Guild Wars 2

Chapter 2b:

“You think that’s going to be fast enough to outrun a Risen, recruits,” snapped Myrie, arms crossed behind her as she strode behind a line of racing Vigil soldiers, “then you’ve got one hell of a lesson to learn.” She armed her shortbow, aimed, and launched an inky shot that teleported her to where it landed. A young charr nearly leapt out of his tawny fur in shock as Myrie’s dagger rushed towards his muzzle. “Claw Island is now heavily fortified by the enemy. The odds are not stacked in our favor.” He barely managed to parry her blows, growling in frustration as her blade glinted like a flickering star in the light of the setting sun. She nodded briefly in acknowledgement of his defense before sneaking around to the back of an asura, sweeping her squat legs out from under her. She rolled with the movement, drawing two swords and leaping back only to discover that the ground below her had a steep drop-off. She landed with a yelp.
“You’ve got to know your territory, soldiers,” Myrie called out, dodging the asura’s vicious swipe at her knees and stealing her blade in the process. “Simply going off of what we know is not going to work this round. Keep your wits sharp and never fight alone. The Risen will kill without hesitation or mercy, and this means that you need to be ever-vigilant that your own allies do not have the chance to become corrupted.”
“Easier said than done,” muttered a brawny norn.
“Care to repeat that?” Myrie shouted, stalking up to him and brandishing her daggers. “In case it missed your attention, recruit, anything that kills the living will also work on the undead. Does it have a heart?” Her weapon hovered over her own chest. “Stab it. If it’s still got its head, remove it. Don’t think just because you’re bigger – or smaller – than your opponent that victory is uncertain.” She sheathed her daggers, glaring up at him. “If you think like that, you’re already as good as dead. You’ve got to fight smart.”
“What do we look like, the Priory?” he snorted. “If I wanted to run from the enemy or hide in holes, then sure, I’d have joined them.” He hefted an axe over his shoulder, sneering as he turned on his heel. “Forget this. If I want to fight Risen, I’m doing it my way.” Myrie watched his retreating back, jaw shifting as her eyes narrowed.
“Ma’am?” The charr spoke uncertainly. “Are you just going to let him go?”
Her arm moved like a blur, throwing a glittering silver spike at the retreating soldier’s back. He barely turned in time to avoid having it hit any major organs, but her blade stuck in his arm. He gave a bellow of pain, face twisted in rage.
“What in Bear’s name was that for?” He yanked it out, throwing it aside and clamping a hand over the bleeding wound.
“You knew I’d react somehow, didn’t you?” Myrie snapped. “So why weren’t you prepared? I’m a predicable ally, and I could have killed you right then. What makes you think you’ll survive against the Risen?” She marched over to him, glaring at his challenging fist. “Go on, strike me,” she hissed. “Maybe Zhaitan’s horde will have second thoughts when they see you run mewling away because you can’t be bothered to take orders.”
“You’re mad, tiny,” he hissed.
“And I’m not a coward. Tell me, which one of us fought against the dragon’s minions, huh? I didn’t come running just because of some overinflated sense of glory. You can either straighten up and get back in line, or I’ll actually let you charge in there and die in the first place, because something tells me that you never really planned on sticking around if it wasn’t going to end up with your name in the stories of the skaalds.”
He took a long, deep breath through his nose, glaring down at her. She defiantly stared back, emerald eyes as sharp as her daggers. Finally, with a growl of frustration, he hefted his axe back over his shoulder and marched back into line. Myrie felt her shoulders singing with frustration, and as much as she would have liked to have immediately sighed or gone and relaxed after that moment of tension, she knew that as their squad leader, she had the responsibility to keep them all quick to fight and cohesive when fighting as a unit.
“Everyone meet back in the Lion’s Square. We’ve got to meet up with the other squads shortly and see how they’re faring. Dismissed!”

Ravel.5701:

Not sure if ok.

Oh my gosh, I love her!! Sorry that I didn’t reply for a while — I’ve been in PvP (and losing, but hey, I’m still earning gold from chests)! She looks amazing, and your art is so flowy~ Thank you very much!!

~S.F.

Llumin is a dreamer of the Dusk cycle. Naturally curious, she is a calm, introspective type who is determined to learn everything she can about Tyria, the Dragons, and even the human gods. She can become excited when talking about her interests and may seem air-headed to those who fail to understand that her mind is rarely empty, but instead flits from thought to thought. Despite her kind nature, she is incredibly-powerful; when she lost her greatest love to the Jungle Dragon, she tried to find a way to turn back time itself to bring him back, heedless of the cost to herself. Though her attempt to change history failed, it tore an ancient hero from the Mists and resulted in pockets of time in which he still existed, unaware of the movement of days outside or of his impending doom.
Llumin is a loyal and faithful ally to those who know her, and her friends are her greatest strength.
“I’m not leaving you behind! I have lost too much to lose you here!”

~S.F.

Thank you very much! If you’re willing, this is a link to some screenshots a friend took of my mesmer, Llumin. If you’d rather have me find a less-complex character (because I know drawing that leaf/hairstyle is torture) I could do that!

https://68.media.tumblr.com/71d0f24bba58494743bdc862d961d765/tumblr_ort0mhbSng1tv0wxjo1_r1_1280.png

Wait, takers? For free art?
Why was I unaware of this?!

If you’re still open, let me know! I’ve got one I’d like to see you sketch, and if you’re taking commissions, I’ll keep you in mind while I build up my gold again. (That Aurene doll is so expensive but so, so cute…)

~S.F.

Chaper 2a:

“And that’s why none of our individual plans will work. Now get the corks outta yer ears an’ lissen up!”
Myrie skidded to a surprised halt; the sight in front of her surely was a dream. Or a really odd hallucination. Either way, she never would have expected to see Sylfia standing next to Llumin, who nodded at the other woman as she stepped forward.
“Orders of Tyria,” she started, voice echoing and silencing the whispers that had started to rise. “We stand here today on the end of one of our worst defeats. We cannot let this define us.”
“We won’t!” Warmaster Efut of the Vigil, a short yet stubborn asura, interjected. Her sharp teeth flashed from a dark-skinned face. “Which is why – !”
“If you will hold your statements, please.” Trahearne’s calm voice did not broker any disagreement. With Caladbolg glowing in his hands, the impressive blade pressed into the ground lent him just enough credence to silence any further protests. The asura grit her teeth, muttering quietly to herself as her glowering gaze returned to Llumin. The mesmer turned a thankful smile to the Firstborn before she continued. “As I was saying, these are not the days of your forefathers. This is not the enemy we have once known, content to nibble at the edges of our shores while we squabble for resources and plans. Our Orders can no longer sit in suspicious holes and throw rocks at each other while the Dragon ravages our lands and our people. Steward Gixx,” she said, first addressing the leader of the Durmand Priory, “General Almorra,” – here speaking to Myrie’s own Order’s head – “and Doern Valasquez,” – she nodded to the representative for the Master of Whispers – “you are all intelligent people in charge of armies whose forces are individually among the most impressive living militaries in any people’s history. Yet as long as we are divided among intelligence and looking down upon strength, or if we hold ourselves higher than the tasks which must be done to complete our missions, we will get nowhere, and the Dragons will consume us all. This is why I am offering a solution; if only for this short while, I recommend following no particular mission from any one order.”
“Ridiculous,” sputtered Gixx, his green eyes narrowing. “Magister, surely you cannot be suggesting a merger!”
“Pfah!” Almorra’s fangs bared in a dismissive snarl. “As if you bookworms and honorless cowards would have anything to offer that the Vigil cannot!”
“Sirs, madams, please!” Llumin’s desperate cry nearly fell on deaf ears, yet a sharp, thunderous crack startled every one into silence. Selana Firestone strode into the circle’s center, pushing aside those who had started to crowd too closely to the mesmer. A smoking crater, still sparking with electricity from the called bolt of lightning, left a potent reminder to those dissidents that the sylvari had every right to finish her speech. Llumin stared in surprise at Selana’s impassive face.
“As you were saying, Magister,” she finally said after a second or two of expectant silence. Llumin blinked. “Ah, yes; as I was saying, there are things which all of our orders cannot possibly fill in. We of the Priory have the knowledge yet lack the manpower to apply our plans. You of the Order of Whispers have the information necessary to help us plot the fallout and best way those plans can be applied.”
“And us Vigil folk got determination in spades,” Sylfia grinned, “but you’ve gotter realize you can only whack on something so hard before it doesn’t work.”
“Which is why I am suggesting that we form an alliance between our Orders, regardless of race, nation, or creed.”
“A Pact, if you will,” Trahearne smiled. “But who shall lead it?”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Llumin noted, beaming proudly. “And since it pertains so well to your Wyld Hunt…”
Trahearne’s confident expression slowly crumbled as realization sank in.
“You know, she ‘as a point. You helped us protect several outposts from both Nightmare Court and Risen attacks, and you just aided with the strategy to save those we could on Claw Island,” Sylfia said, ticking the experiences on her fingers. “So there’s some knowledge there.”
“You’ve read the most about Orr and its people, and you know the strategies of the Dragon best,” Selana agreed, eyes narrowing.
“And, as I said earlier,” Llumin said confidently, smiling at him encouragingly, “it pertains to your Wyld Hunt. With an army to lead you into Orr, you can purify it!”
“I’ve led armies before, yes,” he said, brow furrowing, “but nothing like this.”
“You won’t directly lead everyone, obviously,” Selana muttered. “That would be murder on anyone’s nerves. You could have intermediaries between yourself and the Orders,” she suggested.
“Comman’ers, or whatever you may call ‘em,” Sylfia drawled. “Either way you slice it, we need to get moving on Claw Island. The dragon won’t wait for an eternity to unleash its army, and it’ll only grow stronger as more time passes.”
Llumin nodded. The assembly watched as she waked towards the Firstborn, saluted, and asked, “What are your orders, Marshal?”
Trahearne’s jaw shifted, amber eyes glowing with uncertainty, fear – and, below it all, a slow sense of realization and determination. He straightened his back. “”We won’t be able to simply re-enter. Commander Llumin, I am going to need you and a team of researchers to help with finding what books and knowledge you have on engaging an entrenched foe in combat. Consult the Vigil and Whispers for information they may have, as well. We’re going to need to use a new strategy which will best showcase all of the orders’ talents.”
Llumin’s gaze shone. “Understood, sir.”

Ravel — I love the dreamlike quality of your work! It’s very flowing and organic. Keep up the fantastic art!

~S.F.

Chapter 1c:

“Not so. She could have called for Sylfia, or Trahearne – ”
“Sylfia’s more of an acquaintance, and Trahearne was helping the wounded.” The thief removed a couple of small earthenware cups from her pack and inspected them. Finding them to not be cracked or otherwise damaged, she poured a small amount of the alcohol into them and gave one to Sylfia, who had walked and stood by her. The sylvari sniffed her drink appreciatively before snapping it back and giving a contented sigh. Selana sipped delicately at hers. Myrie took a long drink from her jar, ears and throat burning as it coursed through her. She coughed lightly, eyes watering; it was more potent than she remembered. “Don’t you find it funny, though,” she said, setting it down; she would regret a long draught if she kept going, “don’t you find it funny that you were so close? I mean, Nettle probably sensed her dying there and – ”
“Nettle would have let ‘er die,” Sylfia said sharply. Myrie quickly took her cup from her hands before the sylvari’s grip could crush it. “An’ trus’ me, she’s able to sense plenty o’ death on that island. Madwoman prob’ly was in a state of euphoria.”
“Fair enough,” Selana conceded. “But even in the battle my mind was elsewhere; there was such a noise that it’s surprising I even heard her.”
“I thought it was your uncanny hearing that sent you her way,” Myrie said, brow furrowing. “I mean, sometimes I’ll hear one of our group’s voices more clearly than others. Not uncommon when you’ve been working with people to memorize how they sound or even walk.”
“You’ve memorized how we walk?”
“Well, I can generally tell based on the sound of someone’s steps who it is; yours,” she said, motioning to the elementalist, “is usually firm and precise in your steps. And Sylfia’s is… well…”
“Bloody roaring drunk, usually,” the sylvari grinned. Her smile slowly faded. “Usually.”
“Anyhow, back to the topic at hand,” Myrie said, waving Sylfia’s empty cup. “The point still stands that for some reason, you heard Llumin’s cry for help when no one else would. She might be sylvari now, but I think that there’s still at least one bone in her body that must have resonated with yours. Either way, I’m certain your parents’ ghosts helped.”
“Is that even possible?” Sylfia arched a skeptical brow. “Oi know ghosts don’ exactly adhere to our rules, but they seemed to be rather noncombatant.”
“Then you obviously missed the part where they swore to disrupt every one of Nettle’s nonessential experiments after failing to send part of the Shiverpeaks on her head.”
“That avalanche at the Priory was your parents?”
A cold presence slid in like the chill of the grave. “Was her parents, is her parents, are her parents,” Nettle hissed. “Who continue to be keeping their promises to dismantle all of my work on my poisons and experiments.”
“You do realize that some of those ‘experiments’ of yours are still considered sentient by most of the major cities, right?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I cannot care less about what those think. Their bodies were useful. And now I’m stuck with useless research unless it strictly adheres to whatever moral codes or missions your delightful spectral birthgivers term to be necessary.”
“How unfortunate,” Myrie replied dryly. Nettle scraped a finger down the side of Adam’s bony temple, the grating noise sending chills down the thief’s spine.
“What are we doing, chatting here like old crones? We cannot return to Claw Island while it is occupied by Risen, and I doubt that the Elder Dragon will wait patiently for us to formulate plans for terribly long.”
“Our orders have formed plans; that is the problem.” Selana frowned. “The issue lies not in a lack of inspiration, but in a lack of coherence. Your fellow Vigil soldiers and the Priory think us of the Order to be little better than thieves and murderers – ”
“Well, Nettle isn’t exactly helping your reputation.”
“And there are those in the Order who think the other two to be too overt in their execution to possibly work.”
“Well, we can’t just bloody sit here,” Sylfia snarled. She stood suddenly, leafy armor-plates clacking against each other. “Burn it; if our idjit leaders aren’t going to do anything, I will!”
“Sylfia, wait!” Myrie gave an exasperated huff as the fiery sylvari stormed off, hammer brandished high. She glanced behind her; Selana watched her with an unsettlingly-familiar look of cold contemplation. Nettle, on the other hand, was grinning widely, eyes glinting.
“Well,” she purred, “having our least diplomatic individual representing us could go quite well.”
Myrie’s lip curled at the necromancer before she ran off to follow Sylfia.

Chapter 1b:

The sylvari raised an eyebrow, only giving her a passing glance. “So?” she snorted.
“Why?”
She was silent for a moment, the only sounds coming from the bustle of street vendors, seagulls, and children running around. The stone ground against her hammer-head.
“Oi wan’ to be sober when we get back in there,” Sylfia said at last, tone even. “Oi want to remember taking back that island and putting Forgal’s spirit at rest. Oi mayn’t believe in whatever Spirits of the Wild nonsense ‘e did,” she continued, “but the leas’ I can do is make sure ‘e’s avenged.” She raised her hammer to eye’s level once more and inspected it. “Should be good,” she grunted, hefting it back into its holder on her back. “Certainly will take a while before this ol’ thing cracks,” she said, a dry smile stretching her thin lips.
“Good,” Myrie sighed. She wasn’t quite certain about Sylfia’s reasoning, but it seemed irritatingly sound for the time being. “Are you sure you don’t want a swig of something?” she asked after a minute or so, rubbing her neck. The warrior gave her a smirk.
“This to make up for yer rashness?”
“It’s an apology of sorts. Probably won’t get much chance to drink before we take that fortress back.”
The warrior snorted. “Right there,” she admitted. “All right, fine. Just a nip of whatever you’ve got.”
Myrie reached into her pack and rummaged around for a bit, face scrunching. She withdrew several items which she definitely did not remember having in there previously, setting handfuls of rings and other jewelry or mementos on the stone next to her. Sylfia gave a bark of laughter. “Been at it again, eh?” She shook her head. “You cope weird.”
“I swear I don’t notice it sometimes,” the thief retorted. “Ah. Here we go.” Her fingers grasped the smooth glass bottle and withdrew it. Her confident smile crumbled as she stared at the rice wine, and a tight knot wound its way into her chest.
“Oi,” Sylfia said softly, “looks like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing,” the human replied quickly, laughing lightly and pinching at her nose. “Just some old rice wine.” She set the red-sealed, black bottle on a nearby wall with a clink. “It’s just… Mom used to get this stuff sometimes during the Canthan Lunar Year celebrations. She says we’ve got some old blood from back there – claims that’s why she looks as young as she does despite her age – so she would sometimes leave out a few drops for ceremony’s sake to please any ancestors who may’ve wandered into Divinity’s Reach.” Myrie’s smile quavered. “Gods, it’s just wine,” she huffed frustratedly. “There’s nothing emotional about it!”
“You’re worried.” Selana’s calm voice hovered over the thief. Myrie cursed herself for not noticing her approach as she hurriedly ground her knuckles into watering eyes. “It’s natural,” the red-haired woman continued, “to grow concerned about family during times of distress or when you’ve been apart from them for a while. You,” she said, glancing down at Myrie, “have the misfortune of both.”
“So do you,” the thief retorted, frowning.
“I know.” The pale woman did not sit by her, but rather stood in a more relaxed position. “Llumin has only realized that we are related by some strange way. I suspect that my parents’ ghosts intervened on the battlefield and that this sent her into shock. She was nearly dead yet calling out my name as if I was her last hope when I found her.”
“You were her last hope.” Myrie pulled at the wax-sealed cord at the wine’s lid, breaking the seal and removing the top. Its sharp, sweet smell mixed with the scents around her.

ARC 4

Chapter 1a:

Lion’s Arch was bracingly calm. Although the Lionguard had been warned of the impending attack and been made aware of the fall of Claw Island, there was an almost-forced sense of peace on the city, as if the idea of doom crouching at their gates was a monster under the bed that, if unacknowledged, would remain peaceful. To claim the danger existed was to admit the risk of death. On occasion, there would be haggling over an item in the merchants’ quarters which seemed a bit more strident than usual, or a man may look to the sky with more concern than he may give the average storm. It was a darker haze that covered the city; the citizens had seen their fair shares of squalls and dangers before; it had been pounded by heavy rains and lashed with roaring, booming thunder and survived. Those it could handle. But the thought of one of the Elder Dragon’s forces lurking so close to their homes seemed impossible, as if it was a bad dream from which one could awaken. Myrie gave a shout of anger as a large charr brusquely shoved past her, nearly sending her spinning.
“Watch it, you oaf,” she snarled, glaring at his retreating back.
“Don’ give ‘im too much trouble,” Sylfia muttered. The sylvari sat on a cold anvil and worked on grinding some of the chips out of her hammer’s stone. “Some cope with loss in their own ways.”
“We don’t have time to mourn,” the thief shot back, tone only slightly quieter. “Forgal died so that we could – ”
“Say it one more time and Oi’ll punch you,” the warrior said hoarsely, a tired anger to her voice. “I already had to drag back those two screaming ‘sura from rushing to their doom. Oi saw Forgal just before the gates closed, and Magister Sieran and that Tybalt fellow, too. They knew wot they were doin’.” Ancient granite-dust sloughed to the cobbled floor, the dry scent of stone mingling with the sea breeze and the smells of rotting fish and wet wood. “Oi just wish…”
“I wish it had been Trahearne,” Myrie growled spitefully. “Who does he think he is? Just comes along, wielding some magic sword and claiming to know so much about Orr… If he knew so much, why couldn’t he find some strategy to keep the island from falling? Or see if he could have found a way to save them?”
“Shaddap.”
“What?”
“Oi said,” Sylfia bellowed, rising to her feet and stalking over to the thief, “shut yer stinkin’, whining gob!” Her shoulders heaved; Myrie stared defiantly up at the unflinching, glowing green slits. “You want Trahearne dead? Congratulations. You’ve taken out our best shot at knowing our enemy and lost our foremost source of information on its territory. You can’t get the dead back to life in the proper way, not wi’out the proper magic, and ‘at hasn’t been seen in who knows ‘ow long. Tra’aerne’s no savior. He didn’t even want to be at that blood-boughed fort. The only reason ‘e went there was to see if he could help prevent casualties, not show off his knowledge. You saw ‘ow well tha’ went!” Despite the day’s slow fade into the afternoon, the blazing orange glow of Sylfia’s veins was already bright enough to cast her face into ominous shadows. “The reason we lost our mentor isn’t ‘cause of Tra’earne. The reason we lost so many men – the reason we lost that bloody island, was because of Commander Talon’s arrogance and that of ‘is crew.” Sylfia’s jaw shifted, rage still illuminating her features. “Oi know you’re upset. You think Selana and the others aren’t? Think about that,” the warrior growled. She spun on her heel and marched back to her spot, setting her hammer down hard enough to crack the cobblestones beneath it. “It’s about more than jus’ you an’ your feelings.” Myrie glared at her, her own jaw working on her thoughts. Finally, she opened her mouth.
“You’re sober.”

Chapter 40c:

Legs burning, the beacon party managed to battle their way through the thickening forces of the invaders and up the rickety, slick wooden stairs onto the lighting platform. Selana wrenched the glowing blue firing crystal into place and staggered back as the last beacon roared into the sky with a crackle, the built-up charge setting the group’s hair on end.
“That’s it,” Llumin cried, hope surging in her chest. “Now we just need to join the retreating forces and get out of here.”
“Easier said than done,” Khimma said weakly, pointing down at the courtyard. The few defenders who remained were rapidly either fleeing or falling. “Klixx and I might be good, but I don’t know if we can get through there without leaving the gates opened too long. We may risk endangering the refugees who’ve already made it outside.”
“We’ll make it,” Selana declared, her stone flaring and eyes blazing with determination.
“Of course you will,” a jovial voice chortled. A hiss and bang followed shortly, sending grey chunks of undead splattering on the wet walls and floor. “Good to see you again, Initiate,” Tybalt grinned.
“It’s Lightbringer now, sir,” Selana smiled. “And thanks for the save.”
“You can thank me with a cider when we get back to Lion’s Arch,” he replied, packing up a portable turret. “I’ll be staying up here at the gate doors with Sieran. Now get down there and book it!”

Klixx and Khimma gave a confident wave to their mentor above them as they jogged to the main entrance. Forgal was there waiting, shoulders heaving and white beard and hair stippled with dried blood.
“Go on; we’ll follow soon after,” he growled, shoving a thumb behind him.
Myrie nodded and gave him a passing salute as she raced through the door. Trahearne and Gryphon had finished escorting the last of the wounded out.
“I think that’s all of us,” Llumin said, teleporting back into the group’s center and jogging to keep up. She turned back to the gates. “Sieran, call Lightbringer Tybalt and tell him to run down! You and the warmaster join him and meet us out here!”
“A bit of trouble with that plan,” Sieran grunted. From the ground, the party saw her send an Orrian reeling from the parapet; she was quickly surrounded by a swarm of its kin. “There are too many undead; I can’t leave my post!”
“I’m with you there,” Tybalt roared. His turrets were being broken as quickly as he placed them.
“If you don’t move, you won’t have another chance to!” Selana turned in her tracks and glanced back at them. “Get out now!”
“There’s no time, friend,” Tybalt called. “Go on! Make sure the others survive. And tell the Master of Whispers that we did our duty.” Selana’s eyes briefly flashed.
“We can’t just leave you behind!”
“You’re not leaving us behind,” Forgal bellowed, pulling an Orrian from the gate’s opening and throwing it behind him. “We’re letting you escape. Now get out of here while you can! Make our sacrifices count!” The norn waved an arm at the agent and the magister, and with a mighty heave, the thick wooden doors slammed shut.

Khimma and Klixx turned partway as the gates’ closing rumble echoed behind them. “Wait,” Klixx shouted, brows furrowing. “Where’s Sieran?”
“I’m sure she’ll rejoin us,” Khimma panted, her short legs pumping into the soft sand.
Sylfia bellowed as she wrenched her hammer from the jaws of an undead and punched its rotten skull in. “You know where she is. Sieran and the others are making sure we’ve got as much of a chance as possible.”
Khimma’s eyes widened. “No,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, turning around: “We can’t leave her behind! Klixx, come on!” His fingers were already summoning the winds that would carry them to certain doom. Sylfia growled.
“I can’t let you two do that,” she muttered, charging to them. With quick movements, the sylvari hefted Klixx under one arm and Khimma under the other.
“Put us down, you oaf,” Klixx snarled, desperately hitting the warrior’s corded arms. “We can’t just leave her there! She’ll die!”
“You think I don’ know that?” Sylfia roared, voice cracking as she bashed her head into an Orrian’s stomach and sent it reeling away. “My Warmaster’s up there, too, fighting for his life and all of ours down here! You want to respect their decisions? Then you’ve got to get to those ships so we can fight another day.” She dropped the asura on the ground, and they stumbled to keep up. Klixx gave Khimma a grim look as he helped her stand, eyes not leaving the ships ahead as they dashed along the beach. “We’re not giving up,” the warrior muttered. “And when we return, we’ll give those rots hell to pay.”

END OF ARC 3

Ooh, I love it! Do you have ones for other professions?

~S.F.

Chapter 40b:

Like a grey wave of churning despair, the undead seethed and boiled through the defenders’ ranks, sending to the grave those who failed to resist. Defenders watched in horror as their companions who had fought alongside them died and were corrupted in a moment, their eyes gleaming not with life, but with the dull power of the Elder Dragon. Even while the mortal wounds still bled, those who died against the Orrians were turned, treacherous bodies fighting against what their spirits once willed. Horror reigned in the fort, and with the screams of the dragon’s lieutenant, its cadence was one of agony.

Selana and Llumin raced towards one of the towers, Sylfia and Nettle battling alongside the Lionguard forces while casting down the undead that grasped and howled at their backs. Trahearne’s voice echoed over the chaos as he ordered the Lionguard to consolidate, protecting the wounded as they were escorted from the fort. Khimma and Klixx held the line alongside their mentor, Magister Sieran, casting spells and protective walls that sheltered those retreating. Gryphon and Myrie helped safeguard those fleeing, the thief sniping at foes who attempted to grab their weakened prey. Forgal roared, pasting foes to the clicking rhythm of turrets laid down by engineer and Whispers’ agent Tybalt Leftpaw.
“This has been great, old friend,” the white-furred charr said, grinning a toothy, tired smile. “But don’t you think we’re a bit old for this?”
“Ah, you know these kids,” the norn replied, sending an undead screeching away with a mighty blow. “Think they can handle everything.”
The engineer snorted, prosthetic hand clinking on his rifle as he fired a decapitating shot at another racing foe. “We were once like that.”
“Were being the operative word. We’ve gotten a bit more sensible since our younger days.” Tybalt’s flame turret gave a low fwoosh as a jet of burning pitch fired onto a shambling charr, sending it howling from the walls. “If you say so,” he chuckled. Sieran and the asura raced across the courtyard, Khimma’s blue guardian magic enveloping Klixx and the sylvari in a sky-colored glow.
“Two beacons left,” Sieran trilled, olive-brown skin shining in the lantern-lights that swayed in the raining winds. “We’ll be positively cherry!”
“Theoretically,” Klixx muttered, drawing up a protective earth aura barely in time to stop an undead’s poisoned arrows from stabbing into their shoulders. “We just need to distract the Orrians long enough and hold out against innumerable foes in order to have any chance of survival.”
“Don’t be so dour, Magister,” the sylvari said cheerily. She sent a bolt of lightning arcing through a line of foes; they jolted and jittered for a few seconds before collapsing into a smoking pile that reeked of burning garbage. “Look! It seems that Selana and Llumin are almost at the third.”
“They’ll need help,” Khimma growled. Even as she spoke, she saw undead falling and turning from the guards who had been defending them. Soon their protectors would become more pawns in the race to light the final beacon.
“Then go give it,” Sieran ushered, crushing an Orrian’s rotten skull with her staff. “Let us three defend the gates and doors; we can’t have the undead sealing us in before we can escape. Go on,” she shooed, waving her hand. “We’ll be fine!”

The third beacon flared, sending its spear of blue light into the sky’s seething stomach. Selana whirled around, sweeping several Orrians off of the tower’s steps as she and Llumin descended. “One left,” the elementalist said hoarsely, steps faltering as the bloodslicked stone shone dully beneath her feet. Llumin caught her arm quickly, casting down a concealing line of magic that rendered them invisible long enough for them to reach the courtyard once more.
“How are we supposed to get there,” the mesmer wondered aloud, “when all of our defenders are either dead or helping the evacuees?”
“Did someone call for a genius or two?” Klixx’s confident voice was punctuated by Khimma’s battle-cry as, enveloped in her companion’s electrical haze, she leapt whirling through the air and landed with a thunderous crash among the foes in front of the mesmer and elementalist. Selana’s tired smile strengthened.
“You two are godsends.”
“We know,” Khimma grinned, puffing a strand of hair from her face again. “Now let’s light that last beacon and get out of here!”
“We’re not giving up,” Llumin said quietly, blue eyes glowing in the dusky shadows of oncoming night. “We will push the Dragon’s forces out once more.”
“Later,” Klixx encouraged, roasting several undead who had gotten too close for comfort. “First the signal. We have to warn the city.”

Chapter 40a:

A hand gripped her shoulder, and in her haze, Myrie briefly struggled to throw it off.
“Myrie, snap out of it! We need to light the beacons!”
“No! He’s still up there – got to get him – ”
“Myrie!” The mesmer’s voice echoed in her mind. Her gaze cleared, focusing on the face in front of her.
“Gryphon! I thought you were – ”
“We’re all going to be dead unless those signal flares are lit. Where’s Commander Talon?”
“Still guarding the gate, last I saw. Trahearne looked like he was carrying someone back from the beach.”
Gryphon’s lips flattened. “A near-casualty to Commander Talon’s hubris. We need to let him know to give the order to retreat.”

The charr stood by, guarding the gate. His frenzied gaze darted from one undead to another as he barked out commands to his splintering forces. Upon seeing the thief and lord heading his way, a wild smile tore across his face.
“How stand the beaches?” he asked. There was no fear in his voice; only the triumphant bloodlust of a victorious gladiator.
“Fallen, sir,” Gryphon replied, storm-blue gaze snapping with cold fury. “And a lot of good men with them. We must give the signal to retreat.”
“Retreat?” Talon’s snarl was flecked with foam. “You think that one paltry lieutenant will make me turn back? Claw Island has stood firm for almost a century! No beast will change that. We will fight to the last man, to the last body, to the – !”
The dragon at the wall thrashed. A heavy stone was rent from its holding and sent hurtling through the air. Before they could react, it had already plummeted like a meteor and torn through Watch Commander Talon’s armor like wet paper, ripping through his side and throwing him on the ground. Some of the Lionguard noticed and rushed to their fallen leader. “Stay back,” he snarled, clutching a clawed hand to the gaping wound. Forgal was among those who had returned.
“You’ll survive, you old coot,” he growled. He knelt to help the charr to his feet. “Three of the Orders’ finest representatives are here. We can get you to – ”
“Enough. Soldiers don’t need lies, Warmaster.” Talon coughed, blood staining the already slick floor. “I’ve wasted enough lives on them. Lionguard!” Those present stood at attention, forming a protective phalanx around the fallen commander. “This is your final order – aid our allies and protect them. We must light the beacons. Claw Island falls today, but we cannot let Lion’s Arch crumble as well. Send these hellspawn back to the depths!”

And here I thought you needed a permit to be that adorable! You’ve got an amazing talent~! Keep up the fantastic work!

~S.F.

Chapter 39c:

Selana’s hopes for respite upon entering were shattered. The central plaza was a battlefield. Khimma and Klixx battled alongside the battered Lionguard forces with all of their might against the increasing might of the Orrian hordes.
“It’s no use!” the guardian cried, blue bangs plastered to her pale skin. “They just keep coming!”
“We need to get out of here,” Klixx agreed, sending an earth spike through the chest of an oncoming foe. The undead merely staggered back and glowered down at him, pulling out the stone shard and raising it to strike against him. A dagger sliced through the air and cut its throat before it could attack.
“Selana,” Myrie shouted, “where’s Gryphon?”
“He’s still on the trebuchets,” the elementalist replied. Glancing at Llumin with a brief nod, the elementalist cast down a line of fire. The mesmer warped space itself as she leapt across the blazing barrier, surrounding herself and her illusions in a corona of flame. When they shattered in a confusing array, the undead she had been fighting clawed at their faces, howling with rage before falling into a stinking pile.
“We can’t keep up like this,” the thief panted, glancing around her uneasily. “Something big is coming, and even Talon won’t possibly be able to deny that we need to get out of here.”
“Don’t count on that,” Sylfia growled, nocking a double set of flaming arrows to her bow. Her aim was true, sending two lesser undead to the ground with arrows bristling from their heads. “Nothin’ short of the Dragon itself will cause that bleedin’ furball to retreat.”
An ominous cloud darkened the already-stormy sky and blotted out the sun. Slowly, with great deliberation, it turned and descended towards Claw Island. Myrie’s eyes widened. This was no minor undead.
“I think something’s coming that’ll change his mind.”
“By the Six,” Selana breathed, face paling. “It’s heading to the wall.”
“It’s going to take out the cannonry,” Myrie whispered. Her throat plummeted. “Gryphon! Oh, gods, he’s still there! Gryphon, get back,” she screamed, boots snapping on the hard stone floor. The mesmer still stood firm on the parapets, firing one last shot before dismounting and staggering back, staring defiantly at the bullet-shaped, rotten head and its soulless gaze. Undead wings thrashed the air as a draconic creature gave a shrieking roar, landing heavily and stumbling forward.
Myrie’s heartbeat thundered in her throat and her mouth went dry as, with a crashing blow from its merciless talons, it tore through the only thing holding back the unstoppable forces of Zhaitan – and the very wall on which Gryphon still stood. The roiling cloud of dust obscured his form from sight, and Myrie, despite her survival instincts, ran towards the beast that roared with all the rage and triumph of the ever-hungering grave.

I didn’t have much time, but I decided to sketch up some Valentines for some of the leading ladies of TC.

Have any others you’d want to see? Let me know either here or on my tumblr!

Of course I see this after I spend an unholy amount of gold just to craft another piece of ascended armor.

I’ll keep this in mind as I rebuild my funds; your art is lovely!

~S.F.

Chapter 39b:

Her life flashed in a blur. The vines that wrapped around her frail body, the strange sleep that left her with a new body, a new name – and not one memory of her sister, the only remaining family she knew she had. Consciousness fled her grasp like a hunted stag. She could sleep no longer; Claw Island was at risk. She had been weak long enough. Finally, with a gasp, Llumin’s eyes snapped open. One word – a desperate cry for help, for hope, for confirmation – burst from her cracked lips.
“Selana!”

From atop the cannon wall, a glowing ball of flaming pitch was sent hurtling back into the Dead Ships. Gryphon’s blue gaze did not falter as he sent his deadly hail upon the increasing foes. Sylfia bashed back the oncoming hordes, showing little sign of slowing. “Oi think they ain’t exactly gettin’ any fewer in number!” the sylvari barked, striking a grasping ghoul with enough force to send its sodden head flying from its soggy body. “We really ought to consider a retreat! Light the beacons and whatnot!”
Selana’s grim smile was illuminated by the blazes which ignited the undead. “Try telling that to Talon.”
“Oh, Oi’ve got some very choice words for our furball-in-command,” the sylvari growled. She kicked another undead down the stairs, sending it crashing into its brethren. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. “Did you ‘ear that? Sounded like a cry or somefin’.” Yet when she looked behind her to where the elementalist was, Sylfia found the human nowhere in sight. She stumbled over to the wall and glanced over. The noblewoman was enveloped in an electric haze as she raced down to the beach. The warrior ran a hand down her face. “Bloody fleshbag’s gonna get ‘erself killed…” she muttered. “Gryphon! Oi’m headin’ down there to make sure Selana doesn’t get any idears of noble sacrifice!”
The cords of the trebuchet gave a low thrum as they were released. “Go quickly!” he ordered. “There are more ships on the horizon! Get her and get back to the fort!”

Selana was uncaring of the grasping, snarling undead around her. With arcane fire and bolts of lightning, she raced down the beach. Her ears had not fooled her; the zephyrs had carried one word, one single whisper, across the chaotic field of battle. Her name.
“Llumin! Llumin, can you hear me?” Her voice was ragged with worry. She knew sylvari could not be corrupted if killed; small comfort to a woman whose sister must only now have remembered her. “Llumin, gods, please! Where are you?”
A feeble illusion flickered, and around its blurred lines, the graceful form of Llumin could be seen, crumpled on the beach and shuddering to hold on.
“Hang on; I see you! Just hold on!”
“Oh, thank the Tree,” the mesmer whispered, laughing. “I thought you wouldn’t hear me.”
“The winds tell me things sometimes,” Selana replied. Holding her hand just above the sylvari, she concentrated and sent a stream of healing magic cascading down upon her wounds. In time, she stood again, sword and torch back in hand.
“Selana, I think – ”
“Not now; we have to focus on getting back to the fort.”
The task seemed easier said than done; although it was nothing short of a miracle that had enabled Llumin’s revival, the Orrians were not so considerate as to allow for an unhindered return. “I hope you’re still prepared to fight,” Selana said, switching to her earth attunement.
Llumin gave her a sidelong smile. “They may have given me a few knocks about the head, but I’m more than willing to return the favor.”
They braced themselves for the inevitable combat and rushed back towards the fort. Despite their efforts, however, there was no denying the Risen. Although they had been focusing on the fort, with the flanking attack of the human and sylvari, the undead had slowly turned their attention back towards them. Selana felt a cold stab of fear as their foes, with impossibly high numbers, began to charge.
“Balthazar, give me strength,” the elementalist whispered, grasping her weapons more tightly. “Send your avenging warriors to help us.”
At that moment, the most unusual of answers arrived for Selana’s prayers. Illuminated from behind and descending upon the foes with all the wrath of a drunken meteor, Sylfia had leapt from around a parapet and crashed into the undead swarms like one of the gods’ most inebriated avengers.
“Oi go in a coma for three months,” she snarled, kicking an undead out of her way, “and wot do I come back to?” Another foe went flying aside as her hammer of Ascalonian stone helped it discover the limitations of gravity. “You two are goin’ on suicide missions! Now get yer petal-headed backsides back in the fort before Oi kick you in there myself!” Punctuating this statement with a final headbutt that sent a Risen abomination staggering back, she wrenched open the gate doors and practically shoved the other women inside.

Chapter 39a:

There was a song being sung to her. She was very young, very different from how she remembered herself. Llumin blinked, her mind’s eye showing her an impossible scene. She was an infant – a human infant – with a family. A mother, beautiful and strong, and a father, protective and handsome. They seemed sad, though, inexplicably sad, as if she was dying. She wasn’t dying, was she? Yet Llumin felt an echo of something in her chest; a tightness that spoke of ancient magics which grasped her heart and lungs with malice and promised only death and agony to herself and those around her. Her infant self opened pale, pale lips and let out a feeble cry. Her mother hushed her soothingly, smoothing down wispy hair that seemed to float on her fair skin like morning mist. Her father picked her up from her crib, a mahogany piece that was ornately-wrought and crafted with skill and love, and began to sing again. The words were clearer this time. She realized that it was a prayer to the gods for an impossible miracle, and an anthem of acceptance for the worst which loomed over them like a Reaper’s scythe.
“Slumber deep in dreamless sleep,” her father’s voice, a quavering tenor, sang. “O innocent child, o’er you I’ll keep a vigilant watch throughout the night. I’ll watch, and set your fears to flight.” He gently rocked her, setting her in her mother’s arms. Llumin watched with a dawning sense of unease as the human woman smiled; her tearful face seemed like a farewell.
“Upon awake, for Dwayna’s sake,” she sang. “O rested soul, Grenth shall not take, and with the final crack of dawn – ” The noblewoman’s voice caught as the infant in her arms raised a tiny hand to weakly hold onto her fingers. She bowed her head to the child, pressing a delicate kiss on its sickly head. Llumin’s fingers traced her own forehead as the woman finished her prayer. “And with the final crack of dawn, no fearful dreams to dwell upon.”
“Mama?” A young voice – a child’s voice – came from below. Llumin focused, sending her gaze down from the image of the mother and baby to the new speaker. A head of fiery hair gleamed up at her. “Is Sissy going to be okay?”
“Selana, I thought you were in bed,” the woman said. She tried to clear her voice, but there was still a hint of unsteadiness. She handed the baby back to her husband and dabbed at the trails of tears still tracing down her cheeks. “Llumin will be fine. We were just singing her a lullaby.”
“She’s not been sleeping very well, has she?” Serious blue eyes peered up from a round, pale face, intense as the moon. Young Selana seemed far too new to the world to wear a gaze so grim. “Daddy, what’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he murmured, setting the infant down. “Lord Radwing is coming tomorrow. He says there may be one last solution.”
“Dwayna bless her and Grenth guide her,” Lady Firestone whispered. “Now, is there something you’d like? A glass of water?”
The small head of fire nodded. “Can I give baby Llumin a goodnight kiss?” she asked shyly. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the life that struggled to hold on in its mahogany crib. “It might make her feel better.”
Arcon gave a low, sad laugh. “Sure, little Ember. Here.” He picked up the girl and bent her towards the restless infant, who stared up at her older sister with a wondering gaze. “Goodnight, Llumin,” she whispered, giving her a kiss on her nose. The baby wrinkled its face. “Sleep well.”
“And now it’s time for little girls like you to be off to bed,” Dierdre said. Grabbing a nearby pewter cup, she held it towards her husband. He shook his head. “Why don’t we let Selana try this time?” He gave his wife a meaningful look. Llumin knew this was an attempt to distract the child from… She peered into the crib; even though the infant was resting, there was a very unsettling case of déjà vu that passed through her mind. Her oncoming death. The thought was strange. She turned to focus back to the family in front of her. A shadow loomed in the light of the pale moon; the pewter cup clanged to the floor, half-filled with elemental water that splashed darkly on the stone floor.
“There’s no time.”
“Gryphon, what – ?”
“Arcon, Dierdre, take Llumin and come with me. If we’re going to do this, we must act now. Leave Selana with Samuel.”
“No! I’m coming!”
“Selana – ”
“She can come. But we must hurry to the Grove; the Pale Tree says that the moon will help us, but we must go and arrive there this hour. Come on; we have guards and Shining Blade outside to escort us safely. Captain Thackeray has assured me that there will be no chance of an ambush.”

Chapter 38c:

Mira was found facedown at the beach, surrounded by watchful Risen.
“They must’ve known we’d come for her,” Llumin grunted. She had switched to her staff and was leaping around, dodging the swiping claws and crushing blows of the Orrians in bursts of colorful illusion. A conjured warlock joined its sister phantasms and charged towards a brutish Risen charr, shattering in shards of butterflies sharp as knives.
“There’s an opening!” she shouted. “Take her and go!”
Trahearne swept in and scooped the unconscious Lionguard up in his arms. As he concentrated, bandages sprouted from his arms and enveloped her fully. He started running back towards the fort, feet skiffing in the wet sand. Llumin continued her defense, shattering illusions and slicing limbs as they started returning towards the building. As she backed up, her ankle caught on a piece of driftwood. She landed heavily with a cry of surprise. Trahearne stopped, half-turning.
“Valiant!”
“Go! Just keep going! I cannot be corrupted! Get back to the fort!” A risen asura snarled, turning towards her with sharp teeth dripping seafoam and blood. She readied her weapon and punched a gaping hole in its sodden skull, sending rotten brains splattering on the beachfront. She braced herself with her staff, standing unsteadily. As she glanced up through slit eyes, a hammer descended from above. Time seemed to slow as she raised her staff to parry, and to her horror, she watched as it splintered before its blow, sending sparks of magic fluttering through the air. She staggered back, switching to her sword and torch. An undead human roared, sending its brine-dripping sword through the air towards her stomach. Her breath caught, yet as she closed her eyes to accept her fate, a dull blue mist solidified into a humanoid shape. A ghost? The spectre – a man, from the looks of it – turned back to her – no, he was looking over her – as he shouted.
“Dierdre,” it bellowed, eyes blazing. “Keep her safe! I’ll make sure they can’t get her.”
The female ghost – Dierdre – nodded, hands enveloped in ghostly flame. Were these Ascalonians? No, they seemed too sane, too … human to be like those maddened spectral shells. Llumin’s mind, no longer certain of reality, failed her. She collapsed, unknowing, on the beach.

Chapter 38b:

Commander Mira was nowhere to be found. When Trahearne and Llumin arrived, they found the asura fighting back-to-back against pockets of Risen and Nettle closer to the front with the few Lionguard who remained standing.
“Where’d the commander go?” Trahearne barked. He sent a surge of power from Caladbolg. Llumin concentrated energy through her sword and leapt through the wave, leaving an illusion behind, driving her sword through the chest of an undead in front of her, and becoming briefly enveloped in an aura of light. She whirled around, parrying the descending hammer of an undead charr barely in time to keep it from crushing her skull. Khimma gave a cry, and Klixx acted quickly, shooting a lightning bolt through its chest and sending the corpse shuddering and screeching to the dark-stained sand. “Thanks,” Llumin panted. Klixx nodded, and Khimma hurtled through the air and pasted an undead grub into pulp.
“The commander was down at the beachfront last we saw,” the guardian panted. “She tried buying her troops some time…”
“Keep the rest of the Lionguard safe and start heading back towards the fort,” Llumin ordered. Even as she spoke, the water was birthing more horrors. The sea of undead seemed endless. “We cannot possibly hope to fight this many undead – not now.” The asura nodded.
“You might not be able to get Nettle out of the fighting,” Klixx wheezed. Blood dribbled over one of his eyes, which was squeezed shut. “That insane woman is bound to get herself killed.”
“No sweat off of my back,” Khimma muttered. “Hold still; you’ve got a cut over your eye.”
“I’ll be fine; you work on getting the troops back here and I’ll work with the ones up front.”
“Just move,” Llumin snapped. “We’ll be heading down to the beaches to see if we can find Mira; you worry about the guards and your own hides.”
A glimmer of protective magic faded from Klixx’s eyes, which glowed with renewed fury. “You’ve got it; just remember, Scholar, that we have our own men along the beaches.”
“I’ll remember. Now go!”

Nettle was fighting with relentless fury at the beachfront. She moved and weaved through the undead like a thread of death itself; everything she touched died in agony, blood and curses stealing the life or semblance of life from those around her.
“Get back or get with us,” Llumin ordered. “The Risen are only growing in force. Where’s Mira?”
Nettle gave a grunt as she repositioned her grip on her dagger. “The human woman is as good as dead; her body fell by the sea.”
“And you left her?” Trahearne blasted another undead with the glowing blade; Nettle gave him a look of contempt.
“The humans live and die and are corrupted. What use is one more dead?”
His lips curled. “Get back and help the rest at the fort; you’re no use here.”
Her smile was cold, and she gave a mocking bow as she plunged her dagger into the rotten guts of an undead behind her. “As you wish, Firstborn,” she hissed. With Adam clutched firmly in her bone-white hands, she scythed a path back towards Fort Trinity. Trahearne’s face was grim. “Mira still lives, though her life-force is weak.” He parried a Risen’s strike, and Llumin used the opportunity to have her sword blossom from its chest.
“Lead on,” she said, breathing heavily.
“Just watch your back,” he answered. The undead burned and were painted across the seething sea.

Chapter 38a:

Watch Commander Talon laughed as the adventurers returned from their skirmish on the beaches. “See,” he roared, “nothing to worry about!”
“It was a feint! They’re testing your skills,” Trahearne huffed, golden eyes glowing in the setting sun. Overhead, sickly yellow clouds whirled with an ashy miasma. “Look! Does this seem like a normal windstorm to you?”
“We’re on the seafront,” the charr snarled. “It will take more than a freak storm to convince me that there’s anything wrong.”
“Then you’d better prepare to come crying to us with apologies,” Khimma snapped, sharp teeth flashing. “Because there are more undead coming, and I don’t think I’d want to bet Lion’s Arch against your arrogant miscalculations!”
Klixx crossed his arms. “You have two elementalists here. Both are saying that this storm is unnatural. What does that say about your own competence?”
The charr’s eyes bulged, and if the asura hadn’t taken that opportunity to dash off to the beach with Nettle, Myrie had little doubt that Talon would have thrown them out of the gates right then and there. “Lord Radwing, I do hope you’re prepared to rein in your companions.”
“With all due respect, Watch Commander,” he replied, though Myrie saw that he was struggling to squash a smirk, “if you’ve ever been around Khimma and Klixx, you’ll know that such a request is impossible.”
Talon’s tail thrashed. “Well, make it possible! They’re unnerving my regiments!”
“If your overconfidence is so blinding,” Selana’s voice came from behind Myrie with the cold force of an icy current, “then your troops would be better taking their chances in the sea.”
“We have undead swim in all the time!”
“But it will be nothing like what is on its way,” Myrie said flatly. “Can’t you see that?”
Talon growled, turning to Forgal. “Forgal! Do you really allow such talk in the Vigil?”
The norn crossed his arms. “We Vigil are trained to sight and slay threats; if they say there’s a threat – and one which is backed up by two other orders, to boot – then we are compelled by our oaths to see this out. We can apologize later.”
Myrie felt a surge of appreciation for the old warmaster. She didn’t have long to dwell on this, though; a scream from the cannonry drew the attention of all nearby.
“Sir! There are dead ships on the horizon! Everyone, brace yourselves; they’re firing on our – !”
A rotten wave of bloated corpses descended from above, exploding in putrid clouds of poison. The head cannoneer on duty watched in horror as his fellow Lionguard – those who had failed to dodge in time – fell to their knees, gasping and vomiting as the noxious fumes wound into their lungs and choked the life from their unsuspecting bodies. Talon recovered quickly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed. “Return fire on their ships!”
“Sir, they’ve taken out several of our trebuchets and cannons! We can try recovering, but the risk – ”
“To Mists with the risk!” He whirled around, facing the Knights of Gryphon. “You said you’re here to help? Well here’s your chance.” He thrust a finger at the walls. “Go help defend the trebuchets! And the rest of you head down to the beaches! Three of your members won’t be enough if there are undead ships at our necks!”
Trahearne’s face was grim. “I’ll head there.”
Llumin drew her staff. “I’ve got your back.”
The mesmer and necromancer ran off to join the asura and Nettle down at the beach. Selana glanced down at Myrie, who looked at Gryphon and Forgal before nodding. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 37d:

Nettle’s nose was in the air shortly after their meeting with the Lionguard in charge of the catapults, trebuchets, and cannonry; an asura who reassured them all that their significant firepower would drive any foe away.
“Some of these have helped keep up almost one hundred years of protection,” he declared proudly, patting a cannon as if it was a prizewinning racehorse. “There’s no way that Watch Commander Talon will let any dragon take that from him.”
“That’s what we’re concerned about,” Myrie muttered as she walked away. She glanced over at the pale necromancer, whose mouth was slightly ajar and whose nostrils were quivering. “Okay, I know you can be odd, but what on earth are you doing?”
Nettle’s tongue traced over her lips. “Tasting. There’s magic brewing here; rotten, old, and powerful.” Her eyes glittered unpleasantly. “I wonder what the blood of a dragon tastes like.”
“Well, don’t get eager,” the thief said uneasily, carefully putting some distance between herself and the sylvari. “We don’t even know if we’ll be able to take it out, much less acquire blood from it.” She gave her a quizzical look. “Why do you even want to try tasting Zhaitan’s blood? That stuff’s probably disgusting.”
Nettle turned her round-eyed gaze on her. “Why not? There’s power in blood; old magics, history, vitality.” She smiled, sending chills down Myrie’s spine. “I will taste the blood of dragons. I want that power.” She laughed at the thief’s horrified expression. “Oh, don’t worry; I can’t harm you or any of your allies. I’m still at Gryphon’s disposal.” At that, her lips twisted in disgust.
“How unfortunate,” Myrie said flatly. She blatantly ignored Nettle’s prickling glare at her back as she dashed down to the beaches.

Selana seemed to be in a similar situation as Myrie and Nettle. Her blue gaze snapped with frustration as she struggled to keep her voice calm.
“Commander Mira,” she said evenly, “I have no doubt as to the prowess and skill of your forces; however, that is not what we are concerned with.”
Trahearne, who managed to somehow stand slightly taller than the human, continued more firmly. “Twenty-five years I have studied these creatures; I can assure you that if there was ever a sign of impending attack, this is it. Three scouting parties and their guards are nothing to dismiss. If you want to follow your leader to his death and doom the rest of the city, be my guest, but if you have any ideas of survival, I cannot recommend enough that you shore up what defenses you have and prepare to light the beacons.”
The Lionguard faltered before shaking her head and returning his look. “Firstborn Trahearne, I understand your concern, and Lady Firestone, you must remember that this is not Divinity’s Reach. I know that novels about Orrian attacks sell quite well at the city, but this is the frontline. We have prepared for and encounter skirmishes with almost daily occurrence.”
“This won’t be a skirmish,” Llumin cried, “it will be a slaughter!”
“We have drills to continue,” Mira said coolly. “If you’re done pestering me, I ought to continue with my regiment.”

Gryphon rejoined them by the gate from the beach back to the main part of the fort. “How did it go?”
Selana stalked by him, her flaming hair blazing in the light of a setting sun. “The Lionguard are totally incompetent.”
“Overconfident is more like it,” Llumin said, sighing. She gave Selana an apologetic glance. “It was quite rude of her to assume that you’re just another secluded noble out for a romp.”
“I’m used to that by now,” the elementalist replied, inhaling slowly. “It’s the blatant dismissal of facts from not only three Orders, but also the foremost student of Orr, which irritates me so much. Are they so desperate to keep their perceived safety that they will sacrifice the city’s survival?”
Trahearne’s low voice slid in to the conversation. “It’s not surprising. A century’s worth of security is a victory of its own; giving it up is tantamount to admitting that there is little hope against the Orrian Dragon.”
“But there is hope,” Llumin declared, looking in turn at those around her. “The fact that we’ve seen the Dragon’s leaders and survived – the fact that we even were able to notice its oncoming attack before its arrival – those are worth something, aren’t they?”
Gryphon smiled. “Of course they are. And we’ll stand and fight even if the Lionguard have to take a few hits to snap out of their delusion.”
Myrie grinned. “Well, if they won’t prepare, then I recommend we get in our positions. We don’t know when – ”
“Undead at the beach!” a scout shouted. “We have Orrians swarming at the fronts!”
“That’s our cue,” Khimma said grimly, drawing her hammer. Klixx summoned his winds. “Let’s show those stubborn Lionguard what we can do!”
“Or how to die with honor,” Trahearne said coolly. Caladbolg gleamed in his hands. “Let’s move.”

Chapter 37c:

“What is going on here?” A brown-furred, gold-armored charr stalked towards the group, glowering fiercely. “I do hope you all aren’t tourists. If you’ve nothing better to do, move along; we Lionguard must maintain constant vigilance against the dragon’s attacks.”
“We’re not tourists,” Khimma said, although her voice sounded slightly defensive. The warrior raised an eyebrow, several of his overhanging fangs shining in the light of the setting sun.
“Then what are you doing here, sharkrat? You and your companions are interfering with our training regiments.”
Khimma’s jaw dropped. “Sharkrat?” she shrieked. “You incoherent, skritt-brained bookah, I could kill you with my brain! Why don’t you – ” Myrie, sensing the building tension, stepped forward between the two with weapons drawn, preparing for the confrontation to get physical. Yet as soon as she stepped out, Gryphon extended his hand.
“Gryphon Radwing,” he declared, shaking the charr’s clawed paw. “It is an honor to meet you, Commander Talon.”
The charr blinked in confusion before he visibly puffed out his chest. “Why, yes, I’m sure it is. I’ve been commanding this post for nearly twenty years now. Claw Island has stood firm for nearly a century against any and all attacks.”
“It’s about to stand significantly less-firm,” Selana stated coldly, stepping aside Gryphon. “We in the Order of Whispers have noticed a fair-sized scouting party hidden below the hideaway in the Captain’s Corridor bar.”
“Hideaway? What — ?”
“There’s more,” Llumin said, glancing at the elementalist and hesitating. “Seiran and I rescued one of our contacts from the dragon’s minons and found a similar situation.”
“Well, one or two scouts can’t possibly be much of a hazard…”
“Commander Talon, this is no coincidence,” Forgal said, crossing his arms. “Because not only have the Priory and Whispers found scouts, but we have as well.”
The charr seemed to pale beneath his fur. “Blood and gears,” he swore. His brow creased, and he shook his head. “No,” he said softly, then more loudly, “No. We cannot let this island fall. Scouts be cursed, there is no way they can take this island. I will not let almost one hundred years of defense be ruined by a few sodden corpses’ wanderings into the city.”
“Wanderings?” Llumin cried, eyes widening in rage and shock. “You think these were all random wanderings? Three scouts and their defensive parties suddenly show up in Lion’s Arch within mere days or even hours of each other. Even a simple student would be able to see – ”
“Claw Island will not fall!” the charr roared, whirling on her. “We are fully reinforced and prepared for any attacks. Go check with my commanding officers on the walls and on the beaches. You’ll see. We have nothing to fear.”

Chapter 37b:

“Gryphon! What did you do to your hair?”
The mesmer rolled his eyes. “‘Nice to see you, Gryphon. Thank you for taking care of my parents and making sure Nettle hasn’t eaten us all while you were gone.’ The first thing you mention is my hair?” He let out a whooph as the tiny thief rocketed into his abdomen with a hug.
“Yes, yes, all of that and thank you,” she said, stepping back and grinning. “But seriously, what did you do to it? It looks like someone took a rust-colored squid and draped it on your head!”
“I take it you don’t like it?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. Myrie’s face scrunched.
“No,” she replied flatly. “And please don’t take hair advice from the asura ever again.”
“How did you kn- ”
“I see that we have quite a group here,” a bemused voice interrupted. Llumin smiled.
“Trahearne! And here I thought you were going to stay behind in that lab with your projects.”
The necromancer gave a rueful smile. “I did say that I would come, didn’t I? A Firstborn is always true to his promise.”
Myrie glanced at Selana, who seemed to be not quite pleased with the exchange. “What’s up?” she asked, sliding next to her. “Has Llumin remembered —?”
“No.” The elementalist’s voice was icy. “Llumin remembers nothing about her past or birth. Although her interest in human culture has increased since Nettle interfered with her, she still fails to realize who I am.”
Myrie gave her a sympathetic smile. “Give it time. You magic-users seem to have a weird way of sorting things out.”
“Trahearne has been helping her,” she said stiffly.
Myrie looked at her suspiciously. “And?”
Selana’s gaze bored into the back of his head. “They’ve gotten close. I don’t like it. Who does he think he is?”
“Well, I’m sure he knows – ”
“Trahearne is in no way worthy of my sister,” Selana hissed, her gaze snapping with sparks. “I don’t care how well they seem to get along, if that overpompous cabbage tries anything…”
“Selana, I think you’re over-reacting,” Myrie whispered frantically, motioning for her to keep her voice down while gripping onto the taller woman’s wrist. “Trahearne is a Dusk bloom, just like Llumin. I’m certain that their mutual interests in dragons and magic naturally brought them closer. And I’m positive that neither of them are actually perceptive enough towards these kinds of things to actually recognize their compatibility for attraction.”
“Llumin has never stated her attraction towards anyone!” Selana’s voice was a hushed snap. “And she is only worth of someone who will be able to protect her; not some holed-up, mopey salad who still doubts his abilities and duty.”
“You’re judging him too harshly; you’ve hardly been around him,” Myrie said soothingly. “And I’ve heard he’s quite powerful as a necromancer, but don’t forget that Llumin is hardly a pushover. Even in the Vigil we’ve heard that her strength in illusions has increased drastically. I doubt that she’ll be some ‘damsel in distress.’ After all,” she said, nudging the taller woman, “she’s related to you.”

Chapter 37a:

Although they had expected the usual crew of Lionguard and its patrols, when the Vigil approached the gates of the high stone castle, they saw some familiar faces.
“Selana!” Myrie shouted, a grin splitting her face. “It’s been a while!”
“It has, hasn’t it?” the elementalist smiled. “I trust that you’ve been keeping Sylfia out of trouble?”
“Nope,” the sylvari slurred, beaming blearily. “Jus’ got drunk again. Been a while, so Oi’m a bit more watery on my legs, but Oi’ll do.”
Forgal failed to squash the smirk quivering onto his whiskered face. “General Almorra was less than pleased to see that your companion here had drunk her finest, oldest, and most expensive bottle of brandy to its dregs. Frankly, I’m impressed she’s still standing.”
“Oi’ve handled more!”
“I’m saying that I’m impressed Almorra hasn’t kicked you off the fortress wall.”
Sylfia blinked. “Fair ‘nough.”
Nettle stalked up the path to the gates, her gaze briefly widening. “I was unaware that the warning of a single island included a welcoming party,” she mused. “Either way, there are more coming.”
“How many people are going to be here?” Khimma’s voice came from down below, and Myrie jumped aside to avoid stepping on her tiny silver golem, which had whirred too close to her boots for comfort. “Klixx and I were under the impression that this was a Priory mission!”
“Khimma, you and I have been holed in a magic-scented, highly-explosive test area for the past several days. If you really thought we’d be the only ones here, I suppose it means that those fumes finally got to your head.”
“They’d get to yours, too,” she retorted, sticking out her tongue.
“Please, there’s no need to argue,” Llumin’s voice echoed across the courtyard. With a shattering echo, the sylvari stood among the growing group, a smile on her lips. “We are all here to help, and from what Trahearne has told me, there is quite a bit of trouble to share.”
“She’s right.” Myrie’s head whipped around, and her gaze first went from confusion to joy before settling on horror.

Chapter 36a:

Sylfia barely had managed to break her sober spell before both her and her companions were ordered to Claw Island. Although the charr was exceedingly frustrated with the sylvari’s obvious inebriation and careless handling of a very old brandy, General Almorra merely grit her teeth, straightened her shoulders, and gave her the order.
“The faster we get the news out that there is an attack, the better,” the grizzled charr snarled. “Zhaitain cannot take Lion’s Arch! If it falls, there is no way we can guarantee the safety of the other major cities.”
Standing before the leader of the Vigil alongside her fellow warriors, Myrie’s thoughts instantly went to her parents; feeble, mad Lemuel, and her mother, the still-noble Lady Ward. Her fingers gripped tightly around her daggers’ pommels. No; the dragon would not touch them. Not while she drew breath.
They were directed to report to the general of the island’s barracks, another charr by the name of Talon. The Watch Commander, it was rumored, was known for his iron will – something which was both boon and frustration to his superiors and subordinates.
“Almost a century has passed since the island’s fortification,” Soulkeeper declared. “Talon will not be pleased to discover that his ‘century of peace’ will have to become a ‘nearly.’ Be prepared for some backlash, recruits,” she growled, shaking her head. “That young cur thinks with enough stubbornness and bravado, he can turn aside the sea. Let’s just ensure that his arrogance doesn’t end up with unnecessary deaths. Move out!”

What an amazingly well-written and tragic story. Terrifying and beautiful and heartrending all at once. Amazingly done.

Thank you for writing this.

~S.F.

Chapter 35d:

The water seethed and boiled with the frenzied combat below. Though her muscles were tired and her lungs ached for fresh air, the thief’s mouth was set in a grim line. If this many Lionguard had been killed and turned in such a short span of time, this appearance could only mean bad things for the city. There was no way they could let them aboveground. With aching bones and ragged lungs, the Vigil desperately fought against their underwater foes. They were at a disadvantage; the undead needed no waterbreathers to fight, and their flaccid corpses registered neither pain nor exhaustion. Fighting against the Risen in their own territory was like fighting the waves underwater. Yet with a desperate, frenzied determination, the warriors and thief managed to pike enough rotten heads and burst enough broken organs to ensure that their corrupted allies finally stayed dead, and they only prayed that their spirits were at rest from their tormented state. With its minions slain at last, the drake was the last to fall, and as it gave one last, burbling cry, a putrid cloud of poison escaped its maw, sullying the water with its inky blackness. The companions swam away from the carnage below, dodging severed, still limbs and detached heads as they sought still waters.
“That was no normal sortie,” Myrie panted, clasping a hand over her arm. “What kind of undead was that?”
“I’ve no clue.” Sylfia grit her teeth as she stowed her weapon and continued swimming towards the water’s surface. As the three broke the water, they dragged their tired bodies onto the slimy bricks, standing unsteadily. Forgal wrung water from his silver hair.
“That was a scouting party,” he said grimly, his voice brittle. “Zhaitan only sends those when it’s planning a major attack. Fort Concordia was a test of our strength in a smaller scale; if it can take Lion’s Arch, it won’t be so easy for us to send out reinforcements to its targets.”
Myrie’s stomach lurched. “So what you’re saying is…”
The norn’s scowl deepened. “We need to warn the Lionguard at Claw Island. Zhaitan is going to attack this city, and soon.”

Chapter 35c:

There were jellyfish in the sewers. Of all the things she had seen, Myrie had to admit that seeing those floating, almost-transparent creatures was on the list of the most unexpected. However, that was quickly replaced with surprise at how quickly the eerie animals, as if sensing her presence, pumped their bell-like bodies and lashed their tentacles towards her.
“Do they always act like this?” she yelped, her voice distorted by the aquabreather. Forgal gave a grunt as he slashed at a dodging animal.
“Hardly,” he replied. “Usually the jellies of Lion’s Arch are pretty calm.”
“Well, something’s got them worked up!”
From a few strokes down, Sylfia’s voice bubbled up. “I think I may have an idea of what that is.” She held her hand up, signaling for the others to slow down. After fighting off the remaining jellyfish, the norn and human swam alongside her. She gestured further down towards the sand-floored cave of black stone, from which a green glow was coming. “You see that?” she whispered, her raspy voice almost incomprehensible.
Behind his mask, Forgal’s eyes narrowed. “Recruits, this is no longer a search-and-rescue. Stay close behind, and try to be quiet.”

“There’s more bodies down here,” Myrie whispered softly, unease pricking the back of her neck. “It looks like these Lionguard were dragged down here…”
“And our scouts fared no better,” Sylfia hissed, glancing at a sodden corpse as it bobbed lifelessly by her. She switched from her spear to a harpoon gun. “Whatever’s in there is definitely no goldfish.”
The thief nodded mutely. Her gaze lingered on one of the mangled bodies as she swam by it, its twisted face and bloated skin staring at her like a horror-show mask. She shuddered and continued following Forgal towards the cavern. Readying her spear, she glided towards the cave’s front behind the warriors. A low, gurgling hiss came from within. Forgal beckoned to Sylfia, who nodded and followed him inside. Before she could drift further, he whipped a hand out, eyes bulging.
“Get back!”
With a popping bellow, the long-toothed maw of an undead drake surged out of the cavern’s entrance. Its rotten teeth crunched on a nearby stone instead of the sylvari it tried to crush. Still hissing, the green, glowing monstrosity lashed its bony tail and slashed at its swimming combatants. Myrie had switched back to her own harpoon gun, and she fired poisoned bolts at its soggy head. Propelled backwards by the force of its shots, she nearly didn’t notice when something latched onto her ankle. With a cry of surprise, she whirled around to see, to her horror, that the bodies of the slain Lionguard and Vigil were stirring – not with regained consciousness, but with a fierce, blind rage.
“They’ve been turned! Don’t hold back from killing them!” Myrie shouted, the realization freezing her blood.
Sylfia drove her spear into the drake’s side, releasing a dark cloud of rotten blood. The creature shrieked in rage, swatting the fiery warrior into the rocky walls. She gave a grunt of pain.
“Don’ worry ’bout me! I can’t be turned; fight for yourselves!”
“No can do, Recruit,” Forgal bellowed, impaling an undead Lionguard through her sodden skull. “We Vigil fight and die together!”

Pictured below: A shot of Myrie Ward before she realizes it’s never a good idea to start a snowball fight with an elementalist.

Chapter 35b:

The canals leading into the sewers were surprisingly spacious. Even Forgal, though he towered over both Sylfia and Myrie, had a few inches of headspace between his silver head and the dripping stone ceiling.
“What did I just step in?” Myrie asked uneasily.
“Probably bat droppings,” the norn replied, a hint of a chuckle at the edge of his voice. “Careful; they like to dive at humans best.”
Myrie gave him a sullen glare as she continued walking, scuffing her boot against the damp, worn bricks underfoot. A thin, murky stream flowed at the canal’s lowest point, dribbling in increasing depth and stench as the group traveled on.
“This is disgusting,” she muttered, swallowing her unease as a large rat skittered into the shadows nearby.
“You’re telling me that you’ve fought Risen, but a single rat unnerves you?” Forgal laughed. “You’re a strange one, Recruit.”
Sylfia drove her hammer through an attacking ooze which had slurped up from the ground below, sending red, gelatinous globs of the creature smacking onto the wet stone. “Wot’s truly disgustin’ are these things,” she grimaced. “Thinkin’ gunk? I’ll pass.”
Something glittered ahead; for some reason, Myrie thought it seemed a bit too humanoid in shape to be another ooze. The old norn seemed to notice it as well.
“Maybe that’s one of the survivors,” Myrie murmured. She switched to her daggers and crouched, tensing.
Forgal’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on, Recruit; we can’t charge in – ”
Yet Myrie had already run ahead, her rapid footfalls echoing in splashes behind her. The norn and sylvari were left behind; the former sputtered in irritation while the second only chuckled.
“I was afraid a few months in a coma would have seen her change,” Sylfia grinned, continuing her stride forward. “Glad ‘at’s not the case.” Her eyes flicked to the floor. “Oi, watch ou – !””
The warrior’s message of caution was swallowed by the sounds of several large, ominously-glowing oozes squelching up from the sewer floor. Myrie barely dodged one of the creature’s lunges and pushed off of the wall, kicking her heel into its “head” and splattering gelatinous material across the stone surrounding them.
“This is unusual,” Forgal growled, slicing the main body of one into several pieces with his sword. “Oozes usually don’t congregate unless there are high concentrations of magic or garbage they can eat. And since these ones seem particularly vicious, it’s reasonable to think that there’s lots of both.”
Myrie gave a grunt of agreement as she fired a shot into a nearby ooze. However, the creature slurped down into the tiles and squelched towards Sylfia instead, dodging the bullet. The warrior barely leapt away from the ricochet in time, firing a piercing glare at the thief as she brought an armored boot splotching through the glob. “Wotch it in ‘ere, fleshy! This ain’t Divinity’s Reach with its open streets!”
“Noted!” Myrie yelped, leaping over an ooze’s sticky swipe.
“I’ve got this one,” Forgal bellowed, plunging his blade through the gelatinous mass. With a strangely painful-sounding squeal, the creature bubbled and popped into a foul-looking yet otherwise harmless puddle. Myrie’s gaze returned to the stones below, and her stomach took another somersault.
“Do you see what I see?” she asked queasily. A half-submerged form bobbed sluggishly in the sewer’s water, followed shortly by another two leading further down the pipe.
“That explains the ooze concentration,” Sylfia grimaced. “Garbage indeed; these things have been feeding on corpses.”
“And they lead deeper into the grates,” Forgal growled. “These markings on the bodies don’t look like they were caused by what we just fought, so whatever killed them must be below us in the waterways.” He sheathed his weapon, pulled on an airbreather, and walked to the dropoff point from the stone and into the water below, diving beneath the swaying waters. Sylfia wrinkled her nose in his direction before pulling on her mask and following suit. Myrie was the last to dive, and as she did so, her fingers drifted to Quinn’s ring by her neck. Whatever was down there, she felt as though she could use any protection available. With each stroke of her legs, the lights from aboveground faded, and an eerie glow from beneath grew.

Chapter 35a:

Forgal Kernsson was a norn. More than that, he was an old, tough, scar-laden and muscle-bound norn who had little to no patience for backtalking, fooling around, or uncalculated risks. Naturally, the towering, cunning warrior believed that the short, impulsive human and the currently-sober sylvari were the least-suited for a reconnaissance job.
“Listen here, you punks,” he growled, “although I’m sure you’ve been filled in on the basics of the situation, what you are unaware of are the surroundings in which it is taking place.”
“It’s in Lion’s Arch; we’ve been there before,” Myrie said, tossing her pack over her shoulders. “It can’t be too bad, can it?”
He seemed to ignore the thief’s carefree question easily as he buckled on his greaves and finished swiping his whetstone against his sword. Having ensured the blade’s sharpness was satisfactory, he secured it in its sheath next to an ornately-carved warhorn.
“What we are about to explore are the canals and sewers below the city, where a co-operation of Lionguard and Vigil work to ensure that not even an undead shrimp gets past the grates. Contrary to the myths, there are no giant goldfish down there, although you may find the occasional skritt or ooze.”
“We can deal with those,” Sylfia grunted, testing her hammer’s weight. Tensing her arms, she rammed the stone head into a nearby dummy, sending sawdust and broken pieces of hay fluttering into the air. “Still got it,” she muttered triumphantly. Forgal’s nose barely twitched as a fragment of straw landed in his beard’s moustache.
“This is not a mission to be taken lightly,” he growled. “An entire squadron of Lionguard and Vigil have gone missing in the past couple of weeks, and it seems like even our contact failed to escape whatever danger befell the rest of his group. Although skritt have been the reason behind the disappearance of maybe one or two unfortunate civilians, to lose as many people as we have seems to point to a larger, more serious threat. We are to find and destroy whatever has been causing this to happen.”
“How hard could it be?” Myrie’s gaze flicked from her pistol’s sights to that of the norn warrior. Forgal glowered down at her, a cynical smile on his weathered face.
“Oh, you’ll see, runt. You’ll see.”

Chapter 34b:

The Vigil’s headquarters was nothing short of a massive military fortress. Although the Priory certainly had their defensive points due to the fact that it was built in and on one of the larger mountains in the Shiverpeaks, it could not boast the armaments which dotted the Vigil’s sturdy, reinforced walls, nor would the air have rung out with the shouts of training regiments and the hissing of cooled steel as the fortress continued its armaments and weapons-crafting.
“Been a while since I’ve been here,” Myrie noted, pulling her shoulder back to dodge a young recruit running by. “I forgot how busy it is.”
“You’ve been spoil’d by trav’ling with Selana and krewe, Oi think,” Sylfia chuckled. “Now you’ve got to get used to the din of battle again.”
“Oh, we had our fair share of fights,” Myrie replied, nodding at a soldier who smiled in greeting. “And I’m sure you won’t be wanting to sleep after that comfy rest of yours.”
The sylvari’s face soured, and her eyes glittered. “Lis’en, you try being burned alive – for what is the second time in your life, I might add – and not be sent inter’ a coma. Oi would’ve much rather been out smashing faces with you lot than wrapped up in those vines for however long it was.” Her tone turned accusatory. “And Oi ‘eard you went to Hoelbrak and didn’t even get me a drink!”
“To be fair, we didn’t know if you were even going to survive at that point,” Myrie huffed. “Say nothing about you being functional past a vegetative state.”
The warrior paused, turned her gaze down to the human, and arched an eyebrow. “Oi want you to think about what you said very slowly,” she drawled. Myrie’s lips flattened into a line.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that! I wasn’t intending it to be an insult,” she muttered, ears burning.
The warrior waved her hand dismissively. “You can repay me in ale when we get to the recreational room.” Her face brightened with a grin. “Or Blood Legion whiskey! That’s the good stuff.”
“I thought you said that norn ales were the best.”
“If it’s in my mug or in my mouth, that is the most won’erful brew you can get,” she replied, swaggering towards a door in the upper level of the fort. As she opened it, ushering Myrie inside, the thief gave a low bark of laughter.
“Sorry, but I value what little funds I have left; if you want a drink, buy it yourself.”
Sylfia chuckled as she closed the door behind them. “Cheapskate.”

“Attention, soldiers!” The commanding bark of General Almorra Soulkeeper banished any further conversation once the door had been shut. “Although I know you would love to dwell on the pleasantries, as you know, war is anything but. The recent success of the retrieval of Calabolg to the Pale Tree was a stunning accomplishment. And I believe we have you, Crusader Ward, to thank for that. Although I still don’t know why you didn’t decide to fight Waine yourself instead of allowing a Priory Magister into the field…”
“It was her responsibility. The sylvari’s connection to the sword is stronger than ours; Llumin seemed to be the better candidate than I did.”
“Hrm.” The old charr narrowed her eyes, the dust-colored fur around her face bristling by the short horns on her chin and jaw. “You acted with honor, recruit. I suppose that will excuse your behavior for now.”
Myrie bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You can thank me if you can help with finding our missing contact,” the general growled. “We had been having him keep an eye on the channels in Lion’s Arch, and we haven’t heard from him in several weeks. That is much longer than what is expected from a simple patrol duty, so we are sending both you and Sylfia with Warmaster Forgal Kernsson to find out what has happened to him. You will be allowed two days’ rest beforehand. After that, pack your gear and head out. Understood?”
The sylvari and human both saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”

Chapter 34a:

Shortly after awakening from her cocoon, Sylfia was swarmed by menders and other healers who checked and rechecked that she was, indeed, healed, and that her vitals were stable. After enduring the well-intended poking and prodding, the red warrior finally shooed them off and demanded a summary of what had gone on while she was out of consciousness. When Llumin explained that Caladbolg had been returned, her eyebrows shot up.
“You mean, the Caladbolg? The one that Mother made?”
“That’s the only one I’m aware of. How do you feel?”
“Never mind how I feel; that question’s already been drilled into my brain, and I’m still muzzy-headed. So where is it?” The warrior’s grin seemed likely to split her face in two as she looked eagerly for the sword’s wielder. When her eyes lit upon an uncomfortable-looking Trahearne, a look of shock swept over her face. “Roots and thorns,” she swore, an amused grin slowly creeping up her features, “so I wasn’t having aud’tory hallucinations. It really did fall to you.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” he said somewhat-defensively, still looking as if he was trying to process the whole ordeal.
“No, you didn’t. I remember hearing you protest being given that sword, even though it’ll ’elp with your Hunt,” Sylfia grinned. “But you know what? It’s happened. Either you take up your sword and work towards finishin’ it, or you can sit here in denial, surrounded by your books, until the Dragon itself comes and eats us all.” She stood shakily and gave him a firm stare. “Trust me; you can only run from your fears so long.”
“How much could you hear while you were in there?” Myrie asked, having run over to support her. Although she had initially protested, the warrior finally gave a grunt of thanks as the shorter woman helped steady her.
“I ‘eard enough,” she said, rotating her arm. “And I think Mum’s right; while I was out of it, I was in closer connection with the Dream; I saw you there, Trahearne. So, like it or not, you will go to Orr. You won’t be alone, which is good, but….” She pursed her lips. “You know what, I’m not sure I should be saying too much. So Oi’m just gonna keep my mouth shut for now.” She glanced over at the Pale Tree. “And what you had been saying about the orders is true; I have a feeling that something massive is coming our way. Myrie, you and I should ‘ead back to the Vigil and help train the new recruits; see if we can find something to back this intuition. Something tells me that Fort Concordia was just the beginning.”

I guess it’s time for me to save up, then! You’ve got an amazing style!

~S.F

sakura.7961:

Great drawings! Is the Asura couple Elli and Zoot? I met them today in my personal story, they make a funny couple.

Thank you very much, Sakura!

The asura in the picture are Statician Klixx (who is a guildmate’s elementalist) and Khimma (who is my asura guardian). They view each other as siblings or rivals. Khimma is pretty fearless, having faced down the threats of a tenuous ally with retorts of her own and thus earning her respect. Klixx, on the other hand, is the one who will run around with beakers in hand, shouting, “For science!” without even realizing that his topknot is on fire. Together, their abilities, mischief, and intellect make them a formidable duo of minion-pulping, foe-scorching sass.

What do I do when stressed? I draw.
What do I do when bored? I draw.
What do I do when I should be working on other things? I draw.
Or write.

So enjoy the sketchies below! (some are unfinished/rough, so bear with me!)

Chapter 33c:
“Yeah,” Myrie said, removing her hand from beneath her chin, “and how long have you been studying Orr? From what I’ve heard even in the Vigil, you are a walking encyclopedia of ancient and draconic knowledge. You’re the only one who knows the rituals needed to – in theory – restore the land.”
“But it has never been done before; I don’t even know if it could succeed!” He took a step back, as if considering descending to the lower edges of the Grove and dashing off before any more was said.
“No one has ever tried before, Trahearne,” Llumin said. Her voice was edged with frustration. “Can’t you see? You are the only one who has seen Orr as anything other than a desolate wasteland for centuries! On behalf of Tyria and of its races, I can tell you this and this alone: You are a coward to keep running from your duty. Quit running away from what you know, turn around, and face it head-on! You will not be alone and you needn’t worry about the battles. I and the Priory will back you. Even the Order of Whispers and Vigil will have to agree to listen to you! So please, recognize that we need your help.”
“I could restrain you forcefully, but that might cause you to either go into shock or outright refusal,” Nettle added, shrugging. “You may be the most powerful necromancer of our age, but I know you well enough that I can say your Wyld Hunt will only continue to torment you as you ignore it.”
His gaze narrowed at her words. “Are you threatening me?”
“Consider it a forceful encouragement for the betterment of the world.”
“Mother’s boughs, be silent!” Llumin snapped at the pale woman. Her tone softened as she turned from the Nettle back to the first of her kind. “Firstborn, I have heard the whispers. The rumors and insults which say that your task is impossible and your mind cracked by its Hunt. You are not just a ‘useless scholar studying a dead land’ – you are a man who sees hope where others would have given up. That, Trahearne, is an honor to your name. Don’t give up.” A small, encouraging curve rose to her lips, and she bowed her head politely. For a few seconds, the green-skinned necromancer was still, his brow furrowed and jaw working from side to side. Finally, he raised his amber gaze to the Pale Tree.
“Must I do this, Mother?” he asked, his voice thick with uncertainty. “Must I take up Caladbolg and go to Orr?”
“You can and you shall,” she said firmly. “Trahearne, Tyria needs you. Whether or not you are willing to acknowledge it, this is your destiny. Go with Llumin and her companions; the threads of fate twist and pull, but if you follow this cord, you will surely strike down the dragon of Orr. It will not be without its hardships, but as the Tablet says, ‘Hard ground makes strong roots.’ Be forewarned; the dragon will surely attempt to destroy your forces and its threat before they leave for its land; even now, unrest stirs in your orders,” the Tree declared. “Go back to your respective orders, and seek out their information. I fear something massive is about to occur, and you will all be needed.”
As if in confirmation of the potential dangers rising, a sharp cracking noise broke through the air, coming from a previously-still cocoon of vines and leaves. With a final, ferocious rip, a red-leaved hand burst from its shell and tore off the rest of the papery husk. A familiar form gasped, clutched, and stumbled onto the lush floor of the upper bower before raising a glinting green gaze and glowering at all gathered.
They, for their part, remained dumbfounded as the fiery sylvari ran her tongue over her lips, opened her mouth, and rasped, “Roots and thorns, I’m sober! Which one of you lot let this ‘appen?”

Chapter 34b:

The air inside the upper bower was filled with a reverent glow. Llumin stepped towards the Pale Tree’s avatar and knelt, holding forth Caladbolg. The golden woman bade her to rise, gently taking the sword as she did so.
“You have done well, my child,” she said, her low voice soothing the mesmer’s aching body as much as any rest. “Caladbolg is once more where it belongs, and my son’s spirit can finally be at peace.”
“It was an honor, Mother,” Llumin replied, standing with her head bowed. “I am glad that I could do my part.”
“The road ahead of you is still fraught with dangers and trials, though this will certainly help you in your Hunt. Caladbolg was made solely to purge the land of the dragons’ corruption; therefore, the one to wield it next must have the same goal in mind.” She turned her head towards another hole in the floor, from which another elevator had arisen. Trahearne stepped from the pod into the bower, his breathing slightly labored. Joining the group by the Pale Tree, he quickly bowed.
“Is it true, Mother? Has Caladbolg been returned?”
A strange look of clarity washed over the avatar’s face; but with a mere smile, it vanished. “It has, my son. Know now that Riannoc is truly at rest; no longer should we worry about his death.”
“He was a brave warrior.” The Firstborn’s voice was low, though with sorrow, relief, or repressed joy, no one could tell. “I am glad that his sword has been brought back.”
“Yes, but it still lacks one thing.” The golden woman’s eyes were kind as she gazed upon the Firstborn’s confused face. “It needs one who can wield it – one whose Hunt is to cleanse the land of its corruption.”
Trahearne stepped back, eyes wide. “You cannot mean me. That would take an army – and I am no warrior.”
“But you are knowledgeable,” Llumin said. “And I am called to kill the dragon, not cleanse its aftereffects. If I do kill it, what then? A ruined land is no good to anyone, not even sylvari. You wouldn’t need to command an army, but we would need someone to marshal it if it were to exist.”

Try it again, perhaps after refreshing your browser. If that doesn’t work, close the window and open a new link to the forum/page and try repeating the action.

Hope this helps!

~S.F.

Chapter 34a:

Nettle had watched them arrive back at the Grove with a small smile of satisfaction. The plan had gone off quite well; no one had suspected her involvement in the match – after all, who would have paid attention to her disguise as a shy bartender? The pale woman wiped her lips, removing the last traces of blood as she slipped behind the group. She tapped Selana on the shoulder.
“If you wanted to let me know you were there, you merely needed to whisper it,” the elementalist said evenly, pausing to let the rest of the group walk ahead of her. “What do you want?”
“So much for a warm welcome,” the necromancer sighed. She peered around the noblewoman’s shoulder, watching the rest of them wait patiently by the elevator for Selana’s return. “I merely wanted to congratulate Llumin on her victory over Waine and on her return of Caladbolg.”
The human’s lips thinned into a line. “No, you didn’t; otherwise you would have spoken to her directly.”
Nettle chuckled. “Perceptive as always. Let me ask you this – did Waine seem a bit off when he was battling her?”
“I wouldn’t know his regular fighting style, but he did seem distressed,” she noted. Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
The sylvari smiled as she patted the human’s shoulder. “Just let Llumin enjoy her victory; after all, she may be upset if she knew her opponent was not in top form.”
“I thought we were ordered to not interfere with the Vigil’s plan.” Selana’s voice was like an icy current.
”You were ordered to not interfere,” Nettle replied flatly. “I, on the other hand, was given express permission to ensure that your mission was a success by any means possible short of outright murder.”
“So you drugged him.”
Her smile was cold. “No one suspected a thing. It merely made him more responsive towards Llumin’s illusions and his own buried guilt.”
“What did you do after the match, then? Keeping him alive would have been a loose end for you.”
The necromancer’s eyes glowed in the dim light of the canopy. “What do you think?”
There was a terse pause.
“You still have blood on your fingers,” the elementalist sighed. Nettle looked down at her hands with a slight hint of surprise upon her features.
“So I do,” she said cheerily. She popped one into her mouth, cleaning it off. “Now, if what I’ve heard is true, Caladbolg is about to be carried to the upper bower with my dear mother. I will admit I’m curious to see how this whole reunion carries out.” She tilted her head towards the rest of the group with a smile. “Shall we continue?”

Thank you very much, Miss Gray! I may challenge myself to try drawing my norn, so I hope that it ends up getting featured alongside the others (whose talent I most certainly will not try to be stealing with some etheric asuran construct, nosirree).

Very well done! Especially considering that this is your first time, you’ve done quite well. Good luck with future projects!

~S.F.

Chapter 33e:

Llumin had barely stepped back onto solid ground before Myrie had leapt over and given her a hearty pat on the back.
“Well done!” she crowed. “We knew you could do it!”
“Myrie, give her some space; she just finished a battle, and I’m sure that she doesn’t need any more whacks – friendly or not – just now.”
The sylvari coughed, blinking tears from her eyes. “I’ll be fine,” she said, clearing her throat slightly. “Ah, just a few bruises and bumps.”
“He did hit you rather hard, didn’t he?” Elmfrond mused, peering closely at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” she demurred, brushing his concerns aside. “For now, we’ve got to get this back home.”
“How does it feel?” Elmfrond’s wide eyes were fixed upon the glowing Caladbolg. “Holding it, that is. Does it feel like energy or hope or…?”
She nodded absently, running a hand down the smooth, warm side of the thorn. “Yes, it feels like all of those things. It feels like a new dawn,” she nodded. “As though my wounds are already healing.”
“The Pale Tree’s power really does flow through it, then, doesn’t it?”
“You saw how Waine used it, didn’t you?” Myrie arched an eyebrow at the other thief. “Even if I don’t understand it all, there’s no doubt that Caladbolg really is something.” She turned back to Llumin as they started walking towards the asura gates. “Do you plan on giving something that powerful back to the Pale Tree? Who knows who’ll have it next – or what they’ll do with it?”
“I have full faith in the Pale Mother’s wisdom. I’m sure that whoever she entrusts it to will use it with honor and integrity.”
“Speaking of that,” Selana said, casting the mesmer a sidelong glance, “I’m sure that I saw Waine try killing you more than once, despite the pit rules.”
Myrie snorted. “Highborn, if there’s one thing you need to know, it’s that pit rules are really more of a formality than something enforced. I can tell you right now that there’ve been fatalities in there which have gone unpunished; it’s all part of the sport.”
“So he really would have killed me,” Llumin murmured. Her eyes were wide, despite her calm tone.
“Hey, we would’ve stopped him. We’ve got your back,” Myrie grinned.
“I’m sure right now her back wants a nice rest and possibly a soak. Isn’t that right?”
The mesmer nodded wearily. Elmfrond smiled encouragingly. “Well, then, let’s head home and finish putting this ordeal to rest.”

Chapter 33d:
“Riannoc?” he choked, his streaming eyes bulging with terror. “No, it can’t be. I saw you…I saw you die!” He hurled lightning from the blade, desperate to drive the specter back. It merely flashed elsewhere, continuing its unrelenting march toward him. He saw his mentor’s kind face tilted toward him, his eyes filled with bittersweet disappointment.
“Give it back, Waine. It never was yours,” his mentor intoned, the mesmer’s voice almost completely gone. The human’s hands trembled, and his knuckles, white against the blade, cracked in tension.
“No! I left you to die!” he hissed, gulping loudly. “I left you to die and I would do it again if I had to!” He raised the blade in a savage cut, bringing it down with the intention of cleaving his opponent in two – rules be cursed, this ghost would stay dead! To his horror, Riannoc had parried the strike, the swords ringing against each other with a strange, silvery peal.
“Your grip still needs work,” he said quietly.
Time seemed to slow as Waine watched the image of his mentor counter his every blow, the mesmer’s own spectral form flashing behind it like a shadow-puppet. As he shifted his stance, his foot slipped in the sand, and he collapsed on the ground. The form of Riannoc smiled sadly before disappearing, leaving only the mesmer’s harlequin mask in its place.
“He would have forgiven you,” she whispered. She readjusted the grip on her sword. “But this blade now must go back.” The pommel came crashing down hard on his forehead, sending his consciousness falling towards oblivion. The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was the sylvari reaching down and taking Caladbolg from his grasp before she quietly ascended the stairs and left him, unconscious, in the bloodied sand of the arena.

Chapter 33c:

“You don’t really think she’ll lose, do you?” Myrie asked, her worried gaze on the slender sylvari below. “I mean, I’ve heard of this guy before. He’s pretty tough.”
“So is she.” Selana gave her a sidelong look. “Did you really ask her if she had a problem with eating salad?”
The thief’s face whipped towards her. “Who told you that?”
The elementalist shifted, crossing her arms; she did not take her gaze from the combatants in the arena. “You tend to forget that I can hear things from farther away than other non-elementalists. Remember that the winds are able to bring me their tidings unless concealed.”
“You were eavesdropping!”
A smile twitched onto the fiery woman’s face. “Perhaps.”
“Shh, shh! She’s going to need to concentrate,” Elmfrond hissed excitedly, bouncing ever so slightly in his seat.
“It looks like they’re just circling each other now,” Myrie murmured, brow furrowing. “Come on, when’s she going to strike?”
“She’s biding her time,” the elementalist said quietly. She gestured down at the sylvari. “Look; can’t you see that she’s watching him? I think she’s testing his mental stability somehow.”
Myrie gave her a sidelong look before returning her gaze fully to the two below.

“Come on,” Waine shouted loudly enough for the crowd to hear. He raised Caladbolg high and brandished it at Llumin. “You didn’t come here to just run in circles, did you? I don’t even need to be close to knock your pretty petals off.” He swung it forward, and it sent forth a blast of magical energy which the mesmer barely dodged. She steadied herself as she adjusted her position.
“Watch my stance,” she murmured, her voice carrying like a calm current over the crowd’s boos and taunts. Waine’s face twitched; confusion briefly flickered over his pale countenance.
“What did you say?” he said hoarsely. Llumin’s harlequin mask leered silently at him. With a burst of speed, the sylvari dashed forward, flicking her blade at his face. He flinched away from her strike. A few strands of his brown hair lazily fluttered to the ground. He returned his attention to her – except he was surprised to find that there were two of her standing in the arena.
“What is this?” he growled.
“You’re looking a bit unsteady. Hold your sword firmly,” she whispered. Her voice seemed layered with another one – a voice which was silenced years ago.
“No,” he murmured, eyes widening. He grit his teeth and charged recklessly at the woman, swinging Caladbolg fiercely. The blade shattered one of her illusions, and when he turned and struck with its hilt, he grinned as he felt it connect with something solid. She gave a low grunt of pain as she was knocked back onto the sand. With a ferocious roar, he leapt forward, sword raised high. Her eyes widened behind her mask, and her lips twisted. Waine’s strike bit deeply into nothing but earth and illusory butterflies which fluttered lazily away.
“Do you remember nothing?” The mesmer’s voice was surrounding him again, and his gaze blurred.
“Get out of my head!” he snarled, channeling magic through the sword. “I’ll kill you with your own blade!”
“It wasn’t mine,” she whispered. Switching to a staff, she blinked through the arena in flashes of blinding light, leaving illusory clones behind her. As one, they hurled orbs of chaos magic at him, confusing, chilling and poisoning him with their whirling energies. With a cry of frustration, he charged another strike and sent a wave of magic through the sword, knocking the clones back. They flickered unsteadily at him before standing and rushing at him, brandishing their blades. He grinned – how could that stupid woman think that those would fool him? His mouth dropped into an O of shock as the clones, mere millimeters from his skin, shattered, their psychic resonance biting into him like jagged glass.
“Did you bring your arrows, Waine?” Llumin’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears, but when he looked up at her, he saw someone else.

Chapter 33b:

The wooden, rickety stairs which descended into the sandy pit creaked in protest at even Llumin’s delicate tread. The insecurity of her footing certainly did nothing to help her nerves, but she made a deliberate effort to keeping all signs of her unsettlement tamped firmly behind her resolution. Exhaling slowly through pursed lips, she closed her eyes and slipped on her harlequin’s mask, which covered her face in its reassuring yet intimidating smile. When she returned her gaze to the opposite side of the arena, she saw her opponent descending with the cool confidence and swagger of an arrogant cat. Her stomach, despite its few contents, soured. How irreverently he held that glowing blade! What injustices he must have committed with it. No more would that be allowed to happen.
“Yeah, Llumin! Knock him straight to the Mists!” Her head whipped up, startled, as she sought to recognize her encourager. Myrie, who was sitting next to Selana and two across from Elmfrond, waved vigorously. The elementalist quickly whispered something in her ear, which caused the thief to sheepishly fan her hand in dismissal of her earlier comment.
“You’ve got this,” the noblewoman said confidently, her calm tone carrying over the crowd’s roar.
An asuran announcer waved her hands, summoning an enormous holographic projection of herself. The green spectacle clapped once, and the sound was amplified over the noise of the crowd, which only briefly lowered its volume.
“Joining our favorite champion, Waine the Unbeatable, the Undefeatable, the Bruiser and Cruiser is Llumin, sylvari from the Grove! Who will win? Place your bets – and keep your shovels ready for some new mulch, people!”
The human finally stood before her. She had to focus in order to keep her gaze on him instead of on the blade he bore.
“I’ve beaten dozens of your kind before,” he sneered. “And no matter how much you’re hiding behind that mask of yours, I can practically smell your fear from here.”
“You haven’t fought anything like me, Waine,” she murmured back, eyes narrowing. His face flickered briefly in confusion, but he shook his head and gave a tight frown. The announcer’s voice barely registered in her head as she turned from him and started walking.
“Remember the rules, people! No eye-gouging, permanent injuries, or deaths allowed! You fight until unable to do so – so let’s get this rumble started! Count your paces….ready…..and let the battle begin!”

Well done. You made your character’s voice unique and likeable without detracting from your story. I don’t often see a relatable charr story, so this was a welcome change! Excellent work; please keep writing!

~S.F.