end awaits you wont be of my doing."

And then someone screamed - someone Kalar knew as intimately as his own hand. Jorg Egerson, one of the Galuntrung Ranger's founding members, and one of Kalar's best men, fell to his knees with a black shaft sticking through his rib cage. His leather-clad hands grasped at the wound, and then he fell forwards into the wet filth before him. 

"If you have any ideas, Guardsman, now's the time to spout them," Kalar said, this time looking the White Scourge in the eyes. "We're out numbered and if we don't do something soon, there's a chance we'll be outfought. I hope you're better at killing than you are at glory seeking!"