Chapter One: Wistful Thinking
A young ranger, hardly more than a girl, with a great bow and a quiver slung across her shoulders and a long dirk hanging from her belt, stood on the worn dusty path, over shadowed by the Great Northern Wall. Placing a hand on the worn and battered stones with something akin to reverence, she looked ahead. Further down the path was a small gap in the wall, big enough for two or three to walk abreast with ample space with a sign nearby. However, the sign was not needed; everyone except for the most naïve and sheltered knew that beyond lay the Breach; the unstable terrible rift that the Searing had inflicted on the wall. Now the whole place was crawling with Charr and other beasts. Ambushes by Grawl or Charr, centered on bands of unwary or incapable travelers, had been constant occurrences until, at the mere mention of the name, experienced traders and hunters fell silent, warding themselves against bad luck.
Briefly dropping her hand to touch the dirk's hilt, a somewhat steely glint, tempered with youth, appeared in her eyes. Though she could hardly be called a woman and was still in her teens the Breach had provided her many opportunities, some of them without fruit, to strengthen her skills and collect useful items or the occasional pouch of gold by fighting any invaders that she found. Not bothering to turn around, she said in a quiet but determined voice, "Let's go," and ran towards the gap, followed by her three comrades and the melandru stalker, her longtime and closest friend, Ravagnar.
At the end of the gap, standing by a narrow corridor leading to the North and therefore directly to the Breach, was a welcome sight. Ever since the Searing Torin the guard had kept a constant post, and she had never once been there with him absent. Adorned in armour, a sword at his side and a shield in his hand, Torin had "persuaded" many lone or small groups of enemies from passing into, or out of, the region below the wall. Dark eyes in a face not without scars watched them approach with warm familiarity, the guard's stance relaxing slightly. Nodding in their direction, he said gruffly "Planning on collecting more Charr hides to sell, youngsters?" He smiled.
The ranger stopped next to him, carelessly motioning to her bow, Ravagnar sitting at her foot. "You misjudge us, Master Torrin," she said in a mock pompous tone, nodding to the others. "By the time we'd finish with them they'd rather be choked by their own bowstrings and fed their own tails, if the dead can be reincarnated, than cross our paths again." This caused him to chuckle.
"If what you say is true, I'm glad that we're on the same side; it seems like there is a never ending amount of them. I wish it was as easy as that – that it would take nothing to drive back the enemy and gain a never ending peace."
"But then life wouldn't be as interesting," interjected Mranik, a warrior in his late twenties. "And there wouldn't be any Grawl or Charr waiting for us to join their parties and merrymaking. I wouldn't be able to fine tune my skills."
"Hah, you and your so-called skills," said Brindin the mage, rolling his eyes. "Running around screaming and hitting things with pieces of metal may be considered skills by numbskulls like you but not to me; my area of study consists of far more studious and difficult arts." Torrin stood a little taller; Brindin's description of Mranik's skills appropriately described his career as a soldier and guardsman.
"Hey, I earn my keep by guarding this portal day and night from the beasts who slaughter our men. I have known others who wouldn't last an hour against a minor bandit party. If I have no skills, youngster, then tell me how I've kept this way clear of enemies."
"By your solid bul –" His reply was cut short by the last of the ranger's companions who had stepped forward and had started to speak. As small as she was, the glare in the monk's blue eyes was intense.
"What I want to know is how long any of you would last in a full-out battle outnumbered and without a healer. Having to run around everywhere after you while being chased by a load of Charr hot on my heels is not my idea of fun. And that's not the only part of it – I always try to catch up heal you, and I'm glad to, but as soon as I turn my attention elsewhere you try to get yourselves killed and as always jump in the thick of it without a care in the world. If I were the mother of Prince Rurik or Tydus or whoever is commanding I'd give them a strong scolding about sending healers and young rips like you puppies out in the field." Ironically, Fenora was the oldest of the group, by only a few years and with the exception of Torrin, but as is the case with a lot of healers she had a strong motherly instinct toward any person who was in her group. "Think about their emotional state by the time they've been out there for a day – " While the healer proceeded to launch into a full-scale monologue, Theaden and Mranik exchanged glances over her head, knowing full well that once she got started she would be hard to stop; the victims tended to have headaches by the end of it. Fortunately it was Brindin who saved them.
"Ok, ok, we get the point, Fenora," his not fully-concealed impatience betrayed in his voice. "I mean, we're sorry we keep putting you through this, and we're grateful for your healing powers. It's quite a good chance we would almost all be dead if it weren't for you." Fenora's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"I know you're trying to sweet-talk me into forgiving you, Brindin. It wouldn't be like you if you weren't. Apologies accepted; only next time this happens I won't be so lax." Theaden was having a difficult time hiding a smile, despite the circumstances and the threat of Charr looming over them. Looking over to Torrin she thought she saw a somewhat amused flicker in his eyes. Thinking about what would be immediately next she raised her hand to her face when she remember that it was hidden up to just below the eyes by her Hunter's Mask.
Brindin sighed loudly, as if he was exasperated. "Well, we do owe you. I guess we can turn back and do this quest when it's more convenient, though I'll sure be sorry for all those travelers passing by the area that we could have saved the trouble for." A subdued but forlorn expression appeared on his face, as if he was already grieving. This soon disappeared when Fenora's jaw hardened. "I'd rather not go, but I can't stand the thought of innocent people getting slaughtered just because we didn't do something that we could have. After all we are doing him a favour. We should go straight away before those beasts cause any more undeserved deaths just because we decided to turn our backs!" The grin on Brindin's face was apparent to all; she looked like she wouldn't had flinched if someone told her they were going to battle one hundred Charr all at once.
Turning to Torrin, Theaden explained, "A few days ago we ran into Ranger Nente and spent the day together. Before we departed ways he told me that there was an active war party of Charr in the Breach. He believes that they're forming a plan, if executed it could inflict a powerful blow. Last thing he said to me was to find and kill the leader, Gorgaan Hatemonger, and that is where we're going." At his Torrin nodded knowingly, growing slightly pale.
"He's a fine, slippery rogue, he is . . . Gorgaan Hatemonger. You're serious about taking him on? Several have tried to kill him and several have fallen under his axe but yet he still lives and leads a warband, an experienced one at that."
"Scum like Hatemonger should never have been born – many lost ones would still be here if it weren't for the Charr. Balthar's Beard, I might as well try and I'm sure Nente wouldn't have asked me for nothing. Plus it's not like we fighting the whole band – it's not like this is my first fight."
"That I do not doubt," replied Torrin. "It's mostly been fresh upstarts who are too cocky for their own good who come pass this way nowadays; most come back missing a body part or sumthing – it's rather sad. I always say it's the seasoned warrior who thinks ahead."
In the background, Fenora snorted audibly, rolling her eyes, muttering to herself "Riight . . . ., so seasoned that they can kill Charr with one blow."
Theaden nodded. "True, true. We'd best be going, 'case more of them come by." Taking her bow from her shoulder she looked over it briefly to make sure all was well. Satisfied she hoisted it upon her shoulders. "You never know what might happen. "
"When you come this way again, tell me how things went.," replied, the guard. "I'll be interested in hearing of the fall of Gorgaan Hatemonger.