The Ranger in Green

The forest was green—a place of dense greenery and bright sunlight. Yet, the sun itself was not always directly visible, obscured by the towering trees cloaked in thick foliage. Large green leaves adorned the branches; water dripped from some of them, remnants of the morning rain—a common occurrence in these parts. The trees stretched high toward the sky, while the grass at their bases grew just as thick and tall.

The soil was black—rich and fertile, supporting abundant grass. The only breaks in the sea of green were the well-trodden paths. Some were wide—a full meter across—winding deep into the forest. Occasionally, they intersected with smaller, narrower connecting trails. There were also clearings—patches of bare earth—all clearly the work of someone, perhaps the inhabitants of the forest or the surrounding area.

Otherwise, it was a magnificent green forest. And there, an elf stood. He was dressed in green—a ranger. Amidst the lush greenery, he was easily overlooked. Birds sang intermittently. Something stirred the bushes—the ordinary life of a healthy green forest. The elf stood there, clad in green, wearing a hooded cloak. His attire was made of green fabric; he blended in so perfectly that one could easily fail to notice him.

He was clearly a forest-dwelling elf. He began to move swiftly through the branches, the foliage, and the grass. Sometimes he ran along the paths he knew so well; at other times, he vanished into the shadows of the trees or crouched low in the thick grass. When he sat in the grass, he was invisible—he practically disappeared. And he blended in with the green of the leaves and grass.

A ranger—he was a ranger. A guardian of the forest, a scout. An archer. An elf wielding druidic magic. His pale face seemed to hold a faint greenish hue—a lilac-tinged pallor, almost white, yet with a touch
of green. Pointed ears. Handsome features. Long yellow hair tucked beneath his hood. There was little time to study him closely; he moved swiftly through the foliage—past leaves, branches, and verdant thickets. He leapt over them and vanished into the tall, dense grass. There was moss, too; in this forest, "green" was a concept unto itself, encompassing a multitude of shades. Green defined this woodland: here, dark, dense leaves; there, the soft blades of bright green foliage. Everything was awash in green.

The ranger’s movements appeared chaotic, yet there was a method to them—the way he leapt into the grass, sprinted along the paths, and inspected the trees. He was surveying the forest, moving rapidly and with minimal noise—making only the sound of the wind. He moved like the wind itself, skillfully ducking and leaping, observing from the cover of the grass.

A seeker in the woods—a green elf, a ranger. His name was like the wind; he had as many names as there were leaves in the forest. He was hunting *gniloks*—Rot-Walkers. He sought them out by tracking the stones they left behind. The undead scattered these magical stones throughout the forest—on the road, in the bushes, in the grass, or beside a tree. A Rot-Walker would emerge from the stone; it worked on the principle of teleportation. The undead sought to infect the forest.

Rot-Walkers came in many varieties. They are like zombies—sluggish entities that resemble humans. They have a greenish hue, too. Or they are tall, tree-like beings—even more immobile—with long, branch-like arms. They can stand perfectly still, looking just like trees. There are different types of these "Rot-beings," and they try to blend in with the forest, filling the landscape. They mimic trees; that is their tactic here. That is why a ranger is needed. There can be many of them, and the forest is vast. They camouflage themselves.