Prologue
The muscles tightened around his bones making them feel as if they would snap as he ran with all of the speed of a frightened and cowardly orc. He wheezed and snorted through his pig-like nostrils. Sweat poured down his blue toned face and into his gaping, blood red eyes. He looked back quickly, long enough for his run to be broken by a tree root, causing him to stumble and fall to the forest turf. He was nearly away from the Steamfont Mountains and closing in on the safety of his dank home, Crushbone.
"Dirty, squatty dwarves...their stubby legs could never catch an orc runner," he thought. But his thoughts were an uneasy reassurance after surviving his ordeal. His urgent letters had outlasted cutthroat bandits and the likes of a dozen angry dwarves. "I must make it through these horrid woods- smooth sailing from now on," he thought, as he regained his footing and continued his path.
His chest swelled with confidence and pride as he heard faint sounds of unfortunate elves and men being cut down by his brothers. Over the hills and among the trees he saw orc campsites dotting the way. Then...the sounds abruptly ceased. A maddening stillness overwhelmed him as he stopped in his tracks. Looking back again, he felt his black heart skip a beat, half expecting the dwarves to be drawing close but he saw nothing. His eyes darted left and right as he struggled to discover the cause of the silence that made his pulse quicken.
His shoulders shrugged as he sighed in relief. Suddenly, his chest and shoulders felt an impact followed by sharp, blinding pains. His mind felt separated from his body and he fell to his knees uncontrollably. Looking to his right shoulder he saw the ash colored arrows buried deep in his flesh. Two struck either shoulder and one was lodged in his shoulderblade.
His arms would no longer answer in movement; their ligaments had been severed clean in two. The silence once again prevailed. He began to stand up, which took several attempts. His fresh wounds throbbed in pain with each beat of his heart and he felt dizzy as he stumbled around.
"R-Rangers..." he uttered in contempt. He heard distant laughter and knew they were out in the trees somewhere. "I can make it home," he thought and in the same instant, hardened his resolve to persevere despite impending death. Step after dreadful step, he continued on only to be halted by the terrible sound of many bows being drawn from the treetops. Arrows flew like lightning bolts and smashed into his body like hailstones. This was overkill, a slaughter, and a game to the Rangers who saw the orc running from a mile away.
One by one they dropped from their hiding spots in the tree canopy. Half a dozen fell safely to the soil without one making the slightest sound. Each held their bow without realizing it as if it was a part of their body. They drew closer to the mangled corpse. The unfortunate wretch was on his knees, suspended in falling to the ground. His lacerated torso held up by a barrage of arrows.
They had impaled him as he fell forward and stuck into the now blood soaked earth. The Rangers threw back their hoods and lowered their masks, glancing at one another. The leader spoke, "Loot him," walking past, he spat near the corpse, "a waste of good arrows." They all chuckled and proceeded searching the orc. The pockets held a few gold, "He's poor AND ugly," said Ranger while he jeered. With nothing else to find, they opened the leather sack the orc runner had been carrying. It was bulging from all of the letters, which some of the Rangers immediately began to read.
Their leader Vasilis wandered away from the spectacle and stood on a nearby hilltop in contemplation. The small group of Rangers read the letters for hours, laughing to themselves. One young Ranger, Daemon, watched Vasilis in wonder. His comrades were loud and boorish but he drowned them out as he studied his leader. Getting up, he decided to join Vasilis and keep him company as the night drew near.
"Daemon wait," one human Ranger called out, "take these sealed letters to Vasilis, they look pretty important." Daemon nodded and started off towards the hilltop. "How did I do today?" Daemon asked eagerly as he handed Vasilis the letters. "Very poorly, you narrowly missed your mark and fired off half as many shots as the rest of the men." Daemon gulped hard in surprise at the earnest reply of his mentor. "But..." Vasilis continued, "You are half of our age. You have much to learn despite being skilled; training helps but there is no substitute for combat experience."
Vasilis smirked in approval and looked down the letter he had unsealed. The smile quickly melted leaving a look of concern in his face as he read the contents of the stolen letter. "Whatever he had read, chilled him all over," Daemon thought. Vasilis shuddered and spoke, "We have to leave tonight for Highhold Pass."