Hiers to a World (Lycan Queen and thirdsober)

[Lycan Queen]

Banur is one of a few neighboring kingdoms surrounded by a giant forest, and has been for years. After years of war and destruction, the Rangers were created. Under no one kingdom's command, the Rangers protected the forest and kept the peace between nations. Yet that peace was not to last, and the land would soon be thrown into chaos once more. As darkness will sweep the land, the most unlikely heroes will step up to save them...

The forests were home to many strange beings, guarded by the ever vigilant Rangers. Hiding in the trees, blending in the shadows, always there, but never seen. Humans, elves, orcs, dwarves, all were accepted into their ranks. This was the life that Rikki knew, a half orc, half elf girl. She was tall and thin, but muscular and green skinned. Her hair was silky black, and her eyes a deep purple. Perhaps the oddest thing of all was her pointed ears and small tusks that protruded out from her lower jaw. She was always told that she was either a really tough elf or a skinniest orc they'd ever seen.

Not that it bothered her. She jumped from tree to tree, daggers strapped to her side, feeling the wind against her skin. Her heart raced with excitement as she got closer and closer. Stopping in one tall birch, she turned back and said, "Come on, Master! We're gonna be late!"

[Thethirdsober]

"There is plenty of time, though I admire your excitement" came Isendir's steady reply.

Isendir kept a brisk, but even pace as he travelled along the aged dirt road that lead to Banur.  It was only a day or so's walk from this point. 

Isendir was of elven lineage, and he showed it.  He stood a few inches over five feet tall, had a sinewy, lean build, chiseled features, and shoulder-length, deep brown hair tied into a ponytail.  His emerald colored eyes shone with a wisdom that seemed out of place for a man as youthful in appearance as he.  He wore a dark green cloak (a cloak given to all full-fledged rangers), a chain-shirt of elven mail, brown leggings, and a pair of fine leather boots.  Strapped to his belt was a longsword and a dagger--Isendir's preferred weapons in combat.  Though, that was another benefit of his elven lineage.  Though he appeared to be a man barely into his thirties, Isendir had just recently seen his 200th birthday.

His mind wandered over the recent decades of his life, filling him with nostalgia and dread.  Banur had grown quickly and at a disturbing pace.  He remembered his childhood when Banur had been but a fledgling kingdom.  He rembered humans clearing out acre upon acre of forest to expand their small kingdom.  In but a single century, it had become one of the largest nations on the entire continent.  Truly, for as short-lived as they were, humans were surely a capable and ambituous people.

Ambition...however, had its dark sides.  It was the elf's own personal understanding that such rapid growth for any kingdom was unhealthy.  As unified and powerful as it seemed from an external view, the ranger could not help but ponder the state of the empire's government.   Casting aside his thoughts for the moment, he shot a glance to his student, Rikki, who was still sitting atop a tree branch.  He could not deny his joy in being entrusted to train her.  He'd known and been good friends with the girl's parents.  Her high spirits were remarkable, surely a gift from her mother... 

Rikki was of mixed orc and elven blood; these two peoples had rarely seen eye to eye for the centuries of recorded history.  Granted, she was born among the rangers, who claimed both orcs and elves in their ranks...but a being of such heritage was sure to be unpopular anywhere else, such as his homeland, the elven kingdom of El'Rhea.

"ease yourself, pupil.  Need I remind you that we are travelling to Banur on behalf of the Rangers?  There are important matters to discuss regarding recent Banur's recent expansion...not to mention continued trade disputes and conflicts with the neighboring orc tribes."

[Thethirdsober]

   The man unsheathed his short sword, his eyes wild with panic and recklessness.  He was a small, gangly man, likely in his mid thirties and largely malnourished, such was the way of many of these bandits and criminals.  With a wild cry, he charged forward, the blade coming down in an a left to right diagnal swipe. His oponent, however, had seen the attack coming from a mile away.  Stepping outside of the blow, he lowered his stance and, with expert precision, grabbed onto the man's wrist with his compartively massive fist. He pulled the man's arm back and over his head, causing the attacker to cry out and drop his sword to the groun with a clang.  He pulled back his free arm and launched a haymaker right into the bandit's face, sending him to ground unconscious, his nose broken and oozing blood.  The victor in this confrontation knelt down and reached into the man's tunic, pulling from it a small, brown pouch.  The large man's gaze went to the would-be victim of this brigand, a portly merchant of middle-class origins.  Rising to his full height of six feet eight inches, he tossed the pouch to the flabberghasted merchant.
   He was an imposing figure indeed.  Towering over all but the tallest of men, he had a body rounded to perfection by years of intense physical hardship, with particularly long arms and legs.  His black hair was shaggy and unkempt, covering half of his ears and hanging just above his icy-blue eyes.  His features were prominent and masculine, lending themselves to at the least a faint degree of attractiveness.  Still, it was quite apparent that this man was not entirely of human stock.  His features, though human enough, were oddly feral.  He had lupine ears, and his high-bridged nose was upturned ever so slightly.  These features, however, could be found on any sufficiently irregular human being.  What most gave away his lineage as not entirely human was the greenish tint to his skin and the two prominent canines (a rude man would call them tusks) that were just barely protruded from beneath his lower lip. He wore peculiar garments.  He wore a dark gray, sleeveless tunic and silk leggings with a black cloth belt wrapped tightly at his waist, and a pair of moccasins on his feet.

   "T-thank you, young man!" The cried, his composure still shaken by the incident. "Please, allow me to reward you!"  The man merely shook his head and raised a hand to decline before turning and walking further on along the dirt path.
   "Don't bother, I'm fine" came his calm reply.  This was the third time in his journey that he'd encounters bandits of some kind.  It was most disturbing how dangerous things had become.  Even odder, the roads were so very empty.  When he'd last walked these roads nearly a decade ago they were bustling with trade caravans and merchants of every kind.  Now, it was rare to see one.  This may have largely been due to the icreased presence of bandits in the area, but it also smelled strongly of political trade embargos and increasing isolation.  Still, this increasing political conflict felt very far away to him at the moment, he was, at the moment, heading home, heading home for the first time in nine years.

He was going back to Banur.