A Ranger Last Stand

[Ketchum]

In front of Sallowtown gate, a Ranger stands proudly. He won't let his patron Lady Katarina down. He will fight to protect the land and its people to his last breath.

Grinning at himself, Ranger Flint stands ready to defeat the alpha monster. He has cut down many smaller groups of monster before he reaches the alpha monster. The alpha monster just stares at him and speaks some unintelligible words as the alpha surveys the bloodbaths of Ranger Flint causing. Using his home ground advantage and his familiarity with the lay of the land, his sword fighting skills, his maxed out equipment and his own experience, he crushes the alpha monster from left, right, left and right again. The alpha monster fall a bit too easily.

Panting and catching his breath, Ranger Flint rests his hands on the ground as he recovers. Only a few monsters escape and they escape with fear from the Ranger.

Sometime later after Ranger Flint has rested enough.

Looking through the bushes and small plants, climbing up and down the caves and little hills overlooking Sallowtown, his eyes scan the area warily. Ranger Flint has an uneasy feeling but he is not the one to give up easily. Glimpsing a sight of one undead, he tries to rush through. In the beginning, he was winning.

Until he chances a glimpse upon the undead champion. Even then he never give up ground as he fights bravely and with all his heart. Unfortunately while exchanging blows with the champion, one of the undead champion blows reaches his right shoulder. Yelling in pain, Ranger Flint right hand moves to take out a dagger from his boot and hit the champion in the shoulder as well. As he makes the hit, he thought the undead champion has ceased attacking him. Another undead champion blow reach his left face from which he never recovers.

He fall to the ground slowly, his head swimming with unconsciousness. His last thought turns towards his patron, as he makes a last shout to anyone who could hear him "Your... servant... is... sorry... Lady... Katarina.....". Half unconscious, Ranger Flint lies on the ground with the undead champion standing over him. Looking at the sky, Ranger Flint has not much energy to escape the champion dangerous blow as his skull bleeds profusely. His left hand still wielding a knife, his favorite weapon as he tries to ward off the blow. Undead champion speaks suddenly in a language the Ranger can understand, "Human, the end has come for you. And the rest of you will have same fate soon."

The last blow is struck hard directly on Ranger Flint chest. A long straight cut is dealt as Ranger Flint coughs blood. Even then the undead champion does not let him go, he makes a few more major cuts across his body. Sighing as he tries to muster his failing strength, Ranger Flint grins at the undead champion who looks surprised at his never-give-up attitude before the champion deals another powerful cut from which he loses consciousness.

One farmfolk at Sallowtown which happens to see such scene and hearing the Undead Champion and Ranger Flint last words, gasps in horror and begins to flee for his life to find the town guards.

[Ketchum]

Nobles of D'Hara,

This news may not elicit much concern in most, but I will share it anyway.


Today I received word that Flint, adventurer of D'Hara and Champion Ranger of the Royal Rangers, has fallen in battle against the undead. I do not know the place nor the manner of his death.

Flint was of common blood. He will have no elaborate funeral with pallbearers, stoic gentlemen and weeping gentlewomen. His is most likely a grave in some rural patch of dirt, marked by a rudimentary headstone hastily put together by sympathetic farmers.

He had no banner, no coat-of-arms bearing his titles. Indeed he had not even a family name. Perhaps he was a bastard.

I don't know.

But Flint was D'Haran, and a Ranger at that. 

When we struggled to hold Paisly, Flint was there, fighting desperately in the alleys to staunch the formation of new hordes. When the Sallowcape fell and we had to retake it, Flint was there, sent ahead of us by me to skirmish and scout.

His was the sword in the dark places of the world where us nobles could not go. His was the torch in forgotten tombs where the dead rest uneasily, or in the tangled woods where ravenous beasts are wont to gather.

Now his sword is sheathed, his torch extinguished, his watch ended.


Not many will do this for a mere commoner, but I will remember him.
Katarina Von Striga
Duchess of Sallowcape Strait
Viscountess of Qubel