A pathfinder's work was never done, especially at this time of the cycle. Hol-Vollum was confusing at the best of times for non Mithrealians, but some of these people Eltharion just found irritating. Already he had led more than a dozen individuals out of the depths of the forests after they investigated something or rather, or pursued a fleeing imp or simply drunkenly stumbled into the forest. It did not help that yesterday was a day of festivities, one which Eltharion had avoided out of preference rather than necessity, opting for the night watch of the town even as the regular guards were recalled into the city for celebrations. The pathfinders were technically not part of the military. They were classified as guardians of the forest, regulated by another body. Sighing deeply as he sat down on a branch, Eltharion reached into one of the pouches he was festooned with and pulled out a leaf wrapped package, which he swiftly peeled to reveal a small cake, one of the few things he had taken from the party.

Honestly. The elves were immortal, sure, but it did not mean that they were all wise. "Looks like you've had your work cut out for you today, Autumn Ranger," chuckled a voice from the treetops. Slowly casting his eyes upwards as he bit down on a hardened cake of flour and honey, the red-skinned elf's eyes caught sight of a shock of lime green amongst the autumn leaves. It would have blended perfectly, if it were not the season of fall. "And may I ask what a Spring Ranger such as yourself is doing on duty, Ilthrias?" Eltharion replied as he remained sitting, leaning his back against the moist wood of the treetop, his boot intertwined as he sat leisurely on the branch. While pathfinders tended to act independently, they were grouped into different categories based on their features. Eltharion, a red-skinned elf, was part of the Autumn Rangers, the unit that was in operation during Fall, while the elf that beamed from across the way was part of the Spring Rangers, the unit that operated during Spring. When the other wasn't on duty, they were allowed an extended period of relaxation, in accordance with the rigours of their task.

With a light jump and step, Ilthrias landed in a squat on the same branch that Eltharion was lounging on. Her hair was a fine blonde, tied into two braids and her face seemed to be unable to change from anything so much as a smile. Eltharion's meanwhile was covered from the nose down with a black cloth, only his sharp, cold amythest eyes piercing through the lass. Their perch rocked as her small weight was suddenly thrown on, but the branch held firm. "The regent sent out all available pathfinder units to keep the area safe," she said as she fiddled with one of her pouches, taking out a small flask, "well...safer...wouldn't do to have the Concrodon mating season start early while the Prince is around, you know?" Ah...that was right, the Elvish Prince was still loitering around Mithreal. Not that there was any particular significance to Eltharion. Respect was earned, in his eyes, not given with a title. Though he may have lived thousands more years than Eltharion himself had, they had still yet to meet, and he wasn't about to lick the boots of someone he hadn't met. With an unspoken command, the two pathfinders threw their commodities towards each other, Eltharion receiving the flask of honeymead and Iltharias snatching the half-eaten flour cake and finishing it in a single mighty gulp. 

Giving the still almost full flask back to the Spring Ranger, Eltharion stood up, stretching his muscles and shaking himself loose. He readjusted his bow on his back as the string caught on one of his pouches and tightened the quiver around his waist, the arrows clacking against the hardened leather. "I think it may be time for us to part ways, Spring Ranger," Eltharion said as he threw the leaf wrapping that the cake had come in away, "we still both have our own duties." Turning to look directly at the woman, he added, "and knowing you, I know you haven't started any of them. Iltharias didn't reply. Instead, she had her ears pricked up and was looking into the distance blankly, her pointed pinnae occasionally twitching. "Something is off, Eltharion," she said, using his name for the first time, "The wind...does not sound the same..." Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Eltharion pulled down his hood, revealing his own pointed ears and tilted his head towards the wind. At first, the sound was seemingly the same. The usual rustling of leaves accompanied by the occasional tweet of a bird or rumbling of the underbrush. Suddenly, a crash interrupted the serenity. Iltharias and Eltharion exchanged looks. What elf dared to fell a tree of Hol-Vollum?

Before either of them could speak, a loud hoot from above made Eltharion cast his gaze upwards in time to see an owl dive through a gap in the canopy. Raising an arm, he let the bird land on his forearm. This definitely was not a natural occurrence, with Aenys' staff still brightly shining its radiance down. The only other explanation was that this was a familiar or pet. Looking at its claw, Eltharion saw he was right as he removed a small scrap of parchment. Flicking his wrist, he sent the owl onto a smaller branch near them as he unfurled the small scroll. "Strange humanoids. Not elves. Outpost." it read in a cypher, accompanied by a series of names on small slips of attached parchment, presumably those who had already read the message. Passing the message to Ilthrias, the red-skinned elf took out a small slip of blank parchment from his pouch and a piece of charcoal. scribing both his name and the green one's as well. Stickying the back with some sap, he attached it to the larger parchment and rolled it up again before tying it back onto the own and sending it on its way. Without a word, both pathfinders took off through the treetops, leaping from branch to branch.

As they passed the town, Eltharion could see chaos as far as he looked. mothers hid their children away while fathers, sons and daughters bore arms. Meeting up with a hungover Winter Ranger (who had been awoken with an unceremonious kick, the trio bounded forwards through a path that only the pathfinders knew. It was treacherous, but thanks to their training, they navigated the branches with ease, due in part to the healthier ones being marked with white streaks of ash. Between the three of them, they had two bows and a blade. Not exactly a fighting force...but hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Eltharion had yet to wield his bow in anger. And he would like to keep it that way. 

"You guys took your time," muttered a voice from seemingly nowhere. "Iltharis and I were in the southern glades when your message came," Eltharion replied quietly as he picked out the shape of a turning elf, his back hidden by his cloak of seasons, "and snowman was napping off his drink." To this, the winter ranger scoffed as crouched down into the canopy, looking down. "Are those the creatures you were speaking of?," he asked, his voice deep and gravelly as he hung onto an overhead branch for stability, "they look elvish..."
"Take a closer look," Eltharion replied as he hopped onto a closer branch, narrowing his eyes.
"They're a lot shorter than we are," Iltharis said as she craned her neck, "and their ears aren't as long..."
"I have been trying to understand their speech for the past few minutes, but I cannot understand head nor tail of what they're saying," replied the mystery elf, his mossy green skin marking him out as part of the summer rangers. Eltharion scowled inwardly. All seasons are here. This bodes ill. A few moments passed as they watched in silence, their eyes tracking the movements of the strange creatures as they moved from great behemoths on the water that vomited them out like a sickness, to land. 

"What are they doing?" asked the Winter Ranger as they moved a large crate of axes upon the back of an oxcart, dragging it in the direction of the forest. "Logging," replied the summer ranger bluntly. Eltharion growled. He had suspected something like that. And it infuriated him. It just did not spill over like the Winter Ranger's. "What!?" he shouted, "Why aren't we stoppi-" With a swift punch, Eltharion slammed him into the trunk of the tree with a glare. "Stay your lips if you want to keep them, fool," he hissed as he ground his fist into the elf's cheek, "you are a Winter Ranger, act like your namesake." Releasing him, he turned around and looked back at the camp the humanoids were setting up, even as a few of them looked in the direction of the noise, forcing them to pull their hoods over their heads. "The idiot is partially correct though. We need to stop them..."
"The problem is the higher ups have not given us permission to engage yet..." the Summer Ranger replied,
"And yet Hol-Vollum suffers for their indecision..." Iltharis muttered sadly.
"We cannot engage unless we receive orders, sister," Eltharion replied, crouching down as he tightened the grip on his bow, "those are our rules."
'Look towards the east, brethren," the Winter Ranger said, pointing as he rubbed the side of his face, "the Prince looks to parley."
"I wish him luck with that...truly I do," the Summer Ranger replied with a sigh.
"Either way, let us move to a better vantage point...we shall deal with the interlopers when we receive orders," Eltharion said as he leapt from his branch into the canopy, closely followed by the remaining trio.

As they reached the outpost, they were joined by a dozen of their compatriots from all seasons, bearing blade, bow, spear and staff. As far as Eltharion knew, this was the biggest gathering they had ever had outside of the meeting hall. The Mithralians all paid them some respect as they passed through the treetops, but the others just watched the action in front of them tensely, paying these newcomers no heed. "Bows un-nocked and blades sheathed, pathfinders," Eltharion said, acting as the de facto leader of the troupe, "we will act as the Prince does. Then the top brass cannot say we erred.". While definitely not the oldest of the pathfinders, he was still respected for his decision making and pragmatic attitude. Sitting high above the other elves who had gathered at the forest, the pathfinders looked down and waited to see how things would unfold. Would they need to take up arms? Or would there be a peaceful solution to this.

As the prince tried to communicate with the new creatures, two of them in full armour riding beasts cantered forward, bringing their spears to bear. Behind him, he heard arrows nocked into place, but he held up a fist, stopping them. "No-one. Shoot." he hissed as he glared back, fixing the pathfinders with his steely gaze. Almost sheepishly, most of them returned their arrows to the quivers, but a few still kept them nocked. Eltharion didn't have time to reprimand them as he heard the hiss of displaced air below him. Quickly casting his gaze down , he saw the two horse riders topple over, arrows having punctured the gaps between their armour. "Maentellus take them! Which idiots of the militia fired?!" he shouted, finally losing his cool. Those two idiots may have just doomed their Prince. "Archers! Nock arrows and pick your targets!" he shouted as himself pulled a wooden arrow from his quiver, "take out the important looking ones!" 

How many times had he pulled this string in the last few minutes? More than he had ever done in the last few cycles combined. The enemy were without number, and each one seemed vigorous, if less skilled than the elves. The elves would not be victorious here, Eltharion was sure of it. "Archers!" he cried, shouting out his first order in several minutes, "Cease fire and follow me!" With that, he dropped down the branches until he landed on the ground, closely followed by close to 10 other pathfinders. He would not waste precious lives here, not if they could still be used elsewhere. Rule one of being a pathfinder was never fight a fight you could not win. But that didn't mean that they were in full retreat. There were still civilians to think of, and other elves. The pathfinders were efficient, but not heartless. Besides, they were also the protectors of Mithreal. They could not let this horde into that beautiful city.

Turning around, he could see a unit of spear and shield armed elves running from the direction of the city. "You!" he shouted, stopping them in their tracks, "I want you to set up a defensive line across the main path. Bar entry to anything that isn't an elf, but at my signal, I want you to retreat. Understood?" The small group murmured uneasily, but Eltharion persisted, stepping closer and grabbing the front man by the collar of his armor. "I asked you a question!" he hissed. Standing half a head taller than most non-Amenori elves, Eltharion's amethyst gaze once more pierced through the will of the elf in question, who nodded fiercely, before leading the men towards the mouth of the main path. "I've never seen you like this, Eltharion," Iltharis said worriedly. "That's because we've never had to fight an army, Iltharis," Eltharion replied, gripping his bow tighter. Take all the training and all the tactical drilling, and it would still not prepare him for what was happening. He was currently just thinking of temporary solutions. he was no commander of men, he was a pathfinder, a scout. He relayed information to those who decided what to do with it...and yet, here he was. In the back of his head, he understood why this was happening. The elves had been long out of the Marching Years, that dark period of Elven history that they tried to forget. No-one actually had any combat experience. Sure, they knew how to fight and fight well, but none of them had ever actually killed a man. Already, he could feel the blood of those he had killed with and ARROW coated on his hands. It was not a pleasant feeling. The elves needed guidance. And the Prince was barely providing any. Turning to his troupe, Eltharion looked over them. "Pathfinders, I want you to set traps up along the main road. Use pitfalls, logs, raging Carnonute hormones, anything that you can get up in time. Mark them with elvish signs, these creatures don't seem to be able to read them. Do this all the way back to the capital, understood?" The troupe remained silent, permeated with a few murmurs of assent. "I asked a question!" Eltharion shouted, jolting them to reality. They assented. "Go. I'll meet you back at the Pathfinder Hall. Warn any civilians and soldiers you see to fall back. Use all the authority you can. Iltharis, warn the regent." With that, the pathfinders separated to do what they did best. Survivalism and forestry.

"Back to the city!" the Prince yelled "they must be warned!" 
A sudden screech diverted some attention as a hawk swooped down from the sky like the furies of legend and dug its claws into the eyes of an attacker, causing him to scream and flail, missing his swing on the Prince. Scant milliseconds later, an arrow whizzed through the eyehole of his helmet, the head piercing through to the other end and dropping him to the ground in a clatter of armour. "Finally, a proper order," Eltharion said as he lifted his arm to let the hawk land. "Prince Anaroth, I am Eltharion Tevinter, Pathfinder of Mithreal, and I bear news." They had finally reached a clearing in the battle as the pathfinders that had joined the melee congregated around them, limiting entry points for enemies and forming a ring of emptiness for the two. "I have taken the liberty of securing a safe path for a retreat. I do not know if it is against your wishes or not, but I don't particularly care either. We will not win this battle on the shoreline. There are too many of them." As an enemy broke through the protective ring, a pathfinder broke ranks and tackled him to the ground, punching a dagger into the offender's gut. Almost mechanically, the pathfinders closed ranks until their brother could rejoin them. "My voice will not reach the majority of these elves, but I know yours will, so I ask you, for the sake of your people, to direct the retreat through the main path. I have asked some of the militia to set up a defensive line until we can call a full retreat, and my fellow pathfinders have set up marked traps along the road to slow the advance of the enemy. It is your decision, but please, hurry."