Ranger Chronicles Ep. 01

This march had been madness. Sending thousands of men through paths that could be easily ambushed to take out a base that maybe was holding Syndicate members. He had briefly considered taking his platoon and abandoning the plan altogether but decided against it. If Lain's Company was to perish, he could at least get out and know that know Lain wasn't involved with the Syndicate. On the other hand, if the other platoons were crushed but Lain's was left unharmed, then Lain was surely tipping off the Syndicate.

Cleitus let his steed slow down to match Kal's pace on foot. Kal had been the only officer not allowed a mount. He was certain Cleitus had been involved in that decision somehow. The man seemed have something against him, yet Kal racked his head to think of what he'd done to provoke his ire.

"Still worried about a few criminals, Kalan?" Kal didn't spare a glance his way.

"The Syndicate is more than just a few Criminals, Cleitus."

"Don't worry," he said with a smirk, "You can rest behind my platoon while we take care of the big bad criminals."

"I just might. That way you can shield my unit from the Syndicate when you run. Just like you ran from the Army when things got too heated, right?" Cleitus' face turned red with rage. It was an open secret that most of the One-Eyes were deserters from the Army. In Cleitus' case it was especially clear that he was a former Knight. The only place for a well-educated noble deserter with military knowledge to go was a mercenary army, after all. "Careful now, the Berserkers are an Orc unit. Turn any redder and we may mistake you for one." Sergeant Ralph chuckled next to them. Cleitus held his gaze for moment, as if he wasn't sure what to do next.

"You'll get yours soon, newcomer." He trotted back to his platoon.

"And you can rest in Oblivion, Cleitus." Ralph let out a low whistle. Kal gave him a nod. He glanced back at Lain, who had ignored the confrontation. He had been especially quiet the entire march. Kal couldn't discount the possibility that Lain or Aberdeen could be under an illusion spell. An Illusion mage skilled enough could manipulate someone to make decisions they otherwise wouldn't have. He hadn't sense any mana at the camp, but he would have to investigate once they returned.

A boulder smashed into Cleitus' Platoon, throwing men around like ragdolls. Cleitus' Platoon faced every direction, unsure of what to do. Another boulder came from the opposite slope, turning more men into paste. Cleitus' Platoon looked to their officer for direction, unsure of what to do. Cleitus himself seemed baffled. Kal hustled backwards, taking his place in the middle of his unit.

"Shield wall, double line!" barked Kal. His platoon rushed to form two walls guarding each slope of the crag. They couldn't guard against a boulder, but a shield wall would at least allow them to see what was coming. Another boulder hit Cleitus's platoon, flattening men like dough. Kal faced a crag slope to see a boulder the size of a large horse rolling towards his platoon. "Out of my way!" He broke through the shield wall, dashing towards boulder. He drew his blade, focusing his mana, causing the blade to crackle with Arc Energy. He swung towards the boulder's middle. Once embedded, he let out a burst. Pieces of the rock flew in every direction, tendrils of Arc-Energy erupting from its center. Another boulder hit the platoon behind him. Hadn't Lain been there? He didn't have time to verify as another boulder hastened down the slopes to his left. He turned his mana into an abundance of arc energy behind him, and a lack of arc energy in front of him, allowing the energy to carry him forward for rapid movement - a technique called Levitation, used for rapid movement. He reached the boulder in time, embedding his blade into its midsection and shattering it. Cheers of his men sounded behind him. He'd have a lot to explain to his men once they returned. He glanced right to Cleitus' platoon. It was effectively neutralized. Men had abandoned their positions to run for their lives. He heard Cleitus barking orders, trying in vain to gather the part of his platoon that was still there to stay and fight.

He hoped Lain had endured. Seeing their Captain flattened would surely cause the entire company to rout.

A loud echo that was all too familiar to Kal sounded from the top of the crag. It rang across the canyon like a loud, evil priory bell. The war cry of the Orcs. Hundreds of muscular humanoid figures with elven ears sprinted down the steep slopes, eyes blood red with Berserker rage. A few pieces of armor covered their green skin. Some had long, pointed tusks as dangerous as any blade. They hefted wicked battle-axes in both hands, long menacing weapons that would surely leave a mark.

Finally, the Ranger could return. Soon the horde would have them penned in the valley like cattle: there was only way they could go - forward. "Advance!" He ordered. His men let out a cry in response. It rang throughout the canyon in a deafening wave, a symbol of their determination to live, and to fight. They began to advance, marching up the steep slopes in defiance of the horde about to reach them. Kal couldn't help but smile in pride. These men were deserters, yet six-months of training had turned them into proper soldiers. All they needed was good leadership: a scarcity in the nobility.

He drew his spear, throwing it into the chest of the nearest Orc he could see. A green figure approached from the side. He stepped back, causing the Orc to stumble forward. He embedded his blade between the beast's shoulder blades. As expected, the beast seemed unfazed, brushing the wound off like nothing. It let out a wicked roar which Kal interrupted by severing its neck in two. The Berserker State Orcs could enter was especially frightening for those who hadn't faced them before. The beasts, already stronger than an average man or elf, would become impossibly stronger. They became capable of feats of strength that only many men could accomplish, if that. In his first encounter with one, a Berserker had killed his steed and broken his leg with a tackle of all things. Thankfully they shunned heavy armor and magic.

Another approached him from the front. He outstretched his hand, focusing his mana. A bolt of lightning cracked the Orc in the chest, disintegrating the beast. He turned again to find a man rushing to strike him. He carried a thin, long, single-bladed sword. His hair was pale and his skin a light tan. An Easterner, the human natives of the Dragon's Nest.

Kal stepped towards the blow, evading the blade's path. He elbowed the man in the chest. The Easterner stumbled backwards, hoping to gather his momentum for another strike. Kal ended him with a strike to the chest. His Platoon still advanced behind him, the horde crashing against their shield wall like a mighty wave.

A sudden force struck him from behind, throwing him forwards a few paces. He jumped back to his feet, turning to his opponent. A humanoid figure with green-grey skin several heads taller stared down at him. Its head was disformed and its belly large. It boasted tusks that reached down to its fat chin, and a long metal club in its right. Both were lethal yet coming in contacting the latter would surely be his end.

It hefted its club in a wide arc towards Kal's shoulder. He dove to the ground, ducking a club that would have broken every bone in his body. The Ogre lifted a thick foot and brought it down towards him. He levitated forward, evading the blow. Kal jumped to his feet, charging his blade with mana. It sizzled as strands of blue arc energy flashed across the blade. It brought its club in a wide arc towards him again, this time aiming for his stomach. Kal dashed into its reach, and struck the creatures arm, slicing it in two. It howled in pain. Like lightning, He embedded his blade in the its chest. He let out a burst of arc energy and pushed. The area near the cut turned black, and soon became dust. The Ogre's eyes became dull as it fell to the ground, lifeless.

Kal continued driving through the horde like an unstoppable menace, leaving a trail of dust and blood in his wake. He looked around at the unending horde surrounding him. This was simply too much for one Platoon, no matter how skilled. The Orcs and Easterners occupied the valley below and would soon be at their rear. Their only option was to rush to the high ground and use it as a defensive point, yet they would still be doomed there. He looked to the top of the slope and saw two figures with long elven ears. One was man a man wearing black robes with bright grey skin and long pale hair. He carried a staff in one hand and a thick book in the other. The other was a woman who seemed a bit older than Kal, with purple-grey skin and jet-black hair. She wore robes and leathers. Her eyes were an unnatural icy blue.

The Drow. The descendants of the Elves who had long ago left the ways of Tyr long ago for the Darkness, and now lead the Syndicate. They were legendary among the Rangers for their wicked skill in Void Magic, which allowed them to decimate entire units. Kal's Squadron had only faced one in their three years in the Dragon's Nest. It's death at his blade caused an entire army to rout.

He glanced at his Platoon behind him. A few Ogre's had managed to break points in the line, yet immediately found themselves embedded by spears in each direction. A few Orcs had managed to fight past the spears, killing a few men only to meet its end. He cut his way towards the couple. "On me men!" He yelled. He ran low on stamina and mana, yet he pushed himself, continuing in his path toward the Drow.

Orcs and Easterners rushed towards him as they realized his target. Their mess of a formation grew thick and impassable. He cut down a beast only to see it immediately replaced. "Out of my way!" He focused the last of his mana, releasing an Arc Bolt which branched into millions of different paths in front of him. The mass of beings disintegrated. His men hollered behind him. He wouldn't be able to do that again. He'd have to rely on stamina alone to kill the Drow. He dashed forwards, taking advantage of the opening. The Drow stared at him now, suspicious.

A blade hit his thigh, causing a searing pain to run up his leg. He continued, not fifteen paces away from the Drow. Only an Ogre stood in his way. The beast turned to face him, readying its thick club. He ran forward. The beast lauched its club at his head. Kal fell to knees, sliding under the blow. The club flew above him with a whoosh as the air whistled from its sheer force. He jabbed his blade into the Ogre's armpit, severing its arm. He dashed forward. Another club hit him in the belly, knocking the wind out of him and breaking a few ribs. Where in Oblivion had that come from? It didn't matter as - thank Tyr - the blow had landed him not ten paces away from the Drow. A familiar hiss pierced the air. Kal rose to see the male Drow focusing Void-Energy at the tip of his staff. There, a ball formed like an evil purple sun. The man was clearly proficient in magic. His eyes were wide with either surprise or fear, Kal couldn't tell. The woman - was she smiling?

Kal jumped to his left, evading the purple ball of death that surely would have turned him into dust. Just five paces and he could bring his blade across the Drow's neck, ending the battle. The male Drow yelled to someone behind him and began to run backwards. Kal put the last of his mana into a light levitation, taking him just in front of the male Drow. A large, muscular green figure appeared in the corner of his vision. It was tall, even for an Orc, with long tusks and a menacing hammer. Kal brought his blade down, barely scarping the Drow's chest. Now was a good a time to die as any, he supposed. The hammer hit him in the chest. He felt his heart skip a beat. The world went black.

Chapter 2:

Kalan woke a searing pain came from his thigh. His chest felt dented, as if it had been crushed.

Oh right, he thought. That's because it is. What in Oblivion had hit him? Breathing was difficult. He was lucky the blow hadn't crushed both his lungs. Or maybe it did, and this is Oblivion.

Where was he? What was happening? The air was hot and humid. A lone torchlight provided enough light to see that he was in a sort of cell. Three faint figures could be seen across the room. Kalan immediately recognized them as Cleitus, Lain, and Sergeant Ralph. Damnation. This was the waiting room for Oblivion, wasn't it? He let out a raspy cough.

"Tyr's Blessings, you are one tough tight-ass, aren't you, Kalan?" Asked Lain. "Here we thought we were sharing a cell with a corpse."

"Cleitus asked the warden to take your body out of here before you started stinking," said Ralph.

"Are we dead? This is the waiting room for Oblivion, right?" asked Kal. Cleitus grunted.

"I wish. The entire Company is routed or dead excluding a few. They took the few that survived and brought us... wherever this place is three days ago." Kal nodded.

"Ralph, what happened to rest of the Platoon?"

"After you reached that Grey-Elf we ended up taking the high-ground, Sir. We formed the circle formation you taught us - schiltom, I think? - and stood up there for hours. Some routed when they saw you fall and were cut down, but the rest were captured." Kal breathed a sigh of relief. At least some of his men still lived. They still stood a chance at breaking out of this place.

"Thank Tyr. Good job, Ralph," he said with nod.

"On the other hand - you have some explaining to do newcomer, don't you?" Asked Cleitus. Kal noted that even when imprisoned Cleitus still called him newcomer.

"Explain what?" asked Kal, irritated.

"What you did Kalan! You cut down hundreds! You'd have killed the Grey-Elf himself and his woman had that Warchief not stopped you. Speak. Who are you?" They looked at him, eager. He let out weary sigh. This was not the place he'd imagined having this conversation, if at all.

"No. I'm not a Noble like I said I was."

"Are you a Battle-Mage?" Asked Lain. "Or a Guardian? I guessed you were a Guardian."

"Is Kalan even your real name? What do we call you now?" Asked Cleitus.

"I'm not a Battle-Mage, the Guardians are an Elven unit, and yes, my name is Kalanian. I'm a Ranger stationed here to keep an eye on you all and assist I any way I can."

"Tyr's Blessings," muttered Lain, "The King's own Rangers stationed with us of all people. You people are active in the Imperial War, aren't you? What are you doing here?"

"Kalanian sure sounds like an Elven name," Questioned Cleitus. "Mages are known to play tricks on the eyes, Lain. Let me see your ears, Kalan. I need to make sure we don't have a traitor in our midst." Tyr's blessings. This man must have been willfully ignorant.

"I was raised by an Elf, you dolt, yet I'm human, as you can see." He turned to Lain. "My Squadron is still fighting in the Imperial War. I was stationed here by the Arch-Mage and the King to make sure you lot didn't get bribed enough to change sides or drain the Kingdom's money with dumb festivals."

"We would never go against the King!" said Cleitus.

"Festivals are the best part of a campaign!" added Ralph.

"Aye," said Lain. "Some of us are deserters, yes, but our allegiance to Mithrandir is strong. Else we'd be fighting for the Elves, Dwarves, or even the Empire."

"Well someone in the One-Eyes led us down this path, and I intend to find out who." Kalan focused his mana. A soft white light emanated from his hand, stitching his wounds.

"What in Oblivion are you doing now?" Asked Cleitus.

"It's just a simple healing spell. I'm not a natural healer, so I can help only with the simple wounds."

"Tyr's Blessings," said Lain. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that." Kalan healed his wounds until he had the strength to walk. He stretched his shoulders, finally feeling like himself again.

"Come on now, I can heal now that my mana's back." He healed them until they could walk on their own. Lain had the fewest wounds, and Kal wondered how much of a resistance the man really put up. "Now, as to where we are - there's only one place the Syndicate take prisoners - the Drow Capital. Their main base of operations. I don't know the name of where we are, or the location, but If we can get some weapons, with mana and skill, we may stand a chance of breaking out of this place. Have you eaten since arriving here?"

"An Orc woman brought us some bread," said Ralph. "Though I think she forgets sometimes."

"Very well. We need to start stockpiling that. I - " He stopped as he heard boots scraping across the stone floor.

Jhannel Nimiri walked through the Garthrand's dungeon with haste. Behind her was Drugi the Anger-Beast. The Orc Warchief had proved his usefulness. The Human had almost managed to cut her husband down until the Orc had hammered the him in the chest. She thought back to that day, remembering that Human's look as it stared her down like some predator. It's skill in battle was clear - it had managed to kill hundreds of Orcs and a few Ogres before the Warchief had stopped it. It likely planned to kill her. The thought of her death made her shiver in excitement. It was rare she found something this dangerous to play with. She felt a warmth growing near her groin. She was ecstatic to show her friends what she'd captured.

They reached the cell where the Humans had been kept. She was surprised to find all four staring at her expectantly. She was especially excited to see the Battle-Human alive and awake. His sky-blue eyes glared at her with an intensity she couldn't describe. If given the opportunity, he would surely try on her life. She noticed the other men's eyes' darting to her exposed legs and waist and resisted a smile. She had purposefully worn loose-fitting robes to their meeting. Sexuality was tool, and Human Men were always especially eager to be used if a bit of it was offered. All but the Battle-Human, whose gaze left her eyes only to dart to her hands.

Checking if I'm armed, likely. She imagined the Human fighting her to the death, and again felt herself growing warm. Control yourself, Nimi. She let out a sultry smile.

"I am Jhannel Nimiri. What are your names, Humans?" The older one was obviously a Dwarf, and the Battle-Human seemed a bit... familiar, yet they were all Humans as far as she was concerned. They were all silent for a moment until the Dwarf blurted out:

"Lain! Name's Lain mam. Captain in the One-Eyes." The Battle-Human shot him a dirty look, and the Dwarf tried not to meet his gaze.

"And you all?" She questioned. They were all silent until the Dwarf spoke for them again:

"The one with the black hair is Cleitus, that one's Ralph, and the scary one is Kalanian." Finally, she knew his name.

Kalanian - isn't that an Elven name? No matter.

"Tyr's Blessings, Lain," Muttered Kalanian, disappointed.

"What? You want to die, Ranger boy?" Kalanian grimaced at the mention of Ranger. "She's obviously ready to kill us, just look at her!"

"Damnation, Lain. Can you shut your damned mouth for minute?" Jhannel laughed. She had captured a Ranger! Praise the Darkness, praise Balthazar. This was surely a gift. The Rangers had almost brought their efforts to a halt, and she had managed to capture one those warriors. They would be good stock indeed.

"Very well. Disrobe." They looked at her like she'd grown a third limb. She resisted a smile. Even Kalanian seemed dismayed. "Disrobe. Clothes aren't needed where I'm taking you. And yes - I mean everything." Kalan's eyes flickered to her right.