Guild Wars 2

Chapter 15b:

Sylfia broke down the door with a resounding crash.
“So much for stealth,” Myrie sighed.
“Well, she did say ‘charge’,” Nettle replied, ducking a cultist’s swinging strike. She whipped her hand at his throat, crushing his larynx and sending him choking to the ground. The warrior roared and leaped on his prone form, ending his misery.
“If you don’t want a charge, you don’t shout it,” Sylfia hissed, golden sap leaking from her nose.
“I did, actually,” Selana answered. She rained a flaming meteor on the head of a squealing attacker and struck his companion in the abdomen with her staff before nailing him on the head.
“Then why were we being so bloody quiet on the way up?” Myrie shouted irately.
“You never know what kind of wild animals are lurking around here,” Selana replied demurely.
“That’s your excuse? Wild ani- Why are you smirking? Please tell me that you didn’t do that just for the sake of a giggle at my expense!”
“Oh, loosen up, shortie,” Sylfia grinned, bashing another two cultists into the ground. “You’ll get an ‘art attack otherwise!”
“We are in a literal den of assassins, and she decided that now would be a good time to joke?”
“Diff’rent strokes, I suppose,” the warrior shrugged, charging after a few fleeing Mantle who screeched in terror at her approach.
“By the way, didn’t you say you’d be unveiling your ‘companion’?” Myrie shot a trick arrow at the cultists, which bounced around and knocked them on their heads.
Nettle had been backed into a corner, gracefully weaving and dodging the assassins’ attacks. For a few seconds, she did not reply, her smile predatory.
“Nettle!”
With barely a glance in her direction, the necromancer flicked her hands outward, gripping a dagger in one hand. In the other, she held an ancient skull. Its hollow gaze burned into an attacker’s mind as she channeled her energy through it and greedily devoured his life-force. A moment later, he toppled onto the ground, writhing as black smoke streamed from his eyes and mouth.
“This is Adam,” she answered, sneering at his withered corpse before returning her gaze to his terror-struck companions. “And he would prefer that you be a bit quieter.”
Myrie watched in awe as the pale necromancer quickly went from hapless victim into powerful predator, leaving her enemies howling in agony and flaying their exposed skin in bloody ribbons. The strength was sapped from their bodies, leaving the easy task of elimination to Sylfia and Myrie. Soon, there were only a few cultists left. They scurried towards the cellar-room. As they reached its door, one of them bellowed, “Don’t let them reach the basement!”
“Well, there’s an idea,” Sylfia grinned.
“Follow them!” Selana ordered. From within the basement, the sounds of an argument could be heard.

Sylfia once more proved her hard-headedness useful by breaking down the cellar door. The few cultists who remained or had retreated there whipped around in shock and rage, eyes glittering under the lanternlight. The room itself seemed quite furnished. Almost like …
A base of operations, Myrie realized. She had been expecting a cell, but an entire base? Eliminating it could lead to greater security for Tyria- if they made it out alive.
A blonde-haired woman dressed in gold- and red- accented white robes was raging at the bruised and bloodied informant. He cowered at her anger.
“And not only are you incompetent and unable to bring our target down,” she snarled, drawing a ruby-tipped staff and whirling towards the group, “but you decided to bring them here?” Turning towards her gathered men, she pointed at them and shouted, “Leave none of them alive!”

Thank you very much, Benjamin! I suppose I should take some screenshots of the characters upon whom they are based. I’m glad that you enjoy my works.

Have a lovely day!

~S.F.

I’m still not entirely sure why that title keeps sticking in my head, but perhaps it pertains more to the image than I consciously realize. Anyhow, here’s Myrie, sitting in contemplation on a roof while considering the journeys her life has taken to place her there.

1. Inked/Weighted Linework

2. Colored/Highlighted

byolith.8160:

Here you go, drew them both for you! c:

Thank you very much! They look lovely.

Chapter 15a:

“Do we even know what a Mantle hideout would look like?” Myrie huffed, stretching her neck upwards and cricking it. “I mean, I don’t think they’d advertise. ‘White Mantle cultists, here for your top-of-the-line lunacy! Petty vengeance included!’”
“Oh, shaddap,” Sylfia muttered irritably. She rubbed her temples. “Drink’s talking back right now, and it doesn’t need any more shouting.”
“Why did we agree to bring them along, again?” Nettle asked cheerily, plucking the petals off of a flower. “I know Myrie was part of the plan, but according to my informant, Sylfia was a bit of a bonus deal.” She tossed the naked stalk aside. “Do we use her as bait?”
“No, we are not using her as bait, Nettle,” Selana replied calmly, striding through the wooded forest. “Gryphon taught me better, and you should know that’s not how we operate.”
“On the contrary, that information is quite new to me. What do we do if we find this group?”
“S’posed’ly, they’re all nutters,” Sylfia slurred, tipping and shaking her flask over her open mouth. She made a face. “Empty,” she sighed, slinging it into the nearby brush.
“You’ve had enough to drink already, Sister,” Nettle declared reproachfully. “And if we want to have any element of surprise, it’s best if you keep quiet.”
“Right, and what do we do if we find them?” Myrie asked slowly.
“We kill them,” Selana replied coolly.
The thief blinked. “Would you like a moment to think on that one, Flameylocks?”
Selana looked down and gave her a very calm stare. “I have already done so. If they fight us with deadly intent, we’ll do the same. They’ve kept my parents for who knows how long. Such inhumane treatment deserves punishment of the highest order.”
Nettle’s eyes narrowed, and she smiled. “We’re closing in,” she purred. “My companion says they’re holed up in the hunting lodge.”
“Yeah, about that,” Myrie drawled, drawing her pistols and readying them, “when are we going to meet this mysterious accomplice of yours?”
“As soon as we see combat,” the necromancer replied.
“There’s the lodge,” Selana whispered, drawing her staff. “Weapons at the ready. On my mark…”

Chapter 14a:

Countess Anise was quite unhappy, to say the least, when she heard of Selana’s plan and destination.
“Why didn’t you try to stop them?” she asked her informant, who looked rather worse for the wear and very much breathless.
“You know my cover,” he gasped. “If I were to try stalling them, they’d get suspicious. I’m pretty sure Samuel, her eldest servant, already has figured out who I really am. Old man’s been having me rearrange the furniture in the upper dining room for the past month!”
“Is that all, Jethro? You should be glad he didn’t pull out one of the family heirlooms. I’ve heard some of them are extremely dangerous.” She turned towards a globe and spun it with a finger. “When was Lady Firestone’s last treatment?”
“Lady Kasmeer said she performed an emergency intervention after the necromancer left.”
“Hm. Dangerous. That necromancer is unpredictable, and we have too little knowledge about her to construct a solid evaluation. Inform Kasmeer that any further interactions pertaining to the maintenance of Firestone’s mind are to be done in the company of no fewer than two guards. We don’t want the sylvari to become curious as to how her blood suits her. When did Selana’s traveling party leave?”
“Just this morning, Exemplar.”
A flicker of irritation briefly crossed her face. “Please tell me that we at least have a unit tailing them in case of any psychic flares.”
“We do not, Ma’am. I’ll send out a scouting party as soon as-”
“No,” she interrupted, brow furrowed in thought. “We want this to remain as secret as possible. The fewer Blades out, the better. I have no doubt that her group can hold its own in a fight, but without an in-depth reworking of Selana’s mind, it is likely that the closer she gets to the source of her trauma, the less-stable her mental holds will become.” The countess stalked away from the whirling globe, eyes sparking with grim determination. “Send Gryphon Radwing to follow the party, and keep me informed. We cannot lose an ally to the Queen in this time where she could be seen as vulnerable. Minister Caudecus and others would certainly rally towards having her deposed.” She glanced back up at him, lips tightening. “Didn’t you hear me, soldier? Send your message and go!”

Chapter 13b:

“They wouldn’t be that devoted to vengeance, would they?” the warrior asked, shocked at the concept.
“You underestimate their zeal,” Myrie replied, frowning. “They’ve been known to harbor hatred for some of the most ancient households who have connections to the War in Kryta. It’s no secret that even Gryphon has had his own assassination attempts.”
“What happened?”
“They failed, obviously.”
Sylfia pinched the bridge of her forehead. “Honestly, I still think Oi’m too sober to deal with this…especially at this hour of the morning.”
“Well, keep your lids on and stay away from your cups. I mean, Gryphon’s smart- crazy smart. He knows that he’s targeted by the Mantle and is constantly on-guard just in case. I can’t help wondering if he does have outside sources, though, since there are times I think something is so completely out of the know that he has to have external information,” the thief mused.
“If he’s got all these resources, then, why isn’t he helping us?”
“He is! That’s why he sent Nettle and myself. We’re just fortunate you’ve decided to join us.”
At that moment, Selana walked back into the room from an adjoining chamber, followed shortly by her eldest servant, Samuel.
“Really, Sam, you needn’t trouble yourself over fetching those. I was about to get Nancy and ask her to do it,” she was protesting.
“Nonsense! Nancy takes too long, and by the time she would have found it, I’d be in the Mists chatting with Grenth.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” the elementalist sighed worriedly. He waved her concerns off.
“We all die at some point or another,” he declared, old hands shaking as he placed a locked wooden box on the table. “There’s no point in denying the truth of it.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less pleasant to think about,” Selana replied reproachfully. She gently took the keys from his trembling fingers and unlocked the box.
“Thank you, Sam,” she smiled, bending down to give the old man a kiss on his cheek. “Please let Delilah know that the tea was delicious.”
The aged face crinkled in a sea of smiling lines. “Of course, Lady Firestone. Do be careful.” With that last parting request, he took the tea tray and tottered back towards the servants’ quarters. Selana removed an old, yellowing paper and set it next to the bloodied letter.
“As I suspected,” she murmured, gazing intently at the writings, “this is definitely my mother’s script. Where did you find this?” Her glance immediately went to Myrie, who found that she had something on her pants which she forgot to clean.
“Well,” the thief hummed nervously, picking at the spot, “we actually found it after our little scuffle with the assassins. I think it dropped out of the leader’s pocket after you knocked him down.”
“’E probably had it for legi’mancy reasons,” Sylfia mused. “Couldn’t question if they were keeping them in Nebo Terrace if he had infallible proof, yeah?”
“Fair enough, but this paper appears to be artificially preserved,” the elementalist answered. “And next time, I would prefer to be personally notified if you find something like this.”
“What’s it mean if it’s been well-kept? They could be keeping your folk in a place that’s not exactly clean,” Myrie pointed out.
“Yet it was stained by blood when it fell. Preservation spells aren’t new, and they’re most often used on sentient objects. To try keeping something as fragile as paper from becoming ruined would require a very specific spell. This would keep it safe from harm until the magic weakened, after which, weaker areas would be more-easily exposed to foreign materials.”
“What’s the point?” Sylfia huffed, throwing her hands in the air. “So a little old paper gets some blood on it. It’s still able to be read!”
“I think I see where she’s coming from,” Myrie said slowly. “With all of the blood that was around it, the letter should be in even worse condition than it is. If there’s an old preservation spell that’s still trying to work, then there would be mostly-unharmed. But that means that this letter wasn’t recently written, since even the old preservations could last for a decade or two.”
“So this letter could be much older than the one the Mantle wrote.”
“Exactly,” Myrie confirmed, pouring another cup of tea.
“What’s it even say?” Sylfia asked, pulling out a hip-flask and taking a swig.
At that moment, an out-of-breath servant came charging in, stammering and jabbering a slew of incoherent phrases which sounded like a drawn-out apology.
“I tried to- she wouldn’t listen- claims it’s-!”
“Oh, hush, you silly thing,” Nettle’s voice followed the courier’s apologies almost immediately after he began spewing them. She strode in confidently. “My deepest regrets for my late appearance. I was simply gleaning more information on our future journey. We are going out soon, correct?”
“Yes.” Selana folded the letter and placed it in her pocket. “Gather up your gear, gentlewomen. We’re going to make a trip to Nebo Terrace.”

I really enjoy your style! You’re quite talented.

I hope that you like my characters.

Sylvari: Nettle Viridia, necromancer and vitae connoisseur.

Human: Selana Firestone, Lady of House Firestone and wielder of the elements. (eyes are blue, but they don’t show up too well in this screenshot.)

I recently saw someone attempt to show what their sylvari might look like if they were human, and that inspired me to do some headshots of my own. What can I say? This community’s pretty amazing!

Below are the steps I took during the process:

1: Polished Pencil

2: Inked/Guidelines Erased

3: Colored/Finished

Chapter 13a:

In another part of Divinity’s Reach, Myrie was having a morning which perhaps rivalled Faren’s in terms of its unpleasantness. While most of the city’s citizenry were waking to the light of dawn, or perhaps a rooster crowing, she was awoken by a foot being planted firmly in her side and shaking her roughly into wakefulness.
“Oi, gerrup,” her tormenter’s voice grated.
“New shoes,” Myrie mumbled, turning over and pulling the blankets over her head. “What happened to the steel ones?”
“They got uncomfortable, so I grew my own. Now get up, fleshy.” The nudge that proceeded was significantly harder than the previous one.
“Ow! Fine.” The thief rolled out of her cot, fingers fumbling for her weapons and shoes. “Couldn’t this wait until a more decent hour?” she groused.
“What Oi’m more concerned about is how you di’nt notice my arrival. Oi could’a been an assassin, and where’d you be if that were the case?”
“Sleeping peacefully or probably seeing Quinn again.”
Sylfia was briefly stunned into silence.
“You’re not the only one who has dreams of the past,” Myrie sighed. “I keep seeing him… well, parts of him… that the Seraph didn’t find until later. Two-Blade Pete was ruthless in his vengeance.”
“Oi’d say he was a bit of a nutter. Didn’t you off him?”
Myrie smiled tightly, yanking her boots on with unnecessary violence. “Not soon enough. Now, why in the world are you rousing me at this hour?”
“Selana. ‘Said it’s important. Remember that letter?”
“I thought we weren’t talking about that! How did she even know about it?”
“Beats me. Point is, she knows, and she wants to see it. You do still have it, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” She pulled out the bloodstained paper. “It’s still legible, thank goodness.”
Sylfia grimaced. “We’ll see if you’ll say that after our little excursion…”

“Where’s Nettle?” Selana asked after greeting the warrior and thief. She offered them some tea, which both accepted.
“Isn’t that like cannibalism to you?” Myrie asked, arching an eyebrow and sipping her drink.
Sylfia narrowed her eyes and gave her tea a violent slurp.
“Manners,” Selana remarked absently.
“Beats me where the creepy pale salad is. Maybe we should just go without her,” the thief suggested, scooting her chair away from the flame-colored sylvari.
“No. Gryphon was explicit; any journey pertaining to me requires you two and her, despite any misgivings we may have. If he believes her to be trustworthy, then we should have no reason to doubt her.”
Sylfia snorted. “She’s good at that. Word h’of advice- no matter how sweet or friendly she may seem, keep yourself as far away from her as possible.”
“I was recently her patient,” Selana replied calmly. “I do not believe that there were any injuries I received which could have been expected outside the normal realm of treatment.”
“Yeah, well her ‘normal’ treatment gives most people a case of nerves.”
“And on that note, here’s the letter,” Myrie remarked loudly, thrusting the paper forward. Sylfia glowered at her and gulped down the last of her tea.
“It’s not a shot; you sip it,” the thief sighed.
“Oi added a bit of kick to it,” the sylvari replied. “So Oi can drink it as I please.”
Selana opened the letter and read it. When she was done, she closed it, gave it to a servant, and sat at the table across from Sylfia and Myrie.
“How long have you known that my parents were keeping a secret from me?” she asked quietly.
“Sylfia only recently joined our little circus, and I found it when we were fighting off those would-be assassins. Since that was about a week ago, that’s how long I’ve known.” Myrie replied. Setting her teacup on its saucer, she folded her fingers and continued, “Honestly, if you’d been in a better state of mind, I would have voted to show it to you ASAP. But since you seemed a little unsettled after the fight…”
Sylfia snorted. “A little unsettled would be an understatement. You could barely walk- thorns, you collapsed shortly after- so we thought that you’d need time to recover before reading their letter.”
“What I want to know is how the White Mantle got their hands on it,” the elementalist murmured. “I’ve asked some of the older servants, and they’re bringing out some samples to compare, but from what I’ve seen, this is definitely my mother’s handwriting. Of course, any member of the nobility could have ties to them, and it’s not out of the question to think that there may be Mantle sympathizers in the highest levels of the court.”
“But the question still remains as to who would have the audacity to steal a letter from another household, and even more important, who would be willing to have you killed for it.”
“Members of the White Mantle are said to have an incredible amount of patience and hatred for those who have wronged them or their organization. If I had to guess, someone in my lineage was instrumental in bringing them down either in recent or ancient times.”

“What is the nature of your seal? Before I question you, I’d prefer to ensure that it doesn’t result in a corpse.”
“I thought you necromancers liked corpses,” huffed Faren.
“Most do. I don’t mind them, but I prefer live subjects. Quit jumping like that; you’ll make me spill my drink. You needn’t worry; I have no plans on using you or any of your companions as test subjects anytime soon.”
“I’d prefer to have them never become your lab rats, if it’s all the same to you.”
“And if I find my answers satisfactory, I will avoid that. But as I said before, aside from knowing that it is an ancient and magical bond, I have no idea of its specifics. Can you speak openly of your knowledge?”
“No.”
“False,” she declared, lip curling. “Your heart-rate indicates that you just lied.”
“I didn’t!” he protested. “Well, I suppose I could talk about it, but only to others who have the same seal as I.”
She nodded. “That’s better, though it is disappointing. If I were to have you write down the answers to my questions, would you be able to reply in kind?”
The unsettling burning sensation on the back of his neck prickled again. “I think not,” he said nervously. The feeling faded.
“Fascinating,” the necromancer murmured, staring at him once more. She sighed lightly. “Well, this is so far quite unsatisfactory. Could you reply in any nonverbal ways, such as consciously-given facial or bodily cues?”
Faren’s skin burned again, and this time, he was aware of a presence of sorts that lingered hazily in the back of his mind. If it had a voice, he was certain that it would be daring him to try. This ancient magic was hungering for a chance to stretch, but he was in no mood to give it an opportunity to do so.
“I’d best not,” he replied, feeling the seal recede another time.
Nettle frowned. “This is going to be difficult,” she huffed.
“You could always go your merry way and wait,” Faren suggested. “I’m sure this mystery of Selana’s will be solved shortly.” He gave a hopeful smile.
The one he received in return was significantly less warm. “You are an impulsive, stubborn man,” she beamed. “Though I currently have no intention towards harming anyone near to you, perhaps causing some seeds to be sown would motivate you towards compliance. Really, I would have hoped that Lord Radwing would have given me more background information on my patient before assigning her to me.”
“You’re one to talk,” the young lord muttered peevishly. “Word around town is that you murdered a hylek merchant in Lion’s Arch. So if you try to smear my good name, know that I-”
“You will have absolutely no proof or grounds on which to sow that little tale.” She sat back, contentedly sipping from her glass.
“What do you mean? He had a family- children!”
“So did the asura whose progeny he willingly allowed to become afflicted with scalebane. Oh, don’t look so shocked; your face looks much less idiotic when you keep your mouth shut. Contrary to some of these rumors, I am not some madwoman who goes around eating people. I will admit that I have an unusual compulsion, but everything I do has a reason. By selling products which contained hazardous material and ignoring the complaints of his customers, this merchant spread the disease to dozens of innocent- well, relatively-innocent – progeny. For some, scalebane was nothing more than an excruciatingly-painful flaking of their delicate ears and a mild fever, but for most of the afflicted, the flaking would eventually lead to infections and other unfortunate results, further compounding their fevers and becoming quite frequently deadly. By eliminating the factor in this equation- I of course refer to our dearly departed merchant- I have not only halted the distribution of hazardous materials, but I have also provided a cure to those still suffering.” She placed her empty glass downward on the bar. “Are you still convinced that I am nothing more than a lunatic?”
Faren’s thoughts decided to be extremely unhelpful and scattered in his brain like a flock of startled moa.
“That’s what I thought. You do well to fear me, but be warned that if you strike, I have no qualms whatsoever of retaliating. Now, for my actual questions…”

If you’re referring to fanmade contributions (art, song, poetry), you’re in the right place. Otherwise, I’m not entirely sure to what you are referring.

I hope you can find the answer soon.

~S.F.

Chapter 12a:

A calm, amused voice broke into Lord Faren’s absent thoughts. “She’s remembering,” the speaker purred. He looked up from the depths of his wineglass into the very close face of Nettle Viridia. He restrained himself and prevented a yelp from escaping his lips; however, he still jerked back in surprise.
“Don’t do that!” he shuddered.
“I was here for the past two minutes. The fact that you only just noticed me says something about your observation skills which is not exactly complimentary,” she replied smoothly, pressing down on her skirt and removing some wrinkles. “Firewater, please,” she ordered. Faren watched as the bartender on-duty walked back towards the cellar before returning to his wine. As he was still in his thoughts, he didn’t fully realize Nettle’s statement until he had begun drinking again. Shock rippled over him, and he spluttered weakly in his drink.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘she’s remembering’?” he asked, blinking away the tears which swam in front of his eyes. He mentally cursed the sylvari’s unflinching calm and how she had made him appear so ridiculous in the space of a few minutes.
“Tell me,” she stated, ignoring his question pointedly as she stirred her drink, “are you always playing the part of the fool? It really doesn’t suit you.” She knocked back the liquor, giving a pained smile at its burn. She then turned and squinted at him a bit more severely. “No, I take that back; it does suit you. I’m sure that’s why she’s not yet caught on to your ruse.”
The lord’s skin crawled. “What are you talking about?” he asked, trying in vain to keep a tremor from his voice. An ominous, unpleasant tingle was beginning to itch just below the nape of his neck.
“There you go again,” she declared, eyes glittering. “You’re denying your knowledge of what I speak through feigned ignorance. Truly, you pull it off quite well.”
“Honestly, I have no idea-”
She slowly removed a wrapped parcel from her backpack and placed it on the bar. “Don’t lie,” she hummed. “My companion doesn’t like it when others lie.”
“You…your companion,” Faren stammered, thoroughly confused.
“Yes- an ancient fellow I know,” she replied, and though her voice was cheery, her face had a look which bordered on malicious. “He’s quite good at sorting truth from lie, and speaks to only one other necromancer of whom I am aware.” She tapped a finger on the silken lump, producing a sound similar to the hollow clicking of a fingernail on wood. “If you keep trying to evade my question, I think I’ll let you see him.”
“I think you need to head home and rest, madam,” he replied, laughing weakly. “Truly, I have no clue as to what you want me to say.”
Her eyes burned dully in the dim light of the bar. He swallowed loudly, clearing his throat and staring at the sediment in his wineglass.
“He says you can’t speak of it,” her voice came slowly. “There’s some sort of seal on you that is older than he,” she murmured. “Fascinating.”
“Well, I’m off!” Faren declared, quickly rising to his feet. “Nice meeting you, Miss- what was it? Nettle? Let’s do this again never.” He turned toward the doorway but was stopped from leaving by a hand gripping his shoulder.
“You can’t speak of your secret, but you can listen, and I can read your expression. So don’t think about leaving just yet, human. You will answer me.”
He sighed, taking his seat again and running a shaky hand through his hair. “Fine. What do you want?”
She smiled excitedly. “I already told you: Information.”

“The patient has had her memories suppressed for quite some time- I’d say somewhere around twenty years- but the restraints placed on her mind are beginning to deteriorate. Actually, they’ve been breaking down for quite a while, but only recently have the cracks become something of a concern. I was able to discern a taste of mesmeric influence from a blood sample I took.”
The lord realized that he was grinding his teeth. “I told you to keep your daggers away from her,” he growled, eyes flashing.
“You know nothing of my methods,” the sylvari retorted acidly. “You’re so blinded by your prejudices and emotions that you overlook anything which you consider unimportant, and you fail to realize that the smallest thing may mean the difference between life and death. My colleagues were like you,” she hummed, a strange calm returning to her voice. “They were terrified of how I operated, so they began acting quite poorly to me.” A contented look slowly spread across her face. “They eventually were quieted when my research proved more conclusive than theirs. And do you know why that was the case, hm? Because I have a talent. Most creatures can taste only so many things, human. I, however, have an aptitude for discerning the unusual- but only if I can taste the blood of the affected creature. That is how I was able to tell that there is something magical obstructing Selana’s memories. You didn’t give away anything in that regard, but from the way you are stiffening, I’d say that you weren’t expecting me to discover this.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to feed on the blood of a patient,” he retorted, neck blazing with anger.
“You’d be surprised how effective it is to discover what ails them,” she replied simply. “Now if you’ll silence your impudent screeching, I have some questions to ask. Don’t say a word, lest you interrupt my train of thought.”

…
I may or may not be internally screaming with excitement. That would be fantastic! But at the same time, I realize that they have their own story, and some of it is based on a player’s unique actions and choices within the game.

Speaking of which, I think I feel some inspiration returning. Good idea, though. Perhaps a tangent of this- incorporating a player’s original character story into the game experience (within reason) would be an intriguing plan!

As some of you may know, another player is hosting a competitive short story contest. For those of you who were wondering if I submitted anything, the answer is yes. However, you’ll have to access it through the following link: https://www.reddit.com/r/GuildWars2Community/comments/40ex24/selana_firestone6389_frost_original_short_story/

Reddit’s formatting system is extremely irritating, but I think I managed to work it out. Let me know what you think and if you’d be willing to see any other random submissions. If you have any questions, feel free to fire away!

~S.F.

Just finished! I’ll post on our guild’s FB page to see if there are any others who are interested in the contest. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my submission. Feel free to let me know what you liked or disliked, and if you are interested in more of my works (which are on the forum).

https://www.reddit.com/r/GuildWars2Community/comments/40ex24/selana_firestone6389_frost_original_short_story/

Chapter 11b:

Selana lay still in her bed, thinking over the events of the past day. As she considered what had happened in that short span, she realized that Myrie was even more broken and strong than she had realized. So, too, were the depths of the seemingly-simple Sylfia. The only people who she had encountered in the past twenty-four hours whom she didn’t know as well as she might like were Nettle, Faren, and herself. Although the necromancer seemed to be acting out of concern, there seemed to be too much detachment from any actual semblance of care for her to be fully comfortable with her presence. There was a strange, unsettling atmosphere about her that made her skin crawl, even when it seemed as though she couldn’t possibly intend any harm. And Faren, who she had thought she knew, seemed to be hiding more and more secrets from her. It was as if he was a completely different person.
But who am I? she thought, turning over and staring through the recently-repaired window. A priest of Dwayna had arrived shortly after Sylfia’s tale and hired an asura to repair the shattered glass, but some cracks were still visible. An hour after that, the warrior had left, shortly followed by the thief and the necromancer. It was fitting, she thought, that a window which to some appeared whole was not as sound as it seemed. Perhaps she should be concerned that she related so much to a simple pane of glass, but at the moment, she didn’t care. Whatever medicine Nettle had given her was quickly tiring her, and she eventually succumbed to the powerful need for sleep.

Her eyes flickered open. She realized that she was having the same dream as before, but this time, she saw something other than the purple haze she had previously seen. A forest clearing surrounded by lush plants and teeming with life greeted her mind’s eye. In front of her were the tall backs of her parents, standing in front of an enormous tree trunk. Selana realized with a start that she was much shorter than she would have been, and her voice, when she spoke, was that of a young child.
“Mama, where is Sister? Why are we here?” she asked, chewing on the edge of her shirt. Her exposed stomach was tickled by a warm breeze, and though the air was humid, it was not unpleasant.
For a moment, the woman did not respond, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Her father gently wrapped her in his arms, and she leaned into him, burying her head in his neck.
“Deirdre, you know this had to happen. We had- we had no choice…”
“But will she recognize us? Will she ever see us again?”
“She is but a newborn,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head and blinking his eyes against tears which rose to blur his gaze.
“Where’s Mr. Thackery?” Selana’s child-voice questioned. She had stopped chewing on her shirt, and the warm, wet edge was rapidly cooling on her stomach. A slow, unsettling fear began to snake around her mind. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” She tried to lean over and bend around their legs, trying to see past them. As Selana looked towards the trunk, she saw other figures- two women, one man- and a small bundle at the base of the roots. Her heart leapt to her throat. Why was she so upset by this? As she tried to analyze what the dream could mean and attempted to discern what she was seeing, a wave of purple once more surged over her, choking and filling her nostrils. She returned to her regular size and form, now viewing the dream as one would view a scene from a play.
“You cannot know this yet,” came a voice. It sounded familiar, yet unlike anything she had heard. She gagged on the tendrils which snaked around her head.
“Please, stop,” she begged. “I have to know what’s going on! What am I seeing?”
“Forget,” the mist whispered. “Forget until it has been revealed once more.”
“I cannot forget!” she cried. “Why is this so important to me?”
“The letter,” it whispered. It almost sounded regretful. “Read the letter and ask your companions what it means. You will need their help.”
Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she awoke in a cold sweat. Though Nettle had recommended a restful sleep, there was no way she would be able to rest after another dream like that. What letter could this strange mist refer to? And why did it always seem to arrive before an answer to her questions could be received? She braced herself against the bedpost and stood. Informing the priest of her intent to return home, she wrapped her coat around herself and began walking back. In the morning, she would seek out the sylvari and Myrie and ask them what they had found during their scuffle with the assassins. For now, though, she decided to begin preparing for a journey. She felt as though she would need to be ready in case the answer to whatever letter they had was elsewhere. She paused in packing her backpack and looked up at the silvery moon. How peaceful the night seemed. If only her mind was so still.

Challenge accepted. I’ll see about cooking something up in a bit! Thanks for holding this contest- I hope that you enjoy all submissions!

Chapter 11a:
“Imagine the most wonderful day you could ever think. The birds are singing, and sunlight filters to your eyes through a golden, leafy curtain where shadows dance and excited chatterings are going on. Oi suppose you ‘umans could compare it to a … whaddayer call it? A birthday party. Only it’s secret. Yer still dreadfully excited, though. There’s just a bunch of chattering. Yer mind’s still a bit foggy since it’s only recently started emergin’ from the Dream-”
“That’s where we acquire our knowledge and experience before we awaken into the world,” Nettle explained. Sylfia shot her a look.
“Oi’m tellin’ the story, not you!”
“Thanks,” whispered Myrie. Nettle nodded mutely.
“Now it’s a bit odd, but Oi can tell that it’s about noon. At the very least, it’s not dawn or dusk. Whatever cycle we’re born in will often determine our personality- at least some of its traits. Noon blooms- those of us born sometime after six in the morning and before noon- are often … well… to put it in others’ words, and no I’m not referring solely to myself, we tend to be a bit impulsive. Fighters and warriors are our lot- we prefer to leap before others speak.
When you wake from the Dream, everything is a thousand times more intense than it will ever be, and nothing is dull. Your senses are awakening, and the world teems with potential. Then… something starts arcing out of the sky. You’ve heard others talk of shooting stars in your Dream, but this one’s different. Something’s wrong. With those new limbs of yours, these wonderful new senses, everything beautiful and wonderful and bright turns suddenly into your worst nightmares. I lasted for ten minutes in this world before I learned what pain was. Eleven minutes and helpless was added to my dictionary. You’ve never known what hurt is, and it’s suddenly the only thing you are able to know. The stunning skies turn into an inferno of fire and smoke, and your lungs and voice are ragged from screaming. The sap within your veins boils with heat, and the smell of wet leaves and fertile soil turns to the burnt-salt of scorched magic and acrid smoke from your own flesh. All around you is chaos. You almost wish you were still Dreaming- or in the Nightmare. Some sylvari are staring, your brothers and sisters sitting in shock and horror and your personal bonfire. Others are trying to find menders and water. By the time the fire is out, your body and voice turn into reminders of that torment.”
She once more looked at her blackened hands, a bitter smile forming.
“It taunts you. You remember everything so well… you recall how amazing everything seemed. And it all seems like a bleedin’ lie. The menders did what they could. Oi’m still strong, and I dare say that the fire hardened me. But hardly anyone would look at me. My face,” she said, tracing her fingers over her angular jaw, “was hardly the same. Suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if Oi still kept my eyes lookin’ normal, or if I didn’t’ have these burn marks. But there you go. Mender Aife later found what caused my sudden immolation was some sort of Inquest bomb. No one’s still quite sure how it got into the Grove without anyone noticin’ or anyfing. But there I was, burned like a piece of wood snatched from the fire, and there it was, a burnt-out shell of destruction. If you had a memory like that, wouldn’t you try drowning it?”
Myrie grimaced. “Don’t think that I’ve not had my share of torment, either. You know the saying that it’s better to love and lose than never to be in love? Yeah, I don’t know about that one. For one thing, I kept running from him and refused to realize his affection, and then when I finally accepted it, he was butchered. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. And you know what? You can’t run from that. It’s always in your mind. Sure, some days you think you’re fine, but I can tell you this- if it weren’t for Selana’s interruption, I would probably have started a very bad cycle.”
The elementalist’s gaze flickered to her. “Wait, was that when I came to ask for your help? But you said-”
“I lied.” Myrie shifted uncomfortably. “I was so tired of it all. I just wanted it to be done- to forget how unfair I’d been to Quinn, how much he’d loved me despite how I treated him… I thought that if I descended into the bottle, maybe the alcohol would dull my senses and memory. Maybe I could move on without this guilt and shame. But …” She sighed. “I remembered after you came in that others tried the same. They told me it never worked. They always remembered. So I decided to keep going. After all, Quinn would have wanted better for me, and it would have been spitting on his memory to deny what happened. That’s why,” she said, turning back to Sylfia, “I said that you can’t ever outrun your problems. Sometimes you’ve just got to keep moving forward, taking one step at a time, and not get stuck in the past. Let yourself learn from it, but don’t stay there. Oblivion isn’t worth it.”

Chapter 10c:

“Well, I suppose that answers how well you’re doing,” Nettle purred, not bothering to turn from Selana’s bed to see Myrie as she stumbled through the door. She removed a cotton ball from the elementalist’s arm and placed it in a bowl before putting it back on her skin. Faren had apparently left, but Nettle informed the thief that he had stated his intent to return later. “I’m not entirely sure why,” she mused, tapping her lips thoughtfully. “I thought it was rather obvious that Selana was resenting his presence…”
The elementalist twitched under the sylvari’s cool touch. “I wasn’t that blatant with my irritation, was I? I would rather not give him the idea that I outright hate him…” she sighed, wincing as Nettle pierced her skin with a cyan-tinted needle.
“Hold still,” the necromancer replied frostily. “I only recently came up with this concoction, and the less it is wasted, the better.”
“For the record, she’s the one who tried attacking me,” grunted Myrie as she heaved the unconscious warrior onto another pallet. Nettle’s nose wrinkled.
“Was that before or after having a go at the bar’s whiskey barrel?”
Myrie gave a dry chuckle. “After, but she was still somewhat with it,” she replied. “I think I managed to rile her up just enough for her cups to start talking.”
“That doesn’t take much.” She tilted her head, brow furrowed curiously as she glanced at the sleeping warrior. “What concerns me is that strange lump on her head.”
“I may or may not have jumped on it.”
The necromancer shrugged. “She’s seen worse. She’ll recover, but I warn you, she’ll wake up groggy, grumpy, and sober, which means that she’ll remember what you did to her.”
“Just so long as I keep a distance from her and make sure she can’t reach her bow, I think I’ll be fine.”
Nettle gave a low laugh. “Suit yourself. I’ll see to her after she’s awoken.”

Myrie ducked as a simple wooden nightstand whooshed by her head and crashed through the window behind her.
“You didn’t tell me to remove anything that wasn’t nailed down!” she yelped accusingly at Nettle, who was calmly administering another dose of medicine to the flame-haired elementalist.
“Well, I thought you would surely know to do that,” she replied demurely, corking an empty bottle. “Sylfia’s been hefting that hammer ever since she was born. Naturally, her arms are quite strong- which means that she can toss a great many things which are nearby. Careful, please!” she snapped as a copper goblet clanged on the stone wall behind her ear.
“Oh, Oi’ll be careful, a’right- careful to hit that thief’s bobbin’ likkle head!” Sylfia had propped herself up on one elbow and was using her free hand to snatch and throw what was near her at Myrie, who was so far evading all of her attacks with fair ease. However, all other occupants were more concerned with keeping their own heads and bodies unpelted, and Nettle was becoming increasingly irritated as the tossing continued. Replacing all fragile items in her bag, she bent by Selana’s ear and whispered, “You should be able to walk around after tonight’s rest, but for that to happen, it must be a wholesome sleep that you have. So you’ll excuse me if I take some matters into my own hands.”
She stood, drawing a staff from her back, and batted one of Sylfia’s flying objects back at her, causing the warrior to whip her hands upward in defense. In that split second, Nettle was at her side and had jabbed something into her arm. The warrior gave a rough yelp in protest and jumped back, wincing and rubbing the wound.
“Sedative,” Nettle stated primly, sheathing what appeared to be a neon purple thorn.
“Unnecessary and painful!” Sylfia snapped, glowering at her.
“I beg to differ,” Myrie’s voice came from behind a dresser.
“What was that all about, anyway?” Nettle asked politely, watching as Sylfia slumped resignedly back onto her pillow. The warrior closed her eyes and grimaced.
“Nettle, you already know, but Oi suppose everyone wonts to ‘ear my sad likkle story, right? Well, Oi’ll make it short.”

Author’s Interlude: “And now a word from our sponsor!”

Hello, Kamara! Thank you very much for the kind words. It’s really encouraging to see that you appreciate my work.

I’m not on TC, but I am on SoS- which means that I often get served a steaming plate of death by people from TC if I go in WvW. No hard feelings, though. x’D

I hope you continue to enjoy what I write, and I’ll let you know when my muse returns from its holiday…

~S.F.

Oooh, those are lovely! I now have another reason to reach ~600G- to commission something from you! … which probably means that I won’t have enough until 2018…. Why are all of their makeover kits so fascinating and lovely? They’re draining my gold!

Keep up the fantastic work! It’s lovely to see your art.

~S.F.

Chapter 10b:

“I am most certainly not going back,” the warrior snarled, snapping back another shot of firewater and hissing at its burn.
“Look, Gryphon said that Selana’s going to need all of us, so whether we like it or not-”
“Oi’m a bleedin’ mercenary, for grief’s sake,” cried the sylvari, slamming her fist on the bar. “Why should I care if some bloomin’ human ‘mentalist has a few screws loose. Who cares! Not I. Oi, barkeep! Another drink- and this toime, bring me the ‘ole bottle!” She shoved her coin towards the poor man’s face and grimaced as he returned with another drink. “Ah, that’s betta’,” she sighed contentedly.
“You can’t possibly plan on drinking the whole night away, can you?” Myrie fumed. “At this rate, your lungs are going to be so full of alcohol, you just might burst into flames!”
The force with which the warrior hammered the bottle onto the wooden bench was so great that cracks appeared in the glass bottom.
“Oi’d wotch wot you say, fleshie,” Sylfia replied heatedly, voice taut. “Something’s aren’t meant for jokin’.”
“Well, neither is another person’s life! If Gryphon says-”
“Yak yak yak yak! It’s all just, ‘one human said this!’, ‘another said that!’, and wot good’s it? Nuffin’! You lot are all stuck in the ground in fewer and fewer years! Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Sneak Thief, Oi am off to finish cleaning out this man’s cellar.”
Sylfia rose unsteadily to her feet and hefted her hammer over her shoulder, knocking back her bottle again. Myrie stood, staring after her dumbfoundedly as she staggered over to another table.
“And then what?” she called angrily. “Drink some more, get some more random jobs, and get drunk again? You can’t run from your problems or others’, either!”
“Wotch me!”
“Oh, I’ve done enough watching in my life. You, though- you seem so high-and-mighty! ‘Oh, lookat me, Oi’m the greatest thing to walk this side of Tyria! Wotch me fall drunk on my face- oh, no, a candle! Oi’m buuuurning!’”
“You…. You shaddap!” the warrior grated. “Or Oi’ll get ov’a there and knock yer block straight to the dragon itself!”
“Make me, then, blast you!” Myrie roared back, placing a foot on the stool and drawing her pistol.
“If you pretty likkle fing think you’s can strike me dead, Oi’ll break yer ‘and before you can think it!”
“Big talk coming from a smoldering twig!” snapped the thief.
“Say that again, Oi dare you!”
“Fine! Smoldering… pansy….twig!”
The warrior’s mouth dropped open. Then, with a bellow of fury, she charged at Myrie. The thief nimbly leapt out of the way, landing with a wham on the sylvari’s head. She instantly fell unconscious, and Myrie took that opportunity to straighten the upturned furniture and reassure Andrew that he would not need to worry about his bar being vandalized for the third time by either her or her companions.
“Honestly, it’s a wonder you still keep the doors open when you see me walking by,” she sighed apologetically. “I probably would have banned me from the whole town by now. And if you’ll excuse me…” She bent down and picked up the sylvari, slinging her over her shoulder and stumbling towards the hospital.
I hope I can make it there without dropping her- or passing out from her fumes, she thought, wrinkling her nose. Hopefully, Nettle’s having better luck…

Chapter 10a:

They had been waiting at the asura gate for the past half-hour and still had no sign of the necromancer’s arrival. Just as Myrie was about to abandon the group and head off in search of some plump noble’s valuables, a black-booted foot stepped out. The foot, of course, was followed by the rest of the sylvari. Her skin was a grayish-white, but her large eyes and bobbed, leafy hair were both a bright neon green. She reminded Myrie of a soft, gentle plant- perhaps a bean sprout- with wide, curious eyes and lightly-curved lips. Her form spoke of a lithe, gentle sensitivity, quite different from the sharp angles of Sylfia. Whereas the warrior looked as though she had been through a fire, the necromancer appeared to be as fair as a newborn. Even her voice, when she spoke, did not carry the rough, rasping accent of the warrior, but was instead soft and lightly lilting, as if humming to a song only she could hear.
“Lord Radwing, I presume?” she asked, stepping down the stairs and shaking the mesmer’s hand.
“Nettle Viridia,” he greeted, giving the cool hand a firm shake. “Excellent to meet you. I was beginning to think you didn’t plan on coming.”
She laughed- a clear, silvery sound that rang through the air. “What, and miss out on all of the fun? No, sir, I think not. I was merely delayed by a very important project.” Her gaze suddenly whipped from the mesmer to Myrie. Immediately the thief’s senses were on guard.
“You’ve got quite the protective amulet,” she said slowly, stepping towards her with head tilted. “Whoever gave you that must have loved you very much.”
An unexpected lump rose in her throat. “His name was Quinn,” she choked, gripping the ring tightly. “And I learned too late that he did.”
“Ah,” the necromancer sighed, smiling sadly. “I’ve heard of such imbued objects, but never had the chance to see one for myself. Rest assured,” she murmured soothingly, giving a light touch on the thief’s shoulder, “he is at peace, guarding you from the Mists. Few magics are as strong as love.”
“Thank you,” Myrie whispered raspily.
The sylvari smiled once more, straightened, and turned back to Gryphon. “Now, where’s the patient?”

She had just awoken from a fitful sleep. Try as she might, Selana found it impossible to recall the events of her obviously-disturbing dream. Gryphon had taken his leave, stating that he had important business to attend to and asking to be notified in case of any unusual developments.
“You can’t remember anything at all?” the necromancer asked curiously, bright eyes fixed unblinking on Selana’s pale blue stare.
“Nothing,” she replied, plopping her head back onto its pillow with frustration. “And my head still aches from this… Agony,” she huffed.
“How inconvenient,” the necromancer mused, tapping a pen on her lips. Was she seeing things, or did Selana see the sylvari cast a knowing smirk towards Faren’s direction?
“Why is she here?”
Selana glanced towards the door, where a significantly-displeased Sylfia stood leaning against the frame. Pupil-less green and neon lime eyes met each other, and Myrie could swear that she saw sparks starting to whiz through the air.
“Ah, Sylfia,” the necromancer smiled, a predatory look shadowing her face. “How nice to see you. Tell me,” she continued, turning back to Selana and peering into her ears, “are you still afraid of fire?”
The warrior growled. “What’s it matter to you? You’re here for the human, not me.”
“But I worry about you, sister,” she pouted, though seemingly-satisfied with the elementalist’s appearance. “After all, your birth was nothing short of a shock.”
“You’d be shocked if an Inquest firebomb was dropped on you.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Pity, you could have been quite pretty.” She sniffed the air delicately and clicked her tongue. “Still have that smell of smoke about you, Sylfia. How sad.”
The warrior strode towards her, hammer lifted. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pulp you into paste and feed you to the dogs,” she snarled. Myrie noticed with a shock that the nigh-permanent odor of liquor was almost unnoticeable around her. She’s sober, she thought with surprise. The necromancer did not back away or even flinch.
“One reason?” her voice took on a cold, distant edge, and her eyes, when she raised them to Sylfia, seemed to look through her. “I can give you several. But allow me to state the most important, and that is because I am one of the few hopes this woman has of living a normal life.”
“Forget this,” Sylfia growled. She stalked towards the door and pointed at Selana. “Either you see to it that the necromancer leaves, or Oi’m out. I need a drink.” With that, she marched out the door and towards the tavern.
“Pleasant, no?” Nettle beamed sardonically. “Don’t worry, she’ll be back.”

Chapter 9a:

Lion’s Arch. What an unusual, bristling, bustling city. So full of life… and death. The pale, slender sylvari smiled, drawing a deep breath in through her nose and exhaling contentedly. The scent of seawater and rotting detritus near the outskirts of the city were only barely subdued by the smells of the inner hub. As she walked through the main plaza towards the asuran gates, she gingerly stepped over piles of rubbish, dodged screeching children, and ignored every single hawking merchant who begged for her coin.
“Pretty lady!”
Almost every merchant.
She looked back to see a hylek, hopping desperately after her and shaking a set of carved beads at her face. “Please, please look at these beads. Surely the sun god would be pleased if such a magnificent creature were to wear this necklace made in his honor! You are the only one whose frame and face would suit these so well. Just one try, and I’m sure…”
Her lips flattened in displeasure, and she sighed lightly. “I’m sure the sun god would prefer one who is a bit more colorful than I am, silly frog-man,” she replied, increasing her pace and walking briskly in the opposite direction. “Such as a sylvari who doesn’t look like a sun-deprived asparagus.”
“Oh, no, lady tree! You don’t look like such a poor, bland thing! Your hair is like the gentle green of pale jade, your eyes the same, yet sparkling with…”
She suddenly whipped around, bending down and smiling coldly at the frog’s quivering eyeballs. “Sparkling with what, exactly?” she asked. Her voice sent jagged tremors of fear down his tiny spine. “Tell you what,” she continued, not waiting for a reply. “I’ll give you an exchange- the necklace for a diagnosis.”
“A…what?” The hylek licked his lips nervously. Her smile widened.
“A diagnosis. Surely you’ve heard that diseases have been running rampant throughout the Arch as of late.” She tapped a pale, cool finger against his forehead. “Skritt, for example, can carry a form of rabies which affects your kind in an extremely terrible way. Do you know that it starts out with the simplest of symptoms? First, the infected hylek tend to experience a quicker rate of skin evaporation.”
The frog-man subconsciously itched at his arms, running his tongue over his lips again.
“After that, they become increasingly-twitchy. When the twitchiness reaches its highest point, the next part of the disease, chills, comes into play. And when the chills-”
“Stop! Stop; please tell me what can be done. How can I be certain that I don’t have this disease?”
The sylvari straightened, her smile turning into one of angelic approval. “Meet me in about an hour in the upper level of the city. We can perform the test there.”

The sun had started its slow descent as the hylek made his way to the rocky cliff-side and up the rickety stairs to the bar, a former ship converted into a pub and anchored into the sheer stone. Like the rest of the city, the nautical atmosphere left the air with a slight salt tang which mixed with the smells of strong alcohol and cheap food. It made it easier to dismiss his nervous sweat as nothing more than the atmosphere. He sat at a table, ordered a glass of water- had his skin always been this dry?- and waited for the sylvari to appear. Soon enough, he spotted her gracefully striding toward him, nodding in recognition as she seated herself by him. Her skin glowed with a neon green luminescence, lighting her leafy hair and eyes with an unsettling glow. She signaled the barkeeper and ordered a rice wine, sipping delicately at it while watching the hylek with interest.
“Well?” she asked finally, pausing in her refreshment. “Do you have the necklace?”
Fingers fumbling with nerves, the frog-man pulled out the string of beads and set it on the table, sliding it towards her. “It is all yours,” he croaked, webbed fingers trembling. “Oh!” he gulped nervously. “Please hurry; I think the tremors are becoming more violent.”
“Patience,” she replied smoothly, draining her glass with casual ease. She set the empty container on the table and reached towards him. “Your hand, please,” she purred, her calm voice soothing him.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” he burbled throatily. “Now, how can you tell if I have the disease?”
“Hm…” she sighed. “I’m not entirely sure you’ll like the idea. Some would prefer the risk to the treatment. But if you’re certain-“
“Please! I have tads at home,” he stuttered. “The sooner this is done, the sooner I can rest knowing that they are not at risk.”
Her lips curved into a smile. Such a pretty, innocent face, he thought, his breathing slowing. Her hypnotic eyes blinked lazily at him, focusing on his slick-skinned arm.
“Reach out your hand, please,” she murmured, grabbing his wrist and flexing it, displaying its prominent veins. He winced slightly.
“Please, pale one, hurry. My wife will be worried if I do not return.”
“Patience,” she purred again, causing prickles of unease to rise on the back of his webbed feet. She removed a dagger from her belt and quickly slid it along his wrist. A cry of surprised pain popped out of his mouth. “It’s all right,” she hushed, tipping his blue blood into a bowl which she pulled out from her pack. Once it was two-thirds full, she released his arm, swirling the thick vitae and staring at it intently.
“Well?” he asked, squeezing below the cut to staunch the flow. “What can you see?”
“Oh, it’s not what I see,” she replied distantly, glancing up at him dismissively. “The best place to obtain results is at my lab. This way,” she called, gliding towards the back of the room. No one stood to block their path.

He followed the willowy woman through the door into a dimly-lit room filled with an assortment of magical and alchemical paraphernalia. As he glanced about it, his bulbous eyes caught sight of an ominous-looking splash on the floor. He gulped nervously.
“Ink spill,” she explained casually, not bothering to turn from her desk. She set the bowl of blood on the table, walked back toward the door, and locked it. “Now that we’re in private, I can better perform the experiment.”
He knew better by now to not ask what her plan was, instead busying himself with arranging his spindly limbs on a short, splintery stool.
“Eat this, please. It should help with the blood flow,” she said, offering him a small bunch of lavender-colored flowers. Gulping them down, he watched with fascination as she flitted around the desk, pouring a small amount of his blood into a vial and mixing it with other compounds. Seemingly-satisfied at the result of the tincture, she set it down on the table next to several similarly-shaped vessels.
“I would like to thank you for your willingness to come here,” she smiled, sitting across from him.
“Anything for my tads,” he replied, pulling on his collar. Was the air getting stuffier? “How soon can we expect the results? Is there a cure?”
She laughed, waving his concerns away, and reached back for the bowl which still contained a portion of his blood. Dipping her fingers into the thick liquid, she gave the dripping fluid a delicate sniff before deliberately licking it off of her skin.
“Hmmmm,” she mused, running her pale-green tongue around her lips before tipping the bowl back and drinking the rest. She smacked her lips lightly, pursing them in concentration. The hylek had to resist every urge in his body to leap back in terror.
“What…why did you do that? Doesn’t what’s in the vial indicate if I have the disease or not?” he stammered in confusion.
She tapped a blue-stained finger on her pale lips. “No,” she replied simply. “That, my good frog, is an experiment. Thanks to you, I now have definitive proof that your blood provides an excellent binding ingredient for two otherwise-incompatible compounds. This is an amazing turning point in my studies,” she declared, grasping his hand firmly.
“My disease! The rabies?” he asked pitifully. “I must know! Am I sick?”
The light of excitement slowly faded, as if realizing that she had left an important task unfinished. “Oh,” she smiled condescendingly, “I suppose I never told you the whole truth now, did I? You see, Mr. Hylek,” she said calmly, placing the empty, blue-stained bowl in front of him, “I have a bit of a problem. As I’m sure you are aware, I am a necromancer. My fascination with disease and the anatomy of Tyria’s creatures has led me all around the world for my studies. However, a good amount of “professionals” I meet are firmly convinced that one illness is exactly the same as another, despite some slight yet important differences. How can I tell which is which?” Her smile widened, and in the flickering, dim light, the sight of his blood on her teeth nearly made him scream. “The same way in which I satisfy my curiosity as to how blood tastes. Yours in particular,” she continued blithely, watching as his movements slowed, “is particularly rich. A good amount of copper overtone, very healthy, but tinted with a slight bit of adrenaline. You may want to reduce your salt intake. Never a good thing when I can taste the fish you’ve been eating. But altogether, you are quite delicious, well-fed, and with a healthy bit of life in your veins.”
His jaw fell open. “You… you are a madwoman. Let me go!” With fumbling fingers, he reached his webbed hands toward the door. To his horror, his movements seemed slowed. His eyes glazed as the beautiful, deadly sylvari laughed again. “Don’t you see? What you have done is an amazing sacrifice- truly fantastic! Your blood will save hundreds of asuran progeny from scalebane. Doesn’t that make you happy?” She smiled excitedly, bending down to stare into his bulging eyes. “I will be certain that your name is remembered in the annals of history. Science will never forget your contributions. Sadly, the best way for you to be truly immortalized is if you’re gone. But don’t worry! I won’t let a precious drop of your blood go to waste. You won’t even feel any pain.” She flipped through a calendar on her wall and beamed at him for the last time. “And I should be able to keep my appointment in Divinity’s Reach. But let’s finish your misery first, shall we?”

Chapter 8b:

“Well, it’s obvious that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” remarked Myrie, leaning against the shuttered window casually. “And this problem probably isn’t going to disappear. If the Mantle have targeted you and are desperate enough to attempt an assassination in a fairly open area, then it stands to reason that they’ll do so again.”
“Captain Thackeray has already been notified of the situation,” Lord Faren replied, looking up from his laced fingers. “And I’ve offered a reward to anyone who sees anything indicative of a Mantle plot or group.”
“Well, that’s all well an’ good,” came the sylvari’s voice, “but what if your incentive goes a bit overboard? If erryone gets suspicious and jumpy, stan’s to reason that people will start gettin’ a bit more… violent.” She grimaced, swallowed, and continued. “Think of it this way. I know it works diff’rently with you humans, but I’ve seen similar things ‘appen in the Grove. Sylvari who’ve experienced trauma at the ‘ands of the Nightmare Court are often quick to point the finger at their neighbor should they do somethin’ even slightly suspect. If the situation’s not quickly diffused…” she mimicked an explosion with her hands, smiling cynically. “So we’s got to be careful lest we want chaos to rule ‘ere. That’s what they want, anyhow. A people divided are more likely to attack each other than the true foe.”
“But how should we proceed?” Faren huffed frustratedly, glowering at the tree-woman. “Surely you’re not recommending we just sit here and wait for someone to say, ‘Hello, I’m a Mantle and I’m here to kill you for the Unseen Ones!’?”
“H’I didn’t say that,” she growled, her orange glow pulsing in the setting sun. “Simply sittin’ ‘round does no good. What I recommend iz moderation. Don’ let yer feelings cloud yer judgement. Keep a clear head- and I want no comments about my sobriety. I’ve out-thought norn drunker than this and whomped ‘em in fights more harrowing.”
“Yeah, but these aren’t norn, and they’re most certainly not drunk,” Myrie replied, frowning. “What we’re dealing with are pocket groups of Mantle who are highly-organized, intelligent, and adaptable.”
“Not to mention well-funded,” muttered the warrior. “I’m still frustrated that that fellow didn’t know the name of his provider. You’d think after-”
Myrie’s eyes widened, and she made a quick cutting motion to her throat. She doesn’t know, she mouthed. The sylvari’s eyebrows rose, but she got the message and managed to turn her statement into an incoherent mumble. Gryphon had been quiet for a long while, lost in his thoughts.
“The priest has given strict orders that you are not to move for at least three more days. If you experience any more unusual pains or headaches, let us know. It could be a sign that the Agony is deepening or that you’re undergoing a relapse.” He walked over and gently brushed her hair away from her eyes, giving her a stern yet concerned look. “Do you hear me? If you start having odd headaches or if you experience pain that is out of the ordinary, tell the priest. Don’t try to tough it out.”
“For our sake,” Faren smiled weakly. She shifted her gaze back to him. “I can’t exactly raid your pantries to provide a welcome-home feast if you’re not alive to enjoy it.”
Despite her irritation, the elementalist gave a small laugh. “Fair enough. But the parchment… my parents…”
“If you want, we’ll investigate it.”
“You don’t think it’s serious enough to warrant an investigation.” It wasn’t a question; despite her state, Selana was still remarkably astute. The mesmer sighed, standing and moving back towards the door.
“I think that if someone is willing to use it against you, it is worth inspection. I don’t want you getting hurt over something that’s nothing more than wishful fantasies.”
She was silent. After a moment, he continued. “If you would prefer to seek this out for yourself after you have recovered, feel free to do so. I will not intrude upon your journey. But,” he said, holding up a finger, “I request that you bring at least one more member alongside you for this expedition should you decide to go.”
“Who?”
“Another sylvari; a necromancer known as Nettle Viridia. She’s already been summoned here and is expected to arrive within a few days. Her skills in spectral sensitivity are very astute; nowhere near as renowned as the Firstborn, Trahearne, but she’s nonetheless quite good. If there is anything amiss about the letter, or if there are ghosts who might tell more to the story, she’ll help. But be warned; she is rather…eccentric.”
As she opened her mouth to ask what he meant, a low groan interrupted her question.
“Oh, no,” Sylfia moaned, knocking her head on the back of the wall in frustration. “No, no, no. You are not referring to that obsession of hers, are you?”
Gryphon’s eyes widened marginally. “You know her?”
A sneer spread across the sylvari’s face, twisting it into a terrifying mask. “Of course. Word tends to spread fast when you’re a blood-drinker.”

Chapter 8a:

She was walking through a swirling haze of mist, unable to see more than a few feet in front of her. Though she was unsettled, the abstract shapes and uncertain noises seemed oddly familiar. “Hello?” Selana asked, cautiously stepping forward. From a distance, a soft sob reached her ears. A spike of fear jolted through her. “Hello? Are you all right?” she asked, walking more quickly in the direction of the child’s cry.
“Mommy?” came the tremulous sniffle. “Mommy, where are you?”
“I’m not your mommy,” the elementalist murmured soothingly, reaching her hands out and trying to push back the more solid banks of cloud that appeared. “Just tell me who you are.”
“Where are you and Daddy going?” the child cried. “Take me with you!”
“Wait!” Selana called, trying to run towards the sound of her disappearing steps. “Let me help you!” She looked down at her feet in shock, where slashes of violet electricity were binding her in place. A thick cloud of ominous mist began roiling slowly towards her.
“Come back!” she shouted desperately, fear starting to cloud her voice as she strained against her prickling bonds. “If I can’t help you, then please help me! Please!”
Her voice faded into the thick fog, leaving only the noise of her voice and that of the fleeing child echoing in her mind.

She sat up with a sudden gasp and a groan. “Oh…” she moaned, rubbing her head and trying to get a grasp of her location.
“Hey,” came a strained laugh. “You’re up.” Myrie’s brown head dipped into her field of vision, a worried smile on her face. “We thought you might not make it.”
“We?”
Gryphon Radwing walked into the room- she appeared to be in a temple or hospital of sorts. “Thank the gods,” he sighed, walking to her side and giving her a slight hug. “How are you feeling?”
“As though I’ve had a steel spike driven through my entire head,” she replied, groaning and squinting her eyes shut. “Could you please close the window?”
“Too bright?”
“Yes. What happened?” She peered around the room, confusion muddling her vision. “Where’s Sylfia?”
Myrie gestured towards the shuttered window. “Probably out getting roaringly drunk again. She claimed that her adrenaline burned off what she had consumed before and during the fight, and that you owed her for saving your life.”
“Both of you saved my life,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t see you running off and drinking.”
The thief gave a short bark of laughter. “Call it nobility if you must. Your face was pretty funny, though.” She gave a slack-jawed imitation. Returning to her usual appearance, she gave a smirk. “Don’t think I’d leave that for a moment.”
“Careful now,” came a familiar voice. Selana slid her gaze over to the foot of her bed, where an unnoticed Lord Faren sat on a stool. “She might take that the wrong way.” He gave a weak grin, which she returned with a grimace.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” she remarked crossly. Returning to the mesmer, she continued, “What happened? Why are you-?”
“Myrie told us what happened,” Gryphon replied sourly. “What on earth made you think that you could take on the White Mantle by yourself?”
“I brought backup, but I didn’t know it would be the Mantle,” she replied defensively. “Or that there would be an ambush. Why on earth they would target me is… oh.” Her eyes opened a bit more widely. “Myrie, where’s the parchment?”
“Last I knew, you’re the one who had it, Flamey-locks,” came the casual reply. The sound of streaming water and the smell of herbs alerted her to the presence of a steaming cup of tea. She accepted it with only the slightest amount of hesitation.
“What? Don’t forget that I was once a noblewoman. I know how to brew a decent cup of tea, still,” Myrie smirked. Then, puckering her lips in confusion, she added, “Never could figure out the way silverware was arranged, though.” She sat down again. “What happened to you? One second, you were roasting the laggards with the best of us, the next you were swaying like …”
“Like Sylfia?” a light smile played across her lips. Myrie laughed again.
“Yeah, like her. Drunken tree’s probably still-”
The door was suddenly and violently swung open. “Oi…. ‘ave nowt been this drunk since…” A slurred hiccup interrupted the warrior’s reminiscing.
“Hush!” Faren hissed. “Selana’s still trying to recover from … well, whatever the priest said happened.”
“An acute psychic attack,” Gryphon replied. “She seems to be suffering from some sort of Spectral Agony which is very similar to what has been documented in the old days of Queen Salma the First. I’ve not seen it happen so greatly before- Myrie was the closest I’ve seen it happen, but yours was without a doubt the most severe. She might have survived a few days without treatment, but the priest says that it was fortunate that you arrived when you did. Any longer and the damage it wreaked could have been permanent.”
“What triggered it?”
The sylvari shrugged. “H’all I know izzat one moment you were starin’ at that parchment o’ yours, and the next, you turn’d really pale and kinder collapsed on Myrie. Whatever was on it must’ve been quite shocking.”
“I’m sure,” Myrie replied. “And while I and she are eternally grateful for your invaluable assistance, could you please step back? My eyes are watering.”
The sylvari gave an exaggerated shrug and stepped back, nearly stomping on Lord Faren’s shoe. “Watch it!” he yelped, yanking his feet back.
“I can’t just stop, though,” Selana muttered, leaning back on her pillow. “Whatever information they know, they don’t want me to discover it. And now that I know where they’re hiding my parents, I can go help them. I’m sure they’ll be able to explain everything. Perhaps they even know about these strange lapses in memory I get.”
Myrie and Sylfia smiled encouragingly at her, but one thing that the inebriated warrior noticed was an uneasy glance between the two lords. Her pale eyes narrowed, and though she dismissed it temporarily, she decided to ruminate on the look later. Something, she thought through her wine-soaked haze, was most certainly up.

I love the glow that you were able to achieve! Fantastic work.

Awww! Those are adorable! They look very well-made, too. Good job! I hope Miss Gray features you on the next podcast.

Chapter 7d:

“What’s our next course of action, then?” Faren asked impatiently. “I know I’ve messed up before, but I still need to know what the state of Selana’s mind is. You can’t possibly continue with these…” He briefly flicked a frustrated hand outward, searching for the proper word. “These treatments forever. You’ve pretty much stated already that her mind is starting to build a resistance to them, and that she seems to be starting to show signs of strains because of them. I know you were trying to do what you thought would be most beneficial, but that was then. Surely she would be able to better process and think through the trauma now.”
“Perhaps, but the possibility still remains that her mind would shatter due to the sudden information overload. We must be caref-“
“I’m tired of being careful, confound it all and Ministry be hanged! If their dirty laundry gets aired in the process, then so be it! We are allowing an innocent woman to live with a caged mind. Is that really less important than the secrets of some stuffed shirts up in Ministry? Perhaps this is a good thing! Maybe we’ll even oust some of the more corrupt folk in high places.”
Captain Thackeray’s head was once more spinning wildly, and, not for the first time that night, he wondered why he had agreed to participate in this madness. “You never mentioned anyone in the Ministry! Why on earth- oh, don’t tell me….”
“We have ample reason to believe that at least one or more Ministers are in connection with the same Mantle operation which led to the curse on Selana’s sister. However, lack of any concrete knowledge has prevented a firm case with which we could accuse and remove him from his positon of power.” A thoughtful look entered Gryphon’s eyes. “Actually, your position could make this little mystery of ours a bit easier to solve. Have you ever been led to conduct any investigations on any of the Ministers? Do any of them strike any warning bells?”
Shock spread slowly across the Seraph’s face. “Yes, actually. Now that you mention it, Minister Caudecus has been spreading dissent against the Queen again. He seems just desperate enough to try contacting anyone in connection with the Mantle to bring her down. If she can’t protect one of the oldest families in the Reach, how can it be expected that she can care for her people in more distant lands?” He slammed a frustrated fist on the table, earning a brief, freezing glare from Yalora. “Grenth take him, it makes too much sense. I’ll assign a security detail to him tomorrow and see if they can find anything.”
“But what of the Ministry Guard?” Kasmeer protested. “You must know that with your position, any attacks on Caudecus will be seen as nothing more than an overprotective assault on behalf of the Queen. That would be bad publicity for both you and her, and it would lend credence to his arguments.”
“And we definitely don’t want that,” muttered Gryphon, lacing his fingers together thoughtfully.
An uneasy silence dominated the meeting. Finally, punctuated by a dry chuckle, Faren remarked, “You know, wouldn’t it be funny if she discovered all of this by herself?”

~~~

It only took two fingers for the man to break. Whimpering with pain, he quickly stammered out what he thought the madwoman and the crazy tree wanted to hear before subsiding into tears.
“Please, no more,” he hiccupped, inserting the bloodied, bruised appendages into his mouth. “I’ve told you what you wanted- just… just let me go! The pendant is genuine!”
Selana walked from across the courtyard and rejoined the sylvari and thief. Although briefly confused and disturbed at the man’s sudden change in behavior, she stated, “The letter claims that my parents are currently being held captive near some of the ruins in Nebo Terrace. Should this be true, I may be able to…” Her vision swam, and a dull pulse throbbed through her head.
“Oi, fleshy, you aw’right?” The pale green eyes were narrowed into slits. “Do ‘umans normally do that?”
“The swaying, face-holding thing? Nope. Hang on, there, Selana, let’s not crush your short friend by falling on them, yeah? Oh, and Sylfia, if you could call the guard and let them know that a Mantle cultist was recently found trying to assassinate Lady Firestone, that would be perfect.”
“You really think they’d listen to a talking tree,” came the skeptical reply.
“A talking, drunken tree, and yes. They’ve had to listen to gate-keepers state even more improbable and dangerous things, so you’re probably not the most odd of complainers.” As she spoke, the pale elementalist slumped onto the chair, clammy, trembling hands resting quaveringly on her lap. Myrie cast a nervous look at the woman, noticing that, despite the darkness of early morning, Selana’s pupils were constricted into pinpricks. Something wasn’t right.
“Might want to try finding a priest of Dwayna afterward, if you can,” Myrie muttered, trying to stabilize the tall redhead without being squished. “I think Selana may have incurred a head wound.”
Perhaps responding to her name, the elementalist’s eyes closed briefly; pausing to open them as if in a dream, her hazy gaze narrowed with drowsy confusion and frustration.
“I can’t see you,” she whispered. “Where have you gone?” Then, just as abruptly as she had spoken, the woman relinquished her remaining consciousness and slumped against the back of the pillar, mouth slightly ajar and breathing shallow. A stab of fear slugged Myrie in the stomach. Though she would have never admitted it, she viewed the orderly, proper elementalist as something of an older sister who was fun to tease yet who could be counted on for sound advice. For a woman who had very few family members or close ones remaining, to lose one more person would be even more difficult than before. There had been too much pain in her life already.
“Hurry up, you bleeding cabbage,” she whispered fiercely, struggling to keep herself from being toppled by the leaning elementalist’s weight.

You have released the musical Kraken!
Lately I’ve been stuck on metal, but as long as it’s not glitch, hip-hop, rap, or country music, I either will or have listened to it.

I have recently discovered and become obsessed with Black Veil Brides’ “In the End.” I find it quite inspiring. Another one is Nightwish’s “Nemo.” Their songs are frequently quite haunting, and I love them.

Peter Hollens’ rendition of Assassin’s Creed’s “Underground” is another harmonic wonder, and I enjoy listening to remixes by Pentatonix from time to time.

Of course, for anyday inspiration, there’s GW2’s “Heart of Thorns: Main Theme.” Essays become dragons to be slain when I’m listening to that one. Continuing on the orchestral tangent, I also enjoy listening to The Piano Guys’ “Berlin.” I’m a sucker for some good cello rock/pop with a driving thrum.

Piano music is another weakness of mine; new age and modern arrangements (such as Jon Schmidt’s “Waterfall”, or Phillip Wesley’s “Dark Night of the Soul”) make for excellent contemplation songs and mind-movers. However, I also am fond of classical Beethoven, and Antonio Vivaldi’s “Winter” is one of my favorite musical works to listen to on loop.

Finally, I use dubstep/house music for energetic encouragement.

If you would recommend anything (I don’t listen to explicit or overly-suggestive music, despite the fact that some bands which I enjoy do perform them) I wouldn’t mind trying to take a listen.

You are now my favorite person.

Is it all right if I reserve a spot? The character I would like you to draw is one whose story has yet to be revealed in my writing, and I don’t want to spoil it for any of my readers. If not, then I shall concoct another character and story for whom I hope your pencil shall do justice.

~S.F.

Chapter 7c:

Though it had been trampled underfoot, stained with fresh blood, and teased by the wind and dust, the parchment was still miraculously-legible.
“I’ll see if I can get any answers out of this lout- see if I can find out who his higher-ups are,” Myrie muttered, casting a concerned look towards Selana. “You need to be able to read this with your head clear.” Although she would have never admitted it, seeing the normally-calm elementalist so greatly shaken worried her immensely. She rubbed the ring below her collarbone, once more feeling a calm coolness wash over her, and stepped towards the prostrate agent. Kneeling by his face, she sighed and looked him in the eye, making sure that Selana was out of earshot.
“All right, you. Let me say that although the sylvari has incapacitated you, I can assure you that she’s been restraining yourself for the sake of the highborn. I will give her full permission to test her hammer on your fingers one by one until we get some answers as to who sent you and why. If, after all of your phalanges have been pulped, you are still unwilling to speak, I will begin using you as a test dummy for my pistol practice.” She stood, loading her pistol with a slow deliberation.
“So. Let’s talk.”

~~~

“We were taken into the upper bower, where the Pale Tree’s avatar had manifested itself. Her calm demeanor helped soothe the distressed family. Even though we knew of the gravity and dangers of the situation, she managed to explain that the process was likely to succeed since the infant’s mind was clear of any major memories. The Dream would cradle her consciousness, developing it and allowing her to emerge later as a sylvari. However, she stated that it was very likely that due to her unusual origin, she would be uncomfortable in her skin of leaves and vines; her basic mind would still wish for its human flesh. What memories she did have would be suppressed; it was unlikely that she would remember her human family until much later, if at all. Even with these risks, the Firestones were still willing to proceed. I went forward with them as they brought the feverish, sleeping infant toward her clearing. Selana wanted to go with her, but she did not fully understand what was going to happen and had to be restrained from going forward.”
“She was only a child,” Faren whispered. “What would anyone expect?”
“Yes, imagine yourself in the same position- your sister whom you have only known for a few days is suddenly whisked away with you and your entire family to a strange land where the trees walk and the forest speaks.”
She was increasingly hysterical, and when the sleeping baby began to be covered by the Tree’s vines, she had to be removed even further from her sister.” The mesmer’s voice cracked, and he took a shuddering breath. “Do you have any idea how it felt? Telling such a small child that her sister would be fine, even as she seemed to be covered with the roots of the grave? All of that stress of not seeing her parents for so long, of seeing her newborn sister taken from her and dying so soon, of feeling her happiness and joy become shuttered beneath the shadow of things which she did not understand- her mind was nearly broken, as young as she was. Even as her sister’s mind was being prepared and eased into the Dream, her own required immediate attention. Countess Anise focused on-”
“Wait, you never mentioned Countess Anise before,” Kasmeer gave a nervous hiccup. “She was involved in this, too?”
“Yes; if you recall, her parents were high-ranking members of the Shining Blade. The countess had a high respect for them, even if she didn’t know them personally. So when the Queen sent out a secret missive asking for trustworthy, skilled mesmers to aid in this mission, she volunteered her skills. I doubt that the ritual would have progressed as well as it did without her assistance. But Selana was not calm; she was hysterical, and Anise remarked that her mind required immediate attention if she was to have a possibility of normalcy in her later life. As with her sister, I was charged with suppressing the recent memories to reduce the strain and stress of the past, theoretically allowing her to carry on with little negative impact.
Faren snorted derisively. “And that worked well, didn’t it? She completely forgot those years of her life. She forgot about her sister, her friendship with me-”
“Faren, enough,” Yalora reprimanded, fingers splaying on her table. “I understand that you are emotionally-invested in this, but I must remind you that you are not the only one who was affected by these decisions. Gryphon, if you are willing to continue?”
“Thank you, Yalora.” The mesmer took a long drink from his goblet. “Faren, you know that she remembered at least part of her friendship with you; you were both able to build it back up from what little she remembered. In fact, if you had not tried to get Kasmeer to divulge her progress, it is more than likely that Selana would not have broken off your recent engagement.”
“But it’s because of her suppression that she acted the way she did! Surely she would know that I had no intention of straying from her if she was able to fully remember her early childhood instead of being forced to live with what fragments are left in her mind.”
Gryphon pierced the lord with another frustrated glare. “Faren, consider the fact that only recently you were considered a shameless skirt-chaser. With your past, it would be easy for anyone to think you had taken on a lover.”
Kasmeer huffed irately. “People are entirely too quick to make judgements.”
“No, she…” the young lord swallowed, grimacing. “She made a reasonable decision. I suppose if I were in her shoes, I would have thought the same thing. I just worry for her.”
“We all do. And that is precisely why she cannot leave House Firestone until this has been resolved.”

Chapter 7b:

Selana’s eyes flew open in shock, and though she stepped back to avoid the dagger diving towards her chest, she knew as soon as her attacker leapt forward that she would have no time to dodge. She flinched in anticipation of the metal’s hungry bite and wondered who she would see waiting for her in the Mists.
PING! The steel rang out sharply as it flew from the “informant’s” hand. He let out a yowl of pain and frustration as he stumbled towards the ground. Myrie grinned dryly, nocking another arrow onto her bow.
“Can’t die so easily on us, Fire-head! Keep your guard up! We’ve got your back.”
Selana gave a slight smile in reply, arcing her hand out in a deadly curve of fire. Her combatant skittered back on the loose pebbles, pointing furiously at her and shouting, “Kill her! Kill her now before the guards notice!”
“Oi, you think yer lazy oafs can getter’ way with murder?” Sylfia gave a savage snarl of glee and leapt upon the shocked attackers. Howls of terror erupted from their mouths as her face, devilish in the light of the moon and her own luminescence, filled their faces.
“It’s after me- it’s going to-!” The horrified screams were interrupted with an abrupt, pasty crunch. The sylvari threw back her head and gave a feral roar.
“Stand and fight, you bleedin’ cowa’ds!” she raged, leaping towards some other hapless foe. Selana let loose a bolt of fire, melting the flesh from one of the attacking women’s faces. Her shrieks of pain and rage were stopped by an emerald-flecked shadow- Myrie’s deadly dagger danced among the ambushers, and she was a shadow-plague among them.
“Hey, Flamey-locks! Bit of help?” she cried hoarsely, grunting in pain as a hammer thudded dully on her armor. Selana’s eyes flashed with recognition, and she flung her hand skyward, summoning a healing cloud of mystic rain overhead.
“Ah, that’s refreshing,” Myrie sighed blissfully, pausing to bash a charging warrior in the skull with her dagger-hilt. “But do you think we could finish this up?”
“Certainly,” the elementalist replied, dodging the main speaker’s blow and leaving behind a scorching trail of flames. “Just let me finish catching this son of a skritt.”

~~~

“What on earth are you talking about? The Pale Tree?” Captain Thackeray’s head spun. “But… why on earth is there no documentation of this meeting? Surely something so historic would warrant commemoration.”
“Yes, I am speaking of the Pale Tree. The solution offered by her was risky, though, and many would have considered it heretical, so the Queen ordered that the meeting be kept private when she approved of its passing.
The sylvari were a new race, but we had already established that they were friendly for the most part. Deirdre was desperate for any chance that her baby could receive and was thus prepared for any shock which could be conceived to encounter. Selana, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly withdrawn and frightened. Children are much more perceptive than we give them credit; she knew that something was wrong with her sister even if she didn’t fully understand the reasons or how they were affecting her. All she knew was that her happy, laughing little sibling had become sickly, weak, and pale in the shadow of this unknown affliction. Even though her servants and family tried to reassure her that her sister would be well, young Selana saw through their hopeful lies. She was as desperate as her parents to see her sister made well, but she didn’t know that the Pale Tree’s solution would be as radical as it was. The Firestones travelled as quickly as they could through the asura gates from Divinity’s Reach to Lion’s Arch, and from there to the Grove, the home-city of the sylvan race.
By now, other member of the nobility had heard rumors of what was to happen. However, most of them didn’t care enough to ask or seek aid for the young family. The incorrect rumor in the Reach was that this family, desperate to break a curse on their household, was going to some twisted vision of Melandru to sacrifice their sick daughter. The truth, however, was different. The Pale Tree had offered a risky solution to break the curse. The Dream holds the sylvari conscious before they emerge into their bodies; Lyssan priests had speculated that the mesmeric arts could transfer the baby’s mind into this Dream, possibly allowing her to be reborn as one of their kind.”
The only sounds in the room came from the flickering snap of candle-flames and soft breaths of those who had only just remembered their importance.
Gryphon ran a shaky hand over his face. “I was there when they started the ritual.”

~~~

Selana was like a firestorm unleashed, fury coursing hot through her veins. She reached down and grabbed the jabbering man’s collar, hoisting him to her eye level and skewering him with her gaze. Sparks of lightning and flame snapped off of her skin.
“Who sent you?” she asked calmly. Her breath was like a dragon’s, and the squirming man’s face broke into a heavy sweat at its heat.
“I won’t tell you,” he hissed, clawing at his throat. “Your entire line deserves to be purged for its destruction.”
“Look at me!” she snarled, bringing his face closer to hers. A whimper escaped his blanched lips. “Do you see me? I, I am the last of House Firestone- I am all that is left of a once-proud legacy! Why else would you bother with me unless my parents are dead?”
The man let out a nervous giggle. “Finally figured it out, witch? They died horrifically, you know. Broken hearts and all that. So sad, so sad…”
The elementalist dropped him in disgust, stomach roiling. “No,” she whispered angrily, fists clenched in defiant rage, “they wouldn’t die like that. They were always to…together….encouraging each other…” Her head started to pound, and she leaned heavily against a pillar, breathing unsteadily.
“Sylfia, please stop digging through those corpses’ pockets and hold this man still. Feel free to use any force necessary to keep him in pl-“
Two wet, sharp cracks answered her unfinished sentence. Myrie’s eyes flew towards the warrior, who had casually crossed her legs and was using the now-crippled Mantle as a screaming footstool. She bit off and spat out the cork to another cache of wine.
“Wot? He’s not goin’ anywhere,” she stated defensively, chugging heartily from her bottle. She gestured towards the bloodstained, slightly-ragged parchment. “Aren’t ya’ gonna read that? Even if it is bait, it might be useful,” she remarked between swigs, her orange pulse deepening. “Per’aps it’ll clear yer mind or sommat.” She shrugged, leaning back and fiercely nudging her footstool with steel-shod heels when he tried moving. “Oi, I jus’ got comfort’ible. Stay in place, rotter.”
Selana swallowed the bile which had been rising in her throat. “Perhaps you’re right,” she mumbled quaveringly. She reached down to pick up the note.

My word, your art is fantastic! I love the bright colors and organic flowiness to it. You’re quite talented. Keep up the amazing work.

Chapter 7a:

Selana looked at the extended paper with a mixture of suspicion and anticipation. If this was truly a letter from her parents, who knew what it contained? Details of their experiences in centaur territory? Maybe they had known if or when they were to die and decided to send out their missive only after their death. Or… could it be a note detailing where they currently were? Her hands trembled as she slowly reached toward it.
“Wait.” Her irate glance twitched back to the informant’s face. “We first have another message to tell.”
“Please, can it wait? I’ve not heard from my parents for years; I don’t even remember much of them,” she begged, gritting her teeth in frustration.
“Surely you can wait but a few seconds more,” he smiled, a sinister glint flashing in his eyes. Myrie’s hackles raised, but she did not loose her arrows. Selana was not yet in danger, but the eerie grin that she saw flickering in the moonlight was not reassuring. She cast a glance towards the inebriated sylvari, who was grimacing either from her drink or from her own unease.
“Very well,” the elementalist replied tautly. “Please make it quick.”

~~~

“Selana’s parents, Arcon and Deirdre, were soldiers who fought in the Centaur War,” Gryphon stated, leaning back in his chair. “After the battle was over and the humans had reclaimed the contested area, they returned to Divinity’s Reach. Aside from being Seraph, they were also members of the Shining Blade. Selana Firestone the First, matriarch of House Firestone, was one of the members who helped Queen Salma regain her throne after the Guild Wars. Our families have been tied for centuries by this event.”
“You mean-?” Faren’s eyebrows rose, and he nearly choked on his wine.
The mesmer nodded. “Yes. Gryphon Radwing, my ancestor and namesake, fought side-by-side with Selana’s ancestor. Our families were bound by this event and the guard they formed. In fact, there is another family in this town who is linked to it, but that is another tale.
As I am sure you know, the Shining Blade are not only the Queen’s protectors, but they are also used to find and exterminate pockets of White Mantle cultists, who foolishly worship the Mursaat as gods.”
“The Unseen ones,” Logan murmured, brows furrowing. “I’ve heard that phrase used before.”
Gryphon nodded. “The Firestones were quite talented at rooting out these gatherings, and they had gained a reputation among Shining Blade and White Mantle alike. After the war, they were given permission to leave so that they could focus on raising Selana. She was three by the time they returned from duty, and they were determined to give her the best education and life which they could offer. Shortly after their return to domestic life, Deirdre began feeling suspicious that they were being watched. Arcon had full confidence in her concerns and decided to post guards around their house, becoming even more protective of his wife and daughter- especially after learning that Deirdre was pregnant. Selana was thrilled at the idea of becoming a big sister and eagerly looked forward to the infant’s arrival.
Though Deirdre’s pregnancy and birth went well, the newborn fell suddenly and deathly ill. Selana did not understand what was happening to her baby sister, and was very distressed at her failing health. Deirdre, desperate to see her child- who she viewed as a symbol of their new lives- brought the infant to the priests to see if there was anything they could do. Arcon and Selana followed, supporting her and taking turns holding the feverish baby. When they arrived, a priest of Grenth informed them that their daughter had been cursed; the child’s life would slowly fade from her body in a matter of days. A priestess of Lyssa revealed that there was a symbol cast into the young flesh- a message of revenge from White Mantle survivors.”
“What… what happened to her?” Kasmeer stammered, knuckles white around her goblet.
“After consulting with all of the priests to see if there was a cure which might dispel the curse, they came to the conclusion that they would need to seek a drastic alternative. A priest of Melandru told them of a distant tree which could supposedly save their daughter at the price of her losing her body. This tree had recently borne fruit of the most unusual kind- the sylvari.”

~~~

“Your parents would be very proud of you,” the informant sighed, fingers drumming on his scroll. “In fact, this message is as much for you as them.” Before she could react, his hand swept toward a dagger he kept sheathed in his belt, and he lunged toward Selana, casting aside the parchment.
“Glory to the Mantle, and death to the heretics!”

Oooh, I quite like “A Terrible Tangle.” You did a fantastic job with the ominous colors.

Chapter 6b:

“What you will learn tonight is to be kept secret, and it is of utmost importance that nothing be breathed of it outside these walls.” Gryphon placed an ominous lavender disk on the center of the table. It was shot through with pulsing, neon magenta veins of ancient magic, and it radiated torment. Everyone sitting at the table instinctively flinched away from it. Even Captain Thackeray had to stifle a horrified shout at its presence.
“This is an ancient Mursaat token, given to me from my ancestor from whom I take my name. As you have no doubt noticed,” Gryphon explained with a wry grin, “it is still very much imbued with resonating Agony. Anyone who touches it is subject to its influence. Even though I can control it, because the current enchantments are not as potent as what was required in the past, I am not immune to its effects. It is, in essence, the perfect seal of trust.” He picked it up again, grasping it firmly until his knuckles were whitened from the pressure. He suddenly hissed in pain, dropping it back onto the table with a sharp cling!. A thin wisp of smoke rose lazily from the coin; Captain Thackeray’s stomach churned as its center deepened to an unmistakably blood-red hue. Gryphon passed the coin to Faren, who took it only after a slight hesitation. After undergoing the same event as the mesmer, he passed it on to Kasmeer, who then gave it to Yalora.
“Perhaps we should leave him out of this,” she suggested, rubbing her sluggishly-pulsing hand firmly. “I doubt that the Queen would want her favorite captain to be muzzled by such ancient magics.”
“She already knows of our meeting,” Faren replied, clenching and unclenching his fist. “Though I don’t think she approves, she said that she would leave the decision up to him.”
“I want to know what’s going on here as much as anyone would,” the Seraph replied, steepling his hands and looking warily at the malicious token. “What I want to know is, will it help me to better protect Queen and country?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Gryphon replied. “You must know this, though, Captain- should you partake in the pledge of the Token, you will be branded as one of our kind until this information has been decided as properly unsealed and safe. If you speak of what you learn to anyone outside of our group, even on accident, you will be wracked with agony. Remember what happened to Myrie when we first found and destroyed that Mursaat Quinn found in your headquarters?”
Thackeray shuddered. “I wish I could forget. I thought she was dying.”
“She was,” Kasmeer replied. “I’ve not seen Agony’s effects firsthand, but suffice it to say, if she had not been protected and healed by Gryphon, it’s pretty unlikely that she would be as hale and hearty as reports make her to be. Mental disintegration at any level is torturous, and the Mursaat had perfected it.”
He swallowed, glancing back at the ominous coin. It seemed to blink hungrily, lazily at him; it reminded him of a large drake, waiting patiently for unsuspecting prey to wander into its open jaws. Every fiber of his being screamed at an instinctual level to deny this burden of knowledge and flee the scene, to forget everything he had learned about this place and its people’s secrets. His mind, on the other hand, was desperate to know what the Queen had deemed so important that she would involve every level in which she had influence in order to keep it secret. Steeling his nerves and setting his jaw, the captain reached out to the Mursaat token and gripped it in his gauntleted hand.
“Guess I’m in.”

Well.
That hurt.

Time to do some more writing so I can post relevant fanart. ;-; The feels on the bus go round and round~

Chapter 6a:

She was shadow, a thought flitting from rooftop to lamp-post. Barely seen by those still awake, her silhouette was easy to dismiss as naught but a figment of drowsy imagination. Times like these made her think of the old days when she had discovered her prowess with blade and bow, making sure that all who oppressed the weak knew of her tale. Though she stepped lightly from place to place, following Selana’s flaming head, her heart was twisted with pain. Myrie hadn’t had a proper swing around the town since she had left Rurikstead, leaving her former second-in-command, Two-Blade Pete, in charge. His death had cost the life of her most trusted companion, her childhood friend and too-late love, Quinn.
”He would love this,” she thought, relishing the sting of night air on her face as she slung her body to a final corner. Landing gracefully, she looked for the other woman in her impromptu party. It took a while, but she soon was able to spot the faintly-glowing sylvari woman, staggering drunkenly under a ragged cloak towards a wall, where she sank with a heavy slump onto the ground. Either her acting skills were greater than she gave credit, or the warrior had already made use of her payment of Blood Legion whiskey. Her slurred, incoherent mumblings seemed to indicate the latter. Myrie grimaced. “I just hope that overgrown salad doesn’t get us killed,” she prayed. It struck her as greatly amusing that her parents once told her that her life was blessed by the goddess of truth, Kormir the Blind. Perhaps there was honor among thieves, though; why else would she be helping a woman of uncertain sanity to recover snatches of what could very easily be nothing but dust and echoes?
At that moment, Selana stopped her stride. Her eyes flicked to the locations of her hidden companions. Myrie gave her a nod; she was ready. She couldn’t see what signal the sylvari gave, but the flicker of frustration on Selana’s face indicated that it was either ignored or improper. It was time.

“Come out; I am alone,” the elementalist said quietly. A thin corona of flame circled her wrists. If her informants had plans on harming her, they wouldn’t leave without some scars to identify them.
They strode from the Dwayna High Road to the central plaza, not bothering to cover their faces or make any attempts at hiding their progress. One flag given- if their information was so important, wouldn’t they be more cautious? Selana tapped her forefinger lightly against her skirt; to the group approaching, it could easily have been mistaken for impatience or fidgetiness. Myrie knew better and strung her bow in anticipation, sliding an arrow onto the string.
“We have a message for you. Do you have proof of your identity?” a man asked, face illuminated by the ghostly glow of the moon.
“I do,” Selana replied, fishing her necklace from her collarbone and showing its broken pendant. The man across from her was dressed like a noble, though she didn’t recognize his face. His eyes widened fractionally- flag two. Her left hand moved to unsheathe her staff, and in the faint, flame-lit corner, Sylfia’s fumbling fingers steadied on the grip of her longbow, and her hazy eye cleared as she drew two arrows, nocking them.

“Is that what you needed?” she asked, tone impassive. The man stroked his mustache and smiled, nodding.
“Yes. And now our part of the bargain.” He waved one of his companions forward, and she extended a rolled-up parchment to her. “We have a message from your parents.”

^ PLEASE NO. If anything, GW would be the best setting for a film- especially pre/post-Searing Ascalon. Though the “main character (you)” may not be present, it could still use the NPC heroes of old to flesh out the story. Such characters as Mhenlo and Cynn, for example, would be excellent ones to follow. Perhaps there would also be an adventurer for whom the Flameseeker Prophecies centers around. If anything, I would hope they make a film based on Prophesies, as it had one of the more interesting plot twists.

Chapter 5b:

“That would be correct,” the elementalist replied, nodding slightly. Like Selana, her hair was a brilliant red color, though not as fiery, and her skin was as pale as cream; despite some differences in stature and face, the two had been mistaken for relatives more than once. One thing which Selana did not know about her friend was that she was but one of many who were aware of and kept knowledge of her past hidden from her. Some of that knowledge was to be discussed for the first time in many years. Gryphon was certain that this could change history.
“It appears that we are all assembled,” Yalora stated, seating herself at the head of the table. The others followed suit, sitting back in their chairs. “Now, what is the reason for your call, Lord Radwing?”
“As you are aware, there are certain memories that Selana has had repressed for almost twenty years. This was under order of the Shining Blade, and by that extention, the Queen herself. It was for the sanctity of the crown and Kryta that these decisions were made, and little regard was made on the part of the child at the time. However, even a skilled mesmer such as myself may have difficulty in suppressing natural memories, especially ones which are as potent as what lie hidden behind her mind’s walls. Over the past several months, I and other members of the Order of Whispers have noticed that some of the walls which were protecting her mind have begun to deteriorate, despite constant reinforcement. If she is to find out what has been hidden, the reprecussions may be dire.” He steepled his hands and rested his chin on them, staring grimly at his audience. “I of course speak not only for myself, but for the greater part of Tyria as well.”
Captain Thackeray was in shock. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but what makes you think that the fate of one woman, noble or not, will change the fate of the world? It seems a bit over-dramatic, don’t you think?”
“In this case, no,” Faren replied, glowering sullenly at him. The Seraph recoiled slightly.
“Am I the only one who’s not sure of what’s going on here?”
“Excuse me,” the blonde interjected gently, raising a hand, “Lady Kasmeer speaking. Sir, I honestly don’t know why you are here, but rest assured that we will bring you up to speed in due time- provided, of course, that the Queen gives her permission to release the information.”
The captain bristled. “I am her first-in-command for the Seraph, her largest and most loyal force. If there was something this important-”
“-Then the Queen would be very cautious with whom the information was entrusted,” Yalora finished coolly. “With all due respect, sir, remember who the Queen’s bodyguard is. You know of her prowess in the mesmeric arts as well. She is better at concealing her emotions than you are, and quite frankly, I am not certain that many citizens would be comfortable with learning the information which you might hear tonight.”

Your artwork is amazing! Please let us know when you’ll be having more open slots and what your prices are. Keep up the fantastic work~

Holy smokes! Thank you very much to the both of you! I am honored to receive such high compliments. Hopefully my future works will bring all readers enjoyment.

Chapter 5a:

Meanwhile, under the disappearing fog of early morning, Gryphon Radwing and Logan Thackeray continued their journey to the house of Gryphon’s contact. The cobbled streets led them to a rather ostentatious mansion which reared its impressive balustrades high into the air, lending an atmosphere of majesty and secrecy to the place.
“Is this the place?” asked the captain, looking rather skeptically at the regal building. “Doesn’t seem too secret to me.”
“That’s precisely what makes it such a good meeting place,” replied the mesmer with a small smile. He walked up to the knocker and gave a few taps on the door. After a few moments, a maid opened the door.
“May I help you?” she asked politely, inclining her head slightly.
“Yes; we have a meeting with the lady of the house and her pet dog for tea,” answered the lord. To the Seraph, such a statement sounded entirely too loony to be coming from his mouth; however, he was quick to realize that it was a passcode. The maid smiled, opening the door to admit them.
“Welcome. Lady Istairiea will be with you shortly. Please wait in the main hall.”

For such a regal building, the interior was sparsely decorated. Though the items used accented the wealth and elegance of its owner, they did so in such a way that was not gaudy or haughty. The mesmer had seen plenty of ministerial homes where the occupants were fully aware of their excessive riches- and they made sure that everyone else knew it, too. Here, though, the simple decorating bespoke a life of charity mixed with elegant comfort; there were no signs of prideful excess, and everything seemed to have a function, practical or not. The Seraph felt slightly out of place in his ornate armor, but he paused to look at the fireplace’s mantle, inspecting an emblem of another guild.
“Friend of yours?” he asked, gesturing to the inscription, which stated that her allegiance was to the Pious Knights.
“Not directly,” he replied, stroking his goatee. “Although I’ve heard that her story is similar to Selana’s, the only contact I’ve had with the lady of the house is in writing. The main reason I’m here is to speak with two others.”
At that moment, another set of knocks was heard, and shortly afterward, the other contacts arrived. One of them was a woman, fair blonde waves cascading lightly down her back and around her shoulders. The other, looking unusually haggard and uneasy, was Lord Faren.
“What’s happened to her?” he asked, taking a seat next to the mesmer and running a hand through his hair. It must have started raining, for his leather jerkin was lightly sprinkled with water, and both his hair and those of the woman were wet.
“You should know, of all people,” Gryphon replied tautly. Faren winced, and the Seraph had the distinct image of a schoolboy being reprimanded by his teacher.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “but I had to know if her mind was really showing signs of recovery. She hasn’t been the same since –“
“I know she hasn’t.” The older lord’s eyes were once more steel-cold, and his usually-jolly smile was instead flattened into a taut line of anger. “And you know full well that it is for the good of Kryta that she isn’t.”
“But is it so good now?” Faren cried, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s been almost twenty years, Lord Radwing, and with all due respect, I think that her psyche is more important than what some stuffy Minister says, conspiracy be-”
“Hold your tongue,” came a feminine voice. Though the captain briefly wondered if the blonde woman was the speaker, this turned out to not be the case. Instead, walking from the same hall they had entered was another lady. Her dress was one of white and black, elegantly accented with blood-red rubies. All stood and inclined their heads towards her.
“Lady Yalora, I presume?”

Wow! That’s a lovely bit of decorating you’ve done. Quite the pastry chef you must be- rank 400 must have been easy to reach.

Nettle Viridia, sylvari necromancer, has a strange taste for blood. Even though her eccentric and eerie ways are often off-putting to those she meets, her habit is unusually useful. Some say it’s because of her innate magical qualities as sylvari, but she is able to taste whether or not a patient is carrying diseases. This has aided several members of all races and furthered some medial discoveries, though she is rarely credited. With the new expansion into the Maguuma jungles, her skills have been used to test for bacterial and fungal diseases which are starting to affect some of the explorers.

Of course, as a member of the Whispers, her superiors have certainly found that her skills are also vital for interrogation- after all, it’s a bit hard to argue with a necromancer who is curious to see just how long one can survive with varying amounts of blood loss…

Author’s Note

Hello, Clerigo! I have been writing Traveling Circus for over two years now. I didn’t anticipate writing it for this long, myself, but here we are!

Unfortunately, I do not have a .txt document. I’m not entirely sure how to make one; however, it is possible to take a copy of the forum-text, paste it in a Word document, and print it. It will take a while, but it’s what I’ve done- just remember to delete anything that isn’t story-text, and be sure that it’s formatted properly.
I used to have a Word document containing all of the chapters, but over the course of its writing, I have changed quite a bit through editing, rewriting, etc.

Thank you for your compliments! I will be trying to write some more later- but I think that my creative juices are at a bit of stagnation… e_e

~Selana Firestone

Oh my word! That is amazing!! Thank you so much~!

Chapter 4c:

“The plan is simple enough,” continued the elementalist, nodding towards the other women. “Myrie, you’ll be in the shadows, acting as a lookout-“
“Now hold on,” the thief cut in shortly, crossing her arms, “I never really said I was in, did I?”
“No, but you had asked what the job was. Curiosity, I have learned, usually warrants some sort of committal.”
Myrie’s jaw shifted slightly. “I suppose you’re right. Anyhow. I’m in the shadows…”
“Correct. You are to send off a shot in case there are any other ‘messengers’ who are attempting an ambush. In the situation where we are revealed, you are to see if you can find Captain Thackeray and warn him of the hostiles.”
“And whatt’er me?” the sylvari asked, jabbing a thumb onto her leafy breastplate. She winced, shaking out the sore appendage, and popped it in her mouth.
“You could hide in the trees!” Myrie snickered. The warrior shot her a lethal glare. “Kidding, kidding,” she quickly stated, hands up in surrender.
“Sylfia, I think it would be best if you did try to make yourself scarce. Obviously the shadows won’t be your friend, so I recommend trying to look nonchalant. Fit in, if you can.”
“Where are ya’ meeting these louts, again?” she asked, scratching behind a branched ear. Myrie was struggling with increasing futility to not stare at the strange plant-woman; how on earth were they so human, yet so alien?
“Yer starin’ dearie,” the fire-colored warrior smirked, casting a sharp glance at Myrie. “Not interested.”
The thief recoiled. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Pfah, you wish,” she snorted.
“The plan,” Selana continued icily, gluing her listeners’ tongues to their mouths, “seems fine to me. Any objections?”
Sylfia raised an orange-pulsing hand. “Not to be one to drag the party down or anyfing, but how do you suppose this-” she gestured to herself “- will blend in with you fleshies? I’m not exactly what you’d call blendin’ material.”
The elementalist paused, tapping a finger to her lips. Myrie was the one who came up with the idea:
“You could be drunk!”
“Oi like the way you think, shorty!” cheered the sylvari, clapping. “The more whiskey the bett-“
“You will only be partially drunk if at all,” Selana cut in. “This mission is too important to be botched by a plant-woman who charges in before necessary. Any other questions? And, no, I am not buying you any whiskey.”
“Count it part o’ mah pay,” the sylvari replied flatly, pale-green eyes narrowed to slits. “The way I’m seein’ it, you’ve got two glass cannons and no bunkah. Try as you might, should there be an ambush, I doubt you two’ll last terribly long.” She sat back triumphantly, crossing her ankles. Grinning dryly at their expressions of surprise, she continued, “Yah, don’ jus’ think I’m some drunken ‘ouseplant. I do have some tactics up in this thick skull o’ mine.”
Selana’s own eyes narrowed fractionally, but as before, the sylvari seemed either impervious or nonchalant concerning more possible firebolts. Then, mouth twitching slightly, she replied, “Fine. Then all is settled?” She paused once more, waiting for any further questions or demands. Hearing none, she stood, slipping her walking staff onto her back. “Excellent. We haven’t much time left; let’s go.”