The seven rangers were scrounging the outback for nearly three days, taking routes off the beaten path and being sure to stay hidden amongst the mobs of foliage. There was a distinct difference between the mountains he tread now and those back in the frosty tip of Northaven, and as one might have guessed it was such: snow. No longer was Lanik garbed in his winter gear, shedding the winter layers for a more sleeker, more form fitting outfit consisting of deer leathers and a dark green cloak. His sword, a masterful piece of craftsmanship held tight against his back, crossing one way while a loaded quiver crossed the other. He moved swiftly through the forest as if he had lived in the Aetherion mountains his entire life. If there was one thing Lanik was skilled at it was keeping direction. He was never lost.

The forest groaned as Lanik and his second moved onward. Captain Wintergate ordered them all to split up into groups consisting of two pairs and one trio. He drew up specific travel notations for each group, and while no group would ever be too far away from the other, they maintained enough spacing so that should one group be compromised, the others would be safe. General Cornell had assigned him a priority mission and failure was simply not an option. In this way even if Lanik himself was to be caught the others would be in well enough position to relay critical information back the the Imperial camp. Not that the Wintergate father would ever be so careless as to throw his life away for any petty thing, but at his core he would always be an Imperial citizen. And such was a sovereignty that would forever be dangerous, no matter who bear the title.

Lanik could sense an invigoration overwhelm his senses as he passed through the forest. The quiet ranger. Tracker. Pathfinder. It had been too long since he had the chance to enjoy the thrill of the hunt. Listening to the birds coercing overhead, Lanik couldn't help but feel conflicted with himself: whether he loved the fight or loved the idea of giving his efforts to a cause greater than he could imagine. Truth be told, he loved his country, but his more liberal leaning mindset numbed his tongue when it came to vocalizing it. 

"Lanik, motion up ahead," Finnigan, his pairing, a womanizer who Lanik had known when his career was ripe spoke softly, his voice blending with whispers of the trees.

Lanik signaled him to stop and proceeded to take point. He squinted at a figure in the distance, stumbling around, limping, holding one arm and cursing and yelling something he couldn't quite make out... wait...

"Help me, somebody, help me!"

"Captain, he's a Legionnaire, look at his armor,"

Captain Wintergate nodded. [i]A trap? No... he looks hurt. It couldn't be, could the elves be that cunning?[/i] The man suddenly collapsed to the forest floor, and after a brief look at each other the two rangers bounded out of the cover of the forest towards him. Finnigan kept careful watch of their surroundings while Lanik knelt.

"Are.. . are you Imperial? Are you with us?" the mans life was nearly spent, Lanik could see blood pooling at his hip.

Lanik nodded, "Imperial Captain, tell me, what happened to you?"

The man grimaced, forcing his voice, "They got us. They got us good. Our Captain got us lost in these forests, and the elves, they ambushed us. There was fire, and smoke," he coughed out blood, "One of them, their leader... she let me go, I don't know why,"

Lanik grabbed his hand as the man grimaced in pain, "She let you go? Like this?"

"No," the man chuckled, "Be careful near the cliffs here. Soft outcrop broke from underneath me and well," he forced a painful smile, "I took a little tumble,"

"Where?"

The legionnaire raised a limp hand and pointed into the distance, "That way, you can't miss it," his eyes were getting dreary, his breathing slowing.

"I can't fight no more, Captain, I would but I can't," the legionnaires eyes were now skyward as if seeing something Lanik couldn't.

"Rest easy, legionnaire," Lanik crossed the mans arms across his chest, "There will be blood,"

[i]There will be blood.[/i]

As the common saying went among Imperial soldiers. Blood was such an integral part of Imperial fighting, it was no wonder it would be used in the vernacular. And while Lanik limited himself to only its drink, some men took it to a whole new ritualistic point -- bathing in it, reminding themselves that glory in combat was the only way to cleanse ones soul. Even Lanik had partaken in the tradition to a lesser point, a Wintergates take on it where a hunter would find a kill and use its blood to mark three scratches across his face. Lanik and Finnigan both had faces marred with the red ink before their excursion. Taking a moment to pay his respects, Lanik looked to Finnigan, who's hood was down and was mumbling a prayer for the body.

"We need to investigate, stay close to me, and stay quiet,"

Immediately the two of them took off. It wasn't long until they reached the carnage, or better still the [i]aftermath[/i]. Bodies were strewn across the road. Charred wounds marked the flanking trees and an overturned wagon rose from the center. [i]Who could have done this?[/i] It looked like a whole company was decimated here. The two rangers stood perched on an outcrop of rock that overlooked the kill-zone.

"Alright Fin, let's mo--,"

There was sharp cracking sound and then suddenly the cliff gave way. Lanik saw Finnigan's eyes light up in terror as the ground collapsed from underneath him. There was a loud crashing noise, surely enough to alarm anyone in the vicinity. A second later, Lanik was watching his man fall nearly twenty feet, crashing against straggly rocks and landing limp at the bottom, skirting the killzone.

"Finnigan!"

Lanik jumped into action immediately. These were critical seconds he needed to use to get his ranger back into the safety of the forest, where they surely stood a better chance of hiding than out here against these cold rock formations.

[i]Shit. Shit. Shit.[/i]

Lanik gracefully scaled the rock face, jumping to and fro as necessary to most quickly get to his man. His eyes widened in horror as he reached him, a close up view of his mangled legs, blood dripping from his nose. Finnigan was out cold. Lanik, kneeling at Finnigan's side looked around, sighting his surroundings. They were in the worst possible position, and they had made enough noise. Judging by Finnigan's condition there was no way he would be able to continue on.

"Son of a bitch," Lanik cursed to himself, quickly pushing away the rubble and lifting Finnigan up over his shoulders. He had to move quickly.