Background: Pathfinder

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  • Pathfinder

    Table Of Contents


    Source

    It is natural that all the Sylvan Elves, born and bred beneath the
    forest canopy, are gifted trackers and wondrous archers, capable of
    venturing alone into the wild forest for weeks at a time. For all this
    skill, the common elf pales in comparison to those few known as Sentinels.
    Ultimate survivalists and masters of the forest world, they are taken
    from the best archer militia and trained as brave monster hunters and
    guerrilla fighters. They often carry virulent poisons and coat the tips
    of their arrows with these in order to bring down those enemies that
    might inspire fear and break the lines of the forces behind them. This
    also allows them to apply their skill as hunters on behalf of their kin;
    Sentinels sharpen their talents against the great beasts from within
    the forest as often as interlopers from without. They are a doughty
    force to meet in battle: true veterans and a peerless example of the
    unorthodox tactics of the Sylvan Elves honed to frightening lethality.
    The rare few who survive and flourish in the long days within the forest
    may be sponsored by a Pathfinder band to join their ranks and become
    the very epitome of silent death from afar. Pathfinders quickly
    become elves for whom even the merest facade of civilisation is unnatural.
    They live a life far more akin to a pack of wolves than other
    elves – a nomadic existence, sleeping in dens or in the boughs of
    trees. Despite this feral bearing, they hold a place of great esteem in
    the community during those rare times when they do make an appearance
    at a grove or noble’s court.
    Descriptions of marksmen always watching, who could pick out an
    eye at a hundred paces filled my nightmares, yet in my waking life,
    I observed my guards becoming more lax with each passing day. I
    seized the opportunity to make my escape, and fled the hall one dark
    night. Hurrying along the small trails winding through the dense forest,
    I began to believe I was truly free.
    Half an hour along the path, with my best guess as to North, I stopped
    dead. A single white fletched arrow lay across the track before me. I
    raised a foot to cross this discarded projectile, but the hairs prickling
    on the back of my neck made me lower it again. Turning, another arrow
    lay across the path behind me, where none had been mere moments
    before. No living being could move so swiftly, so silently, without
    leaving another trace. Shuddering, I knew the truth. I was permitted
    to escape, but my sojourn ended here. I was certain mirthful laughter
    shadowed me everywhere in the days that followed my return.

    They stole like shadows, their lineage clearly
    visible, if you could spot them.

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