Garyn: The Dream: Part 2<br/><br/>It was the weather that changed first, the sun losing its glow, though the sky remained cloudless. With it there came an unearthly chill, that crept up and down Garyn’s arms. Then came the clouds, a thick dark wall that stretched from the ground to the heavens and far and wide in either direction. From where the Rangers stood it looked like the clouds slunk forward, but by the expanse that was covered they must have been moving many times faster than the crow flies.<br/><br/>It swept through the Rangers, catching up flags, hair, and anything unfastened. The elves still sang, but beneath their fair song there was a deep, gutteral roar that grew louder as the enemy approached. Dark shapes began to take form. Felhounds and dire wolves let forth their howls while demons and other nefarious creatures chanted to the tattoo of baritone drums. There was a rage in that chant, a hatred so pure and dark that it threatened to break the will of the hardiest of men. As Garyn listened he wondered how many armies had crumbled long before they had crossed blades with the army of the Dark Ones. The elves resisted them, their battle hymns rising to meet the cacaphonic onslaught as the rest of the Rangers joined in.<br/><br/>From the midst of their ranks, a dark, shadowed figure rose upon unfurled wings. Tall and swathed in black. As he took to the sky he slowly raised his arms, and as one, the enemy fell silent. With one final chorus the Rangers grew silent as well, their last few chords fading into nothingness.<br/><br/>Garyn took a deep breath. Experience told him that the moment was nearly upon them. Each second they waited was equally exhilirating and painful. His legs longed to move and his hands played upon the hilt of his sword. The demons and other fel creatures across from him shuffled in their rows while the Rangers looked on, impassive. One final time Garyn looked down their line. Young, immortal faces; brave and beautiful.<br/><br/>The sweet cry of a horn pierced the silence, followed by another and another. With a shout the Rangers charged. Garyn ran, iron shod feeting clanking against the turf. He held Aurin, his hand-and-a-half sword, in both hands. As he neared their lines, Garyn picked out his target: A lesser demon with a two-handed Battle-ax. Its red face snarled at Garyn and it held its axe high, preparing to strike. The blow never fell, for when Garyn came within five paces, he suddenly sprung forward, leaping the final distance and cleaving through the battle axe and the startled face of his foe. The following backhanded slash took out an imp and was arched around again to parry the whip of a dreadlord. The whip caught on, and its owner tried to use it to pry Aurin from his hands. Garyn let go with one hand, slipping a dagger from his side and hurling it at the face of the dreadlord. It caught the dreadlord straight on, toppling him, and Garyn pushed forward. Over the next few minutes, the initial charge slowed, and the sound of horns signalled the Ranger retreat and reforming of the line.<br/><br/>The Rangers backed away under cover from their archers and spellcasters. A quick survey told Garyn that all had gone well. Few of their own were numbered in the dead, and beside them hundreds of enemies had fallen. As he and the rest of the Rangers backed up in retreat, Garyn found himself standing beside Varunel. Garyn clapped him on the shoulder. “A rout! Just like old times!”<br/><br/>Varunel smiled weakly, face pale. “Aye,” he responded, “But l hope it’s over soon, Ilenya begged me not to go, she’s afraid l won’t return.”<br/><br/>“Nonesense!” said Garyn, and he pointed to the enemy lines, “Look at them flee! We’ll have them scattered and running before nightfall. Here! Stand up straight, we’ll be charging again in a moment!” And so they were, the Rangers had drawn up their lines again and were preparing to charge into the enemy. This second charge proved even more successful than the first.<br/><br/>“It seems strange,” remarked Varunel when they retreated from the second run, “Why do they keep lining up in the same position to be slaughtered. Something’s not right here.”<br/><br/>“It is strange,” said Garyn, “But remember, they haven’t had millenia of battle training like us!” Varunel nodded but looked unconvinced.<br/><br/>The horns sounded for the third charge and the Rangers, untouched by fatigue, ran at their enemies again. Garyn targetted a felhound this time, catching it through the throat, then hurled its carcass at a demon and carved out its chest before it could react. Stepping over its body Garyn raised his sword and blocked an overhead stroke from a demon, kneed it in the gut, and was about to finish it off when a horn sounded in the distance. Garyn’s heart sunk at its keening voice; it was far too soon. Something was terribly wrong. The enemies line hadn’t been broken, retreat was incredibly dangerous. The battle turned chaotic as the Rangers tried to move back and the demons pushed in.<br/><br/>As they slowly backed away, Garyn risked a look behind him. What he saw drained the life from him: From a large gaping portal behind them, demons poured forth on the unprotected Ranger vanguard. Garyn knew they were undone the moment he saw it: The Rangers were surrounded.