A loud moan startled Garen from his slumber and he he shot up with sword in hand, only to find himself alone in the ruined tavern. Daylight beamed down through several holes in the ceiling, making the place uncomfortably bright. He set his sword on the counter and closed his eyes, letting a fresh breath of air into his lungs. Then exhaled slowly, trying to regain some composure and a semblance of clarity. The ranger had been on edge ever since, well... ever since Sven turned on the world. He stopped caring about how many days had passed awhile ago. It was all irrelevant to him, time that was. There wasn't enough in the world to fix the mistakes that had caused all of this blatant destruction. He mindlessly grabbed the closest bottle next to him and put it to his lips, but it was empty, just like all the other bottles on the counter. He opened his eyes, looked at it in thought, before tossing the bottle behind his back. The glass shattered against the wood, and he heard another moan from outside.
He didn't really know what this town was called, only that it was in the Tyrant's path and subjugated to the same fate as all the others. Arriving late seemed to be the only thing he was good at anymore, not like he could have helped any of these people even if he had arrived before Sven. He was too powerful, and now had an army at his back, the same creatures he had once sworn to destroy. Funny how things tend to happen like that, once you get a taste for power, it all goes downhill from that moment. He shifted his weight on his bar stool of a bed, and it broke from underneath him suddenly, sending Garen onto his back.
With what little pain he felt, he let out a long sigh and stared up at the ceiling with his arms outstretched. He could just imagine what the denizens of the tavern would think of him, 'One of those elves again.' He chuckled softly for a moment, then went back to a blank expression. There was no more people in the tavern, or the town, it seemed pointless to laugh at a dead people. Another moan broke his silence. Well, they were still out there, just not alive. The thought of necromancy made his stomach churn. Where had Sven even learned any of that? It didn't really matter Garen thought, he just did now. More moans could be heard from outside, so he thought it was probably time to find out what all of the fuss was about.
He got up slowly, using the counter as something to lean on. He was still slightly tipsy from last night, not to mention sore from sleeping and old wounds that were still healing. Some would take longer then others. His bow, for the life of him, was all the way at the end of the counter with his quiver. He put them both on without much fuss then grabbed his swords. He looked them over carefully, they were perhaps his greatest treasures. Dusk was his sword touched by darkness, slightly black in color and very handy in a fight against a creature of the light, while Dawn was his sword blessed by the light. Slightly white in color, it had helped him bring down many a demon and other corrupted creatures. How he had got them was quite the tale but it only pained him to think about it, those were better times. He sheathed both of them, before creeping up to one of the broken windows to take a peak outside.
At first he only saw undead, and a lot of them, all on a beeline somewhere deeper into town. Looking back they way they were coming from made him rub his eyes. He wasn't still sleeping was he? Opening them again, he saw the same thing, or should he say people. In the distance he saw the most peculiar group of people, just gathered around, probably talking to one another. More alarming was the unmistakable form of a demon looming above them, spear in hand. He couldn't really make out the others in great detail from where he glanced at them and because he really didn't have anything better to do, he walked over to the door to gain a better look at these newcomers. He had thought that towns destroyed by the Tyrant were pretty much places of taboo, or only as painful reminders of what was coming. So this very much intrigued him, as he covered his face and pulled his hood up.
He grabbed the door knob, only to have the door itself fall outwards into the street. He frowned, tossing the knob to the side he stepped out into the middle of the undead. Which in hindsight, probably wasn't very smart but he was Garen "The Arrow" Trask, and he found that adrenaline made for the best cure for a hangover. Not really wanting to waste arrows, he unsheathed his swords and began to make quick work of the former townsfolk. He tried not to think that these people were once normal, even alive just like him. No, he told himself that they were dead now and without much choice, he believed it. For the others down the street, they would soon see him without mercy, putting down the dead that barely fought back. It wasn't the best of introductions, but he didn't really plan to talk while there was work that was needed to be done.
