The caravan, or what was left of it, finally made its way out of the city, sluggishly at first, then picking up the pace as the group got into stride. Garret walked by Symon, exchanging a few words with the old wagoner who was leading one of the eldest and biggest doylaks in their herd. Their talk spanned many topics, even though the words said between them were only a handful. Garret liked that, he had believed Symon to be unpleasantly talkative at first, but had since found that the man shared his love for quiet while on the road.
He still didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to find at their journey’s end. It was a troubling prospect, an encounter with an Elder Dragon, but even if they found no such beast, they would doubtlessly run into many other obstacles along the way. He knew little of the Blazeridge Mountains, save that beyond them lay vast stretches of uncharted territory, some of it held by the Charr, but the rest was shrouded in mystery. Still, one would have to be a fool to believe that whatever powers ruled on the other side of the mountain range would let them pass uncontested if they discovered their presence. Things were never as simple as that – a point life had proven to him over and over again.
The Sylvari had given a brief speech before their departure, though Garret let most of it pass by his ears. She sounded like an over-eager sergeant shouting down recruits at a muster, something which he had endured numerous times during his service with the Seraphs. Maybe such sternness and severity could awe the other wagoners, but for Garret it was par for the course. In fact, he had dearly hoped that he would never have to listen to some bossy official ordering him around again, but as always, his non-existent luck would have it otherwise.
Whatever the case, he had gleamed a measure of information from Freya Alcor’s talk. Behind the brash words and grim warnings was a thinly-veiled worry and uncertainty. They were still in sight of the Black Citadel’s walls and already they were cautioning folks against deserting and falling behind? Then what would they say once they actually crossed those damned mountains? Threaten them with execution? Pfah!
Perhaps these Orders knew more than they were letting on, it occurred to him. Maybe they knew exactly what they were setting out to confront and were trying to steel the group’s resolve from early on? And perhaps they willingly sent them on a suicide mission, knowing full well what was coming? No…that was doubtful, little more than paranoia, he told himself. If the Orders truly knew that an Elder Dragon was lurking in the east they would be bringing with them an army, not a bunch of doylaks and their handlers.
Still, that line of thought left him uneasy and he began looking around in order to clear his head. Unfortunately, the desolation that had once been the lush lands of Ascalon was about as bleak as his thoughts, so it hardly made him feel better. The caravan occasionally crossed paths with groups of Charr on their business and some wildlife could be seen cresting the hills in the distance. Considering where they were, the “wildlife” consisted mainly of vicious devourers and the creatures referred to as Wind Riders; a far cry from the foxes and rabbits and boars of Kryta.
Finding nothing interesting to occupy his mind with, Garret began surveying the caravan itself, looking among the now-familiar faces to gouge their mood. Up ahead he could see the outlines of the two warriors, members of the so-called Vigil according to the others, fully armed and armoured, yet just as silent as they had been before. A bit farther behind came the rest of the caravan, made up by a collection of men and women who were decidedly not fighters. Then came their rear guard, in the form of the sharp-tongued Sylvari.
Garret could see why they had chosen her for that task. Who would dare to think of deserting if they risked getting an earful from that bitch? Well…that and her sheer presence was intimidating, Garret had to admit. He didn’t know if it was the wicked scythe slung across her back or the way she held herself, but his finely-honed soldier senses told him that this woman was trouble. Better stay out of her way and avoid drawing attention to himself. He’d never gotten along well with authority figures and something told him that this one in particular would not take kindly to her command not being respected.
Having nothing else to occupy his attention, he turned to Symon and made an effort to hold a normal conversation. He led with some questions, letting the older man speak of his home and wife and sons at his leisure. Symon would sometimes interject with a question of his own, but he seemed content to do most of the talking. Their sentences were followed by long bouts of silence, giving the impression that not much was said between them. In truth, however, it was precisely these quiet moments that strengthened the growing bond between them.
“I can tell ye one thing, son. Assumin’ we come back alive, we’ll have some amazing stories t’ tell” Symon said at one point, followed by an earnest laugh.
Aye, they’d have some and more, Garret thought with a frown, lacking his companion’s enthusiasm. It was going to be a miserable journey, he was certain of it, and no amount of blind optimism was going to change that fact.
Member
Maybe a curse of some sort?