Guild Wars 2

Amazing detail work! Well done.

The image of a Norn merman appeared in my mind.
I will now proceed to be scarred for life.
(Sylvari mermen could happen, though. They could have lower torsos of LEEKS!)

As requested, here are some more shots of Llumin- specifically her face and shoes. (That last bit was harder to get due to camera angles.) I figured I may as well use my attempt in shoe-shotting to get a picture of her sword, too.

Wow, your prices are actually reasonable! If possible, would you please do a fullbody ink + color of my sylvari mesmer, Llumin, and could she be back-to-back fighting with Trahearne? The first picture she is in is her current look.

(Salads are strangely pretty. Do you think they feel bad about munching on veggies?)

Wow! That’s lovely! How much do you charge for commissions like that?

I believe you have one of the best attitudes toward your community, and it makes me as a player very proud to have you and other considerate members on the dev’s team. That being said, I know not everyone has a Tumblr (myself included). Would it be possible to post artwork on Facebook or other social media, hashtagging the GW2 Fan Submission?

Thank you.

~Selana Firestone

Chapter 4b:

Sylfia, however, failed to realize Selana’s warning expression- either that, or she didn’t care what the elementalist would do.
“Lord Faren? That sot?” The warrior threw her head back in a rough, barking laugh. “Oh, please. I don’t disagree with you on his womanizing or air-‘eadedness, but blight! Good-hearted? The man only thinks of himself- and of any attractive female within his immediate vicinity. Seflish, flirt, fool- those seem more apt, hm? And why on Tyria’s loverly green surface would you be interested in him?”
The hairs on the back of Myrie’s neck rose, and she instinctively leapt away from the sylvari in time to avoid being incinerated by a white-hot bolt of fire. Sylfia, for her part, proved her sylvan reflexes useful, though the tips of her leafy hair were scorched by the spell.
“What in Mists?” she hissed, reaching up with wild eyes to extinguish her tall leaf-spikes. “All I was doin’ was makin’ an ozzervation!”
“No,” replied Firestone, eyes twin chips of steely ice, “you were insulting not only Faren, but myself as well.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic,” yelped Myrie, leaping behind a bar and out of the line of fire. “But is it possible that we could speak normally for once without burning Andrew’s bar down?!”
A few terse minutes passed, during which the warrior and the elementalist eyed each other with barely-concealed hatred and tension.
“Really, don’t incinerate the place,” she continued, eyes darting from one red-head to another. “I would hate to lose a place of such fantastic memories of revenge and…” What was in her throat? Confound those emotions. She slipped her hand below her collarbone, pulling up Quinn’s ring and rubbing it briefly. Calmness washed over her mind, and her troubled breathing steadied.
”I’m here,” she imagined him saying, almost feeling his gentle hand on her shoulder. ”Now go on, be the sensible one for once.”
Really, I ought to talk to someone about my delusions someday, she thought, frowning slightly. Not now, though. Not while they were still comforting.
Which was quite the opposite of the situation five feet from her. Where was she? Oh, right- diffusion.
She hated diffusion.
“Just put your bleedin’ weapons away, confound it all!” she howled crossly. To her incredible shock (and the relief of all who were still frozen in fear to their seats), the women glowered at each other for a moment longer, and finally replaced spell and hammer.
“My apologies,” Selana finally murmured, glancing to her left. “My emotions clouded my judgement.”
“Oi, ‘sall right.” The sylvari reseated herself, grinning dryly and taking another swig of ale. “Oi’m still drunker than a fish, so.”
“You deserve an answer to your question, though,” the elementalist continued, seating herself with unusual awkwardness on a nearby chair.

“Faren and I had been engaged recently. From what little I do remember of my childhood, he was a significant part of my life, and even now he still is involved in it, annoying though this can be. Even when we were younger, he was the more adventurous and trouble-making of us, and he would frequently use his charms to escape punishment. I would try to stop him, but it turns out that it wasn’t just nursery-maids and cooks who could be convinced by his wide smiles and infectious enthusiasm. I had hoped that he would grow up more as we aged, and for a while this seemed to be the case. Soon enough, we had realized that our friendship had deepened into something more serious. It was at this time that he asked for my hand in marriage, and I accepted. He had promised to be a gentleman within reason of his personality and to turn from his womanizing ways. The young rascal of my childhood had become a true nobleman- or so it seemed.” At this, the elementalist sighed, pale fingers lightly tapping her bottom lip.
“What happened?” the sylvari asked, sipping her ale intently, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Even some of the other patrons had silenced their conversation and were listening to the sorrowful voice of the quiet woman. There was something poetic in the curve of her neck, the subdued ache and fresh pain of lost love.
“He broke his promise,” she whispered. “I found him conversing with another woman- a thing which would have not raised my suspicions had she not hurried away as soon as I was noticed. When I asked him who she was, he would not answer. He seemed unusally fidgety and tense, so I naturally assumed…”
“You assumed that he had taken on a lover.”
“Yes.” One word spoken; a million more unsaid. “We broke off our engagement shortly after- an unfortunate thing since we had both agreed to be at Minister Wi’s mansion, and it was fairly-known that we had been together.”
“So that’s why you gave him the cold shoulder,” murmured Myrie. “No wonder you were so mad at him.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s normal for one to fail to see the signs of infidelity. It still hurts,” she mused, fingers lightly tracing around her heart. “But it has been enough time for me to move on by now. And that brings us to the present.”

Chapter 4a:

Despite her struggling, Selana kept a firm grasp on Myrie’s arm and stared at the sylvari. She was red-skinned, the color of fire, and the leafy edges of her skin were dark and blackened, as if she had been burned. Even the glowing pulse of her veins- did sylvari have veins?- seemed to brighten her skin with the vibrant orange of burning embers. If she was on fire, the elementalist thought, it was no small miracle that she was not immediately and completely blazing. The scent of Blood Legion whiskey on her breath was almost overpowering.
“Well, are ya gonna hoire me or not?” she asked, swaying unsteadily. An edge seemed to come to her voice, and though Selana was certain that the leaf-woman would have a hard time getting a solid strike, if she did get hit, it wouldn’t be pretty.
“I never stated that I was even consi-“
“Of course she will!” Myrie broke in, frustration edging her voice. “And she’ll pay well, too.”
Selana’s grip on the thief’s wrists tightened, causing the shorter woman to yelp in pain.
“If you want me to shut up, you’re going to need to let me go, fire-head,” she hissed, eyes gleaming with malicious glee. The elementalist’s eyes narrowed a dangerous fraction, and for a moment, Myrie was quite convinced that her retort would be rewarded by a very deadly gout of flame. Instead, to her great relief, the pale woman released her, allowing the blood to flow back into her arms. She rubbed her wrists and glowered at the noblewoman.
“So, what’s the job?” she asked, scooting over to the mercenary’s side. After a couple of breaths, though, she quickly inched a bit further away, coughing lightly.
“The situation,” Selana replied, “is one of grave importance and possibly danger.” She pulled out her letter and placed it delicately on the bar, smoothing it out. Myrie leaned over and read it.
“Huh,” she mused, standing back up. “So there’s a bit of secrecy behind your past and you want us to act as backup in case your informants are unscrupulous. Makes sense.”
“If ya’ve got so much bleedin’ secrecy, why don’cha go to the Order of Whish…Whish…” The sylvari’s pale green eyes fluttered, and she grimaced, grip tightening on a nearby barstool. “Whispers!” she finally huffed.
Myrie delicately raised her fingers and clapped, smirking. “Good on you, you’re sobering a bit!”
“Don’ say such an ‘orrid thing,” the woman growled, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “Sobriety brings bad mem’ries.”
“Returning to the subject,” Selana cut in, “Myrie, your assumption is correct. And … Sylfia, I can assure you that I have asked some who claim to be in the Order for information on my parents. They have, so far, refused to answer me.”
“So they’re useless.”
“In this instance, yes,” the elementalist replied. She still seemed quite out of place in the rustic atmosphere, and her uncanny beauty was attracting several interested stares. A single twitch of her eyebrow or glance in their direction quickly returned the drinkers’ gazes to their mugs. “This is why we must take matters into our own hands. This letter and this necklace-“ she pulled her pendant up from her collarbone, gazing at it sorrowfully, “-are all I have of my family. My blood family.”
“Well, that last part wasn’t really necessary, was it?”
“I do have family that is not related,” replied the redhead. “Gryphon Radwing has been a mentor and father figure to me for many years and has earned my highest respect.”
“And Faren?” Myrie asked curiously.
“Faren,” the elementalist said coolly, leveling her blue eyes at Myrie’s green ones, “is a womanizing, good-hearted, air-brained idiot.”
The thief decided that she valued her life despite her recent loss and studied the bottom of her mug intently.

Sadly, I live in the ET zone, so that would be rather impossible. I wake up within approximately…seven hours (!) for work, and am a full-time student, but if you would like to send me a PM as to what you’re considering done in terms of character/detail, please feel free to do so. Some will be less expensive based on their race (asura are fairly easy for me, whereas sylvari make me want to weep), but I would like to get an idea of what you want me to sketch in terms of armor/face/hair. I would be able to work on full-body, as requested. Screens would be quite helpful.

I would be willing to attempt your portraits. How would you like them done? If you would prefer a bust of them (shoulders up) it will be less expensive than a full-body, but the full-body will have more emotion conveyed through posing.

+1 just for the reference to my favorite GW1 NPC ele. Cynn~! Her and Mhenlo’s interactions were entirely too perfect.

Wow! That’s beautiful. I wish that my tablet was still working- and that I had your talents. Keep up the fantastic work; your expressions and eyes are marvelous.

A sketch I did of my human elementalist, Selana Firestone, and lineart of my asuran guardian, Khimma, which I did back in February. Her armor has changed along with her weapon, but I thought some of you may like it. If any of you are interested in commissions, please let me know!

Chapter 3b:

Selana Firestone had every intention of staying true to her word. Gryphon did not know that the letter had been delivered with the mention of her necklace, a replica sketch of its missing half drawn in the upper-left corner. Though she was no mesmer, she was still able to conjure the barest hint of illusion over it. It was nothing short of a miracle that he did not see through it. Such a symbol would surely have meant that he would have posted guards to protect her, a thing which she thought unnecessary and somewhat humiliating. No. She was a woman, not a child. She was certain that she was older than Myrie, the thief who had first attempted to steal her priceless heirloom, but any memories she had before her eighth birthday seemed unusually blurred, as if a spell was obscuring them from her. The necklace, she was certain, held if not one, than the key to remembering what little time she had with her parents, and finding out who had blurred her mind. The thought that someone would dare twist the memory of a young child both chilled and angered her, though passers-by would not have noticed these emotions on her stoic, lovely face. Yet her stomach churned with distaste. Whoever had the information on her memories had deliberately waited until they were certain that she was who she had claimed to be. Was this a trap? Almost certainly. Yet curiosity and a strange, desperate longing carried her normally-sensible feet to the bar in the town. She would need help in case her meeting with the informants went south.

As Myrie Ward looked up from her drink, her eyes met with a figure she would have never bet coin on entering the establishment. Her pleasantly-earthy, mellow ale soured on her tongue.
“Firestone. What brings you here?”
“The exact opposite of what brings you to this same place. While you are attempting to soothe your loss and perhaps ease the memory of Quinn’s death-“
Those were the wrong words. Selana barely had time to blink before a dagger was pointed at her throat. Myrie’s eyes flashed, and her teeth were bared in anger.
“You really think that I’m such a coward,” she snarled, “that I would dishonor the memory of the man who I loved most? That I would just…drink all the pain away? If you’ve come to hurl insults, highborn, then you can either walk out or keep talking. We’ll see which one results in you keeping your tongue.”
“Oi!” A slurred, feminine voice called out. Myrie’s orbs flickered only slightly towards its owner, giving Selana enough time to pin the thief’s arm back. She howled in frustration as the elementalist’s grip tightened, preventing her from reaching her other weaponry. Whoever had spoken stepped- no, staggered- out of one of the more shadowed corners.
“If yer gonna fi… hic! fight, then count me irn.” An ancient hammer, head carved from sturdy Ascalonian stone, slammed onto the bar’s counter, its wielder grinning wildly. A light sent of scorched wood and cinnamon floated through the air. Stunned by the recent and bold entrance of the newcomer, both elementalist and thief were silent, frozen mid-grapple. Ignoring the stares of other patrons, the woman continued smiling, waxy red skin gleaming dully in the lantern-light.
“Name’s Sylfia Wyldcaller, sylvari merchantary fer hoire an’ drink. S’a plezzer meetin’ ya.”

That’s amazing! You captured the dream-like qualities perfectly.

Chapter 3a:

Captain Logan Thackeray was not pleased to have his courier knocking on his door at such an early morning hour. He had been out on patrol the night before and had encountered a rather irritable and murderous group of centaurs who had killed two of his men and given him a sound beating. His body ached and complained as he struggled into his armor, and he hissed in pain when his bruised side was pressed against its straps. Yet the man who greeted him would have known none of this had he not heard the report from his brother.
“Captain,” he started, saluting his superior, “there is a man here who is very insistent upon seeing you.”
Mentally noting to further implement his staging process so as to not be disturbed unless upon the direst of circumstances, he asked, “Is it the Minister?” Logan was more than prepared to issue a notice against common-folk reporting missing swine to him should the opportunity present itself.
“No, sir,” the Seraph answered, shuffling awkwardly, “he claims to be Lord Gryphon Radwing, and he is demanding to see you directly.”
“He refuses to speak with Groban?”
“Yes, sir. He is also claiming that his matter has to do with ‘secrets long buried,’ and that ‘its flames are beginning to surface.’ What on earth is he refe-“
Captain Thackeray quickly finished strapping on his armor and marched to the door. “Thank you, Seraph,” he interrupted, saluting him. “I will return shortly.”
“And what of the list of farmers’ complaints that arrived last night?”
“Give them to the lieutenant!” he shouted, marching toward the main hall.

“A pleasure to see you, Captain,” Gryphon said coolly. “Is it customary to keep emergency business waiting this long?”
“Hold your impatience, Lord Radwing; I was writing letters of condolence to families the night before, and the weights of loss held my mind from a restful sleep.”
“My apologies,” the mesmer replied, running his hand through his hair. Looking closely, it appeared as though he had also had a poor night’s sleep- either that or his morning had already tired him. Despite the solemn atmosphere, the captain couldn’t help but give a low laugh.
“It appears as though we’ve both got a bit on our minds, hm? Anyhow, what’s this business we need to discuss?”
“Not here,” the mesmer shot back, looking around, “’emergency business’ must be discussed in whispers. Follow me, and make it quick.”

Chapter 2b:
She handed the parchment to him, showing little, if any, traces of the distress she had felt mere moments before.
“I know it’s odd,” she said, watching for a reaction, “but I can’t help but think that it’s possible for them to still be alive.”
The mesmer’s brows furrowed as he finished. “But why would they wait so long to send something? Selana, I understand a need for secrecy in the army, but I assure you that they would have contacted you years ago-“
“It may have been waylaid.”
His eyes flickered from the writing back to her. He read, “’We have information on your parents’ whereabouts. Come to the palace gardens at moonrise and avoid being seen. There are those who would stop us from telling you the truth.’” He folded the letter, and his voice, usually so warm and merry, rang with cold gravity. His eyes were twin flecks of ice- cold, clear, and unflinching. “This could very easily be a trap, Selana.”
The elementalist was not easily deterred. “They weren’t just simple soldiers, Gryphon,” she replied coolly. “That much I can tell. The Ministry is hiding something, and it’s not the fact that there are illegal or unwarranted goings-on with the bandits or centaurs. Gods know there’s more to it than this.” She stood and strode to her window, throwing open the panes and fluttering the curtains. Accepting another cup of tea from Samuel, she retook her chair. Was she imagining things, or was her old servant pressing his lips, as if to keep unspoken words from fleeing? She dismissed the thought. It was impossible that he would consider secreting something this important to her.
This time, the mesmer stood. “All I ask is that you consider this from other angles,” he sighed, running his hand through his coppery hair. “There are many who would be willing to take advantage of your position in the nobility in order to get a ransom payment. Or they could use your connections to manipulate events in the Ministry. I don’t think you understand just how many people in high positions care for you.”
Noticing her silence, he sighed. “I’ll give you some time to think about it, but if you do decide on going, let me know. Who knows,” he said, smiling ruefully, “perhaps they do have something about your parents.”
Selana nodded. “Thank you,” she replied, returning his smile with a small one of her own. “Rest assured that I will not go alone.”
The man bowed, thanked her for her information, and walked out the door. As soon as he was back on the cobbled streets, his face darkened. There was a man he needed to see.

Gryphon strode firmly into the Seraph headquarters, startling some of the guards.
“Somebody contact Captain Thackeray. We have important business to discuss, and the quicker we do so, the better.”

Hello there! For those of you who may not know, my fanfiction, “Travelling Circus”, recently passed its second year in writing. It’s still being continued, and only recently have I began work on the second main story arc. I’ll avoid spoilers, but allow me to say that there will be more races introduced in this part of the tale. In addition, while Myrie Ward was the main character in Arc 1, in Arc 2, we get to see a bit more of my title character, Selana Firestone, and how her character/background has developed. Another main character shall be introduced: the enigmatic sylvari, Llumin. Her story ties in surprisingly-strong ways to our resident elementalist, and the revelation of her background may cause some shocking results. How will the crew react? What does the story have to do with traveling circuses? And the most important question of all: Can I possibly write in Trahearne as a decent character without having him be poorly-parodied or stealing the spotlight?!

Feel free to ask your questions below and/or send me a PM. In the meantime, please enjoy this tiny preview of my four sylvari- of which only two are currently planned to make it into the story. Thank you very much for your support- I never expected to still be writing after this time!

~Selana Firestone

PS- Image below is as follows:

Top Left: Llumin, sylvari mesmer, born in the Dusk cycle.
Top Right: Sylfia Wyldcaller, warrior, born in the Noon cycle.
Bottom Left: Nettle Viridia, necromancer, born in the Dawn cycle.
Bottom Right: Illa Frost, ranger, born in the Night cycle.

Chapter 2a:

Meanwhile in a different part of town, the early morning light was not the primary reason for an occupant’s rising. Selana Firestone had, in fact, been awake for hours, staring at a parchment which had been delivered the night before.
A warning? she thought, brow furrowing in confusion. Who would be out to attack me, and who would risk their life to warn me of their plot? She rose from her chair, nightdress whispering over her feet as she exited her quarters. As she turned toward the main hall of her home, she was greeted by a familiar face.
“Gryphon! A pleasure to see you,” she smiled. “Though I do wish you had given me more time to dress.”
“Selana, I’ve known you since you were but my knees’ height. There’s no need for formality,” he replied, chuckling. He then quickly averted his eyes toward the ceiling. “But I will agree that there are some things which have changed, so feel free to-“
“Thank you,” she replied hastily, using some of her wind-borne speed to race back into her room. Moments later, she emerged in a casual yet elegant morning dress. She smiled again, lips curving in amusement. “Much better, yes?”
“Definitely,” the Mesmer agreed. The door to the servants’ area opened with a slow creak, and from it stepped an elderly gentleman, stooped slightly with age yet with a fiery spark in his eye which attested to his quick mentality.
“A pleasure to see you again, Lord Radwing,” the man greeted, bowing slightly. “Is there anything which I may do for you?”
“Samuel, at your age, I should be asking that question of you,” the lord replied, bowing to him before clasping him on the shoulder. “Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” Samuel responded. “And you, Lady Firestone?”
“I am well, Sam,” she laughed, giving the old man a hug. “You needn’t worry so much.”
At this, the old man’s brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t I? What of this letter which has kept you up all night, hm? Perhaps let me see what can be done to soothe your worry, or allow me to find something in the antiques’ wing…”
“No, Samuel, that is not necessary,” she replied. “Please do not strain yourself for my sake.”
“It is as much for your parents’ sake that I do so,” he stated firmly, straightening his spine. “It is no extraordinary strain when one is asked to seek for the care and well-being of a child, and when finding a threat, to reduce it. All is in the work required.”
At the mention of her parents, a shadow passed across Selana’s face. “It’s not totally certain that they’re dead, really,” she whispered, sitting in a nearby chair. “We never got their official papers back.”
“Madam, I know that if they were living, they would have been here as soon as they could.”
“But what if they merely got lost? Plenty of soldiers had been kidnapped in the uprisings, and it’s not unheard-of for them to find their ways home only now.”
“Selana,” Gryphon said quietly, placing a hand on her shaking soldier, “breathe.”
“I am-“
“Breathe, Selana.”
She slowly took a deep breath. As she did, a light lavender mist trailed up her nose, sucked in through her mouth. Her eyes closed briefly as she exhaled. When she opened them once more, all traces of worry had left her face.
“Forgive me,” she said tonelessly, “I did not mean to fuss. Thank you.”
“No need to worry,” Gryphon murmured, eyes averted. “You’ll find out what happened to them someday. About this letter…”

It is GW2 art. I tried reporting the ad, but it wouldn’t allow me to do it. :\ I’m really annoyed that they’re trying that tactic, though. So in a way, their advertisement was negative marketing for this customer! >:D

Fantastic work! I’m glad there’s another player who finds Trahearne to possess a personality larger than a plain board. Please keep up the amazing art.

An upcoming character in my fanfic, Llumin is my Dusk sylvari. She’s generally quiet, but has no problems dancing when with her friends- or simply when in a dancing mood!

Fantastic work! I love the lighting you used! Please keep sketching!

Chapter 1b:

“Myrie,” it read, “please know that if you are reading this now, my death is not your fault. I knew what I was doing and was aware of the risks it entailed. I’ve done too much bad in my life for me to feel justified in staying behind during this time of trial. I had to do it- not just for myself, but for you.”
Typical Quinn, she thought, smiling slightly. Excusing yourself for the sake of others. Idiot.
“Now, I know you’re probably thinking how much of an idiot I am, but that’s what friends are for, right? Anyhow, I feel like I should apologize for some of my mistakes, too. No, don’t try saying that I have nothing to apologize for- you know it’s true, and you need to remember it now. Take a breath, wipe your nose, and keep reading.
I’m sorry that I was quiet for so long. I should have found you and forgotten about Pete. Heck, I’m sure you had some pretty amazing adventures. I only wish that I could have been on them with you. I’m sorry for being a coward. You were always more than a friend to me, Myrie, but I was too thick-headed and scared to tell you. I was afraid that you’d not reciprocate my feelings. I’m sorry that I waited until it was too late to tell you. I would have loved to know your answer. Now I’m dead with no reply, and I can’t stop cursing my timing. I should have been there on the days when you told me to leave. I mean, I know you were being tough, but I also know that you really needed someone to listen to your feelings even if you claimed otherwise. I’m sorry for being an idiot- yes, you were right, I was an idiot at times- but I just couldn’t know how to act sometimes. I did it just to see you grin, you know, but I do realize that at times I caused you unnecessary worry. I apologize for that. One more apology- I’m sorry that you won’t be able to learn from the best sharpshooter in town.”
She snorted- an unexpected bit of his old snark in an apologetic paragraph? Good old Quinn. She bit her lip, eyes watering, and continued to read.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You are overwhelmed with awe at my revelation of sharpshooter-extraordinare. If you do get the chance, though, look just below the ground for a special present. But wait until the end of the letter before you do! I mean, I’ve got more to say- not much, but I’d like you to read it. Please.
This part is hard for me to write. With the way I behaved earlier, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to read this, but it’s here anyway. I know it’s not the most romantic thing on Tyria, but I really did mean what I said when you were at the party, before it went all to the Underworld. I’ll never stop loving you, Myrie, and if you feel the same, move on.”
She nearly dropped the letter, eyes narrowing in anger as she frantically read. He had some nerve, just telling her to leave his memory like that!
“Don’t be angry at me, Myrie. Use your head- this is my last will and testament you’re reading here. If you decide to pledge yourself to me even after I’m gone, what chance will you have of finding someone else to love? It isn’t possible, so quit shaking your head. Remember me, but let me go. I want you to be joyful, not happy. Happiness flees after a short while, but joy perseveres in the darkest of nights. You gave me joy, Myrie, even if it was for only a few years of unrequited affection. If you insist on having a memory of my affection, then look at the back of this parchment. If not, just stop reading and know that even in death, I will protect you.
Stay safe, Miss Ward.
Your friend, ally, and faithful idiot,
Quinn.”
Curious as to what the back of the parchment read, she flipped it over. A small envelope was attached to its back. Reaching inside, she gently removed a delicate golden chain. Instead of a jewel, however, its pendant was a simple engraved ring. A note fluttered out of the envelope, which she quickly picked up and read.
“Was walking through Div’s and snatched this. It made me think of you.” She looked more closely at the ring’s inscription.
“Through death, love lives forever.”
She choked back a sob. Then, she carefully, reverently unclasped the chain and slipped it around her neck, fastening it once more. After doing so, she removed some of the dirt from beneath the tile, uncovering Quinn’s favorite pistol- the “Master Blaster.”
“Shoot for the stars, Myrie,” its note read. She laughed.
“Will do,” she whispered, pressing the ring to her lips. She gathered up the items, placed the tile back in its place, and began the walk home.

ARC 2

Chapter 1a:

She was tired. Tired of the blood, tired of losses, tired of the ragged feeling of her raw throat run raspy from screaming. After excusing herself from the captain’s presence, she walked back down the alleyways, past the bridge, and up a tree. She curled against the rough wood as her tear-choked gasps struggled from her throat.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” she whispered, gritting her teeth. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you or save you. I’m sorry that I was such a coward and that I failed to recognize your potential.” Her tears continued to fall silently, darkening the bark as they trailed down to the ground. After a while, though, they finally slowed, eventually stopping. It was now evening, and the sun was setting over the town, lighting the roofs with its ruddy glow.
There’s no use in crying the whole night away, she thought crossly. I’ve wasted entirely too much time in sniffling.
As she leapt from the branch to the ground, the tile beneath her foot shifted, causing her to lose her balance. With a cry of frustration, she began to pick herself up from the ground. However, as she glanced at the offending floorspace, she noticed a piece of paper that had been hidden beneath the tile.
Quinn’s letter. She had completely forgotten about it. In the rush of the past few days, nearly everything that had happened at the party was a blur. His voice echoed in her mind: “Seven steps north of the bridge”….
It was here.

Chapter 12b:

Rangers, the thief thought crossly. Always ruining my day with their traps. A plume of fire exploded beneath her feet, and she protectively threw her hands in front of her face. Through her squinted eyes, she saw Pete rushing at her, intending to finally end her life. Thinking quickly, she swiped his torch from the ground and hurled it at his face. He yowled in pain, clutching at his eyes. She rushed back in, leaping and twisting her body as she vaulted over him.
Something is off, she thought, bringing up her daggers to block a downward chop. Thackeray rushed at him, bashing his shoulder with his shield and knocking Pete off-balance. With a feral snarl, he rolled back, eyes dancing with a wild light. With a shock, Myrie realized what was wrong.
Pete was scared. Nothing had scared him before; not mutiny, not overwhelming odds- even the threat of being captured by centaurs only made him laugh. So what was it that had him so on edge?
“I promised them,” he panted, eyes streaming as Captain Thackeray’s sword flicked in front of his nose, missing by a hair’s breadth. “I promised them their blood and their glory, and you will not stop me!” He rushed at Myrie, chopping at her legs. She leapt above the blade, landing on it and snapping it in two.
“Well, whoever they are,” she grunted, kicking him in the gut, “tell them to buy you better blades.”
“He had to die! They would have killed us- no, they would have done worse!” Despite the fact that he was nearly-disarmed, Two-Blade’s movements merely seemed to become more ferocious, more deadly. Desperation was a fatal fuel that filled his veins and clouded his brain, and the sentences he managed to keep choking out were proof that something was terribly and horribly wrong.
“They’re coming back, Myrie,” he trilled, eyes rolling in their sockets. “There are those who have lost their faith and betrayed us, but we know. We have seen the signs….”
She pounced on him, knocking him to the ground and relieving him of some teeth with satisfying rips and sharp cracks. He laughed, blood dribbling from his mouth.
“You still don’t know, do you?” he giggled, eyes unfocused as he scrabbled backwards. “No, no- you still don’t see. But I do. We do…. “
She gave a wild cry, drawing back her dagger to cut his throat. Before she could do so, however, a strong hand gripped her wrist.
“Wait,” Thackery said, eyes narrowing. “Who is ‘we’?”
The man coughed, blood gurgling in his throat. “Oh, think, Captain. Do you know the story of those around you? Do you really understand the relevance of the events? I won’t tell. You’re the captain, after all.” A lazy smile drifted onto his face. “Besides,” he sighed dreamily, “your death is better than the agony they would inflict…”
“Speak now,” Myrie roared, tears pricking her eyes, “why did you kill Quinn? Answer me, dog!”
His eyes closed as he exhaled a shuddering breath. “Don’t you remember? He could see the Unseen.”
With a frustrated howl, she drove her dagger into his chest.
“No!” Thackeray shouted.
Pete smiled quaveringly, eyes closing.
“Glory to… the Mantle.”

END OF ARC 1

Chapter 12a:

It was expected that the time consumed in breaking down the barrier would have worn Two-Blade Pete down enough for the fight between them to be relatively-easy. They were wrong. Myrie rolled swiftly beneath his wild slash, neck prickling as the air breezed over her throat.
“You pretentious little rat,” he sneered, “did you really think that you could just come over here and avenge your lover-boy? Don’t you remember how long you’ve been gone?”
“Three years is not a long time, scag,” she growled, slamming her foot onto an unstable floorboard and tipping him off-balance. He stumbled back towards Captain Thackeray’s swinging sword. He quickly shot down to the floor, rolling back against the wall. He flicked a small bottle open and dumped its contents on his blade.
“Poison!” she warned, stepping in as Thackeray’s head bobbed down. Why the man couldn’t take the time of day to wear a bleeding helmet was beyond her.
“Queenie won’t recognize your face if it’s slashed in two, Brownielocks!” she huffed irately.
“I’ll remember it next time!” he shouted, bashing Pete’s face with his shield. The thug grunted, grip faltering on his weapon as he stumbled back. He glared up at them, blood dripping from his nose, and cracked it back into place.
“Hey, now you’re symmetrical,” taunted Myrie.
“At least I’m still breathing,” he gloated, grinning.
She roared, leaping recklessly at him. His eyes narrowed as he slowly brought his sword up to meet her head. Just before it hit, a blue aura enfolded her, causing it to harmlessly bounce off.
“Can’t go to the Mists so soon, Myrie,” Logan panted, circling around. “Quinn wouldn’t like that.”
“Shut up!” she snarled, throwing a smokescreen down. A thick plume of grey cloud wafted through the air.
“Myrie, that wasn’t a good idea,” Pete sang. “A girl like you could get burned if she can’t see where she’s going…” He pulled out a torch and lit it, flinging it to the ground.

Chapter 11d:

It began as she had thought it would. After the patrons had been grudgingly removed from their perches, the streets seemed remarkably silent. The normal chatter and gossip on the streets was stilled, and though it was the middle of the day, windows were shut and doors were bolted as if it were the most dangerous night of the year.
Footsteps broke the tense silence of the town. They were soft, but nervous in their tread, and the lackeys who bore them barely made it inside the door before either fleeing or staining the cobblestones with their life’s blood. Even Crusher Dan, the former bully and muscle of Myrie’s group, showed up.
“It’s not too late, you know,” he grunted, swinging his hammer at the nimble thief’s head. She ducked, dodging the blow and rolling toward his knees, slashing with cold precision.
“Dan, you idjit,” she hissed, ignoring his yowl of pain as he went kneeling to the ground, “since when has Quinn forgiven anyone? Even as my second-lieutenant, he was always too-easily angered. His tenacity and ferocity were the only reasons I kept him on.”
The thug looked up at her and sneered. “Yeah, and now look where it’s got you heade-“ His taunt was brutally cut off by the gleaming silver sword of Captain Thackeray, which also conveniently relieved him of his noggin. Myrie glanced up at him from her kneeling position.
“Thanks,” she panted. He nodded mutely, shoulders heaving.
“Just how many more of these people can he afford to throw out?” he asked grimly, shoving his hand through his hair and wiping off a thin sheen of sweat.
Myrie’s eyes flicked towards the doorway. “Judging from his recent ‘toss’, I would say not many. Dan was one of his last resorts in the case of an attack- which means….” Her emerald eyes narrowed into slits. “Come on,” she growled, stumbling towards the barstools and struggling to stack them against the door. Thackeray looked at her askance.
“I thought the plan was to bring him to justice, not bunker out in here behind the furniture.”
She gave him a look. “That is the plan. But if we can wear him down cutting down or moving these chairs, that’ll be one point for us.”
Once more, Captain Thackeray was impressed by the young woman’s determination and shrewd cunning. Although she seemed- and often was- flippant and nonchalant, beneath the Dhumm-may-care attitude was a mind that was constantly and furiously ticking. When she set her mind to a task, he had no doubt that it was often completed. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he cracked a grim smile.
“Let’s make this a bit more fun for him,” he said, splaying his fingers over the slapdash blockade. A wave of pulsing blue light washed over it, covering the obstruction in a glowing bubble.
“Protection spell,” he explained. “If the chairs are protected, Pete will have an even harder time trying to break through.”
“How long will it hold up?” Myrie asked, shifting her grip on her daggers and glancing out the doorframe.
Thackeray grimaced. “Depends on how angry he is today.”
The thief set her mouth in a thin line. “Then let’s make sure to give him a few whacks so he’ll understand the consequences of his actions.”

Their patience was rewarded sooner rather than later. Five minutes of tense waiting passed, during which the fighters inspected their wounds and bandaged them as best they could with what supplies they had.
“Should we conceal ourselves behind the bar?” asked Thackeray, wrapping his wrist with strips of a shredded towel.
“You mean, ‘hide’?” Myrie snorted, clenching her teeth as she poured whiskey onto her bleeding arm. “No. We do things street-style. No hiding, no pleading for repentance, and no retreating. This ends t-“
There was a sudden crunch as Two-Blade’s sword bounced off the shield and bit into the doorframe.
“Myrie, this is unlike you,” he taunted. “A blockade won’t keep me out forever.”
“That’s the point, you skritt-faced dolyak,” she sneered, hands clenching on her daggers. “If you’re so feared, why send all of those lackeys ahead of you instead of facing me straight off?”
With a furious bellow, he rammed his shoulder into the makeshift wall. “You know,” he panted, the shimmering blue shield beginning to flicker dully, “I still can’t get over how you thought you could take on me. Me!” He broke through the magical barrier and shoved a chair aside. “You really think you can kill me? I’ll break you and make an example of anyone who tries fighting me!”
“Better men then you have tried,” she snarled back.
“Oh yeah? Well-“
“Tried and failed.”
“Heh. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Myrie.” He broke through the chairs and stood in the bar. “This ends today.”

That’s amazing! I love how it flows, and am very impressed that you did this with a mouse.

Keep up the good work.

~Selana Firestone

Chapter 11c:
“Did you hear about that young man?”
“Quinn? Yeah, I heard he was killed by Two-Blade Pete. They found half of him in the fountain and the other half in the river.”
“Poor boy. I heard he was a good friend with one of the Shaemoor fighters.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in his killer’s shoes….”
Myrie’s numb mind barely registered the skittish whispers that swirled around the town as she stalked toward the tavern. It was the last place she remembered hearing of Pete’s location. Knowing him, the thug was probably celebrating his grisly victory over one of the few men who Myrie had truly and deeply cared about. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she felt as though she should be on the ground, sobbing her agonies to the heavens- but what use would that be? No. Her best use would be to bring Quinn’s killer to justice. To her dismay, she caught sight of a familiar head of rich brown hair and gleaming silver armor. Seraph- and not just any Seraph. Despite the letter’s warning of his arrival, she was nonetheless displeased to find him there.
“Captain Thackeray,” she stated flatly. “I hope you’re not here to bring Pete to jail. I can’t let that happen.”
To her surprise, the man nodded, his own eyes blazing intensely. “No. I understand completely. That man has been a tyrant on the streets, and no one would want to live a day longer under his oppressive fist. As much as it goes against the official law, I have to agree with you- Pete must be eliminated permanently.”
Myrie was briefly shocked, the numb hands gripping her daggers slick with sweat.
“I’ve lost people that I have cared about, too,” the captain explained, shifting slightly. He peered into the tavern’s hazy atmosphere. “My brother.”
She said nothing, and knew that the man would not continue further. She, too, looked into the door. Several of the patrons had noticed the Seraph’s gleaming armor and discreetly sneaked out the back. However, Two-Blade Pete was nowhere to be seen.
“Bloody coward,” the thief muttered in cold rage. “I know what he’s doing. Come on, Brownielocks. If we want to draw out the rat, we’ve got to enter his maze.”
She strode into the tavern, beckoned the man to follow her, and sat at the bar. She kicked out a stool for him and leaned forward towards the owner. Andrew, the new owner of the building, was a jolly man with a stout stomach and kindly face.
“Ah, greetings, Miss Ward! What will it be today?”
She looked up at him. He drew back slightly, eyes widening nervously. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she replied quietly. “Andrew, you need to leave. Take Petra and get out of here- it’s not going to be safe for much longer.”
“What does my daughter have to-?”
“Just leave. Two-Blade Pete is on his way, and he’s going to be sending backup ahead of him.” The back of her mind wondered why it would be called ‘backup’ if they were going to be in front of him. She pushed the thought back to her mind and refocused on the task at hand. The proprietor still looked down at her with surprise; however, his realization of how serious the situation was dawned on him when he noticed that her companion was none other than Captain Logan Thackeray. Andrew cleared his throat and stopped polishing a glass.
“I’ll get her and leave,” he said quietly. He ducked back into the storeroom, pausing to thank her for the warning. She nodded mutely. Once the bar was empty of all but a few patrons, she took the drink that he had set in front of her and began to down it with violent gusto.
“Now what?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow at her behavior. She slammed the tankard down onto the counter.
“We wait.”

That’s an amazing piece of work! Great job. Never stop sketching!

Chapter 11b:

Myrie awoke to the rays of late afternoon sun tickling her face. Outside the window, she saw the glowing streetlamps of town starting to light, automated by an underground system that had only recently been installed. For a moment, she simply continued to lie on the cot, eyes roving around the room and body tense with adrenaline.
Quinn, she thought, and raised herself on one elbow. Myrie growled softly as her sore, stiff body creaked into use again. The fight of the previous hours had been more intense than she would have liked to admit. And speaking of fights…. Her hands flew to her belt, where her daggers were usually strapped. A muttered oath leaked out of her mouth as she realized they were not there. She whirled around, finally catching sight of her weapons on a small, modest cabinet. Next to them were a note and several bottles of potion, under which lay a cloth-wrapped parcel. Although impatient, Myrie took the time to snatch up the items, stuffing the potions into her bag alongside the package. As she buckled her daggers back into their hilts, she read the small note.

“Miss Ward-
I hope you’ll forgive me for the measures I took yesterday. You were entirely too reckless for your own health and those around you. I nonetheless hope that you are well-rested and that the food – provided by a good friend of mine – is to your liking. I am currently with Selana, fighting off the few packs of bandits that are still hiding some of the remaining nobles. Captain Thackeray has agreed to go with you in my stead while I patrol the hillside. I will attempt to contact you at a later time.
Deal justice, Myrie. May the gods smile on you.

~Gryphon Radwing.”

So that’s what the package was. In her haste to walk out the door, she had barely realized the intense hunger gnawing at her spine. Myrie quickly reached into her pack and devoured the vittles – an earthy, mushroom-and-herb- studded bread sandwiched a thinly-grilled slab of poultry. She almost regretted her intense state of mind; she barely tasted the food and was sure that it had taken a fair amount of time to make. It didn’t matter. Quinn needed to be saved- and Pete needed to be killed.

A different gnawing started on her stomach when she entered the town, passing the fountain in the main street where the village women would gather to gossip. As she strode by, she heard them conversing.
“There, there, now, Abitha. Tell us what happened,” one of them purred soothingly, stroking the younger woman’s back. The middle-aged laundress hiccupped.
“It was horrible,” she sobbed, wiping her nose on her stained sleeve. “I was simply washing my sheets in the wee hours of the morning, enjoying the fresh day, and then I looked into the crystal water and-“ she broke off, gasping and burying her face in her apron.
“Come now, woman! You must tell us! We saw the Seraph there earlier. What did you see?”
Myrie was rooted to the spot, watching Abitha’s face with stonelike intensity. The woman raised her blotchy face from her lap, biting her lower lip and sniffing loudly.
“A- a hand. And then a head and torso. Oh, it was the face of a young man! Poor boy!” At this, she once more buried herself in the flounces of her dress and was nigh inconsolable. “My Tom isn’t much younger than he could have been. Oh, that poor boy! Poor, poor youth!”
Another washerwoman, her face pinched with age, patted her back, her gnarled hands trembling. “I saw him before,” she whispered unsteadily. “He was one of the village boys….”
Before she even knew what she was doing, Myrie found herself among them, eyes wide and ears perked, heart sinking for the worst.
“What was his name?” she asked flatly, startling the sobbing women.
“Q-Quinn.” The pinched crone’s face turned up towards hers, reflecting sorrow and fear. “His name was Quinn.”

Author’s Note: “And now a word from our sponsor!….”

Thank you all so very much for sticking with me for a year! It’s been an amazing journey, and I’m still planning on continuing my writing. For those of you who have been there since day one (and those of you who are just now reading this) I decided to upload a bit of art. Behold the glory- and I apologize for the poor-quality camera.

https://forum-en.gw2archive.eu/forum/community/creations/Myrie-Ward-Fanart/first#post4653358

Also, if any of you know how to deter an angry thief, that would be much appreciated! O.o

~Selana Firestone

I don’t think she’d like it very much if she knew that in my mind, her nickname in this image is….
“Kawaii-rie Ward.”

[dodges daggers] I REGRET NOTHING, MYRIE.
Myrie: YOU WILL! [switches to shortbow]
HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPPPPP!!! Artist abuse! Artist abuse!!

~Special Thanks to my readers for staying with me for a year!

~Selana Firestone

Chapter 11a:

A woman paused washing her laundry in the river, stopping momentarily to dry her hands on her apron. It seemed like a fairly decent day. She smiled, basking in the early rays of warm sun that flowed onto her face. She sighed, returned her gaze to the water-and screamed.

“Myrie, we can’t just run out against Pete at this hour of the morning. He has most likely retreated and is reco-“
“I don’t care.” She stalked forward, green eyes burning dully. “We’ve got to get to Quinn while we still have time…” She stumbled, hand clutching her side. “Ooh,” she hissed, kneading her healing rib. Even though it had been months since it had been broken, there was still a twinge of pain when it was bumped- and more than one whack had been given to it over the course of the past day. She grunted and ground her teeth, fighting to ignore the throbbing bone. “He’s probably fighting him even now. Quinn’s still got a chance.”
Gryphon’s brow furrowed in concern. “Myrie, from what little I’ve seen of Quinn, he’s definitely a smart man. If he is still fighting Pete, it’s more than likely that he’s gone to seek shelter. No man could possibly hold out for as long as he would have to in order to keep fighting at this hour. We should rest and recover. Captain Thackeray has already gone on to head a patrol and is on the lookout for either Pete or Quinn.” He placed a firm hand on her swaying shoulder, looking into her eyes sternly. “You are in no condition to keep fighting. Rest.”
She snorted, pulling away. “What do you know, old man? I’ve been in worse scrapes than this. We thieves have a code of honor among our kind. We look out for each other.”
“And so do the rest of the citizens of Divinity’s Reach,” he replied, frustration creeping into his tone. “This isn’t me being selfish or overly-concerned. This is common sense. You cannot possibly go out at this hour. Pete’s gang has most likely been alerted to your presence. At this time, they have been rested and ready for hours. You, on the other hand,” he said, frowning, “have been fighting for the whole night.”
“It doesn’t matter! I need to get to him! I need to tell him-“ her voice was abruptly cut off as her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped to the ground, a faint mesmeric glow fading around her head. Gryphon Radwing gently caught her, resignation evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, laying her on a nearby cot. “This is for your own good.” After making sure that she was arrayed comfortably and that her weapons were out of reach, he arrayed himself on a nearby couch.
“You can catch him tomorrow,” he murmured, eyes closing. “But for now, we all need to rest.”

Oh my gosh, your art is adorable! Do you take commissions?

In that case, I shall link it! (It’s really quite long and probably would take an hour to read.)

https://forum-en.gw2archive.eu/forum/community/fangen/Fanfic-Traveling-Circus-A-Tale-of-Many/first#post4608385

Feel free to give advice and constructive criticism.

I was going to post here before I read the “short” part- I already have an ongoing fanfiction that explains the background of at least one of my characters. Good luck with your writing!

Chapter 10e:

Despite his injuries, Quinn was still deadly with a weapon. Pete knew this- and he got an especially good reminder when Quinn’s dagger scoured his temple, shearing off a chunk of his flesh and eyebrow. Snarling in pain, the thug changed his stance to a more defensive position, switching his dagger hand and watching warily. Blood streamed down his temple.
“Boss?” Dan asked cautiously, a question of aid.
“Not now, you oaf!” he hissed, lunging at an opening in Quinn’s guard.
The thief dodged nimbly, wincing as the pain in his side flared up. Dan didn’t need to join the fight- he had already done enough damage, he thought. The taste of iron in his mouth had started to become unnoticed, and the only change in its flavor was the addition of an acid undertone. Even though his face remained fairly stoic, Quinn knew that he was running out of time.
Time, he thought, remembering why he fought. I need to buy time for Myrie. The city- the poison… His hand shook- and then pain rocketed up his arm. An agonized shout tore from his mouth, and he quickly snatched his arm back. He glanced down – and his already-pale face lost all but the barest traces of color.
Two-Blade Pete had nicked an artery. Quinn’s head spun. He had performed the same maneuver on other, less-experienced fighters. They left their hand out for a fragment of a second longer than was wise, and then….
“What’s the matter?” jeered Pete, his face livid with hate. “Not slowing down already, are you?”
Quinn roared and slashed at him, pleased that his opponent’s eyes widened with fear at the attack. He danced back quickly, deflecting the slash and sending jolts of pain shuddering up his arm. Quinn tossed his dagger to the other hand, guarding his wounded arm and gritting his teeth. There was no time for talking now- he needed to keep what strength he could. What strength was ebbing from his body…
A sudden blur of movement raced towards his chest. Quinn tried to move his arm up to block the attack, but his movements seemed slowed, as if he was fighting underwater. He was dully aware of a wet thud as Pete’s dagger bit hungrily into his flesh. The blackness that had been nibbling at his consciousness suddenly surged higher, stealing what little strength he had tried to reserve. His body swayed, and a stream of crimson ichor flowed from his mouth and splattered onto the pavement. He sent up a silent prayer to the gods.
Protect her, his mind whispered. For I know that I cannot.
As his limp form toppled to the ground, his eyes fluttered, and his mind began to slow as one who fights off an unwanted slumber. He looked up and saw Pete’s boot slowly flying towards his face, the thug’s mouth twisted in a sadistic snarl.
Myrie, he thought. A weak smile quivered onto his face.
The brutal crunch of shattered bone and splashed blood echoed through the street.

The battle had been fairly quick. After Captain Thackeray had incapacitated Doc Howler, her fight had been weak and feeble. Myrie stalked up to her.
“Tell me,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of the woman’s hair and pulling her to her knees. “Where is Quinn?”
The woman coughed, gore gurgling in her throat. “I think the better question,” she said, smiling through bloodstained teeth, “is where Pete is.”
Myrie punched Howler’s monacle, sending shards of glass into the doctor’s eye. She screamed in agony.
“Myrie!” Gryphon shouted, striding up behind her and restraining her. “Enough! There is another way to get information.”
“What do you know? That b-“
He shot her a glare and motioned to the captain. “Keep her back, please,” he said, stepping towards the wounded woman. Thackeray stepped behind the thief and dragged her away, shielding himself from her wild blows.
“Let the man do his work,” he grunted as a fist thumped his steel chestplate. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Gryphon knelt in front of Doc Howler, his face grim. “You and I both know that you have only a few moments to live. Your injuries are too severe for you to be saved. So let’s see if you’re willing to make peace with the gods before you die- where is Two-Blade Pete?”
She spat at his face, staining his features with her blood. “I’ll never tell you,” she sneered, coughing up more gore. “I’ll carry that knowledge to the grave!”
He sighed. “Then you leave me no choice.” He raised his hands and cupped her face, closing his eyes. His lips moved as if in prayer.
“What are you-?“ Howler’s question was interrupted suddenly as her head snapped back and her mouth slackened. Her eye rolled back into her head. As quickly as her motion had started, it ended, and Gryphon Radwing stood, leaving Howler’s corpse to crumple onto the bloodstained pavement. His face was grim.
“Pete is in Rurikton,” he said distantly. “And so is Quinn.”

Chapter 10d:

Quinn coughed up blood as Dan shook his hand, shaking off the droplets that had landed on him.
“See, lover-boy,” Two-Blade Pete sighed, “this is what happen when you defy me. You know how far my reach is. I run these streets. Even the lowliest urchin knows that Rurikton’s underground is my territory. But you,” he continued, motioning for Dan to step aside and hold Quinn back, “seem to think that you-“ One punch to the stomach- “can beat-“ – Another strike to the eye – “Me!”
Quinn doubled over, retching as the thug stepped back. He glowered up defiantly at Pete.
“If you’re so feared,” he growled, spitting out a gobbet of blood, “then why don’t you call off your dog and face me one-on-one?”
Pete’s eyes flashed and his nostrils flared, causing the scar on his face to blanch a vivid white. “So you’ve still got some bone in that back of yours. Fine, then. Dan, get off of him. Let’s see how well he fights.”
As the bodyguard stepped back, Quinn got to his feet, swaying unsteadily. “Give me a weapon,” he grunted, “and we can do this properly.”
“All right,” Pete said, smiling grimly, “but don’t think you’re getting a pistol. I seem to recall something about you being a crack shot from the old days. Here.”
He tossed Quinn a dagger. The thief caught it -despite his injuries, he was determined to fight with all that he had.
“Say hello to Grenth for me,” Quinn said, grinning recklessly.
And with a burst of energy, he lunged forward.

There was a wet shunk as Myrie twisted her dagger into one straggling rogue, silencing his muffled screams. She glanced back towards Gryphon and Captain Thackeray. They were circling around in the shadows, ever-watchful for any scouts that might alert Doc Howler to their presence before they were ready.
“She’s vulnerable now,” Myrie whispered, facing the Mesmer. He relayed the message to the captain, and he nodded.
“On your word, Miss Ward,” Thackeray said, readying a spell.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She was about to attack one who had been a member of her own gang. Despite the stakes, her stomach twisted guiltily. Howler had been a loose screw, but she was a useful screw. She grimaced. Quinn’s not risking his life so you can have a moral dilemma now, Myrie reminded herself. And the city was at risk. She could no longer wait.
“Now!”
The three rushed upon the posse, encountering the more-experienced guards first. Though they were armed, Myrie, Gryphon, and Thackeray all had the element of surprise on their hands.
“Doc!” screamed one of them as he grappled with Myrie, “the poison! We’re under attack!”
Myrie kneed him in the stomach, causing him to bend over. Instead of staying down, however, he rolled behind her and grabbed her in a chokehold. But Myrie hadn’t grown up on the streets without learning some tricks of her own. She cautiously yet quickly moved so that she was no longer being choked, then grabbed his arm, twisted her body, and threw him to the ground.
“Gryphon!” she gasped. “The Doctor!”
Howler had noticed the commotion and was feverishly working on opening the keg of poison. Her pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her eyes flashed madly. “Pete and I have planned this for months,” she cackled. “We will finally break the power-hold of the Queen and her lackeys! You cannot-!”
Her speech was abruptly interrupted by Captain Thackeray. With a roar, he launched himself at the doctor, smashing her hand against the cobblestones.

I am so sorry to hear that you were ill! I hope that you recover soon and are able to sleep well. * sends cookies *

~Selana Firestone

Well, here I go again. I decided to try my hand once more at digital art, and though it still has a long way to go before it reaches the quality of my traditional art, I think I am getting better. This was inspired by the mesmer of Guild Wars 1. Gryphon Radwing, who has played his profession since those days of yore, had mastered the mesmer so well that he could practically solo some of the more difficult bosses. So, as a nod to those old times, I present you with “Mesmeric Agony.”

[EDIT: Per request, I have added my Patreon page-link: http://www.patreon.com/user?u=239433 Thank you to all who have shown interest in my work!]

I believe I have seen some of your art posted on the Guild Wars 2 Facebook page. It’s fantastic! Please keep us posted when you’ll be doing commissions.

Author’s Note

Thank you, Benjamin! It is always encouraging to read such comments as yours. I’m glad that you enjoy it, and hope that you will continue to do so as the journey continues.

Best wishes

~Selana Firestone

Your overall style is quite good, in my opinion. The only thing that I could suggest is studying a bit of anatomy to further improve the result. You’re not that far off, but you’d be surprised how much even a little bit of study can help.

Chapter 10c:

Quinn set down his mug slowly. Pete’s eyes bored into him.
“That’s why I don’t want to be part of this any more,” he finished flatly. “When Myrie was the leader, we had a purpose: Rob from the excessively wealthy and give the loot to those who really needed it. But you,” he continued coldly, “have taken her legacy and run it into the ground. We’re not heroes anymore, Pete. We’ve changed into murderers, petty thieves, run-of-the-mill vandals. People who used to look up to us now spit in our faces.” He turned to the bodyguard. “You remember what it was like. What’s your purpose now, Dan?”
“My purpose is to do what’s best for our gang. Myrie’s no longer the leader. I follow Pete now, Quinn. You should, too.”
“Yeah,” Pete sneered. “What’s changed, Quinn? You used to follow orders so well. Why’d you just now decide to get a spine?”
Quinn was silent as he stared into the depths of his mug.
“Oh,” the thug hissed. “I know what it is. You’ve fallen in love with the dirty wench, haven’t you?”
“A dog like you wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.” Quinn replied tonelessly, hand straying to his pistol. Crusher Dan reached down and clamped down before he could reach the weapon.
“Now, now,” Pete said, black eyes glittering unpleasantly, “no need for violence, Quinn. We’re just talking. So. How long have you loved her? Did you even tell her before you came? Perhaps you gave her a letter. Oh, wouldn’t that be just like you. Always the coward, Quinn. Maybe someday, there’ll be someone with more of a spine who will make her forget about you. She’ll move on, never casting a glance back, becoming one of those high-and-mighty prim ladies..”
Quinn roared and shook off the bodyguard’s grasp, launching himself at Pete and landing a punch on his nose. As he reeled back with a sickening crack, Quinn whipped out his other pistol and pointed it at Pete. “She’s better than what you think, Pete, and believe me, she’s onto your plan.”
“‘Onto our pl…’-What do you mean?” he asked furiously, holding onto his bleeding nose. His eyes widened. “You told her!”
“That’s what it implies, now, doesn’t it?” Quinn released the safety trigger, but Crusher Dan quickly leapt upon him, pinning his arms back and disarming him before he could fire a single shot.
“Oi!” the barkeeper called. “No fightin’ in my tavern!”
“Well then, we’d best take our discussion elsewhere,” sneered Two-Blade Pete. He jerked a thumb outside. “Come on, Dan. Grab lover-boy and we’ll talk.”

The first sentry didn’t notice that he had been stabbed until Myrie pulled her dagger out of his chest. His companions struggled briefly against the Seraph before they were subdued. Thanks to Gryphon’s mesmeric abilities, the minds of the other guards were cloaked with a haze which disabled their hearing, allowing him to disintegrate their minds with a bolt of chaotic suggestion.
“There are still at least fifteen Widowmakers surrounding Doc. Who would’ve thought that they were working for Pete all along?”
“Perhaps they’re not,” Gryphon muttered, glancing at the crew. “I managed to glean a scrap of thought from one of them when I took that group down. His thought suggested that both Pete and the Widomakers are working together for a higher-up. I didn’t fully discern who, but..”
“She’s moving,” Thackery hissed, motioning his soldiers forward. “We’re going to need to keep going soon if we want to save our city.”
“Your city,” Myrie corrected, “but we’ll discuss that later.” With that, she vanished into the shadows. “Now’s my time,” she thought, twirling a dagger in her hand. Her mind flashed back to her younger days, when Quinn was teaching her how to fight. Despite the fact that she had been a girl- and one who had been wealthy, to boot- Quinn had decided to take a risk and train her how to fight. Though the boys of the street protested, he was confident in her skill and street-smarts. He had been her one friend after her father’s return from war and into madness. And now he was all alone, facing one of the most ruthless leaders in Divinity’s Reach and his bodyguard.
I can’t let him fail, she thought, gritting her teeth. I must succeed- I owe him that much. And, she thought, slitting a guard’s throat silently, when he returns, I’m not sure whether I’ll kiss him or punch him in the nose.

You have a very good way of making your pictures “glow”! It’s rather difficult to accomplish, yet you have managed to do so splendidly. Keep up the good work.

~Selana Firestone

Amazing! You are fantastic. I enjoy listening to your rendition of this classic; your group has more talent than … Well, there are at least three or so voice actors in-game which you could replace easily. Perhaps Anet will notice and hire you!

Keep up the great work!
~Selana Firestone

O.o

Asuran anatomy is terrifying…

Chapter 10b:

Quinn peered into the bar’s hazy atmosphere. Two-Blade Pete looked even more terrible than usual. This may have been due to the fact that he was smiling, and Quinn knew that Pete only smiled when something horrid was about to happen. The muscles in that man’s face were contorted in a cruel grin, and his teeth flashed as he laughed with some of his compatriots.
“They won’t even see it coming,” he chuckled darkly, quaffing his ale. “Those richies and snobs have had it too good for too long.”
His bodyguard, Crusher Dan, laughed along with him. “And everyone will be distracted by that so much…” he hiccupped. Obviously he was drunk. “No one will know what the true motive is.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed as he smacked him upside the head. “Watch it, you sodden clot. There are ears everywhere. Whispers agents have been our downfall at least once before.”
“Yeah,” the guard snorted, rubbing his head painfully. “But we offed the last one. No one’s going to rat on us now.”
Pete’s face returned to its usual grimace. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Quinn…” He trailed off as his subject came to their table. Silence suddenly descended on the gathering. After a tense few seconds, Two-Blade Pete kicked a chair out for Quinn.
“We were just talking about you,” he said, smiling like a shark. “Have a seat.”

“So how should we proceed?” Myrie asked. All eyes were turned on Gryphon Radwing. He stroked his red goatee thoughtfully.
“Well,” he said slowly, “we know that Howler’s got some guards positioned directly in front of the shrine. We can see them clearly. However, she and the rest of her crew are just around the shrine’s corner. If we make any noise, or if one of the guards shouts for help, we’re going to have a full-out brawl on our hands.”
“We can take them,” Captain Thackeray replied resolutely, hand on his sword hilt.
“Yes,” Myrie retorted, “but can we do it before Doc Howler finishes dumping her poison?”
There was a restless shifting in the group while the leaders thought about what to do. Myrie bit her lip, frustrated at the progress.
“Screw this,” she growled. “I won’t let Quinn die due to slow decision-making. I’m going in.”
“Myrie-!”
The thief whipped out her daggers, eyes flashing with a deadly haze. “The plan’s been decided. Kill Howler and anyone else who resists arrest. Follow me if you’re with me.”
Gryphon’s stomach plummeted. Though not as emotionally-attuned as a sylvari, he could still sense the waves of anger, grief and fear roiling off of Myrie’s lithe frame. She was reckless and desperate. He stood grimly, hands grasping his jeweled staff.
“Count me in.”