"The Second Elmaiya Empire has existed for over four centuries then, and the institution called the Empire's Rangers had accompanied it throughout its existence. First formed by survivors of elven raids or others who had lost loved ones to such raids, the unit grew to be one of the empire's elite units, dedicated to fighting the raider threat from the east to the death. In the end however, the elves outlived both the second empire, and the rangers both." - Delvin Amble, Jötunbergian Historian, Circa 362 FP.

Inner Fort of Fort Asconix

Eastern Elmaiya

Second Elmaiya Empire

6th day, 2nd week, 7th month, year 80 VA.

Marius Alscott pondered the future set before him on his desk. He was an old man, his pureblooded wolf therian bloodline and his naturally snow white fur helped hide some signs of age, yet even so he felt the weight of his eighty six years of age. His eyesight in the left eye was starting to go bad, while both his hearing and sense of smell were nowhere as acute as it used to be.

He had been a lifelong ranger. Born in a refugee camp built for survivors of elven raids, then grew up in various ranger encampments as his parents joined the unit with him in tow. He became one himself at fifteen, and for the past thirty two years, he has led the Rangers as a whole as the Ranger General.

Despite the general hatred of elvenkind that permeated the unit as a whole, Marius was more detached. He had no personal beef with the elves himself, and to him, they were just another enemy of the empire. And enemies exist only to be killed.

This detachment was probably what helped him be a more logical commander, not prone to making emotional mistakes like other ranger commanders often did, and had allowed him to rack up feats in his youth which led to his eventual promotion as Ranger General.

As far as elven raids went, in his lifetime it had been light. There were mostly skirmishes during his youth, of smaller tribes raiding on their own. When he heard news of a warchief uniting the tribes four decades ago, he had feared the worst, and the rangers were on heightened alert for an entire year, but nothing ever came their way.

The grand raiding party of nearly ten thousand had headed eastwards instead, to the necromancer lands, and all reports indicated that they had mostly met their demise there. Good riddance, he had thought at the time. The past decades had been peaceful, with most skirmishes, initiated by the rangers themselves instead.

Usually hotheaded younger ones, whose losses were often too fresh and whose anger clouded their rationality. Those foolish enough to charge into the forest never returned. The elves might be hurting, but the forest was their home ground.

After he was made Ranger General, he adopted a strict defensive protocol, and his tenure was a peaceful one all considered. When he was younger, he would have killed for such peaceful times. As he grew older however, he started fearing that he would leave no legacy of his time as Ranger General.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

That was why when the old dwarf, Rowliss, asked for an audience with him two years ago, and elaborated on his insane plan to eradicate the elves, he agreed and shook hands with the half-mad rot mage. He gave the old dwarf shelter and a laboratory, and earlier this year, the dwarf had apparently stocked enough of his first batch of creation to unleash it.

Reports from the few scouts capable of skulking in the forest were promising, the elves stricken, and he had ordered an increase in offense in turn. The entry of Ptolodecca into the fray and the presence of tens of thousands of undead soldiers complicated things however.

Which was why he risked his scouts and gave them the permission to attempt assassinations on the healers treating the elves, sadly with little success, while at the same time Rowliss released a more potent version of his magical plague, with far more promising results. The old dwarf had confessed that he possessed a far more virulent variant, that he dared not unleash, for unlike his work so far this one wouldn't target only those of elven blood.

They had gone back to a more stable stalemate now, the Ptolodeccans not leaving the forest, while the Rangers not entering it. So he was surprised when his long-time aide had rushed into his room and warned him that the elves were attacking.

"How many? Real or a feint?" He asked as he hurriedly put on his armor and headed out of his office at a brisk walk.

"Approximately four thousand, many of which seem rather ill," replied his aide as she walked beside him. "Might be a last gasp effort?"

"How far?" Marius asked as they walked into the yard of the fort. The ranger cavalry and light infantry had been assembled and ready for sortie in the yard, and saluted him on sight.

"Approximately half an hour away, headed to skirt past us towards Sedoorf and Jekist," replied the aide, naming two villages to the west of the fort.

"So probably trying to lure us into a trap then?" Marius pondered for a moment. "Split up, intercept both groups. It wouldn't do to allow them to pass us by after all. Aim to drive them away. Do not chase into the forest. Minimize contact with the Ptolodeccans!"

A chorus of "Yes, Sir!" answered him, and as the fort's eastern gate was opened, the rangers streamed out. Marius himself climbed the ramparts, his fighting days long behind him, as he wasn't exactly in fighting fit at his age.

He brought a spyglass up to his left eye - his good eye - and watched the skirmish that unfolded over the next few hours. His rangers acquitted themselves well. They took casualties, but made the elves pay in kind, and as the elves broke off the fight and retreated back to their woods, he counted with satisfaction that there were approximately a good five hundred or so of the slender bodies left behind as corpses.

His soldiers pursued towards the forest, but soon clashed against a line of undead soldiers, and after a short skirmish, soon broke off and retreated in good order. The Ptolodeccans had not pursued.

As Marius walked back towards his office in the inner fort, planning to wait for his subordinates' return there, he suddenly felt a chill along his spine. Were he a superstitious man he would have called if a bad premonition, but he was not, and had passed it off as his advanced age not responding well to the evening's chill.

The utter silence that greeted him as he entered clued him that something was wrong. The faint scent of blood his nose detected made that feeling intensify. He drew the sword from his waist, and bid his aide do the same, and they alerted other rangers still in the fort to come to them.

Together they entered the inner fort. Their inspection of the first floor leading to the discovery of dead sentries… and civilians. The civilians that lived in the fort were generally family to a ranger, who wished to contribute despite their inability to fight. They served as the service staff of the fort, and now they found many of those civilians dead.

With a sudden realization, dread creeped into Marius's mind, as he led a squad of rangers straight to the third floor while others searched the second floor and the basement. When they arrived, they found the room Aegon Rowliss lived in ransacked, but the door to his laboratory tightly shut, jammed to the point that they couldn't open it.

A glimmer of hope bloomed in his heart, and he ordered the door rammed open, then entered the moment some robust rangers successfully forced the door ajar. With dismay, he found the dwarven rot mage, dead with dried blood all over him, and the lab thoroughly ransacked as well.

Marius clasped his face in one hand and sighed deeply, after seeing the potential end to the elven threat dead before him. He was just thinking how he should report this news to the emperor when a fit of coughing overcame him.

When he looked at the hand he used to cover his mouth, he was baffled to see fresh blood specks on his fur.