It seemed so…still. It was surreal. The air itself seemed to be holding itself in check. The air was heavy. The body was just lying there like a doll suddenly cast aside. But no doll had ever been made to resemble a corpse. No one had ever made a doll that had blood streaming from a wound in the chest, a wound made by the arrow now sticking out of it. No doll had ever been made to resemble someone with two-day-old stubble for a beard, shaggy hair, ragged clothes, and a swordbelt with a scabbard on the hip. No doll had ever been made that resembled a dead man still holding the sword he’d used to try to rob a ranger.

That ranger now stood there silently, just staring at what he’d done. His bow rested loosely in his right hand. He felt cold, distant – like he wasn’t really there. But he knew he was. That was the problem: he was there and it was very real. It wasn’t an illusion, he knew. He had killed a man. He had always loved animals. He was a firm believer in the idea that life was precious, to be held above all else as the pinnacle of – well, of everything. But now, on this deceptively beautiful day, the bright sunshine and clear blue sky seemed to mock him. Even the water in the lake was still.

James’ knees were weak, yet he somehow managed to remain standing. The man had tried to kill him. Had it not been for that, the man would still be alive. The man had tried to kill him. That was why James had killed him. It was a rationalization, a justification, and he bloody well knew it. But right then, James didn’t care about anything else; he’d killed a man. That was what he knew: that he’d killed someone. His arrow had sunk into the man’s chest without mercy or hesitation. He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d drawn the arrow. He hadn’t thought about it when he’d drawn back the bowstring and turned to aim at the man from behind the great elm now ten feet behind him. His mind had been blank as he’d let fly his shaft. It had been only after that he’d realized what he’d done. It was only as he’d heard the scream, the body slumping to the ground, the gurgling in the man’s throat as he coughed up what was left of his life, that James realized he’d killed a man. He’d committed murder.

But it’s not murder! he rationalized to himself. He attacked me! I had no other choice!

But there was always a choice, wasn’t there? He could have run. He could have hid and hoped the man did not find him. He could have…what? What could he have done? He was on open ground. There were a few trees dotting the landscape here and there, but that was it; for the most part, it was an open plain. Only the lake nearby was of any real consequence, and that would provide him no shelter against the sharp blade of a short sword. Actually, the blade wasn’t even sharp; it was rather blunt, from what James could tell. He was standing about fifteen feet away from the man now. The man had been fast on his feet, but he was portly and the ranger had been much faster. He’d gotten to the tree and hidden. He looked back at the tree now to see two throwing knifes penetrating its thick bark. He’d only narrowly avoided them. He’d barely noticed them since his attacker had fallen, too.

He was rambling again, if only in his mind. He mentally kicked himself and wondered what he would do next. If someone came across him, they’d call him a murderer.

Aren’t I?

That thought came without his wanting it to.

No! It was self-defense! It wasn’t murder!

He found himself looking at the body again. He didn’t know what to do. Should he just make a run for it, leaving the body out in the open to be devoured by maggots and horseflies? Or should he try to bury the body, perhaps simply dumping it into the lake? But then the water would be unclean; the animals wouldn’t be able to drink from it. On the other hand, he couldn’t just leave the body there; the smell alone would drive animals away and draw attention to the spot. In his pondering, James didn’t immediately hear the stranger approaching the lake from behind him…

Terion was in one of his wanderlust modes, just walking along with his shield slung across his back and his sword at his belt. He whistled an obnoxious tune and swung his arms widely as he walked. It was a wonderful day and the sun was reflected in the silver light of his eyes. He took a deep breath savoring the spring air. He was so far into his own world that he nearly missed the man by the lake with his bloody dilema. He stopped short and suddenly stopped whistling. He backpeddled a few steps and looked down at the unlikely pair with wide eyes. He stalked slowly down through the grasses with one hand rubbing the brass pommel of his longsword with tenderness. His silver eyes glinted now with caution and a bit of anger.

He looked left and right expecting possibly some assailant lurking in the high grasses to either side. He slipped a thumb up under the strap on his shield in order to swing it around if he needed to block an attack. There was a dead man laying near to the water and the man standing over him, the slayer apparently, appeared to be deep in thought. Terion had not witnessed the reason for the killing but all the same his deep hatred for evil caused a quiet anger to bubble in his stomach. The killer had the look of a ranger about him so this said a little bit for his cause in Terion's eyes, though he was not known to him. Still caution was called for, because obviously the man had the ability to do harm. Terion slid his longsword halfway out of it's sheath and slid his shield down onto his forearm. This motion apparently caught the attention of the distraught killer.

"Don't even raise your bow sir, I'm too close for that now. What is the meaning of this slaying? I hope you have a good tale, because I am not very fond of murder on my normal walking routes..."

Gemtail soared high overhead, the warm thermals carrying him to such heights as no human could ever reach without magic. The air passed through the feathers of his brown, gray, and white wings, allowing him to glide gracefully and beautifully in a sea of wind that could not yet be felt far below. The ground he now watched held two, not one, a fact he took to heart at once. He did not miss the flight of the shaft from his master's bow. He was far too high to have been of any use, of course, but he would have plummeted to the earth upon which his master stood had he been prompted to by the stain of panic upon his master's kind features. Yet his master had taken care of himself and Gemtail was thus not needed in this pursuit. Justice had been done, too.

James had been attacked in his own habitat, which was nature itself, and he had been the stronger of the two. This was always the way of things in the wilds of Arda, of course; it always had been, too, and it always would be. If this ever changed, it would not be in Gemtail's lifetime - nor, likely, in his master's. James had proven himself the stronger of the two, and that was all that really mattered - that and the fact that Gemtail's master had survived. He watched cautiously, though, in case his service was of use to James. He had been well-trained over the last couple of years. He was more than ready and very willing to put all of that training to full use if need be. Of course, battle was not the only content of his training; he was a messenger, primarily, but a defender as well. His natural instincts and the training he had received at his master's hand would keep them both alive and well when the time came for them to be of use.

But now another was approaching his master and he glided ever-lower at a gradual pace, building speed only slowly. For he did not know the intent of this other, though he seemed oblivious to his surroundings - and then he noticed the body. Even Gemtail recognized the fear that was suddenly in this other one, this other human, that now stood behind his master. His flight took him lower at a swifter pace now, until he was only a few dozen feet above his master's head - a distance easily covered by the hawk. Gemtail noticed too the crouching position of his master's other familiar, Tabby.

Tabby watched the whole scene curiously, staying out of the way of the battle. But now it seemed that another threat was upon his master. Tabby was not as brave as Gemtail, but he would defend his master nonetheless if he could. He watched the stranger approach and crouched low as the man touched his sword - something others had done just before trying to hurt someone. He would pounce if the man so much as hinted at drawing that sword against his master. He was not brave, but he was loyal.

James himself whirled at once as the man made himself known, his hand flying to his quiver as he pivoted and his grip firming itself on his well-crafted bow. It was a longbow of the finest quality, the strong oak blessed by the careful massaging of the ranger's hands as he had made it. It had taken him a while to get it perfect, but it had been well worth the effort. He knew now, though, that the bow would do him no good. He could certainly draw string against the man, but he would not have time to fire the arrow should his opponent decide to attack.

Was this, in fact, another attack? Or was it a ploy? Perhaps the man...wait. He spoke of murder. The man had noticed the corpse. A million things ran through the ranger's mind as he looked upon the man, studied his body language and his eyes, waiting for some kind of attack. He remained ready, but he did relax a bit.

"He attacked ME!" James said without thinking, his words flying from his tongue like an arrow launched from his bow.

James was surprised that he had said anything at all, but he was especially astounded that his was a defensive tone. Truly, he was not in the wrong here. He had been attacked; he had only defended himself. Could the man before him not see the blades that had struck so deeply into the bark near him, wounding the beautiful piece of nature that was a tree, the spawn of Curin's holy powers? He was not at fault. Rather, the man now dead was at fault. He tried desperately to firm this in his mind as he looked upon the unknown that had come upon him so suddenly. How had he not noticed him?

Eyes narrowed Terion looked down once again upon the corpse, it certainly did have the look of a wandering brigand, but how could he know the truth? Terion knew that there were very few bandits in this southern area now, especially due to the efforts of himself and other rangers like him. He sensed more than saw the little feline in the grass at first and wondered at it's semi-menacing position. Menacing as it could be for a little cat he suppossed. He did not lower his shield but he did remove his hand from the hilt of his sword. For the moment he decided that he would give the other man a chance to explain.

"I am Terion Blackwind, ranger of the southern wilds. Who are you? How did your arrow end up in this unlucky fellow's midsection? I wonder if you provoked such an attack."

There was a flutter in the air above and Terion saw a hawk floating not far above thier heads. Realization suddenly came to his mind. These animals were defending the man! The cat, maybe, could be understood if the man was evil, but the noble hawk rarely stood up for murderers. Terion relaxed a bit, even if the man sounded quite a bit too defensive. He had been in quite a few battles recently and to avoid one today would be happy fate. Still he kept his eye on the circling hawk, such creatures could do terrible damage to the face and eyes if allowed. He hoped he wouldn't have cause to do any damage to the animals, nature after all was his home and he cared for all of his housemates.

"What brings you through here sir, and what mischance caused your current, delicate dilema? Most importantly, if this man is a bandit, are there more of his brethren about? I most certainly cannot suffer bandits to retake any territory in the south."

Though he did not immediately attack, Gemtail circled just in case he was needed. There now seemed to be no immediate threat, for the man had removed his semi-offensive posture, but his shield remained raised and Gemtail's keen eyesight noticed a distinctly defensive tension in the human's muscles. He watched both the stranger and his master carefully for any sign that a battle was about to begin. He would not allow his master to be harmed; he would give his own life for his master's if it came to that. The wind began to descend a bit, picking up enough to stir Gemtail's own wings and the grass below. Even the branches of the tree in which he could clearly see the two blades sticking swayed slightly. But it was only a short gust, not worthy of note; only the figures below truly held the graceful bird's unwavering attention.

The cat, however, was not convinced. He waited for the battle to begin; he was a bit of a coward, perhaps, but he loved easy strikes. If a fight did indeed erupt between the two, Tabby would have an easy strike indeed at the stranger's knees. The man would be distracted, if only slightly, and that slight distraction would be just enough to allow for a decent attack. Tabby almost seemed to smile in wicked anticipation as his eyes studied every detail of the man's legs, especially the knees. His tail swished eagerly, almost too much so. It was only his fear that he would get hurt that kept him in check. Why bother attacking, after all, if you're only going to get yourself killed? He might have been a coward, but at least he was a smart coward.

But a battle was not about to ensue. James did not want one and wasn't about to start one himself; he would defend himself if attacked, but he would not start a fight. He was no murderer. This had been self-defense. He held to that firmly and would not let go of the idea that he had been completely in the right. He would not attack as a soldier might, but he would fight fiercely to defend himself or others - especially his familiars. He eyed them now, trying to warn them to stay away with but a sideways glance. The message was clear, of course, but he was more concerned about Tabby attacking than he was about Gemtail. Gemtail had been well-trained and knew what to look for, but Tabby - coward though he was - seemed to love a good brawl. Tabby also didn't seem to be looking at him at all, which further worried him; if Tabby attacked, he might get hurt - and then James would have to draw string against the stranger. He looked back to the man now. The man seemed to be a ranger by his stance and the way he held that elfen shield. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he had killed a ranger and was merely a cunning warrior. Either way, though he tried to relax, James couldn't help but tense at the strong possibility of a coming fight. The man did seem to be visibly relaxing, though; perhaps he had a chance after all.

But now the man was speaking. The man's questions were direct and to the point. He liked that. There was no beating around the bush, so to speak; no small talk; no nothing - save for the questions. Perhaps that would help him calm his own nerves, being direct like that. It would give him something to focus on, something to be distracted by so that he didn't reengage in that mental debate over whether or not he was a murderer. The man's questions were not off-point, either. They were completely sensible and, if the man was indeed a ranger, he had every right to ask them. James took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, tried to calm his dizzying flow of thoughts and the racing of his pulse. It didn't work, but at least he felt calmer - if only slightly.

"I am James Torrance, ranger of the Misty Forest. I leave that place only occasionally, but it seems that fortune was not with me today. The knives sticking out of that tree are more than decent evidence of that. The man tried to rob me. He gave no name and I did not have time to ask. The tree served as a shield, I regret to say, but Curin did not protect the man you now see lying dead behind me. I believe me meant to rush me, but I was too quick. The man was quiet - too quiet, like he knew how to step lightly. He made no sound and he moved like a cat. He actually reminded me of - "

James hesitated. It was a ridiculous idea. Brigands were one thing, but rangers rarely turned into highwaymen, nor would they have ever even entertained the idea of training them. But his movements, his near-accuracy, and his silence all pointed to a ranger. Really, it made absolutely no sense whatsoever - but it was the only conclusion he could come to at present. James took another deep breath and continued on slowly, his words marked by a clear message of uncertainty as he spoke them.

"He reminded me of a ranger."

He had said it. Now it was out there, an idea so ridiculous it bordered on hysterical delusion. The man was now probably wondering what kind of an idiot James was to have come up with such an outlandish and unfounded notion, yet the notion had been spoken nonetheless. He could not take it back now and probably wouldn't have if he'd had the chance. At least, he doubted he would have. He might have. Anyway, it wasn't as if he was in the wrong here. He would be cleared in no time, he was sure - though he wasn't entirely certain that being deemed a madman was any better than being deemed a murderer.

Bandit rangers? This was something Terion had never considered, he suppossed he could be possible but did not consider it likely. He considered the man for another moment with intensive scrutiny, and decided that, for now at least, he would trust him. Slowly he thumbed the shield back over his shoulder and ran a finger through his short black hair leaving it ruffled and unkempt. He looked past James at the slain man near the waters. He looked rather peaceful in death, but Terion guessed that was the way of things. The man did look like a ranger, though, this caused Terion to wonder what ill events were unfolding in the world. Turning his attention from the body to the wounded tree he stepped over to inspect the knives that were lodged within it's bark. They had a look of elven make to them, if not they were a decent imitation. Terion shook his head, something very odd was occurring here. He wondered if he would ever be able to wander without ending up twisted into some insidious plot.

"Ranger bandits huh?",he said to James while looking down at a knife he had removed from the tree, "Have you ever heard of anything like that? What are we dealing with here?"

He looked up at the other ranger, who seemed to be just as, if not more so, confused as he was. Rangers as a whole were suppossed to be dedicated to the protection of the wilds and certainly would not act as brigands or raiders. This new situation troubled Terion greatly. If there were men of his order and training turned, whether through desperation or evil influence, to darkness, they would have to be dealt with. The trouble a group of dark rangers could cause would be endless and he would not stand for it within his southern ranges. He sighed and pulled the other blade free from the bark. The others would want to hear of this, it did not bode well for the future of the ranger's corps. He walked over to James still regarding the false elven blades.

"You can call off your attack lion sir. I no longer believe that you are here to cause any trouble. I wonder though, if you would be willing to help me seek the meaning of this strange turn of events?"

The situation seemed to have abated. Gemtail had a sense of what was going on, though his intelligence was not sentient in the slightest manner, and he backed off a bit. His wings took him a bit higher and he relaxed, but he remained well within reach should his master be threatened again. Gemtail let himself soak up the coolness of the wind that carried him so, let himself bathe in the feeling of power he got from gliding on the currents of blessed air. He hated to be confined, hated it with an absolute passion, and loved being free and graceful in the air even more than he hated the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a closed space.

Tabby, though, was getting irritated. He was itching to kill something. He hadn't even had lunch yet, and now it seemed his master was actually talking with this stranger - and talking very calmly. They seemed to be examining things, turning over knives and such. Tabby held out a bit longer, but finally gave up and relaxed. He growled as he realized that he would not get any kind of strike today, let alone an easy one, and loped off grumpily. He was hungry, he was restless, and he was in a bad mood overall. He wanted to kill something, already. He wanted to...wait...was that a mouse? It was! A field mouse was scurrying through the grass, trying to hide! Well, he wouldn't hide from Tabby! Tabby went into an aggressive crouch and seemed to take on an arrogant mask of preordained victory as he began to stalk his lunch.

Meanwhile, the ranger before James was pulling out the knives as the wind picked up a bit, blowing his already messy hair about in such a manner as to make it even messier. The danger seemed to have been abated and the man was apparently giving him the benefit of the doubt. That much, at least, was a positive step toward the other side of the fence. He didn't like battles; he'd been in several. Sure, he'd only managed to drive off wounded goblins before, but he'd never actually killed one before. Now he had and it was extremely unsettling; to make matters worse, the man had been accusing him of murder - something he had thought himself to have committed in the first place. But this was not murder, he knew now; this, as he had been telling himself, was most definitely self-defense. Anyway, there were bigger problems to worry about. He let go a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Yeah, I'd be happy to. More than happy to, actually," he said as he brushed his hair out of his face, annoyed, and he menat it.

James had also visibly relaxed, having fully understood the man's putting away of his shield. His right hand held the bow comfortably now rather than tightly, his knuckles regaining some of their former color to relieve them of their whiteness. He didn't realized he had been a bit pale in the face, too, but that was hardly important now. What mattered now was the man's movements before James had killed him. Had he been trained by a ranger, or was he perhaps a ranger himself that had taken to the greedier side of life? Whether he was or whether he wasn't, the man was dead now. Only the knives and his blade served as any evidence at all that he had ties to the elves, for he had no cloak and his worn, untidy clothes were clearly those of a human. They did seem fit to blend into a forest, and the man's movements had marked him true, but that really meant nothing. The whole affair puzzled him, no doubt just as much as it puzzled his fellow ranger.

James sighed and shifted his weight, trying to relax once more. Actually, he was pretty much relaxed already, but any ranger could see the tension - however slight - that was in his muscles. It had nothing to do with the other man, of course; it had to do with this situation. First the rumors of goblins burning wagons had come in, which was odd since orcs were more likely to burn wagons than goblins were, and now this. Had Arda itself gone mad? He pondered these things as stood there watching the man examine the knives. Something occurred to him, though, as he watched the ranger.

"What did you say your name was again?" he asked curiously.

He didn't remember the ranger having spoken his name, but he might have. He'd been a little too preoccupied before now with the possibility of an oncoming battle to care who or what the man was other than an attacker. Now, though, he felt that he should know the man's name in order to form a better truce with him and perhaps to help him out more effectively in hunting down the source of these recent and very strange happenings.

The sky was bright and full of light but there was a chill in the air to Terion. This situation was looking worse and worse. It was hard to believe that maybe a half hour ago he was walking along the lakeside with barely a worry. The fact that there was even the possibility of evil minded rangers on this world had never occurred to him, it actually undermined everything he did. A chill rage spread into his gut, this had to be resolved.

"My name is Terion Blackwind, ranger of the south. I appreciate the help sir. I need to discover if there are truly ill minded rangers abroad in the land. This cannot be allowed to occur, you understand right?"

Terion thought that James did understand. The idea of ranger-trained bandits was horrible. They could do so much damage to the peaceful peoples of the land. He began to caress his sword hilt again, he did this often, especially during times of anger or stress. It was almost a loving gesture. He didn't really know where to begin save to try and round up some of the other pure minded rangers he knew and attempt to search out the source of this foul mockery. He still ventured to hold on to the hope that in some way he was wrong and this bandit was only a farce, in the guise of a ranger. He thought that perhaps one of his other fellows might have heard something of these imitators. This would have to be dealt with, and steel would be the tool, Terion could feel it. He stopped rubbing the handle of his longsword and, after regarding the slain 'ranger' for another moment, he turned back to face James.

"We need to get together with some of our fellows from abroad. It may be that they know more of this fell situation in which we find ourselves. I suppose that since you were the first to discover this ill mishap, you are resolved to end it? Let us make haste. We will find the answer to this horrid riddle."

Terion Blackwind's words struck truer in in James' heart than he could ever know, for such was the disgust of the very idea of 'bandit rangers' that it practically made his blood congeal in his veins. He had no problem lashing out against goblins or orcs - or both - in his present state, for his blood was starting to boil at the thoughts running through his head. His heart pounded and his pulse started to race. After but a moment, as though he had settled into a steady rhythm, all his disgust and fear and swiftly-brewing anger suddenly melded into a fast-churning concoction of icy hatred. The cold fury now flowing through him like wave after wave of raw power hardened his features. Passion and rage seemed to emanate from him, but at the same tim, his eyes showed a storm that made his face look calm as the frozen lakes of deep winter.

His nod came as if in slow motion, but it was a quick and curt nod of absolute approval. He would hunt down these...these...villains and see that justice was done. Nature was the ultimate balance of forces: life and death; hatred and love; attack and defense; night and day. There was no good or evil: there was only the presence of Curin's essence in everything around him. But in humanity and in the minds and hearts of those sentient enough to understand and control their own destinies, fate had woven knowledge that had spawned points of view. Within these points of view were the notions of good and evil. It was this pair of notions that enabled sentient beings, humans especially, to associate one thing with another in their world. It was, in essence, how they lived and thrived. These men, whomever they were, were most definitely 'evil' in the mind of James Torrance, a ranger of the Misty Forest devout in his firm belief that Curin's ways were the only ways. He recognized the individuality of others, but he would not let this become a common practice. This was not a social group or a subculture within a society: this was a perversion of the very essence that was the rangers' exsitence. He would strike it out with malice and great prejudice. He would see justice done.

It wasn't long before he was well on his way across the vast lands and over the rolling hills that surrounded Lake Aelin. His was a set destination without a precise location, for he did not know where he would find the man he had heard of. He did not know the man's name or identity, for he had never met him; he had heard only rumors: rumors of a man that seemed to slide with the shadows as easily as animals blended into their own natural environments; a man who seemed to be there one moment and gone the next, with no set pattern to follow; a man who had already eliminated several bands of goblins; a man whose presence could not be known until it was far too late; a ranger dwelling deep within the heart of the Salquedor Grasslands. It was a full day's ride to the site of the last goblin massacre, where two score goblins had been slaughtered like so many cattle and burned in a great fire that, surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly, considering it had obviously been the work of a ranger, and a particularly skilled one at that), had not spread to the rest of the prairie surrounding the battle. It would take only a few hours to reach the open plains, though, and James fully intended to make what haste he could to the plains in order to find this man. If he did exist, he would be the first and best aid in tracking down the ones that had done this; he might have information, whether he knew it or not, and his talents would most certainly be a useful addition to whatever party James and Terion managed to form.

It was late in the afternoon when the pair of rangers came upon the last set of hills that separated the flat lands bordering the Misty Forest to the east and south from the open plains of Salquedor. James noticed it first: a distant sound of people stirring. There should have been no one here, but perhaps it was a wagon or a caravan. It might have been merchants or some kind of force of men. Whatever it was, James wasn't taking any chances and he signaled silently to his partner for stealth. What he saw surprised him at first, but it was an emotion he quickly overcame and almost as quickly replaced with anger. These foul monsters would fall this very eve, for goblins were not the spawn of anything that could be considered even slightly 'good' in his mind. But the battle, he saw, might not be entirely easy. The group seemed to be led by three - no, four orcs. Three of the orcs wore simple steel armour, but the fourth - the apparent overall leader of the group - wore adamantium. The only place not covered on them were the faces; that hindered their movement, but their strength made up for it and they were still fast enough to be dangerous. All four of the orcs and several of the goblins - perhaps a dozen - were clearly warg riders and their steeds were with them at all times. Other than that, James spotted perhaps a score of goblins. All in all, thirty to thirty-five was not a good number for two people to fight - unless, of course, those two people were rangers.

Signaling silently once more to Terion, he motioned to aim for the necks of the orcs first. Taking them out was the top priority. Any skilled warrior knew at their core that taking out the leaders of a group rendered the group much less powerful and dangerous than it was with the leaders in place. James himself would go for the throat of the orc chieftain, leaving only the three captains and the goblins. His arrow came out quickly, but quietly. It was soon drawn back and he uttered a small prayer to Curin, asking him to make true his shot. Finally, as the tension both in the bowstring and in his own muscles reached their peak, he loosed his shaft upon the wretched monster that he knew was about to die. The orc cheiftain never saw it coming. The arrow flew past one of the orc captains, missing its chest by perhaps a foot, as James drew and nocked another arrow; as he drew the bowstring back a second time and took aim for one of the orc captains, his first arrow slammed into the throat of the orc chieftain. The look of shock and pain twisted his already grotesque face into a mask of death as blood spurted from the wound; he flailed wildly as he fell, desperately trying to remove the arrow but somehow knowing even as the evil light left his glowering eyes that even he was not immortal. On the ground as the second arrow flew mercilessly toward its target, a second True Flight Arrow spell cast, the orc cheiftain spasmed and twitched in his death throes and the orcs and goblins around him rushed to their wargs. The battle was joined...

Terion had marched, mostly silent and deep in thought. He knew where they were going without asking James, he also knew they were going to see Will, leader of the Ranger's Corps. The lands to the north of Lake Aelin were lovely, hills that rose up in emerald beauty towards the clear skies. The land passed away quickly and he let the other ranger lead. He had no idea of Will's exact location but he knew that the man was somewhere in the Salquedor Grasslands. Time seemed to merge into dreams as Terion withdrew into his thoughts. How could this be, did not all rangers vow to protect the wilderness and the innocent people of the lands they wandered? He knew that this had ever been his own goal. How then had these protectors of nature turned into desecrators of peace? Some deeper evil must have been at work behind the scenes. It was unfathomable.

They came to the end of the rolling hill country, there was a sudden smell of fire and a clamour of iron, mixed with loud, harsh voices. Looking over the crest of the hill Terion saw a mixed group of goblins and orcs, sworn enemies of the Ranger's Corps. His longsword was out of it's sheath and into his hand almost without thought. James signalled that they should aim arrows at the unprotected necks of the orc captains. Terion had, unfortunately, no ranged weapon of any kind. His old bow was lying on a stone table, unstrung, in his home near Alulanta. He was certain that this would not be an issue. As James loosed his first arrow, Terion crouched low and moved off into the high grasses invisibly, without a sound. The foul creatures below scrambled onto mounts and grabbed thier weapons as James picked them off from above. They were down to about fifteen snarling goblins and orcs(only three of them still had thier lupine mounts), as they came charging up the hill towards Torrance. One more of the rapid, mounted captains fell with an arrow lodged in it's throat. Still the rest came on, and while James was blistering fast, there were too many for him. As the first two raiders came near to the top of the hill, Terion made his prescence known with a beastial snarl as he dove forward cutting the legs out from under the warg that carried the huge, adamant armored orc.

The mammoth chieftain somersaulted to land with a clattering thud on his back. Terion sprung to his feet, rushing forward he drove his blade inbetween the orc's shoulderblade and collarbone causing a sputtering burst of blackish blood to expell from the creature's neck. He stood and swung his shield around to cover his chest as the other warg rider sped past towards James. He planted his feet as a group of five howling goblins raced towards him, with thier cruel curved blades raised high.

Shaft after shaft was loosed from the firing ranger's well-made bow of ash, an elf-made bow strong and sturdy that had been a gift from his teacher and mentor a long time ago. His second arrow had pierced the flesh of the second orc before he'd had a chance to truly respond, but it was the third orc that proved a problem. He rode his warg proudly and was too quick for most arrows. James' first shot against him, though successful in finding its target because of the spell that he had cast upon it when he had drawn it back, he dodged well enough to make it hit his left shoulder. The shot rendered his left arm - and thus, his shield - completely useless, but a second arrow cast against him was deflected by the orc's massive greatsword; this one slammed into his leg instead, just below the hip. A third arrow took out the warg's front knee, sending its orcish rider flying to the ground as another arrow pierced its back. Yet another arrow slammed into the orc's back again, though this one found its true mark: the orc's black heart. The orc screamed and writhed as he fell once more to the ground, squirmed as blood poured from two wounds made like an arrow-wrought tube. An arrow streaked past him to the head of the warg he had ridden as he tried to cling in some pitiful, fruitless manner to what little life he had left in him. The whelp was painful upon the ears as the warg also fell, slamming into the ground as it tried to rush James once more.

The goblins were not nearly such a problem. They were fast, yes, but always did James' arrows find their mark, for always did he cast upon them the True Flight Arrow spell. It took but a moment, hastened words of deadly consequence whispered in the blink of a hatred-filled eye as the arrow took flight. The thwip of the bowstring was like music composed for dancing, and death was the dance it played now as the ranger's arrows flew. Goblin after goblin fell to the ranger, his hands a blur and his arrows leaving the quiver almost as fast as the goblins could breathe. As they came on, he met them fiercely with all the anger that he felt at having been forced to kill a man only that day. This day might one day change James, but for now, it merely fueled the passion with which he slew goblin after goblin and warg after warg, felling them like so many vines hacked away by those hunters with swords larger than the brains in their skulls as they made their way through his forest; they had no respect for nature, but even worse were these perversions of nature that dared to exist, dared to live on, dared to challenge those that would defend those morals that made humans what they were.

One of the orcs seemed to have disappeared in the deadly mass of oncoming foes, yet he was suddenly visible once more as his warg streaked toward James as quick as his arrows reached the goblin scum. That, however, was when his ally struck - and struck hard. The warg fell and so did the orc, their blood staining the ground, turning fresh green clover and grass to the crimson rug of a battlefield. Terion finished the orc quickly, but now he was surrounded. Fortunately, though, the goblins were as startled by his sudden appearance as they were by the complete lack of their leaders to guide them in battle. Some of them began to run, for how could they fight off an archer and a swordsman both? Indeed, they fell all the more quickly in their bewilderment, for Terion's appearance had been a calculated strike that had wiped out the enemies' control of the situation and turned a mad rush into a chaotic slaughter. It would not be long before the goblins were at last defeated.

It was only as one goblin fell that James realized there was more to the situation than what met the eye. The corpse sailed through a well-covered hole and collapsed to the ground far below. From deep within that hole there came cries of surprise and fear - the cries of children. This was no simple band of orc-led goblins; here was yet more evidence that foul things were afoot, for no goblin would have had the intelligence to come up with something like that and no orc would have bothered with holes when they could simply whip up spits and cook their meals - if they even bothered with that; most orcs, James knew, did not. This had to be the work of yet another bandit ranger. This, of course, only angered James further and spurred him on well. Now his face was a mask of fury as he struck out at the goblins and their remaining wargs, desperate to keep them from killing the children and eager to drive them off - no, not to drive them off: to wipe them out.

Terion looked from left to right as he heard the cries of struggling children coming from somewhere beneath the earth. He didn't have much time to contemplate the sound, as the band of five goblins closed around him in messy semi-circle. They snarled in high pitched voices, childish mockeries of thier larger cousins, the orcs. The first of them leapt fully in the air with a nasty little spiked mace upraised. The goblin landed against Terion's shield with a thunk. He threw his arm to the left mightily, tossing the little goblin aside to collide with one of his fellows while it cried out in fear. The others came in swinging thier short curved swords wildly. Terion jumped one thrust and came down with his sword tip lowered so that his weight led him to run one of the goblins through. He kicked the corpse away, then spun decapitating a second goblin. Well, he had almost took it's head, the bald round head hung on by a string of the spinal cord. He felt a rough burning sensation as one of the goblins put a deep gash in his right leg. He growled and turned to face the little assailant with a fierce light in his eyes. The goblin's last look was one of utter terror as he beheld the horrible flash in Terion's gaze. One wicked sweep of the longsword parted the third goblin from it's hideous life.

Terion spun, looking for the two stragglers, but they were half a mile away, sprinting with thier skinny arms flailing through the air. He turned around to watch James cut through the remaining few goblins, he came to rest, chest heaving a few feet from Terion.

"How did you fare James? You move well for a man who doesn't kill..."

The ranger was a creature of nature, not of rage. He hunted to take what he must, but always did he return his meal with the compassion that drove him to protect the inhabitants of the wilderness - especially those of his home. In James' case, that home was the Misty Forest. But here, amidst the subliminal anger at himself for having killed another man for no other reason than to survive, his anger at the goblins and orcs for their misdeeds knew no bounds. It seemed almost as though Raku himself had stepped into James' heart and blackened it with the blood of those he now felled, each arrow slamming into a chest or a head with such force that it was a wonder they did not tear the skulls from the bodies or rent the bodies themselves in two with the ferocity that was now controlled James' actions. Desperation to save the children fueled his fury as well, pushing him further than he would have thought he could have gone only a day before. He was no murderer, no cold-blooded killer; but here, in this place and situation, his emotions had taken a firm hold on him and it was not the sentient thoughts that raged through his mind like a violent river that controlled the muscles loosing the shafts from his bow of ash.

The goblins came in like a flood, ocean waves crashing against the shore that was the pair of rangers facing off against them. James in particular was a furious combatant regardless of the lack of proximity between himself and the goblins that now surrounded and rushed him. His arm was a machine, pumping out arrows with a speed akin to the kind of jabs a monk often unleashes upon a hated foe. Blood spurted and spewed, spilled and flowed, dripped and pooled as a deep hatred of these perversions of the natural order of things forced James to slay them as one might squash cockroaches. When it was done, he stood there as though stunned. His blood rushed, his heart thudded in his chest, his pulse raced, and his adrenaline flooded every vein and artery in his body. Then he remembered the cries of the children. He jerked about as he heard one of them - a small girl by the voice - called out for help. He was running full-on before he knew it, hardly hearing the question posed by his fellow ranger from some twenty or thirty feet behind him.

He skidded to his knees with barely an inch to spare between himself and the edge of the ripped-up ground that signified the outside of the hole in which the children were now trapped. He didn't hear himself asking after their health or the response that came, such was the feeling of desperation that had come over him, but he saw that they seemed to be okay. A call from above jerked his head up once more and James saw that Gemtail was trying to tell him something. He kept diving at something on the horizon and then wheeling back. James nodded and looked to the object in the distance; it was a person, though of what race he could not tell at that distance. The way the person moved, though, suggested a ranger. He motioned to the children to be quiet and the hawk to keep watch. Then he motioned to his fellow ranger to alert him to the presence of another. Finally, he moved into position and hid amongst some reeds near a small pond. No ducks came here, for they had fled at the sights and sounds of the battle, or perhaps they had been driven away or eaten by the goblins and orcs. Regardless, they were gone. James, however, was more than ready for whatever might come his way - he hoped...

((Sorry for the bad post. :/ I was hoping this was a good place for Will to enter. Maybe Gemtail detected his presence and alerted him to the situation or something? Anyway, I'll PM him. :) ))

Will calmly walked across the ground that stood before him, the hood on his cloak shading his eyes from the sun. Will noticed that a raptor circled above in the sky. Will calmly gazed down towards the bottom of the ridge. His sight grazing every inch of the land below him.

Will looked to the right just in time to notice another wave of goblins running ever so slowly towards the lower grounds. Will smiled, before using his knowledge of the plains to quickly transport himself to the lower ridge.

Will turned his head slighty towards the man and the children befor raising his bow with an arrow to a knocked position. He could feel the tension of the bow string increase as he pulled the bow back. With out his bow he would feel like he had no arm.

With a grin, Will released the bow and watched as it spun mid flight to find its way into the knee of one goblin. He watched as the goblin tumbled down fiercely. He knocked another arrow and sent it spinning towards a second goblin with a few more arrows following behind.

He looked at the 10 or so goblins that remained and drew his sword. He turned towards the man he had looked at earlier. Will you aid me.

(OOC) Sorry for the shortness, very busy and I am not in a very creative mood today.(/OOC)