Two days earlier, a patrol of State Troops had disappeared, devoured by the woods without leaving a trace. A group of Ostland Huntsmen had been sent to investigate the disappearance, but they had not returned to the camp the night before to report. So, instead of risking bleeding dry his army little by little by continuing to send search parties, the Elector-Count dispatched Aramil and Stormclaw to find out what had really happened.
Some would think that the Chracian noble would consider such a mission as beneath him, but they are wrong.
For Aramil, every wound, large or small, inflicted on the Forces of Darkness is a triumph. And he couldn't think of a person more suited for such a quest than himself.
Closing his eyes, he could easily imagine that he was in another place and in another time. In a different mountain range, far beyond the sea, riding alongside his brothers and hunting some horrid beast that threatened the commoners of their lands. Joking, laughing and making bets on who would draw the first blood from the creature. Returning at the end of the day to the nearest village dragging the carcass of the monster behind them, the villagers exulting as they passed, a great banquet in their honor held at sunset where everyone was happy and joyful while the beer flowed like a river.
But those times were long gone, and a screech from Stormclaw brought Aramil back to the present.
Below them, in a clearing, were the remains of a skirmish. Several bodies wearing the uniform of the Ostland hunters lay in the grass, it was possible to see that they had been mangled and mutilated with great ferocity and brutality even from that distance.
Stormclaw landed lightly in the clearing, and in the blink of an eye Aramil had already dismounted and was examining the remains and the ground for clues. It didn't take long to notice the many footprints that crossed the clearing, footprints with which Aramil was very familiar.
Greenskin, a very large group of Greenskins judging by the number of footprints.
The hunter shook his head sadly, the Ostlanders must have been outnumbered five to one, they had not stood a chance.
Examining the scene, Aramil noticed a series of more recent tracks heading northeast, deeper into the wilds. Aramil assumed that to be the direction the Greenskins had moved after winning the skirmish. But there were not only tracks of Orcs and Goblins in the undergrowth, among them it was possible to see the traces of sturdy boots worn by human feet.
Aramil hesitated, undecided. The Elector-Count had not explicitly forbidden him to engage enemies if he found them, but he had made it clear that the priority of the mission was to report the nature of the threat present in that part of the mountains. And judging by the footprints, the Greenskins' numbers were large, probably too great to be defeated even by him.
However, Aramil could not in good conscience leave the poor humans in the clutches of the Orcs, where it awaited them slavery or a grisly death for the entertainment of the green brutes. If he returned to the camp to get reinforcements, it might be too late to save them.
And that was if the Elector-Count believed that the operation was important enough to send an armed force, what were after all a handful of lost men to someone who commanded armies of thousands?
No, Aramil was not just a servant of the Elector-Count or a common blade for hire.
He fought the enemies of all civilized peoples because it was the right thing to do,
not because it was his duty or because he was ordered to. Since he had left Ulthuan, he had sworn that he would not allow others to choose his path.
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By the time they reached the Elector-Count's camp, the two had already agreed to exchange beers around a campfire later that evening, so that Aramil could share stories of his adventures with Henrick and the other troops.
Aramil knew he would be scolded by the Count for his rash actions, but he also knew he was too important as an asset to be seriously punished or fired. But watching Henrick reunite with his comrades-in-arms, two of whom appeared to be younger versions of him and whom Aramil would later find out were his younger brother and son, he knew in his heart that he had made the right choice.
