Guild Wars 2

This short story will consist of 5 chapters released over the next few days.

Edit: Due to total number of character restrictions of an individual post, I was forced to edit the original document down to 4998 characters and use a very condensed formatting style for the full article, sorry. If you are looking to up-vote please use the below (Full Article Post) as this is now just the preface

This story is an alternative ending excerpt; it starts in the middle of a story-in-progress called: ”Warning Buoy”, which was a story about a Mermaid, passing herself off as human and walking on land in Lion’s Arch.

Our story begins after the Mermaid, named “Bubbles”, has had her neck broken, thrown off a bridge into Sanctum Harbor and left for dead by everyone’s favorite nutjob, “Scarlet Briar”.

Fade in: Bubbles lying lifeless at the bottom of the harbor floor.

Deep and dark A wisp, a breath, the air of death, the husk lay at the bottom of the span, a lifeless mass of discarded fay.
‘Fret not little fish, your story has not seen its final chapter. I have just begun with your tale. Allow the mad, upstart, sapling to languish in her false triumph. MY story, is in its preface and your character, is barely introduced. From the depths, my will arises, ever cold and ever night.’
‘Yes, I feel you half-breed. Soon, your story will begin a new and this time not be so easily ushered to ossuary.’
‘Unwitting, unknowing and unseen, you remain an incarnate of my divine countenance.’
Fate snickers in slight disdain, a hidden nuance of given name.
‘Coincidence, “Bubbles”, yes my precious, coincidence assured.’
The sea rumbles deeply, the bass essence of laughter resounds, rising to the surface, then… silence
Shallow and unforeseen A rustle, a twitch, a swirl in muck and mire of Harbor’s depths, the sentient fish stirs. Gilded mane billows in the current, like strands of spun gold waving in the breeze. A barest hint of pale mint returns to flesh and scale. Gills filter a new as twinge of consciousness brings lashes a flutter.
’Yes my child, tis time to wake. Destiny yet holds a tale to be told. With unforeseen twist in the weave of the nets of Fate, the time has come for you to take up your true fortune. History will tell of the frivolous waif, stricken a sunder by the insane schemes of an uninspired seedling, but history, has a way of being rewritten.’
’Arise my enigma and Prior and with slate wiped clean, be that which you were ordained. Sally forth my namesake and carry the mantle of Elder enlightenment.’
Plans within plans lay hidden and thrive for the essence of Bubbles remains alive.
Dead to the world but not the ocean Consciousness hovers on the edge of a razor, threatening to teeter hither and yon. Fleeting wisps of light and dark shimmer and blur, then back to night.
Time passes, as does the current. Bubbles rise but not to the surface. Ten feet above seafloor, a thermocline halts the assent of the assumed dead. Had eyes and mind been allowed to see, they would witness a rocky outcrop with nary a scrape of anchor or hull, yet deemed “Slayer of Ships”, pass slowly by.
Along with the current and the outgoing tide, refuse all goes out to sea. Flotsam and jetsam drain from Sanctum Harbor, cleansing the discard of Lion’s Arch. On this day though, like too many others, a body lies in tow. This unfortunate, contrasting some pin cushioned cheater at cards or stumbled drunk, this lithe body half fem, half fish… lives.
Unknowing, uncaring, time muddles on. Like a swaddled babe, cradled in the protective arms of Mother Ocean, the Mermaid dwells in dreams.
Plans within plans within Beneath crest, trough and foam, twin dreams intertwine. The namesake is the crucible in which the Elder will is poured. Not some crude spattering, driveled mess as Ceara would do; more the smooth delicate decant of a mastered artisan. An unnoticed add, a strand of thought, a tweak, a whisper, all together making up a filament of unconscious desire.
’Oh yes my pet, your will remains your own, the capacity for true craftsmanship lies buried in the faint, soft undertone of the psyche. My brethren most rash spew their will across the land like the desires of so many adolescent youth. I deal in the diminutive, the hint, the slight.’
’Years, untold centuries of planning. Though you are not the first, nor the last of my vessels, you remain to date, my favorite. Go forth Maiden of the Sea and flourish, for the seed is planted and I… will make it grow.’
Time and tide, unwitting guide Ebb and flow, time and tide wait for no man, woman or fish. The twinkle of moon filters down thru the ocean layers like a foreign star in a liquid sky. A near lifeless shell caught in the drift waters deep, pushes the twilight soul further away from the protection of Sanctum’s haven. Twixt Eastern Pyramid and Laughing Gull, the final grasping hands of terra firma, lose their societal reach.
Out to sea and out of mind our heroine’s journey would in most cases come to a close. But this, dear reader is not most cases and our heroine it seems, has One… still watching
From deepest fathom of the Unending Ocean, leviathan’s will endures. The barest hint of Elder quiver sends a faint ripple, so very faint when considered to the overwhelming capacity of its source. Like the epicenter of a far off quake, the waves of force make course askew, northward against nature’s pull and closer to the shore.
’Your time has come pretty tetra, back to the land where you will do most ‘good’. Free to act as you see fit, under my most delicate, tender tutelage. Wake dear one wake. The seed has cracked and taproot ventures forth.’
A bikini clothed girl washes up sputtering, upon Pearl Islet’s shore. Her fear filled eyes snap open to the multiple dripping faces of astonished tourists

This story is now complete. Critique your little hearts out.