Darian Wintergate stood at the balcony of his estate, unclothed, breathing in the cool air of the Eastern forests. Night had fallen, and a million stars twinkled overhead. Darian was a very attractive man; sharp features and golden hair just like his mother. Smiling, he heard laughter, grunts and curses litter the area below, where his most senior soldiers had set up garrison. In the distance flickered lights and somber smoke, several camps established by his men in preparation for the great push into the heart of Aetherion. He had waited a long time for this moment, for his chance to place Wintergate on the pedestal and bring grandeur back to a surname that’s otherwise remained stagnant with the death of his eldest brother. And while many other families and estates had forces stationed all along the frontline, Darian knew that it was the name Wintergate that the elves would soon fear.

If only Lanik had shared the same ignited passion. No, his ranger brother was perfectly content with his indolent profession of babysitting the quiet mountains. The Ranger Covenant was becoming obsolete, and why his father had created the order in the first place was unbeknownst to him. Wintergate needed to propagate it’s standing amongst the Imperial forces. To do that required a vested mission to bolster the ranks of the Fighter’s Covenant. No longer were the winter family to be seen as an idle vigour nesting in the bosom of the mountains. No, Darian had fantastical plans to make his family the King’s favoured.

“Still day-dreaming, my love?” Darian caught a sultry voice from beside him. Serani Cheshire, an olive skinned idol with piercing emerald green eyes rested her head on his shoulder, tracing her hand along the crease of his back.

“Yes,” Darian said, eyes still scanning the distant lights, “I’ve received word that brother Lanik is marching our way, bringing his entire covenant as ‘father’ requested,”

Darian couldn’t help but grin. Forging the letter was easy enough, he had many contacts in the capital city. If Marcus had the golden blade and Lanik the veiled cloak, well then… Darian must have had the silver tongue. Politicians and those of high council loved the company of the youngest Wintergate boy, and because of that coming across father’s seal was terribly easy.

[i]Father.[/i]

Lord Wintergate’s health was declining of late, and at present, it was to the point where he could barely remember his name. It would soon be time for a new heir, one truly worthy of the regard to be bestowed on the successor. And who would it be? Marcus had passed, dying gloriously in the field of battle. Lanik? No. He was too weak, too unassuming. Wintergate needed somebody who wanted the position, who embraced it wholly and fully the weight of the family. Darian kissed the top of Serani’s head, running his fingers through her silky hair.

“Then everything goes according to plan,” she looked into the distance, just as he did, “You will be successor soon enough, worry not sweet Darian,”

The plan was an amalgamation of delicate foresight between Darian and the Cheshire family, created after the death of his great brother Marcus. Darian had thought he would forever live in the shadow of his fabled brother, but with his death opened doors. But then there was Lanik…

The Cheshires traced a remarkable history back to their fore-fathers, who were a clandestine society of assassins before Coronal’s seize into the Empire. Darian had seen these assassins himself, and they were quite the specimen. Six foot men with empty eyes and a thirst for blood, soldiers that Wintergate could use more of. Soldiers that not even his brother, as skilled as he was could best. The Solverrein Groves would be Lanik’s tomb, the same place where Marcus was struck down by those elves. Darian couldn’t help smile at the poetry.

And it wasn’t as if Darian had been wholly unaffected with the death of Marcus, he had grieved in his own way. He grieved for months -- disbelief turning into depression, then sadness, then anger. But Darian used that to create the building blocks that made him who he was today. Marcus was the brother Darian should have only had. Lanik though, Lanik withdrew into himself as he always did. Locked away in the Wintergate Estate, fearful of the world. Darian knew that if he fed some story about Marcus possibly being alive, the middle brother would move heaven and earth to find out the truth. Darian’s story would put Lanik towards Solverrein, where the Cheshire assassins garbed in elven armor would await.

Then there was the second phase, ridding Serani of that wretched child she had begotten with her ‘husband’. Secretly Darian had been stockpiling and stowing away arms and armor belonging to the elves he had slaughtered thus far. It would come in one stroke, a caravan headed for Midhaven being raided by Cheshire men in enemy uniform, and a dead child that only complicated his succession to power and the succession of his future children. Even Serani herself had given blessing to this part of the plan, perhaps she knew just as much as he did how hopeless it was to be cuffed to his brother.

Wintergate would have another martyr to fight for, and the Imperium would surely see an attack against a civilian caravan means to mobilize a full-scale onslaught against the elves. Maybe even the King himself would lead the charge with the Wintergate youngest at his side? Darian allowed himself the thought.

“And when do you suspect your brother will arrive, [i]my Lord[/i]?” Serani fluttered her eyes.

“Tomorrow, mid-day,” he replied, taking in another deep breath of forest air.

“Then come back to bed with me,” the olive-skinned lynx grabbed his hand and led him onward.

“Let the troubles of tomorrow wait,”