“Zobel my friend, I cannot believe my eyes to see you so far off from the town, and what were you planning to do, jump off this cliff?”, it was Dorian, the Bandit Dorian. There was sympathy in his gaze, the same eyes that had met him several times in minor battles and surprise attacks. Only then the sympathy had been replaced by hatred and blood, those were the days; the days of men fighting men and the art of bravery being displayed in the open, those were the precious days.
Dorian belonged to the mountainous bandit tribe of Ghorials, reputed as ferocious and opportunist. For generations, these raiders had been pillaging and looting caravans and when winters descended and the traffic receded on the main highways, they took to attacking unassuming villagers in their homes and resting merchants in the small towns. Built tough to withstand severe weather, they had indoctrinated this vicious way of life.
They had a history; it wasn’t always the case with the Ghorials and it's best to delve into a few details of their past.
Its known that the most harmful self-talk that we slope into is always about our inability to get out of the current situation, we tend to think that the majority of us would never be able to achieve our full potential in life, the society showed it to us. A bit of the same…
