The Druchii warband made no sound as they moved through the forests of Ulthuan, the muted colors of their gear a sharp contrast to the vibrant colors of the forest. They were a scouting party, ranging far ahead of the main force to gather intelligence – by simple observation or forced out from anyone unfortunate enough to be captured by them.

Above them, the sky was becoming overcast, as if the land itself resented their intrusion. The wind began to rise, causing branches to sway and throwing fallen leaves into the air. The leader of the group, an executioner in heavy armor, was growing impatient. They had made little headway so far, and a storm would slow them even further. Reporting a failure in such a simple mission to his superiors would have…unpleasant consequences.

The executioner urged his men forward even as they wind began to howl through the trees, and he watched as the trees swayed and the detritus of the forest was kicked up in great waves. As he stepped forward, he took his hate-filled eyes away from the forest around him for just a moment to wipe futilely at the material of the forest that was clinging to his armor. At that instant, the very tree he had been looking at a moment before ceased to sway in time with the wind. A branch became a bow; a vine, a bowstring, the sharp pedal of a wildflower pulling back, a slim hand grasping the base of the stem, a slim arrow.

The Druchii commander lifted his eyes once again, and saw the unnatural movement even through the chaos of the growing storm. But before his lips even parted to call to his men, the black petal was released, and his warriors saw nothing but another dark shape carried on the wind.

As quietly as the warrior had traveled the forest, the mighty executioner slid to the ground with the fletching of an Asur arrow protruding from his visor, and his men would retrace their steps some time later to find nothing but leaves being carried by the wind, and the branches swaying quietly above them.