Guild Wars 2

I know he’s not the most popular character, but I’ve always liked Trahearne (mind you, my main is a sylvari, so me and him go WAY back). Beyond that, I find him a really fascinating character in his melancholy, and after completing some personal story, I was compelled to write a bit, from his point of view.

I actually wrote this quite some time ago, and it’s just been sitting on my hard drive. I thought it would be a shame if no one ever saw it, so I’m posting it here. I hope it gets some appreciation.

Trahearne was old, so old. Perhaps not by the standards of most of the races of Tyria, but he was the oldest of any sylvari, and he had learned wisdom beyond his years. The Firstborn of the Sylvari all handled their burdens differently. Caithe had become secluded and withdrawn, shielding herself even in the Dream. Kahedins drowned his problems by helping others, especially the newest and most naïve saplings. And Riannoc, poor Riannoc, was the first sylvari to taste death, and it shook them all to their core. As for Trahearne, it all made him very tired.

He told himself that his research on Orr was helping him with his Wyld Hunt, but in truth he felt utterly useless, powerless to return the land to its former glory. News of Riannoc’s death, however, had lit a fire within him. Though he never supposed himself or his race to be immortal, he nevertheless had never given death much though. After Riannoc’s disappearance, he thought of little else. He began to learn the arts of necromancy, perhaps out of a desire to reach out to his lost brother, or perhaps out of his intense desire to have control in a situation that was ultimately never going to be his decision. Trahearne feared death, but greater than his fear was his fascination. Before sylvari were born, they existed in the dream, but not so after death. The humans and the norn and the charr and asura all had differing opinions on whether a person was greater than their body, and what might happen beyond the grave. Certainly humans and norn had spectral forms, but there was no record of any other Tyrian race continuing existence as a ghost. Except one. Oola, an asuran necromancer, left behind not only holographic recordings of herself, but had been recorded as being an actual ectoplasmic presence, which was intensely intriguing to Trahearne.

His research on the subject petered out after a few leads, however. It seemed that Oola was happy to bring her secrets with her to the grave (and beyond, apparently). This was deeply frustrating to Trahearne, who wondered if, with similar studies, he could eventually be the only sylvari ghost. He smirked wryly to himself as the thought crossed his mind that cleansing Orr certainly could take more than a lifetime.

Trahearne was the first of the Firstborn, perhaps he could be the first sylvari spirit to linger on past death. Or, he mused unhappily, the first sylvari to ever fail their Wyld Hunt. Still, surely the Pale Tree would not have given him this task it if were impossible…he hoped. The Tree was infuriatingly silent on the subject, though she gave all appearances of being supportive and comforting when he returned, impotent and drained of energy, to her chamber.

Back at the Grove between travels, Trahearne kept to his quarters. He was flipping over his notes and his books, hoping for a lead or a sub-lead or a sub-sub-lead…any branch of this discovery that he could possibly have overlooked, when Caithe opened the door to his study.

“I am reading,” he stated simply, dry as a leaf in the fall.

“You always are. I want you to meet someone,” Caithe responded, unfazed by his cool welcome.

“What?” he asked, actually turning his head to look at her. “What ever for?”

“By the Tree, you’re in one of your moods again, aren’t you? Well, you’d better perk up. You’re coming along, whether you like it or not,” she stated, folding her arms across her chest and looking directly at him, unsympathetically. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t waste any time, or make a bad impression.”

Trahearne sighed, placed a mark between the pages of his book, and pushed his seat away from the desk. “Very well,” he answered, knowing that it was no use arguing with Caithe. Of all the Firstborn, she was the most stubborn by far. Additionally, she was one of the most skilled warriors, he didn’t fancy testing her bluff. He stood and followed her along the narrow pathway out of his bower, looking down through the vine mesh at the sylvari below, chatting and crafting and swimming and going about their businesses. Many of them were born without a Hunt, and so were free to frolic among the leaves and sun themselves and take lovers and be naïve and curious all their lives. Trahearne envied them, and pitied them.

As they approached the next level of the Grove, Trahearne heard the cries of the Mist Warriors recruiting. He knew, and cared, little about what went on in the Mists. He respected those who did, of course, but it had little to do with him, as their Hunts had little to do with Orr. These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival at their destination.

The leafy membrane that separated indoor from outdoor opened accommodatingly as they approached, and Trahearne found himself inside the small abode of some of the saplings of Dusk. He knew it well – he had helped to grow it, when he was newly born and still lived within the Grove. He felt pleasantly nostalgic to be standing within its walls once again, though the trinkets on the shelves differed, now, and there was a rack of weapons leaned up against the wall, rather than a study desk.

Clearly I was setting him up for meeting a sylvari player character, but I never got further than that. I hope you guys enjoyed, and I’ll be happy to discuss any lore that contradicts what I wrote.

I love this. I have a love / hate relationship with Trahearne, but like you, I think he’s a character who is worthy of being developed.