Hello all – Recently, those of us on TC lost a great friend and mentor. He guided many of us through some rough spots in our lives and continued to be a huge inspiration. We would like to honor him in game, on TCBL this week. I’ll also be putting out the word for a few more events, including a Dolyak parade.
We, the friends and compatriots of Karril Daltaya, invite you to an event on the TC Borderlands this Thursday evening. I understand that other people from our enemy servers wish to honor his memory also, along with our fellow TC tribe members who may not be able to make an event in this particular time zone. Exact details are still being worked out, I wanted to get this notice out now in order to gain as much publicity as we can for our brother who is no longer on this Earthly plane. Peace.
Link to the Reddit page, talking about our friend on TC who recently passed away: https://www.reddit.com/r/Guildwars2/comments/3kv5zj/epitaph_and_appeal_for_a_friend_rip_karril_daltaya/
Date: This Thursday the 17th
Place: Gather at North Camp on TCBL
Time: 8:30pm EST (This is Friday the 18th 12:30am Server time)
Please bring with you: Your Thief, a mesmer, or some other inferior class that you enjoy playing.
Raven Mail Carriers are encouraged, we will have extras if you need some. On many occasions Karril stated that the Raven was his spirit animal.
We shall start in the North, which shall be claimed by ODIN.
Our goal is to carry the party to the South, cutting a swath of death and destruction in our wake.
At South camp, GIF shall claim this area in his holy and dark name. Missy, our beloved minstrel, will read Karril’s epitaph beautifully constructed by Phlo.
We ask that everyone gather and offer a moment of silence to our fallen comrade at South camp.
Then we shall roll through the borderlands, killing indiscriminately and with wild abandon. (Probably need to map hop at some point in the evening, I know TCBL can be rather like a ghost town at times.)
I would like to end the evening together with a wave to the North, wherever we might be at once we call it for the night.
We ask that you bring drinks in real life, your stories, your memories and a bevy of heated, risque and way over the line conversation. We will be playing music on TS3 that was from Karril’s personal playlist. Thank you and I hope that many of you can join us that evening! I leave you with a vignette I composed this morning:
The borderlands were calm. A few animals were stirring, betraying the foot falls of enemy combatants in the southern lands. This was of no concern to him. Stepping out through the portal, small tufts of snow, wispy and ethereal, moving aside to allow his passage. The snow would blow away any signs that he had passed by. For those who knew where to look, he would leave a trail through the Northern passages. A bent branch, a sigil here and there, made to look like something natural and old, eclipsing the passage of time. Three was the number. The signs would always occur in threes. Black wings fluttered across the sky, spooked from a repast on a nearby house. Villagers lay dead in the yard, picked apart by scavengers, leftovers from a previous raid. A thought drifted past his consciousness, that he should search their corpses for valuable. But there was no time. Not on this day. This was a special day. A day of great ceremony.
Crossing through the Western archway, he left the Northern area and moved down the edge of his land. His land. It would always remain so, even after this day. Until the last defender fell in bright, boisterous combat, until the last breath escaped from their foes, he knew that his people would not rest. They were called zombies by some, unrelenting by others. Their fervor had always been infectious. Now they would need to find another to guide them. He knew that they would manage just fine. It gave him pause, that this would be one of his last visits in this form. No matter, it was time to go.
Wandering past the Bay, he found himself swimming down below the water’s edge. Moving into the twisted waterways that circled past the ruins. This land had changed over the years. To some it would not even resemble what it once had been. This was also good. Change causes discomfort, unrest causes motion. The people were reminded that everything is mutable.
Close now, it was almost time to go. The southern camp was full of outsiders. Cast offs from another land, all red to him. Blood bags, waiting to saturate the Earth with their taste, with their duty to guard this place. He killed all of them without hesitation. On one body, he placed his symbol, carved into the flesh of the man who would stand against him. His tribe would find this and know that he would also face opposition with an open heart and a sharp blade.
At the South, he bowed his head. His ravens flew to his side, cawing his name. He tried one more time to ask them to stay, for the people needed symbols. They would not. The ravens insisted on accompanying his next journey.
Passing beyond the edge of the world, he whispered one final phrase on the wind three times: “What is remembered, lives.” With that he moved on, secure that the people who needed to hear his words, be moved by his stories around the fire, would continue in his stead.
Tarnished Coast: Bringing the Butter to you (no pants allowed)
