Aenys must love this world so, why else would he grace us with such divine majesty? Anorath thought as the tip of Aenys' great staff peaked over the edge of Harinus' divine forest, Hol-Vollum. The autumnal spectrum of reds and yellows seemed to reflect the sunrise in a way that was absent among the other creations of Mar and his lessers. A way that still captivated Anorath Tel-Thennes twelve thousand years after his first experience with it. The Mithreli duty was sacred indeed, no place in the elven world had such importance to the land as Hol-Vollum. Should anything disrupt the order protected by the green and red skinned elves of the east the fallout would surely be catastrophic. The forest had been one of the key factors in ensuring that Anorath linger in Mithreal as long as possible however the great city did not lack for other beauties. The art of the ancient people was mind bending in its natural tranquility and the cuisine was among the finest in the elven world. It's women, however, were the true prize. They spent most of their lives scaling trees and running from tree-post to tree-post. As a result they stayed lean and strong. Anorath had been expected to wed thousands of years earlier however his duties prevented him. It hadn't been long after arriving in Mithreal, however, that he became infatuated with a young elf by the name of Shae'Len. In addition to rebuilding the city she was his primary influence in deciding to remain in the east as long as possible.

"One day, after I speak to the king of course, I will have you brought to court," Anorath told the girl when they sat together under the Great Tree viewing the stars above, "we shall wed and love forever." he told her. When they explored the wood together they played with the imps and she brought forth a side to Anorath that had been absent from the public eye for centuries, consumed entirely by his work and studies. He instructed her on the principles of swordplay though the lessons never lasted long before their playful sides took over or Anorath was forced to leave and assist the soldiers in guiding the wagons into the city.

The sun had finally risen fully above the treeline before Anorath left the marble terrace of his apartments to dress himself in his regal and intricate armor. He spared himself his helmet, the public would want a show of face. Today was the day that the repairs were to be finished and Anorath had promised the citizens a speech. He slung his blade at his hip. The sword had never been used to take a life but it was a symbol; a way to show that he was the one protecting them. The armor that had been forged for him had been designed specifically to allow easy preparation and thus took him only several minutes to be fully clad. He left the wardrobe and passed his bed on the way to the door, his breakfast tray lay crumb ridden on the table to the right of the bed and his desk sat strewn with letters. He had definitely had time to make himself at home in the spacious quarter offered by Thannis Eregan, the local regent upon whom Anorath's father had bestowed control of Mithreal and charged with the protection of Hol-Vollum. He would present a speech as well though Anorath, heir to the Tel-Thennes line, would be the true spectacle.

Outside of his quarters Anorath had a view down the hill which lead to the Great Tree. The Tree of Harinus was placed in the center of the city with the eight main streets protruding outward from in. From those a tangled web of smaller streets gave the city a level of intricacy that only a resident of the city could truly memorize it. A regiment of soldiers happened to be marching toward the tree passed Anorath's quarters. "Halt," He called to them and they sat silently awaiting his commands. "I shall lead the troupe to the tree. It will make for a better introduction of all of us," Anorath motioned for the Sergeant to fall in beside him and then for the soldiers to march up behind him.

At the tree he found that crowds had already amassed and Thannis was already upon the stage addressing them. It was not like Anorath to be late to an event such as this but the sunrise had called for him to linger at least a bit too long. When they reached the stage Anorath took care not to disrupt the Regent's speech and instead dismissed the guards to assume their honorary positions around the large wooden construct that had been erected in front of the Great Tree.

"They will be completed today with the placement of the head upon the statue of Sascari in the market!" the Regent said before seeing Anorath at the foot of the steps awaiting his introduction. "A-... And now I would give the stage to his grace Prince Anorath Tel-Thennes," Thannis faded back to the side of the stage. Anorath didn't want to make him feel threatened but the presence of an elf clad in full armor, taller than even most Amenori and known best for leading the entire elvish military tended to have such an effect on the weaker elves.

A gust of wind passed the stage sending red oak leaves by Anorath's feet as he made his way to the center of the grand stage to make his thoughts known.

"Ah!" he yelled as he ripped his blade from its scabbard. "You've done well, each and every one of you. You've just faced the toughest fight any elf has seen in thousands of years and come out laughing with your ale in hand," he had decided it best to give a rousing speech full of praise. He pointed out specific members of the crowd and noted their achievements. "You," he said pointing at a male elf with a long red ponytail, "I saw you carry three bags of stones up the hill to the temple to make sure the pillars got repaired on time. And you," he said pointing to a slender and tall woman with loose green hair down to her rear, "I saw climb higher than the Great Tree itself to place flags atop the rubble of the Library to display the indomitable will of your people. Make no mistake you all had a part in this restoration, were one of you absent the repairs would have been impossible." Anorath sheathed his blade and began to pace the wooden floor. "I do not claim to have been essential in this restoration, however I am proud to have been a part of it. I am to return home to Amenor soon, and believe me when I say I will be remarking on the tenacity, fortitude, and bravery of the Mithreli people for years to come. What say you that we finish these repairs right now?" Anorath asked with a fist in the air. The crowd gave a thundering applause. "Get to it!" Anorath yelled, pointing over to a thick-chested elf on a car with a large sculpted head in the back. Anorath had brought in several Masothi workers to mold the separate head onto the statue. They would use liquid concrete and slather it on, then place a sling around the head to hold it in place as the stone dried.

The whole ordeal took two hours. Anorath himself watched at the back of the crowd atop a litter. It would have been wrong of him to take the place of honor at the front, so close that a drop of cement could have fallen on him. No, he thought, that right belongs to those who worked the hardest and toiled the longest, he concluded. That night the elves drank deep from the ales and wines made of fermented berries and honey and other Mithreli delights. They ate cakes and danced to the music of harps, lutes, and flutes. Even the guards on the Outpost to the eastern end of Hol-Vollum had been called back into the city to observe the ravenous celebrations. Thannis, an elf usually renowned for his social reservedness, danced with servants and drank with soldiers. Anorath himself partook of the wine and cloven bread. To top it all off the night itself was warmer and more comely than any autumn evening had any right to be. He spent the night drinking and feeding grapes to Sellesendra, the most beautiful elf he had ever seen. He red hair curled around his fingers and her lips curled around his own as they shared their own internal celebrations with eachother.

The next morning, however, was an entirely different story. Anorath found himself lunging out of bed to the sound of a horn blaring in the distance. When he arose naked from his sleep and rushed out onto his terrace to view the flame of Aeny's staff rising once more from the treeline. Other elves were rushing from their homes still rubbing sleep from their eyes and hangovers from their temples. A lone armored treeguard made his way through the streets screaming at the top of his lungs.

"We're under attack!" was all Anorath could hear before his senses numbed. Had he trained the men properly for such an event? Was the scout still drunk from the night before? But no, Anorath's doubts were soon subsided when a procession of at least a dozen others in similar armor ran through the same path shouting similar chants.

"The east outpost!"

"Get the prince!"

"Stop the festivities!" the last voice called. Anorath found himself fully armed and buckling his bracers on as the knock came to his door. He pulled it open and strode outside, leaving it agape and moving quicker than the men behind him so they were forced to nearly jog to keep up.

"My prince, the..." a soldier began but Anorath cut him off.

"Outpost, I am aware. Sergeant, gather your men and wait by the gates. Any scouts you see tell them I command them to take the treeposts to the outpost and view the situation. They may act as necessary if I do not arrive in time." Anorath would take the treeposts as well though he was not made for swift movement along them and would have to take the ladders and bridges reserved for the slower elves and wanderers. It took a half hour to reach the edge of the city, ten minutes to break through the crowds that were herding out of the gates to catch a glimpse of whatever was happening and twenty more to make it to the first treepost. The ladder proved difficult but once Anorath was atop the first tree he made short work of the bridges. He ran along most and descended any incline with haste though further ladders did delay him. With the use of the treeposts and the guidance of the scouts it took him three hours to reach the edge of the forest bordering the outpost.

The Outpost was a hulking tree that had been found already hollowed out. Some construction on the interior and well as some additional barracks and armory quarters on the outside matched up with bridges to the surrounding trees made it one of the more formidable fortresses in the Elven Kingdom from a defensive point of view. It was only as he passed the bridge to the final ladder leading down to the ground that Anorath realized what a chill had cascaded through the air on his venture into Hol-Vollum. On the ground he found himself accompanied by no less than two score swordmen whom had been placed there to await him. "Move, brothers," Anorath commanded as he headed briskly toward the treeline. He burst through the trees into the magnificence of the morning sun beating down to provide the only warmth on this rather chilly day. At first it was blinding but Anorath came back to consciousness with the sight of some red leaves blowing out from the woods toward the shoreline a few miles off.

Off in the distance several huge hulking masses of wood and cloth sat in the water. From them poured creatures not unlike the elves of Amenor though from a distance they seemed much shorter and shared more of a likeness to eachother than other elves did to Anorath's people. Across the field from Anorath and his contingent of swordsmen it was obvious that the creatures had formed some sort of ranks and were drawing closer to Anorath. He felt no fear, he knew that the small number of invaders, possibly fifty, could easily be dispatched by the number of archers held tightly in the trees behind him. The feeling he did have was akin to anxiety. Knowing that no matter how the situation was handled it would be for him to answer for. He wouldn't perish, but history could unfold there and it would be up to him to dictate its path. Regardless of how anxious Anorath may have been to address the newcomers it was necessary. They had already damaged the landscape, just as Anorath had emerged from the trees he had seen the beginnings of a logging camp set up half a mile to the north.

When the strange creatures drew near enough to see the plates shining on their armor they halted. Anorath got a good look at the one in front, mounted atop a great horse and with an armor forged of bright gold, or at least plated in it. It seemed silly to Anorath, gold was nowhere near as durable as steel as far as armor went. Why shield himself in it? That was a question for another time, however, and more pressing matters were at hand. The man opened his mouth but Anorath did not understand the words he spoke. They were as strange as his rounded ears and eyes and hair-covered face. The curls that fell upon the man's shoulders even looked coarse and wiry. They drew ever closer as they spoke until they were a short twenty feet away.

"What's he saying? Does anybody know?" One soldier asked. Anorath ignored it. He was highly unsure how war-savvy these people may be, surely they understood the concept of it they possessed arms and armor just as the elves did though of undoubtedly inferior design. Anorath made a split second decision and decided to approach. He stepped forth quickly, placing his hand on his chest and resting his right arm on the hilt of his sword.

"I am Prince Anorath." he proclaimed. Apparently he'd stepped out of line or moved too closely because two mounted men in full armor and helms rushed to the side of their supposed leader with spears pointed down at the Prince's face. He was taken aback, unsure what to truly do in such a situation he let his hand slip toward his blade. The king of these strange creatures was beginning to raise his hand when Anorath heard a zipping noise near his left side. Both mounted men fell stricken with arrows from their horses. The 'leader's' men all then drew blades and gave off noises. The leader himself fell from his horse as it neighed noisily and kicked it's hoofed feet into the air. The apparent king made some unintelligible noise and the soldiers behind him raised up shields and swords and spears and began lunging forth. Anorath's men did not react quickly and were thus put on the defensive side, Anorath himself somehow found his left hand wielding his inscribed blade. Then it came to blood. Anorath was kicking as slashing and putting his training to the test, only after being locked in struggle with one of the creatures wearing armor forged of linked chains for several minutes did he feel his blade slip between the soldier's collar bones. He fell back a few paces and noted the other elves had erupted from the trees flailing blades and loosing arrows. "Back to the city!" he yelled "they must be warned!" he screamed as his blade connected with those of what seemed like an infinite number of foes. Hopefully the fighting would end shortly and he could retreat. He wasn't sure how to feel about it, but he was sure that Sellesendra would be able to mend the damage he'd just felt somehow.

Caildir wondered why he'd decided to stay in Hol-Vollum when he'd spent his 3rd night there. Today was when he got the answer.

He'd never been particularly religous; he never prayed or really had faith in anything. However, Caildir was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason, and no matter the circumstance, there was a reason for everything. He considered that his life philosophy. Then again, being the wanderer that he is, it befit his lifestyle. In his time in the great forest, he'd made quite a few friends and even assisted in the rebuilding of the city at times. Time seemed to fly in his moments there. The feeling of this was only cemented on the day of the Prince's speech.

How the hell is it already finished?

Although not easily impressed, Caildir marveled at the elven production. He watched in awe as the prince gave the speech that finalized the city's completion. In the midst of his awe, there was a slight chill in the air. Something was wrong, but he honestly couldn't put his finger on it. All the signs were there: his palms were slightly moist and the small of his back seemed to shift around, if you could relate to the feeling. The day's festivities forced him to push the thought to the back of his head.

Today, we celebrate.

And Caildir did just that. He entertained with his usual party tricks and fought some friendly bouts, but he stayed away from the alcohol. He figured if something was to go wrong, he might as well be sober for it.

[The Following Day]

Caildir awoke a fair bit earlier than majority of the elves. The air seemed stale. It was at this moment that he knew something was bound to happen. As if on cue with his thoughts, a lone voice cut through the air.

"We're under attack!"

His eyes widened and he quickly scrambled to see where the commotion was coming from. He heard more shouts about the outpost - the east one to be exact. That was where Caildir guessed he'd be needed. He was no soldier, but he knew he was a fighter. A slight feeling of dread came about him. He knew the forest well enough to reach the edge of the forest. He stood on the branch of a tree, looking a the sight below him. The fighting had already begun. It was horrific; the stench of death and battle wrung through the air. He could see his people be cut down. And for what reason? The ones they were fighting seemed to be none too different from them. What reason could they possibly have to attack?

It was fairly obvious who was doing the attacking. The elves were very much on the defensive. The fighting was quickly spreading near where he was standing. Caildir made his way down the tree, hoping to provide as much help as he could. A small skirmish was taking place where he landed. He counted 3 elves fighting back around 8 of the hostiles. He wasn't sure what to make of them, but he definitely knew what he had to do. The 3 elves were getting driven back, right towards him. They seemed to be holding their own, but they definitely wouldn't last.

Caildir's hand snuck into his own cloak, gripping the hilt of his beloved sword. He felt the hilt's familiar warmth as he channeled what he'd learned through the catalyst hidden inside it. He felt himself reach out to the 8 minds attacking his people. In their eyes, it seemed that the 3 elves' faces began to contort into malicious sneers. The human's saw their adversaries' eyes sink into hollowed sockets and their faces elongate into sinister and demonic forms. An unbearable scream exploded in their head. These sensations were quickly put down with their death, as the 3 elves had no problem dealing with the disoriented humans.

Caildir preferred to stay in the background when it wasn't his fight, but he knew that would stay the best course of action. He broke into a sprint towards the fray of the fighting when an armored body slammed into him. They tumbled down and Caildir quickly shifted his weight to throw the new enemy away from him as he stood. It was one of the elf-like things, fully armored, but no helmet. He got his first close look at his enemy. There was no time to speak as the human drew a dagger and charged clumsily towards him. He dropped into an even stance, anticipating his movements. Caildir's long cloak was unclasped at he moved his shoulder into to human and raised both his arms to block the slash that was initially directed at his head. He struck the humans head with his left hand while he moved his right down his arm and grasped the human's armed wrist. With a quick maneuver, Caildir twist the humans arm behind his back, using the dagger to "tie" the knot made with his own arm. He kept pushing till he heard a sickening snap followed by a scream. A swift kick to the head ensured the human's unconsciousness.

It wasn't long before 2 of the humans friends had come to the aid of the scream, both bearing longswords. He knew he'd have to use Naurhyanda if he hoped to live through this one. His hand touched the hilt as he dashed toward the two. His catalyst heated when he altered the hostiles' perception. To them, there were literally 3 Caildirs, each one moving differently. However, none of the 3 were real. Caildir had stood in place and touched his hilt. A slightly sadistic expression wove through his face as he saw the two clambering to protect themselves from nothing. Caildir quickly recomposed himself and ran toward the one on the left, who barely put up a fight. His sword drove itself through the left human's chest, allowing a scream to escape from his mouth before Caildir took his head.

With the illusions faded, the 3rd human screamed something at him and swung his sword. A quick parry allowed an opening for Caildir to slash at his arm. The small cut seemed to turn the man hysterical. He dropped his sword and clutched his arm in pain. A small smirk formed on the elf's face as he marveled at Naurhyanda. With the human brought to his knees, Caildir thrust his boot into his face, unwilling to kill again.

A pathfinder's work was never done, especially at this time of the cycle. Hol-Vollum was confusing at the best of times for non Mithrealians, but some of these people Eltharion just found irritating. Already he had led more than a dozen individuals out of the depths of the forests after they investigated something or rather, or pursued a fleeing imp or simply drunkenly stumbled into the forest. It did not help that yesterday was a day of festivities, one which Eltharion had avoided out of preference rather than necessity, opting for the night watch of the town even as the regular guards were recalled into the city for celebrations. The pathfinders were technically not part of the military. They were classified as guardians of the forest, regulated by another body. Sighing deeply as he sat down on a branch, Eltharion reached into one of the pouches he was festooned with and pulled out a leaf wrapped package, which he swiftly peeled to reveal a small cake, one of the few things he had taken from the party.

Honestly. The elves were immortal, sure, but it did not mean that they were all wise. "Looks like you've had your work cut out for you today, Autumn Ranger," chuckled a voice from the treetops. Slowly casting his eyes upwards as he bit down on a hardened cake of flour and honey, the red-skinned elf's eyes caught sight of a shock of lime green amongst the autumn leaves. It would have blended perfectly, if it were not the season of fall. "And may I ask what a Spring Ranger such as yourself is doing on duty, Ilthrias?" Eltharion replied as he remained sitting, leaning his back against the moist wood of the treetop, his boot intertwined as he sat leisurely on the branch. While pathfinders tended to act independently, they were grouped into different categories based on their features. Eltharion, a red-skinned elf, was part of the Autumn Rangers, the unit that was in operation during Fall, while the elf that beamed from across the way was part of the Spring Rangers, the unit that operated during Spring. When the other wasn't on duty, they were allowed an extended period of relaxation, in accordance with the rigours of their task.

With a light jump and step, Ilthrias landed in a squat on the same branch that Eltharion was lounging on. Her hair was a fine blonde, tied into two braids and her face seemed to be unable to change from anything so much as a smile. Eltharion's meanwhile was covered from the nose down with a black cloth, only his sharp, cold amythest eyes piercing through the lass. Their perch rocked as her small weight was suddenly thrown on, but the branch held firm. "The regent sent out all available pathfinder units to keep the area safe," she said as she fiddled with one of her pouches, taking out a small flask, "well...safer...wouldn't do to have the Concrodon mating season start early while the Prince is around, you know?" Ah...that was right, the Elvish Prince was still loitering around Mithreal. Not that there was any particular significance to Eltharion. Respect was earned, in his eyes, not given with a title. Though he may have lived thousands more years than Eltharion himself had, they had still yet to meet, and he wasn't about to lick the boots of someone he hadn't met. With an unspoken command, the two pathfinders threw their commodities towards each other, Eltharion receiving the flask of honeymead and Iltharias snatching the half-eaten flour cake and finishing it in a single mighty gulp.

Giving the still almost full flask back to the Spring Ranger, Eltharion stood up, stretching his muscles and shaking himself loose. He readjusted his bow on his back as the string caught on one of his pouches and tightened the quiver around his waist, the arrows clacking against the hardened leather. "I think it may be time for us to part ways, Spring Ranger," Eltharion said as he threw the leaf wrapping that the cake had come in away, "we still both have our own duties." Turning to look directly at the woman, he added, "and knowing you, I know you haven't started any of them. Iltharias didn't reply. Instead, she had her ears pricked up and was looking into the distance blankly, her pointed pinnae occasionally twitching. "Something is off, Eltharion," she said, using his name for the first time, "The wind...does not sound the same..." Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Eltharion pulled down his hood, revealing his own pointed ears and tilted his head towards the wind. At first, the sound was seemingly the same. The usual rustling of leaves accompanied by the occasional tweet of a bird or rumbling of the underbrush. Suddenly, a crash interrupted the serenity. Iltharias and Eltharion exchanged looks. What elf dared to fell a tree of Hol-Vollum?

Before either of them could speak, a loud hoot from above made Eltharion cast his gaze upwards in time to see an owl dive through a gap in the canopy. Raising an arm, he let the bird land on his forearm. This definitely was not a natural occurrence, with Aenys' staff still brightly shining its radiance down. The only other explanation was that this was a familiar or pet. Looking at its claw, Eltharion saw he was right as he removed a small scrap of parchment. Flicking his wrist, he sent the owl onto a smaller branch near them as he unfurled the small scroll. "Strange humanoids. Not elves. Outpost." it read in a cypher, accompanied by a series of names on small slips of attached parchment, presumably those who had already read the message. Passing the message to Ilthrias, the red-skinned elf took out a small slip of blank parchment from his pouch and a piece of charcoal. scribing both his name and the green one's as well. Stickying the back with some sap, he attached it to the larger parchment and rolled it up again before tying it back onto the own and sending it on its way. Without a word, both pathfinders took off through the treetops, leaping from branch to branch.

As they passed the town, Eltharion could see chaos as far as he looked. mothers hid their children away while fathers, sons and daughters bore arms. Meeting up with a hungover Winter Ranger (who had been awoken with an unceremonious kick, the trio bounded forwards through a path that only the pathfinders knew. It was treacherous, but thanks to their training, they navigated the branches with ease, due in part to the healthier ones being marked with white streaks of ash. Between the three of them, they had two bows and a blade. Not exactly a fighting force...but hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Eltharion had yet to wield his bow in anger. And he would like to keep it that way.

"You guys took your time," muttered a voice from seemingly nowhere. "Iltharis and I were in the southern glades when your message came," Eltharion replied quietly as he picked out the shape of a turning elf, his back hidden by his cloak of seasons, "and snowman was napping off his drink." To this, the winter ranger scoffed as crouched down into the canopy, looking down. "Are those the creatures you were speaking of?," he asked, his voice deep and gravelly as he hung onto an overhead branch for stability, "they look elvish..."
"Take a closer look," Eltharion replied as he hopped onto a closer branch, narrowing his eyes.
"They're a lot shorter than we are," Iltharis said as she craned her neck, "and their ears aren't as long..."
"I have been trying to understand their speech for the past few minutes, but I cannot understand head nor tail of what they're saying," replied the mystery elf, his mossy green skin marking him out as part of the summer rangers. Eltharion scowled inwardly. All seasons are here. This bodes ill. A few moments passed as they watched in silence, their eyes tracking the movements of the strange creatures as they moved from great behemoths on the water that vomited them out like a sickness, to land.

"What are they doing?" asked the Winter Ranger as they moved a large crate of axes upon the back of an oxcart, dragging it in the direction of the forest. "Logging," replied the summer ranger bluntly. Eltharion growled. He had suspected something like that. And it infuriated him. It just did not spill over like the Winter Ranger's. "What!?" he shouted, "Why aren't we stoppi-" With a swift punch, Eltharion slammed him into the trunk of the tree with a glare. "Stay your lips if you want to keep them, fool," he hissed as he ground his fist into the elf's cheek, "you are a Winter Ranger, act like your namesake." Releasing him, he turned around and looked back at the camp the humanoids were setting up, even as a few of them looked in the direction of the noise, forcing them to pull their hoods over their heads. "The idiot is partially correct though. We need to stop them..."
"The problem is the higher ups have not given us permission to engage yet..." the Summer Ranger replied,
"And yet Hol-Vollum suffers for their indecision..." Iltharis muttered sadly.
"We cannot engage unless we receive orders, sister," Eltharion replied, crouching down as he tightened the grip on his bow, "those are our rules."
'Look towards the east, brethren," the Winter Ranger said, pointing as he rubbed the side of his face, "the Prince looks to parley."
"I wish him luck with that...truly I do," the Summer Ranger replied with a sigh.
"Either way, let us move to a better vantage point...we shall deal with the interlopers when we receive orders," Eltharion said as he leapt from his branch into the canopy, closely followed by the remaining trio.

As they reached the outpost, they were joined by a dozen of their compatriots from all seasons, bearing blade, bow, spear and staff. As far as Eltharion knew, this was the biggest gathering they had ever had outside of the meeting hall. The Mithralians all paid them some respect as they passed through the treetops, but the others just watched the action in front of them tensely, paying these newcomers no heed. "Bows un-nocked and blades sheathed, pathfinders," Eltharion said, acting as the de facto leader of the troupe, "we will act as the Prince does. Then the top brass cannot say we erred.". While definitely not the oldest of the pathfinders, he was still respected for his decision making and pragmatic attitude. Sitting high above the other elves who had gathered at the forest, the pathfinders looked down and waited to see how things would unfold. Would they need to take up arms? Or would there be a peaceful solution to this.

As the prince tried to communicate with the new creatures, two of them in full armour riding beasts cantered forward, bringing their spears to bear. Behind him, he heard arrows nocked into place, but he held up a fist, stopping them. "No-one. Shoot." he hissed as he glared back, fixing the pathfinders with his steely gaze. Almost sheepishly, most of them returned their arrows to the quivers, but a few still kept them nocked. Eltharion didn't have time to reprimand them as he heard the hiss of displaced air below him. Quickly casting his gaze down , he saw the two horse riders topple over, arrows having punctured the gaps between their armour. "Maentellus take them! Which idiots of the militia fired?!" he shouted, finally losing his cool. Those two idiots may have just doomed their Prince. "Archers! Nock arrows and pick your targets!" he shouted as himself pulled a wooden arrow from his quiver, "take out the important looking ones!"

How many times had he pulled this string in the last few minutes? More than he had ever done in the last few cycles combined. The enemy were without number, and each one seemed vigorous, if less skilled than the elves. The elves would not be victorious here, Eltharion was sure of it. "Archers!" he cried, shouting out his first order in several minutes, "Cease fire and follow me!" With that, he dropped down the branches until he landed on the ground, closely followed by close to 10 other pathfinders. He would not waste precious lives here, not if they could still be used elsewhere. Rule one of being a pathfinder was never fight a fight you could not win. But that didn't mean that they were in full retreat. There were still civilians to think of, and other elves. The pathfinders were efficient, but not heartless. Besides, they were also the protectors of Mithreal. They could not let this horde into that beautiful city.

Turning around, he could see a unit of spear and shield armed elves running from the direction of the city. "You!" he shouted, stopping them in their tracks, "I want you to set up a defensive line across the main path. Bar entry to anything that isn't an elf, but at my signal, I want you to retreat. Understood?" The small group murmured uneasily, but Eltharion persisted, stepping closer and grabbing the front man by the collar of his armor. "I asked you a question!" he hissed. Standing half a head taller than most non-Amenori elves, Eltharion's amethyst gaze once more pierced through the will of the elf in question, who nodded fiercely, before leading the men towards the mouth of the main path. "I've never seen you like this, Eltharion," Iltharis said worriedly. "That's because we've never had to fight an army, Iltharis," Eltharion replied, gripping his bow tighter. Take all the training and all the tactical drilling, and it would still not prepare him for what was happening. He was currently just thinking of temporary solutions. he was no commander of men, he was a pathfinder, a scout. He relayed information to those who decided what to do with it...and yet, here he was. In the back of his head, he understood why this was happening. The elves had been long out of the Marching Years, that dark period of Elven history that they tried to forget. No-one actually had any combat experience. Sure, they knew how to fight and fight well, but none of them had ever actually killed a man. Already, he could feel the blood of those he had killed with and ARROW coated on his hands. It was not a pleasant feeling. The elves needed guidance. And the Prince was barely providing any. Turning to his troupe, Eltharion looked over them. "Pathfinders, I want you to set traps up along the main road. Use pitfalls, logs, raging Carnonute hormones, anything that you can get up in time. Mark them with elvish signs, these creatures don't seem to be able to read them. Do this all the way back to the capital, understood?" The troupe remained silent, permeated with a few murmurs of assent. "I asked a question!" Eltharion shouted, jolting them to reality. They assented. "Go. I'll meet you back at the Pathfinder Hall. Warn any civilians and soldiers you see to fall back. Use all the authority you can. Iltharis, warn the regent." With that, the pathfinders separated to do what they did best. Survivalism and forestry.

"Back to the city!" the Prince yelled "they must be warned!"
A sudden screech diverted some attention as a hawk swooped down from the sky like the furies of legend and dug its claws into the eyes of an attacker, causing him to scream and flail, missing his swing on the Prince. Scant milliseconds later, an arrow whizzed through the eyehole of his helmet, the head piercing through to the other end and dropping him to the ground in a clatter of armour. "Finally, a proper order," Eltharion said as he lifted his arm to let the hawk land. "Prince Anaroth, I am Eltharion Tevinter, Pathfinder of Mithreal, and I bear news." They had finally reached a clearing in the battle as the pathfinders that had joined the melee congregated around them, limiting entry points for enemies and forming a ring of emptiness for the two. "I have taken the liberty of securing a safe path for a retreat. I do not know if it is against your wishes or not, but I don't particularly care either. We will not win this battle on the shoreline. There are too many of them." As an enemy broke through the protective ring, a pathfinder broke ranks and tackled him to the ground, punching a dagger into the offender's gut. Almost mechanically, the pathfinders closed ranks until their brother could rejoin them. "My voice will not reach the majority of these elves, but I know yours will, so I ask you, for the sake of your people, to direct the retreat through the main path. I have asked some of the militia to set up a defensive line until we can call a full retreat, and my fellow pathfinders have set up marked traps along the road to slow the advance of the enemy. It is your decision, but please, hurry."

Sword blows bounced off of Anorath's blade and glanced off his armor for what felt like hours though the enemy had been repelled in just under twenty minutes. If nothing else beneficial had come from the fighting at least Anorath had had the chance to witness a sorcerer in combat. The fighting ended shortly after a longsword grazed the prince's left arm. It appeared as though it would have landed, likely between plates, were it not for the help of the pathfinder. He seemed to have acted swiftly enough, however if it was he who stood in the treeline then was it under his direction that the arrows were launched? Perhaps if he hadn't commanded it the lances held by those soldiers would have impaled the prince but then again maybe they wouldn't have. Either way the elf, whom had been self identified as Eltharion Tevinter an autumn ranger, had just saved his life.

"Eltharion Tevinter. I don't know whether you ordered the arrows loosed or not but it seems that you may have already saved my life twice over. You know these woods better than I so at the very least I owe it to you to follow your direction here. Go, guide your men and I'll call the retreat." Anorath clasped Eltharion by the shoulder and gave him a swift nod before turning to look at the fifty or so elves comprising the fighting company that had burst from Hol-Vollum minutes before. Down the hill and near the shore the enemy had apparently regrouped, many were mounted atop horses but many more were afoot, charging up the hill with great speed. In the water some of the great brown structures had begun to swim south, at least eight of them, whilst ten or more remained in place out in the bay.

"Elves! Back to the city we shall break them against the walls! They cannot ride their horses through Hol-Vollum! Follow the pathfinders!" The prince called out, waving his hand toward the forest. "You there!" he stuck a finger out at the elven sorcerer with the fine blade he'd seen earlier. "Sorcerer, take the rear. Any who get close to the company, darken their vision so they cannot see us. Now, go!" Prince Anorath led the retreat himself, being the first to break into the wood. It may have been shameful by the standards of the ancient elves to have been the first to retreat however the prince had no choice. The party had to see him so that they could keep their spirits. He could see the pathfinders atop the trees running fervently toward whatever destination their leader had directed them at. He didn't have time to truly distinguish them as he found himself sprinting forward through hanging branches and other such things.

He felt a burst of heat as he ran directly through a Wil O' the Wisp but he paid no attention to it. It took an hour of running before he finally came face to face with Mithreal. It would no doubt take the enemy longer, all elves shared a sort of natural connection with the forest that allowed them to naturally pass through the wood at inexplicable speed. The pathfinders even moreso, no doubt that was why Anorath arrived to a prepared city with the wooden gate open to wait for the returning fighting company. He waited outside the gate, blade in hand, to guide all of the elves through. He counted them as they passed and put a name to those he could. He counted a total of fifty three.

Are they and the few dead truly the only ones who answered the warhorn's call? thought Anorath.

Thannis came walking briskly outward when the fighters had gone into the city. He was strapping a vambrace on with a shortsword sheathed at his hip.

"My Pr-..." Thannis began but Anorath paid him no heed and instead shoved him aside to make his way through the gate and view the preparations. None had been made. He turned to the Regent.

"Are you mad? Why are you in charge if you cannot be trusted to prepare soldiers? Maybe I should replace you with that pathfinder." Anorath said. The Regent's face grew flushed and he stammered out a weak apology. "Go gather some men, do as I say. Get them lined along the walls with bows in hand and line a spear regiment directly behind the gate. Should their horses break through you'll need to fend them off. You there," the prince pointed at one of his subordinates, " take four others and round those with children and the ones who cannot fight up into the temple." Anorath had been terrified during the fight but now his thousands of years of training seemed to spark up in his mind all at once.

"At once, my prince." Thannis said, clearly defeated.

"And once that is done gather the remaining fighters and bring them to the tree. I'll want the pathfinder as well, Tevinter. An autumnal ranger." Anorath turned and walked through the city. People were running with or without weapons in hand, some toward the front and others toward the temple or great tree. Behind him he heard Thannis barking commands but he did not listen to them. As Anorath reached the stage they had erected before the tree he sat down crosslegged to await the coming of his crowd.

We haven't got the numbers they do... And the palisade is made of wood. He couldn't help but think. The walls had been more to keep wild animals out than anything. In truth, there was no way the city could survive a siege against such numbers. The only viable option was retreat, but Anorath wasn't sure he could so such a thing knowing the majority of those in the city would not have an equal opportunity. Eventually the crowds began to gather.

Nodding wordlessly, Eltharion turned away. The little skirmish had ended and the strange creatures seemed to be in retreat. The elves had very little dead and wounded compared to them, thankfully, but that probably would not last long if they continued to stay on the beach. Even a mighty carnodon could be overwhelmed by a pack of gnarri. "Ysril, Phari, grab Lloriel's shoulders and take him back to the meeting hall," he said, directing two of the stronger pathfinders to carry their wounded comrade back, "the rest of you, through the forest. Guide those who stray from the path and kill any intruders who are not elves. turn back any reinforcements." Seemingly without question, the pathfinders started to move out, leaving Eltharion to turn and survey the battlefield. It was a mess. Corpses littered the sand, with arrows jutting out and swords half buried. Blood ran thick, running rivulets through the ground as it dropped towards the ocean. Battle was a senseless waste of life, he thought as he turned back. Launching himself into the forest's canopy, he soon disappeared from sight.

The meeting hall was brightly lit by rays of sunshine which streamed through the window, illuminating the group which moved within. The sixteen pathfinders were all gathered, the ones that remained away from the beach having kept order in the city, and their wounded companion was curled up on a bed of leaves in the corner, his wound smeared over with their herbalist's poultice. "So it's true then," their leader said as they sat around their great table, "we are going to war with an unknown species?"
"Aye," Eltharion replied, having pulled down his face covering and hood out of respect to reveal a severe, angular face, "it seems they are smaller and weaker than us elves, but they have many times our number."
"But would it not matter?" replied one of the elves who had not been at the attack, "if they are weaker, would they not dash themselves against our walls?"
"Not likely, from what I have seen," Iltharis replied, the smile gone for once, replaced by a grim visage, "they seem to possess a sense of ingenuity. They have tamed a wooden beast of the sea to give them fast transport..."
This news silenced them for a few seconds. If they could do that, what was stopping them from simply floating over their walls? Who knew what wonders they had under their control. "Even so," Aelthanion said as he steepled his fingers, "we must defend our walls with all our might." The rest of the pathfinders nodded their heads in agreement "The great tree of Harinus watches over us," their leader said, stroking his goatee, "and it is our duty as its guardians to ensure that its pure waters remain untainted by blood."
"To do anything otherwise would be heinous," another ranger replied, shrugging his shoulders.
"How shall we organise ourselves?" a winter ranger asked, his pale skin shimmering under the sunlight, "we are but sixteen elves against this horde."
"We can submit our forces into the Prince's keeping," replied a summer ranger, her yellow, sun-kissed skin at odds with her amethyst eyes, "I am sure that he can make use of-"
"I would not be so sure, Alana," Eltharion replied, his arms folded over his chest as he glared over in her direction, "from what I've seen so far the prince cannot even command a small detachment, let alone a whole city defence."
"Hold your tongue, Tevinter!" snapped another Summer ranger, his teeth gritted as he slammed his fist onto a table, pointing his other hand at the slouching Autumn Ranger, "I will not idly sit as you slander our great prince!"
"Then stand, Ephamel," Eltharion replied, remaining as calm as the eye of a storm, "I care not what stance you take, but from what I saw, our prince is not worthy of his title, bar his ability to fight. He would do better as a common warrior rather than a commander."
"YOU FILTHY LITTLE-!" Ephamel started, reaching for his blade. The other rangers reacted, but Eltharion was the fastest. By the time the elf had his weapon half drawn, his opposite already had an arrow nocked in his bow and was balanced on two legs on his seat. "Sit. Down. Ephamel," Eltharion said slowly, his eyes little larger than slits as he eased the rear of his seat to the ground, keeping his arrow pointed at the offender's chest at all times, "we may be kin in this room, but I will not suffer any threats made against me, as idle as they may be."
"Both of you, unhand your weapons!" boomed the voice of their leader, accompanied by tendrils of magic wrapping around their limbs and ensnaring them, dragging them to their knees, "we already have wolves at our gates and you wish to be at each other's throats!?" Scoffing as he shook free of his bonds, Eltharion picked his seat up and resumed his slouching posture, leaving his bow and a single arrow on the table as a reminder to the Summer Ranger, who glared back with equal ferocity. "In any case," Iltharis said, her voice as clear as a bell in the ensuing silence,"I believe we should make contact with the prince and inform him of our movements. Our duties as scouts does not exempt him from our information network, and I am sure that he will be the lynchpin of the defence, whether he deserves it or not." she said to be diplomatic, in a thinly veiled attempt to bridge the gap.
"I have no objections to this," Eltharion said, knowing the wisdom in the Spring Ranger's words, "if we connect our network with that of our military's we will have a clear picture of our situation."
"The question remains," Alana said as she idly combed her golden locks, "who will the liaison be?"
"Why not send Ephamel," Eltharion said, pointing in the Summer Ranger's direction with his nose, "he seems to be keen on brown-nosing the Prince."
"Don't you start with me again, Tevinter!" Ephamel said, leaning over the table.

Before anything else could transpire, the door to their chamber burst open and a hurried looking messenger panted as he leaned on the door frame. "Pathfinder Tevinter," he managed through gasps for breath, "Prince Anaroth requests...requests your presence...please attend to...attend to him immediately." A moment of silence followed as the gathered elves looked around at each other. "Looks like the liaison has been decided for us," Iltharis said, her mischievously innocent smile back on her face. Letting out a silent sigh, Eltharion stood up, slinging his bow over his back. "Relay any important information to me as it comes," he said as he adjusted his quiver, "I believe I will spend the remainder of the defence at the Prince's side." With that, Eltharion pushed past the exhausted messenger and descended the stairs cut into the wood, eventually coming out into the sunlight. From here, it was easy to see why the messenger had been so out of breath.

The meeting hall of the Pathfinders was far from the city centre, and on one of the tallest trees that they could find. The easiest route was to climb along the branches onto the landing platform, but for those not inclined towards acrobatics, there was a long flight of winding stairs up to the hall. Unlike the messenger, Eltharion simply descended with a few hops, skips and jumps, landing onto the main level of Mithreal. And it was in chaos. Children, mothers and the infirm were being led towards the temple. Eltharion scoffed. At least the prince had the sense to get the non-combatants out of the way. With this, they wouldn't have to worry about the creatures killing their young. Leaping from the roof of a small crafts-shop, Eltharion stumbled a bit as he sought to avoid a running child, barely managing to land on top of the creature as he rolled to the side. It didn't help that he was walking against the current. Pulling his hood down and facecloth up, the pathfinder leapt off of the main path and started to climb across the alternate, more dangerous paths. It would be faster this way.

"You called for me, my Prince?" Eltharion said as he dropped down from above Anorath, landing on the stage in a crouch with nary a sound but a dull thud. "While you have called me here, I should also inform you that I am your liaison with the local pathfinder information network. I will inform you of any findings that my compatriots are able to discover."

When Iorelle opened her eyes that morning, she did not have the extrasensory perception of imminent danger in the crisp air. The petite woman was scrawled out in a tangle of her bed sheets and limbs, not all of which were her own. She pulled herself up and yawned, trying to free herself without waking her half-stranger of a bedmate. She staggered from the bedside once she managed to get her feet on the floor. The prone man mumbled but sighed backed into sleep. Iorelle stretched before lazily waltzing to her wardrobe and throwing on a long-sleeved green turtle neck and black trousers. The sun had not yet completely risen; she had always awoke with enough time to see it. She had partaken of the festivities last night, but her recreational substance of choice was herbage, and not alcohol, and so she walked to her balcony with a mind and body clear of any impairment. The excitement of the day before had still not left her.

Aenys's rays graced the wondrous city under her gaze, and the native Mithreli smiled at the sight. It was really too bad that her smile was tarnished by panicked screaming in the distance. She narrowed her eyes, wondering who was disturbing the city so early and for what purpose, until horns blew in the distance. It took her a moment to remember what the pattern and tone meant for she had never heard them in actual use before. The city was under attack?! As she realized that she had not mistaken the alarm, a feeling of horror dawned in her mind like the sun, bursting out and covering all with it's fiery exuberance. Mouth agape, she backed inside quickly and closed and locked her balcony door. She whirled around, finding the man she barely remembered looking up at her.

"Good morn... What's going on outside?" Iorelle quickly found her armor and rushed into it, and roused Crythis with a gentle but fast prodding from her foot. The woman looked around frantically for a moment, before spotting her shortsword and hurriedly scoping it up and strapping it to her belt. "Hey!" The man was beside her and grabbed her arm, eyes wide with confusion.

"Don't you hear those horns, Thuralis?" She nearly screeched, recognizing the man as another who belonged here in the College. He walked over to the balcony and opened the door for the muffled alarms had not yet come so close to hear it through the building. Crythis was there, and he peered out curiously after the man left the door ajar. His face was pale when he returned, and he left Iorelle's room half naked without a word. For a moment, the inexperienced woman stood in shock staring wide-eyed at her familiar. The cat came and stood ready at her feet, butting his head on her leg in the direction of the door. She took a deep breath, collecting herself and reminded herself that not only was she trained with a blade but she had magic at her disposal too. She went to her bedside and reached inside, pulling out the Circlet of Seasons. It drummed in her hands. With an experienced hand she fitted the now golden jewelry under her thick hair, a few garnets poking through the waves of soft lavender. She straightened her armor, setting a determined look on her face. Slightly shaking she left her room and headed toward Professor Wassenolf's chambers.

Although not founded on the idea of studying magic, the college, formally named Yurianiumal College after its founder, had become a deposit for those who did study catalysts and their practical applications for it was the largest and most prestigious institution of its like in Mithreal. And although not nearly a school of martial arts, the college also held many who studied the art of fighting. Over time, the college had become an effective additional force for the city, and the surrounding area could theoretically rely on them for protection if fighting came to the city proper. It was a force made primarily of people studying physical means, with those with magical catalysts and experienced professors that learned many different techniques from traveling added in here and there. They were not a formal part of the city's armed forces, but the college was recognized as having valuable assets of that nature.

That was one reason why Iorelle was so agitated and anxious; this attack would not pass her by. She quickened her steps to Professor Wassenolf's chambers, many others rushing around as well in wake of their tumultuous awakenings. She met the man halfway but he did not give her good news. "Iorelle!" She whipped around at the voice, coming to the man's side and joining a small group he had assembled. She knew a few of them but she had not time to greet them as the professor continued in a rushed voice. "The eastern outpost is under attack from seafarers. We've already assembled small teams to go out and bolster the militia. Now, we're gathering the rest of our strength to lend to the Prince." With solemn nods the men and women were off, leaving Iorelle standing with a bit of helplessness in her eyes. Wassenolf took her head in his hands. "You are never alone, my dear, and you know how to protect yourself. Do not panic, but stay wary, and most of all do not get separated from your allies!" He hugged her fiercely before the two parted ways. Her mouth dry as sand, Iorelle watched his back before she went off to find where to report in.

In the few short hours that followed the initial surge of chaos, a force had amassed outside the college. The others who had departed that morning had trickled back in wake of the retreat. They were in no formal ranks or position, but they were still able-bodied men and women most of whom, Mithreal native or not, would fight to the death to protect their home. Iorelle was standing with a group who practiced magic similar to her own and other students were situated in such groups as well. A cacophony of a hundred voices resounded in the college's courtyard and beyond, but they were soon silenced when the Dean levitated above the entrance steps, his magical staff in hand.

"The Prince-" a few cheers were sounded for him, "-is gathering his forces in the city at the stage under The Great Tree. We will give him our strength. Mithreal is ours to defend!" A raucous cheer erupted from the crowd as they, in droves, half marched half jogged from the courtyard and toward the tree. The college was not far from the center of the city, and the jog did nothing to diminish their energy. The students of the college congregated and left ample room for the Prince's other forces. Iorelle, standing with her group with alert eyes, was soon pulled away by her mentor.

"I've spoken with the Dean and some others. Iorelle, we've decided that you would act as our intermediary with the Prince." Iorelle felt her heart drop into her stomach. She had to push her way through the crowd to keep up with Wassenolf. "The administrators are needed in the field; the have the most experience. It would not do to have someone who is not prepared for the fight to have the job, and when we were talking your name was the first to come up." Iorelle knew there were probably a few who had disagreed, but she knew the Dean personally. For once she didn't think that was a good thing. "Iorelle, we have one hundred and forty-three bodies to add to the force currently. Approximately forty of them are sorcerers. We are still gathering all of our strength." Iorelle swallowed thickly, realizing he was telling her this so she could relate it to the Prince. "If you need to contact any of us send a messenger. There are many who cannot fight but still wish to help." Iorelle hoped she qualified for the position, but she knew if she doubted herself she would wind up messing something up. The two made it through the crowd and Iorelle was left standing, staring up at the stage. The Prince was there, resplendent in glittering armor, and she swallowed again, this time tasting bile. "My dear," she turned to her mentor and realized he was trying to get her attention. "He is just a man. Do not be intimidated. I have faith in you." He bent forward and kissed her forehead. "Myself and others are returning to the college to make sure all are roused and aware of the situation. May Harinus walk with you, child." He walked off back to the college.

Iorelle watched him go, trying to keep her legs from shaking. Crythis mewed sympathetically from beside her feet. She looked again at the Prince, and despite what she was just told she shuddered to think she was to be so close to a man with such a reputation. As a significant student at the college she had met many a dignitary and scholar but none matched the Prince's station. She steeled herself the best she could, straightening her tunic and taking a deep breath. She approached the stage, but did not walk onto it. She stood below looking up. When he was not otherwise engaged, Iorelle called up to the Prince. "Prince Anorath!" She stopped and bowed. "My name is Iorelle Reour'noe. I represent Yurianiumal College and its forces. We add our strength to yours." Her voice didn't quaver the way she thought it would.

Having made his way to the Prince's position, Caildir kept a scanning gaze around the battlefield. He witnessed the Pathfinders volley the front line and watched the invaders drop one by one. The combined forces of elves seemed to be dropping back as Caildir fell in with them .Once it was obvious they were planning on retreating, Caildir thought he heard someone address him.

Caildir's eyes lifted to the familiar voice. The Prince had given him orders, as it seemed. Of course, Caildir had no inherent problems with authority - especially coming from the Prince. As was said, Caildir dropped behind the retreating company, toward the invading forces. While they made their way back to Mithreal, the elven illusionist muttered a few curses while the human soldiers tripped over each other - each one confused by the hallucinations being projected before them. Some lost vision, others saw allies turning on them, while some just felt their surroundings spin around them. Those that stumbled close were met with a searing blade. Caildir took care in cutting the least lethal spot. However, no matter how benign the cut, the exploding pain rendered the soldiers helpless nonetheless.

He turned to barely see the last of the elves disappear into the forest while he blinded whomever he could. Caildir soon caught up with his compatriots as they grouped up around Mithreal. Following the crowed, Caildir kept his eyes on the Prince while he waited for the next orders. He'd have no problem fighting for his people.

"You're a good scout, Eltharian. Thank you. Stay up here next to me for now." Anorath knew that what he was about to do was just as likely to make the scout remove his head as it was to embolden him. "And thank you as well, Iorelle." The prince stood silently for a moment as the crowd gathered and then looked off into the distance past the great wooden palisade that they called a wall. What I do, I do for Amenor. he thought bitterly.

"Citizens of Mithreal," he began to address the wide crowd of soldiers that had amassed before him. "Your city is under attack. Nay, our city, our lands. Elvenkind has been united for thousands of years so I dare say that this city belongs to all those who share your elvish roots. I may be of Amenor, a place many of you may never see, but I have grown with you all over the past months and I must say that the tenacity of your people is profound." Anorath pointed at one of the soldiers in the crowd. "I remember you. Raenor? Yes, that's right. You carried a bag full of rocks up the hill to the temple on your sick day. That bag must have weighed two hundred pounds. And you," he pointed at another, "you were the first one I saw leave the treeline today when the fighting commenced. That's bravery." Anorath had come to the difficult part. Any leader could compliment a soldier or remember a face, but asking them to do something they didn't want to do was what would make a king out of him. He paused for a moment.

"That is bravery beyond that which I show now. I am leaving. And what I ask of you now is likely the most difficult thing I shall do as I walk this earth. I need volunteers to come with me. We will head to Amenor and tell my father, the king, of the happenings here. He will raise his armies and we will come back. We will come back and save this city." Anorath made sure to make eye contact with every elf he possibly could. Anorath turned to Eltharion.

"Eltharion. I know this is your home. I need you to come with me." It was not command but sincerity in his voice now. "Who better to represent your people than one of those who stands as their first line of defense? And you'll know the quickest ways out of the country. I need you. And you," he pointed at Iorelle. "I need you too. You represent the college, if you attend council with my father and I it will give much more credence to my word. If he sees that even the combined might of all the mages in Mithreal is not enough to quell this foe he will have no choice. And as for the rest of you, any who wish to accompany me on this journey will be more than welcomed. The rest shall remain here to..." die he thought, "defend the city. What say you all?" Anorath raised a mailed fist into the air and waited for a reply.

As the words started to leave the Prince's mouth, Eltharion's glare grew fiercer, until they were merely slits, boring holes into Anaroth's back. The crowd in front of them was silent as well, looking at each other for guidance. Silence reigned as the Prince's words sunk in. Then, a single boot step broke through the chains holding thier head in place as Eltharion stepped towards Anorath. Each dull thud was slow and measure, its rhythm like a heartbeat as the ranger's age-worn leather bootsoles clattered against the wooden stage. Stopping a mere metre away from the Prince, his mysterious violet eyes continued to glare silently, as if judging him. Before anyone could react, his hand flew to his side and drew his survival knife, its broad, serrated edge flying rapidly towards the chink between helmet and breastplate of the prince's armour. Audible gasps pierced the day as the assembled troops looked on in horror. Many tried to draw their weapons and some rushed forward, but it was too late as the blade arced towards Anorath's neck. Then, just as suddenly as he had started, the blade's edge stopped a mere few millimetres away from the prince's neck, close enough to nestle itself between the two armour plates and sending a chilling wind over his throat.

"You would dare to leave the city of Mithreal, Prince?" Eltharion said as he held his blade in place, its keen edge glinting in the sunlight, "abandoning us at our direst time of need under the pretense of reinforcements?" With his hood drawn up and facecloth dragged over his mouth, Eltharion looked like a common assassin. "More than that, you have the audacity to take some of its defenders with you?" he asked as the blade drew closer, its edge now resting on Anaroth's neck, "when it is known that we will require every pair of hands available to simply hold the city?" The ranger tilted his head as the Mithreal garrison paused awkwardly, weapons in hand. Archers had already trained their aim on his head, but did not fire for fear of hitting their leader. Glancing calmly at the multitude of soldiers watching over them, Eltharion scoffed. "The Great Tree of Harbinus is the centre of our beliefs, and we will do anything in our power to secure its safety," he said as he turned back to look at the prince, locking their eyes together and leaning in closer, "even if that means temporarily abandoning it," he whispered, his face mere inches away.

Pulling away, Eltharion withdrew his blade and flung it into the planks of the stage, where the point dug deeply into the wood, quivering where it stuck fast. "I will ready myself for departure, Prince Tel-Thennes," the ranger said as he turned away, heading back towards the Ranger Meeting Hall, "I will ensure that your...promised reinforcements...will arrive," he said as he paused, turning back, "by any means necessary". With that, he resumed his stride, aware that he was still being targetted. And of course he would be. He essentially just threatened one of their highest leaders. But still. Eltharion had to test whether the prince was running with cowardice poisoning his mind, or genuinely working for reinforcements. Either way, he did not expect the elf to take kindly to his threats. Scoffing once more, he changed direction, heading in the direction of the Great Tree of Harbinus,