Snippet #2655680

The arrow was nocked and pulled taut against the bowstring, backed by the hundred and twenty pound pull of his recurve, Elliot. This bow was an instrument of war carved from the cold corpse of Mariana's slain child, his body reclaimed from the arrogant hunters who sought to use the branches of his body as a trophy. "Behold the slain child of the rebel leader!" They proclaimed. "Witness the might of our Empire!" They shouted, as they hefted the boy over their heads. An offering to their beliefs. Their King, and the just war he waged in the name of normalcy.

He had fallen onto them as an instrument of her fury, her pain was exorcized through him with every stroke of his blade as he severed the tether that anchored them to the mortal plane. Their agonized cries for mercy, spoken by the youngest members of their group hung in the air unheard. No tales of young children or pregnant wives earned their lives that day. He left promises to their mothers unfulfilled as tears fell from dead eyes, onto the forest below.

He didn't drink from their corpses, as his sanguine desires often demanded. He wanted no part of their body to sustain his immortality. "Let the worms take them and the sun bleach their bones". The Ranger said. "May the smiles of their skulls speak of the joy I wrested from them as they fell to her wrath."

On the eve of this massacre he fashioned Elliot into a weapon, turning the beautiful boy into a beautiful bow of yew, crafted with love and tender care. The boy stayed by his side from that moment onward.

He ensured that his arrows flew true, and that none save him could pull it's immense weight.

The Ranger's gloved fingertips released the arrow, a low 'twang' sounding as the bowstring propelled the deadwood forward, and into the forehead of the other scout, piercing his skull and forcing his eyes back into an eternity of sightlessness. He had been playing a game with the scout for the better part of a day, leading him farther and farther away from the bulk of his forces as he played the part of an injured man. A man desperately trying to escape the scope of a kingscout bow, trailing blood upon each root he fled across.

He had been killing in this area especially, and allowing the pathfinders to continue their search in other areas. It was a ploy to trick the empires armies into thinking they were getting closer to striking at the heart of their resistance, that each arrow in their troops marked a desperate attempt to conceal their position.

The Ranger had been absent from the main camp during this crusade for a few suns, to work directly with his fellow Rangers as they mapped the areas for their ambush, and subsequent skirmish. The supply lines had been stretched during the Empires march, and now was the opportune time to strike.

For now he'd depart this area, and return to the Grove to share his information with Mariana. He covered his tracks well, using the trees when he could, and rocky outcrops as the appeared. He even doubled back, and crossed his own path, adding layers of confusion if anyone (which he doubted) had managed to follow him this far into the forest.

In a few days time, he had returned to the camp, signaling the sentries long before he entered their line of fire. During his journey he had run low on blood, and needed to feed, and he would. Once he had seen Mariana.

The Groves familiar smell, along with the intricately woven fabrics of her place in the middle put his hunger pangs at ease, clearing his mind of the slight haze that had settled around the good sense that kept his more primal natures at bay. On the way in, he passed Delilah, whom he greeted warmly.

"Miss Rivers." He nodded, lowering his hood and face mask, allowing the tresses of his raven black locks to fall free onto his breastplate and cape.

"Mother."

The Ranger knelt before Mariana, a sign of respect, and reverence for his leader. He rose after a few moments, and moved toward the map she had clearly been puzzling over. He removed the glove from his left hand, and his finger rested on the northern part of the map, trailing a slow circle around one part in particular.

"They've moved here, beyond Arias's respite, and well into Madman's March. Their raiding parties have extended beyond what we originally anticipated."

He trailed a larger circle around the original.

"Hunter parties have been seen here, here, and here, operating beyond the armies reach, most of these seem to be freelance, as they don't maintain contact with main army."

"Their slow movement can be attributed to a brief skirmish line we set up here." He tapped behind the original circle he had drawn. "To force them to take their war machines through untamed land."

"Their supply lines have grown thinned with their forced march. I would like to suggest a raid at your earliest convenience Mother."

He bowed.