Garilos: Do They Have Nightmares?
Posted by: admin in Collaborations, Guest Authors, In Character, Other BlogsGarilos crouched down behind a clump of bushes, looking down upon the worgen. With a look of disdain, he spit upon the ground. “Disgusting creatures,” he muttered to himself as he watched the worgen pace about their camp.
From his vantage point, he could see the scattered huts and fire pits of the small camp. Garilos carefully memorized the location of every hut, boulder, and tree in the camp, creating a map in his head which he rotated and examined as he plotted his course of action. He also made a note of the routes of the worgen guards patrolling the perimeter of the camp.
If any in the village were to look to where he was hidden, they would see nothing but shadows within shadows. Even with the moon out tonight, it would be difficult for any to see Garilos.
“Do they have nightmares…”, Garilos asked himself as he silently pulled a dagger from its sheath. Even the blade of the dagger was difficult to see, blackened as it was to prevent any reflected light from betraying its position.
Stealthily rising from his position, Garilos looked about for any possible threats. Upon seeing none, he crept forward to the worgen camp. He silently crossed the open field separating him from the camp, his feet making no noise as they quickly closed the distance to Garilos’ first target.
Walking up behind a guard, Garilos stood a mere two yards from the unaware of worgen. Even their acute hearing and eyes could not detect Garilos tonight. Not this night, not when he had culling to do. There was too much evil in the world for him to fail. He had a duty to cull the evil.
Collecting his thoughts, Garilos focused on the guard. As the guard came to one end of its patrol route, it turned and looked straight at Garilos. And kept walking its route, unseeing. When the guard passed in front of him, Garilos stepped out of the shadows behind the guard and quietly cut the neck of his target with his dagger. Silently dropping the stiffening corpse to the ground, Garilos looked around to see if anyone had noticed his attack. Seeing no one had taken notice, Garilos slipped back into the shadows and waited for his next prey.
“Let them whisper of me, in terror, as they huddle around their fires,” Garilos thought to himself as he prepared to strike again.
Back at his camp, Garilos sat next to a small fire. Hanging on a tripod over the fire was a small kettle filled with broth and vegetables. Occasionally, Garilos would stir the contents of the kettle with a small wooden spoon, each time taking a sip of the broth to check if it was warm enough yet. Most of the vegetables he had bought in Dalaran when he was there a couple days ago. The broth he had made by adding dried seasonings to water.
As he waited for his dinner to warm up, he cleaned and repaired his gear. Aside from a few scratches in his leather chest piece, his armor was in good shape. He gotten some worgen blood on his pants but that was easily removed with an emulsion of water and herbs he had gathered in the woods near his camp site.
He had had a particularly productive evening, killing a dozen worgen. He finally had to give up the hunt when the camp became alarmed at the unexpected disappearance of its guards. The alarm was raised when a worgen had wandered from the center of the camp to the perimeter. Upon seeing no guards, it let out a loud howl that alerted the rest of the camp.
Garilos was already a quarter mile away on a ledge overlooking the camp by the time the camp was fully alerted. As soon as he saw the worgen making its way to the edge of the camp, he knew his actions would soon be discovered. Running silently, he quickly retreated to a vantage point to watch the ensuing chaos.
With a bitter chuckle, he watched the worgen search the surrounding woods and field for the bodies of their fallen pack members. Garilos had taken care to hide the bodies but only well enough such they were not discovered as he did his culling. He knew nothing he did would conceal the bodies for long, especially as they released their smell of death into the night breeze.
Even now, he could smell the worgen and their fear. He could smell it in the wind and on his armor. Wrinkling his nose, he spat on the ground. “Disgusting creatures.”
When dawn revealed his camp to the world, Garilos was already long gone. The only remains visible were a small pile of cold ashes. Garilos knew better than to stay at any place for more than a night. Soon, the worgen would be moving out from their camp, searching.
Garilos had no intention of being found and already had another destination planned. He had been moving from worgen camp to worgen camp, culling their numbers. Killing just enough at each camp to sow terror in their hearts.
As he walked along the edge of a brushy field, Garilos wondered what Megaly was doing. He had not seen nor heard from her for weeks. He had sent letters to Valgarde for her but had no idea if she was still there. He did not expect her to find him, not with his constant moving from one location to the next. He could only hope she might leave a message for him at the inn in Valgarde.
Looking back upon his recent actions, he wondered what Megaly would say. Certainly she would understand the need to rid the world of such evil but would she question his sanity? Already, Garilos had learned to not discuss his actions with others as they frequently called into question his motives.
What did they know? They were not there when he had to slay the spirits of the Tuskarr. Those spirits of the peaceful Tuskarr, doomed to wander their village, never knowing why they had died or where to go.
Garilos came to stop next to a small creek running through the wood. Setting down his pack, Garilos surveyed the surrounding area. He saw recent signs of animal passing through but signs of humans or similar creatures were already days old.
Digging a water flask out of his pack, Garilos knelt down next to the creek to fill the flask with fresh water. The creek was only a few inches deep at its deepest point. It sparkled and burbled as it flowed around rocks and fallen branches. Its bottom was covered with rocks and fallen leaves.
As Garilos looked at the rocks on the creek bottom, a particularly pretty one caught his eye. “Hey … I’ll send that to Megaly,” he said to himself as he slipped it into his pocket. With a click, the rock settled in with a dozen other odds and ends he had found and saved for Megaly. With that rock were several other rocks, a seashell or two, an odd coin he had pickpocketed from a goblin in Dalaran, a shiny button, a tarnished ring, and a glass marble he had found near a fire pit in the Grizzly Hills.
Patting his pocket, he wondered what Megaly had done with the other rocks he had sent her. Or if she had even received them. Standing up from his spot next to the creek, Garilos sighed. “I gotta get back to Valgarde and look for Megaly again. Maybe she returned to Stormwind…I dunno.”
Hefting his pack over his shoulder, Garilos stood momentarily before stepping across the creek. As he trod off into the forest, he whispered to himself, “But first, one more worgen camp, then I’ll return to Valgarde.”
(( Originally posted on Garilos’ Blog as “Garilos Duroc: Do They Have Nightmares?”. ))
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