Guild Wars 2

Preface: Greetings, one and all. What I have here is a story I’ve begun toying with for some time, set within the Guild Wars universe, shortly following the events of the main personal storyline. I wanted to write some fiction that emulates the flavour of the already-established lore, and figured the best way to do that was in bite-sized installments updated at a fairly regular interval. Hopefully I can live up to that.

This thread can also serve as a discussion thread. Feel free to nag me about stuff here as well, I’ll link to the chapters as each one is added.

Enjoy.

(Title Changed)

Scene I ~ The City of Lion’s Arch

On an average day in the markets, people are showered with the voices of exuberant merchants shouting the freshness of their produce, or the sharpness of their swords, or the wonders of that little magic bauble that will never ever work for more than a day after purchase. On an average day, the senses are always constantly working to filter through the noise, smells, and sights that quickly blend together with their intensity. On an average day, the bazaar is always hard at work to try and squeeze every last piece of gold out of every last species walking through her colourful stalls. And just like all those other constants, on an average day, the sylvari working at the front of the Hanging Schooner Smithy is always, without fail, fast asleep by noon.

As Srokk approached the smith, he sighed, a toothy grin crossing his stubby face. He tracked some sand up onto the boardwalk leading up to the shop as he walked, his bare feet still a little wet. A trail of little asuran footprints had been left in his wake, though he cared little about such etiquette. Lion’s Arch, after all, was a city of pirates.

Srokk stood at the front counter where the sleeping clerk rested, and he pondered for a moment. A long string fell from the overhang, a small slip of paper stuck to its length reading in charcoal scrawl ‘ring for service’, and attached to a little bell. Srokk felt that this establishment was belittling him. He’d have to stand very tall to reach said string. How insulting.

The asura slid over to the sylvari’s head, and moved to quietly whisper in his ear before yelping in a shout of anguish and surprise. The sylvari sat up instantly, screaming similarly and falling behind the counter with a substantial thud. He pulled himself up a moment later, and growled at Srokk, “WHY?”

Srokk chuckled. “You know, for a soundless, you’re awfully touchy about noise.” This was met with an incredulous look, following by a long, awkward moment of silence. Silence, save for the incessant flapping of gulls and the roar of the market, at any rate.

The sylvari stood straight, resting his elbows on the desk. “I haven’t seen you in a month, and the first thing you do is ruin my break, Srokk?”

“Break? This was an afternoon nap! You were laid out along the length of the stall! How does Ptanu make any sales with you manning the front, anyway?”

“By being very good. Besides, most of our customers send their orders by pigeon first, my job these days is largely devoted to checking mail.”

The asura scoffed. “I’m surprised you didn’t prepare for my arrival if you’ve been checking the mail.”

“How long are you going to chastise me about this, Srokk?”

“Until I’m sure that you’re not going to act like this on the job,” Srokk said, beaming. “We’re being called back to the field, Peraphet.”

The sylvari stood straight in surprise. “That’s more like it!” He almost bounced in excitement, opening the side door to the shop, gesturing for the asura to come in.

For what used to be a hull of a ship, the inside of the blacksmith was well-furnished. Aside from the beautiful display of weapons lining the walls, there was also numerous artifacts of foreign nature, ranging from artfully-crafted lanterns to the occasional tapestry. The front of the shop was its own miniature room, and further inside was set up more like a country house, complete with a lived-in look, a pair of hammocks, and a small staircase leading to what used to be above deck, now serving as a roof. Another door led to the stern, and the shops forge. The blacksmith could be heard feeding the flames at that moment.

Following the invitation of the sylvari, Srokk planted himself at the lonely square table off to the side. Peraphet sat across, speaking as he kicked his feet up, “what’s the job?”

“Our operatives in the Priory had been attending one of their digs in Brisban. The usual affair, a handful of pre-surfacing asuran relics appeared a little bit too close to the surface, so they started investigating. We didn’t pay much heed for a while until they unearthed a functional asura gate.”

Peraphet tilted his head. “We’ve found near-functional gates before. What makes this one so special?”

Srokk smiled again. “It leads to Cantha. The old human lands.” Peraphet’s eyes widened a touch. “Exactly,” Srokk continued. “With it, the Order of Whispers would be able to move between Tyria and Cantha freely. However, the upper echelon has decided that it is not safe to begin large-scale use of it immediately, and they wish to put together a team to move through the gate and establish a foothold on the other side. You know, establish whether or not Cantha is secure.”

The sylvari nodded approvingly, though he rubbed the back of his neck. “The Pact just let us handle this?”

“They don’t know about it. The Master of Whispers has decided that this is not something for the general public to let know yet, and it is difficult for us to keep the information airtight outside our own people.”

“What about the Priory excavators?”

“They’ve been put under quarantine. The official story is that there was a plague in Cantha before we lost contact with them, and we do not want anybody who went through the gate contaminating Tyria.”

“But the Priory should know that isn’t true. Ancient history is what they do, Srokk.”

“What they seem to forget, Pear, is that history from back then is our business as well. This order is older than your entire species, don’t you forget.”

“That’s not saying much. So is that hideous fountain in the square,” Peraphet shuddered.

“The point is, my friend, is that they can choose to believe us or not. We are not letting anybody know about where this portal leads yet, and the excavators aren’t going to change that. That said, these guys were probably only recently made explorers. They bought our plague story at face value, and are being held at the gate compound.”

Peraphet nodded, sitting forward. “So is it just going to be our cell?”

The question was met with a disappointed frown from the shorter creature. “Our cell is, officially, disbanded. Some of us have been promoted up, others have been assigned desk work permanently. The only other member of the previous team coming is Zritt, who is officially our boss now.”

The wood making up Peraphet’s upper lip curved upward, and his response was completely deadpan. “Wonderful. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. This is his field,” he sighed. “Still, I love meeting new people. Who else?”

Srokk nodded, pulling a small, well-folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Well, apart from Zritt’s team, myself included, there are only a couple of other names here. The Krytan ministry has been keeping its eye on the Priory’s dig, so we’re having one of our contacts in the guard come to ease their minds. Brisban is, technically, their territory. Lord Freschard, it says here. Capable soldier, adequate combative magician, friends in the Krytan nobility. He’s probably being brought along in case we encounter any hostile elements, plus the Canthans probably want to see some human faces.”

“Next up is the head of one of our listening posts in Ebonhawke, Agent Hastanik. She’s been undercover as a fortune teller in the city for a number of years. She’s an expert on mind-manipulation, and, as a result, a capable diplomat. Another human, obviously. Not much on her, but it says her post has been losing value lately, so this is her first field assignment.

“And, finally, the difficult one on the list. We’re reactivating this one, although we’re not sure he’ll agree.”

Peraphet shrugged. “You haven’t asked him yet?”

Stand up, coming to just above the surface of the table in height, Srokk responded, “That’s why I’m here, Pear.”

The sylvari’s eyes widened, his eyes not breaking contact with Srokk’s as he shouted, “Ptanu! C’mon back here, you’ve got a visitor!”

The sound of the forge work ceased abruptly, footsteps moving back into the building. The back door opened slowly, eight feet of feathered muscle striding on through, lead by a long, gray beak. “Srokk,” noted the deep, cool voice. “To whom do I owe this visit?”

Srokk was completely covered by the shadow of the massive bird, who was more than double his height. “Necessity. We require an expert on the layout of a certain heritage site.”

Ptanu let out a snort, shaking his head. “Don’t your people have access to a map? I don’t need to be sought for council every time one of you has a question.”

The asura turned to respond, with Peraphet standing in dead silence off to the side. “If we needed a map, we’d have one. We need someone who has internalized whatever they possibly can learn about Cantha.”

The beak snapped in frustration, its owner’s temper flaring. “And why do you need me? I’m not a part of you people. I keep Pear around because I like him, not because of his job.”

The sylvari decided this would be a good time to open his mouth. “Really, boss? I had no idea you cared!”

He quickly learned that it wasn’t when Ptanu whirled around and snarled in his face. “Shut up, twig!”

For a moment, only the wind rustling through the structure, the fires of the forge, and the constant caw of seagulls were heard. Peraphet stood with a mixed look of embarrassment and fear, while Srokk sat quietly, waiting for the third man to settle. Two full minutes passed, before the asura, keeping his voice soft and quiet, spoke again.

“We found a way to Cantha, Ptanu. And I specifically requested that you come along so that you could see the lands where the tengu were ousted for yourself. Given your preoccupation with Canthan culture, the higher-ups saw fit to grant my request.”

Ptanu snorted again. “I’m done with the Order, Srokk. I want no part of it. And I remember outranking you anyway, so I order you to get out of my shop.”

Srokk didn’t even bother correcting him about rank. The bird couldn’t have it both ways, he was either in, giving orders, or out. Still, telling him as such while in a small wooden room covered wall to wall with blades seemed like a less-than-clever thing to do. Instead, he found an equally stupid move to make. “You stubborn bird. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Don’t throw it away just because you think you can’t handle the responsibility,” the asura challenged. “You would be the first modern tengu to set foot in Cantha. Are you really going to pass up your life’s dream just because you aren’t able to get over—”

“Enough,” Ptanu said softly. “Very well, Srokk. One more operation.”

Srokk did his best not to smile, instead handing another piece of paper over to the tengu. “This is a copy of the briefing. I still have to finish gathering the rest of the team, which you are more than welcome to attend,” that offer was met with an indignant chuckle. “Or not. Either way, all other pertinent information is on there as well.”

Ptanu took the paper in his claw, giving it a look. “I will be there,” he said, before immediately turned and heading back outside. The fires could be heard bellowing again, much much louder than before. Peraphet, still standing around awkwardly, quickly made a gesture towards the back door. “You should probably go, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t burn down the block.”

Srokk shrugged. “Would you like to come along for recruitment?”

Just as Peraphet opened his mouth to respond, Ptanu’s voice was heard from the back. “He doesn’t do work around here anyway, just take him!”

End of Scene I