Guild Wars 2

Author’s note: The characters portrayed here are my own, with possible guest appearances by those of other guild members. You know who you are.

Chapter One:

The crush of the crowd was stifling. Not that it was a torture to the mind, per se, but it was warm. Shoulders of the nobility, try though they might, could not help but brush with those of the common-born, street rats. And although they may have attempted to protect their valuables, it was quite easy for a skilled thief to relieve the upper crust of their trinkets and baubles.
Such was the instance in which Myrie Ward, notorious filcher with a strange code of honor and a taste for adventure, could be found. Slipping as easily into the crowd as a fish into water, the lithe young woman so much as flexed her fingers and found within them rich strands of pearls, glittering bands of gold, and earrings of topaz. She quietly stepped to the side, pausing to brush a straggling lock of chocolate-brown hair away from her green eyes, and inspected her goods. A smile spread across her slightly grimy face.
“Jackpot,” she breathed, inserting her fingers into her pouch and retrieving a heavy, and obviously valuable, necklace. She could tell that it was made to match another one. “What are you, my rare bird?” Myrie mused, pursing her lips. The silver jewelry did not respond, but its owner did.
“Thief!” a feminine voice shrieked, and underneath it, Myrie could hear the mutterings of arcana. Her eyes widened, and she groaned.
“Great. A highborn magician. That’s just what I needed.”
The “highborn magician” had spotted her. Red hair blazing against the flawless ivory of her skin, she stormed forward with deadly purpose.
“I swear, if you don’t give that back,” she began, a flicker of flame sparking off of her fingers, “you will deal with the all the wrath that House Firestone can offer!”
Yet the thief was gone, leaving an extremely angry elementalist behind.

Myrie watched from the rooftops to see where she would go. Instead of melding back into the crowd or calling the Seraph guards as could have been expected, the noblewoman simply sat on the dirty steps in a state of shock. She lightly fingered her collarbone as if fondling the ghost of her necklace. The thief’s resolve to sell the item dissolved as she noticed small, dark tear stains appearing on the dusty cobblestones.
“Why?” Myrie heard her whisper softly, her voice quivering. For one terrified moment, she thought the elementalist was addressing her. Yet as she continued, she realized that she was merely speaking to herself. “It was all I had of them. And now,” Lady Firestone’s voice took on a deadly edge, and she swept out her hand in a flaming arc, which then clutched a molten weapon, “it has been stolen. Think, Selana, think!”
Myrie cautiously watched as the other woman set down the lava weapon and pulled out a letter. Attached to it was a mirror copy of the very necklace which was so heavily weighing in her hands. Curiosity over-rode Myrie’s sense of self-preservation, and she scooted closer to the edge of the roof to get a better look at the piece of parchment. As she settled into a more comfortable position, there was a dangerous sound of shifting shingles. She glanced down at the roof.
“Blast.”

Chapter 2a:

Selana Firestone had not been expecting the thief to drop out of the air to return her necklace, but something surprisingly similar happened. Her ears perked up as she heard a mutter, followed shortly by a grating sound, a shower of grit, and one tumbling thief. The other woman landed with a heavy thud and a wet crack next to her.
“Ah!” she gasped, clutching her side. “My rib!”
Briefly forgetting her letter, the elementalist’s first instinct was to grab her necklace and torch the criminal. Intending to carry out her plan, she stopped upon realizing that the thief was favoring her side. Sighing, Selana Firestone stifled her temper.
“Are you hurt?” she asked politely.
“Of course I am, you bleedin’ highborn-ack!”
“Hush.” The woman stood, and Myrie was left wondering if she had giant or other blood in her veins that wasn’t human. She was taller than many other nobles, and at first glance one may have mistaken her for one of those delicate ladies. Yet Myrie had sensed something stronger in her- something wilder. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but she was silent as she realized that Lady Firestone had called over a Seraph.
“Sir, if you would please carry this young lady to the priestesses of Dwayna, I would greatly appreciate it. She has fallen in is in need of medical attention.”
No! Myrie thought, every nerve screaming at her to run. She struggled to her feet and was about to do just that, but the ever-helpful guard had called over one of his fellow soldiers.
“Hold on, lass,” he remarked cheerily, hoisting her onto a pallet.
“Let go, you clod! I can-urgh!- make it myself!”
“Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a bind. We’ll see you to the priestesses, and they’ll fix you up nicely.”
Myrie turned a beseeching eye on Selana. Please no, she mouthed. The ivory noble shook her head, her ice-blue gaze distant.
“You need help, and whether or not to accept it is no longer your decision.”
“What do you mean?” the thief asked, struggling to keep conscious. There must have been a spell making her this tired, and she cursed herself for not noticing it before now.
“Myrie Ward,” a stern-faced Seraph began, “you are hereby under arrest for thievery and other acts of mischief against the Seraph and other members of Divinity’s Reach.”
Her eyes widened. “You turned me in,” she whispered angrily.
“Like I said, it’s no longer your decision.” Selana walked over to the groggy waif after picking up her necklace. She slipped something into Myrie’s hands. “But I will help you again later.”
Snorting with derision, Myrie managed to glance down at the mystery item. It was a guild emblem, emblazoned with a rampant gryphon on a purple and gold background. Knights of Gryphon? Well, this could be interesting. With that, she lost consciousness.

See next post for the second part of Chapter 2

Chapter 2, Continued:

She awoke in a cell that was curiously reminiscent of her home in the streets. Her cellmate even looked like her old friend, Quinn. He grinned at her and waved.
“Hey, good to see you’re up, Myrie! How’d you land in here?” It was him!
In response, he received a shoe to the head.
“Ow! Why-?”
“What did I tell you?” she snapped. “Didn’t I say to not rat out on Two-Blade Pete? Didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but-”
“But nothing, Quinn! That’s why you’re in here, isn’t it? I can see it on your face.” She sighed, wincing at her cracked rib. His eyes narrowed in concern.
“What happened to you?”
Myrie slid her gaze across to him and frowned. “One of these days, either he or I am going to kill you.”
“Myrie, I thought we were friends.”
“You are incredibly annoying.”
“You are dodging my question.”
The two cellmates glowered sullenly at each other before the thief suddenly burst out laughing. Quinn looked at her askance.
“Ok, now I’m really concerned. Did you hit your head or drink some crazy sylvari brew?”
“No,” she replied, hiccuping. “I fell off of a roof and cracked my rib.”
“Who were you trying to outrun?”
“She was trying to outrun me.” A shadow filled the doorway of the cell.
“Firestone!” Myrie spat. “What do you want now?”
The elementalist waved her hand dismissively. “I have decided to let you go free. I have paid your bail.”
A Seraph walked in to remove the handcuffs from Myrie’s hands only to find them already off, discarded on the floor. She spread her palms apologetically.
“It kinda comes naturally. See a lock, pick a lock. It’s good therapy.”
“Just don’t practice your ‘therapy’ outside of the law,” the guard muttered. “Like the lady said, you’re free to go.”
Myrie stood, stretched, and beckoned to Quinn. “Come on, you dolt. We’re free.”
“Actually,” Selana replied, “he’s not. You are, but his bail’s still up.”
“What? No way.” She plunked back down onto the hard cot. “Either he’s out, or we’re both in.”
“You-”
“Aren’t the one to decide? Yeah, right. It’s all for one out on the streets, not keep to yourself in your pretty little castles, Selana.” She leaned back and smirked. The noblewoman pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Fine,” she huffed, turning to the guard. “Five silver for his bail, yes? Here.”
The guard took the silver and removed the cuffs from Quinn. He smiled charmingly at the elementalist, who merely inclined her head in recognition.
“Well, thanks for that, Ms. Firestone,” he said, bowing. “Perhaps later we could chat over a mug of ale, or-”
“Come on, Quinn,” Myrie sighed, rolling her eyes and pulling her friend out the door. He turned to her with hurt eyes. “Out of your league,” she hissed in his ear. “Besides, we’ve got a meeting with Two-Blade Pete.”
He blanched. “I think I’d rather stay with that nice guard in the comfy cell, if it’s all the same to you.”

Chapter 3a:

Two-Blade Pete was not a good person to be around. His beady eyes were always glaring out at the world, a puckered white scar running down his temple to his jaw. The man’s face looked as though he had been rammed into a wall repeatedly, resulting in a flattened nose and forehead. His permanent scowl only deepened upon seeing Myrie Ward and Quinn.
“So,” he sneered, “the great and mighty Myrie Ward loses her loot, hm? Seems like your name still isn’t a bringer of good fortune.”
“Shut it,” growled the thief. Pete, however, was a bully if there ever was one, and he did not drop the subject.
“How did it go again? Your father comes back from the Dragonbrand after duty only to find that his household has gone broke and that the Queen won’t pay for his duty. All he has is his wife and his little waif of a child, still unnamed.”
“Pete,” Quinn said warningly, jerking his head towards the brunette, “you might want to stop…”
“So he enters his empty shack in the streets, babbling, ’Where’s my reward? The Queen promised a reward!’ The only consolation he has comes from his wife. ‘Oh, here’s your reward,’ she says.” Pete prodded Myrie in the shoulder.
“And what’s he decide to name the child before he loses it? ‘Myrie Ward.’”
“Enough!” A voice, thick with rage and power, interrupted him. All three of them whipped around to see the form of Selana Firestone, illuminated with magic. “You are the basest of the base! Begone, scum, before I raze you from this plane and into the Mists!” The ground before Two-Blade Pete erupted in a gout of flame, sending him scurrying away. Myrie and Quinn were rooted to the spot. They watched warily as the redhead’s aura faded, replacing the warmongering image with one of a grieving lady.
“Forgive me,” she whispered softly. “I cannot abide watching the strong tear apart the weak.”
“It’s nothing you can change!” Myrie shouted. “Did the Queen apologize when my father went mad?”
She crumpled to the ground, her own name echoing mockingly in her ears. “Pete won’t forget this,” she said, turning to the noble. “Now he’ll consider you an enemy as well.”
To her surprise, the elementalist threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, will he now? I’d like to see him try to take me on. The Knights are full of many mighty members.”
At this precise moment, a well-dressed noble puffed up. “S-Selana,” he wheezed, “I heard that you got back, and,” he paused, running a hand through his chestnut locks, “well, I wanted to throw a party for you.”
Myrie looked in wonder at the elementalist. “And is this one of your Knights of Gryphon?” she asked politely. “He doesn’t seem too mighty to me.”
“I beg your pardon, miss,” the other noble said, obviously miffed, “but I am the great Lord Faren, doer of great deeds, singer of songs, and charmer of ladies. I am a deceptively skilled swordsmaster- do not let these fine features fool you!”
Selana had kept her mouth shut, watching with quiet amusement as Faren continued to elaborate on his prowess and legendary deeds. In the middle of recounting one tale where he supposedly had routed a drake broodmother to save a priestess, she calmly spoke.
“Faren?” she interrupted.
“What is is now, O Mighty Hero of Shaemoor?” he asked, peeved at his perceived loss of attention.
“You have a spider on your shoulder.”
“Nonsense! No spider would-Yiii!” He danced around frantically. “Get it off! Get it off!” he yelped.
“Hold still,” huffed Selana. She had to enforce this with a spell that encapsulated Faren’s feet in solid earth, and then she raised one slender finger and sent the arachnid flying with a mighty flick.
“Oh, yes,” Myrie said, turning to Quinn, “powerful lot, these nobles.”
“Whatever will they do should there be an invasion of gigantic spiders?”
“Oh, don’t speak like that. They might hear you.” she snickered. Meanwhile, Selana had assured Faren repeatedly that there were no more arachnids on him, and if he refused to drop the subject, she just may be forced to boil his new leather jerkin. He became remarkably silent. The elementalist sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed. “Do I smell… roast duck?”
Faren perked up. “And brandy! Your servants were quite helpful in setting the banquet up. Everyone’s waiting for you, the guest of honor!”
“My servants? Faren, did you help yourself to my larder again?”
The young man smiled slyly. “Perhaps.” He offered his arm to her.
“Such a gentleman,” Selana said, rolling her eyes and slipping her arm through his. Myrie marveled at the difference she had undergone while with her friend. She seemed calm and relaxed- quite different from the raging incarnation she had seen on the streets. As she was leaving, Lady Firestone turned and shouted back, “The Knights have many members of varied backgrounds. We could always use you.”
“Maybe later,” called Myrie. “For now,” she continued, turning to Quinn, “we have a mission from Pete.”

Continued in next post

Chapter 3b:

The thief and her companion stole quietly across the cobblestones.
“What’s up now?” whispered Quinn, stepping out of the way of a pool of light.
“You remember Riot Alice?” Myrie whispered back.
“Yeah, bit of a loony if I recall. She was a good member of our gang, though.”
“Mm-hm. And do you remember what you had been asked to do on your previous assignment while I was off traveling?”
“How did you-?”
Myrie gave him a glance. “Come on, Quinn. I may no longer be the leader of the pack, but I always keep tabs on my crew.”
“Fair enough,” he sighed. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the shadows, where a group of ruffians were joking among themselves.
“Widowmakers,” he growled.
“Yeah, as I was saying, your previous mission from Pete? It was to keep Alice safe from them, wasn’t it?”
“I tried, okay? There are just some times when a guy’s gotta know when he’s beat.”
“Well, Pete says we either get Alice back, or he gets your heart on a stick.”
They stilled their chatter as they walked up to the entrance of the Widowmaker’s hideout. Myrie coolly walked up and knocked on the door.
“What in the name of all that’s gold and shiny are you doing?! You can’t just walk up there and expect to be allowed in!”
A bleary eye met her clear one.
“Whuz…hic … what’s the…”
“Password?”
“Nerp, that’s not it….”
Myrie pondered for a moment. The guard was obviously drunk. Perhaps this could be used to her advantage.
“This stein requires a beer.”
A muffled scuffle was heard behind the door.
“Incorrect,” a different voice sneered. “Shove off!” The eyehole snapped shut violently.
Myrie stepped back off the steps and placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her cheeks in frustration. Quinn gave her a smirk.
“Told you.”
She waved the comment off. “Come on,” she said, glancing back towards the bridge where they had first spotted the rival gang. “We might not be able to guess the password, but we can get it a different way.”
“And how do you intend on doing that?”
“The old-fashioned way, of course- we rough up some Widowmakers.”
Quinn grinned. “I like the way you think.”

A few moments later, they returned to the door, leaving behind no fewer than ten Widowmakers with lumps on their heads and fear in their hearts. Myrie jauntily strode up to the door and knocked again. Bleary-eye answered.
“What’s the password?” he asked. His voice was still rather slurred.
Clearing her throat, the thief replied, “Salma’s bloomers.”
“Correct.” the thug grinned blearily, opening the door. His look of satisfaction was quickly replaced with one of confusion as a crimson stain bloomed on the front of his shirt. As he toppled to the ground, his compatriots were quick to stand in his place.
Quinn cut another Widowmaker down with a swift blow. Myrie dispatched two more, her daggers flashing in the dim lantern-light. Only two thugs remained. Myrie smacked her blade in her hand menacingly.
“You saw what we did back there,” she said, “so I’m giving you a choice. Either you stay here and fight Quinn and I, or you make a break for it and tell us where Riot Alice is.”
For a moment, the Widowmakers were silent, looking at each other nervously. Finally, one of them bleated out, “She’s on the upper floor!” and leaped out the window. His companion followed shortly.

It was shocking that they had managed to wage their scuffle without hearing Riot Alice’s shouts along with the noises of battle. As she caught sight of them, she merely paused in her long rant against the world-specifically Two-Blade Pete- and snapped, “Get over here, you oafs! Whaddaya waiting for, an invitation?”
“Don’t get your bloomers in a bind,” Quinn teased, breaking the locks. The woman stood, short-cropped orange hair clashing violently with her colorful outfit. “You,” she began, nostrils flared, “are the reason I got nabbed! And you would have thought that Pete would have sent some decent help to rescue me, after all we’ve been through.”
Just at that moment, Two-Blade Pete walked in. The flamboyant woman turned her full fury on him.
“Why’d you leave me here?! I thought you needed me for the apothecary job!”
“Shut up!” he hissed. Surprisingly, she did, glaring daggers at him and muttering curses under her breath. Myrie absently noted that she would have made an excellent necromancer.
“All right, Pete,” she said, interrupting the glare match between the thug and his goon. “You’ve got Alice, so leave Quinn alone.”
“Not so fast, Myrie,” the man sneered. “Quinn’s no longer under your protection.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he Quinn interrupted.
“Sorry, old friend, but what he says is true. I’ve gotta do what the boss says, and the boss isn’t you anymore.”
Myrie sighed. “All right. Be careful, Quinn. I won’t always be around to protect you.” Pete, satisfied, crooked his finger, and the three left. In their place, a Seraph came.

Chapter 4a:

Myrie had never trusted the Seraph or any other high-ranking officials. As a street rat, the only things she had learned about them was to stay as far from their weaponry as possible and equally as close to their moneybag.
Greedy, over-indulged, self-serving, Myrie thought, panic starting to cloud her mind as the officer started walking towards her, and they always try catching you red-handed when you do only what you have to do to survive. They don’t care for the people-they care for their wallets!
“Myrie Ward?” the Seraph asked.
“Yes?” The thief’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I haven’t broken any laws that I’m aware of-unless you count helping a friend lawbreaking.”
“It’s nothing like that,” she said quickly. “But Captain Logan Thackeray has requested your presence.”
“‘Requested?’” Myrie asked.
“Requested,” the officer confirmed. “He’ll be sorely disappointed if you don’t show up though.”
“But I won’t be arrested?”
The Seraph gave her a look. “No. Why would you? Your record’s been cleared.”
Myrie’s warning sense, tired of all the tension placed on it, finally snapped.
“Okay, where are the others,” she asked, drawing her dagger and looking around skittishly. “This is some kind of stick-up, isn’t it? Well, you won’t take me alive!”
“Myrie!”
She whipped around. “Quinn? I thought you had left. Did they arrest you?”
He laughed. “No, they didn’t! In fact, I went into the bar-”
“Please tell me that this isn’t the beginning of a bad joke.”
“No, but it is good to see you’re calming down. I digress; Thackeray’s got a proposition for us.”
“Well, what is it?”
Quinn smiled broadly. “I’ll let him tell you.”

Myrie’s sense of unease, though dampened by the presence of her friend, did not disappear upon entering the vast hall where the Seraph routinely passed. Hollowed out in the center of one hall was a circular chamber which served as the headquarters for the Seraph leader, Logan Thackeray. It was located in the building next to the queen’s throne room- a convenience for him not simply due to the ability to respond quickly should there be any danger, but also due to the fact that he was frequently concerned for her safety.
Unnecessarily so, Myrie thought, her danger sense zinging as the rows of armor-bearing guards tromped by. The Seraph who had escorted her to the captain’s office went up to the mahogany desk, saluted, and informed Logan that Myrie had arrived safely and soundly, as ordered. The man glanced up from his paperwork and thanked her, after which the Seraph saluted again, turned, and stood at attention by the door.
No way out, the thief realized with a shudder. If she had any previous thought about escaping this hornet’s nest, they were crushed under the steel boots of the soldiers. She gulped and cleared her throat.
“Myrie Ward reporting, sir.”
He looked up at her and smiled; Myrie’s thoughts instantly flashed to a pearl armband she had stolen three days prior.
“I thought you’d never come. You have quite the reputation, Ms. Ward.” he said. His voice was warm, yet cautious. “Word on the street says that you can rob a man blind without even looking, and the victim will be none the wiser.”
“That’s how we get it done on the streets,” she replied stiffly. “You don’t get hired for a job, you resort to other tactics to bring home the bacon.”
The captain still was smiling. Myrie wondered if he was even listening. “Hello,” she said, waving her hands, “I just practically admitted that I routinely steal for a living. You going to arrest me yet, bub?”
“Hardly,” he said, his grin growing wider. “You seem like the exact person I would need for a job.”
“Ooh, a job with the law enforcement! What joy! I’ve always wanted to work with the Seraph!” the thief replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What does the long arm of the law need an inch like me for? Mucking out stalls?”
“Not at all,” he replied. The smile vanished. “What we have here is a manner of great importance. It concerns a foe we have long thought dead.”
“So it’s a missing hit,” she surmised. “Who did you fail to put the kibosh on this time?”
The brown-haired man winced, reached into a drawer on his desk, and pulled out a roll of parchment. Unrolling it, he showed it to Myrie. She picked it up and scanned it. Depicted on it was a bandit cruelly sneering at the outside world. The description below did not make her feel any more comfortable than the snarling face.
“Wanted for various acts of Thievery, Mayhem, and Murder: Ryken the Cruel. This thug has been convicted numerous times as a known member of the White Mantle-”
Myrie snorted and tossed the paper back at Logan. “You know, you’re funny. The White Mantle died out long ago, Brownielocks. I’ll admit you had me going for a while- that poster looks awfully convincing- but White Mantle? That’s pushing it a bit too far. So have fun chasing down your imaginary cultist.” She turned around to leave-

Chapter 4b:
-and promptly ran into a mesmer.
“Oof!” he gasped, stumbling back. Myrie leaped away, dagger already in hand.
“Assassin!” she yelped.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, brushing off his robes, “I believe you were the one who ran into me.”
“Hardly,” Myrie snorted, twirling the blade in her hand. She glanced at him. Tall, with red hair, a trim goatee, and blue eyes, he seemed to be anything but a mercenary. Her eyes caught the details and fine gemstones embedded into his robes.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, casting her eyes heavenward, “not another royal ambassador fop.”
He laughed warmly. “Now that’s the first accurate thing I’ve heard you say. My name is Gryphon Radwing.” He bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ward.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “How do you know my name? Are you bounty hunter, then?”
“On the contrary, Myrie, I am a mere noble.” He held up a finger, stilling her tongue before she could let out an angry barrage. “But I was not born one. In fact, I was actually a commoner like you before I received my lordship.”
“Yeah, right. How does that effect your knowledge of my name?”
“I was told about you,” he replied, “by a friend of mine. I believe you have met her.”
She snorted. “Where on earth do you think I would meet one of your upper-crusters? Oh, I know, I met her at a ball, right? Because you know we street rats have plenty of time for those sort of things. Not a care in the world, living fine and fancy free…”
“I insinuated no such thing,” he said flatly. “And in fact, she told me that she met you in a jailhouse after you tried to steal her heirloom. It’s the only thing she has left of her parents, so it’s understandable that she reacted the way she did.”
Myrie’s mind went blank.
“I know the meaning of hard work,” the mesmer continued. “You don’t get a lordship from Her Majesty Herself by just sitting around eating crumpets. This world only changes when we do something about it.”
“That,” Myrie said, “was surprisingly inspirational. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said, stepping around him and beckoning to Quinn, “my friend and I have business to take care of in Shaemoor.”
“What business?” the mesmer asked. “Relieving bandits of their ill-gotten spoils? Slaying more centaurs? Any adventurer can do that. Myrie, the reason Selana informed me about you and your friend is that she saw potential in you. Very few have impressed her so, so I have good reason to believe that you have the ability to be something more than just an average sneak thief.”
She grimaced and opened her mouth to fire back another acidic volley, but Quinn nudged her. “The guy has a point, Myrie.” he whispered. “I don’t know about you, but that Firestone girl looks like the kind who sees things others don’t. I’m pretty sure she’s not the kind to fool around with labeling someone as a diamond in the rough.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re smitten with her.”
Quinn gave a low chuckle. “Myrie, I may on occasion go for a pretty face, but believe me when I say that ‘intimidatingly beautiful’ is not on my list of features to admire in a gal.”
Myrie gave him an incredulous look. “You find her intimidating?”
He shuddered. “Mad King’s ghost, yes. She’s a little too perfect to be normal.”
Gryphon coughed discreetly. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Ward, I did come here for an appointment with Sir Thackeray.” Having said this, he stepped up to the desk. To her surprise, what was almost the same conversation she had had mere moments ago occurred with Logan and the mesmer. The difference was in the reaction. Whereas she had reacted with incredulity, Gryphon responded with fury.

(( Hey, I just wanted to say I was really enjoying the story right up until I saw the spoilers part. :P I think once I get through the game a bit more I’ll pick up and keep going. I REALLY liked the idea of ‘Myrie Ward’. Thought it was really clever. ))

(( I’m definitely interested in the characters you’ve created. I’m just… not so interested in the spoilers. >.< ))

(( Great story writing though. ))

Author’s Interlude:

Yes, I will also be using these as thank-you-note spots. Your point was….?

 Softwear- Thank you for the encouragement!  It is always nice to see such positive remarks.    Good luck on your adventures in Tyria!

A bit of trivia for Myrie Ward’s name: On the second or third beta weekend, I had the overwhelming desire to make a thief. The problem was, I didn’t have a good, original name, and my old GW1 names were rather cheesy. My solution came with the memory of an old cartoon in which one of the characters, in pursuit of a suspect, shouts, “Stop! In the name of my reward!” Well, I began merging those last two words, and…now you know!

On the subject of spoiler chapters, instead of blacking out certain parts of text, I will instead state in the chapter heading a spoiler alert. It will look something like this:
Chapter X:
Note: This chapter contains spoilers
That way, you don’t have to try avoiding interesting story parts by seeing the black walls.

In addition, I obviously have been otherwise occupied, so to expect chapters at constant intervals is a bit of a no-go. However, I will do my best to keep ol’ Myrie and the crew alive on the forum- and yes, there will be more joining this little traveling circus.

“That dog’s still alive?” he asked, and out of the corner of her eye, Myrie could see him hunched over the “Wanted” paper.
“It would appear so,” Thackeray replied. “As you may be able to tell, though, not all,” he gave a pointed look to Myrie, “believe it.”
Gryphon whirled on her, eyes a strange combination of desperate and angry. “Myrie Ward, listen to me. There is very little that scares me, but these guys are able to do that. Do you really believe the Mantle are dead?”
“Of course,” she said. “Now they’re just a tale used to keep spoiled kids in line.”
“Wrong.” he said coldly. “The only thing dead about them are their methods. They’ve adapted, and I have reason to believe they have a mole in the highest ranks of the Reach.”
“Now you’re sounding like one of us! We street rats have always thought the higher-ups have had it in for Kryta.”
“It is also possible that there’s one on the streets,” he said. “The White Mantle aren’t your average group of extremists; they plan on subjugating all of Tyria to the worship of their gods, the Unseen.”
Myrie thought the mesmer very intelligent, but equally confused. “Are you sure you’re all right? Are you feeling a bit light headed?”
The doors to the chamber swung wide open, allowing a panting squire to enter. “Sir, some of the guard have detained a member of the Mantle.” he gasped. Thackeray grimaced, grabbed his sword, and motioned for the others to follow.

Tanned, with a brawny physique and a bald head, Myrie would have expected him to be tending to a field rather than be a member of a supposedly-dead cult. But one look in his eyes convinced her otherwise- they burned with a fanaticism that deeply disturbed her.
“You really think you can stop us,” he sneered. “I can see it in your faces. How cute. Your forefathers thought they could stop the Mantle as well, but how quick they are to forget that it does not end simply because we no longer parade the streets.”
“Silence!” a guard nearby barked. “The captain has not given you permission to speak.”
Thackeray waved a hand and glared at the cultist, who stared back defiantly. “You admit, then, that you are a part of the White Mantle, a known terrorist organization?”
The criminal threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, your ignorance is simply appalling. You consider us anarchists? Bringers of terror and murder? No. This,” he paused, nostrils flaring, “this is freedom for which we fight. We fight for the freedom from those you call ‘gods’. Lyssa, Balthazzar- where have they gone? They are like children, going to find new playthings, new devotees, as soon as they get bored with those they have. We Mantle have found the true gods- the Unseen.”
As he said this, the temperature in the room seemed to plunge suddenly. Gryphon’s face paled slightly.
“You have heard of them!” the man crowed. His gaze flitted to Myrie. “Well, some of you have. Child,” he purred, causing her to bristle at the comment, “what would you say if I told you that there are things you cannot see all around you? People, if you will, that are not ghosts, who possess incredible powers? What if I told you,” he continued, his smile growing wider, “that there is an Unseen in this very room? I can sense them, you know. They have stayed hidden, but this one says that they are coming back, and very soon…”
Myrie’s eyes widened.
“Don’t believe him,” muttered the captain. “They say this sort of thing all the time-”
“I can see it,” Quinn’s voice came, quiet and numb. Everyone but the prisoner flinched in surprise. His hand clenched around his pistol, and his voice became stronger. “And I can tell you one thing: that creature is no god.”
“Quinn! What are you-?” Myrie yelped. She was cut off, however, by the sudden click and a resounding bang as the gun went off in the enclosed space. There was rustling sound like that of a cloth falling to the floor and a feral hiss.
“What have you done to him?” the man wailed.
Before the disbelieving gazes of all in the room, a golden figure crumpled to the ground after seemingly materializing from thin air. Fourteen black tendrils protruded from its back like frayed ribbons, and its feet were three-toed and clawed like an eagle’s. Myrie noticed thakittens face was covered by a horned mask. Though no eyes were visible in the holes, she sensed its cold hatred flowing over her. Fevered whispers of a strange language began filling her mind like a strange magic. Horror began to overtake her thoughts as scenes of carnage flashed through her mind’s eye. It felt as though her bones were being plunged into flaming oil only to be broken under the feet of mountains.
Agony, a word echoed through her mind, sibilant and hateful. Your very body turns against you. Your mind is now your foe. Give in to the pain. Sleep forever. The Mursaat will avenge their carnage from centuries past upon the present generation, and Tyria will be ours to command once more.

Chapter 5b:

“Breathe.”
Pulse.
“Come on, Myrie, you’re made of tougher stuff than that. You’ve gotta breathe!”
Ragged breath drawing past cracked lips. Mind like a firebrand.
“MYRIE!”

Myrie awoke in the chamber of a temple of Dwayna, which she had seen after vanquishing a Tamini elemental. The last time she was there, her ailment was only physical. Now her pain was in both her mind and body, and every bone, every sinew, every neuron screamed in pure agony. Her mind froze at the word. Agony. What had happened in the prison, with that madman of a White Mantle and that insane mesmer? She groaned and struggled to sit up. A firm yet gentle hand pressed on her shoulder.
“Easy, Myrie. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Quinn?” She tried sitting up again, and a different hand pushed down.
“Who…?” she croaked. Her voice sounded as though it hadn’t been used in weeks. She attempted to crack her eyes open. They felt as though an ogre had grabbed both orbs and was trying to crush them.
“It’s Gryphon. You know,” a wry chuckle came through, “the crazy mesmer who believes in fairy tales.”
Myrie tried laughing, but it came out as a cough. “Well, I must be going crazy, too- I’m pretty convinced that those old stories are real now.” She slumped back down beneath the covers. Her forehead knotted in concentration. “What… what happened back there?”
Quinn stood and went over to the doorway. The early morning sunlight glinted off the silver handles of one of the pistols he had hooked into his belt. He gave a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“When that cultist had said that he could sense the Unseen, my reaction was at first like yours, Myrie. No way could something like that exist, I thought. Then I blinked, and I saw a shadow. With each passing second, it became more and more defined. At first, I thought the old man there-” he turned slightly and jabbed a thumb in Gryphon’s direction- “was casting some sort of illusion on me. But illusions don’t usually give you the sense of being something’s prey, and soon enough, I could hear it breathing.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He continued shakily. “Myrie, have you ever felt like someone’s walked over your grave, or as though you were standing on the edge of a vortex about to be inhaled? That’s what the Unseen’s gaze felt like when it realized I had shot it. It spoke something at a speed so great only a whisper of its intent could be felt, but I knew that something was going to happen. I just didn’t know what I was expecting when it unleashed its power- a fireball or something, I guess. But when I saw you go down, it shocked me. I mean, imagine it from my point of view. Your best friend, who’s stuck by your side even when you’re being a complete moron, suddenly goes from hale and hearty to grey and with a look in her eyes that says the stars themselves are dying. I didn’t know what was going on. That’s when Gryphon finally gives us all a look and says he can sense some sort of illusion crushing down on you. Captain Thackeray actually played a good hand for once and shielded you while Gryphon warded the attack away.”
“So everyone else did something heroic while you poked the bear?” Myrie smiled and winced at the pain.
Gryphon turned from a poultice which he had been grinding and soaked a cloth in it, which he then applied to her forehead. The cool relief was an instant blessing. A sigh bubbled out of her.
“While the captain and I were trying to keep you alive, your friend here kept an eye on the Unseen and finished it off. If it weren’t for him, the creature’s continual assault may have worn my mind down into madness. We all owe him our lives.”

This Chapter Segment will contain minor introductory spoilers to the Human Noble Storyline.

Chapter 5c:

“So what now?” Myrie asked after a few hours had passed. During that time, she had mostly slept, and though still sore, she felt as though she could move without tearing something. Quinn had packed up his bag and was preparing to go back to Two-Blade Pete for a job.
“I’ve already risked my neck by staying this long,” he said grimly. “No doubt Pete’s going to be less than thrilled at my late return.”
“Aw, I’m sure he’d understand. Surely he’s done something nice for someone he cares for.”
Quinn snorted. “The only one Pete cares for is himself. He’s still the same old coward as when you left, only now he’s stronger and meaner, as you no doubt noticed.” He shouldered his pack, polished his pistols once more, and headed for the door. Gryphon looked up from a book and towards him.
“Wait.”
Myrie’s friend paused, looking back at him curiously. “Got something to say, blueblood?”
“Yes,” the mesmer replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a letter. His blue gaze flitted over it before returning to his speaker. “Be careful. I’ve been in contact with a friend of mine from the Priory, and she says that in the old days, people who were able to see the Mursaat were killed off quickly by the White Mantle. Now that we know there are more of them out there, you have to be extra careful of any knives that might end up in your back.”
“Gee,” Quinn said with a grin. “You don’t know anything about us, do you? On the streets, you never stop watching.” With that, he turned and walked out the door, whistling before he ducked into the shadows and was off. Myrie’s gaze followed him until his silhouette was no longer visible. After being sure that he was gone, she reached under her pillow and pulled out a scroll of fine vellum. The mesmer noticed her expression form into a grimace.
“So, what’s the news on the street?” he asked, wondering why she was so displeased.
“It’s not street news,” she replied. “Firestone’s invited me to a ball at some Minister Someone-Or-Other’s mansion. If I had a thing to wear, or perhaps a respectable escort, I’d be a little-” she paused, glowering at the mesmer’s small smile- “just a little excited. After all,” she sighed, picking off a corner of the paper and rolling it into a ball before tossing the scrap onto the ground, “it’s not every day a street rat’s invited to a ball.”
“Well, that is something,” he said, pursing his lips and peering at the letter. “Minister Wi, hm? Rumor has it that he’s under investigation for some shady business. Bandits or something. It’s understandable that Selana would ask for you to come. Should things sour, it’s good to have an extra blade or two to defend oneself. When’s the party?”
Myrie tossed the letter onto the floor and stood, flexing her fingers. She frowned at their stiffness and turned towards her pack, stuffing some miscellaneous items and some more of the mesmer’s potion inside.
“Two weeks from now.” She picked up her daggers and shoved them into her belt. “Why?”
Gryphon smiled. “Because that should be enough time for you to get fitted for a dress. After all,” he said, eyes twinkling at her slowly-dawning realization, “it’s not every day a street rat gets invited to a ball.”

Chapter 6a:

Myrie had never thought that she would see the day when she would be shopping for such a frivolous item as a party dress, and though she was standing in the curtained room of a shop getting measured for one, she still didn’t quite believe it.
“Ouch!” she yelped as a needle dug into her ribcage. “Watch it with those pokers, will you?”
“Forgive me, madam,” the seamstress replied, pulling another pin out of her mouth and inserting it into the cloth measuring tape, “but you are a tad … twitchier than most of my customers.”
Myrie snorted softly, earning another needle in the side – “Sorry, miss”- and thought of what her old gang would say if they saw her then. Pete would never stop laughing, she thought, pursing her lips. The seamstress wiped a pudgy hand on her sweaty brow and stepped back. “All right, we have your measurements done, Ms. Ward. Now, if you would like, we could pick a design for you from our most popular styles and fit it to your size. At the current moment, we have a dress that replicates the very one Her Majesty wore for her coronation ceremony. If you would prefer something a tad more exotic, we have one modeled after some sylvari clothing…”
“Thank you,” Myrie said, smiling as she took the numbered piece of paper from the older woman, “but I believe I shall go elsewhere for my design.”

After resuming her normal attire, she walked out of the shop. Gryphon had been waiting at the town square. Seeing her return with the paper- but no dress- in her hands, he asked, “No luck finding a dress you liked?”
“They were okay,” Myrie replied, stuffing the measurements into her pocket, “but I’d rather wear something with a bit less frill and a bit more… you know,” she said, flustered, “grit. I don’t want to go into a fancy ball looking like a poofy little bunch of silk. Do you know of anyplace I could go to find a design that I would like?”
Gryphon shrugged. “I’m sorry to say that being a Mesmer does not necessarily make one a mind reader. I don’t know your personal tastes, so the only thing I can recommend is drawing inspiration from what you normally would wear. See if you can incorporate that into something you’d like.”
“Wait a minute,” Myrie said, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. “This sounds strongly like you’re insinuating that I design a dress.”
Gryphon rolled his eyes heavenward. “Well, if you can’t find any designs in the shops that you like and you still are going to the ball, the only other solution is to try designing your own. It’s not unheard of, you know. Besides,” he added, smiling slightly as he reached an open hand towards her, “it’d give you something better to do than snatching my valuables when I’m not looking.”
“I have no idea what you’re-”
“You are currently holding my ring.”
Myrie looked down with some shock into her clenched fist. Surely enough, a shimmering obsidian ring glittered up at her from its depths. Her face reddened. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I had no clue that I had done that. Sometimes it’s just … automatic. I do it to relieve stress- like lockpicking. It just gives me something to do.”
“I understand,” the mesmer said, taking back his jewelry, “and this will give you something to do, too. As a bonus,” he continued, “it’ll also keep you on the right side of the law.”
Myrie puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms. “Fine,” she said, gritting her teeth. “But there’s someone I want to see first.”

Chapter 6b:

Gryphon lagged behind as the lithe thief wound her way through the back streets and across narrow alleys. She effortlessly flowed from street to street, all the while casting cautious glances behind her to make sure that she wasn’t being followed by any hostile forces. Even though the area through which she was running wasn’t wealthy to begin with, the living conditions only seemed to continue to deteriorate as she went on. Barely-clothed waifs scattered quickly at the sound of her approach and peered out from behind the rotting boards of their family hovels. Myrie cast a pitying glance towards the frightened orbs and continued doggedly on towards a goal Gryphon only could guess. Who could possibly live in this run-down, broken street that she would want to see so badly? The citizens strayed fairly clear of him in part due to his impressive appearance and his sharp sword, which he kept barely sheathed yet at the ready should someone attempt to attack him. Finally, the young woman stopped, breathing heavily. She was trembling, and though her trek had been quite exerting, Gryphon felt as though it was not the reason for her shivers. A whisper of mental anguish reached his questing mind- was Myrie afraid of whatever lurked inside the shack by which she was so tensely poised? As if steeling herself, Myrie stood up straighter, ran a shaking hand through her limp brown locks, and inhaled deeply. She then squared her shoulders and rapped lightly on the doorframe. A low moan reached the ears of those outside.
“Go away! We have no means of providing for any guests,” a woman’s quavering voice came.
“I do not wish to burden you with another mouth to feed.” Myrie replied, vainly attempting to still her shaking voice. “I merely wish to see you.”
“If you have any pity for an old woman and her mad husband, you would let us be,” the voice retorted. “Perhaps if you have any coin to spare, you would provide us with a meal. That would be a kindness which we would accept.” The man’s moan began to take on words, babbling and strange.
“Dragons! Aye, the crackling began, and it never stopped!” Gryphon’s skin crawled at the anguished sound as it became an insane cackle. “Flesh of crystal! Almost all of them died. But not me! Nay, not I. I survived the Branding. Did the Queen reward me yet? Where’s my reward?”
“Hush, Lemuel,” the woman’s voice was muffled as she spoke to her husband soothingly. “She hasn’t paid you yet. She will, though. She promised she would.” A watery blue eye peered out from the doorframe. “Have you no pity for the mad? Please, maiden, if you would leave us-” Her voice suddenly choked in her throat. “Myrie?” she gasped.
Myrie smiled slightly, tears in her eyes. “Hello, Mother.”

Chapter 6c:

Gryphon waited quietly by the doorframe as the young woman met with her parents. It was easy to tell that the Ward house had once been a wealthy one, judging by the very few items of quality they had kept. Among them were a silver ring, a faded velvet and porcelain doll, and a fine oil painting of Sir and Lady Ward shortly after their wedding.
Gryphon realized with a shock that Myrie’s mother was not as old as he had initially thought; the stress of life had aged her far more quickly than the rate at which it would have normally occurred. She was probably only twenty or so years older than her daughter. Myrie’s father, Lemuel Ward, looked even worse than her mother. Though his features were, for the most part, suited to his estimated age, his wide green eyes were glassy and unfocused, lost in the depths of his madness. It was that single point of insanity in an otherwise sane face that made him so piteous. Gryphon knew that it would take an amazing feat of magic to bring back his lost mind- one that would be well beyond most mesmer’s tasks. He doubted that the Queen herself would be able to heal him in his current state. The pale green orbs suddenly became clear, and for a moment of lucidity, Lemuel looked at his daughter.
“Myrie,” he gasped, smiling, “how are you, my sweet treasure?” He peered around her shoulder, gaze starting to cloud again, and asked, “Where’s the Queen? She must be here, right?”
“No, Father,” Myrie said softly, hugging him. “She has not yet come. She is very busy.”
“Nonsense, nonsense,” he said gruffly, brushing her off suddenly, “she’s just late, that’s all. She promised me a reward, you know. For my service in the Brand.”
“Yes, Father. I have a small amount of treasure for you and Mother,” she said, pulling out a few silver and placing them in his hands. “It’s not much, but I hope it helps.”
The man muttered something unintelligible under his breath and took the coins, retreating to a corner in which a creaky stool was placed.
“You won’t get much out of him,” murmured Myrie’s mother, smiling sadly. “He’s only gotten worse since you left. He constantly babbles about his time in the Dragonbrand and its effects. I only hope,” she said, taking a shuddering breath, “I only hope Her Highness stops taking her sweet time and hurries up with his reward!” Shaking from her sudden outburst, the woman sat down on another stool opposite of the one on which her husband sat. “I keep telling myself that will cure him, but all the same, I know it was the death of his friends that scarred him the most. Only one other has survived the Branding, though she was in the charr lands, far to the east. But I know you didn’t come here to hear about our troubles, dear,” she said, taking Myrie’s hands in hers. “What brings you here to see us?”

Chapter 6d:

Myrie smiled shakily. “Well,” she said, inhaling deeply, “I need to have a dress designed. I don’t know anything about fashion or sewing, and I was hoping you would be able to help me.”
“Now, what would my pants-wearing, frills-hating daughter want with a dress?” Lady Ward asked, somewhat shocked by this revelation. Her eyes narrowed mischievously. “Don’t tell me that Quinn boy finally plucked up the courage to-?”
“No! No, oh, Mists, no,” Myrie stammered, face reddening fiercely. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just friends, Mother. You see, there’s a ball-”
“So he invited you to a ball? I had no idea he was wealthy! I always thought he was like us.”
“Mother! There is a criminal investigation going on, and I’ve been requested to help. The only way I can do so is if I enter this ball- which Quinn is not hosting- and to do so, I need a dress. But nothing in the shops suits me, so I was hoping you could help me design one.”
The woman sighed and sat back, a smile spreading across her face. “I never thought I would see the day where you would ask for help in designing a dress, love. The last time you wore one, you were still a toddler.” She suddenly stood and walked over to the painting, brushing off some cobwebs. “But since time has passed, you will definitely need help in choosing your own style. I assume you already have the fabrics picked out?”
“Well…”
“Hopefully, you won’t choose something too expensive, dear. Funds are tight, and-”
Gryphon cleared his throat politely. “There’s no need to worry about the costs, Lady Ward. I will be paying for your daughter’s dress. After all, as a member of the nobility, it is my duty to provide for those who cannot provide for themselves, and, in addition, this will aid a matter of national security.”
The lady looked at him in shock. “Why would you do this for us? We’re just a poor family of nobodies-”
“That is where you are wrong, madam,” Gryphon said firmly. “In my opinion, there is no such thing as a ‘nobody.’ Everyone has their own abilities, and though some of the bureaucracy would consider the poor to be worthless, there are more honest kind among the poor than in many council seats. Your daughter has an uncanny talent for cutting to the point of what is being said.”
“And, if rumors are to be believed, she also is not too shabby at picking pockets.”
“Mum!”
“Well, it’s true, is it not? But I digress. When is the ball?”
Myrie told her. Her mother smiled, an old light glinting in her eyes. “It will be a challenge,” she said, “but we Wards have always had a tendency to get out of tough spots.”

Chapter 7a:

“Are you sure I can’t see it?” Quinn asked, casually resting against the doorframe of Myrie’s house and peeking in through a space between the door-frame. It was not the first time he had visited since hearing from the grapevine that the rough-and-tumble Myrie Ward was getting a dress. Normally, he would be disbelieving of such rumors, but his curiosity, combined with the (reluctant) admittance of its truth by his friend fueled those embers of interest into a full-out blaze.
“Go away, Quinn!” hissed Myrie, green eyes glinting angrily. “You’ve been pestering me about the dress for five days!”
“But I’m not going to some fancy ball, so I won’t see you in it. Would it really be so bad if I just got a glimpse of even a sketch of its design?”
“Yes,” she replied coolly, shutting the door. Quinn sighed and ran a hand through his hair, laughing. It had been that way since they were kids. Whenever Myrie liked something and was afraid of others mocking her for her interest, she would act flustered and angry at anyone who even remotely mentioned it. He turned to walk away, a smile starting to form on his face. Where did she say this ball was going to be? A “Minister Wi’s mansion?” Well, he may not be on the invitation list, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting in, anyway. Very, very few things stopped him from going through with any plans he thought up, no matter how foolish they were.

Time flew by in a blur of sewing, stretching, and pinning. Myrie thought that her dress would never be done in time, and when it was, the first words that came out of her mouth were these:
“I can not believe I helped make this.”
“Oh, Myrie,” her mother laughed, “you’ve picked dozens of pockets, but you were worried about a tiny little needle?”
“It’s not just a ‘little needle’,” Myrie replied stiffly, “it’s a tiny dagger. A little sword. One small mistake, and you’ve stabbed yourself.”
“Now, those tiny lacerations will heal perfectly fine.” she tutted. She suddenly spun around and whirled the dress off of the table. A smile – a true, happy smile- broke across her face. “You’ll look lovely in it, Myrie.”
Her daughter cast a suspicious eye at the fabric. “You sure?”
“Remember your schooling. It’s ‘are you sure?’. And yes, Myrie. You’ll look wonderful.”
A sudden knock at the door brought them both rushing to answer it. “I’ll bet it’s that Gryphon fellow,” Lady Ward said, smiling. She had become quick friends with the charismatic mesmer, who enjoyed helping around the house and doing what he could to aid Lemuel’s madness. Though his attempts to remove it had been, as he feared, unsuccessful, it was at least helping the old soldier calm down. True to her mother’s expectations, when Myrie opened the door, Gryphon Radwing stood there, dressed in a sharp white robe with gold and purple trimmings. He looked quite regal, Myrie thought.
“Watch for pickpockets,” she stated, gliding past him and into the waiting carriage.
“Hang on,” he said, laughing at her sudden rush and holding her shoulder. “What’s that you’ve got on?”
“My clothes,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “What of them?”
“Didn’t I help you buy materials for a dress?”
A flush crept up Myrie’s face. “Well, yes, but-”
“Then why aren’t you wearing it?” he asked casually, smiling. He already knew her answer, yet gave her the opportunity to reply.
“I was afraid Quinn would see it!” she blurted. She then proceeded to bury her face in the material of her dress, which she held bundled in her arms.
“And what’s so bad about that?” her mother’s voice came. An awkward pause filled the seconds, during which Myrie’s face continued to generously spread its redness to the rest of her face and ears.
“Absolutely nothing,” she finally stated gruffly, stomping back into the house. “I’ll change and be right back.”

Chapter 7b:
Myrie’s eyes widened as the carriage pulled up to Minister Wi’s mansion. She had seen grand estates from a distance, but never before had she seen one up close and personal.
And they’ve even been kind enough to invite me in, she thought, grinning behind her black, emerald-studded fan. How kind of them!
Gryphon Radwing hopped out and walked over to Myrie’s side, opening the door for her with a bow.
“Remember,” he whispered as she stepped out, “be on the lookout for anything unusual. This is an investigation, after all.”
“Got it,” she replied. She attempted (vainly) to remember what little tutoring she had on walking gracefully and instead decided to walk normally. Head up high, shoulders back, she thought, closing her fan and striding forward. As she glided past a richly-ornamented lady, her hand slipped out from behind her back and stealthily pocketed one of the heavy earrings which had adorned her ear. Easy pickings, the thief thought, smiling pleasantly at a nobleman who glanced her way. He looked familiar…
“Surely you recognize me?” he asked, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth. Myrie gave him a blank stare. He threw up his hands in frustration. “Of course. The one person in this whole town who wouldn’t-!”
“Lord Faren,” she stated suddenly, holding up a finger in recollection. “I remember now. You’re Selana’s friend, right?”
“Well,” he said, glancing around skittishly, “yes, but right now she’s rather irritated with me.”
“No,” gasped Myrie, smirking, “the great charmer, Lord Faren, has managed to anger the coolest-headed woman in this entire kingdom?”
“It’s not funny!” he hissed, his pleasant demeanor slipping. He glanced behind him, eyes widening. “Oh, gods,” he murmured softly. Myrie followed his gaze, wondering what on Tyria could have elicited such an outburst. Then she realized that Lady Firestone had arrived.

Chapter 7c:
Selana Firestone immediately drew the attention of all in the room. Her steps were firm and even, and in her flaming red hair, the stones of her sapphire headpiece glistened like the depths of scrying pools. She strode in with the cool confidence of a queen, her black, gold-trimmed gown rustling. She inclined her head towards Gryphon. When her searching gaze caught Myrie’s, she immediately turned in her direction.
“Miss Ward,” she stated. “I am delighted to see you here.”
“Selana-” Faren broke in. The elementalist’s gaze scoured him.
“I do not wish to speak to you at the current moment,” she replied frostily. “Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Faren, I have to speak to Minister Wi.” With that, she spun on her heel and glided towards the noble.
“Ouch,” Myrie chuckled. “What did you do?”
Faren’s jaw shifted angrily. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. He pointed across the hallway into the garden. “Do you see that lady over there? Could you go ask her to dance with me?”
“Do it yourself!” the thief retorted. “You’ve got legs.”
The lord huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll get you a drink from one of the servants.”
“I’ve already got one,” she said triumphantly, sipping delicately from her goblet. “Didn’t even notice it was missing.”
He growled, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Please. I just need to have someone dancing with me when she comes back.”
“Is this some sort of crazy ‘friend-wants-to become-something-more-and-girl-turns-him-down’ drama? ‘Cause if it is,” she continued, popping a piece of cheese into her mouth, “I want no part of it.”
“I’ll give you my pocket watch!” he cried, exasperated. Myrie looked at him in astonishment.
“Wow, you really are in trouble.” She took the jewelry. “All right, Doctor Desperate, I’ll go get your date.”

As she was returning with the news of Faren’s invitation being accepted, Myrie suddenly was spun around and pulled into the shadows.
“Hey! Get off!” she shouted, a dagger appearing at the throat of her mystery assailant. To her shock, she heard an irritating, familiar laugh answer her.
“Wow,” the man chuckled. “You really did it, didn’t you?”
”Quinn?!” Myrie gasped.
“Yep!” he grinned. “I just had to check and see if the rumors were true.”
Myrie replied by punching him in the face.
“Ouch!” he yelped, rubbing his sore jaw. “Why did-”
“This is an official Seraph investigation,” she hissed. “You know that if you’re caught here, it’s back to the jailhouse for you. And Pete’s definitely not going to keep you in one piece if you keep dashing away from your job!”
“That’s why I’m here,” Quinn replied. He glanced over his shoulder. “Come on, I need to tell you something.”

Warning: The following Chapters will contain spoilers to the Human Street Rat Storyline path: The Rescue/The Greater Good

Chapter 8a:

“Can’t it wait?” Myrie huffed, stomping after him.
“Not unless you want thousands of innocent people to die,” Quinn responded flatly as they trudged into a shaded area of Minister Wi’s expansive garden. “Believe me, I’m risking my neck by telling you this.”
“What could possibly be-?”
“Myrie, for once in your life, you need to listen to me!” he snapped. Myrie was stunned into silence. He sighed shakily and ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I’m not kidding when I say that Pete might kill me for this, but I can’t do it on my own, and I need your help.”
She looked at him expectantly. After chewing on the air for a bit, Quinn continued.
“Remember how Two-blade Pete was planning some apothecary job? Turns out that he was doing that for the poison, not just gold.”
“I was there. I thought we stopped him.”
“We didn’t. Not in time. He managed to get his hands on a lot of the stuff, and it’s pretty potent. At first, I thought it was for some assassinations, maybe a way to flex his muscle. But last night, I overheard him and Riot Alice having a major argument. As it turns out, the poison is supposed to be dumped into the main water lines throughout Divinity’s Reach. There are several locations where he plans on spreading it so as to more effectively infect the city. If you can convince Thackeray to spare you some troops, you might be able to take out the poisoners before they can finish their work.”
“But even that might not be enough,” Myrie said slowly.
“I know. Alice and I plan on warning the townspeople before Pete arrives. That might give them enough time to spread the word through their areas to avoid using the water systems.” He fell into silence for a while, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Myrie,” he finally said, “I’ve noticed that, through all of your years of being a thief and overall professional stand-up woman, you’ve never used a pistol. Why is that?”

Chapter 8b:
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Just answer the question, please,” he said softly. Disturbed somewhat by his tone of voice, she replied, “My father always used to remark that the very last thing he heard before the Branding occurred was a sound like a gunshot. Ever since then, whenever he hears a pistol or other firearm go off, he goes into a nervous tizzy and attacks anything he sees. Mother is only barely able to calm him down.”
“Hm.” He walked around to an apple tree, pausing to pluck one of its fruits. “Well, if you could use one out of his hearing range, would you?”
A chill briefly raced across her spine. “Yes. But I would never buy one. I don’t even know how to use a pistol.”
Quinn bit into his apple, smiling slightly. “There’s always time to learn.”
“What do you mean?” she asked him, starting to grow irritated at his unusual behavior. He suddenly fell into silence.
“Myrie,” he said after a while, “I just wanted to let you know something. I’ve left a present for you under a loose cobblestone seven steps north from the bridge. Only open it if…”
“Quinn! Stop this, right now! We can mobilize the Seraph, we can stop Pete and Doc, just-” Frustrated at her emotional state, Myrie sat down on a stone and rubbed her sleeve across her streaming eyes. “Don’t. Don’t go,” she whispered. As she stared at the ground, vision blurring, she was aware of Quinn’s presence by her side. He sat next to her, his hands in his lap.
“I have a bit of a confession to make,” he said, glancing towards her. She shot him a teary glare from her folded arms.
“Just … shut up,” she huffed. “I don’t want to hear you say it.”
“Myrie.”
“Shut up!” she shouted, standing suddenly. “Just keep your mouth closed, Quinn! I don’t want to hear it!”
She ignored his calling after her, choking on her sobs as she raced back towards the party. If she could get back in there, she could simply resume her mission. The conversation with Quinn- her longest and closest friend- never happened. She could just ignore it.
“Myrie! Look out!”
A servant had glanced her way and stuck out his heel. She tripped and flew through the air, hitting her head on the ground, and blacking out.

Everything was blurry. She must be dreaming. Her head was being held on someone’s lap. She glanced up to see the face of the one who was holding her. Quinn, she thought. Myrie moaned softly, tried to sit up, and gave up when her head sent a blazing spike of pain rocketing through her mind.
“You know,” he said, chuckling lowly, “you’d think I was going to tell you that someone was going to kill the Queen the way you reacted. Who would’a thought?” He shook his head slightly, smiling. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, Myrie.”
Her throat constricted, eyes brimming with tears. No, she thought. He can’t tell me this was all some set-up, can he?
“The truth is,” he said, gently stroking her head, “for years, I’ve avoided admitting how I really felt. I suppose I was afraid you would react- well, like this. Myrie,” he smiled. “Myrie Ward, the most stubborn, smart, beautiful gal I’ve ever known. I know I’m not the handsomest or smartest guy around. I don’t have any riches, and I constantly irritate you. But curse me if I ever thought for half a second that I didn’t love you something fierce. There. You’ll probably forget this, so let me say it twice in case you don’t remember the first time. I love you, Myrie Ward. But I know this is my duty. I have to right my wrongs.”
She closed her eyes, the throbbing in her head nearly causing her to lose consciousness. Jerk, she thought. What a time to pick to tell me this. As the scene started to fade, she was dimly aware of Quinn tenderly whispering, “I love you, Myrie. I always will.”
As she closed her eyes, a gentle warmth met her lips, and she blacked out.

And now a word from our sponsor!

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. For those of you who are emotionally injured (or in denial, it’s okay to admit it), I present you with music. Some of you may consider this a new journey, but for others, it shall be a return- a breath of life into the past which once was. Enjoy.
I will do my best to continue this as time goes on, but for now, this elementalist is quite drained (blame one extraordinarily- hyperactive asuran brat) and in need of slumber.

Does a snatch of the past now come to me?
“Slumber deep,
In dreamless sleep-
O innocent child,
O’er you I’ll keep
A vigilant watch throughout the night.
I’ll watch, and set your fears to flight…”

“Upon awake,
for Dwayna’s sake
O rested soul,
Grenth shall not take
And with the final crack of dawn,
No fearful dreams to dwell upon”

(posted with permission of Selana Firestone)

Chapter8c:
Myrie awoke groggily to the sound of hurried footsteps rushing in a panic and the sound of frantic screaming. As she looked around with bleary vision, trying to make sense of the chaos swirling around her, the memory of what had happened when she was last conscious flooded her mind with a pungent sharpness.
Quinn, she thought, sitting up and running a shaky hand over her face. What in the Mists are you thinking?
“Myrie! Look out!” She turned with dumb confusion towards Gryphon Radwing.
“What?” she asked distantly. She then squinted towards the party- or where the party had been. The banners which had been so gaily fluttering moments ago were torn down and stained with ominous red splatters. What happened while I was out? Myrie wondered, brow furrowing in dazed confusion.
“MOVE!”
Her head whipped around. “What?!” she shouted irritably. Her eyes widened. “Widowmakers.” She frowned, squinting in annoyance as one of the bandits rushed towards her.
“I can’t believe the discourteous nature of criminals these days,” she muttered blackly, staggering to her feet and giving the charging Widowmaker a deadly glare. “In my day,” she growled, pulling out her dagger, “we didn’t just cause chaos at the party of every highborn who decided to go out and be a hero. Heck,” she continued, sidestepping the criminal, “we rarely even made ourselves known! And look at you,” she said with disgust as he spun back towards her. “You don’t even have the decency to take anyone ransom.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sister,” came the taunting sneer. “You should’ve stayed on the ground- you’ll be going to Grenth soon enough.”
“I think not,” Myrie replied grimly, swirling around as he ran by again. She finished the motion by imbedding her dagger in his stomach. His hands flew to his gut, and he staggered forward for a few more feet before collapsing on the ground. Myrie walked over to his body with exceeding primness, lifting her skirt distastefully as she stepped over him and retrieved the knife. “Confound it,” she muttered, looking down at the hem. “You got blood on my dress.” She kicked the corpse spitefully, then looked down at herself. At least Quinn got to see it before… She shook her head violently. Quinn wasn’t dead. Not yet- he couldn’t be.
“Really a shame,” she sighed to herself. “I actually did like this dress.” With that, she slashed her dagger through the fabric, shortening it to a more freeing length. As she stepped out of the circle of the freed material, a sudden flash lit up the sky, punctuated with gurgling screams and the horrid scent of charred flesh. Selana Firestone, hair slightly disheveled but otherwise still fine, stepped out from a screen of smoke.
“I hate bandits,” she said coolly, brushing off some ash from her sleeve with chilling calmness. She looked up towards Gryphon, eyes steely and determined.
“They’ve taken Faren and some of the others,” she said simply.
“Then what are we waiting for?” he asked, smiling grimly. “We’ve got to get him back.”
“No!” shouted Myrie suddenly. The two nobles looked at her in disbelief.
“Explain yourself quickly.” Selana said frostily. “With each second wasted, we lose the chance of recovering the people alive.”

This contains spoilers to the Human Storyline: A Greater Good
Chapter 9a:
With as much steadiness and clarity as she could manage, Myrie related what Quinn had let her know- aside from his confession, of course.
“And there’s no way of keeping Pete from dumping his poison?” Gryphon asked thoughtfully, fingering his staff.
Myrie shook her head slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain. “Not unless we mobilize the Seraph- and even that might not keep him from dumping at least part of it.”
“The Seraph are already marching towards a cave where the bandits are thought to be holding the prisoners. We could try to rally what remaining forces are left, but…” the Mesmer trailed off, mouth thinning into a grim expression.
“But you don’t think it will be enough,” she finished.
“It would help, though. But by that time, Quinn may already have reached Pete.”
“He can take him,” Myrie said stoutly. “Quinn may not be a Seraph captain, but he’s quick.”
“And Two-Blade Pete is a cowardly, slimy crook,” Selana said flatly. “Quinn has honor, and that could be his undoing. Even if Riot Alice tries to help him, when Pete finds out that he’s been betrayed, it’s a shallow chance of survival that your friend will have.”
“So, what you’re saying is…”
“What I’m saying is that we have two choices: Try rallying the remaining Seraph to stop the bandits from dumping poison into the major waterways, or head off and save Quinn.”
Selana straightened. “We can’t just leave Faren in there. He’ll go insane from the dirt and dust alone.” Despite the tense atmosphere, a small twitch of a smile appeared at the corner of Gryphon’s mouth. “I’m completely serious,” Firestone remarked, arching an eyebrow.
Myrie groaned. Stupid, stupid Quinn, she thought, biting a knuckle in frustration. Why did he have to go and tell me that he loved me right before growing a spine? She paused briefly in her thoughts. He had always had a spine, she realized. Heck, he was even more sensible than she was. How many times had Quinn kept her from knifing somebody, or insulting a powerful ally? Even when she had been the leader of her gang, it was Quinn who advised her and helped make important decisions. Maybe she had been just a figurehead, and it was he who had been the leader.
“I can’t just let him die!” she whispered furiously. “But what would he do?” She sighed. She knew what he would do- and what he would say she should do. Sometimes, Quinn, Myrie thought, taking a shuddering breath, I really hate your selflessness.
“Myrie?” Gryphon looked at her in concern. “I hate to break in on your thoughts, but we’re running out of time. What are you going to do?”
The thief was silent for a while.
“Contact Logan Thackeray,” she finally said, voice breaking. “It’s the only chance our city’s got.”

Chaper 9b:

Selana had gone ahead with a few of the Seraph to the bandit hideout, leaving Gryphon and Myrie to contact Captain Thackeray.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” the Mesmer said soothingly, casting Myrie a worried glance. Her face was paler than usual, and her knuckles were white against her skin.
“Let’s just make sure this won’t be a fruitless mission,” she said, voice tight with emotion. She strode forward purposefully with a light in her eyes that disturbed her companion. “Where would Brownielocks be hiding today? Maybe he’s by his precious Queen…”

Captain Thackeray, contrary to Myrie’s dour opinion, was instead in the street where the chaos had broken out. He had stayed behind with some of his troops and was working on dousing the occasional fire that would break out or helping a mother find her child. When he saw Gryphon Radwing, his face lit up hopefully. The Mesmer often was a much-needed voice of reason in situations such as these. Then he saw who was with him, and his rising spirits quickly deflated.
“Captain Thackeray,” Gryphon saluted.
“At ease, friend,” the man replied, casting a wary glance at Myrie. “What brings you here? Have you come to offer aid?”
“No,” Myrie replied, straightening and staring the captain in the eye. “We’ve come to request it. I have an informant in Two-Blade Pete’s gang who recently informed me that he plans on dumping vast amounts of a poison through the main waterways in Divinity’s Reach. He decided to stay behind and confront Pete to try slowing him down, but…” Myrie’s voice cracked, and her throat tightened. Confound it, Myrie, she thought, gritting her teeth as she roughly swiped at her bleary eyes. Don’t cry in front of this fop.
Captain Thackeray’s mouth hardened. “I know Pete. He’s a vicious bully of a brute who won’t hesitate to punish insubordination. Perhaps his arrogance will weaken his sword hand. I wish your friend luck. Now,” he said, drawing his sword, “where are the dropoff points for the poison?”
“You’re going to help?”
“I fight for Kryta to defend its people and its Queen. If this endangers one, I shall fight against it. Now, the dumping points?”
“They’re in the main wells, but Doc Howler is going to personally lead an escort up Dwayna High Road to dump her batch in there. The Dwayna waterway is the largest supplier- if we take her down, our primary concern will be over. Your troops should be able to take out the other lackeys at their points.”
“Understood.” Logan pulled out a small horn attached to his belt. Blowing on it once, he called, “Troops! New plan- instruct the people how to best finish their task, and come with me. We’ve got a mission to complete, and the fate of Divinity’s Reach is at stake.”

Chapter 10a:
Quinn strode up to the tavern briskly, pausing to pull his collar higher in an attempt to disguise the prickles of unease he felt on the back of his neck and ears. Was he truly right in doing this? He had managed to convince Alice that Pete was a greater evil than the government – for the time being- yet the knowledge that he had her as an ally in words was nothing like having an actual blade at his side. At his request, she had gone on to warn some of the street rats in the other areas of Divinity’s Reach, specifically the merchant’s quarter, of the impending attack. The news of poison would spread quickly enough for most of the population to become aware of the danger. The only remaining question, he thought to himself as he opened the door and walked in, was whether or not he could stop Two-Blade Pete.

“There.” Myrie pointed across the bridge to the small shrine of the death god, Grenth. In the eerie, flickering lights of the shrine, the bandits who were standing guard looked especially menacing. It was ironically fitting, the thief noted, that bringers of death would be around Grenth’s shrine.
“Where’s the doctor?” Captain Thackeray’s voice came in a whisper.
Briefly startled from her thoughts of irony and death, Myrie blankly answered, “Who?”
“Doc Howler. Where is she? If we can take her out, the operation should collapse on itself.”
“Give me a moment.” Myrie craned her neck around the square pillar, straining her eyes in the darkness. She cursed her lack of fortune and slumped back onto the cool stone. “I can’t see her.”
“Wait.” Gryphon’s thoughts projected into their minds. “I’ll see if I can find her.”
“If you head out there, you’ll be exposed.”
“Which is why I’ll be sending my consciousness. Make sure that nothing happens to me while I’m out.”
Myrie opened her mouth to ask what on earth he meant, but the Mesmer, closing his eyes and sitting down with a deep exhalation, did not reply. As he finished sighing, a purple mist trailed from his nose and mouth, briefly flashing before convalescing into his shape. The ghostly image turned and smiled at her.
“Seriously? That is really creepy.”
“Just make sure my body doesn’t move.” With that, the spectral Mesmer stalked away from them, becoming invisible to their eyes.
“He’s not dead, is he?” Myrie whispered.
“No. I can still sense him,” replied the captain.
“Has he done this before?”
“Yes. There was a war several years back. He infiltrated the enemy’s tent using this same technique, gathering information that led to our victory. However, as he was regaining his consciousness, his guards were ambushed.”
“Did they-?”
Thackeray shifted uncomfortably. “They knew the risks. But I shouldn’t be talking about this without his permission.”
“Wait, the great Captain Logan Thackeray needs other’s permission to tell their own life story? Man, I must be dreaming.”
With that, Gryphon’s body jerked suddenly, and he snorted loudly as if he was waking from a deep slumber. He rubbed his eyes, purple light fading from them. “Well,” he said, flexing his fingers and frowning, “she is definitely there. And Myrie, she looks as mad as a hatter.”
“What?”
“She’s dangerous.”
“Why did you compare her to a hatter?”
“There’s a hatter in noble’s tales who is completely insane. He has a tea-party which never ends because hardly anyone can get a drink in due to the fact that every time the guests sit down, he has them move again.”
“Weird.”
“Can we focus on the mission? Remember, Miss Ward, for each second we waste, Quinn’s chances of survival dwindle.”

Chapter 10b:

Quinn peered into the bar’s hazy atmosphere. Two-Blade Pete looked even more terrible than usual. This may have been due to the fact that he was smiling, and Quinn knew that Pete only smiled when something horrid was about to happen. The muscles in that man’s face were contorted in a cruel grin, and his teeth flashed as he laughed with some of his compatriots.
“They won’t even see it coming,” he chuckled darkly, quaffing his ale. “Those richies and snobs have had it too good for too long.”
His bodyguard, Crusher Dan, laughed along with him. “And everyone will be distracted by that so much…” he hiccupped. Obviously he was drunk. “No one will know what the true motive is.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed as he smacked him upside the head. “Watch it, you sodden clot. There are ears everywhere. Whispers agents have been our downfall at least once before.”
“Yeah,” the guard snorted, rubbing his head painfully. “But we offed the last one. No one’s going to rat on us now.”
Pete’s face returned to its usual grimace. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Quinn…” He trailed off as his subject came to their table. Silence suddenly descended on the gathering. After a tense few seconds, Two-Blade Pete kicked a chair out for Quinn.
“We were just talking about you,” he said, smiling like a shark. “Have a seat.”

“So how should we proceed?” Myrie asked. All eyes were turned on Gryphon Radwing. He stroked his red goatee thoughtfully.
“Well,” he said slowly, “we know that Howler’s got some guards positioned directly in front of the shrine. We can see them clearly. However, she and the rest of her crew are just around the shrine’s corner. If we make any noise, or if one of the guards shouts for help, we’re going to have a full-out brawl on our hands.”
“We can take them,” Captain Thackeray replied resolutely, hand on his sword hilt.
“Yes,” Myrie retorted, “but can we do it before Doc Howler finishes dumping her poison?”
There was a restless shifting in the group while the leaders thought about what to do. Myrie bit her lip, frustrated at the progress.
“Screw this,” she growled. “I won’t let Quinn die due to slow decision-making. I’m going in.”
“Myrie-!”
The thief whipped out her daggers, eyes flashing with a deadly haze. “The plan’s been decided. Kill Howler and anyone else who resists arrest. Follow me if you’re with me.”
Gryphon’s stomach plummeted. Though not as emotionally-attuned as a sylvari, he could still sense the waves of anger, grief and fear roiling off of Myrie’s lithe frame. She was reckless and desperate. He stood grimly, hands grasping his jeweled staff.
“Count me in.”

Chapter 10c:

Quinn set down his mug slowly. Pete’s eyes bored into him.
“That’s why I don’t want to be part of this any more,” he finished flatly. “When Myrie was the leader, we had a purpose: Rob from the excessively wealthy and give the loot to those who really needed it. But you,” he continued coldly, “have taken her legacy and run it into the ground. We’re not heroes anymore, Pete. We’ve changed into murderers, petty thieves, run-of-the-mill vandals. People who used to look up to us now spit in our faces.” He turned to the bodyguard. “You remember what it was like. What’s your purpose now, Dan?”
“My purpose is to do what’s best for our gang. Myrie’s no longer the leader. I follow Pete now, Quinn. You should, too.”
“Yeah,” Pete sneered. “What’s changed, Quinn? You used to follow orders so well. Why’d you just now decide to get a spine?”
Quinn was silent as he stared into the depths of his mug.
“Oh,” the thug hissed. “I know what it is. You’ve fallen in love with the dirty wench, haven’t you?”
“A dog like you wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.” Quinn replied tonelessly, hand straying to his pistol. Crusher Dan reached down and clamped down before he could reach the weapon.
“Now, now,” Pete said, black eyes glittering unpleasantly, “no need for violence, Quinn. We’re just talking. So. How long have you loved her? Did you even tell her before you came? Perhaps you gave her a letter. Oh, wouldn’t that be just like you. Always the coward, Quinn. Maybe someday, there’ll be someone with more of a spine who will make her forget about you. She’ll move on, never casting a glance back, becoming one of those high-and-mighty prim ladies..”
Quinn roared and shook off the bodyguard’s grasp, launching himself at Pete and landing a punch on his nose. As he reeled back with a sickening crack, Quinn whipped out his other pistol and pointed it at Pete. “She’s better than what you think, Pete, and believe me, she’s onto your plan.”
“‘Onto our pl…’-What do you mean?” he asked furiously, holding onto his bleeding nose. His eyes widened. “You told her!”
“That’s what it implies, now, doesn’t it?” Quinn released the safety trigger, but Crusher Dan quickly leapt upon him, pinning his arms back and disarming him before he could fire a single shot.
“Oi!” the barkeeper called. “No fightin’ in my tavern!”
“Well then, we’d best take our discussion elsewhere,” sneered Two-Blade Pete. He jerked a thumb outside. “Come on, Dan. Grab lover-boy and we’ll talk.”

The first sentry didn’t notice that he had been stabbed until Myrie pulled her dagger out of his chest. His companions struggled briefly against the Seraph before they were subdued. Thanks to Gryphon’s mesmeric abilities, the minds of the other guards were cloaked with a haze which disabled their hearing, allowing him to disintegrate their minds with a bolt of chaotic suggestion.
“There are still at least fifteen Widowmakers surrounding Doc. Who would’ve thought that they were working for Pete all along?”
“Perhaps they’re not,” Gryphon muttered, glancing at the crew. “I managed to glean a scrap of thought from one of them when I took that group down. His thought suggested that both Pete and the Widomakers are working together for a higher-up. I didn’t fully discern who, but..”
“She’s moving,” Thackery hissed, motioning his soldiers forward. “We’re going to need to keep going soon if we want to save our city.”
“Your city,” Myrie corrected, “but we’ll discuss that later.” With that, she vanished into the shadows. “Now’s my time,” she thought, twirling a dagger in her hand. Her mind flashed back to her younger days, when Quinn was teaching her how to fight. Despite the fact that she had been a girl- and one who had been wealthy, to boot- Quinn had decided to take a risk and train her how to fight. Though the boys of the street protested, he was confident in her skill and street-smarts. He had been her one friend after her father’s return from war and into madness. And now he was all alone, facing one of the most ruthless leaders in Divinity’s Reach and his bodyguard.
I can’t let him fail, she thought, gritting her teeth. I must succeed- I owe him that much. And, she thought, slitting a guard’s throat silently, when he returns, I’m not sure whether I’ll kiss him or punch him in the nose.

Hi Selana!

Nice story! I´m actually reading chapter 4b and can already guess how much work went into this. Nice twist to incorporate ingame-characters like Quinn or two-Blade Pete, enhances recognizability and benefits from GW2 brand. Simultaneously you introduced new interesting characters on your own…
I really enjoy your work; thanks for sharing :-)

Kind regards

Benjamin

Author’s Note

Thank you, Benjamin! It is always encouraging to read such comments as yours. I’m glad that you enjoy it, and hope that you will continue to do so as the journey continues.

Best wishes

~Selana Firestone

Chapter 10d:

Quinn coughed up blood as Dan shook his hand, shaking off the droplets that had landed on him.
“See, lover-boy,” Two-Blade Pete sighed, “this is what happen when you defy me. You know how far my reach is. I run these streets. Even the lowliest urchin knows that Rurikton’s underground is my territory. But you,” he continued, motioning for Dan to step aside and hold Quinn back, “seem to think that you-“ One punch to the stomach- “can beat-“ – Another strike to the eye – “Me!”
Quinn doubled over, retching as the thug stepped back. He glowered up defiantly at Pete.
“If you’re so feared,” he growled, spitting out a gobbet of blood, “then why don’t you call off your dog and face me one-on-one?”
Pete’s eyes flashed and his nostrils flared, causing the scar on his face to blanch a vivid white. “So you’ve still got some bone in that back of yours. Fine, then. Dan, get off of him. Let’s see how well he fights.”
As the bodyguard stepped back, Quinn got to his feet, swaying unsteadily. “Give me a weapon,” he grunted, “and we can do this properly.”
“All right,” Pete said, smiling grimly, “but don’t think you’re getting a pistol. I seem to recall something about you being a crack shot from the old days. Here.”
He tossed Quinn a dagger. The thief caught it -despite his injuries, he was determined to fight with all that he had.
“Say hello to Grenth for me,” Quinn said, grinning recklessly.
And with a burst of energy, he lunged forward.

There was a wet shunk as Myrie twisted her dagger into one straggling rogue, silencing his muffled screams. She glanced back towards Gryphon and Captain Thackeray. They were circling around in the shadows, ever-watchful for any scouts that might alert Doc Howler to their presence before they were ready.
“She’s vulnerable now,” Myrie whispered, facing the Mesmer. He relayed the message to the captain, and he nodded.
“On your word, Miss Ward,” Thackeray said, readying a spell.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She was about to attack one who had been a member of her own gang. Despite the stakes, her stomach twisted guiltily. Howler had been a loose screw, but she was a useful screw. She grimaced. Quinn’s not risking his life so you can have a moral dilemma now, Myrie reminded herself. And the city was at risk. She could no longer wait.
“Now!”
The three rushed upon the posse, encountering the more-experienced guards first. Though they were armed, Myrie, Gryphon, and Thackeray all had the element of surprise on their hands.
“Doc!” screamed one of them as he grappled with Myrie, “the poison! We’re under attack!”
Myrie kneed him in the stomach, causing him to bend over. Instead of staying down, however, he rolled behind her and grabbed her in a chokehold. But Myrie hadn’t grown up on the streets without learning some tricks of her own. She cautiously yet quickly moved so that she was no longer being choked, then grabbed his arm, twisted her body, and threw him to the ground.
“Gryphon!” she gasped. “The Doctor!”
Howler had noticed the commotion and was feverishly working on opening the keg of poison. Her pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her eyes flashed madly. “Pete and I have planned this for months,” she cackled. “We will finally break the power-hold of the Queen and her lackeys! You cannot-!”
Her speech was abruptly interrupted by Captain Thackeray. With a roar, he launched himself at the doctor, smashing her hand against the cobblestones.

Chapter 10e:

Despite his injuries, Quinn was still deadly with a weapon. Pete knew this- and he got an especially good reminder when Quinn’s dagger scoured his temple, shearing off a chunk of his flesh and eyebrow. Snarling in pain, the thug changed his stance to a more defensive position, switching his dagger hand and watching warily. Blood streamed down his temple.
“Boss?” Dan asked cautiously, a question of aid.
“Not now, you oaf!” he hissed, lunging at an opening in Quinn’s guard.
The thief dodged nimbly, wincing as the pain in his side flared up. Dan didn’t need to join the fight- he had already done enough damage, he thought. The taste of iron in his mouth had started to become unnoticed, and the only change in its flavor was the addition of an acid undertone. Even though his face remained fairly stoic, Quinn knew that he was running out of time.
Time, he thought, remembering why he fought. I need to buy time for Myrie. The city- the poison… His hand shook- and then pain rocketed up his arm. An agonized shout tore from his mouth, and he quickly snatched his arm back. He glanced down – and his already-pale face lost all but the barest traces of color.
Two-Blade Pete had nicked an artery. Quinn’s head spun. He had performed the same maneuver on other, less-experienced fighters. They left their hand out for a fragment of a second longer than was wise, and then….
“What’s the matter?” jeered Pete, his face livid with hate. “Not slowing down already, are you?”
Quinn roared and slashed at him, pleased that his opponent’s eyes widened with fear at the attack. He danced back quickly, deflecting the slash and sending jolts of pain shuddering up his arm. Quinn tossed his dagger to the other hand, guarding his wounded arm and gritting his teeth. There was no time for talking now- he needed to keep what strength he could. What strength was ebbing from his body…
A sudden blur of movement raced towards his chest. Quinn tried to move his arm up to block the attack, but his movements seemed slowed, as if he was fighting underwater. He was dully aware of a wet thud as Pete’s dagger bit hungrily into his flesh. The blackness that had been nibbling at his consciousness suddenly surged higher, stealing what little strength he had tried to reserve. His body swayed, and a stream of crimson ichor flowed from his mouth and splattered onto the pavement. He sent up a silent prayer to the gods.
Protect her, his mind whispered. For I know that I cannot.
As his limp form toppled to the ground, his eyes fluttered, and his mind began to slow as one who fights off an unwanted slumber. He looked up and saw Pete’s boot slowly flying towards his face, the thug’s mouth twisted in a sadistic snarl.
Myrie, he thought. A weak smile quivered onto his face.
The brutal crunch of shattered bone and splashed blood echoed through the street.

The battle had been fairly quick. After Captain Thackeray had incapacitated Doc Howler, her fight had been weak and feeble. Myrie stalked up to her.
“Tell me,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of the woman’s hair and pulling her to her knees. “Where is Quinn?”
The woman coughed, gore gurgling in her throat. “I think the better question,” she said, smiling through bloodstained teeth, “is where Pete is.”
Myrie punched Howler’s monacle, sending shards of glass into the doctor’s eye. She screamed in agony.
“Myrie!” Gryphon shouted, striding up behind her and restraining her. “Enough! There is another way to get information.”
“What do you know? That b-“
He shot her a glare and motioned to the captain. “Keep her back, please,” he said, stepping towards the wounded woman. Thackeray stepped behind the thief and dragged her away, shielding himself from her wild blows.
“Let the man do his work,” he grunted as a fist thumped his steel chestplate. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Gryphon knelt in front of Doc Howler, his face grim. “You and I both know that you have only a few moments to live. Your injuries are too severe for you to be saved. So let’s see if you’re willing to make peace with the gods before you die- where is Two-Blade Pete?”
She spat at his face, staining his features with her blood. “I’ll never tell you,” she sneered, coughing up more gore. “I’ll carry that knowledge to the grave!”
He sighed. “Then you leave me no choice.” He raised his hands and cupped her face, closing his eyes. His lips moved as if in prayer.
“What are you-?“ Howler’s question was interrupted suddenly as her head snapped back and her mouth slackened. Her eye rolled back into her head. As quickly as her motion had started, it ended, and Gryphon Radwing stood, leaving Howler’s corpse to crumple onto the bloodstained pavement. His face was grim.
“Pete is in Rurikton,” he said distantly. “And so is Quinn.”

Chapter 11a:

A woman paused washing her laundry in the river, stopping momentarily to dry her hands on her apron. It seemed like a fairly decent day. She smiled, basking in the early rays of warm sun that flowed onto her face. She sighed, returned her gaze to the water-and screamed.

“Myrie, we can’t just run out against Pete at this hour of the morning. He has most likely retreated and is reco-“
“I don’t care.” She stalked forward, green eyes burning dully. “We’ve got to get to Quinn while we still have time…” She stumbled, hand clutching her side. “Ooh,” she hissed, kneading her healing rib. Even though it had been months since it had been broken, there was still a twinge of pain when it was bumped- and more than one whack had been given to it over the course of the past day. She grunted and ground her teeth, fighting to ignore the throbbing bone. “He’s probably fighting him even now. Quinn’s still got a chance.”
Gryphon’s brow furrowed in concern. “Myrie, from what little I’ve seen of Quinn, he’s definitely a smart man. If he is still fighting Pete, it’s more than likely that he’s gone to seek shelter. No man could possibly hold out for as long as he would have to in order to keep fighting at this hour. We should rest and recover. Captain Thackeray has already gone on to head a patrol and is on the lookout for either Pete or Quinn.” He placed a firm hand on her swaying shoulder, looking into her eyes sternly. “You are in no condition to keep fighting. Rest.”
She snorted, pulling away. “What do you know, old man? I’ve been in worse scrapes than this. We thieves have a code of honor among our kind. We look out for each other.”
“And so do the rest of the citizens of Divinity’s Reach,” he replied, frustration creeping into his tone. “This isn’t me being selfish or overly-concerned. This is common sense. You cannot possibly go out at this hour. Pete’s gang has most likely been alerted to your presence. At this time, they have been rested and ready for hours. You, on the other hand,” he said, frowning, “have been fighting for the whole night.”
“It doesn’t matter! I need to get to him! I need to tell him-“ her voice was abruptly cut off as her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped to the ground, a faint mesmeric glow fading around her head. Gryphon Radwing gently caught her, resignation evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, laying her on a nearby cot. “This is for your own good.” After making sure that she was arrayed comfortably and that her weapons were out of reach, he arrayed himself on a nearby couch.
“You can catch him tomorrow,” he murmured, eyes closing. “But for now, we all need to rest.”

Author’s Note: “And now a word from our sponsor!….”

Thank you all so very much for sticking with me for a year! It’s been an amazing journey, and I’m still planning on continuing my writing. For those of you who have been there since day one (and those of you who are just now reading this) I decided to upload a bit of art. Behold the glory- and I apologize for the poor-quality camera.

https://forum-en.gw2archive.eu/forum/community/creations/Myrie-Ward-Fanart/first#post4653358

Also, if any of you know how to deter an angry thief, that would be much appreciated! O.o

~Selana Firestone

Chapter 11b:

Myrie awoke to the rays of late afternoon sun tickling her face. Outside the window, she saw the glowing streetlamps of town starting to light, automated by an underground system that had only recently been installed. For a moment, she simply continued to lie on the cot, eyes roving around the room and body tense with adrenaline.
Quinn, she thought, and raised herself on one elbow. Myrie growled softly as her sore, stiff body creaked into use again. The fight of the previous hours had been more intense than she would have liked to admit. And speaking of fights…. Her hands flew to her belt, where her daggers were usually strapped. A muttered oath leaked out of her mouth as she realized they were not there. She whirled around, finally catching sight of her weapons on a small, modest cabinet. Next to them were a note and several bottles of potion, under which lay a cloth-wrapped parcel. Although impatient, Myrie took the time to snatch up the items, stuffing the potions into her bag alongside the package. As she buckled her daggers back into their hilts, she read the small note.

“Miss Ward-
I hope you’ll forgive me for the measures I took yesterday. You were entirely too reckless for your own health and those around you. I nonetheless hope that you are well-rested and that the food – provided by a good friend of mine – is to your liking. I am currently with Selana, fighting off the few packs of bandits that are still hiding some of the remaining nobles. Captain Thackeray has agreed to go with you in my stead while I patrol the hillside. I will attempt to contact you at a later time.
Deal justice, Myrie. May the gods smile on you.

~Gryphon Radwing.”

So that’s what the package was. In her haste to walk out the door, she had barely realized the intense hunger gnawing at her spine. Myrie quickly reached into her pack and devoured the vittles – an earthy, mushroom-and-herb- studded bread sandwiched a thinly-grilled slab of poultry. She almost regretted her intense state of mind; she barely tasted the food and was sure that it had taken a fair amount of time to make. It didn’t matter. Quinn needed to be saved- and Pete needed to be killed.

A different gnawing started on her stomach when she entered the town, passing the fountain in the main street where the village women would gather to gossip. As she strode by, she heard them conversing.
“There, there, now, Abitha. Tell us what happened,” one of them purred soothingly, stroking the younger woman’s back. The middle-aged laundress hiccupped.
“It was horrible,” she sobbed, wiping her nose on her stained sleeve. “I was simply washing my sheets in the wee hours of the morning, enjoying the fresh day, and then I looked into the crystal water and-“ she broke off, gasping and burying her face in her apron.
“Come now, woman! You must tell us! We saw the Seraph there earlier. What did you see?”
Myrie was rooted to the spot, watching Abitha’s face with stonelike intensity. The woman raised her blotchy face from her lap, biting her lower lip and sniffing loudly.
“A- a hand. And then a head and torso. Oh, it was the face of a young man! Poor boy!” At this, she once more buried herself in the flounces of her dress and was nigh inconsolable. “My Tom isn’t much younger than he could have been. Oh, that poor boy! Poor, poor youth!”
Another washerwoman, her face pinched with age, patted her back, her gnarled hands trembling. “I saw him before,” she whispered unsteadily. “He was one of the village boys….”
Before she even knew what she was doing, Myrie found herself among them, eyes wide and ears perked, heart sinking for the worst.
“What was his name?” she asked flatly, startling the sobbing women.
“Q-Quinn.” The pinched crone’s face turned up towards hers, reflecting sorrow and fear. “His name was Quinn.”

Chapter 11c:
“Did you hear about that young man?”
“Quinn? Yeah, I heard he was killed by Two-Blade Pete. They found half of him in the fountain and the other half in the river.”
“Poor boy. I heard he was a good friend with one of the Shaemoor fighters.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in his killer’s shoes….”
Myrie’s numb mind barely registered the skittish whispers that swirled around the town as she stalked toward the tavern. It was the last place she remembered hearing of Pete’s location. Knowing him, the thug was probably celebrating his grisly victory over one of the few men who Myrie had truly and deeply cared about. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she felt as though she should be on the ground, sobbing her agonies to the heavens- but what use would that be? No. Her best use would be to bring Quinn’s killer to justice. To her dismay, she caught sight of a familiar head of rich brown hair and gleaming silver armor. Seraph- and not just any Seraph. Despite the letter’s warning of his arrival, she was nonetheless displeased to find him there.
“Captain Thackeray,” she stated flatly. “I hope you’re not here to bring Pete to jail. I can’t let that happen.”
To her surprise, the man nodded, his own eyes blazing intensely. “No. I understand completely. That man has been a tyrant on the streets, and no one would want to live a day longer under his oppressive fist. As much as it goes against the official law, I have to agree with you- Pete must be eliminated permanently.”
Myrie was briefly shocked, the numb hands gripping her daggers slick with sweat.
“I’ve lost people that I have cared about, too,” the captain explained, shifting slightly. He peered into the tavern’s hazy atmosphere. “My brother.”
She said nothing, and knew that the man would not continue further. She, too, looked into the door. Several of the patrons had noticed the Seraph’s gleaming armor and discreetly sneaked out the back. However, Two-Blade Pete was nowhere to be seen.
“Bloody coward,” the thief muttered in cold rage. “I know what he’s doing. Come on, Brownielocks. If we want to draw out the rat, we’ve got to enter his maze.”
She strode into the tavern, beckoned the man to follow her, and sat at the bar. She kicked out a stool for him and leaned forward towards the owner. Andrew, the new owner of the building, was a jolly man with a stout stomach and kindly face.
“Ah, greetings, Miss Ward! What will it be today?”
She looked up at him. He drew back slightly, eyes widening nervously. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she replied quietly. “Andrew, you need to leave. Take Petra and get out of here- it’s not going to be safe for much longer.”
“What does my daughter have to-?”
“Just leave. Two-Blade Pete is on his way, and he’s going to be sending backup ahead of him.” The back of her mind wondered why it would be called ‘backup’ if they were going to be in front of him. She pushed the thought back to her mind and refocused on the task at hand. The proprietor still looked down at her with surprise; however, his realization of how serious the situation was dawned on him when he noticed that her companion was none other than Captain Logan Thackeray. Andrew cleared his throat and stopped polishing a glass.
“I’ll get her and leave,” he said quietly. He ducked back into the storeroom, pausing to thank her for the warning. She nodded mutely. Once the bar was empty of all but a few patrons, she took the drink that he had set in front of her and began to down it with violent gusto.
“Now what?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow at her behavior. She slammed the tankard down onto the counter.
“We wait.”

Chapter 11d:

It began as she had thought it would. After the patrons had been grudgingly removed from their perches, the streets seemed remarkably silent. The normal chatter and gossip on the streets was stilled, and though it was the middle of the day, windows were shut and doors were bolted as if it were the most dangerous night of the year.
Footsteps broke the tense silence of the town. They were soft, but nervous in their tread, and the lackeys who bore them barely made it inside the door before either fleeing or staining the cobblestones with their life’s blood. Even Crusher Dan, the former bully and muscle of Myrie’s group, showed up.
“It’s not too late, you know,” he grunted, swinging his hammer at the nimble thief’s head. She ducked, dodging the blow and rolling toward his knees, slashing with cold precision.
“Dan, you idjit,” she hissed, ignoring his yowl of pain as he went kneeling to the ground, “since when has Quinn forgiven anyone? Even as my second-lieutenant, he was always too-easily angered. His tenacity and ferocity were the only reasons I kept him on.”
The thug looked up at her and sneered. “Yeah, and now look where it’s got you heade-“ His taunt was brutally cut off by the gleaming silver sword of Captain Thackeray, which also conveniently relieved him of his noggin. Myrie glanced up at him from her kneeling position.
“Thanks,” she panted. He nodded mutely, shoulders heaving.
“Just how many more of these people can he afford to throw out?” he asked grimly, shoving his hand through his hair and wiping off a thin sheen of sweat.
Myrie’s eyes flicked towards the doorway. “Judging from his recent ‘toss’, I would say not many. Dan was one of his last resorts in the case of an attack- which means….” Her emerald eyes narrowed into slits. “Come on,” she growled, stumbling towards the barstools and struggling to stack them against the door. Thackeray looked at her askance.
“I thought the plan was to bring him to justice, not bunker out in here behind the furniture.”
She gave him a look. “That is the plan. But if we can wear him down cutting down or moving these chairs, that’ll be one point for us.”
Once more, Captain Thackeray was impressed by the young woman’s determination and shrewd cunning. Although she seemed- and often was- flippant and nonchalant, beneath the Dhumm-may-care attitude was a mind that was constantly and furiously ticking. When she set her mind to a task, he had no doubt that it was often completed. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he cracked a grim smile.
“Let’s make this a bit more fun for him,” he said, splaying his fingers over the slapdash blockade. A wave of pulsing blue light washed over it, covering the obstruction in a glowing bubble.
“Protection spell,” he explained. “If the chairs are protected, Pete will have an even harder time trying to break through.”
“How long will it hold up?” Myrie asked, shifting her grip on her daggers and glancing out the doorframe.
Thackeray grimaced. “Depends on how angry he is today.”
The thief set her mouth in a thin line. “Then let’s make sure to give him a few whacks so he’ll understand the consequences of his actions.”

Their patience was rewarded sooner rather than later. Five minutes of tense waiting passed, during which the fighters inspected their wounds and bandaged them as best they could with what supplies they had.
“Should we conceal ourselves behind the bar?” asked Thackeray, wrapping his wrist with strips of a shredded towel.
“You mean, ‘hide’?” Myrie snorted, clenching her teeth as she poured whiskey onto her bleeding arm. “No. We do things street-style. No hiding, no pleading for repentance, and no retreating. This ends t-“
There was a sudden crunch as Two-Blade’s sword bounced off the shield and bit into the doorframe.
“Myrie, this is unlike you,” he taunted. “A blockade won’t keep me out forever.”
“That’s the point, you skritt-faced dolyak,” she sneered, hands clenching on her daggers. “If you’re so feared, why send all of those lackeys ahead of you instead of facing me straight off?”
With a furious bellow, he rammed his shoulder into the makeshift wall. “You know,” he panted, the shimmering blue shield beginning to flicker dully, “I still can’t get over how you thought you could take on me. Me!” He broke through the magical barrier and shoved a chair aside. “You really think you can kill me? I’ll break you and make an example of anyone who tries fighting me!”
“Better men then you have tried,” she snarled back.
“Oh yeah? Well-“
“Tried and failed.”
“Heh. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Myrie.” He broke through the chairs and stood in the bar. “This ends today.”

Chapter 12a:

It was expected that the time consumed in breaking down the barrier would have worn Two-Blade Pete down enough for the fight between them to be relatively-easy. They were wrong. Myrie rolled swiftly beneath his wild slash, neck prickling as the air breezed over her throat.
“You pretentious little rat,” he sneered, “did you really think that you could just come over here and avenge your lover-boy? Don’t you remember how long you’ve been gone?”
“Three years is not a long time, scag,” she growled, slamming her foot onto an unstable floorboard and tipping him off-balance. He stumbled back towards Captain Thackeray’s swinging sword. He quickly shot down to the floor, rolling back against the wall. He flicked a small bottle open and dumped its contents on his blade.
“Poison!” she warned, stepping in as Thackeray’s head bobbed down. Why the man couldn’t take the time of day to wear a bleeding helmet was beyond her.
“Queenie won’t recognize your face if it’s slashed in two, Brownielocks!” she huffed irately.
“I’ll remember it next time!” he shouted, bashing Pete’s face with his shield. The thug grunted, grip faltering on his weapon as he stumbled back. He glared up at them, blood dripping from his nose, and cracked it back into place.
“Hey, now you’re symmetrical,” taunted Myrie.
“At least I’m still breathing,” he gloated, grinning.
She roared, leaping recklessly at him. His eyes narrowed as he slowly brought his sword up to meet her head. Just before it hit, a blue aura enfolded her, causing it to harmlessly bounce off.
“Can’t go to the Mists so soon, Myrie,” Logan panted, circling around. “Quinn wouldn’t like that.”
“Shut up!” she snarled, throwing a smokescreen down. A thick plume of grey cloud wafted through the air.
“Myrie, that wasn’t a good idea,” Pete sang. “A girl like you could get burned if she can’t see where she’s going…” He pulled out a torch and lit it, flinging it to the ground.

Chapter 12b:

Rangers, the thief thought crossly. Always ruining my day with their traps. A plume of fire exploded beneath her feet, and she protectively threw her hands in front of her face. Through her squinted eyes, she saw Pete rushing at her, intending to finally end her life. Thinking quickly, she swiped his torch from the ground and hurled it at his face. He yowled in pain, clutching at his eyes. She rushed back in, leaping and twisting her body as she vaulted over him.
Something is off, she thought, bringing up her daggers to block a downward chop. Thackeray rushed at him, bashing his shoulder with his shield and knocking Pete off-balance. With a feral snarl, he rolled back, eyes dancing with a wild light. With a shock, Myrie realized what was wrong.
Pete was scared. Nothing had scared him before; not mutiny, not overwhelming odds- even the threat of being captured by centaurs only made him laugh. So what was it that had him so on edge?
“I promised them,” he panted, eyes streaming as Captain Thackeray’s sword flicked in front of his nose, missing by a hair’s breadth. “I promised them their blood and their glory, and you will not stop me!” He rushed at Myrie, chopping at her legs. She leapt above the blade, landing on it and snapping it in two.
“Well, whoever they are,” she grunted, kicking him in the gut, “tell them to buy you better blades.”
“He had to die! They would have killed us- no, they would have done worse!” Despite the fact that he was nearly-disarmed, Two-Blade’s movements merely seemed to become more ferocious, more deadly. Desperation was a fatal fuel that filled his veins and clouded his brain, and the sentences he managed to keep choking out were proof that something was terribly and horribly wrong.
“They’re coming back, Myrie,” he trilled, eyes rolling in their sockets. “There are those who have lost their faith and betrayed us, but we know. We have seen the signs….”
She pounced on him, knocking him to the ground and relieving him of some teeth with satisfying rips and sharp cracks. He laughed, blood dribbling from his mouth.
“You still don’t know, do you?” he giggled, eyes unfocused as he scrabbled backwards. “No, no- you still don’t see. But I do. We do…. “
She gave a wild cry, drawing back her dagger to cut his throat. Before she could do so, however, a strong hand gripped her wrist.
“Wait,” Thackery said, eyes narrowing. “Who is ‘we’?”
The man coughed, blood gurgling in his throat. “Oh, think, Captain. Do you know the story of those around you? Do you really understand the relevance of the events? I won’t tell. You’re the captain, after all.” A lazy smile drifted onto his face. “Besides,” he sighed dreamily, “your death is better than the agony they would inflict…”
“Speak now,” Myrie roared, tears pricking her eyes, “why did you kill Quinn? Answer me, dog!”
His eyes closed as he exhaled a shuddering breath. “Don’t you remember? He could see the Unseen.”
With a frustrated howl, she drove her dagger into his chest.
“No!” Thackeray shouted.
Pete smiled quaveringly, eyes closing.
“Glory to… the Mantle.”

END OF ARC 1

ARC 2

Chapter 1a:

She was tired. Tired of the blood, tired of losses, tired of the ragged feeling of her raw throat run raspy from screaming. After excusing herself from the captain’s presence, she walked back down the alleyways, past the bridge, and up a tree. She curled against the rough wood as her tear-choked gasps struggled from her throat.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” she whispered, gritting her teeth. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you or save you. I’m sorry that I was such a coward and that I failed to recognize your potential.” Her tears continued to fall silently, darkening the bark as they trailed down to the ground. After a while, though, they finally slowed, eventually stopping. It was now evening, and the sun was setting over the town, lighting the roofs with its ruddy glow.
There’s no use in crying the whole night away, she thought crossly. I’ve wasted entirely too much time in sniffling.
As she leapt from the branch to the ground, the tile beneath her foot shifted, causing her to lose her balance. With a cry of frustration, she began to pick herself up from the ground. However, as she glanced at the offending floorspace, she noticed a piece of paper that had been hidden beneath the tile.
Quinn’s letter. She had completely forgotten about it. In the rush of the past few days, nearly everything that had happened at the party was a blur. His voice echoed in her mind: “Seven steps north of the bridge”….
It was here.

Chapter 1b:

“Myrie,” it read, “please know that if you are reading this now, my death is not your fault. I knew what I was doing and was aware of the risks it entailed. I’ve done too much bad in my life for me to feel justified in staying behind during this time of trial. I had to do it- not just for myself, but for you.”
Typical Quinn, she thought, smiling slightly. Excusing yourself for the sake of others. Idiot.
“Now, I know you’re probably thinking how much of an idiot I am, but that’s what friends are for, right? Anyhow, I feel like I should apologize for some of my mistakes, too. No, don’t try saying that I have nothing to apologize for- you know it’s true, and you need to remember it now. Take a breath, wipe your nose, and keep reading.
I’m sorry that I was quiet for so long. I should have found you and forgotten about Pete. Heck, I’m sure you had some pretty amazing adventures. I only wish that I could have been on them with you. I’m sorry for being a coward. You were always more than a friend to me, Myrie, but I was too thick-headed and scared to tell you. I was afraid that you’d not reciprocate my feelings. I’m sorry that I waited until it was too late to tell you. I would have loved to know your answer. Now I’m dead with no reply, and I can’t stop cursing my timing. I should have been there on the days when you told me to leave. I mean, I know you were being tough, but I also know that you really needed someone to listen to your feelings even if you claimed otherwise. I’m sorry for being an idiot- yes, you were right, I was an idiot at times- but I just couldn’t know how to act sometimes. I did it just to see you grin, you know, but I do realize that at times I caused you unnecessary worry. I apologize for that. One more apology- I’m sorry that you won’t be able to learn from the best sharpshooter in town.”
She snorted- an unexpected bit of his old snark in an apologetic paragraph? Good old Quinn. She bit her lip, eyes watering, and continued to read.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You are overwhelmed with awe at my revelation of sharpshooter-extraordinare. If you do get the chance, though, look just below the ground for a special present. But wait until the end of the letter before you do! I mean, I’ve got more to say- not much, but I’d like you to read it. Please.
This part is hard for me to write. With the way I behaved earlier, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to read this, but it’s here anyway. I know it’s not the most romantic thing on Tyria, but I really did mean what I said when you were at the party, before it went all to the Underworld. I’ll never stop loving you, Myrie, and if you feel the same, move on.”
She nearly dropped the letter, eyes narrowing in anger as she frantically read. He had some nerve, just telling her to leave his memory like that!
“Don’t be angry at me, Myrie. Use your head- this is my last will and testament you’re reading here. If you decide to pledge yourself to me even after I’m gone, what chance will you have of finding someone else to love? It isn’t possible, so quit shaking your head. Remember me, but let me go. I want you to be joyful, not happy. Happiness flees after a short while, but joy perseveres in the darkest of nights. You gave me joy, Myrie, even if it was for only a few years of unrequited affection. If you insist on having a memory of my affection, then look at the back of this parchment. If not, just stop reading and know that even in death, I will protect you.
Stay safe, Miss Ward.
Your friend, ally, and faithful idiot,
Quinn.”
Curious as to what the back of the parchment read, she flipped it over. A small envelope was attached to its back. Reaching inside, she gently removed a delicate golden chain. Instead of a jewel, however, its pendant was a simple engraved ring. A note fluttered out of the envelope, which she quickly picked up and read.
“Was walking through Div’s and snatched this. It made me think of you.” She looked more closely at the ring’s inscription.
“Through death, love lives forever.”
She choked back a sob. Then, she carefully, reverently unclasped the chain and slipped it around her neck, fastening it once more. After doing so, she removed some of the dirt from beneath the tile, uncovering Quinn’s favorite pistol- the “Master Blaster.”
“Shoot for the stars, Myrie,” its note read. She laughed.
“Will do,” she whispered, pressing the ring to her lips. She gathered up the items, placed the tile back in its place, and began the walk home.

Chapter 2a:

Meanwhile in a different part of town, the early morning light was not the primary reason for an occupant’s rising. Selana Firestone had, in fact, been awake for hours, staring at a parchment which had been delivered the night before.
A warning? she thought, brow furrowing in confusion. Who would be out to attack me, and who would risk their life to warn me of their plot? She rose from her chair, nightdress whispering over her feet as she exited her quarters. As she turned toward the main hall of her home, she was greeted by a familiar face.
“Gryphon! A pleasure to see you,” she smiled. “Though I do wish you had given me more time to dress.”
“Selana, I’ve known you since you were but my knees’ height. There’s no need for formality,” he replied, chuckling. He then quickly averted his eyes toward the ceiling. “But I will agree that there are some things which have changed, so feel free to-“
“Thank you,” she replied hastily, using some of her wind-borne speed to race back into her room. Moments later, she emerged in a casual yet elegant morning dress. She smiled again, lips curving in amusement. “Much better, yes?”
“Definitely,” the Mesmer agreed. The door to the servants’ area opened with a slow creak, and from it stepped an elderly gentleman, stooped slightly with age yet with a fiery spark in his eye which attested to his quick mentality.
“A pleasure to see you again, Lord Radwing,” the man greeted, bowing slightly. “Is there anything which I may do for you?”
“Samuel, at your age, I should be asking that question of you,” the lord replied, bowing to him before clasping him on the shoulder. “Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” Samuel responded. “And you, Lady Firestone?”
“I am well, Sam,” she laughed, giving the old man a hug. “You needn’t worry so much.”
At this, the old man’s brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t I? What of this letter which has kept you up all night, hm? Perhaps let me see what can be done to soothe your worry, or allow me to find something in the antiques’ wing…”
“No, Samuel, that is not necessary,” she replied. “Please do not strain yourself for my sake.”
“It is as much for your parents’ sake that I do so,” he stated firmly, straightening his spine. “It is no extraordinary strain when one is asked to seek for the care and well-being of a child, and when finding a threat, to reduce it. All is in the work required.”
At the mention of her parents, a shadow passed across Selana’s face. “It’s not totally certain that they’re dead, really,” she whispered, sitting in a nearby chair. “We never got their official papers back.”
“Madam, I know that if they were living, they would have been here as soon as they could.”
“But what if they merely got lost? Plenty of soldiers had been kidnapped in the uprisings, and it’s not unheard-of for them to find their ways home only now.”
“Selana,” Gryphon said quietly, placing a hand on her shaking soldier, “breathe.”
“I am-“
“Breathe, Selana.”
She slowly took a deep breath. As she did, a light lavender mist trailed up her nose, sucked in through her mouth. Her eyes closed briefly as she exhaled. When she opened them once more, all traces of worry had left her face.
“Forgive me,” she said tonelessly, “I did not mean to fuss. Thank you.”
“No need to worry,” Gryphon murmured, eyes averted. “You’ll find out what happened to them someday. About this letter…”

Chapter 2b:
She handed the parchment to him, showing little, if any, traces of the distress she had felt mere moments before.
“I know it’s odd,” she said, watching for a reaction, “but I can’t help but think that it’s possible for them to still be alive.”
The mesmer’s brows furrowed as he finished. “But why would they wait so long to send something? Selana, I understand a need for secrecy in the army, but I assure you that they would have contacted you years ago-“
“It may have been waylaid.”
His eyes flickered from the writing back to her. He read, “’We have information on your parents’ whereabouts. Come to the palace gardens at moonrise and avoid being seen. There are those who would stop us from telling you the truth.’” He folded the letter, and his voice, usually so warm and merry, rang with cold gravity. His eyes were twin flecks of ice- cold, clear, and unflinching. “This could very easily be a trap, Selana.”
The elementalist was not easily deterred. “They weren’t just simple soldiers, Gryphon,” she replied coolly. “That much I can tell. The Ministry is hiding something, and it’s not the fact that there are illegal or unwarranted goings-on with the bandits or centaurs. Gods know there’s more to it than this.” She stood and strode to her window, throwing open the panes and fluttering the curtains. Accepting another cup of tea from Samuel, she retook her chair. Was she imagining things, or was her old servant pressing his lips, as if to keep unspoken words from fleeing? She dismissed the thought. It was impossible that he would consider secreting something this important to her.
This time, the mesmer stood. “All I ask is that you consider this from other angles,” he sighed, running his hand through his coppery hair. “There are many who would be willing to take advantage of your position in the nobility in order to get a ransom payment. Or they could use your connections to manipulate events in the Ministry. I don’t think you understand just how many people in high positions care for you.”
Noticing her silence, he sighed. “I’ll give you some time to think about it, but if you do decide on going, let me know. Who knows,” he said, smiling ruefully, “perhaps they do have something about your parents.”
Selana nodded. “Thank you,” she replied, returning his smile with a small one of her own. “Rest assured that I will not go alone.”
The man bowed, thanked her for her information, and walked out the door. As soon as he was back on the cobbled streets, his face darkened. There was a man he needed to see.

Gryphon strode firmly into the Seraph headquarters, startling some of the guards.
“Somebody contact Captain Thackeray. We have important business to discuss, and the quicker we do so, the better.”

Chapter 3a:

Captain Logan Thackeray was not pleased to have his courier knocking on his door at such an early morning hour. He had been out on patrol the night before and had encountered a rather irritable and murderous group of centaurs who had killed two of his men and given him a sound beating. His body ached and complained as he struggled into his armor, and he hissed in pain when his bruised side was pressed against its straps. Yet the man who greeted him would have known none of this had he not heard the report from his brother.
“Captain,” he started, saluting his superior, “there is a man here who is very insistent upon seeing you.”
Mentally noting to further implement his staging process so as to not be disturbed unless upon the direst of circumstances, he asked, “Is it the Minister?” Logan was more than prepared to issue a notice against common-folk reporting missing swine to him should the opportunity present itself.
“No, sir,” the Seraph answered, shuffling awkwardly, “he claims to be Lord Gryphon Radwing, and he is demanding to see you directly.”
“He refuses to speak with Groban?”
“Yes, sir. He is also claiming that his matter has to do with ‘secrets long buried,’ and that ‘its flames are beginning to surface.’ What on earth is he refe-“
Captain Thackeray quickly finished strapping on his armor and marched to the door. “Thank you, Seraph,” he interrupted, saluting him. “I will return shortly.”
“And what of the list of farmers’ complaints that arrived last night?”
“Give them to the lieutenant!” he shouted, marching toward the main hall.

“A pleasure to see you, Captain,” Gryphon said coolly. “Is it customary to keep emergency business waiting this long?”
“Hold your impatience, Lord Radwing; I was writing letters of condolence to families the night before, and the weights of loss held my mind from a restful sleep.”
“My apologies,” the mesmer replied, running his hand through his hair. Looking closely, it appeared as though he had also had a poor night’s sleep- either that or his morning had already tired him. Despite the solemn atmosphere, the captain couldn’t help but give a low laugh.
“It appears as though we’ve both got a bit on our minds, hm? Anyhow, what’s this business we need to discuss?”
“Not here,” the mesmer shot back, looking around, “’emergency business’ must be discussed in whispers. Follow me, and make it quick.”

Chapter 3b:

Selana Firestone had every intention of staying true to her word. Gryphon did not know that the letter had been delivered with the mention of her necklace, a replica sketch of its missing half drawn in the upper-left corner. Though she was no mesmer, she was still able to conjure the barest hint of illusion over it. It was nothing short of a miracle that he did not see through it. Such a symbol would surely have meant that he would have posted guards to protect her, a thing which she thought unnecessary and somewhat humiliating. No. She was a woman, not a child. She was certain that she was older than Myrie, the thief who had first attempted to steal her priceless heirloom, but any memories she had before her eighth birthday seemed unusually blurred, as if a spell was obscuring them from her. The necklace, she was certain, held if not one, than the key to remembering what little time she had with her parents, and finding out who had blurred her mind. The thought that someone would dare twist the memory of a young child both chilled and angered her, though passers-by would not have noticed these emotions on her stoic, lovely face. Yet her stomach churned with distaste. Whoever had the information on her memories had deliberately waited until they were certain that she was who she had claimed to be. Was this a trap? Almost certainly. Yet curiosity and a strange, desperate longing carried her normally-sensible feet to the bar in the town. She would need help in case her meeting with the informants went south.

As Myrie Ward looked up from her drink, her eyes met with a figure she would have never bet coin on entering the establishment. Her pleasantly-earthy, mellow ale soured on her tongue.
“Firestone. What brings you here?”
“The exact opposite of what brings you to this same place. While you are attempting to soothe your loss and perhaps ease the memory of Quinn’s death-“
Those were the wrong words. Selana barely had time to blink before a dagger was pointed at her throat. Myrie’s eyes flashed, and her teeth were bared in anger.
“You really think that I’m such a coward,” she snarled, “that I would dishonor the memory of the man who I loved most? That I would just…drink all the pain away? If you’ve come to hurl insults, highborn, then you can either walk out or keep talking. We’ll see which one results in you keeping your tongue.”
“Oi!” A slurred, feminine voice called out. Myrie’s orbs flickered only slightly towards its owner, giving Selana enough time to pin the thief’s arm back. She howled in frustration as the elementalist’s grip tightened, preventing her from reaching her other weaponry. Whoever had spoken stepped- no, staggered- out of one of the more shadowed corners.
“If yer gonna fi… hic! fight, then count me irn.” An ancient hammer, head carved from sturdy Ascalonian stone, slammed onto the bar’s counter, its wielder grinning wildly. A light sent of scorched wood and cinnamon floated through the air. Stunned by the recent and bold entrance of the newcomer, both elementalist and thief were silent, frozen mid-grapple. Ignoring the stares of other patrons, the woman continued smiling, waxy red skin gleaming dully in the lantern-light.
“Name’s Sylfia Wyldcaller, sylvari merchantary fer hoire an’ drink. S’a plezzer meetin’ ya.”

Chapter 4a:

Despite her struggling, Selana kept a firm grasp on Myrie’s arm and stared at the sylvari. She was red-skinned, the color of fire, and the leafy edges of her skin were dark and blackened, as if she had been burned. Even the glowing pulse of her veins- did sylvari have veins?- seemed to brighten her skin with the vibrant orange of burning embers. If she was on fire, the elementalist thought, it was no small miracle that she was not immediately and completely blazing. The scent of Blood Legion whiskey on her breath was almost overpowering.
“Well, are ya gonna hoire me or not?” she asked, swaying unsteadily. An edge seemed to come to her voice, and though Selana was certain that the leaf-woman would have a hard time getting a solid strike, if she did get hit, it wouldn’t be pretty.
“I never stated that I was even consi-“
“Of course she will!” Myrie broke in, frustration edging her voice. “And she’ll pay well, too.”
Selana’s grip on the thief’s wrists tightened, causing the shorter woman to yelp in pain.
“If you want me to shut up, you’re going to need to let me go, fire-head,” she hissed, eyes gleaming with malicious glee. The elementalist’s eyes narrowed a dangerous fraction, and for a moment, Myrie was quite convinced that her retort would be rewarded by a very deadly gout of flame. Instead, to her great relief, the pale woman released her, allowing the blood to flow back into her arms. She rubbed her wrists and glowered at the noblewoman.
“So, what’s the job?” she asked, scooting over to the mercenary’s side. After a couple of breaths, though, she quickly inched a bit further away, coughing lightly.
“The situation,” Selana replied, “is one of grave importance and possibly danger.” She pulled out her letter and placed it delicately on the bar, smoothing it out. Myrie leaned over and read it.
“Huh,” she mused, standing back up. “So there’s a bit of secrecy behind your past and you want us to act as backup in case your informants are unscrupulous. Makes sense.”
“If ya’ve got so much bleedin’ secrecy, why don’cha go to the Order of Whish…Whish…” The sylvari’s pale green eyes fluttered, and she grimaced, grip tightening on a nearby barstool. “Whispers!” she finally huffed.
Myrie delicately raised her fingers and clapped, smirking. “Good on you, you’re sobering a bit!”
“Don’ say such an ‘orrid thing,” the woman growled, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “Sobriety brings bad mem’ries.”
“Returning to the subject,” Selana cut in, “Myrie, your assumption is correct. And … Sylfia, I can assure you that I have asked some who claim to be in the Order for information on my parents. They have, so far, refused to answer me.”
“So they’re useless.”
“In this instance, yes,” the elementalist replied. She still seemed quite out of place in the rustic atmosphere, and her uncanny beauty was attracting several interested stares. A single twitch of her eyebrow or glance in their direction quickly returned the drinkers’ gazes to their mugs. “This is why we must take matters into our own hands. This letter and this necklace-“ she pulled her pendant up from her collarbone, gazing at it sorrowfully, “-are all I have of my family. My blood family.”
“Well, that last part wasn’t really necessary, was it?”
“I do have family that is not related,” replied the redhead. “Gryphon Radwing has been a mentor and father figure to me for many years and has earned my highest respect.”
“And Faren?” Myrie asked curiously.
“Faren,” the elementalist said coolly, leveling her blue eyes at Myrie’s green ones, “is a womanizing, good-hearted, air-brained idiot.”
The thief decided that she valued her life despite her recent loss and studied the bottom of her mug intently.

Chapter 4b:

Sylfia, however, failed to realize Selana’s warning expression- either that, or she didn’t care what the elementalist would do.
“Lord Faren? That sot?” The warrior threw her head back in a rough, barking laugh. “Oh, please. I don’t disagree with you on his womanizing or air-‘eadedness, but blight! Good-hearted? The man only thinks of himself- and of any attractive female within his immediate vicinity. Seflish, flirt, fool- those seem more apt, hm? And why on Tyria’s loverly green surface would you be interested in him?”
The hairs on the back of Myrie’s neck rose, and she instinctively leapt away from the sylvari in time to avoid being incinerated by a white-hot bolt of fire. Sylfia, for her part, proved her sylvan reflexes useful, though the tips of her leafy hair were scorched by the spell.
“What in Mists?” she hissed, reaching up with wild eyes to extinguish her tall leaf-spikes. “All I was doin’ was makin’ an ozzervation!”
“No,” replied Firestone, eyes twin chips of steely ice, “you were insulting not only Faren, but myself as well.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic,” yelped Myrie, leaping behind a bar and out of the line of fire. “But is it possible that we could speak normally for once without burning Andrew’s bar down?!”
A few terse minutes passed, during which the warrior and the elementalist eyed each other with barely-concealed hatred and tension.
“Really, don’t incinerate the place,” she continued, eyes darting from one red-head to another. “I would hate to lose a place of such fantastic memories of revenge and…” What was in her throat? Confound those emotions. She slipped her hand below her collarbone, pulling up Quinn’s ring and rubbing it briefly. Calmness washed over her mind, and her troubled breathing steadied.
”I’m here,” she imagined him saying, almost feeling his gentle hand on her shoulder. ”Now go on, be the sensible one for once.”
Really, I ought to talk to someone about my delusions someday, she thought, frowning slightly. Not now, though. Not while they were still comforting.
Which was quite the opposite of the situation five feet from her. Where was she? Oh, right- diffusion.
She hated diffusion.
“Just put your bleedin’ weapons away, confound it all!” she howled crossly. To her incredible shock (and the relief of all who were still frozen in fear to their seats), the women glowered at each other for a moment longer, and finally replaced spell and hammer.
“My apologies,” Selana finally murmured, glancing to her left. “My emotions clouded my judgement.”
“Oi, ‘sall right.” The sylvari reseated herself, grinning dryly and taking another swig of ale. “Oi’m still drunker than a fish, so.”
“You deserve an answer to your question, though,” the elementalist continued, seating herself with unusual awkwardness on a nearby chair.

“Faren and I had been engaged recently. From what little I do remember of my childhood, he was a significant part of my life, and even now he still is involved in it, annoying though this can be. Even when we were younger, he was the more adventurous and trouble-making of us, and he would frequently use his charms to escape punishment. I would try to stop him, but it turns out that it wasn’t just nursery-maids and cooks who could be convinced by his wide smiles and infectious enthusiasm. I had hoped that he would grow up more as we aged, and for a while this seemed to be the case. Soon enough, we had realized that our friendship had deepened into something more serious. It was at this time that he asked for my hand in marriage, and I accepted. He had promised to be a gentleman within reason of his personality and to turn from his womanizing ways. The young rascal of my childhood had become a true nobleman- or so it seemed.” At this, the elementalist sighed, pale fingers lightly tapping her bottom lip.
“What happened?” the sylvari asked, sipping her ale intently, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Even some of the other patrons had silenced their conversation and were listening to the sorrowful voice of the quiet woman. There was something poetic in the curve of her neck, the subdued ache and fresh pain of lost love.
“He broke his promise,” she whispered. “I found him conversing with another woman- a thing which would have not raised my suspicions had she not hurried away as soon as I was noticed. When I asked him who she was, he would not answer. He seemed unusally fidgety and tense, so I naturally assumed…”
“You assumed that he had taken on a lover.”
“Yes.” One word spoken; a million more unsaid. “We broke off our engagement shortly after- an unfortunate thing since we had both agreed to be at Minister Wi’s mansion, and it was fairly-known that we had been together.”
“So that’s why you gave him the cold shoulder,” murmured Myrie. “No wonder you were so mad at him.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s normal for one to fail to see the signs of infidelity. It still hurts,” she mused, fingers lightly tracing around her heart. “But it has been enough time for me to move on by now. And that brings us to the present.”

Chapter 4c:

“The plan is simple enough,” continued the elementalist, nodding towards the other women. “Myrie, you’ll be in the shadows, acting as a lookout-“
“Now hold on,” the thief cut in shortly, crossing her arms, “I never really said I was in, did I?”
“No, but you had asked what the job was. Curiosity, I have learned, usually warrants some sort of committal.”
Myrie’s jaw shifted slightly. “I suppose you’re right. Anyhow. I’m in the shadows…”
“Correct. You are to send off a shot in case there are any other ‘messengers’ who are attempting an ambush. In the situation where we are revealed, you are to see if you can find Captain Thackeray and warn him of the hostiles.”
“And whatt’er me?” the sylvari asked, jabbing a thumb onto her leafy breastplate. She winced, shaking out the sore appendage, and popped it in her mouth.
“You could hide in the trees!” Myrie snickered. The warrior shot her a lethal glare. “Kidding, kidding,” she quickly stated, hands up in surrender.
“Sylfia, I think it would be best if you did try to make yourself scarce. Obviously the shadows won’t be your friend, so I recommend trying to look nonchalant. Fit in, if you can.”
“Where are ya’ meeting these louts, again?” she asked, scratching behind a branched ear. Myrie was struggling with increasing futility to not stare at the strange plant-woman; how on earth were they so human, yet so alien?
“Yer starin’ dearie,” the fire-colored warrior smirked, casting a sharp glance at Myrie. “Not interested.”
The thief recoiled. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Pfah, you wish,” she snorted.
“The plan,” Selana continued icily, gluing her listeners’ tongues to their mouths, “seems fine to me. Any objections?”
Sylfia raised an orange-pulsing hand. “Not to be one to drag the party down or anyfing, but how do you suppose this-” she gestured to herself “- will blend in with you fleshies? I’m not exactly what you’d call blendin’ material.”
The elementalist paused, tapping a finger to her lips. Myrie was the one who came up with the idea:
“You could be drunk!”
“Oi like the way you think, shorty!” cheered the sylvari, clapping. “The more whiskey the bett-“
“You will only be partially drunk if at all,” Selana cut in. “This mission is too important to be botched by a plant-woman who charges in before necessary. Any other questions? And, no, I am not buying you any whiskey.”
“Count it part o’ mah pay,” the sylvari replied flatly, pale-green eyes narrowed to slits. “The way I’m seein’ it, you’ve got two glass cannons and no bunkah. Try as you might, should there be an ambush, I doubt you two’ll last terribly long.” She sat back triumphantly, crossing her ankles. Grinning dryly at their expressions of surprise, she continued, “Yah, don’ jus’ think I’m some drunken ‘ouseplant. I do have some tactics up in this thick skull o’ mine.”
Selana’s own eyes narrowed fractionally, but as before, the sylvari seemed either impervious or nonchalant concerning more possible firebolts. Then, mouth twitching slightly, she replied, “Fine. Then all is settled?” She paused once more, waiting for any further questions or demands. Hearing none, she stood, slipping her walking staff onto her back. “Excellent. We haven’t much time left; let’s go.”