The march had been glorious, ten thousand men trudging through the thicket of the beastly Aetherion forest. A conglomeration of Imperial families all moving onward with the same, vicious intent. It was here that the Imperium would cast the decisive blow against the elves and establish a foothold to drive further into the heart of their country. Darian could not be more pleased. He rode near the middle of the great column, the Wintergate Fighters holding true to their sigil akin to that of the Rangers, except instead of the cunning of a fox twas the ferocious image of a bear. The Rangers rode in the back of the column, typical for those winter vagabonds. Not that he cared, more glory for his cup.

That's when Darian heard the battle trumpets and saw the first line form up along the edge of the forest. Darian could see the exploit in the distance, a section of wall not completely cordoned off, a section his dear brother had located. He had not heard any word from Lanik since his departure. Perhaps the elves had eliminated him already. That would make things easier. A volley of arrows released from the Imperial side of the forest only to be stopped mid-air. Darian widened his eyes, witchcraft surely. These elves were talented no doubt, but they bore no match for the might of Imperial steel.

There was a brief, almost peaceful silence before the first line officer gave way into the field. Darian grinned, watching the wall of men sprint towards death. They made good pace, screaming, cursing and laughing all the way until they reached three quarters of the way in. They were greeted by the ground exploding beneath them, tossing legionnaires up into the sky like rag dolls while crashing back into the earth with sickening crunches and wails. Elemental forces of every kind barraged the helpless men from all sides. Ice froze even the most steadfast of warriors, fire charred the flesh and gusts of wind sent men tumbling this way and that. It was a massacre, and Darian reveled in it.

[i]That's why the pawns always go first[/i] he thought to himself.

"Watch her. If you get an opportunity, subdue her and bring her to me. I want her alive," Darian heard the General say.

Darian raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He reached for his own scope and peered through sighting a silver-haired elven beauty in the distance. The composer in this symphony of destruction.

[i]Pretty elf,[/i] he licked his lips, [i]I'll have my way with you after the General[/i].

Then there was the second battle horn. His men were up.

The Wintergate Fighter's lined up along the clearing of the forest. They beat their shields, growling, anticipating the fight ahead. The Rangers on the other hand took the flanks, hooded and enigmatic, equipped to move quickly. Darian paced back and forth on his steed, staring deep into the eyes of his men, unsheathing his sword.

"Let's show these imps the taste of Wintergate steel!" he screamed, the men immediately reciprocated.

"For Marcus! For the King! For the Imperium!" he pointed into the distance, "THERE WILL BE BLOOD!"

[i]THERE WILL BE BLOOD![/i]

The men of Wintergate charged forward with hearts of steel and intentions as vicious as cold-blooded bandits.

[center]✱ ✲ ✳ ✴ ✵[/center] 

There is a certain kind of helplessness a man can only feel when thrust into the real of the present. Lanik was feeling all these things at once, and more. Had his rangers completed their mission? Or were they captured? Finnigan, is he going to make it? Lanik was not a healer by any means. He had constructed a splint and tied it against Finnigan's legs, but other than that, he wasn't sure what else he could do. Night had fallen heavily upon the forest and the two weary souls, and the temperature had dropped far enough for their breaths to leave whispers of air with every exhalation. They would either die from hypothermia or from these elves. Lanik could feel a hopelessness growing in the pit of his stomach, a strange sensation he hadn't felt since --

Elvish dialect broke the silent night, but Lanik could make out a name.. . [i]Yanduin[/i].

Lanik instinctively drew an arrow and raised his bow, weapon aimed towards the sound. From the depths of the forest emerged a slender figure, an [i]elf[/i]. He was just about to release his charge when he noticed her expression soften, as if in pity. He eyed her carefully. He had never seen an elf before, not in person at least. Darian had described them as vicious, blood-thirsty murderers.. . and that may have been true but their physical elegance sure contradicted such ideas. Lanik and Finnigan were dirtied and sweat ridden, the three crimson blood imprints over their faces smudged from heavy exertion and exhaustion alike. And then she spoke.

"May I help?"

Captain Wintergate was taken aback. He lowered his bow, and slowed his breathing. He was prepared for a fight, but... had she just offered to help him? He frowned.

"Who are you?"

Finnigan grunted in pain once more, writhing against the thick trunk of the tree.

Lanik cut his question off, and slid the cloak he had laid over Finnigan to maintain some warmth off his lower limbs. Lanik's splints were in place, but it still was a mangled mess.

"I've done what I can.. . but I'm no healer. Will he be able to walk again?" Lanik cupped Finnigan's cheek, whose face was overwhelmed with pain, "Easy brother, there's someone here to help you,"