Guild Wars 2

Life does not always hand you the deck you wish to be dealt. Born of fire, raised in the wilds, I was pulled from the smoldering ruins of a once-prosperous Norn village and was raised amongst the Grawl. Storms of the century predicted the coming of a God, but untold was the form in which She would take. Norn Child—Daughter of Fire, Phoenix of Life, Meteor of God—marked salvation for a tribe on the brink of destruction. As High Shaman of Graupel Kohn, I protect my tribe from the marauding Svanir that wish to conquer our lands, but our patience has come to an end. Together, we will drive back the men who have sold their souls to the False God and reclaim what is rightfully ours.

My name is Ember Wildheart. This is my story.

Prologue
The Dragon’s Scream

Having woken, suddenly, to a stark cry in the middle of the night, I stepped from the darkened recesses of the cave and looked out at the chilling aspect of Dredgehaunt Cliffs.
Moles? I thought.
No. It couldn’t be. They were too far away, and any of the stragglers would have been picked off by the hunters—killed outright or made example by brutal mutilation. And the rats—they were too far to the east for any to have heard them from such a distance.
That could only mean—
A donned a shawl of flame that wreathed my body from breasts to sex as I stepped into the bitter cold of the night, the ebb of flame radiating from my body parting the air and melting the ice at my feet. Here—at the top of the world, within the cradle of the mountain—all of Graupel Kohn could be seen. The jutting peaks, the towering pines, the wandering pinesoul. Nothing seemed amiss. Nothing except—
In the distance. A glow: stark against the night and pulsating blue aurora.
This wasn’t possible. The skylights hadn’t come. It was far too early. That could only mean—
It came again: louder this time, and with an intensity that shook the mountain and scattered the frost at my feet.
It took but a moment to realize the horrible truth.
The dragon had come.
From my place near the top of the world—where everything from Graupel Kohn to Kolkorensburg to the Dostoev Sky Peak and beyond could be seen—I watched a single shard of light arc into the sky and part the clouds in its wake.
This was no dream.
The jagged ice was clear enough.
Talecrafting Steading had fallen.
It wasn’t long before the screams began to reach the high Shiverpeaks and reverberate along the stone that I called home.
At my feet stood Skovtrolde Hearthstead
It burned.
Compelled to action, I thrust myself into the cave wherein my tribe began to wake and watched the flames dance from my body, flickering along stone and casting shadow upon the unknowing. A guard—who had drifted off to sleep in the midst of his watchejerked his head as I stumbled upon the sleeping grounds and stared at me with wide eyes. “Starchild,” he said. “What are you—“
“Rouse the berserkers. Talecrafting Steading has fallen.”
“What are you—“
I brushed past him, flames nearly singing his snow-white fur, and thrust myself toward my quarters. Separate from the Grawl, it allowed ample privacy, but did nothing to hasten my process as I weaved between jagged walls of stone that threatened to stop me with one misguided step. Inside, the fire that burned faintly surged as I drew near, symbolizing the panic of a grief-stricken Elementalist. I swept the fire from my body and quickly donned my jerkin and leggings before reaching for my staff.
The sculpted phoenix—and the bulb it perched upon—glowed as my hand touched the shaft.
“Starchild!” a berserk’s gruff voice barked as he stumbled into my quarters. “We have been summoned!”
“The eastern steading has been taken the hearthstead is under attack.”
“The Sylvari,” the berserker started.
A shrill cry and a bout of sudden commotion exploded from the den. I pushed past the berserker, who only came to my waist, and thrust myself into the room.
Amidst the panic taking place, I almost didn’t see the Skritt writhing about a Grawl’s arms.
“This one came,” the Grawl woman said, struggling to maintain hold of the juvenile and grunting as it attempted to kick off her breasts.
“HALP!” the ratling screeched.
“Qiqqi?” I asked, instantly recognizing the wandersome Skritt’s voice. “What’s going on?”
“Fire!” the skritt screamed, finally freeing itself from the Grawl woman’s grasp and throwing itself at my feet. “The bad men came after the dragon screamed! Big boom, then fire! Everywhere! HALP!”
“Calm down,” I said, kneeling before the creature. “Where is Cydwenn? The children?”
“No know! Fire came, smoke hurt! Qiqqi got out because so small. But Ghreon, Lietta—“

I stood and took note of the small band of berserkers gathered about the exit from the cave. Our numbers were fewer after many of the Grawl had migrated into Timberline for the warmer months. If we were under attack—if we were really, truly being assaulted by the Svanir and not a band of maundering Dredge—we’d have little hope of staving off an attack.
Qiqqi’rittiq—whose wails echoed about the den far louder than any Dredge howl—flung itself at me and wrapped its limbs around my leg. “Help Cydwenn,” it sobbed, tears gushing from its large black eyes. “Help children.”
“I will,” I said. I brushed the skritt of my leg and nodded as it returned to the panic-stricken Grawl woman before stepping toward the band of berserkers lined along the exit to the cave.
“Starchild,” one said, her deep voice tinged with unease as she tightened her grip on her spear. “What do you wish?”
I drew my thick red hair back behind my shoulders and fixed it into place with two strands of twine. “You go,” I said, “and rescue the children.”
“But what about—“
I ignored the berserker and pushed past her after grabbing my staff.
“Starchild!” another cried as the band hopped after me. “What about you?”
“I’m going to Talecraft Steading,” I said. “These are our lands. They’ll regret ever setting foot on them.”