This one goes up to the end of the level 60 quests, and Caoilfhionn is actually in-game half-way through the 80 quests. Zela, my main, is almost up to Heart of Thorns.
Reminder that ‘Caoilfhionn’ is pronounced ‘kee-lin’, though I’m strongly considering changing it to Caolán, at Tharash’s suggestion. Also Tharash edited the dialogue for his characters again, whoohoo!
Contents:
– 1: Raven’s Shaman (Level 40 quests)
– 2: Ghosts and Guns (Ascalon Catacombs)
– 3: Hope’s Legacy (Caudecus’s Manor)
– 4: Hearts That Beat (Twilight Arbour)
– 5: The Fall of Claw Island (Level 60 quests)
– 6: A Slow Blossoming (Level 60 quests)
– 7: The Marshal of the Pact (Level 60 quests)
– 8: Your Place is At My Side (Trahearne)
Part 2: Hope’s Legacy
1: Raven’s Shaman (Level 40 quests)
Returning to Lion’s Arch was less of a culture shock this time. Caoilfhionn knew what to expect, both from the surroundings and the people, and he didn’t so much as jump when a Norn staggered past him in the outskirts, waving a tankard and bellowing insults to everyone she saw. The centre of town was more peaceful, with more… ‘ordinary’ people gathering near the beautiful lion fountain. Now that he looked at the place from a new perspective, it was not overwhelming at all. People thrived here, Sylvari included. The gulls stirred his heart, the towers of masts and rigging, the slosh of the waves against the docks, the smell of seaweed.
He caught sight of Caithe, sitting alone on a bench near the Asura gates, her arms folded and a pensive look on her face. “Is everything all right?”
She looked up at him, a hurt deep in her eyes. “They are frozen in that moment. The one second when we split apart. Why can’t they move beyond it? I don’t understand.”
“Sorry?” He sat beside her. Wegaff hovered a short ways off, unobtrusive.
“I met with the other members of Destiny’s Edge, an hour ago.” She shook her head. “They quarreled about the same old things – Logan leaving, Snaff’s death. It’s been so long, I thought they might have become ready to move on.”
“A death leaves a wound in the survivors,” Caoilfhionn said softly. Young as he was, he’d already seen it in Tiachren and Caithe herself. “As the Pale Tree mourned when Riannoc died, so too do they mourn.”
Caithe’s gaze sharpened, though she stared out across the bay. “They are wasting time while the dragons grow stronger. I must find a way to make them see.”
“We will. You are not alone, Caithe.”
She looked at him again, and this time she seemed to really see him. “Not alone… because you are here. Yes. I will hold onto that, through the long nights ahead.” She stood, and so did he, and she offered her hand to shake. “Take care, my friend. You will hear from me soon.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “Be well!” She smiled vaguely and headed in the direction of the Asura gates.
The inside of the Black Lion headquarters was so entrancing, filled with wondrous and mystifying and rare things, that he nearly forgot he was supposed to be meeting Magister Sieran at the back of it. Wegaff tugged him along. “Are you going to grow stalks for your eyes next? Come along, our new mentor is waiting!”
Caoilfhionn perked up as he heard a Sylvari accent from up the stairs. “Stop worrying, Kekt! One little side-trip, and I’ll have the sproutlings home at the Priory in no time. It’ll be cherry!” Her voice was so full of laughter he couldn’t help but brighten in response. He took the stairs two at a time to see if she were the one he was sent to meet, and met a lovely Sylvari woman whose joie de vivre was fairly bubbling from her face. She turned to meet his eager gaze and clapped her hands. “Oh, here you are! You must be the new novices I was sent to retrieve. I’m a Magister of the Order, but we don’t need to use titles. Just call me Sieran!”
“Happy to meet you,” said Caoilfhionn, taking her hand and bowing over it. “My name is Caoilfhionn. I’m looking forward to working with the Durmond Priory.”
“And I’m Wegaff. In case they forgot to mention it, I already completed an assignment,” Wegaff said. “Just haven’t been to the actual Priory yet.”
“That is our destination today! But first – I know I’m supposed to take you straight back to the Priory, but I’d like to take a little side trip. While I was waiting for you, Explorer Kekt here was telling me this really interesting story about an old dwarven tomb – and guess what? It’s right on our way! I’ll still take you to meet Steward Gixx at the main Priory building, but I want to have a bit of fun first.”
The Asura that Sieran had been talking to stomped his foot and waved his arms. “Magister Sieran, you’re not listening to me! We don’t even know if the story is true. What if the tomb doesn’t exist? What if it’s just a legend?”
She laughed and waved him off. “Oh, Kekt, stop being a spoilsport! If I ignore this, those skulky dredge might find the tomb first, and how would that turn out? They’d destroy it! Come on. It won’t hurt anything to go look around a bit. Caoilfhionn and Wegaff don’t mind, right?”
“This is why I joined the Priory, of course I’m coming,” Wegaff said.
Caoilfhionn laughed. “Exploring an ancient tomb on my first day in the Order? Sounds like fun. I don’t mind at all.”
Sieran jumped for joy. “Then it’s settled! Our destination is Molent Summit. Let’s go!” She strode to the stairs with a bouncy step, fully expecting them to follow instantly.
Kekt shook his head as Caoilfhionn turned to follow. “Magister Sieran’s a bit excitable. By the Alchemy! She was supposed to take you to the Priory, not off on an adventure!”
Caoilfhionn shrugged. This turn of events suited him just fine. “I’d better keep up. Be seeing you!”
“Er… Sieran…” Caoilfhionn said, staring at the map by the light of a nearby torch. “This is the opposite of ‘on the way’.” The tomb location she’d just pointed out to him was on the eastern side of Lornar’s Pass from the Priory, which was on the western side right by Lion’s Arch.
“It’s fiiine!” Sieran said, hardly pausing in the middle of the tunnel that led from Lion’s Arch Bay into the Shiverpeaks. “We’re not expected back until dusk, and it’s still mid-morning – we have lots of time!”
“That’s not what you- never mind.” Caoilfhionn jogged to catch up to the other two.
“That’s not the point!” Wegaff said. “Sieran is quite right to consider this the most effective use of our time. The important thing is the preservation of whatever history we can acquire before something happens to it, particularly dwarven history, which is so rare nowadays.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sieran said. “The dwarves are almost extinct, you know, but in their time, they knew a lot about dragons. This tomb’s completely unexplored. If there hadn’t been a little earthquake, it would have stayed buried beneath rocks and ice. Kekt’s old scrolls said this was the tomb of a dwarven prince. It might have…”
Caoilfhionn drew his breath in as they left the tunnel, suddenly not listening, stunned at the glorious vista before him. He’d never been in the mountains before, real mountains, and the Shiverpeaks were dazzling beyond measure. Knifing up into the pale, robin’s-egg-blue sky above, swooping down to smooth glacier-carved valleys, dotted with stern pines, covered with the most beautiful glittering whiteness he’d ever seen… They stretched into the distance, beyond his sight, endless rows of stone and snow. Yet again, Tyria astonished him with its beauty and variety. One would never guess that an hour before and a mountain away they’d been in the semi-tropical region where Kryta sloped down to the Sea of Sorrows.
He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, just a little. He… had not expected the wind to bite so hard, and though his current fashion covered his body completely, it was made of light material suited for tropical weather, such as the Grove had.
Sieran, whose clothing had vents along the sides and shoulders, didn’t seem to notice, spreading her hands towards the peaks. “Look at these glorious, snow-dusted mountains! I love the Shiverpeaks. They’re so magnificent.”
“They are indeed,” Caoilfhionn said. “I have not seen their like before. I love them! Though I fear we must keep moving or else my sap shall cease to circulate properly.”
“Ha! Summon a fire elemental, you’ll be fine,” Wegaff told him, pulling his hood over his head and summoning an elemental of his own as they moved down the path in a southerly direction.
Sieran laughed. “That’s one way to deal with it! I’ve grown accustomed to it, myself. A couple weeks traipsing about, you’ll be adapted to it in no time. Well, at least Caoilfhionn will. I’m not sure how Asura deal with it.”
“I can’t wait,” Caoilfhionn said. “It looks as if there must be nooks and crannies everywhere.”
“Full of secrets,” Wegaff said with glee. “Nowhere in the Shiverpeaks is fully known, even after all this time. There are still many things for newcomers like us to discover.”
“Secrets I want to see,” Caoilfhionn said. “Even if I do not always find something no one has ever seen before, I want to see everything I can with my own eyes.”
“Same here!” Wegaff said. “You watch – I’ll be an Explorer within the week.”
Caoilfhionn smiled. “I think Trahearne would approve.”
“Oooh! You know Trahearne?” Sieran exclaimed, cupping her chin with eager hands. “He’s my hero!”
Caoilfhionn beamed at her. “Mine, too! He’s so wise and patient!”
“He is, and endlessly knowledgeable about history. The Priory sure could use him!” Sieran sighed dreamily.
Caoilfhionn had known he liked her for a reason. Indeed, if he weren’t in love with Trahearne, he might have fallen in love with Sieran for appreciating Trahearne too! “He said he didn’t want to join any Order, though.”
“I know. He must focus on his Wyld Hunt. But… so many Valiants join the Orders. Like you.” Sieran shrugged. “At least he is happy where he is. And I’m happy where I am!”
“You are,” he said admiringly. “How old are you?”
She grinned. “About a year! How about you?”
“A few months. Still pretty fresh.”
“You joined the Priory younger than I did, so you’re doing very well!”
“Come along!” Wegaff said, beckoning from a bend in the path ahead. “I don’t know Trahearne besides that one time in the lich’s tomb, but I do know we’re going to be late for dinner if we don’t pick up the pace.”
“You fought a lich?” Sieran demanded as they set forth. “With Trahearne? You must tell me all about it!”
The dredge had indeed found the tomb, but after the three explorers had fought off the initial wave of mole-people, Wegaff put a hand to an ear. “There’s more fighting further down this tunnel. Who do you think it might be?”
Sieran shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea! Let’s go find out!”
“I’m with you,” Caoilfhionn said. They rounded a corner in the tunnel to find the cave opening out into a much larger area. And over to their left was a Norn with sword and shield and heavy armour, her back against the wall, fending off five or six dredge near a cage along the wall. “Come, then! Which of you wants to see the Mists first?” she yelled at the dredge. Her foes hesitated.
“Explorer Annhilda!” Sieran gasped, and jumped forward. “Quickly, novices! We must help her!”
With a burst of lightning, she flew at the dredge while Wegaff pulled an Earth elemental from the tunnel floor. The dredge needed little more convincing to turn and flee back into the depths. The Norn woman chuckled as she sheathed her sword, tossing back her long red hair. “Good to see you, Sieran. Your new novices?”
“Yes, indeed!” Sieran said. “This one is Caoilfhionn, and this one is Wegaff! Annhilda is another Explorer with the Priory. She’s still pretty new too, but very dedicated! What brings you here, Annhilda?”
“Rescuing these Explorers,” Annhilda said, opening the cage and releasing another Norn and a human, who stumbled out gratefully. “Gixx sent me. Did he send you too?”
“Uh… sure!” Sieran said glibly. “Gixx sent us. That’s why we’re here. Gixx. He sent us.”
Annhilda raised a crimson eyebrow. “What, does he not trust my skills anymore? I appreciate your help, but I’m quite capable of dealing with a few moles on my own…”
“Well, we’re not just here for that,” Sieran confessed. “There’s a dwarven tomb…”
“Raven’s wings! Where?” Annhilda cried. “No matter, go on. I will catch up with you after I’ve made sure these two can walk on their own legs again.”
After a slightly awkward interview back at the Priory, where Caoilfhionn learned that Sieran was not supposed to be dragging novice explorers about the Shiverpeaks without permission, no matter how urgent the quest, Annhilda cornered him in the hall. “New to the Priory, eh?”
He stammered a bit. “Er… yes, quite.” She was tall, and fierce, with bold grey-blue eyes that matched the blue tattoos on her cheeks, and she carried her sword, almost as tall as he was, like it was a part of her – he already found himself in awe of her, and though he wished to shower her in praise and admiration, he found himself a bit tongue-tied instead. “What brought you to the Order?”
She gestured to the huge revolving pillar of light with its stone and holographic tablets. “Ah, there are more mysteries and riddles here, than even I could solve in a lifetime. But by Raven, if the Dragons have a weakness, I shall find it! And you?”
He laughed. “I joined to save innocents and destroy evil. I am charged with fighting Zhaitan, and the Priory seemed the best way to learn how to do that – and to see all of Tyria!”
“Worthy goals. I think you’ll do well in them. You look small, and too colourful to survive alone in the snow, but you fight like Wolf, with your friends there.”
He felt his luminescence flush with pride. “Thank you! That’s very kind of you to say. Er… but would you tell me more of your Great Spirits? I have not met many Norn in my life yet.”
“Aha!” Annhilda’s eyes gleamed. “Let us to the mess and have a brew together, pup. As a shaman of Raven, I can tell you as much as you want to know and more!”
He jogged to keep up with her long, easy stride. “…Pup?”
Annhilda joined them while they hunted for the Sanguinary Blade, the deadly sword the dredge had stolen from the dwarven tomb; hunted for a sheath that would contain its power; hunted for the Norn who stole it from the dredge. Especially after it became apparent that the Sons of Svanir were involved, Annhilda seemed to consider it her bounden duty to see it safely in Priory hands, and Caoilfhionn was with her – though he did not have the personal connection that the Norn did. No matter. He’d seen enough to fight with conviction. A weapon this powerful in the hands of a servant of a dragon was not to be borne.
And recovering it was a fight and a half. The monstrous, transformed ice-Norn was fast and brutal, and seemed to shrug off the most powerful of attacks from all four of them. Only when Caoilfhionn blew his head entirely off with a stone spike did he stop, collapsing heavily to the ground, the blood-sword clanging to the stony mountainside before them.
“Good shot,” Annhilda said, sheathing her sword. “Sieran, the scabbard?”
“Here you are!” panted Sieran, handing it over and then bending double to catch her breath. “My goodness, that was intense! I didn’t expect it to be quite so exciting!”
“He really was all over the place,” Wegaff said. “It was inevitable we’d get him, he had no strategy whatsoever.”
Caoilfhionn stepped forward carefully, examining the headless corpse regretfully. “It’s hard to believe that Steag was willing to see all his Norn friends die, just to keep the power of the Sanguinary Blade.”
“That’s not hard for me to believe at all,” Sieran said, straightening up and holding up a lecturing finger. “It’s typical of the idiots who serve Elder Dragons. The dragons are a blight. They don’t care about anything but their hunger. Their followers are just… bad.”
“Svanir,” Annhilda said contemptuously. “They’d be a threat if they shared between them more than a lone Skritt’s brain.”
“Even if we find a way to save the world from the dragons, I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever find a way to save us from ourselves,” Sieran said. “But anyway, when Gixx told me I was going to be mentoring new Novices, I thought it would be an incredibly boring task. But you know what? I really like you two! You’re willing to try new things, and – and Wegaff is clever, and Caoilfhionn is sensible, and you both have wonderful curiosity. I’m glad you’ve joined the Priory.”
“Of course,” Wegaff said. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Thanks, Sieran!” Caoilfhionn said. It was the first time that anyone had called him ‘sensible’, and even though the person saying so was Sieran, who was the opposite of sensible – not that he minded, she was a lot of fun – it made him very happy. “I’ve enjoyed this quest very much, and I look forward to the next one!”
Sieran clapped her hands. “Cherry! Come on, let’s get the sword back to Gixx.”
Annhilda nodded. “And then, we’ll work on saving the world! After a good mug of ale, of course. I’m thirsty!”
2: Ghosts and Guns (Ascalon Catacombs)
A week later, armed with the title of Explorer – as was Wegaff, as he’d said – Caoilfhionn found himself in Ascalon for the first time, accompanied by Wegaff, invited by Annhilda. They met her at a ruined stone door leading down into the earth, and another red-headed Norn with a wolf-hound nearly as big as Caoilfhionn beside her. “Hello, my friends!” Annhilda said. “This is my friend and mentor, Eir Stegalkin. Eir, these are two of my companions at the Priory, Wegaff and Caoilfhionn.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Eir said. “This is Garm. Did Annhilda explain why we are here?”
“Slightly,” Caoilfhionn said, thrilled to meet another member of Destiny’s Edge. “There is a sword of legend buried here, is there not?”
“Aye, that’s the gist of it. Long ago-”
“There was a human king, and he used it to destroy his own kingdom out of spite,” said a vaguely familiar voice, and the Asura named Phiadi appeared with a toss of her white-pink hair, strutting like royalty, a swarm of undead minions already clustering around her. “I can relate. Thanks for the invite, Wegaff. Hope you don’t mind I brought Damara as well. I asked Mabbran, but he wasn’t interested.”
Damara waved, her white teeth shining in her brown-skinned face framed by her loose black braids. “Hello! Melandru bless you, it’s nice to see you again! I brought my wolf today, this is Torkil!” She had a beautiful snowy-white wolf with her, and he and Garm sniffed each other curiously. “Phiadi said we might be fighting human ghosts, so of course I had to come. I’m hoping this will help the peace treaty along a little. And it’s nice to meet you, Eir Stegalkin.”
Eir smiled. “I welcome the company. It’s going to be very dangerous, but when I called on Annhilda for aid, I did not imagine she would bring half a guild of her own. Now, let’s go before Rytlock gets here.”
Caoilfhionn had many questions, but Eir was not waiting for anyone, and he had to hastily pull answers out of Annhilda as they set off. But even that didn’t last long, as no sooner had the inner doors shut behind them when they were assaulted by ghosts of humans, angry, violent ghosts, who took sword strikes and lightning bolts in their faces and did not fall. Even Phiadi’s necromantic magic was not enough on its own to convince them to rest, and it took their combined efforts several minutes to slay each ghost they found.
They’d gotten partway into the catacombs where there was an angry, growling shout from behind them, and they turned to see two Charr bounding up – a dark brown, fuming, armoured tower of fur introduced as Rytlock Brimstone, and a shorter black-and-white Charr with a slight limp who didn’t pay the others much attention, mostly involved in a small arsenal of contraptions Caoilfhionn had never seen the like of before. He briefly introduced himself as Rhyoll Cinderforge, and then went back to tinkering with those contraptions.
After Rytlock and Eir shouted at each other for a few minutes, Annhilda stepped in. “Look, we’re all here, and between the eight of us, we can handle whatever ghosts come our way.”
“I agree,” said Rhyoll, waving a screwdriver. “Tribune, I’m not getting any testing done just standing here.”
Rytlock looked around at all of them with a sour, skeptical face. “None of you look anything like soldiers except the Norn. If you die, don’t come crying to me.”
“I don’t expect I could cry if I were dead,” Caoilfhionn said curiously. “But that’s no reason to turn back!”
Rytlock shot him a sharp glance; Caoilfhionn held his ground. “You’re a real sprout, aren’t you? Fine. Let’s get going.”
With the legendary sword recovered, Eir and Rytlock started fighting again – though this time they did not raise their voices. When Rytlock had stomped away, Caoilfhionn simply had to ask more questions. “Why does Rytlock hate Logan?” Caithe had said… something about it, but it had been a while ago, in Lion’s Arch, and she had been vague. Perhaps Eir would be more straightforward.
Eir sighed. “Mistakes from a lifetime ago, best forgotten. Rytlock’s right. I’ve gotten too sentimental. Too weak.”
“It is not weakness to care,” Annhilda said. “Our lives are made up of symbols and stories. Our strength comes from living them, not denying them.”
Eir shrugged. “A long time ago, I led us into a disaster. He blames me. They all do. The thing is… they might be right.” Caoilfhionn did not know what to say to that – he did not know Eir or Destiny’s Edge or their last battle well enough to comfort her with conviction, and someone with Eir’s intensity would not accept anything less than complete and utter certainty. “Come, we should leave. Ultimately, this mission was a failure.”
“It’s not a failure,” Damara said gently. “Adelbern needed to be dealt with. With him laid to rest, perhaps we can move forward more easily.”
Eir shook her head. “I was stupid to think a sword could slice through the wall between Logan and Rytlock.”
“Should we follow him?” Annhilda asked.
“No. He still hates Logan – and now he hates me. I should have left bad enough alone.”
“Nah, when the Tribune’s in a Mood, no one can talk to him,” Rhyoll volunteered. “He was talking pretty generously about Destiny’s Edge around a month ago, but then he went to Lion’s Arch to meet with his old guildmates and it’s soured him ever since.”
“Right,” Eir said. “I remember.”
“I thought whacking some ghosts might get him back to normal, but, eh, guess not.” He shrugged and let out a booming laugh. “Makes me feel all stifled when he’s around, honestly. I’d say it was a mission well-done, myself! You folks gave me all the tests I could ask for, and then some. So come on, loosen up those long faces.”
“I actually had some questions for you,” Caoilfhionn said.
“You’ve been asking questions this whole time, can’t you stop for five minutes?” Phiadi complained. “You’re worse than a progeny trying to get with their favourite professor.”
“But there’s so much I don’t know!” Caoilfhionn said, laughing. “Rhyoll, you have so many machines-”
“You like ’em? Want a closer look?”
“Yes, please!”
“I’m a weapons engineer for Iron Legion, I know how to make ’em. Let me take you back to my workshop and we’ll go over a bunch!”
Eir left them outside the Catacombs, making the journey back to Hoelbrak to get the legendary sword repaired – or not, Caoilfhionn still wasn’t sure what her decision was. But the rest of them went with Rhyoll to his workshop at the Black Citadel. Caoilfhionn was not a huge fan of Charr architecture – it was so jagged, and haphazard, and threatening, and lifeless. Brutal, if he had to be succinct. He stayed close to the others through the Black Citadel, a little on edge from all the angry yelling sounds, the screeching of metal, the stench of smoke and oil. They were getting looks, for such a multicultural party was not often seen outside of Lion’s Arch. He was certain that no matter how many times he visited, he would never be comfortable there.
Rhyoll’s workshop was tucked away in a corner of the place, not too close to the looming Citadel itself, a sturdy metal shed with a small test field in front of it. As they came to it, he turned around and held up a claw. “Now. No one is allowed inside. Especially you, Sylvari. I’m still not sure how flammable your race is compared to the others, but I’m not risking it.”
“U-understood,” Caoilfhionn said, stopping short. With a warning like that, he had even less motivation to enter than he’d had before.
“Right. Let’s start with something small. Got this pistol, see. Let me show you its features! This little beauty doesn’t just fire bullets – it also shoots a powerful glue that’ll stop anything short of a minotaur.” Rhyoll shot at a blob of some pale substance at a nearby sheet of metal. It spattered wildly across the surface; Caoilfhionn flinched as droplets reflected back at them. Everybody backed up a little bit, in fact.
“Sticky stuff! It’s real sticky!” To demonstrate, Rhyoll reached down and picked up a rock the size of his fist – or the size of Caoilfhionn’s whole head – and tossed it at the pale splatter. It held, jiggling slightly. “Comes off with water, too. So if I accidentally snag any of you elementalists, you’ll be fine.”
“How… reassuring,” Wegaff mumbled.
“And – this is the best part – it’s got a napalm magazine.” Tail lashing violently, he aimed the pistol and blasted the rock with a jet of white-hot flames. Caoilfhionn jumped, but now he was intrigued. That almost looked more powerful than some of his spells! Annhilda had found a high ledge to sit on and observe from; Damara leaned against the wall below her. Her wolf was hunched behind her legs, looking oddly calm; she still kept a comforting hand on its head. Phiadi was sitting on one of her larger minions.
Rhyoll guffawed in delight. “Ahahahaha! I love setting things on fire!”
“Can’t you just call it a flamethrower?” Phiadi asked.
“No, because I have actual flamethrowers and they’re completely different. Right, on to the next thing. You saw I was using a shotgun in the Catacombs, I’m sure. Let me show you its features!” Tail wagging harder than ever, he unholstered his weapon and spun it around. “Of course, I can just shoot things with it, but if I just recalibrate the chamber, then it fires a shot with extra force, enough to blow away most smaller hostiles and knocking bigger ones back a step or two.”
He turned to demonstrate, firing a regular shot at a target, which splintered under the assault, and then fiddling with his gun for a moment before firing the second. The second explosion was louder, and Caoilfhionn jumped – the second target snapped off at the base, slamming to the ground with the force of the shot. Damara’s wolf growled at the deafening sound. “And with that force, I can do other things, too!” He turned the gun down, aiming between his knees – Caoilfhionn started to object-
The gun went off, and Rhyoll went sailing through the air, chortling as only a Charr could. “Whahahahaha! How’s that!”
“Marvelous,” Caoilfhionn said breathlessly. “I had wondered how you did that, before. I don’t suppose I could try?” Flying looked like a lot of fun!
“Hell no!” Rhyoll shouldered his gun again. “I’m about 450 pounds of muscle and bone. You’re, what, 150 pounds soaking wet? It’d break you in half like a twig. Maybe someday I’ll build a special one just for you, but I’d have to have a lot of free time on my hands…”
“I understand,” Caoilfhionn said. “Thank you for showing us, anyway.”
“Oh, I’m not done yet! Heheheh!”
Rhyoll went on to show them his many turrets, his rocket launcher, his actual flamethrower, a healing kit that… included some sort of bandage grenade launcher – he fired, the bandages flew, and fell anti-climactically to the ground. He looked around at their puzzled stares. “Look, it’s a work in progress.”
And the last thing he showed them was a strange sort of harness for his legs, that he said would help him move faster – faster, even, than a healthy Charr with no injury or disability.
“A tall claim,” Annhilda said. “I have boasted that I can run as fast as a Charr, and to run faster still?”
“You’re the one telling tall tales, sister. Tell you what – race you to the Horn of Rin and back.”
“You’re on,” Annhilda said, jumping down from her seat.
Rhyoll grinned, showing off all his sharp teeth. “And I’ll even throw in a control group. Gary!”
A burly, confused-looking Charr with pure golden fur came stumping over. “Rhyoll? What d’you need?”
“We’re gonna race to the Horn of Rin and back. I want you to race with us. Gotta show all these newbies the power of Charr engineering and all that.”
“But you’re using your mecha legs! I’ll lose!” Gary whined.
“That’s the point!” Rhyoll bopped Gary in the back of the head. “Come on, I’ll buy you a steak.”
“Oh, I’ll do it for a steak. Who’s saying ‘ready, steady, go’?”
“I will!” Caoilfhionn said.
Rhyoll won, though Annhilda strove valiantly. Gary came in last, though he didn’t seem to mind. “By Raven, that is a wonderful device,” Annhilda said, panting a little, when they made it back. “Why did you not use it in the Catacombs?”
“They’re only a prototype so far. They’re not very comfortable unless I’m running long distances without stopping, and stopping to fight every thirty seconds is, well, stopping. Something for another time. After I work on it some more. Hey, I won’t mind working with you lot again. Depends where the Tribune needs me to go. But you want a flamethrower or turret support, I’m your Charr.”
“We’d be honoured to have you with us, should we need your aid,” Annhilda said. “I know I speak for all of us with the Priory.”
“Six preserve us, I’m with the Vigil, but I’d concur with that!” Damara said, ruffling up her wolf’s neck fur. “Torkil doesn’t mind the loud noises, but I may have to see if any of my other pets have concerns.”
“How many do you have?” Caoilfhionn asked in wonder.
Damara hid an embarrassed smirk; she might have blushed, but her skin-tone was too dark-brown for Caoilfhionn to tell based on colour variation like he could with Annhilda. “Twelve, at the moment. Come to Divinity’s Reach sometime and I’ll introduce you. I’ve a small farm from my parents where they live when they’re not about with me.”
“I’d like that.”
“Most of your toys aren’t really… subtle,” Phiadi said, “but I’ll grant that you have a head for solving problems. Crudely. With the most explosive solution possible.”
“Explosions are fun!” Rhyoll said, grinning with all his sharp teeth, tail wagging.
“And educational!” Wegaff said.
3: Hope’s Legacy (Caudecus’s Manor)
A few days afterwards, Caoilfhionn found an elaborate invitation in his mail – gold and red ink on creamy white paper invited him to a party celebrating the peace negotiations between the Humans and the Charr. He was intrigued, and confused, and delighted, all at once. On one branch, why was he invited? He didn’t really know any high-ranking Krytans very well, and he was a foreigner to them. Had Damara something to do with it? On another branch, if they were having parties just for celebrating peace negotiations, he wondered what it would look like when peace was actually reached. And on the third branch, he loved parties! He could wear Blathnat’s newest creation, a lovely violet robe with sweeping epaulets.
Wegaff came to see him. “I got this weird invite today. What do you- oh, you got one too.”
“Damara must have had them sent,” Caoilfhionn said. “She is the most influential Human we know, and we both know her well from that business with the Queen. I’ll be going, of course.”
“Then you can take my regrets,” Wegaff said. “I’m not one for parties. Zero productive results, 95% of the time. I’m going to False Lake and double-checking Sieran’s numbers because, well, let’s just say her enthusiasm puts the College of Dynamics to shame.”
“If Damara sent it, she must suspect trouble,” Caoilfhionn said, trying to tempt him with a smile.
“Then double the reason for me to stay out of it! I’ve decided my skills are really not in battle. Yours are, anyone can see. But mine are in research.” Wegaff actually hesitated, a rare thing for him to do. “I know we promised we’d help each other out on our investiga- quests. But I really do think that I can be of more use to you here at the Priory, than out fighting things physically beside you.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Caoilfhionn was disappointed, and a little sad, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected to him. “I think you’re a wonderful elementalist.”
“Geo-kineticist,” Wegaff corrected him. “Thanks. I am good. I certainly trounce you on the theoretical side. But I’d rather avoid the risk of copious head trauma. Like in the Ascalonian Catacombs with those Destiny’s Edge bulldozers, I didn’t even get a chance to sample the stones, but you had no problem keeping up. In fact, it looked like you were having a great time.”
Such a compliment warmed him from his leaves to his toes, and he would have hugged Wegaff if not for the fact that the Asura was too small to do it easily, and that Wegaff had a strict no-hugs policy. “That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me. Thank you.”
“Well, I’m not saying it again,” Wegaff grumbled, embarrassed. “Anyway, if it’s just a party, I’ll be bored to death, and if there’s trouble, you can handle yourself just fine – especially if anyone we know is there to help you.”
“Very well,” Caoilfhionn said. “I wish you well in your research, and I’ll drink to your health while I’m there!”
“If that makes you happy,” Wegaff said.
“It will, just like going to False Lake to check numbers will make you happy,” Caoilfhionn said, laughing.
“Ugh, go have fun, you social butterfly.”
Damara was there, looking different with her dark hair done up in a fancy way, and she had sent the invitations, and there too were Annhilda, Phiadi, and Rhyoll. “Logan thinks there’s going to be trouble, so when he invited me, I of course thought of you all. Is Wegaff not coming?”
“He sends his regrets,” Caoilfhionn said. “He really does not like parties, and said that between the five of us, we wouldn’t need his aid.”
“I’m not surprised,” Annhilda said. “From what I’ve seen of him, he’ll be happier where he is. We’ll just have to work a little harder.”
“Blast it,” Rhyoll grumbled. “Why I let you talk me into this when Mia Kindleshot is right there…”
“It’s good to see you again!” Caoilfhionn said.
“You too, twig,” Rhyoll said. “Nothing new to show you today, I’m afraid. Nice duds.”
“That’s all right. Thank you! My sister made this but newly for me, as she does all my clothes.”
“They show you’ve clearly never been within spitting distance of an engine, ahaha.”
“Why would you want to spit on an engine…?”
“Oh! It’s Zojja! I was hoping she’d be here,” Phiadi said, and pointed.
Caoilfhionn drifted curiously in her wake. Zojja was the only member of Destiny’s Edge he had not yet met, and he wanted to know what sort of person she was like. But along the way, he got snagged by Dagonet, the Sylvari ambassador to Kryta, and was soon deep into stimulating conversation with him.
So he was quite startled when Humans started shouting and suddenly-appearing golems started shooting and the whole place turned upside down in a moment. “To me!” Annhilda shouted, her voice ringing over the commotion, and he obeyed gladly, lightning wreathing his drawn dagger.
Logan had been reunited with his kidnapped queen, and it was so romantic, he was almost jealous. To be thus torn between love and duty, the desire to protect someone and the necessity of protecting everyone… Not to mention, the chance to be so close so constantly to his beloved, to be so blatant with his affections under a thin veneer of professionalism – and with Logan, it was thin… To be in his place must have been agony, but how sweet the pain! He only had his pining, which wasn’t really pining at all, but a sort of happy yearning…
He was getting a little ahead of himself. Tinting his vision a bit too rosy. He would gladly have settled for being able to simply speak with Trahearne again. But he really wanted to swoon a bit…
The remains of the party had begun to clear off, leaving the five of them on the outskirts of Beetletun. “Once again, we worked well together,” Annhilda said. “I would like to propose that we make this official.”
“What, start a guild?” Phiadi asked, with an elegantly-raised brow ridge.
Damara smiled, petting her red Moa. “That sounds like a great plan! I’m in.”
“I would be honoured!” Caoilfhionn said, putting a hand to his chest to contain his pride.
“Yeah, I guess I could stand to hang out with you guys sometimes,” Rhyoll said with a chuckle.
Phiadi rolled her eyes. “I suppose someone has to be the token Asura, and who better than this year’s Snaff Savant: me.”
“The Snaff Savant, a Wyld Hunt Valiant, an Iron Legion Centurion, the Hero of Shaemoor, and the Slayer of Issormir,” Annhilda said. “We’re a pretty excellent group, wouldn’t you say?”
“We need a wonderful name!” Caoilfhionn said. “What shall we call ourselves?”
“That discussion needs to take place over a beer,” Damara said. “Come on, the pub here is quality.”
Hours later, after much discussion, argument, and random tangential talk, they raised their mugs together. “To Hope’s Legacy!”
4: Hearts That Beat (Twilight Arbour)
Caoilfhionn was busy for the Priory for some time afterwards, traveling the length and breadth of Tyria to learn more of the other peoples who lived there, particularly the quaggan and the hylek, in the company of various combinations of Annhilda, Wegaff, and/or Sieran. Annhilda even went on a mission to the jotunn, attempting to discover what led them to lead such base lives compared to their sophisticated history, though she was only successful in attracting a few scattered warriors to attach themselves to the Priory. Gixx called it foolhardy before she even began, but she shrugged, for when had pessimistic predictions ever stopped a Norn?
And of course their new guild met every couple weeks, to do small quests together, to hunt bandits, to simply explore new places and show each other places they thought worth seeing. Caoilfhionn had a wonderful time, and soon felt quite close to all of them.
The next time Hope’s Legacy had a major mission was a couple months later, when Caithe sent a letter to Caoilfhionn, who passed it on to the rest of the guild – she wanted help fighting against Faolain of the Nightmare Court, to drive her out of a grove far too close to Sylvari villages. So they met in the dark depths of Caledon Forest… and lo and behold, Rytlock and Logan were both there at Caithe’s invitation, and already threatening to kill each other. Rytlock left immediately, and Logan stayed only a short while afterwards before taking offense at something else and flouncing out.
“Wow,” Phiadi said. “I didn’t realize Destiny’s Edge was all melodramatic divas.”
“Caithe’s not!” Caoilfhionn said, diving to her defense.
Phiadi fixed him with a Look. “Well, those two are, and Zojja definitely is – I say that as someone who’s worked extensively with her, she is a Diva with a capital D. Don’t know about Eir, she seemed all right from what I remember.”
Caithe sighed. “And yet we worked so well together…”
“I have to say, this is a different side to Logan than I’ve seen before,” Damara said. “I had thought his only short-sighted trigger was Queen Jennah, but… leaving his allies in the middle of a fight? Rytlock wasn’t even here anymore, and he couldn’t take one gentle question about this sore spot?” She shook her head. “Men.”
“Hahaha, you’re not wrong,” Rhyoll said. “Though to be fair, Charr women also have hot tempers.”
“But a leader should not have a hot temper,” Annhilda said. “Or if they do, they have to keep a lid on it. Bear is fierce, and sometimes poor at communicating, but even he knows not to burn down his own den. …Usually.”
“There are still six of us,” Caithe said, still subdued. “And we are not fighting a dragon this time. He is not abandoning us to death.”
“No, we can definitely carry this,” Phiadi said. “Just… It doesn’t look to me like it’s worth reforming that particular guild. Take Eir and make a new one. Join ours. Do something different. Let the others stew in their resentment, forgotten by history as irrelevant.”
“I don’t agree with the last sentiment, but that’s not a bad idea,” Annhilda said. “Destiny’s Edge are still remembered as heroes, but new legends are born all the time.”
“It’s like music bands,” Damara said. “What? I might have grown up poor, but I have culture.”
Caithe shook her head. “I hear what you say, but I don’t believe it. There was no group like ours, and no group I wish to be part of besides ours. I wish you well, but I cannot join while I have any hope for Destiny’s Edge.”
“Then I wish you well,” Caoilfhionn said. “I think they all like us, to some degree – if there’s any way I can help, I will try to do so.”
“Thank you, Caoilfhionn,” Caithe said. “But right now we must find Faolain before it’s too late.”
But Caoilfhionn ached with sympathy for Caithe in more ways than that, for he began to see how Caithe had loved Faolain, loved her in a deep, quiet way like a still lake. And he saw how Faolain abused that past love, even the memory of that love, dragging its vulnerabilities out into the open and spitting on it with her ‘champions’. If he had not had reason to hate the Nightmare Court before, which he had anyway, reinforced by rescuing several tormented captive Sylvari along the way, seeing how their Grand Duchess behaved without dignity or honour gave him ample reason now.
And he saw how Caithe rose above that betrayal, rejected Faolain’s lies when her heart must have been bleeding to accept them, and saw completely through everything Faolain had transformed into. Trahearne would never fall like that, his soul whispered – but surely Caithe had once thought that about Faolain. “I remember what she was at the very beginning. She was the sun to my stars.” Still… Trahearne would never fall like that. But if he did, would Caoilfhionn have the same strength Caithe showed here and now? He wondered. Afterward. When they weren’t fighting colossal tree monsters and hallucinatory apparitions.
Caithe walked a little away from them when they had won and Faolain had fled, standing with her back to them, looking out over the forest. Caoilfhionn took a step towards her. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” she said, looking back over her shoulder and smiling a little. “Faolain is… a manipulator, and I almost fell into her trap. I almost despaired. I almost gave up. But you did not let me fall. Thank you for helping me.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I knew you could rise above such abuse. And anyone who abuses like that does not truly love. Stay with us, who remember how to love.”
She gave him a half-smile. “You love everyone, don’t you? I hope the world is gentler with your feelings than it was with mine.” She began walking back through the forest. “Come, let us leave this place. It will take time for the grip of Nightmare to loosen upon these vines.”
They returned to Falias Thorp to rest and to celebrate, and while Rhyoll was skeptical at first that Sylvari could make alcohol that he would enjoy, he was soon as drunk as the rest of them. Caoilfhionn enjoyed watching them, and his own drinking, immensely, and though he did not go to the excesses of his first night drinking, he perhaps drank more than was wise.
When things began to quiet down, he found himself flopped on the ground, his head on someone’s shoulder. He’d never been so close to a non-Sylvari before, and found it fascinating – the bare skin of their shoulder was soft against his cheek, in a silky way, not like the semi-glossy leaf-like feel of Sylvari skin. He turned his head and saw Damara’s armoured vest and the brown skin of her forearm. “May I ask a question?”
“I won’t know until you ask it,” Damara said from over his head. “What is it?”
“What’s that thumping sound you keep making? From inside you?”
There was a perplexed pause. “Melandru’s grace, have you really never heard a heartbeat before?”
“Is that what that is?” He pushed his ear closer to the source of the sound, heedless of all the leather and flesh padding in the way. “No, I have never heard one, even in an animal. I haven’t been so close to a mammal heart while it was so quiet before.”
She snorted, but she didn’t push him away, though he realized even through his lingering drunkenness that he was being rather rude. “Um… congratulations? What does your circulatory system sound like if you don’t have a heart?”
“Near-silent, of course. You could listen, but all you’d hear would be my breath. Unless all the world were still, perhaps you could hear it, like the soft sound of dew falling on young grass…”
“I’m more interested in your hair, anyway. These leaves are such an interesting colour. And the glow is absolutely magical.”
“Like orchids, right? My siblings call me the Orchid Prince.”
“Orchids don’t glo- I didn’t know Sylvari had princes?” Damara asked, gently exploring his leaves. It felt rather nice.
“We don’t actually, of course. It’s just a title. It doesn’t mean anything besides the fact that I’m handsome and have bright colouration. And I just realized I never told anyone about this before, it was just between me and my four close siblings, and it was their idea originally, I’m quite embarrassed now, please forgive me.”
She giggled. “So in Sylvari culture, I could be a princess and no one would blink twice about it?”
“I suppose? Or a countess, or a baroness, or a dame, or any title you care to think of. Although given that we fought the Nightmare Court’s grand duchess today, duchesses are not… really popular here anymore.”
“That’s understandable. I think Orchid Prince is a great epithet for you, and I’m going to use it from now on.”
“No! Not in front of- it’s embarrassing, I don’t want people to think I’m full of myself.”
“Is that your concern? All they have to do is talk to you. Tyria knows people who are full of themselves. They’re called Asura.”
“Hey!” Phiadi called. “I resemble that remark!”
“So relax. You can be the Orchid Prince of Hope’s Legacy, and if people think you’re stuck-up, they just have to talk to you. Or I’ll beat them up.”
“I’m not certain that’s the most reassuring?” he said, laughing. “But very well. I do like the title, I have to confess. It’s romantic and dashing.”
“Yes you are,” Damara said. “Are you planning to fall asleep on my chest? Because I’m getting pretty sleepy.”
“I suppose I could shift a bit and let you breathe,” he said, and scooted off to lie on the ground. “Good night.”
“Just going to sleep wherever? What about a bed or a sleeping roll?”
“More than half of Sylvari hardly bother,” he said. “We don’t need beds. We’re not uncomfortable. There should be hammocks somewhere in that hut there, though.”
“Right. Good night, then.”
5: The Fall of Claw Island (Level 60 quests)
Only a few days later, Caoilfhionn was down at the Lion’s Arch docks with Sieran and Annhilda, all crowned with the title of Magister, to bring an urgent message to Lion’s Arch’s forward line of defense against Orr, Claw Island. They were not the only ones there. “Damara? Rhyoll?”
The Human and the Charr walked up, accompanied by a large, square, grey-haired Norn. “And this is our Vigil teammate, Warmaster Forgal Kernsson. What brings you here?” Damara asked, laughing, a hawk on her shoulder. “By Dwayna, you’re dressed more like a prince than ever. Your sister spoils you.”
He was wearing Blathnat’s finest creation, a royal purple contrast between symmetry and asymmetry in silk and velvet, a long coat and stylish tunic in one, arrayed with giant sky-blue flower petals, silver piping, and her finest embroidery work yet. If it hadn’t been enchanted to withstand anything short of dragon-fire – at least, she said it was – he would have been afraid to wear it outside of the Grove, but since it was so reportedly sturdy, he was going to wear it literally everywhere. “She certainly does. Anyway, we’re here with grave news for the commander of Claw Island.”
“We learned that there will be a major attack on Lion’s Arch very soon!” Sieran said. “I’m Sieran, Priory Magister, by the way. Nice to meet you! Gixx sent us. For real, this time.”
Rhyoll frowned. “You didn’t crib our work, did you? That’s what we’re here for!”
There was a loud sigh to the side, and they turned to see Phiadi standing there with an unusually-mild-looking Charr. “If we’re all here to report the same thing, why am I even needed?”
“Oh, come on, Phiadi,” coaxed the Charr. “These are your friends, aren’t they? Let’s all go together. The fact that all three of our Orders learned the same thing only triply confirms the threat. Hello! I’m Tybalt Leftpaw.”
“If there’s trouble, Hope’s Legacy is – unintentionally – united to stop it,” Annhilda said. “Are we bound for the same ship, then?”
The voyage to Claw Island was lovely – the sea breeze whipping through Caoilfhionn’s leaves, watching the mountainous jungle shore glide by, the imposing fortress growing larger straight ahead, the bright sun shining in the vivid blue sky overhead, dipping lower to the west. The gulls wailed as they chased the ship, and Caoilfhionn smiled to see them, so small and free. It was hard to believe Orr could attack such a lovely land – as if beauty were its own protection, which he knew was silly, and yet.
And looking up at the massive fortress as they docked, it was hard to believe anything could overcome such solid stones. Especially fragile undead. Sieran had similar thoughts. “It’s even bigger than I’d been told. So many soldiers! So much defiance! How can it possibly fall?”
“They built this fortress to last,” said the Norn, Forgal. “Only a complete, full-bore invasion could break those walls.”
“Which is exactly what they’re planning,” the Charr Tybalt said. “They wouldn’t attack if Zhaitan didn’t think they could do it. And the sooner we let the garrison know, the sooner they can prepare for it.”
And as they walked up from the docks, they saw Lionguards shifting restlessly, muttering to each other as the shadows lengthened in the growing twilight. “I smell something odd. Do you smell it? I don’t like this.”
“Is that Trahearne, up there, talking to Commander Talon? What do you think he wants?” Caoilfhionn brightened. It had been months since he’d seen him…
“Trahearne, the necromancer? Comes through here every few months on his way to Orr? That guy creeps me out.”
A surge of heat flooded Caoilfhionn’s body as he stiffened in offense, spinning to confront the Human man who had spoken last. “I beg your pardon? Have you ever talked to him?”
The soldier took a step back at his vehemence. “No, why would I-”
“You assume too much,” Caoilfhionn said coldly, and hurried after his friends at Sieran’s urgent whispered call. So such prejudice was not limited to the Sylvari! How infuriating.
But it was Trahearne, and that that lifted his spirit to the heights of happiness, just to be in his presence again. “Trahearne!” He trotted to catch up and even pass the others, eager to see his friend – his love. Trahearne saw him coming, and moved away from the Charr Lionguard commander to speak to them. “Everyone, this is my dear friend Trahearne. Trahearne, I know you know Sieran, and these other people are my guild and their friends!”
“I know their friends,” Trahearne said with a smile, an unusually wide smile for him. “Hello, Sieran, Tybalt, Forgal. But we can catch up in a minute. What brings you here?”
“We have all independently discovered that the Risen are about to attack Lion’s Arch,” Caoilfhionn said. “You study Orr, is that why you are here too?”
“Yes, I’ve researched the situation extensively. Thank the Mother Tree you’re all here as well. Claw Island is in great danger. We must convince Watch Commander Talon of that, however.” Trahearne gestured them over to the Charr. “Commander Talon, my friends bring the same tidings. An attack is imminent.”
“Eh, what’s that?” the Charr growled brusquely. “That’s still extremely unlikely. We’ve seen no sign of an impending attack. If there was to be one, we’d know of it.”
“But we have seen signs,” Annhilda said grimly. “One of Zhaitan’s minions breached the city. We destroyed it, but the creature was likely scouting for a much bigger force.”
“And we found one as well,” Forgal said. “Alone, but powerful – definitely a scout.”
“The Order of Whispers concurs,” Phiadi said. “So at least three strong Risen were inside the city.”
“A fleet of Dead Ships has launched from the Straits of Devastation,” Trahearne said. “The Risen sail beneath a cloak of stealth.”
Commander Talon shrugged. “Whatever you’ve seen, it can’t be a real threat. Claw Island can withstand any assault! There’s nothing to fear.”
Phiadi stamped her foot. “You’re a fool if you ignore four warnings from all directions.”
The Charr laughed. “Inspect our defenses. Look at our munitions. We’re ready for anything, there’s no need to worry.”
“How many time as the fortress been attacked, if I may ask?” Caoilfhionn asked anxiously.
“Countless. We’ve had six major attacks under my watch, and that’s only in the last four years.”
“But don’t you believe Trahearne when he says this time will be different?”
“I respect Trahearne a great deal, but he’s a scholar, not a soldier! I don’t tell him his business, and he doesn’t tell me mine.”
“True,” Trahearne said. “If you don’t mind, I would rather like to inspect your defenses. It’s been a while since I toured the fortress.”
“Go ahead,” Talon said with a laugh. “It’ll help you relax, I’m sure.”
“Come,” Trahearne said to them, “let us see to the cannons on the wall. Magister Sieran! It has been a long time. How’s the Priory treating you?”
“Firstborn, it is an honour to see you again!” Sieran gushed as they walked. “I haven’t seen you since you helped the Order with that undead gorilla!”
Trahearne hid a dry smile. “The drowned Orrian one you let out of the cage? Yes, that was a menace. Did everything end up well?”
Sieran covered her face with her hands. “I misread the sign language! It was saying ‘kill’ and I thought it was saying ‘I feel better’. Yes, everything was resolved. With that. At least.”
“And you, Caoilfhionn?”
“It’s been wonderful,” Caoilfhionn said, smiling fit to burst. “I’ve learned so much, seen so much, traveled so much. My guild, Hope’s Legacy, has been so exciting. I want to tell you everything but we’d be here a week!”
“A week we do not have right now, I think,” Trahearne said, looking to the clouding sky. Caoilfhionn wondered what he saw. But he turned to the other ones Caoilfhionn did not know well. “Tybalt, Forgal, good to see you as well. Congratulations on reaching field agent, Tybalt!”
“Thank you, my friend!” Tybalt chuckled. “You should get out from under your scrolls and scribbles and join us more often! You’re starting to look all wilted.”
“We need your common sense, lad,” Forgan said. “I’m glad you’re here.” Caoilfhionn blinked. It was sometimes difficult to remember that the very oldest Sylvari was still practically a ‘child’ compared to the elderly of the other races.
“I will do my best,” Trahearne said, as they passed another nervously muttering group of Lionguards. “There’s a chill in the air. It is beginning.”
Caoilfhionn had felt uneasy since setting foot on the island, but he had thought it was simply because of the news he brought. Now he realized that all along, it had been the anticipation of the Darkness coming for them, his sensitivity to the unseen piquing. He shivered, and not because the sun was setting. Trahearne was right.
“I don’t feel anything,” Rhyoll said. “I’ll take your word for it.”
But the Lionguard officers smiled and patted their cannons and trebuchets proudly. Trahearne turned away from them with a furrowed brow. “They don’t understand. This won’t be a sortie. It’ll be a massacre.”
“Will it?” Caoilfhionn said. He still hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t painted the pictures in his mind that Trahearne had so clearly seen. He’d thought if only they could warn the Lionguard, everything would work out. He had not envisioned the death that would come even with victory, and it sounded like Trahearne did not think victory possible. Which meant, quite possibly, that everyone here would die.
At least he’d die fighting, like a true Valiant.
“Why won’t he listen to us?” Damara complained.
“Talon is an excellent commander, but he is set in his ways,” Trahearne said. “He doesn’t want to think something might change. …He’ll come around. I hope.”
“What is it that you saw?” Annhilda asked.
“My research implies there’s a massive migration of Risen coming northwards – sailing their Dead Ships on an unnatural wind. I don’t know what it means. The clouds above them are too dark and impenetrable to see the whole of the threat.”
“We’ll do everything we can to protect Lion’s Arch,” Caoilfhionn said, desperately trying to hold on to his optimism.
“Hmm.” Trahearne withdrew into himself and said nothing more until they came to the Lionguard deployed to patrol the southeastern beaches.
Which came under attack the moment they arrived. Twenty or so zombies, rushing out of the sea, gibbering as they flailed at the Lionguard. To their credit, the soldiers responded swiftly and smoothly, taking well-rehearsed formations to defend their position. With Hope’s Legacy and the others joining in, they were cleared out quickly. Caoilfhionn found Trahearne fighting next to him, sometimes, when he wasn’t dashing in to lay down lines of fire and lightning. It was heartening to do so again.
The Deputy in charge of the squad, Mira, pulled off her helmet to wipe her brow. “I thought you said the attack would be significant, Trahearne?”
“It was a feint,” Trahearne said, sounding strained. Perhaps torn between desperately hoping he was wrong and Talon and Mira and Brakk were right, and the burden of having to convince them otherwise anyway. Better to be the sentinal who cried wolf than the one who did not. “They’re testing your defenses. More will come, and soon.”
“Makes sense,” Mira said, and put her helmet back on. “Report to Watch Commander Talon, and let him know our men are ready.”
As they jogged back up the beach to the fortress, Trahearne stayed next to Caoilfhionn. “I may have studied Orrian creatures for twenty-five years, but I rarely engage in combat with them. It’s terrifying.”
“I can agree to that,” Caoilfhionn said. “But fighting with you makes it less frightening for me.”
Trahearne paused. “And I with you. Thank you. …Do you think the commander will listen to us now?”
“I don’t know,” Caoilfhionn said grimly. “But I’ll fight anyway.”
The commander was pompous when they arrived before him. “A paltry attack. It barely ruffled our feathers. Is that all they brought?”
“There will be more,” Trahearne said, his voice utterly certain now. “Much, much more. Keep watching the sea.”
Talon scowled. “You’re a scholar, not a general, Firstborn. Why should we trust you?”
The sun slipped behind the horizon. Night had fallen. And with it, all nightmare broke loose.
Undead came hurtling out of the clouded sky, marching out of the sea, besetting the island fiercely from the south and west. The proud defenses apparently meant nothing when a reanimated corpse the size of a bull – the size of a tree – could land upon the walls and immediately set upon the trebuchets there. Annhilda took charge of their little group, helping to clear the wall, retake the cannons, and sink the ship launching the undead.
But where one ship sank, ten more sprang up, looming out of the darkening mist with bones rattling. And with the commander down, roaring defiance to his last breath, Deputy Mira took command, organizing a last defense in the courtyard while Hope’s Legacy rushed to light the warning beacons. “Should’ve done it when the main attack first started,” Phiadi grumbled, summoning new minions from the rotting corpses piled about them. “Stubborn proud old twit.”
And as the beacon blazed out from the great tower, there was a roar that rent the dark clouds, bat-like wings cleaving the air, and a dragon landed on the southern plateau, knocking down the wall there like it was made of toy blocks. Sieran screamed, Tybalt followed her, and Forgal yelled: “By the Spirits! Quick, attack it!”
Deputy Mira was also screaming, fallen to the ground in pain, clutching her face. She had been struck by the poison breathed by the dragon. Their party and the few remaining Lionguard surrounded her, as Trahearne knelt beside her, soothing her injuries, and then picking up her unconscious body. The dragon looked at them and roared again.
“We have to get out of here,” Annhilda said. “We’re not ready to fight this beast yet. Fall back!”
They made it through the gate, and few undead followed them yet, milling about by the dragon. Sieran wrung her hands. “The dragon’s servants will never let our ships sail. If they surround the docks, they’ll slaughter us – and Zhaitan’s forces will grow.”
“Our soldiers are too injured to fight,” Annhilda said, sweeping her arm over them. “They can barely walk. We can’t form a defense and still get them all aboard.”
“Someone needs to hold them off and give everyone else time to escape,” Sieran said.
“A heroic but nearly impossible task, against great odds and an unrelenting enemy,” Forgal said. “This, my friends, is a death worthy of legend.”
“Forgal!” Damara cried. “You can’t hold them off alone!”
“Not alone,” Tybalt said. “I haven’t always lived bravely, but I think… I think I’d like to die that way.”
“Hmph! Don’t think I’ll miss you!” Phiadi said, but her voice was wavering as she turned away with folded arms.
Tybalt chuckled. “Nobody believed I had courage. Not even me. But you came along, and you trusted me. Trust me now. I can do this.”
“I will as well,” Sieran said, almost all the laughter gone from her voice. “Gixx always said I was an exceptional troublemaker.”
“Sieran!” Caoilfhionn cried. “Even with the three of you, you can’t win! I- I’ll go with you!”
“You can’t, Caoilfhionn,” Sieran said. “Your guild needs you. The world needs you – and your guild. And I need to do this.”
“But-”
“You don’t understand, Caoilfhionn,” Sieran said. “When you and I met, I didn’t think about anything but myself. I wanted fun, excitement, risks… I didn’t really care about others. In my short life, you’ve taught me the most important lesson. Friends will go through anything for each other. That’s why I have to do this.” She paused. “I was hoping to fall in love at least once before I died… like you did. I was a little jealous of you, to tell the truth. But I know you’ll make whoever it is very happy.”
“Sieran… I-” How was he to respond to that?
She smiled brightly. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go to the Mists. It’ll be a new adventure…”
“Sieran! …Thank you. For everything.”
“Fight gloriously,” Annhilda said to her. “You’ve grown so much, Sieran. Raven is surely with you in this hour.”
“Thanks!” She smiled and waved. “Ready, everyone?”
“This is stupid,” Rhyoll said, and stepped forward to Forgall. “Here. My turrets. You’ll need them more than me. Give ’em hell, Warmaster.” Forgal smiled and nodded.
“Let me get that door,” Tybalt said, stepping inside with Sieran and Forgal, and going to the lever that closed the gate. “So long, you lot!”
“Tell our tale at the hearth fires, where the skaalds sing of heroes!” Forgal called, just as the undead tide swarmed towards them and the gate slammed shut. But still they could hear him roaring. “I am Forgal, son of Kern. My father was the last Dolyak Shaman! I am a Warmaster of the Vigil! You will never make me kneel!”
Caoilfhionn’s chest ached. His entire body ached, and his eyes were blinded by tears even as he ran in Annhilda’s wake. Undead rose up before him and he flung himself through them, scorching them to ash in blind fury.
The dragon would pay dearly for this.
6: A Slow Blossoming (Level 60 quests)
He had run from the others when they made it onto the ship, hiding on a back corner of the aft deck out of everyone’s way. Annhilda, Damara, even Rhyoll, tried to follow him, but he told them to go away. How could they understand? And there he grieved, unable to come to grips with his first really personal loss, when he heard light steps beside him and looked to see Trahearne’s feet next to him.
“May I sit with you?” Trahearne asked softly.
Caoilfhionn nodded, unable to speak, tears in his throat and the back of his hand to his mouth to cover his sobs. To imagine what had become of the three they’d left behind – he’d seen so much death that day, but to imagine Sieran – dull claws tearing her flesh apart, rending her limb from limb, a massive club crushing her – she who had been so full of life and laughter! – such horrors played through his mind until he wanted to scream.
“There, there,” Trahearne said, and next thing Caoilfhionn knew, he’d wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to lean against his shoulder. “I miss her too. All of them. It’s always hard. Especially for one like you, with your bright, loving heart.”
“I should have done something,” Caoilfhionn whispered. “Even though she said I should not. What sort of knight lets their friends sacrifice themselves?”
“I know that line of thinking all too well. But we would not have escaped without them. Or without you. I owe you a great debt for your bravery.”
“’Twas not bravery,” Caoilfhionn mumbled. “’Twas simply reckless upset. I do not know what I did.”
“You cleared the way for us all, and saved me and Mira from being set upon by undead. I could not fight while carrying her unconscious body…” Trahearne paused. “I could say many… useless things to try to comfort you, but for now, I will only say this: it is all right to let it overwhelm you now. Let it out. There is no shame in grief.”
Caoilfhionn huddled closer to Trahearne’s rather woody shoulder, hugging his waist, and cried. He wished he could appreciate the closeness, but all he could focus on was his pain and confusion.
Perhaps Amaranda the Lonesome had been right. He’d been a bit of a fool. Grief was not glorious, nor was it romantic – he’d have given anything to have the three Order agents – just to have Sieran back. He’d give up the promises of a heroic future if only-
And he was all but guaranteed to lose more friends. To fight a dragon of death was no jaunt through a garden. Why was the world so cruel!? Why were the dragons so cruel?
When his tears had stilled, he leaned yet on Trahearne, taking as much comfort from his touch as he could, from the sound of his breath, from his scent – though he smelled of blood and dust and decay overlying everything else. In this moment, he could be close without fear, without shyness, watching the slow pulse of Trahearne’s magenta luminescence through the veins of the skin visible on his arms and hands.
“Feel better?” Trahearne said at length.
“A little, thank you,” Caoilfhionn said, and was a little disappointed as Trahearne disengaged from the hug, though he didn’t move far. “What happens next?” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away what was left of his tears, though he knew his eyes would still be yellow-rimmed for a while yet. And the tears might return later. Would return later.
Trahearne looked up at the stars, and Caoilfhionn looked up at him, at that beautiful, sharp-featured profile. “We must find allies for the fight to retake Claw Island before the Risen can use it as a jumping off point to invade Lion’s Arch in full. I have some ideas, and I’m sure the Order heads will have more. …Would you like to come with me?”
“I would,” Caoilfhionn said. “Where are you going?”
“I know a pair of Sylvari back in Caledon Forest, Tegwen and Carys. They are skilled Wardens, and knowledgeable about the Risen. Both have traveled to Orr and lived to speak of it.”
“What are they like?”
“They are close companions. Tegwen is elder and wiser. Carys…” Trahearne made a wry face. “…is Carys. You’ll see.”
“Yes.”
Silence fell between them, only the creak of the ship and the wash of the waves to be heard. The night wind was humid but cool. His emotions were spent into the embrace of the dusk, and he was tired, but not sleepy. He didn’t feel much of anything, actually. It was… strange. Unnatural, for him.
Trahearne cleared his throat hesitantly. “I meant to say it before, but… you look well. In those clothes.”
“Thank you.”
“Extremely well, even.”
Caoilfhionn managed a tiny smile. “My sister makes them.”
“I recall.” Trahearne abruptly got up. “You should try to rest, if you can. I will need to track down Tegwen and Carys tomorrow, and it will be a hard fight ahead of us afterwards.”
“I will try,” Caoilfhionn said. “Thank you for helping me.”
“I thought you might want the support of another Sylvari.” Trahearne paused. “Your guild is also worried about you; Annhilda asked me to come to you. And the Asura… Phiadi is also grieving alone, much like you were. I think she will put on a strong face tomorrow. Be patient with her.”
“I understand,” Caoilfhionn said. “We all lost someone today.”
Trahearne nodded. “They are interesting people. You should tell me more of them, when you are of a mind to.”
Caoilfhionn choked back a sniffle. “I’ll be all right tomorrow. Thank you. And I’ll thank them, too.”
Tegwen and Carys were to be found far to the south of Lion’s Arch, in the swamps of Bloodtide Coast, and they were quite willing to come and join the struggle after they completed their own quest – they, and about forty friends!
“A unit of battle-trained Sylvari with experience in Orr? What more could we ask for?” Caoilfhionn said.
“Thank you,” Trahearne said to them. “We’ll see you in Lion’s Arch.”
“I look forward to helping you,” Tegwen said. “Perhaps fighting those creatures attacking Lion’s Arch will quell the nightmares…”
“Tumbling turnips, I hope so!” Carys said. “But I’m glad we sent this undead to the Mists. Which are far from the dragon. Very, very far. Lucky her, really.”
Trahearne and Caoilfhionn bowed to them and withdrew, leaving Carys to chatter and Tegwen to organize the striking of the Sylvari camp. “I’m concerned,” Trahearne said. “The Orrians will surely be using this time to become entrenched. Even with their aid, it will be incredibly difficult to regain Claw Island.”
“We can’t give up hope, Trahearne,” Caoilfhionn said earnestly – after he’d had time to rest, he’d woken up far more determined than before. Sieran’s death would not be in vain.
Trahearne gave him a little smile. “I haven’t lost hope. In fact, I’m counting on hope to lead the way.”
“Hope’s Legacy, even?” Caoilfhionn asked coyly. He’d had opportunity to gush about his new companions that morning, and Trahearne had listened attentively.
“That goes without saying,” Trahearne rejoined in deadpan, and continued. “I feel that we should ask for wisdom from the Pale Tree. If anyone knows how to defeat Zhaitan, it is the Mother. Let us go to the Grove.”
Caoilfhionn nodded, and closed his eyes, reaching out to the invisible currents of magic that let him sense the Asuran waypoints. A breath later, and he found himself back in the familiar loveliness of the Grove, surrounded by the laughter and music and falling water that played there constantly. The scent of flowers fair assaulted him, and he breathed deeply of it. It was good to be home!
Trahearne appeared beside him, and led the way to the Omphalos Chamber. The Pale Tree was waiting. “Welcome, my sons.”
“Hail, Mother,” Trahearne said, and the two Sylvari knelt before her. “We seek your wisdom.”
“I know why you have come,” said the Tree. “Bide a while. I have much to show you both.”
“Mother, I am sure by now you have heard of the destruction at Claw Island. Zhaitan is attacking in force.”
“The soul of Tyria mourned as her children were cut down by the beast,” said the Tree mournfully, gazing into the distance. “The land wept, and the world shuddered. Many of my children were slain…”
“Caoilfhionn and I seek to right that wrong,” Trahearne said. “We wish to take back what was lost. We’ve come to ask your counsel.”
“The answer is at the heart of Tyria’s future – and your own. Both of you must face the darkness, and become guiding stars in the night.” She smiled. “Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.”
“But Mother, is it even possible to defeat Zhaitan?” Caoilfhionn asked.
“Only with great courage, my son. Come. I will show you a vision of your future, and the challenges to come…” She gestured, and Caoilfhionn found his eyes falling shut.
He opened them to find himself in a dim, hazy world, like a… like the Dream, but far less distinct than he remembered it being from before his Awakening. Towering shapes loomed about them. Trahearne was the only distinct thing he could see, dark and solid, and he drew closer to him nervously. The Avatar of the Tree floated a little before them, shining in the dimness.
“Where are we?” he asked, peering up at the massive cliffs around them. They were not completely natural, and not completely unnatural – at least, it didn’t look like it. He couldn’t make heads or tails of them at all.
“Orr,” Trahearne said at once. “This is Orr, near to the Royal Tombs at Azabe Qabar. We are within the Dream, Caoilfhionn. It is a dangerous honour.”
“Dangerous?” His Dream had not been dangerous until the dragon showed up, and even then, it would not have killed him before he was born, would it? Or was it possible? He had not thought about it before.
“The Dream is not reality. It is made of memory, aether, and powerful magic. Even I do not understand it. The things here are as real as you or I, and they will seek to do us harm. …But more than that… I question if I am ready to see the truths it reveals.”
Caoilfhionn reached out to touch his elbow. “I’m with you, Trahearne.”
Trahearne glanced at him and smiled. “I will remember that, Caoilfhionn. Thank you. Now let us hurry. The Mother Tree cannot maintain a shard of the Dream like this for very long.”
“Is this truly what Orr is like?” Caoilfhionn asked as they walked onwards. “Is this what you were describing to me before?”
“Yes. I know these paths as if they were of the Caledon. Grim, isn’t it?”
“Where does Zhaitan live?”
“In the tarnished city of Arah, to the south.” Trahearne pointed, though in the brown half-light Caoilfhionn had no notion of any direction. “Would you like to hear more about it?”
“Yes, please!”
“Hmm… They say that Orr was once beautiful. A nation to rival Kryta, Ascalon, and Elona. The Human gods lived in the city of Arah, and the people here were blessed. After the gods left, the humans banded into guilds and warred upon each other. The Guild Wars caused great devastation, and the nations faltered.” Trahearne cast a glance at him. “You cannot see its beauty now, I think.”
“I scarce know what I am looking at,” Caoilfhionn said. All he could make out clearly was cracked masonry beneath his feet and wave-wrinkled sand dunes beside the road. “That giant circle…”
“It has been suggested that these great discs once floated in the air.”
Caoilfhionn made a disgruntled face. “Whatever for?”
“I do not know… Where are we going, Mother?”
“To the ancient city of Arah,” said the Pale Tree. “Along the way, you will glimpse things that may yet come to pass.”
And so they walked, briskly, and Caoilfhionn stared at the strange, dead land and the ghostly beings that wandered it. Was this truly what it was like? But it had to be, didn’t it? The Pale Tree could not have been there herself. What she knew must come from the memories of Trahearne and other Sylvari who had been there. So unless something had changed drastically since the last time Trahearne had been to this spot, this was what Orr looked like.
He still didn’t think it was right to mock Trahearne for having an impossible task. Even though it was looking more impossible to him every moment.
“Where was I?” Trahearne said after a moment. “Oh, yes, the Guild Wars. Still angry over the loss of Ascalon, the Charr struck hard while humanity fought with itself. The Charr ravaged Ascalon with searing cauldrons and marched on Orr. As hope failed, an Orrian named Vizier Khilbron read the Lost Scrolls and unleashed an ancient curse. The curse annihilated the Charr army, but it destroyed Orr as well. A cataclysm plunged the nation into the ocean. Everything was lost.”
“Is that why all this looks… seaweedy?” Caoilfhionn asked.
“Yes… A hundred years out of the ocean has not swept it away. It was Zhaitan, the Elder Undead Dragon, that pulled Orr from the depths. The massacre of Orr gave the dragon fertile ground to create its horrific army. And Zhaitan’s power does not end here. In slaughter, its army grows stronger. Claw Island was just the beginning. …The dragons are destruction. They will not stop until all life on Tyria is destroyed.”
“Then we will stop them – what is that?”
A hulking undead brute lurched into their view, and it turned its head and saw them. Caoilfhionn reacted on instinct, darting forward to skid along a line of fire past its legs; it swatted at him with a vast claw, but too late to catch him. He heard Trahearne shout, and a barrage of necromantic spells lashed out at the undead as it turned to follow Caoilfhionn. He cast more fire at it, rolled, and cast again. It was tough, seeming not to feel anything he did, as he ran through his repertoire – ice shards, stone spikes, lightning bolts. “Come after me, you bastard!” He was more smaller, more nimble, better able to cast and dodge simultaneously than Trahearne. He’d keep it off him so he could cast more strongly.
“Caoilfhionn, look out!” Trahearne cried, jumping forward – why? – and he flung himself away from another swing of its claws. The sheer force of the draft draft knocked him stumbling forward and into a tree of dead coral, which crumbled under his weight into jagged fragments. “Caoilfhionn!”
He gathered his balance and spun, just as the creature’s arm landed with a thud beside him – torn off by Trahearne’s magic. “Nice one! Get back!” For it was turning to attack Trahearne with a roar. Caoilfhionn gathered his strength and launched himself forwards, blocking its path, tearing through it with a searing wall of fire. His dagger plunged to the hilt in its chest and erupted in flame.
It fell backwards to the ground with a groan, and Trahearne sagged in relief.
“You should be more careful!” Caoilfhionn scolded him. “I was fine. I was trying to keep you out of danger!”
“That’s enough cheek out of you, sapling,” Trahearne said, panting, with a raised eyebrow and a smile that was half-grimace. “I was trying to keep you out of danger.” As Caoilfhionn gaped in astonishment, he turned to the Mother Tree. “These creatures are formidable. Tougher than the ones at Claw Island. How will we defeat them?”
“Alone, you cannot,” said the Pale Tree, lifting him with her hand. “But with unity, you will find that many impossible things can be achieved.”
There was a small encampment to the right, ringed about with steel fences and thorny vines, and the Pale Tree led them through its gates. There were many insubstantial spirits within, an army even, of all the races – of all the Orders. Charr, Norn, Asura, Vigil, Whispers, Priory, they were all there. He even recognized a couple of the Priory folk who were there. Was he there, he wondered?
And suddenly he lost all interest in looking for himself among the crowd, for an image of Trahearne stood before them, a confident Trahearne, who raised his hand and his voice to address them. “Defenders of Tyria! When Zhaitan rose from slumber, the dragon found a long-dead nation and claimed it. The dragon expected the rest of Tyria to be as easily conquered. But we live… and we breathe… and we fight! All races, all Orders, and all paths of life stand against Zhaitan. The dragon is a fearsome enemy. It wants nothing more than to paralyze us with doubt. But I tell you this: I am not afraid! I may die, but I will never kneel!”
The ground shook as a distant sound rumbled through the world. Caoilfhionn gasped, and found real-Trahearne beside him looked almost as alarmed.
But Dream-Trahearne pointed towards the sound, his eyes alight with defiance. “Do you feel that? The dragon hears us! It is the dragon who is afraid!” He gestured to the army to follow, and turned towards the gate. “Now to Arah, and victory!”
The army cheered, a hearty roar that shook Caoilfhionn perhaps more than the dragon’s cry had done, and streamed out around Dream-Trahearne, eagerly clutching their weapons.
Trahearne turned to the Pale Tree, his mouth hanging open. “Is this a vision of the future? Mother, I… I do not understand. I’m no general.” Commander Talon had said as much, Caoilfhionn remembered. Though given what other things Commander Talon had thought, Caoilfhionn was not going to believe his words as granite truth.
“You must be what Tyria needs you to be, my son. You have more courage than you realize.”
“Do I?” Trahearne said in a low voice. “Can I truly stand before an army and say such stirring words, and mean them?”
Caoilfhionn gave him a lopsided smile. “You should write them down anyway, just in case you need them later.”
Trahearne barked a short laugh. “Perhaps I will.”
The other visions they saw were no less disconcerting. A vision showing Destiny’s Edge in grief after their fracture, and Caithe – future-Caithe falling into Nightmare, joining Faolain to spend her last days seeking the love that real-Caithe had already rejected as lies; a vision of the last king of Orr, speaking cryptic words before disappearing again, leaving them no wiser than before.
They stopped at a great plaza, a massive ring of stairs leading to a vast hall lined with statues of the Human gods. “This is the Promenade of the Gods, that leads to the gates of Arah,” Trahearne said. “Of all the places I have been on Orr, I have not yet been past those doors. This is as far as we will go, is it not, Mother?”
“But a little farther,” she said. “Your last challenge on the road to Arah will be the guardian of the gate. Beyond this… I cannot foretell.”
She turned to Trahearne, and both Sylvari were seized with an immense solemnity, and knelt before her. “Once before, I gave this sword to a beloved son. Now, I pass it on to you, Trahearne.” She held out her slender hand, and the shining greatsword was in it, hilt first. “Caladbolg is yours. Bear it with honour, and the sword will never fail you.”
Trahearne stammered. “M-Mother… this is the greatest honour. I pray that I am worthy of it.”
“You are, my dear son. And you will need it in the trials ahead. Caoilfhionn… This dagger is not of my flesh, but it was grown by your sister, Eithne. I have given it what strength I can to aid you.”
“Thank you, Mother Tree,” Caoilfhionn said, accepting the dagger, intertwined wood and steel and opals; it shed faint teal sparkles in his hand, humming silently with an inner power. “I will thank Eithne as soon as I can.”
“Now go! Test yourselves against the guardian, and I shall speak with you after.”
The two knights saluted her and walked forward to see what awaited them. Caoilfhionn took his old dagger in his left hand and his new dagger in his right. He would forego the shields of his focus from now on, trusting in his speed and positioning to bear him through the battles to come.
He felt his power flow easily, strongly through his new weapon, and Trahearne seemed to need only a few moments before Caladbolg rested easy in his hands – to be sure, for all that Trahearne was slender, he was taller than Caoilfhionn, if not as tall as Riannoc, which surely made it easier for him – and together, they made short work of the guardian of the gate.
They awoke from the dream the moment it fell, and they rose from the grass of the Omphalos Chamber, where two of the leaf pups had begun climbing on Caoilfhionn. He carefully removed them and stood. His new blade was at his side. “Are you all right, Trahearne?”
Trahearne’s brow was furrowed again. “I am newly inspired… yet I feel as if the burden of my Wyld Hunt is growing even heavier.”
“Why is that?”
“I must see Orr green again. But how? Can you say you looked upon that place and saw a blossoming future? Truly?”
Caoilfhionn was taken aback. “I thought you had such a clear vision of what it would be-”
“Yes, but how? The answer yet eludes me, and I-” He huffed impatiently.
Caoilfhionn put out a hand to his elbow again. “We will find it together. I know it. The Mother Tree said there were no certainties in that vision. But there was hope.”
Trahearne sighed, breathing out his frustration, and his face eased. “Thank you, Caoilfhionn.”
The Pale Tree’s avatar stepped closer, compassion written across her face. “To know the future, even a mere possibility, can be a great burden. I am sorry, brave heroes of mine, that you must walk this path.”
Trahearne looked up at her. “Must these things come to pass, Mother? Must I take up Caladbolg and travel into the heart of Orr like that?”
“You must both take up this mantle. Trahearne, your duty is to cleanse Orr. Caoilfhionn, you shall aid him… and then face the dragon.”
“And Claw Island?” asked Caoilfhionn. “Can we retake it and save Lion’s Arch?”
“I believe so… but that will not be your first test. The dragon seeks to destroy its enemies before they can strike. I see within the Dream that Zhaitan’s forces enter battle – not against Lion’s Arch, but at the heart of Tyria’s Orders… including the Priory.”
“The Priory? If my friends are in danger, I have to go to them. They do not know – they’ll be slaughtered!”
Trahearne put a hand on his shoulder. “I will go with you. Our fates are bound together, and from this day forward, we fight as one.”
The Tree nodded. “Farewell, valiant souls. May your Wyld Hunts be successful, and may your courage illuminate the dark of night.”
“Thank you for everything, Mother!” Caoilfhionn said, smiling hopefully at her, and reached out to teleport.
7: The Marshal of the Pact (Level 60 quests)
They found Annhilda leading, with Gixx, a spirited defense of the Priory’s halls. Shocking as it was to see it overrun with undead, to see robed bodies lying bloody and lifeless in the central corridor, to see the wreckage of a large megalaser that had exploded, the defenders were holding their own. With Caoilfhionn and Trahearne plunging into the fray at the enemy’s back, Caladbolg singing its blazing light into their midst, and Caoilfhionn darting forward on trails of fire, the tide turned for good, and soon they cleared the horde that threatened the Priory.
“Thank the Pale Tree we arrived in time to help!” Trahearne said, when they gathered in the central chamber afterwards.
“The Mother Tree is very wise,” Caoilfhionn explained. “She sensed the peril here and directed us to come. If the Priory had fallen, we’d never be able to defend Lion’s Arch.”
“Huh,” Wegaff said. “She can sense that far, hmm? Interesting. I wonder what mechanism that takes… Also, I’m really glad you made it back! Especially after…”
“I know,” Caoilfhionn said. “Sieran was so brave. I miss her.”
“As do I. But it’s a good thing I made it back early from my mission,” Annhilda said. “That odd duo will work with us, and their weapon, too.”
“What odd duo?” Trahearne asked.
“Barron and Fero,” said Gixx. “The researchers. You remember them, yes?”
“Yes, I’ve known them for years,” Trahearne said. “They know what they’re doing. I think.”
Annhilda laughed heartily. “Can you understand them? They speak even more in riddles than Sigrytha.”
“Eh… no… not entirely.” Trahearne rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “But their work speaks for them.”
“But we can’t defend Lion’s Arch with the Priory alone,” Annhilda said. “And we definitely can’t fight Zhaitan like this. We may have the knowledge, but we lack both an army and the resources.”
“We can’t have that kind of peace-loving, low-down poltroon talk!” Gixx exploded. “Did the Risen strike you on the head? We cannot give up the struggle!”
“Annhilda suggested no such thing,” Caoilfhionn said. “Trahearne, do you remember what the Pale Tree said? ‘With unity, many impossible things can be achieved’. Steward, the other Orders of Tyria share our concerns about the dragons. The Priory should contact them and divulge information on Orr.”
Wynnet Fairhaired frowned and crossed her arms. “Terrible idea. The Orders of Whispers are underhanded backstabbers, and those brainless warmongers in the Vigil are even worse.”
“Not so, Wynnet,” Trahearne said. “They simply have their own ways of fighting Zhaitan. Both would be staunch allies in this war. For a war it is, whether or not we acknowledge it to be so.”
Gixx sighed grumpily. “Perhaps you’re right. The fact that Zhaitan could strike at the Priory’s heart shakes me to the core. I trust you, Trahearne, and you too, Magister Caoilfhionn and Magister Annhilda. Fine! Go to the other orders. Set up a meeting. Tell them that the Durmand Priory respectfully wishes to negotiate terms of accord.”
“Thank you, Steward,” Trahearne said, bowing. “I’ll do everything I can.”
“And I,” Caoilfhionn said. “Annhilda, would you like to go to the Order of Whispers, or shall I?”
They met in Lion’s Arch, at the southern fort near to the docks to Claw Island. Caoilfhionn was glad he’d had Phiadi’s help to wrangle Preceptor Halvora into agreeing to come; her intensity was halved when confronted with both of them together. He soon found that Annhilda had been successful, with Damara and Rhyoll to help her; and he also learned that Zhaitan had attacked both the other Orders simultaneously to the Priory. Disconcerting.
The meeting did not get off to a good start. Hope’s Legacy’s members escorted their various leaders together and then stepped aside to chat amongst themselves, but were soon recalled by loud arguing sounds.
Trahearne marched in with a Lionguard officer beside him, looked around at all of them, and lifted his voice. “Enough bickering, all of you! Our real enemy lurks across the waves. Zhaitan’s servants march at the gates of Lion’s Arch. We must band together, or we will all be destroyed.”
Caoilfhionn stared with admiration. There was something… different about him today. He seemed… taller, more confident, Caladbolg resting easily at his back. But he shook himself out of his reverie – he needed to help. “When I joined the Priory, I swore to fight Zhaitan.” Actually, he’d sworn it when he Awoke, but that had no relevance to anyone but himself. “I will die for Tyria, if I must. But I believe that together we can win.”
“Caoilfhionn’s right,” Damara said. “The Vigil has shown tremendous courage in the fight against the dragons. This alliance will require all of that courage just the same. Why should we back down now?”
“The Order of Whispers has seen nations rise and fall,” Phiadi said, shaking her finger at Halvora. “I’ve calculated that we cannot hide from this threat. We need to make a stand.”
“And who knows more about the dragons than the Priory?” asked Annhilda. “Just think of how much more there is to learn in Orr.”
The leaders hesitated. “There must be a decent hierarchy,” growled Almorra Soulkeeper. “Who’s going to lead this compact?”
“Logic dictates that it cannot be a member of any of our orders, lest one be seen as above the other two,” said Gixx. “Quite a conundrum!”
“So it can’t be anyone from Hope’s Legacy, though they’ve moved mountains to bring us together,” Halvora said thoughtfully.
“Oh,” Phiadi said, sarcastically dramatic, “if only there were some brave soul who has always stood apart from the Orders, someone whom everyone trusts and yet cannot possibly be biased – probably!”
Caoilfhionn looked at Trahearne – Gixx had said he trusted him, hadn’t he? And now everyone was looking at Trahearne, who looked back, impassive, noncommittal.
“Please,” Caoilfhionn said gently, “won’t you lead us, Trahearne? I believe in you.”
Trahearne drew and let out a long breath. “I… I never wanted to be a soldier. I’m only a seeker of truth. But… yes.” His eyes flashed with determination. “I will lead this pact to the gates of Arah, and together, we will see Zhaitan destroyed.”
“It’s settled then,” Almorra said. “The Vigil will follow Trahearne. Marshal Trahearne!”
“Aye,” Halvora said. “The Order of Whispers can accept this. Steward Gixx?”
“Naturally,” Gixx snapped. “What are we waiting for?”
Trahearne nodded. “First, to Claw Island. Let us send our defiant message straight into the heart of Orr: Tyria stands as one!” The three Order leaders saluted him, and he nodded gravely. “To begin with, we need ships. This is Lionguard Apatia, and she is our liaison with the Lionguard forces that will be accompanying us. I have already spoken with Commodore Marriner, and all the ships we need should be ready within two hours. That gives us two hours to refine our plan of attack. I will see you all in the war room in five minutes.”
The room erupted into a flurry of activity. Caoilfhionn clapped softly to himself. Trahearne had always had a quiet, intelligent confidence; not necessarily commanding, but he had his pride, and when he spoke, people listened. Whether it was Caladbolg’s influence, or his own acceptance of his destiny, his aura was bright now – that star in the night the Pale Tree had spoken of. “…Trahearne!”
“How are you?” Trahearne made his way over to him. “As you heard, I only have a minute. Leading this conjoined force will be a difficult task, I think.”
“I’m well,” Caoilfhionn said, flustered. “You can do it. I’ll be right beside you.”
“I’d have you nowhere else,” Trahearne said, even if he said it a little bit absently. He sighed. “All my life, I’ve watched Orr. Studied it. Researched the abominations that Zhaitan spawns. But… I avoided the challenge of my Wyld Hunt. I hid, always claiming I was not yet ready. I did not think Orr could be cleansed. I did not fear death. I feared failure. But… it is time to act. In the end, it is better to fight and lose than never to fight at all.”
“I believe that too,” Caoilfhionn said earnestly. “Though… I fear I believe it because I am still very young and romantic.” The way Trahearne said it implied he’d come to it from another path.
Trahearne chuckled. “Indeed. Well. I must help them hash out our plan of attack. I can’t imagine you’ll find it interesting.”
“I’ll be right there, after I’ve said hello to Carys and Tegwen,” Caoilfhionn said – had he not just said he’d be at his side the whole way? Trahearne nodded and turned to go- “Trahearne!” And as Trahearne stopped, he became flustered again. “Er… ah… You look good. With Caladbolg, I mean.”
“Thank you,” Trahearne said, with a funny little smile.
The war meeting was thrilling to be on the edges of – so many experts in one place, the best of the best of Tyria, all convening! But even more thrilling, and a lot more sobering, was the actual assault. The bone ships only patroled the southern sides of the island, so the docks, tucked away on the north, were still free… though covered with zombies. Hope’s Legacy led the charge to clear them, and then led the charge to the lighthouse to hook up the weapon that would blow open the gate to let them in. The undead howled, staggering towards them with uncanny speed, and Caoilfhionn set a ring of fire in their way, torching many of them before they even hit the front line of Vigil soldiers.
Despite complications, they made it to the lighthouse on schedule, and cheered as the gate was blown to smithereens, allowing the rest of the forces to invade the fortress. He could see Trahearne from this distance by the light of Caladbolg, shining across the battlefield, and cheered him on softly. He was leading soldiers and everything!
But then as he came down from the lighthouse, the shadow of the dragon passed over them briefly and his cheer fled again. Sieran’s body would not rise again, such was a blessing granted to the Sylvari, but would he see other bodies he knew arrayed against them? Tybalt, Forgal, Talon?
He’d never know, as the soldiers streamed in, fighting hard against the undead defenders. The flash of Professor Gorr’s experimental rifles flickered across the stones, in the hands of several Human mercenaries; Norn mercenaries fought beside them, fewer but louder. Trahearne and a small company were waiting for the lighthouse team at the gate; the rest had spread out to capture the walls. “Well done, everyone. Now we must secure the bridge overlooking the courtyard. From there, I’ll be able to command.”
“I’ll get you there,” Caoilfhionn said, and corrected himself. “We’ll get you there.”
There was no time to think, in the thick of things, only to cast, as hard and fast as possible, blasting the undead out of their way. Annhilda was charging with her sword and shield, blinking ahead, cleaving the enemy in two. Rhyoll was nearly an entire mechanical army unto himself, between his turrets, his flamethrower, and his Charrzooka – though he was saving that last for the dragon. Damara’s bear roared as it struck down the enemy, backed up by rapid arrows from its mistress, and Phiadi’s minions swarmed over the undead, tearing them to pieces as she cursed them with magic. Hope’s Legacy was unstoppable!
They reached the top of the bridge, Trahearne and his guard just behind, and the Firstborn hopped up lightly to the edge of the parapet. “Excellent. We’ll hold this point. I need Hope’s Legacy to help clear the courtyard to prepare for our final assault on that dragon.”
“Got it,” Annhilda said, and led them back down the other side of the bridge. Caoilfhionn waved before he ran to join her.
The dragon had been flying about the island, in circles, stooping to breathe foul poison across the courtyard, but now as they slew the last undead within the fortress, it came to land. The ground shook as it landed on the southern plateau, and his ears hurt as it roared, deafening, filling all the world with its rage.
“Fire!” cried Trahearne, his voice magically amplified so all the island could hear it, and the cannons boomed out, the Priory-researched Psi-lance and the Charr-made Ghostbore cannon among them, tearing the dragon’s wings apart with their specially-modified ammunition. The dragon screamed and staggered, flapped its wings once uselessly, reflexively, to try and get away, then screamed again – and spat poison at the walls. Engineers dove for cover as a number of cannons melted.
“Forward!” called Trahearne, and Caoilfhionn dashed for the gap in the wall with the rest of Hope’s Legacy, with the rest of the army. “Be wary, it’s calling for the dead to rise!”
They formed up around Rhyoll, protecting him from waves of grubs as he raised his Charrzooka – but the missile sputtered out halfway to its target, falling to the sandy grass and lying inert. Rhyoll turned to gesture towards Trahearne’s post, a big negative gesture with his arms over his head. “I’ve got another one! Give me a minute to get it ready!”
Even if Trahearne couldn’t hear his shout, he could read the gestures. “Protect Rhyoll! Keep it busy! Don’t get surrounded!”
Caoilfhionn sprinted forwards. He could play bait, and he could play it well. The dragon was so huge, now that he was up among its talons, bigger than the one he’d fought in his Dream. A single blow from its foot would have crushed him like a worm, and its jaws contained teeth as long as his arm, and that was to say nothing of its deadly breath. And it stank like a whole charnel house – not that he’d been inside many charnel houses – dripping with seawater and pus. But Trahearne’s voice carried over the crashing melee, over the shouts and screams and the ringing of steel and the thunder of spells, the hiss of arrows and the crack of rifles, the thud of the dragon’s feet, the howl of its breath. And to hear that voice, unwavering, certain, telling him just what Trahearne saw from his vantage point, buoyed him up on a wave of determination.
Determination and vengeance – it was this dragon that had taken Sieran from them, and he filled it with all the fire in his slender body, channeling all his power through both his daggers into the dragon’s rotting flesh as it loomed above them. He tried to defend his allies, too, breaking stone across the grubs and rotmouths that tried to flank them, blowing cool healing water across his companions, even helping Annhilda up after she’d been knocked back by a blow from the dragon’s fist.
By Ventari’s tablet, it was no easy enemy to come to grips with! It screamed and he nearly fell to the ground with the horror of its piercing, deafening wail, heard Carys whimper when he could hear again. Now it was Damara helping him up, the warmth of her firm handgrip grounding him. His breath rasped in his lungs as he ducked away from another flying grub; his legs burned with exertion but he would not stop now. He was close to the dragon’s left foreclaw, and raked it with fire, trying to cripple it further. It did not seem to feel pain, ignoring him to lower its head to breathe across a clump of Vigil archers, who began to scatter haphazardly.
“Keep it steady!” Rhyoll yelled. “I’m ready now! I can finish this!”
Caoilfhionn did not have a staff, which would have helped more, but he switched to Water anyway, channeling ice into the dragon’s foreclaw – if he could hold it down…
An explosion went off near him, and a Charrzooka missile whooshed past, and into the dragon’s face. For an instant, all Caoilfhionn could see was fire, blossoming about the dragon’s head like a cloud of scarlet hydrangeas – and then he realized, that was all there was to see. The bony jaw fell with a massive thud to the ground, and the rest of the dragon slowly leaned and slid over, headless.
Annhilda whooped next to him, followed by Rhyoll himself, and in a moment the whole army was cheering with delight and victory. Trahearne’s voice washed over them, ecstatic, proud. “We did it! We recaptured Claw Island, and in so doing, saved Lion’s Arch. Well done, everyone! Secure the island and take an assessment of the damage. Commanders, to me when you’re ready.”
Caoilfhionn was not a commander, but Hope’s Legacy was definitely expected to report back to him, or so he reasoned, because he really wanted to see him as soon as possible, not count destroyed cannons. Of course, he’d wait until the actual leaders were finished…
“You realize this ‘pact’ only has a one in three thousand seven hundred and twenty chance of succeeding?” he overheard a Priory Historian asking on his way to the wall.
“If that ‘one’ is Trahearne, I’ll take those odds,” Wegaff said, and Caoilfhionn glowed at his friend’s support.
He didn’t have to wait long; it seemed they all had a good idea what to do next, and Wynnet, Doern, and Efut all dispersed shortly. Caoilfhionn stepped forward, smiling fit to burst, and as Trahearne saw them, he smiled too – one of the widest smiles Caoilfhionn had ever seen on him. “Thank you, my friends. Fantastic shot, Rhyoll.”
“Thanks!” Rhyoll said, tail wagging with glee. “Just glad I could get the Bonebuster missile working. Was working on it since we last saw that rotting bugger.”
“We’re very fortunate that you did,” Trahearne said. “We’ve accomplished something amazing today.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you, either,” Caoilfhionn said.
“Hear, hear,” Annhilda said. “Good call-outs, Trahearne.”
Trahearne nodded. “Thank you. I do not know what lies ahead of us, but for the first time, I have hope. Hope that this alliance can save Tyria from the dragons. Hope for the future.” He turned to look south. “Hope… for Orr.”
“This was a momentous day,” Annhilda said. “The tide of history has changed, Trahearne.”
“Indeed,” Trahearne said, a new light in his eyes that Caoilfhionn had never seen before. “Many people doubted. Even the Orders weren’t truly certain it could be done. Never before has Tyria been so united. Let Orr hear the echo of this battle! We can defeat the dragons. We will!” He turned back to them, his confidence fair streaming from him. “Though without the five of you, without Hope’s Legacy, we would not have prevailed. I daresay you are the most bold and effective guild since Destiny’s Edge themselves. Thank you for being here.”
“You couldn’t leave us behind,” Damara said, laughing. “We wouldn’t stand for that. But I bet when you go for Orr, many more guilds will join up too.”
“But we were here first,” Phiadi said smugly. “And so, we are, quite simply, the best.”
Rhyoll laughed. “We’d be the best even if we were late to the party, don’t even worry about it.”
Trahearne nodded, smiling. “Now, go get some rest. I will have much work for you later – if you’re willing.”
“Absolutely, we’re willing,” Annhilda said. “You just let us know what you want done.”
“Then rest,” Trahearne told them. “I see that look in your eyes – you want to help. But you fought the hardest this day – I know it! I myself put you in the thickest of the fighting, and now you must recover. I will need you at your best in the fight to come, too. Go on.”
“Don’t forget to rest, yourself,” Caoilfhionn said, stepping even further forward. “I know you worked just as hard as we did, commanding the battle, even if you didn’t run about on the ground with us. And you must take care of yourself… Marshal.” He said the title half-teasingly, half to rub in that if Trahearne began his leadership by running himself into the ground, he wouldn’t be good for anything.
Trahearne chuckled. “I promise. Go on, Caoilfhionn.”
“I’m holding you to that!”
“Caoilfhionn!”
“I’m going!”
8: Your Place Is At My Side (Trahearne)
It was hours before Trahearne felt satisfied with the order being restored to Claw Island. He’d processed the transfer of command to the new Lionguard Watch Commander, a serious-looking Human woman whom Apatia described as ‘straitlaced to a fault’, and the united Order forces were well on their way to finishing temporary defenses – and shelters for the wounded, and collection of the dead, both former undead and lost allies. He’d found the remains of his friends there, Sieran, Tybalt, and Forgal, and they would be buried with honours on the western side of the island. It was… not pleasant, and he was glad Caoilfhionn and the others of Hope’s Legacy were not there to see.
Being Marshal of this Pact was… interesting, so far. He’d been afraid of the responsibility, afraid he would not know what to say or do. It turned out not to be as bad as he’d feared. He could see the problems as they presented themselves, and he could see the solutions, and for the first time, people more or less listened when he told them to implement the solutions. Perhaps it was Caladbolg’s aid, but he was… beginning to think he could do this. Right to the end.
He was very weary when at last he felt he had done all he needed to do, and he made his way to the open-air shelter set up for the uninjured forces. It was dimly lit by a few candles, so those changing watch wouldn’t trip over those still sleeping, and here and there he saw those he knew – Doern zonked out with drool leaking over his beard, General Almorra snoring gently. And there was Hope’s Legacy, in the corner…
He moved over to Caoilfhionn, unhooking Caladbolg from his back so he didn’t accidentally hit anyone, and knelt beside him. There wasn’t space to lie down anywhere in the vicinity, of course, but he… he was weak, and wanted to look upon him, now that they’d come through this first test safe and sound. He could not count the times he’d felt his stomach lurch with fear to see Caoilfhionn zig-zagging his way through masses of undead on streams of fire, or dancing between the claws of the dragon while wreathed in swirls of water and ice. Yes, the young Valiant could well handle himself, but that wasn’t the point anymore.
He’d tried to fight it, to deny his feelings the space to grow. He’d never really felt this way before, first of all, burying himself in his work, not really noticing the people around him in that way. Shy, perhaps. Afraid of being hurt like he’d seen so many others hurt. And even if he had noticed them, anyone close enough to attract his interest drifted away from him as his obsession with Orr grew deeper. He didn’t need more disappointment in his life. And it wouldn’t have been fair to Caoilfhionn, either.
And yet… the more time they spent together, the more futile it was. His feelings grew beyond his control, a strong and determined vine within him that resisted all attempts at pruning or uprooting. He had to give up denying it existed. He could not fight it any longer. He’d tried. He’d thought it best. He’d lost utterly.
Caoilfhionn’s face was peaceful in his sleep, his lush blue lips curved gently into a contented smile, peach luminescence flowing slowly through every blue and violet vein, through his brow and his leaves, his cheekbones, his beard, and Trahearne felt his heart ache for him. He was beautiful, and young, and exquisitely joyful; he was dawn incarnate, pure and good and brave and just a little bit mischievous. His frame was slender and delicate, and yet such power he had within him – power that he was rapidly growing into. He found himself blinded every time Caoilfhionn looked at him with that trusting look he had, those enormous coral eyes alight with admiration, listening kindly to his theories and woes, believing in him so fervently that Trahearne had no choice but to follow suit.
But he’d overhead Sieran say Caoilfhionn loved someone, and well he could believe it. Caoilfhionn loved so easily, so passionately, with wild abandon – naturally he would already have someone special in mind. And there was no way in Tyria that he would ever feel for Trahearne what Trahearne felt for him. Trahearne was boring and depressing and – not that he was old, despite being the eldest, but he was older, by a long shot, and Caoilfhionn was so new, he ought to have someone his own age, someone who could reflect his bright Cycle of Dawn exuberance. It almost hurt to hear his compliments sometimes, to hear his admiration and his faith. Just that morning, when he’d said he looked good – with Caladbolg… how much more praise did he bestow on his beloved?
He was not going to be jealous. He’d given up fighting his feelings, though that didn’t mean living with them was going to be any easier. He was just selfishly glad that this quest demanded them to work closely together, that Caoilfhionn seemed to like being his friend.
He wondered who it was that Caoilfhionn loved, and if he knew them. He did know a lot of people.
Even so. Trahearne loved him, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that he lived to tell that person of his love. He would be content to remain alone if only Caoilfhionn could be happy. He would even try his best to protect the people around him – seeing him grieve like he had was as if the sun failed to rise, and he could not stand for that to happen again.
Caoilfhionn shifted slightly, making a little sigh as he did so, and Trahearne swallowed at the protective feelings that surged within him. No, no one had better touch this man, or Mother help him, he would destroy them utterly.
He got up and found an open spot that would accommodate him and Caladbolg, and lay down, resigned to his patient love. And also very tired. And there would be much to do tomorrow.
The Pact returned to Lion’s Arch on the following day, and while the Order leadership went back to their headquarters with injunctions to meet again in three days at Fort Concordia, Hope’s Legacy stuck around with Trahearne as he went about more tasks. “What’s next, Marshal?” asked Annhilda, as they settled in at a tavern for lunch. “How are we getting to Orr?”
Trahearne tapped his fingertips on the table thoughtfully. “There is a ruined fortress at the edge of Kryta, south of the Shattercleft Hills. From that high cliff you can see the spires of Orr rising beyond the Straits of Devastation. We will take that fort and make it our own. The Pact will rebuild it. We will place our banners, and from there we will strike at the dragon’s heart.”
Annhilda lifted a finger for attention. “This fortress needs a name, a name that will inspire those stationed there. Have you had any ideas?”
Trahearne looked taken aback. “I’ve been so busy preparing for this assault… I haven’t given it much thought. I don’t recall off the top of my head what it was named when it was built, before it was abandoned… Do you have a suggestion?”
The others were silent, but Caoilfhionn already had thoughts. “The Pact is three groups, coming together as one. How about… Fort Trinity?”
Trahearne smiled. “That’s perfect. Fort Trinity it is.”
“And what’s our place in your plan?” Damara asked. “You seem to want to use us as figureheads, and it’s not hard for me to figure out why.”
“I’m glad you’re on top of things,” Trahearne said. “Yes, I’d like all of you in prominent positions in the Pact. Your guild is as important as Destiny’s Edge was in setting an example to the rest of Tyria, an example of diversity and unity. And so, Magister Annhilda, with your permission, I’d like to appoint you as my second-in-command.”
Annhilda blinked coolly and raised a red eyebrow. “I’m not a shaman of Wolf, but I will make him proud.”
“You have proven yourself,” Trahearne said. “You may have as little experience as I do in leading such a group, but I trust you – all of you – better than I trust many others, even those whom I’ve known for years.
“Even within the Orders themselves?” asked Phiadi skeptically.
“Of course I will have commanders within the Orders, hopefully the same ones we were working with yesterday, but I want you to stand with me not as representatives of your Order, but as yourselves – if that’s all right. Although I also wish to appoint at least Phiadi and Damara as commanders.”
“I see what you’re doing there,” Damara said, wagging a finger at him. “You’ve still got Priory/Vigil/Whispers representation going on, even if you’re asking us outside of our duties with them.”
“Partially,” Trahearne said. “But also, I know of your accomplishments. I might not know you as well as I know Caoilfhionn, but he has vouched for you, and I believe you would also be good leaders.”
“Caoilfhionn!” exclaimed Phiadi. “Tattling on us?”
Caoilfhionn waved his hands in denial. “I was just telling him about you and the guild and all the things you’ve done and how much fun it’s been with you! I didn’t know he was thinking about that!”
Trahearne chuckled. “Do not blame him for his enthusiasm. But would that be agreeable to all of you?”
“Aye,” Annhilda said. “I’d be proud to support you, Trahearne.”
“Me too!” Damara said. “I won’t let you down! Can’t wait to make my folks proud! …I guess they’re probably already terribly proud of me – any more, and the tavern’s going to sprout wings of its own accord, you know.”
“I suppose I’d be a fool to turn down this opportunity,” Phiadi said. “But you’re aware you’re granting power to an Asura. And I am going to make use of it.”
“I know of your fights against the Inquest,” Trahearne said. “And I know that no matter how you try to disguise it, you fight for the future of Tyria. I trust you.”
Phiadi turned a darker shade of grey. “Ugh, don’t say that! So embarrassing.”
“Rhyoll, I apologize, I feel you’ve been left out of this conversation, after you were the hero of the day yesterday…”
Rhyoll laughed heartily. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m not into being a commander or anything. I already made Centurion and Crusader. That’s already too much leadership for me. I just want to make interesting toys, and introduce all the Risen to the wonders of blackpowder.”
“I respect that,” Trahearne said. “And that was my guess upon hearing Caoilfhionn speak of you.”
“Good. But, for instance, how big of a gun do you think we’ll need to take down Zhaitan?”
Trahearne chuckled. “A damned big one, I imagine.”
“Too big,” muttered Damara.
“I want to see it,” Caoilfhionn said.
“Well, that’s what I want to work on next.”
“I will try to get you whatever you need,” Trahearne said. “I will be gathering the best smiths I can find, if you like creative company.”
“Well… I don’t mind it. As long as they keep their paws off my workspace.”
Trahearne nodded. “Caoilfhionn, I have something else in mind for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Very well!” Caoilfhionn said cheerfully. “I don’t mind at all.”
Trahearne looked around at all of them, a little disconcerted. “That… was easier than I thought it would be. Thank you, all.”
“Wait, what’s Caoilfhionn’s job?” Phiadi demanded.
Trahearne hesitated. “I haven’t quite decided yet, and I’m not sure how to put it… Chief Morale Officer?”
Rhyoll laughed again. “That sounds right up his alley.”
Caoilfhionn looked quizzically at Trahearne. Somehow, he had the impression that Trahearne had decided, knew exactly what he wanted to ask of Caoilfhionn, and just didn’t want to tell the others. He’d ask in a bit.
As they left the tavern and the others went their own ways, Caoilfhionn waited behind. “Trahearne…”
“Mmhmm?”
“I was wondering – you’ve appointed all these Commanders – Wynnet and Annhilda, Doern and Phiadi, Efut and Damara – should I report to one of them? I mean Wynnet or Annhilda?”
“No,” Trahearne said firmly. “You may report to Annhilda as the leader of Hope’s Legacy if circumstances require you to, and I acknowledge that I have made her my second-in-command, but within the Pact, your place is at my side.”
Caoilfhionn inhaled sharply. “That…”
“Let me explain…” Trahearne said hastily. “I may occasionally ask you to lead a mission, but more importantly, I will need your help and support in the days ahead.” His words were slowing, growing more hesitant. “I… need your friendship, more than anything else. …That is, if you’re willing! I ask you not as Marshal, but as your friend.”
Caoilfhionn felt a glow well up inside him. So that was what he had meant before! “Really? I would be honoured. I’m more than willing to keep standing by you, as much as you need. You’re one of my dearest friends!” How dear, he wasn’t saying, but that didn’t matter – Trahearne wanted him around! Needed him around, even – as two trees were stronger when they leaned on each other, so he would let Trahearne lean on him when the surely-immense pressure of his position grew too great.
Trahearne gave him a wry little smile. “Your optimism, your hope, your courage keep me moving forward. I have the confidence now… but I still… ah… need you.” He turned away to look out at the Shiverpeaks. “I have felt the rush of victory, but also the burden we’ve taken on. We’ve brought them together and given them hope… but this fight was only a pale shadow of the things we’ll fight in Orr.” Trahearne shivered, almost imperceptibly. But Caoilfhionn saw it.
He reached out to him. “We can defeat them. One by one, if we have to.”
“Your spirit is unflagging, Caoilfhionn. This is exactly what I’m talking about. Your belief.”
“Believe in me who believes in you,” Caoilfhionn said, laughing. “We’ll do this. Together.”