Dating : Prologue to the Beginning

She had been sitting alone at the circular table for about an hour before the Valrath walked into the Sleeping Lion. She was thankful that he was the first to arrive. If this was going to work, there needed to be some diplomacy, and Valraths often had a way with words.

He set his chain down in front of him and stared right across at the Human woman who had invited him here. He knew her name, but her name did not matter. She was known by the coarse black disfigurement that covered the left half of her face. Everyone in Gloomhaven called her the Voidwarden.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. The bar was loud, full of drunken Humans and Inox loudly arguing politics. Still, the Valrath could hear the whisper of the Voidwarden clearly. Her words cut through the noise and landed directly in his mind.

“I’m curious to hear what sort of work someone like you has to offer,” the Valrath responded. Since leaving Jhinda, he had found enough work to stay alive and keep his armor shiny. Outside of dealing with an occasional rat infestation, he had avoided killing for gold. But he knew he’d end up in the Sleeping Lion one day when he was desperate enough for the high-paying jobs. As he sat before the Voidwarden, he thought to himself, well, I guess I’m desperate enough.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I- I don’t have very much gold.”

The Valrath kept his composure and stared across the table at her.

“I was hoping for something closer to a partnership,” the Voidwarden continued. “I’ve invited you and a few others tonight and-”

“Who else?”

The Valraths of Gloomhaven often spoke with a sort of grand politeness. Uncomfortable truths were addressed with delicacy, not brought out in the open. But this one was gruff. Someone like you, he had said. He could mean anything by that. The left half of her body was scarred and she had powers even she didn’t fully understand. But maybe he just meant that she was Human. In either case, it had a sort of implication that most Valraths would avoid speaking about so directly.

“A- a Quatryl. And an Inox. Those are the ones I expect to see tonight at least-”

“You know I’m a Red Guard. I’ve pledged my service to the noble city of Jhinda. I’m not interested in mercenary work. This sickle is for those who would threaten my people. It’s not to be used for odd jobs and-”

“With respect, you’re not a Red Guard. Not really,” the Voidwarden interrupted coldly. This stopped him midsentence. For a second, she felt his rage boiling inside him, and then it was gone, replaced with emptiness. The Valrath gripped the handle of the sickle, then let it go.

“No, you’re right. I am a Red Guard in appearance only.” But as he spoke the words, he knew that wasn’t quite true. There’s a reason he still wore the armor. When he swore to protect Jhinda, he meant it. His exile had made this duty more difficult, but an oath is an oath. Still, a Human wouldn’t understand this.

A hatchet landed abruptly on the table, and they turned towards the seat between them. An Inox stood before them. He was dressed fashionably and wore a hat that had not been intended for a race with three large horns. Still, he made the look work for him. It was impressive.

“Well, I recognize you for sure,” the Inox said, glancing to the Voidwarden on his right, before turning to the Red Guard. “And I know your type well enough.”

“And I yours,” the Red Guard responded.

“Let’s get some drinks. This is a tavern, isn’t it?” The Inox gestured to the owner of the Sleeping Lion, who seemed to understand at a glance. The Inox lowered his voice, “That guy loves me. If we make a habit of this, I can get you all discounted drinks, no problem.”

“I don’t drink,” the Red Guard and Voidwarden stated in unison.

“Right then,” the Inox responded, though he seemed a bit confused by this concept. “You’re missing out, though. The Sleeping Lion has the best ale in the city.”

“I made an oath to abstain from that sort of drink,” the Valrath said.

“That’s part of your, eh, Red Guard duty, is it?” inquired the Inox.

The Valrath nodded. This wasn’t strictly true, but it also wasn’t any of the Inox’s business.

The Voidwarden shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “When I imbibe, I… it’s hard to explain, but I often end up getting other people drunk as well.”

“Is that ‘cuz of the-” the Inox trailed off, pointing at the sandy black half of her face.

“Yes.”

The server stopped by and dropped three tankards on the table. The Inox grinned and nodded in appreciation.

“That’s incredible,” he continued. “Myself, I’m more like the Red Guard here. I don’t have much use for powers beyond my stunning good looks and my weapon of choice.” He was proud of his hatchet, and rightfully so. He was not the only Hatchet in Gloomhaven, but he liked to think he stood out above the rest. As far as he could tell, he was the only Hatchet to receive an invite to this little meeting anyway.

“The sickle is more than just my favorite weapon. The chain represents-”

“Be careful now. I fear you’re in danger of saying something far too interesting,” the Hatchet interrupted. “Now, what’s this all about?”

The Voidwarden took a moment to reassess her expectations. She had picked this Inox because he had either rejected the culture of other Inox or they had rejected him. The way he dressed was rather Human, and his voice lacked the gruff simplicity of so many other Inox she knew. But she was still taken aback by how Human he seemed.

“I had already spoken to the- the Red Guard briefly. I’m hoping I can convince you all to join in a partnership of sorts. There’s something wrong with this city…”

The Red Guard snorted. “With Gloomhaven? You don’t say. Nevermind the fact that it’s still living as though the Merchant’s Revolution never happened. Your military is single-handedly holding this continent back from the future with its taxes.”

“I suppose you’re one of those that thinks the military is paying off the ‘primitive races’ to keep attacking the city so they can keep their jobs,” the Hatchet asked, rolling his eyes.

“I’m well acquainted with the military of Gloomhaven. I’m certain they have not come up with any conspiracy so clever.”

The Hatchet laughed at this and finished the first tankard in front of him. “Well, I have to agree with you there.”

“That- that wasn’t what I was talking about,” the Voidwarden tried to interject, but she was interrupted by a high pitched shout.

“Hey!”

It was easy to see where the voice came from. A short young Quatryl in a spotted pink bandana barrelled towards the table and hopped onto the remaining chair at the table.

“My apologies for running late. My temporal drive is busted.” She removed her arms, one at a time, from the large mechanical devices they were inside of, and stretched out her fingers. “I’m just kidding. I don’t have a temporal drive. Boy, I’d kill for one though.”

“Drink?” the Inox offered, pushing the untouched tankard across the table.

“I have been waiting all day for this,” she grinned before taking a large gulp. “How is everyone, today?”

The Voidwarden leaned in and placed her black hand on the table. “If it’s all the same, I would like to address why I invited you all here tonight.”

“That’s fine by me,” the Quatryl responded. She wasn’t certain if she was going to attend this meeting when she first got the invite. In the end, she was curious to get up close to the Voidwarden and see how she worked.

“There is evil in this city. I’ve experienced it firsthand as a child. But it’s not just the Void. There’s something about this place that makes things more dangerous and- and violent than they need to be.”

“Well… how do I put this nicely?” the Quatryl piped up. “It’s founded by Humans. It’s run by Humans. Have you ever left the city, maybe traveled to Velcyll Harbor, and seen what a civilization run by Orchids looks like?”

“That’s not it,” the Hatchet replied. “I’ve never been to Velcyll Harbor specifically, but I’ve been to other Human cities before I arrived in Gloomhaven. I spent all of last Erd in White Oak. Summers are beautiful there. I’ve never been anywhere as… dreadful as Gloomhaven.”

“Then why are you here?” the Red Guard asked.

“I was born to be a mercenary,” the Inox grinned. “Folks in White Oak don’t have much use for killers. It would make for a nice retirement, but an Inox has got to make a living in the meantime.”

The Voidwarden pointed across the table at the Valrath. “You said that Gloomhaven’s military occupation was holding this city back. But-”

“Just because two things are true, it does not mean that one was caused by the other,” the Quatryl finished. “You think it’s the other way around? Some dark force is keeping Gloomhaven from advancing like the cities around it? And that’s why the military still runs it? You think the Void is the cause…”

“I think it’s a piece of a larger puzzle. What do you know about the Void?”

The Quatryl’s eyes lit up. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? The sheer level of destruction it’s capable of… I’ve performed some experiments, from a safe distance of course. Everything it touches it destroys. Except for you…”

She moved her fingers towards the Voidwarden’s hand, but the Human withdrew her hand from the table before the Quatryl could touch it.

“You’re a Demolitionist,” the Red Guard stated.

The Quatryl stared at the Red Guard for a second before responding. “Yes. A lot of things need to be destroyed. I’ve dedicated my studies towards finding the most efficient and fun ways to bring about their destruction. It’s as valid a field to study as writing songs or building focusing rays.”

The Red Guard snorted.

“I wish I had more proof for you,” the Voidwarden said. “But ever since I was a child, ever since the Void touched me, I’ve had these powers. Sometimes I just know things. And I know that Gloomhaven has secrets.”

“And you want our help to find out what those secrets are?” the Hatchet asked.

“That’s… the general idea, yes.”

The was a long pause where no one said anything. The Demolitionist spoke first.

“So why us?”

“I tried speaking to the military. They were useless. I tried to speak to councilmembers and merchants, but they didn’t want to listen. The Aesther enchanter at the Crooked Bone refused to speak to me. The Quatryl at the Town Records hall was more eager to help, but he didn’t have anything to offer me. I can’t afford to hire mercenaries, but… I thought that with help, I could become one.”

The Hatchet laughed quietly. “Well, this is adorable.”

“You didn’t answer her question,” the Red Guard said with irritation in his voice. “What does this have to do with all of us?”

“Well, you’re like me.” The Voidwarden lifted her head and stared at each of them in turn. “You’re outcasts. An exiled Valrath in search of a new cause, an Inox who has ingrained himself in Human culture, a Quatryl who would rather destroy than create…”

The Demolitionist straightened up in her seat. “Okay, I am hardly an outcast. I have plenty of friends.”

“I imagine you do.” The Hatchet smiled at her. “But I’ve never met a Quatryl who wasn’t on good terms with everyone they met. That’s not the same thing as truly fitting in.”

“And that’s the problem,” the Voidwarden continued. “There are factions in Gloomhaven that are content with how things are. The Merchant Guild has its plans. The Harrowers and the Vermlings look out for themselves. No one wants to hear that there’s a problem if the problem isn’t hurting them. If someone is going to find out what’s happening in this city, it needs to be someone who isn’t afraid of breaking away from the pack. That’s who we are.”

The Red Guard stood up. “I have dedicated my life to protecting Jhinda. Gloomhaven can keep its secrets. It is not my concern.”

“Are you certain of that?” The Voidwarden looked him straight in the eyes. “Jhinda does not stand alone. It exchanges more than just goods and culture with Gloomhaven. A threat to Gloomhaven is a threat to every city that relies on Gloomhaven. How do you expect the Red Guards of Jhinda to be prepared for such a threat if the Red Guard in Gloomhaven turns his back?”

How dare she pretend to care about my city, the Red Guard thought. This woman is trying to manipulate me. But despite whatever motivations the Voidwarden had, she was right. Delivering messages and killing rats was not going to help keep his homeland safe. Helping this desperate Human might.

He sat down.

“Look,” the Demolitionist said. “You’ve had some childhood trauma and it’s affected you in a big way. I’m not sold on your vague mysterious evil that’s lurking in Gloomhaven, and I’ll be honest; I’m not entirely confident that your brain works correctly.”

The Quatryl took a sip of her ale.

“That being said…” She looked at the Voidwarden and tilted her head. “You fascinate me. I want to know what that staff can do. I want to know why I hear your voice in the back of my head when you speak. I want to know how you survived something that eviscerates everything it comes into contact with. I would very much like to invade your personal space, and if that means following you around as you try to solve mysteries, that’s all the same to me.”

It was not quite the noble pledge to a worthy cause that she was hoping for, but the Voidwarden felt great relief at hearing the Quatryl’s words nonetheless. She glanced at the Hatchet.

“Alright,” he said plainly. “I’m in.”

“R- really?” The Voidwarden was taken aback.

The Hatchet had made a decent living offering his services for gold, and on the whole, he felt rather satisfied with his life. But despite the multitude of reasons why he should avoid joining this group — no financial prospects, no clear plan or leadership, no experience working together — there was one clear reason to join. He wanted to.

He immediately liked the three other misfits at this table, even the Valrath. And he liked the idea of not knowing what he was getting himself into. A part of him was surprised by this choice, but a larger part felt completely at ease. This will be fun, he thought. And that was enough.

“Yes, really,” he replied. And he leaned back in his chair.

The Voidwarden turned to the Valrath. “I was going to be thrilled if even one of you joined. And a party of three will be great. If you don’t want to join, I’ll understand.”

“No,” replied the Red Guard. “It will be better with all four of us. We all have our personal quests. But we do not have to fulfill them by ourselves.”

“Then we have a party.” The Voidwarden said proudly, placing her hand in the center of the table.

“Can I touch it?” the Quatryl asked nervously. The Voidwarden nodded.

The Demolitionist placed her hand on top of the Voidwarden’s. The Red Guard went next, resting his heavy glove on top of the Quatryl’s small lengthy fingers.

“The more oaths a Valrath makes, the weaker each oath is. But oath or not, I do believe this is where I am meant to be.”

The Hatchet was last. He smiled as he placed his hand on top of everyone else’s and grabbed tightly. He picked up his tankard with his other hand and poured the last drop of ale into his mouth.

“What should we call ourselves?”