Ok, so I wrote this a while ago...but its not finished, so I figured if I posted it online it would motivate me to get my butt moving and finish it since I started it over a year ago and haven't touched it since. its a bit loose right now...ok, its awful, but I'm working on it...kind of. Ok then, enjoy! Oh, and I don't own anything!


Rangers; it's a Way of Life

"Beinion." Thalion spoke without turning his eyes from the trees.

"Huh?" Beinion snapped out of his daydream that he had been having involving three lovely barmaids…

"Beinion!"

"Yeah, what, what? I'm awake!"

"Did you hear that?" He continued to stare into the woods, annoyed that Beinion had been daydreaming while he was on watch.

"Hear what, I didn't hear anything…"

"Never mind. I heard something, a noise, in the woods. Possibly orcs…" he turned to his companion for the first time in half an hour. Something between a grimace and a grin passed on Beinion's face.

"A midnight raid…great. Are you sure…ok, ok, I should have been paying attention." Thalion's face relaxed from the glare it held. "I suppose I should notify Hérion."

"Yes that would be wise." And Thalion watched as his watch partner disappeared into camp.

Tall and dark, in his early forties, Beinion thought he was still every bit of a catch with the women that he was when he was in his twenties. Though lines of age were creeping into his face, he still had a knack for wooing women that none of the other rangers could compete with.

As for himself, Thalion didn't care for the wooing of women. His wife had died when he was twenty-five, just shortly after he had joined the rangers. Killed by orcs, it drove him only harder in his service, giving him a position of high rank; second in command.

Thalion brushed the hair out of his eyes as he saw not two, but four men approaching from the camp. He recognized two of them as the men who were to take the next watch. The one, Sadron, of average stature, was someone who always had a smile on his face, looking on the bright side of things was really what one might call it. They couldn't imagine what he had to be happy about at such a late hour, but he wasn't going to ask questions.

The other, Veryan, was a different story. He had been with rangers longer than almost any of them, having joined as soon as he was deemed old enough. Although only in his late-thirties, his face seemed aged with battle scars long past. A fierce fighter, he was not in the rangers for recognition or for reputation, but to better his chances of killing orcs on a daily basis. He was a bit of a prankster at time too.

He among them was one of few who enjoyed going into battle. This was why his there was an etching of a smile on his face, though it did little to hide the weariness in his eyes. He had been fighting down a fever for the past three days and probably could have used the sleep, but knowing him, he would have refused rest, knowing he had the chance to spill orc blood. Fair enough, he was due to take watch in another hour.

The man in front, speaking softly to Beinion was not to be mistaken; he was Hérion, their leader. His father having been chieftain before him, he had inherited the position; however, it was rightfully passed on. Hérion had a good head, stern judgment and lead well. He was also a natural born fighter. Not one in their pack grumbled at calling him 'sir'.

"Sir."

"At ease Thalion. Beinion says you heard something?"

"Sir, a noise in the woods, just off that way. I believe I hear it again." As he spoke, they heard what seemed like a call in the woods; not quite human, not quite beast.

"Well done." He held up his torch and stepped away from the camp. Beinion and Thalion, each with a sword and Sadron and Veryan with their bows, being skilled at shooting even in the dark of the night, stepped softly behind.

"There, past those trees." Thalion whispered so low, it might have been confused with a slight breeze passing through the woods. Carefully Hérion stepped past a large oak, Thalion and Beinion close at hand with their swords raised, Sadron and Veryan behind, each with an arrow notched.

Hérion raised his torch high; illuminating a small clearing just as a man came crashing through the trees, nearly knocking into him as he stumbled. Thalion and Beinion stepped forward with their swords poised for attack as Hérion approached. The man nearly fell and though Veryan arched his bow, Thalion and Beinion were quick to sheath their swords and grab the man's shoulders, supporting him and restraining him at the same time.

The light of the torch blazed on the man's face as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving as he struggled to take in air. His eyes closed as he allowed them to hold him up.

Hérion looked him over in a quick discerning glance and saw that he was young, twenty-five at the oldest. Dried blood was on his face. He's injured. "Who are you," he asked curtly.

The man spoke in a scared yet monotonous tone. "Strider, sir…" Gasping he looked up at Hérion for the first time. "…Orcs." As he spoke, they heard near at hand, the heavy steps of a small orc company approaching at great speed. Not a second later, some fifteen orcs burst through the clearing. Without hesitation Sadron and Veryan fired and were already notching their second round of arrows. They nodded to Hérion that they had it covered and Hérion led Thalion and Beinion, still supporting the man between them, back towards the camp. Not five steps later however, the man, Strider, fainted away and they were forced to half carry, half drag him away as they left Veryan and Sadron to contend with the remaining orcs.

Too close for arrows, they drew their swords, and stood ready for them. Only five left now, dark and ugly as they always are; they could handle them. The orcs leapt at them and the two rangers took the beasts on; Sadron against two, and Veryan willingly against three.

They took their first down easily; Sadron passing his sword through the foul beast's stomach, Veryan choosing to remove its head, smiling as it thudded. However in that moment the other two attacked at once, gaining his attention immediately. Meanwhile, Sadron pulled his sword from the orc's chest, pleased to be finished killing the foul creatures for the night.

Veryan swung his sword up, easily parrying the orc's attack. He then swung down, ready to remove the orc of his existence when a searing pain sliced through his upper sword arm. Bent over, he clutched his arm as blood ran through his fingers. He looked up to the orc, blade poised, grinning down at him.

Sadron turned, just in time to see Veryan half lunge, half fall forward, using his body weight to plunge his sword through the stomach of the orc, a second later and the orc would have done the same to him. Sadron watched as Veryan fell, and lay vulnerable on the ground, his sword arm bleeding and useless. And that was when he heard a grunt. There was still an orc left, and he was standing over Veryan.

Sadron couldn't even move, before he could think, it was over. The orc raised his sword, let it drop and just before contact, Veryan switched his word to his left hand, plunging his sword deep in its chest and rolled with a great effort out of the way as the orc crashed to the ground in a bloody mess.

"Veryan? Can you hear me?" Sadron knelt down beside him in alarm.

"Loud and clear buddy, load and clear." He rolled onto his stomach and used his good arm to stand up, refusing help from his companion.

"I'm fine, really. No, I don't need your help getting back to camp, that's right hands off me." He rambled on quickly, shoving off Sadron's concern. "The beasts never learn; they can't beat me. They should stop trying. I know what you're thinking; then we wouldn't have any fun. Don't give me that look, the others are waiting." And his sword, with difficulty, was back in its sheath, bow on his back, and he disappeared into the woods, Sadron running to catch up.

Veryan could make good conversation when he wanted, but that wasn't often; he was a firm believer of 'actions speak louder than words' especially if it meant fighting. What happened back in the clearing was, ludicrous for Veryan and Sadron was certain that by morning he would deny it had ever happened.