Guild Wars 2

Thick, greasy smoke clung to the ceiling of the Hunting Lodge as boisterous young men boasted of near misses and exaggerated their prowess with bow and spear. Sitting alone in the corner was a young woman of about twenty-five years. She wore a simple, home spun peasant’s dress dyed the color of the sea and trimmed by the hues of winter, the better to compliment her fair skin. Her eyes were a pale green and sparkled with laughter at some unheard joke, while her hair was cut short in the preferred style of most adventurers.

Moirre tried to shrink into the wall as she watched everyone else partying. She absolutely hated crowds and always had. She hated the noise, she hated the crush of bodies against hers, she hated the way they made her feel trapped and alone. Crowds had always meant trouble, back when she was growing up on the streets of Divinity’s Reach. The other guttersnipes had seen gatherings as the perfect targets, with plenty of pockets to be picked and purses to be snatched. Moirre had known better. The more people in the square, the more guards there to watch them. She had seen more than one friend’s hand reach into a pocket, only to come back out with a spell-laced snare clutched in their fingers. Then they would disappear entirely, hustled off by grim faced guards to an unknown fate. No one ever escaped, not with a crowd surrounding them on all sides.

Moirre had always been careful, sticking only to those targets who could afford it, and never taking more than she needed to stay alive. There were always plenty of drunken young fools who liked to go slumming, and more than one followed pretty young lass with a swaying derriere into a dark alley, only to wake up the next morning with a bruised skull and an empty purse. The best bit was that it was never, ever Moirre. She made sure to change her illusions every time, mixing and matching features from dozens of people so that when the guards came around in the afternoon they were looking for someone who didn’t exist.

As Moirre grew older her powers matured, finally giving her the way out that she had been seeking. There was no future in petty thievery and con artistry, no matter what her few remaining friends believed. She wanted a home, she wanted four sturdy walls and a kitchen where she could cook for herself. She wanted fine clothes, a roof over her head, and a fire to warm her when the night grew chill.

Most importantly of all, she wanted to discover who her parents had been, and why they had chosen to leave her wrapped in her swaddling clothes, alone and afraid, on the altar of Dwayna one dark night.

So she bought a backpack, wrapped her few belongings in a thin blanket, and headed out to see what the world might have held for her.

‘And now I am here,’ she thought as a wry smile crossed her lips. The smile turned to a frown as she watched two drunks totter their way over to her table. They were both young men, most likely younger than herself, and already half wasted from a combination of exhaustion and too much ale.

“Heeey, pretty lady,” the bolder of the two said as he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down with a thump. His leathers were stained with mud and dried blood, and the faint stench of offal hovered around him. The pair had obviously been skinning their catches before they had gone drinking, and hadn’t even bothered to clean themselves up before entering the lodge.

“Please leave me alone,” Moirre asked as her nose curled in disgust. It would have been simple enough to send a frightening illusion into their minds and send them off screaming, but she didn’t know if they were alone or if they had friends who might object to their brief torment. Besides, the lodge’s owner would probably object to her starting a fight.

“Aww, now that’s no way to talk,” the second man said with a false pout. He was wobbling from side to side, and Moirre could tell the leer on his face was from the way he was staring down her blouse. “Pretty girl like you, on a night like this, she shouldn’t be all by herself. She should have some company.”

“I am already with someone,” Moirre said, her voice tight as her patience was strained. “Now, please leave me alone.”

“I bet he ain’t as big as I am,” the first man said with a rude laugh. “If you know what I mean!”

“No, what do you mean?” someone rumbled from behind the pair of troublemakers.

“Eh, kitten off!” the sitting man said, waving his hand dismissively without turning around. “We were here first!”

“The lady asked you to leave her alone,” the newcomer insisted.

“Hey, what parts of ‘piss off’ did you not understand, mate?” The man still refused to turn around. He leaned in closer to Moirre, who leaned as far back as her chair allowed. “I’m a friend of the owner’s miss, wouldn’t be too hard to get a room, ya follow?”

“Er, Kal?” The second man had turned around, and now he took a step back from the table. “Kal, maybe you should get up, mate.”

“What, Sil?” Kal demanded, finally turning around to see what had his friend so worked up. Kal’s jaw dropped as he found himself face to thigh with possibly the biggest norn he had ever seen. The norn where a wild race, half savage by the standards of human society. Even their women were known to wrestle bears for fun, when they weren’t drinking ale and mead by the cask. The shortest norn stood over eight feet tall, while the one standing behind Kal was closer ten and a half. The monstrously large barbarian was dressed in haphazard armor that looked as if it had been hacked off the corpses of his fallen enemies. His boots, gauntlets, and pauldrons mounted spikes that were easily as long as Kal’s forearm, and his kilt was bound by chains thick enough to serve as ship’s anchor line. He didn’t have a shirt on, just a loose collar of chainmail to protect his neck and upper chest, and his face was hidden by a full helm mounted with four fully functional horns. Strapped to his back was a large shield that crackled with pent up electricity, and the sword at his hip was actually on fire. All of it had been dyed the same colors as Moirre’s outfit, a point that did not seem all that insignificant to the two boozehounds.

“As it happens, I was here first,” the norn said as he grabbed Kal by the front of his shirt and lifted him bodily from his chair with childish ease. He waited for the terrified hunter to unbend his knees before setting him down, and Kal immediately sagged against his friend, while a dark stain slowly crept across the front of his trousers.

The norn looked down and let out a bark-like laugh. “I was going to tell you to kitten off, as you so aptly put it, but I think you already have. Run off, and remember this the next time you decide to ignore a lady when she tells you to leave her alone.”

The two men nodded, then nearly collided with one another as they hastily departed. The norn waited for them to get out of the way before pulling the now vacant chair even farther from the table and sitting down. He then spent the next several minutes fidgeting as he tried to get comfortable on a piece of furniture designed for a person half his size.

Moirre tried not to laugh as she watched Vrin shift back and forth. The big man was her loyal traveling companion, best friend, and most importantly of all, her loving husband. Despite that, he really just did not fit in any sort of building designed with humans in mind, but he put up with it for her. They might have moved north, to the Shiverpeak mountains where his clan made their homes, but it was too bitterly cold there for her tastes. They both thought that the lands around Maguuma were too hot and humid, which meant their only other option was the blasted lands occupied by the Charr and, well. It was strange enough being a human married to a norn; being a human married to a norn living in legion controlled territory was just begging to become a punch line to a bad joke.

“I’ve got something for you.” Vrin finally gave up on the chair, and pushed it aside so that he could kneel at the table instead. He set his backpack on the floor and opened the top flap before reaching into pull out a small glowing figure. It was a ghostly white, semi-transparent figure of a goat-skulled abomination. Moirre clapped her hands in delight as it spread bat-like wings and leapt from the table to sit on her shoulder.

“Oh! It is beautiful!” she exclaimed. She reached up to pet it, and the creature nuzzled against her hand. The creature had almost no weight, but it was warm and solid to the touch. “Where did you get it?”

Vrin shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “I came across some asura setting up one of their strange little devices along the road, and they asked me to test it for them. It summoned ghostly monsters, including a larger version of that there beasty. I fought them, four against one, until none remained. The krewe gave me that as thanks for helping them with the test, and I thought that you would like one as well so I convinced them to give me two.”

Moirre stopped petting the creature and her eyes narrowed suspiciously at her husband. “You didn’t hurt any of them did you?” Her only toy as a child had been a stuffed asura, and she still had a big of a soft spot for the diminutive blue furred race, even after discovering just how crazy they could actually be in person.

Vrin held his hands up in surrender. “Peace, woman. They had plenty of spares. They are intended to be won as prizes for defeating the ghosts summoned by the machine. They had no problem giving me a second when I asked. What news from the city?”

“The Seraphs and Shining Blades are preparing a mission against the remnants of the White Mantle, and we’ve been asked to assist,” Moirre replied. One of the servers came by and placed drinks in front of them. She reached for a wine filled goblet as Vrin tried to digest the news.

“Politics? Why would we be getting involved in politics?” he finally asked. “Politics are dangerous. I’d rather go hunt a dragon. By myself. Armed with only a toothpick. Nak-“

“Yes, all right,” Moirre said with a laugh. “I get the idea. But it isn’t just any job. I managed to track down some information on my parents, but in order to get the actual details I needed to exchange favors with a pair of Seraph agents. So we go in, kill a bunch of idiot cultists, I get the information and we split for greener pastures and whatever monster is infesting them now.”

“Sounds like a plan then,” Vrin agreed. He quaffed down his own drink, draining the gallon sized tankard of ale in five huge gulps. Moirre instinctively ducked as he let out a thunderous belch that blew out a nearby rack of candles. “So, where is this mission taking place?”

“Not too far from here. I was told we should meet them in Blackroot Cut.”

“Ah, another swamp.” Vrin’s smile was genuinely warm as he waved for another round. “We’ve always done well with swamps, eh love?”

Moirre nodded. It had been a swamp that had brought them together, just over a year ago if the calendar behind the bar was accurate. She had really just started as an adventurer, but had heard that there were still rare and powerful artifacts to be found in the ruins under Godslost swamp. A hundred years before the Elder Dragon Zhaitan had raised the sunken continent of Orr from the depths of the Sea of Sorrows, causing a massive a tidal wave that had devastated coastal areas, including the lands where the Temple of Ages had been established in honor of humanity’s gods. There had been several attempts since then to either drain the swamp or excavate the broken temple, but the swamp guarded its prize jealously. Only a few souls with the right mix of bravery, foolhardiness, and a certain amount of luck ever managed to wrest treasure from the hungry muck, while far more simply added their own bones and wealth to the casualties already lying far below.

Moirre had wanted nothing to do with the ruins – at least not until she had better equipment. Instead, she had planned on looting the dead bodies of the various beasts slain by other, more ambitious adventurers and selling what she found back in Divinity’s reach to finance a more prepared expedition, maybe even hire a guild as an escort. There was a thriving market for claws, teeth, and vials of blood, all of which were believed to have magical properties and were often used as fetishes by weapon and armor makers, as well as the less savory bits which were often touted by hucksters as medicinal cures to be ground up, drunk, eaten, or just sprinkled around one’s home while muttering nonsense pretending to be a “spell”.

She had discovered, instead, that the swamp was just as protective of corpses as it was of artifacts. She had made some progress against the fireflies that infested the area, and had managed to harvest quite a bit of their venom. (Why, exactly, there were fireflies the size of a small dog that produced a caustic acid capable of boring through a steel breastplate in several seconds was a question she decided it was better to leave to the philosophers. She just made it a point to sneak up on them from behind to make sure they couldn’t spit any of it at her.) What she hadn’t been prepared for were the skelk. The slimy, foul smelling, black skinned lizards were a horror to deal with. They would appear out of nowhere, try to stab or bite through her protective wards, and then disappear just as quickly. She managed to kill a few of the cowardly little creeps, but the rest seemed intent on bleeding her to death.

In the end, though, it wasn’t the skelks that proved the most dangerous thing in the swamp. The Temple of Ages hadn’t just been the most prominent place to worship the gods, but had also been built on a soft spot in the walls between realities, allowing those with the power and knowledge to travel to the demesnes of the gods. That magic still lingered in the swamp, but it had grown corrupted under Zhaitan’s influence. Now instead of allowing the devout to visit their patrons it allowed…things…to enter into the mortal world, demons and nightmares that otherwise should have been trapped deep in the darkest pits of the abyss.

She had finally managed to kill one of the skelks, putting a bullet right between its beady little eyes when it had been leaping for her throat, and had set down her weapons so that she could get to pulling out its tiny little fangs. So she didn’t see it when the emerald ring appeared behind her, temporarily linking the swamp to hell. Her only warning was the terrifying roar the aatxe had let out as it leapt into the world of the living, showering her with green-brown water as it landed in the swamp. The aatxe was built like an enormous bull with a hide the color of a moonless, starless night. Two ram’s horns curled forward in front of its snout, and its eyes and mouth were lit from within by an unearthly glow. Jagged, rocky spikes stabbed outwards from its back and sides, protecting its flanks from those who might try to get around it.

Moirre immediately flashed out half a dozen illusionary clones of herself, hoping to distract the demon into pursuing a false target. The demon wasn’t fooled, however, and was on her in an instant. Fiery pain burst from her side as the demon’s claws glanced off her ribs, sending her sprawling into the muddy water. The beast leapt at her exposed back, but Moirre managed to twist around at the last moment and shoved her pistol between its jaws. There was a horrendous squeal as the monster’s teeth grated against the barrel’s steel, and the aatxe began thrashing its head back and forth in an attempt to wrest the weapon from her grip. It wasn’t much of a contest, not when it came down to purely mortal strength against abyssal might. Her gun was ripped from her hands and sent flying into the swamp, where it sank deep beneath the murk. The aatxe reared back as it howled in triumph and Moirre threw her arms up to protect her head. She knew it was a futile gesture, but she really didn’t want to die and was willing to do anything that might buy her a few more precious seconds of life…

The last thing she expected to hear was a full throated voice of a flying norn yelling, “VAAAAALOR SIGNUS!”

Vrin had been lost in the swamp for several days, and it wasn’t the first time the misplaced barbarian had encountered one of the demonic ambushes. But where Moirre had only been out on her own for a few weeks, Vrin had been at it for several decades. He had earned his scars battling the Sons of Svanir and other minions of Jormag, the ancient ice dragon that terrorized the northern Shiverpeak Mountains, and no mere demon could hope to compare to the danger they presented. So there was no hesitation on his part when he saw the young woman attacked. So what if he was standing fifty feet above them? That just meant gravity would be on his side for a change.

Vrin lead with his shield as charged, and the aatxe’s spikes splintered and broke as the shield’s face smashed through them. Vrin hadn’t thrown himself at the demon, but through it so that his extra momentum carried them both away from the dazed mesmer. The aatxe tried to gnaw through his helm and received a headbut for its trouble. Its claws skittered across his armor, but it was too close for Vrin to effectively use his sword. The demon came out on top when they stopped rolling, so the norn had to content himself with punching it in the face over and over again as it tried to eat him alive.

A blast of purple lightning ripped through the beast’s side and pouring out the other in a welter of ectoplasmic gore. The demon continued to stand there for several more seconds as smoke and steam poured from the wounds in its side, but it was already dead. A moment later it dissolved completely, soaking Vrin in a black goo that smelled like rotting shoe leather. He had to spit several times to clear it from his mouth, and was eventually forced to duck his head into the swamp’s water to get his helm clean. Well, cleaner. Ish.

“Thank you, lass,” he said when Moirre offered him a hand out of the muck. “I appreciate the assist. Such a new and…new taste you managed to discover there…”

“Well, it was the least I could do, considering you saved my life,” Moirre answered. “I’m Moirre. Would you mind if I tagged a long for a bit?”

Vrin had readily agreed, and not once regretted his decision. Back in the present he shared a smile with his wife. “Well then, let’s hope this one brings us just as much luck, eh?”