The Aftermath - Part 1
Here is the first part of a Guild Wars story I'm writing about my character, Phost Axereaver. It's coming along slowly, and so far each part is in its first draft. Makes it far from comlplete, I know. There are going to be a lot of references that people who don't play the game won't get, and I apologize for that.
"Sir, you had better come see this."
Phost opened his eyes, hand reaching for the haft of his axe. He'd had little rest the past week and grumbled as he stood and stretched. He had no idea as to what time of day it was as the sky has been covered since the Charr had begun their devastating attack a week ago. He surveyed the immediate area as he tightened the straps on his armor. It had been past nightfall when his team made camp for the night and he hadn't seen much of where they were. Their orders were to search the lands North of Ascalon City for survivors and anything worth salvaging to start rebuilding their defenses in case of another massive attack.
The blasted land looked so alien, and without the sky to guide them, they were relying on maps to figure out where they were. He packed up his bedroll and made his way over to where his teammates had the map spread out over a slab of stone. One of the new recruits handed him his cold rations for the morning. They dared not build a fire for fear of alerting any Charr, or other hostile creatures, in the area to their presence.
"Whatcha got fer me boys?" Phost asked, taking a bit out of some tough jerky. He noticed the Rangers were missing, probably already out scouting the area. His second in command's features were grim as he looked up from the map.
"As far as we can tell, we've started to circle back towards Surmia, Sir." Farrin tapped their location on the map. Phost looked around again, his hope shattered. Farrin continued hesitantly, "Sir, we're pretty sure that's what's left of..." His voice trailed off as he pointed to some rubble strewn across the land to the North East. Phost was already looking in that direction though, taking in what was left of a small village he had once called home.
His hands clenched into fists and his teammates backed away from him a step. Phost was known for his quick temper as much as he was known for his skill with an axe. The Axereaver family was rumored to have dwarven blood somewhere in their history. Phost's six and a half foot frame put that rumor to the test, though his temper bolstered it. The Axereaver's were the woodworkers for their community, taking trees and crafting them into whatever was needed for the village. Firewood, canoes, lumber for homes, and more came quickly and efficiently when the Axereaver's were on task. Their battle skill paralleled their craftsmanship. Having hefted an axe since he could lift a hatchet and not hurt himself with it, Phost had helped his family defend the village from Grawl raiders and Charr hunting parties. It was the latter that caused Phost to go against his parent's wishes and join the Ascalon Military when he came of age. Now, those days, as all the others that came before, were gone.
Brother Seld, the monk assigned to their team, put a gentle hand silently on Phost's shoulder. Phost took a deep breath, and relaxed as he let it out slowly. The rest of the team also let out the collected breath they had been holding, waiting for him to lash out. Phost shrugged off the monk's hand and turned to his teammates, giving each one a resolute look. "Alright boys, ya know the drill. Twenty pace spread, yer eyes and ears open, and hollar if ya find something worth savin'. Brother Selb, stick to the mid and hang back a bit in case yer skills are called fer. I'll take point as usual."
The recruit who had passed out their breakfast scratches his head, looking around with eyes that were darkly circled from lack of sleep due to the trauma they have recently endured. “Sir, didn’t this used to be your village? Didn’t you have a wife and newly born child here? Shouldn’t we search for some sign of them?”
Phost had, in fact, a wife and newborn in the village. He had been on leave for the birth of his son until he was recalled to emergency active duty a month before the Searing. His commander had called him back to help prepare defenses for a Charr invasion the army suspected was coming. He had been stationed at the Great Northern Wall when the Charr attacked, but not by brute force, instead raining death from the sky. This would mark the first time he had returned home after leaving for duty.
Phost turned to the recruit, the look in his eye causing the recruit to shrink away. He then looked to each of the teammates, his voice came out without the emotion his eyes shown, “This village gets the same treatment as the rest. We go in, search, we get out ‘fore we’re noticed by any undesirables. We’re here to do a job. Understood?” Most of the team nodded, keeping their faces blank. Brother Seld opened his mouth to speak, but Phost cut him off, “Move out.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched towards the ruins of the village, expecting the others to follow suit.
"Sir, you had better come see this."
Phost opened his eyes, hand reaching for the haft of his axe. He'd had little rest the past week and grumbled as he stood and stretched. He had no idea as to what time of day it was as the sky has been covered since the Charr had begun their devastating attack a week ago. He surveyed the immediate area as he tightened the straps on his armor. It had been past nightfall when his team made camp for the night and he hadn't seen much of where they were. Their orders were to search the lands North of Ascalon City for survivors and anything worth salvaging to start rebuilding their defenses in case of another massive attack.
The blasted land looked so alien, and without the sky to guide them, they were relying on maps to figure out where they were. He packed up his bedroll and made his way over to where his teammates had the map spread out over a slab of stone. One of the new recruits handed him his cold rations for the morning. They dared not build a fire for fear of alerting any Charr, or other hostile creatures, in the area to their presence.
"Whatcha got fer me boys?" Phost asked, taking a bit out of some tough jerky. He noticed the Rangers were missing, probably already out scouting the area. His second in command's features were grim as he looked up from the map.
"As far as we can tell, we've started to circle back towards Surmia, Sir." Farrin tapped their location on the map. Phost looked around again, his hope shattered. Farrin continued hesitantly, "Sir, we're pretty sure that's what's left of..." His voice trailed off as he pointed to some rubble strewn across the land to the North East. Phost was already looking in that direction though, taking in what was left of a small village he had once called home.
His hands clenched into fists and his teammates backed away from him a step. Phost was known for his quick temper as much as he was known for his skill with an axe. The Axereaver family was rumored to have dwarven blood somewhere in their history. Phost's six and a half foot frame put that rumor to the test, though his temper bolstered it. The Axereaver's were the woodworkers for their community, taking trees and crafting them into whatever was needed for the village. Firewood, canoes, lumber for homes, and more came quickly and efficiently when the Axereaver's were on task. Their battle skill paralleled their craftsmanship. Having hefted an axe since he could lift a hatchet and not hurt himself with it, Phost had helped his family defend the village from Grawl raiders and Charr hunting parties. It was the latter that caused Phost to go against his parent's wishes and join the Ascalon Military when he came of age. Now, those days, as all the others that came before, were gone.
Brother Seld, the monk assigned to their team, put a gentle hand silently on Phost's shoulder. Phost took a deep breath, and relaxed as he let it out slowly. The rest of the team also let out the collected breath they had been holding, waiting for him to lash out. Phost shrugged off the monk's hand and turned to his teammates, giving each one a resolute look. "Alright boys, ya know the drill. Twenty pace spread, yer eyes and ears open, and hollar if ya find something worth savin'. Brother Selb, stick to the mid and hang back a bit in case yer skills are called fer. I'll take point as usual."
The recruit who had passed out their breakfast scratches his head, looking around with eyes that were darkly circled from lack of sleep due to the trauma they have recently endured. “Sir, didn’t this used to be your village? Didn’t you have a wife and newly born child here? Shouldn’t we search for some sign of them?”
Phost had, in fact, a wife and newborn in the village. He had been on leave for the birth of his son until he was recalled to emergency active duty a month before the Searing. His commander had called him back to help prepare defenses for a Charr invasion the army suspected was coming. He had been stationed at the Great Northern Wall when the Charr attacked, but not by brute force, instead raining death from the sky. This would mark the first time he had returned home after leaving for duty.
Phost turned to the recruit, the look in his eye causing the recruit to shrink away. He then looked to each of the teammates, his voice came out without the emotion his eyes shown, “This village gets the same treatment as the rest. We go in, search, we get out ‘fore we’re noticed by any undesirables. We’re here to do a job. Understood?” Most of the team nodded, keeping their faces blank. Brother Seld opened his mouth to speak, but Phost cut him off, “Move out.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched towards the ruins of the village, expecting the others to follow suit.