(The Dream: Part 1: Garyn)<br/><br/>Garyn stood near the front of the Rangers, grey head and beard shining in the early morning sun. As it always did, pre-battle exhilaration shot through his body. Over the millennia many things had changed; he had been hardened by the death of friends, honed by countless hours of practice, and enlightened by the experience of war. But the exhilaration never left him. It was war; time to kill or be killed, and at that moment, Garyn Tanarsil was immortal. And why should he not be? After tens of thousands of battles and skirmishes death still had no grip on him. Nor would it on this day.<br/><br/>Glancing over the Rangers behind him, he picked out the faces of friends and comrades. Humans passed away, he was so old now that even the trees passed away. But the Rangers lived on. He could make out Wren down the line, bright red hair almost as fiery as her temper. Toranil of the twisted lip was honing the tip of his spear. And behind him a stones throw, Authryn had managed to find some open room on the field and was going through the graceful movements of water dance. Beside him, Triarc the Young stood invisible to all but the best trained eyes.<br/><br/>Cordoran, the Elf-Lord, was leading a small contingent of his people in a protection song. Their voices, unearthly as ever, rose and fell in perfect harmony. Garyn's skin prickled as he felt the song's spell weaving through the army. Beside him on his left, Yue was perched upon a tree stump, inspecting her twin short blades with a critical eye, although they were definitely already in perfect condition. Varunel, stood to his right, eyes closed, likely thinking of Ilenya, his elvish wife. He had lost his taste for war centuries before, and when this final fight was done, Garyn knew he would return to craftsmanship and never lay finger to a sword again.<br/><br/>A short distance from the main group, Garyn could barely make out Ithilnaur. A stab of anger shot through him. When Vulcan had proclaimed his plan to the council of war, it was Ithilnaur who had opposed him so strongly. Admittedly, his plan was better suited to the Rangers style and numbers, but was there any force on the face of the earth that could truly stand against the Rangers in their might? Division was the only way they would lose, and Ithilnaur had pushed them to the brink. Garyn had exchanged bitter words with him over the matter and they had parted on bad terms.<br/><br/>In the centre of it all, aura as strong as the sun itself, stood Vulcan. Wise and powerful, it was he who had taken over the reigns of the Rangers and would lead them to glory this day. Victory was written upon his face as sure as the air they were breathing.