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Stepping around corpses I pieced their deaths together in my mind, looking at the way that they lay sprawled about. Some had been sitting around the central campfire, the overturned bottles of alcohol making the ground damp where they had fallen. Others had been going about their own routines. One had obviously been in the middle of washing herself in the stream when an arrow had flickered out of the darkness and punched through an eye. Her death had been the signal for the others to attack, and it appeared as though that by the time her body had slapped face first into the water the others were well along the way of joining her in Aetherius.
Another had been sitting across from one of his comrades, playing dice on a board that had been overturned when they both had jumped to their feet in surprise. The dice; crudely carved from wood lay scattered in the dirt near their boots. No one would ever know which of the two were winning when they died. A pair of arrows had taken their lives just as surely as the first, one punching deep into a chest to skewer a heart, the other dying the same way as the marauder having a bath with an arrow in the brain.
All bar one had been killed with single arrows, but as I moved through their bodies I could see that those responsible had gone to great measures to ensure that no trace had been left behind. The arrows and their arrowheads had been cut from flesh, leaving wicked, gaping wounds where knives had cut deeply and levered them out. There was a pair of the bandits that caught my attention; a heavyset woman muscled like a prize-fighter and an older man whose skin appeared like dried leather after too many years in the sun.
They had been the last to be killed, and while they were both in different sections of the campsite I could see how they had both moved with far greater speed than their comrades. Either through luck, adrenaline or simple experience, they had both managed to get to their feet and attempt to rush their ambushers.
Neither had made it very far at all. The man had either just come back from sentry duty or was preparing to go relieve one of his friends. Dressed in his full suit of armour, it had managed to stop an arrow aimed for his heart just enough to alert him to the danger and keep him alive long enough to try to do something about it. Even with a pierced lung he had managed to tear the flanged mace from where it had hung by his side in its leather loop, slap down the visor of his sallet helm and make it five paces before he was brought down. In a shot of incredible skill, a second arrow had been loosed, punching into the tiny vision slit between the helmet and the visor and killing him in mid step.
Like all the others, the arrow had been wrenched out of the dead man’s skull and helm. Leaving only tiny slivers and dust from the shaft behind, there was not much to show what sort of arrow it had been. The slit itself had been tiny, only a few millimetres wide and too small for me to slide anything wider than my knife through. Whoever had loosed the arrow had enough skill to aim it precisely at the gap, allowing the tip to punch between the visor and brim of the helm and buckle the edges enough to allow the passage. Even half a finger’s distance up or down would have either sent the arrow glancing away, shattering it, or in the best case lodging it into the metal and maybe causing injury.
As for the woman she too had taken an arrow to the chest, lodging deeply into breast and pectoral and missing the heart by only the narrowest of margins. Whether it had been luck, fate, or that she simply had twitched at the very last second, the first arrow to strike her had not been instantly fatal. The second and the third that must’ve hit in quick succession were different; one had just like most of the others, punched deep into an eye socket and the second had been successful in finding her heart.
It was not the arrows, or the wounds that they had caused that had caught my attention. She had bled profusely from the wounds up to and including the time where one of her attackers had hunched down with a blade and hacked them from her cooling corpse. The blood that had soaked her clothing and leathers was mostly concentrated on her chest, neck and face but I could see where more had leaked through from an injury just below the armpit.
The warning growl in my mind from the vampire stopped me for a moment as I hunched over her body. There was no sign of anyone or anything bigger than a frog or cricket in the campsite, and even with my enhanced senses there was nothing I could detect. I could hear the insects moving through the grass around me and when I really concentrated I could even hear the tramping of ants from a nest in the cliff face six metres away. There was nothing that explained the unease that the vampire was feeling. I did know that once I had finished investigating the campsite I would getting the oblivion out of the area as quickly as I could.
"Right then, let’s have a look." I whispered under my breath. One eye was open and unseeing, the other a bloody ruin of a hole where someone had scraped bone to dig the arrow out without ruining the arrowhead.
Ensuring that I didn’t make eye contact, I rolled her over onto her side, running my hands over the pockets of her tunic and pocketing the few coins and uncut gemstones that I found. A trade caravan they had hit the month earlier was carrying a chest of gems from Summerset Isles destined for Skingrad. Despite the amount of money Viconia and I were sharing I wasn’t one for leaving any sort of wealth behind, and one of my spare ingredient pouches found itself host to a small collection of loot that I had taken from each body in turn.
I was halfway through digging through a tiny pouch attached to her belt when I suddenly found myself staring at the lump jutting from under her arm. The blood that had soaked her side in death had taken some time to leak through around the object that had struck her but just like the handful of broken arrows that Azzan kept in his desk drawer something had been missed by those responsible. A knife was buried to the hilt in the hollow of the armpit, jutting outwards, but being lost in the folds of the loose fitting tunic.
For several drawn out moments I simply stared at the dagger, holding the corpse on its side before very slowly turning and looking about the death filled gorge. Every instinct was screaming at me to leave, that something wasn’t right with the entire situation, but I couldn’t see, hear or sense anything. I was certain that I was being watched but my vampiric ability of being able to detect others by their heartbeats or smell gave me confidence.
My fangs were digging into my bottom lip as I turned back to the dagger, seeing the hilt coated in gore and feeling the stickiness of the blood as I reached down and wrenched it out. For a blade it was highly unusual and was unlike any I had encountered before. Double edged to allow for greater penetration, it was also perfectly balanced which was unusual in itself. What most bizarre thing about it though was the materials of its make. No metal had been used in its creation, neither for the blade or the hilt. Both the hilt and the blade had been carved from bones, but it was obvious that the two sections had not come from the same creature or possibly even species. The blade had been carefully carved, shaped with an artificer’s care before being smoothed and polished until the black ivory-like substance appeared like the night itself. As for the hilt, it was carefully cut and etched before being wrapped in silken strands that allowed the wielder to have a firm grip on the blade before throwing it.
It was one of the most elegant daggers I had ever seen, far surpassing the ceremonial daggers I had seen amongst the Dunmer. It was a sight that was made ever more unusual at the sight of a short collection of greasy strands braided together and tied to the end of it.
The dagger was elegant, but the braid was not. There was something wrong with it, more than the mere sight and colouring. Like off-milk mixed with corpse-bile, it reeked of corruption but as I knelt there looking at the unusual dagger I could feel a sense of familiarity towards it. The beast within me growled again, a cautionary and yet yearning murmur in the back of my mind as I regarded the three-centimetre-long braid.
With the tips of my fingers left uncovered from my fingerless gloves I lifted the braid and felt it directly with my skin. Even the tiniest of touches was enough to send a wave of nausea running into the core of my being. My stomach threatened to rebel from the touch, leaving me feeling clammy and foul all over and I dropped the entire blade to the ground like it was a venomous reptile. For a moment despite what my eyes had been telling me it was almost as though the braid was alive and squirming on my fingertips. The thought left me fruitlessly wiping my fingers on my armoured thighs to rid myself of the sensation.
"What the fuck is that..." I murmured, resisting the urge to pull my mask down to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. I felt as though I was going to be sick but through little more than sheer willpower I held my rebellious guts in line. It didn’t help the fact that I felt like I had thrown up anyway, my entire body had been wracked with spasms as though it was trying to purge itself of toxins. Now at least I knew without any uncertainty that there was something far worse at play in the region.
The way that my body seemed to be simultaneously rejoicing in the touch and proximity to the braid and rejecting it with every fibre of my being showed me that there was only one explanation. The braid itself was nothing special or that important, but it was a mark showing that the knife’s owner had fallen under the power of the Daedra. Which Daedra I wasn’t certain, but I had enough experience with my own nature and creatures of the Prince of Destruction to know that it wasn’t Mehrunes Dagon. His influence was brutal and straightforward and whatever this braid was made to signify screamed of corruption and taint.
Resting in the grass by my side where I had placed it, the stringed length of my compound bow sat as I glared at the corrupted dagger. For a moment I glanced between the two weapons, half expecting the dagger to begin crawling away into the dirt like a centipede. I stared at it for a few seconds, before reaching for my bow.
Exploding from the back of my skull, the beast’s warning stopped me in mid motion. There was no sign of any presence, no wayward smell or noise and yet the vampire told me that I was no longer alone, that someone or something was directly behind me, close enough to breath on the back of my neck if they so wished. It also told me that not only was I no longer alone, but there was a knife to my throat.
I kept perfectly still, feeling the sense of sharpness hovering near my leather wrapped flesh. The bones of my face pulsated and writhed, my fangs pressing uncomfortably into my lips as I struggled to sense the being behind me. There was no sensation of heat, no trace of life-force or a heartbeat. I couldn't even pick up any sound of breathing or of any movement.
"Who are you?" Breathed a voice that had no rights of being there at all and it made me jump even more than the blade at my throat did. It confirmed that it was indeed a normal flesh-and-blood being behind me and not some supernatural creature from Oblivion.
"Kaius Desin." I replied simply, feeling the sensation of sharpness drawing closer. "I’m with the Fighter's Guild."
Right on the very edge of my hearing there was a rustle of noise, like the tiniest movement of skin-tight fabric on flesh. It was so minute that it was almost non-existent, but I knew that the blade was no longer hovering nearby.
"Turn around..." The voice said, this time slightly further away. "Slowly."
Ensuring that I kept my hands by my sides and away from my weapons I followed the being’s instructions, keeping my hands clear of my weapons. I was thankful that for my travel in the wilds I had strapped Sunchild alongside my backpack on the opposite side to the Light of Dawn. If it had been where I normally wore it, it would have been impossible to keep my hands away from a weapon of some kind. Between Sunchild, the Light of Dawn on my back, the pair of knives strapped to my breastplate and my bow kept in easy reach I was a walking arsenal.
At that point though I was more concerned with the fact that I had been ambushed just as surely as the dead marauders in their camp. What was worse was that I knew that not only had I been ambushed despite my enhanced senses, but that I was now somehow surrounded. The only thing that I had going for me was that I had not been killed before knowing I was no longer alone.
Standing barely two metres away was a figure similarly dressed to myself. He was shorter than me by a considerable margin but there was no doubt that his skill and stealth far surpassed mine. Only the soot blackened sockets and gleaming eyes could be seen of his flesh, as everything else was covered in layers of grey-black leather. Just like me, a mask covered his face to protect his mouth and nose from any possible irritants and to hide the skin’s natural sheen from view.
Even standing in the flickering light from the campfire, it was almost impossible to focus upon him or his shape. He seemed to naturally sway with the shadows as they rolled and twitched, and as he moved there was not a whisper of sound from his clothing or any pieces of his equipment.
"Well... Shit..." I said simply, sighing and looking at the way how he held the shortened blade in his hand. Similar in make to the dagger on the ground, it too was made from carved and polished bone. Unlike the dagger it was only single edged and tapered to a pointed edge similar to a katana but it didn’t really matter what material it was made from as I knew it could kill me just as surely as any other weapon.
Everything in the Ranger’s stance and ability spoke of countless years of practice and a natural ability passed along through hundreds, if not thousands of generations. It was humbling to know that even despite my vampiric abilities that mere mortals were better than a creature cursed with darkness itself.
We both stood silently, staring at each other from within the darkness of our hoods and despite the tingling of my body I forced the vampire back once more. At that point I knew that if I wasn’t dead already, then they weren’t going to kill me unless I gave them cause.
The silence between us was wearing on my nerves very quickly and I shrugged, raising and eyebrow and looking down onto the short shadow of an elf. "Well? Are we just going to stand here all night?"
"You talk a lot for a scout." Said a second voice that yet again came from behind me. For the second time in just as many minutes I almost felt like I had jumped out of my skin and I was very quickly becoming tired of the game.
Turning carefully, ever aware of the blade in the hand of the first Ranger I faced the second. Unlike his kin he was unarmed, or at least was not wielding or pointing any weapons in my direction. A pair of glinting eyes peered from the depths of his hood, the twinkle of amusement somehow evident in them.
"I’m not entirely sure what else to do in this situation." I said simply and honestly. "I’m somewhat surprised that I’m not dead but then that leaves me a little confused on what you want with me."
"You are right. If we wanted you dead, then we certainly wouldn’t be having this conversation." The second Ranger’s eyes seemed to roam up and down me from head to toe as he took my measure. "You are also a lot better of a scout than the last member of your guild we met. That was not something we expected from the Hero of Kvatch."
"I would take that as a compliment, but I never thought that Rhano was much of a woodsman."
There was a hint of a smile under the mask as the Ranger stared me in the eye. The two of us were mentally sizing each other up, and I knew that whoever he was, he was someone of authority. His armour and clothing was heavily detailed, the leather cloak and hood embossed and etched with rolling scenes and markings that covered every millimetre of surface. Even the mask that covered his face was decorated with trailing vines and other plants, interwoven with images depicting animals native to Valenwood. His armour was unique, and while it was similar to my own how it covered most of the body, the materials were completely different. My breastplate of ebony-plated mithril was in stark contrast to the boiled leather that covered his torso, and the plates of sculpted bonemold that hung from his hips, covered his groin, stomach and chest. Every piece of his armour from the vambraces that protected his forearms to the plates that covered his shins and ankles were made from powdered bone. What little I knew of the creation of bonemold and other similar armour is that once turned into powder, if would then be mixed with other materials, turned into cement and then poured into casts of the desired shapes.
What truly surprised me was the shirt that lay under the armour of leather and bone. A shirt of seemingly fragile strands had been woven together with hundreds of tiny scales taken from some kind of reptile. In a way it matched my daedroth scale chainmail but made me feel shabby in comparison. I could tell that my armour was by far the superior in make and for protection, but his wasn’t designed for any kind of straight-up fight. Stealth was far more important to him.
"You wear the mantle of a great beast." He said, making a mild gesture to the cloak and hood that I wore. The grey-black leather was lighter in shade to theirs and whatever creature’s skins they used, it definitely wasn’t minotaur leather.
"Taken from the back of a minotaur titan I killed myself." I replied carefully, suddenly feeling awkward and grimacing "Myself and my companion I mean."
"Viconia DeVir... Of course. We know of your shared exploits master Desin. This is one of the reasons why you aren’t currently joining these individuals here."
"Is this some of your handiwork?" My gesture to the dead woman at our feet drew his attention for a second before his eyes snapped back to my own. "And you seem to know of Viconia and myself, but I don’t know who you are. Or, more importantly what brings you so far into Cyrodiil."
"We are hunting our own kin." The Ranger said matter-of-factly. Despite the lack of emotion within his tone I could tell that there was a deep pain within him. "While you hunt outlaws and criminals, we have been waging a war against our own kind."
"So other Rangers did this?"
"Yes. Those who we once counted as our closest brothers and sisters. Now their souls belong to something far darker."
The silence dragged on as I stared at the Ranger, ignoring his kin standing close behind me. His armour was definitely of greater make, and now that he was somewhat visible I could see that the armour was not the expected dark grey or black but instead a deep bronze. Almost a dark brown, the colour made me remember the few autumns I spent in Cyrodiil when I was younger where the trees had darkened and the leaves had died. It also made me remember more recent memories of the sunrises that I had watched from the walls of Fort Ironhand as the light flowed through the dust and ash of Red Mountain. It was a calming colour, but one that could also signify coming hardship and death in the form of deadly winters. It was a suitable colour for them I decided.
"Daedra?" I said, immediately knowing that I had struck a nerve with the electric jolt that ran through him at the mere mention of the word.
"You are smarter than you look."
The creaking of my leather and armour was the loudest sound in the campsite filled with death as I shrugged. "And luckier too."
"That I believe remains to be seen." Continuing the stare that was the hallmark of a veteran archer and hunter, he again studied me before nodding almost imperceptibly. With a quick, smooth motion he reached up, pulling his hood back and mask down to reveal his face for the first time.
His skin was weather beaten and lined, not with age but from the life he had lived. It didn’t take more than a glance to know that it was extremely likely that this particular Woodelf had never slept indoors in his entire life. But, like an old gnarled tree root there was a lot of life left within him. What skin was visible was also heavily tattooed, the pigments injected or pushed under the surface of the skin to match the intricate markings of his armour.
"I am Malulain." He said, his strange musical accent flowing the syllables of his name like water over rocks in a stream. "I am father of the Rangers of the Grove Circles."
As I revealed myself in a similar way, pulling my own mask and hood down, he was able to see my expression of confusion. "I am what you would consider as the commander of the Valenwood Rangers." He added to cure my unfamiliarity.
"Sir." The word was simple and seemed to satisfy him, but even as I lifted my head from the very slight bow I was carefully looking and listening to the area around us. If he truly was who he said, there was going to be a lot more than just himself and the Ranger who had ambushed me nearby.
"You are correct Master Desin; my brothers and sisters have been corrupted by the daedra. Unfortunately, not just any daedra; but by Molag Bal."
"They wouldn’t happen to be vampires by any chance?" I said, feeling the comforting weight of the Light of Dawn strapped alongside my pack.
"If only it was so simple. If it was, then this threat would have been extinguished months ago." The head shook sadly and I found myself mesmerised by the collection of braided dreadlocks that hung like creepers from his skull. Unlike the foul braid attached to the dagger, these braids were threaded with effigies depicting various trees bearing humanoid features. They were also pure in comparison, despite the way the hair had originally clumped together with the use of tallow and months of not being washed.
For a moment he looked far older than what he should as the weight of his duty pressed down hard. "We have been hunting these members of our kind for over a year now and the chase has led us through three provinces. The Silvenar has commanded that we stop our lost brethren, and tonight we are grappling at the last dying breaths of our journey."
"Well then." I began, carefully wording my sentences. "If I was to guess, I would say that there has been a schism or some recent influx of daedra worshipping that has forced a group you’re hunting to flee Valenwood. But, judging by the fact that you have been hunting them for so long and for so far; that means that it is more than just trying to rid the Empire of their existence."
Seeing the strange, steel-like eyes of the Ranger commander I gave a slight grin knowing I was right. "They took something, or have something that you and your subordinates want."
The tenseness that ran through him left his body humming like a taut bowstring and while we spoke my enhanced senses were roaming. With the assistance of the vampire I was starting to get a picture of exactly what I faced.
"Your reputation against the daedra is not given lightly." Making a brief gesture to the forest that was less for emphasising his words and more giving some unseen individuals a signal he nodded. "Yes. They took something sacred to the forest and the Bosmer. What is of far greater importance is that which they currently seek. The Rangers are protectors of the Graht-oaks and the loyal servants of the Storyteller, but our kin have turned their back on Y’ffre and his teachings. They seek ancient artefacts of dread power, most of which had been placed under our charge for thousands of years. Some of these were what they stole when they fled the Groves."
"Artefacts?" The crawling sensation making itself felt made me remember how the group of Necromancers that had been killed off nearby had similar interests. "These artefacts wouldn’t happen to be necromantic, or Ayleid in nature?"
The shrug that he provided me did not help allay my fears. "Their true nature and histories have been lost to time. At first glance they are Necromantic but they contain something far more powerful than simple enchantments. The magicka within the pieces of this particular armour are to necromancy, as what summoning a bound dagger is to summoning a Valkynaz."
He nodded. "Yes. Ancient armour. Ancient, and immeasurably evil. We do not know whether Graithlan was man or of mer or something else entirely. What we do know is that even the King of Worms would sacrifice all he had for the hints of power that Graithlan had at his command. His armour acts as vessels not only for his soul, but vessels to the realm of the dead itself. With it he could control the very spectral essences of the un-living, potentially more."
"I can see why you are trying to stop those who stole it."
"Trying is unfortunately too accurate of a term. We have been trying, for months now but they have been one step ahead of us the entire way. They must have been planning this for years and despite our best efforts we have been unable to do little more than bleed them and hound their footsteps."
I could almost feel my mind swirling inside my skull as I tried desperately to understand what was happening. It was too much, too quickly. Between the adrenaline, the unease of coming across the campsite and being ambushed, I could barely grasp onto the words the veteran Ranger spoke.
A sudden flicker of movement caught both my eyes and Malulain’s and we twisted towards the source. From the edge of the clearing a third ranger had exploded into view, moving far more quickly and less carefully than what I expected of one of his ilk. What astonished me the most was the way it was not from the foliage and greenery of the trees and bushes that he had appeared, but from the shadows themselves. His cloak was pulled away from his body as he hurried over to the three of us and as his hand dropped I could see how the carved bone amulet hanging from his chest glimmered with energies. Their natural stealth was incredible, but I knew that to be able to hide from the senses of a vampire that they needed more than just skill and luck. Their clothing and equipment was enchanted as well.
"Father." The new ranger said as he jogged over to Malulain and myself. In mid motion he suddenly realised that I was not one of them, his keen perception noticeably affected by the weight and importance of whatever news he was bringing and making him blind to everything but his commander.
Providing me little more than a distrusting glare that was almost comparable to Viconia’s usual intensity, he bowed at the waist to Malulain, clasping his hand over his mouth in a strange salute before rising to his usual height. "We’ve found him."
"Eregor?" Malulain’s words were little more than a hiss of determination between clenched teeth. "He’s here?"
"In some nearby ruins, a few hours away to the east." The words seemed to tumble out of the Ranger from behind his mask and hood and the eyes were bright and framed in sweaty flesh. He had obviously run a good distance of the way back to his commander but despite that I could only marvel at the way that he kept his breathing quiet. I doubted that even with my vampiric nature I could have been so calm and controlled after a run of comparable distance.
Malulain immediately moved, twisting and casting his gaze across the entirety of the campsite while making the noise of what sounded remarkably like crickets. Between the curt gesture he made and the brief motion of covering his mouth in salute to his subordinate I could only stand in shock and a measure of horror as Rangers appeared from all around me.
They rose from shadows as though the darkness had given birth to them. One seemed to rise out of nothing from where the campfire cast a thin flickering shadow from a still corpse. Others seemed to slide out from behind trees and saplings no wider than my wrist and a few even alighted from the branches that should not have been able to carry such weight. The tingle of magicka made itself felt in the back of mind and the palms of my hands as over three dozen of the Rangers shed their invisibility and began moving silently out of the gorge.
They left without even a backwards glance and I couldn’t help but feel utterly helpless as I saw at least two appear from places that I had moved past. One appeared from behind a shadowed log, a log that if I had walked any closer to I would have stepped on him. In fact, if most of them had been within the campsite when I had arrived then I would have never been more than three metres from at least one of them at any time.
With mask and hood returned to their rightful places covering his features, once again all I could see of Malulain was the tiny glints for eyes in the cowled shadows. Their quarry was in sight and they seemed content with forgetting all about me and leaving me standing there. That was until I reached out and grabbed their commander by an armoured shoulder.
"So you’re just going to leave me here? After telling me all that?"
The rage that burned in his gaze seemed to mirror the sudden prickling fear that would have been been visable as soon as it appeared. Within an instant of me laying my hand on him, the other rangers had twisted, nocking arrows and drawing their powerful compound bows back with such a speed that I would be hard pressed to match. Vampire or not.
Glinting in the darkness his eyes went from mine, to my hand holding him still and back as I sheepishly released my grip. The arrows and the drawn bows didn’t waver, nor did they lower themselves away from my vitals.
"Yes." He said simply as I dropped my hand to my side. "We are."
The question stopped him in his tracks as he turned to continue on, obviously intending on leaving me anyway.
"Why? This is a private matter. One that you have nothing to do with."
"This... Eregor has stolen things that sound bloody dangerous to me. Not only that, he and his ilk have killed a fair few people in the process." My own gesture towards the bodies scattered about made tiny twitches in the Rangers surrounding me with their drawn bows. "Sure, these lot and those Necromancers a few weeks ago weren’t the nicest of people but I’d bet some good coin that not everyone who have died have been guilty of something."
His obvious pause gave me a tiniest bit of satisfaction despite the fact that death was pointed in my direction. A death that I wasn’t sure I could evade even with my unique abilities.
"I know that you can kill me right now and could have easily killed me a few minutes ago; but now that I have managed to get a good look at you all, I can see some really big issues." Nearest to me, a Ranger made a gesture at Malulain that didn’t need translation. Thankfully Malulain shook his head but my heart was still thundering in my chest. "You can all sneak up against unsuspecting people and I am under no illusions of your skill. Correct me I’m wrong though, this Eregor and those he commands have the exact same skills you do. They also know that you coming and I doubt that they would have made it this far if they weren’t cunning enough to prepare for your arrival."
"What do you suggest?" he hissed threateningly, like a snake hiding in the depths of the undergrowth.
"I’m not suggesting anything; I’m telling you." Despite the sane part of my mind screaming and giving the rest of my brain mental slaps, I couldn’t help but bait them. "I’m coming with you."
Not a sound was heard from the other Rangers but the expressions and body language was far more telling. I knew that at that point it was only Malulain’s authority that kept me alive.
Turning and facing him I cut him off in mid breath, leaving him staring annoyed at me. "Before you get any fancy ideas of pulling your disappearing acts, getting the drop on me once is easy enough. Now that I have managed to get a good look at you all and get a sense of your fancy magicka I reckon I could track you. So I’m coming with you whether you like it or not."
"Really..." For several moments I surprised the tremble of uncertainty. Hidden underneath his hood and mask I could somehow sense that Malulain was also slightly amused as well as frustrated and angry.
"Besides all that I don’t think that any of you are really prepared for a straight up fight. Eregor and his cronies are expecting more Rangers. They certainly won’t be expecting me."
Silence once again returned and we continued to stare at one another. The arrows of the other rangers continued to point at my direction and I knew that despite their skill and aptitude for archery, their fingers, arms and shoulders would soon be beginning to burn from the strain if they weren’t already.
A nod was all I got in reply, a single, sharp succinct nod that was instantly followed by the relaxing of aching biceps and shoulder blades. At that point I was half expecting an arrow in the spine and was preparing to turn into bats or mist in the unlikely chance I could survive, and felt relief as they turned away again and began fading into the forest.
Seeing the shadowed forms merging with the darkness in a way that no others could replicate I found myself grimly smiling at the upcoming challenge. My own hood and mask were returned to where they covered my features, leaving me to grin through lips beginning to peel apart from the pressure of my fangs.
"Time to put my septims where my mouth is..." I hissed gently, so quiet that the words were more in my mind than on my tongue. Without a moment’s hesitation I scooped up my bow where it lay in the grass before following after the rangers .
Ever since I was old enough I had been taught how to hunt, how to stalk the beasts of the wilds and move throughout the lands unseen. Even before my tenth winter I had taken game with a bow, a bow that as I grew older and stronger grew ever more powerful. In my teens and my first years within the Legion they had taken my skills and tempered them further, teaching me to hunt men and mer and to kill with precision and discipline. Throughout the Empire I was one of the elite hunters, holding a rank and position within the Legion’s elite.

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