[i]First on the left.[/i] 

The captain whispered, his voice hoarse and slightly muffled from behind the rangers mask. His eyes, one iris a soft hazel and the other an icy blue studied the distance carefully. He was in a company of seven, white-cloaked rangers each taking specific positions in the snowy thicket that flanked this lonely road. They had been tracking a smugglers caravan for the past two weeks, and after finally ascertaining it was the one they were looking for, he made the decision to hustle ahead and plan for an ambush. He gave a reassuring pat to the man beside him, who looked back and returned a nod. Gracefully moving through the brush, he stopped at his next man, whispering.

[i]Second from the left.[/i]

The ranger nodded in acknowledgement, his hand toying with the bow in his grasp. The captain could tell he was nervous, this one was particularly young, maybe even the youngest under his command. Eighteen maybe? Two years before the standardized time for warrior placement. Though, he knew there was leeway with the system should a possible Imperial prospect show eagerness to throw his life before the altar of war. Though the boy could not see it, his officer gave a soft smile from underneath his mask, placing a comforting hand on his soldier's head before moving on.

[i]Third from the left.[/i]
[i]First on the right.[/i]
[i]Second from the right.[/i]

[i]Driver.[/i]

Captain Wintergate, or Lanik to his inner circle of friends and even to a few of his enlisted officers, much to the chagrin of those with more bearing than him. He was the middle child of the legendary Gregoir Wintergate, a burly man in himself who swung a mighty battle-ax in the name of the King. The surname Wintergate bore very reputable weight, for they were one of the first families (under the masterful eyes of Gregoir of course) to emblazon a path that allowed settlements to sprout along the outermost fringes of Northavens shadow. The mountains provided a natural barrier to any sort of threat the unknown North posed to the Empire, so House Wintergate lived in [i]relative[/i] peace. Relative compared to the other families who immersed themselves in the faculties of war every chance they could get. That's not to say the Wintergate's do not put in their part to the militaristic endeavors of the Imperium -- far from it. They were a family bound on duty and loyalty. That credence was probably why the solitary family remained relevant for so long.

And of course to further complicate his position in the family was his late elder brother Marcus Wintergate, who took from their father Gregoir much like Lanik did. Thick tussles of brown hair and fair skin, relatively unblemished save for the occasional scar and cut. But there was something about Marcus that always differentiated him from the regular folk. It must have been the way the people looked at him, admired him. How they hung on every word he spoke as if his dashing smile cured some innate hopelessness the way a poem could strike the soul. In truth, Marcus was the Wintergate golden child. He was charismatic, charming and kind, but more importantly, a fierce competitor in the Imperium's fabled Arena. He was slated to be one of the Imperium's greatest champions, and he was for quite awhile. His renown had earned him the respect of one of the most prominent noble houses of the Coronal Islands, the Cheshires, which led to an arranged marriage between Marcus and an olive-skinned beauty of the isles. Were not Marcus struck down deep in the forests of Aetherion, Lanik was sure they would have made a happy couple. Unfortunately with Marcus' passing, the Cheshire woman's hand went to the next in line. Which was the Lanik child.

Life has a way of striking away at idealists, and a piece of Lanik's heart broke when he found out about his elder brothers passing. He received the news days after his last assessment in Midhavens Carpenters Guild. It had shattered his world, and it took Lanik quite awhile to heal from it. Marcus was really the only one who understood Lanik's tendency towards all things engineering as opposed to the Imperial obsession with bloodshed. The two would stay up to the latest hours of the night, and Marcus would listen quietly to Lanik's ramblings about new schematics for a monastery or how to improve on an out-dated design of the ballistae in the Imperium's arsenal. No, instead of Marcus Lanik was given his brother's fiance, though however beautiful, never sat well with the captain. He understood why such a move was made, to strengthen political and family ties between the two houses, but... why did it have to be him? Surely Darian, the youngest of the three could have taken up that mantle (and truth be told they probably are behind his back, judging by how often she frequents his little brothers estate near the Eastern front). Whatever there was to the matter, Lanik did not understand it. But, however disgruntled the captain was, the woman had begotten him a beautiful daughter. 

[i]Marië.[/i]

Lanik couldn't help but smile at the thought. His little mare's very name afforded him a semblance of happiness. She had become the star of his world, a bright eyed little girl with an even brighter curiosity. [i]Why do birds sing when they fly?[/i] [i]Do horses sleep standing up?[/i] [i]Are there as many stars in the sky as there are people?[/i] Questions like these were all too common with Mari, and Lanik always did his best to answer them. It was because of Marië the captain opted to serve in Wintergate's Ranger Covenant, foregoing his little brothers path that carved its way to the Aetherion front, where true blood and glory lay. Lanik did not care for glory, nor blood. All he cared about was returning to Marië in one piece. Here brushing the outskirts of Northaven, Lanik's duties usually amounted to no more than routine patrols and the odd smugglers caravan trying to sneak its way past the border. And he was content with that.

It wasn't too long until the wheels of the rickety caravan could be heard trudging down the path. The men were attentive. The captain through hushed words spoke one last time to them before bounding off to a position overlooking the road, thick with bushes and trees.

[i]Wait for my signal.[/i]

Positioning himself, the captain waited. While well-versed in open field combat, as most Imperial outfits prefer, Lanik Wintergate had unorthodox methods and as a whole frowned upon by many of the other Imperial officers. He sectioned off his cohorts into smaller groups, called strike teams, much like the outfit he was working with now, to promote mobility and self-sufficiency. And no man under his command specialized in a single thing. They were Jack's-of-all masters at none. His men would be the most versatile in the entire Imperium if he had his say.

Nocking an arrow, Lanik zeroed in on his target, the passenger. Although he didn't share a passion for war like his younger brother, that's not to say the captain was unskilled in the craft of killing. Every Imperial citizen was a ferocious warrior in their own right, forged from a young age to be fierce weapons sworn to the King. Lanik was no different, and while not the almighty prodigy during training as Marcus was, the captain held true to his own. It wasn't long until the caravan was settled in the kill-zone.

The arrow released, cutting through the cold mountain air with a sinister hiss. His aim true, the passenger not long after was clutching at his throat, streaks of blood squirting out in intervals here and there. Seconds after six more arrows found their targets, and within seconds six more bodies were lying in the snow. The wagon came to a halt, and for a second there the forest fell deadly silent, almost peaceful, a strange dichotomy with the dead men that lay before them, slowly spilling themselves out into the whiteness of the snow. Lanik waited, quietly observant of the scene before him. Then there was a loud cry, and a small figure took off running full sprint from behind the wagon. Not even thinking Lanik notched another arrow, tracing the figures path before firing. His target dropped, and not long after another figure came sprinting from behind the wagon, kneeling before the captain’s kill and holding the body close. Pausing for a moment, Lanik looked back to where his men were hiding, signalling them towards the set before them. Leading the way, the hunter approached his kill, cautiously, curious as to who this man was.

“My sweet boy.. . speak to me,” the old father pleaded, his animal fur clothes ragged and unkempt, much like the body he hold onto so dearly, “Don't leave me please... we were going to make it,”

The body could not have been no more than ten... eleven maybe? Lanik could feel a lump in his throat, and a twist in his stomach. The father paid no attention to the captain, completely encapsulated by the loss of his son. A light snowfall had begun, and whether or not it was the cutting mountain air that chilled his soul or the scene before him Lanik could not decide.

"Captain Wintergate," a voice said behind him with approaching footsteps, "They were smuggling Sol-crystals, two crates full. I'm sure the mages at Northaven will enjoy.. ." the voice trailed off, interrupted by quiet sobs, and the shattering of hearts.

It seemed that Sol-crystals were a popular item as of late. A rare magical ingredient mined deep in the mountains of the North. Lanik looked back.

"Rally the men lieutenant, and prepare the crates to move," he ordered, "We leave at once,"

"And them sir?"

[i]Leave them be.[/i]

✱ ✲ ✳ ✴ ✵

The trek back to camp had been a quiet one, the captain in an empty trance the entire way. The Imperium thrived off war, and it wasn't like this was the first man he had killed. Boys at a young age were indoctrinated to revel in the fight, success determined by the death of the enemy combatant. But why did it affect him so deeply? He gathered himself, sighting smoke from camp bonfires floating up ahead in the distance. Lanik couldn't define what he was feeling... maybe guilt? Sorrow? Weary? His gut twisted at the thought of being placed in the fathers position. To hold Marië in her dying breaths, pleading to whatever powers be to save his child. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind before they drew close.

"So captain, tell me," his lieutenant spoke up from the middle of the group, "Lord Wintergate has all of his capable field men-at-arms fighting on the Aetherion front, yes? Well as I recall we were supposed to decimate those elves long ago. It's been six months since I've last heard that -- and I know, I know," he spit, "Campaigns rarely ever match the timeline expected of them. But if it's taking so long why not send some of us? I'm itching for some real combat, not these sorry smugglers we spend days tracking into the middle of nowhere,"

Lanik forced an ominous grin, "If you'd really wanted that lieutenant you’d have enlisted with the field-regiments, but you're here, scrounging the winter tundra in a white cloak. Don't tell me you’re regretting it already?"

"Far from it sir," his lieutenant laughed, "I love what I do, don't get me wrong, but I hear about all these fantastical battles in those forests and a part of me wishes I could be there. Cast my name into legend like your brother Marcus and fight the good fight, for the King. Do you not wish that of yourself as well?"

It was the tail-end of the evening, brilliant red streaks eviscerating the mountain sky in a colorful show of power. It truly was a beautiful sight, a sight that Lanik never got used to. He enjoyed the mountains, the solidarity and calm they provided in a world always on the warpath. He was not an idealist, in fact, he was fairly pragmatic with his approach to duty and subservience to the King, as was his father. Little Darian was really the only one in the family who dreamed of renown and celebrity substance. Marcus and Lanik were always level-headed, though Marcus always knew how to handle his popularity. The captain was the polar opposite, retreating from recognition when placed on the pedestal.

"I wish..." he smirked, “I owned a lovely farm in the West. Where I could raise horses and cattle. A good plot of land so I could build myself a nice barn with a steep roof all out of the most exotic woods. With a creek not far away, so I could fish from the moment I awoke to the moment my casting arm was too sore to move,”

There were chuckles amongst the group.

“You sound like a simple man, captain,” the lieutenant said, laughing.

He really was. Live simply, love simply. Being a Wintergate Ranger was simple. He did not want to complicate life with politics or any other static. Let his father and little brother deal with the gravity of death, he had seen enough of his share. The warlike ideology of the Imperium had always seemed strange to him. And while he understood the importance of duty to your country, at what point does duty subjugate the tens of thousands of people cast into the fires of battle every day. At what point does the Imperium stop expanding? Not that his ideas took on any weight whatsoever, those decisions were made by greater authorities nestled in Midhaven. His daze broke at the sound of hoofs beating towards them.

“Captain Wintergate!” the emissary called out, stopping a distance away and holding out a letter with his father’s seal, “An urgent message from the capital,”

Lanik eyed the man closely before receiving the letter. The group had stopped in their tracks, curious as to what was going on. Opening the letter and breaking the seal, Lanik read carefully the words penned.

Wintergate had a fairly simple military structure. There were two branches: the Fighter’s Covenant and the Ranger’s Covenant. The Fighter’s covenant amassed the bulk of Wintergate’s soldiers and slaves, outfitted for regimental battles and general military excursions where volleys of armed men were seen fit to accomplish a task at hand. Marcus oversaw this Covenant prior to his death, and he was well loved by the men, respected and trusted by even the most acrimonious of Imperial officers. After his passing Lanik’s little brother Darian was placed in control, and while not amounting to the greatness that preceded, Darian was a fine leader as well albeit a tad on the reckless side.

Then there was the Ranger Covenant, smaller in size and unique in that slaves were not permitted to join its ranks. Lord Wintergate created this Covenant after realizing the sprawling stretch of mountains his estates lay in the shadow of, and deemed it necessary to create a group of skilled survivalists ready to patrol and keep a steady eye. They were not elite, far from it, but they were a group of men adaptable to any situation and resourceful to the fullest. Very seldom did the two Covenants fight alongside each other, the last time being during a battle in the Southern most parts of the Imperium. The Rangers were tasked to tunnel deep underground systems throughout enemy lines, wreaking havoc as the Fighter’s advanced slowly ahead. Lanik had led his Rangers during that battle, and refused any sort of accolades afterwards. He had always been afraid of the limelight. But nevertheless it was a rare occurrence for both of Wintergate’s Covenants to be drawn upon. But…

Lanik Wintergate folded the letter and slipped it into his cloak.

“It seems you’ll be getting your wish, lieutenant,” the men looked at one another uneasily.

“Send out the birds, every able-bodied ranger is to report for Imperial duty. We march East,”

Lanik could feel a lump in his throat, and a twist in his stomach.