[IC] Rise Of The Elder Dragon (Vor x Valchyrie)

[Valchyrie]

magicnaanavi.deviantart.com/art/Kirei-.. (When I explain what she looks like, she is just wearing her outfit on the picture, and a bit extra, but I can't describe outfits too well in English, so that's why I say it like that here xD haha.)

Tyria, ten years after the last Elder Dragon was defeated and killed, everything has returned to normal, as normal can be. The Charrs are once again busy fighting the Blood Legion and the Ghosts Of Ascalon, the Asuras are busy fighting the Inquest, the Sylvari are busy fighting the Nightmare Court, the Norn are busy with the Sons Of Svanir and the Humans are busy with the Centaurs. The orders returned to their respective strongholds and camps throughout Tyria and started rebuilding their orders again, gaining new members and raising their numbers after having taken heavy losses against the Elder Dragon. Everything had more or less gone back to the ways things were before the fight with the Elder Dragon, and it had a comfortable feeling to it, for all of the races. While it was an annoyance to be in a constant conflict with another faction, it was still something, which they could handle by themselves, without the support from other races all the time. This also meant that some of the races had gotten a bit hostile towards each other again, though they hadn’t gone to war with each other, which was a good thing.

However, after these ten years, a rumor made it’s way from the far east of the Blazeridge Mountains, a rumor that no one really believed in. It was a rumor that an Elder Dragon had been spotted, but it was unclear where the rumor originated from exactly. No one had had contact with any race that far out for at least a hundred years, if not more, and still someone had managed to spread a rumor all the way to the most populated areas of Tyria. This also meant that a lot of people didn’t believe in the rumor and many said it was a trick to make everyone scared and afraid again and possible get all the races to start having more conflicts again. But instead of letting this rumor go out of control, the three orders. The Vigil, Durmand Priory and The Order Of Whispers, decided to dispatch a few members from each of their orders, as an exploration group, with a group of assistants and wagon pullers and so on. This was a way to show the rest of Tyria that the Orders were still willing to work together and they were still as divergent in their races as they had always been. All orders had members from all the different races that inhabited Tyria, at least the more peaceful races, which meant this was also a way to show that the Order still stood for unity and teamwork.

However, even though the Orders were well respected and liked by almost everyone, it was still seen as an unnecessary expedition. It was seen as a waste of resources in these times of rebuilding and forming the Orders again. People kept saying that it was just a rumor, and that the Orders should focus more on working with each of the races to take down the renegade factions of all the races, instead of sending them on a wild goose hunt. However, they couldn’t really stop the Orders even if they wanted too, as they knew that the Orders were above the law, if they wanted to go on a mission. Plus, all the funds for the Orders were raised and gained by the Orders themselves. This meant that every piece of gold they had acquired, was something they had earned through hard work and missions. No one could take it from them and they were free to use it as they saw fit, and they did use it to help everyone a lot and protect everyone all the time, which was one of the main reasons why people didn’t speak too loudly against this team of experts from each Order. Another reason why people didn’t agree with the “experts” that the Orders were using, was that the Orders used people that didn’t always see eye to eye with the law. They didn’t kill civilians and they followed the law, usually. But some of them went to the extremes to complete a mission.

A Sylvari necromancer, Feyra Acor, was someone who was rumored to be a tough woman, who didn’t let anyone get in her way if she had a mission to complete. She was a member of the Durmand Priory and one of the top researchers in the Order, while being one of the best necromancers you could find. She was deadly and she would make sure her enemies knew that when they started to attack her. However, because of her necromantic skills, people were also afraid of what she could do. Necromancers in general had started to scare people more and more, because of their abilities to raise creatures and spirits from the ground and corpses and so on. So while many of them worked for the greater good, they were still met with quite a lot of distrust throughout Tyria now.

But Feyra Acor had learned to live with that distrust, and had become more of a lone wolf on her missions, instead of working together with a team. She didn’t hate people, and when she worked in the Durmand Priory, she also discussed and researched with her friends in the Order and the other scientists that worked there, even if they didn’t see eye to eye on a project themselves. But when she was out in the field and doing research, whether it was in a camp, a village, a city or out in the wild, she kept to herself as much as she could, so that she didn’t have to create any unnecessary unhealthy conflicts, for herself and others. But it also meant that she sometimes had to go the hard way aroud a mission, instead of the easier way, if she couldn’t communicate with the people she needed to communicate with, to gain access to an area or to get some information. Instead, she had to resort to stealth or research in the wild, instead of going to a library that might hold the answer to what she was seeking. But she was more or less always very successful with what she researched, and she never returned from the field without the information she had left to find. The longest she had stayed away from the Durmand Priory, had been four years to find information she had been looking for, and that had been right after Zhaitan, the Elder Dragon that had taken control of Orr many years ago. She had been looking for magical artifacts that had been said to be effective against the dragons, and it had taken four years before she had returned to society with the information, but she had done it.

The Durmand Priory had chosen her to go with the expedition team to the far east of the Blazeridge Mountains, to see what the rumor of the Elder Dragon was all about, maybe try to establish some kind of contact with the once who lived out there, if someone did indeed live out there. The rumor had to come from somewhere, and no traveler had claimed to be the one to have seen the Elder Dragon or to have heard the rumor first, everyone said they had heard it from someone else, but no one knew who had started it. If there was a society that far out east, it was important to try and establish a connection with them, to see if they would be willing to, if not join the rest of Tyria and it’s policies, then at least see if they would be willing to share information and have some kind of a co-operative deal with the rest of Tyria. If that was possible, everyone would gain a new ally and that would mean more forces against the Elder Dragons, should there really be a new one on the rise.

The meeting point for the members from all the Orders, was at the gate of the Black Citadel. None of the agents knew who were being send from the other Orders, since it was best to keep it as low profile as possible. The only thing that the public knew, was that they would send someone. Some people knew who the Orders would send. For example, the ones who lived close to the Durmand Priory base, they knew that Feyra Acor would be the one to be sent out with the team, but they didn’t know who would be sent out from the Whispers or the Vigil. But Feyra had now arrived at the Black Citadel, through one of the Asura portal gates, and she knew she had to watch her step around these Charrs. Even though they were allies, they were also brutes a lot of the time, and they picked a fight if they could get a chance to do so. Not because they disliked people, but because they liked to fight, and if they could fight other races, well, that would be even better. So Feyra Acor kept a low profile, or as low as she could as a Sylvari necromancer in The Black Citadel. She was also quite a looker, and her outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, at least not for her upper body. Her lower body was covered by a knee length dark green thick-leaf skirt, and she wore thick leaf shoes as well. Normally she wouldn’t wear shoes at all, but she knew that the Charrs homelands had a lot of stone roads and fields, plus there were grenade parts and mines all over the place as well, and stepping on one of those without protection could be a really painful experience, so it was better to be safe and sorry while she was in these parts.

The weather wasn’t that nice, it was dripping sligthtly, and thunder could be heard coming from not too far away. A storm could be coming but it was impossible to say just how bad it would be. Sylvari didn’t care, as they lived out in the nature and all the weather that the nature threw at them. But Feyra Acor knew that the other races who weren’t used to living in the nature, would get annoyed by it if it started to rain too much and try to delay their departure. If that happened, she might just start the expedition by herself and let them catch up with her whenever they were ready to do so, but for now, she was waiting at the big black gates, leading out of The Black Citadel. The small assistant team that should have been assembled from the Durmand Priory hadn’t shown up yet either. Besides of the members that the Orders would send, each of them would also send some assistants, and they would also hire assistants outside of the Orders, but it seemed that Feyra was the first on to arrive, so she just stood at the black gates, with her bone scythe attached on her back, and a satchel with a bit of gold and potions, flung over her head and right shoulder, and hanging down on her left side.

[Vor]

Character Appearance

(minus the sword at this point ;))

"Come on, you stupid beast!"

Garret kicked the doylak, but of course it made no impression on the large beast of burden. It lazily turned its horned head towards him and regarded him with a mixture of smug contempt and stubbornness. That's what it looked like to Garret at least.

"Oh come on, the damned city is just over there!" He pointed at at the dark mass looming before them. "You can eat and sleep once we get there."

It was a reasonable suggestion and the doylak might have agreed if it had the capacity of understanding human speech or, indeed, if it had the capacity to understand anything at all. However, it was a dumb, stubborn beast, so it just kept grazing from a thin patch of grass while its handler kept hurling insults at it. This carried on for a couple of minutes until an older wagoner, who had been at the end of the caravan, stopped by Garret and laughed.

"Need a hand there, lad? These doyalks are mighty stubborn if you don't know how to handle 'em."

At this point Garret was so frustrated that he simply shrugged. The older man, probably in his late fifties by the looks of him, was tall and gaunt - he looked almost comical standing next to his massive doylak, which was even larger than the one Garrett had. Good thing they were docile too, Garret wouldn't want to go up against one of these things if they were enraged.

The thin man didn't do anything miraculous, he simply kept walking, leading his charge by its reins. When they passed by Garret, his doylak looked up and followed its larger fellow.

"Doylaks are herd creatures, son. The one I'm leading is the oldest, so the young'uns will follow her. That's why I'm bringin' up the rear, y'see, to help greenhorns like you." A wheezy laugh followed, as he muttered something under his breath.

Garrett wasn't in the mood for conversation, so he nodded and kept walking through the muddied road. The slow drizzle was gradually gaining in strength and the thunder in the distances heralded the coming of a storm. At least he would have a roof over his head tonight or, well, whatever passed as a roof in the Charr's capital. He wasn't even if sure if this was the Charr's capital - from what he knew this was the stronghold of one of their factions, but it was also where they conducted business with the other races, so that basically made it a capital in his eyes.

The Black Citadel, as they called it, more than lived up to its name. It had begun as a blurred silhouette in the distance, but had gradually grown in size, until it dominated the horizon. A huge, black sphere loomed over the city proper, which apparently was where the Charr's leaders resided. In itself, that wasn't very surprising - rich and important people liked living in big buildings and nothing screamed "rich and important" like a massive metal ball in the middle of town. Why had they chosen that shape though, a sphere? Perhaps it had some cultural significance, but Garret doubted he'd have a chance to find out.

By his reckoning, today was their fifth day on the march since they'd left behind the Shiverpeak Mountains. Garret was part of a caravan of about two dozen doylaks and half again as many handlers. There were also two others, a man and a woman, who led them, though Garret had scarcely spoken with them since they started this journey. The other wagoners whispered that they were part of these Orders everyone kept talking about, but which Order they represented exactly remained a mystery. Garret was hardly surprised that such information was withheld from them, they weren't heroes, they were wagon drivers and the biggest challenge they had of overcoming was a stubborn doylak.

Whatever the case, these rumours coming from the east had everyone spooked. When word spread through Kryta, the ghost of the Elder Dragons' memory resurfaced and the taverns were abuzz with stories of supposed sightings, each wilder than the one before it. Eventually, an expedition had been formed under the patronage of the Queen and these mysterious Orders. The fact that Jennah herself had decided to look into the matter was worrying, because it meant these tales might actually be true. Garret wasn't too concerned with such matters, however, what he saw in the expedition was a chance to get away from Divinity's Reach and Kryta, where his existence had frankly become unbearable after a series of recent events. And so, without knowing where he was actually going or why, Garret found himself signing up for this mad quest. That had been about a month ago or, wait, was it two now? Time passed so quickly when one was on the road, each day blurring into the next...

They had been joined by a group from Lion's Arch and then moved into the fabled Shiverpeak Mountains. Stories were told of how the ancient Ascalonians passed through those treacherous passes, led by a brash prince, who wanted to save his people from the war with the Charr. Garret could claim descent from those brave pioneers - he was born in the Ascalonian quarter and both his mother and father were of Ascalonian origin. He still remembered the bedtime stories they'd tell him, supposedly passed on from their grandparents and so on until the days when the first refugees arrived on Krytan soil. Garret had never lent much credence to those stories, but his own journey through the Shiverpeaks had made him start questioning those conclusions.

Heh, it was funny. In a way, he was coming back home, to the birthplace of his ancestors. He looked around the barren landscape, which honestly didn't seem like much. Some great cataclysm had occurred here in ages past and the land was yet to recover - sparse patches of grass poked from under the surface here and there, as well as the odd tree, but there wasn't all that much in the way of vegetation. There wasn't much in the way of wildlife either, but the Charr moving in the distance more than made up for that. Most of them avoided Garret and the caravan, but he was certain that they were being followed by a trio on the far hill. Though the Charr lands were bustling with activity, this particular group seemed to be doing nothing apart from travelling in the same direction their caravan was going, while avoiding the road. They were no doubt keeping watch on them, Charr weren't exactly fond of humans, so it made sense. It didn't make Garret feel any better about it, however.

After what must have been half an hour, Garret and the old man led their doylaks down the road leading to the Black Citadel's gates. There were still a couple of miles to go, but the fortifications looked imposing even from here. Garret couldn't quite measure how tall the gate must be, but he was certain that he'd have to crane his neck to be able to see it in its entirety from up close. And that was only the gate and the bloody walls, the sphere itself was huge! It looked mighty impressive from afar, but when he was this close it was even more imposing. Like a God's creation it towered over everything around it, looking down on the newcomers passing through its gates as if they were insignificant ants waiting to be crushed.

Not exactly the most pleasant thought, but then again, Charr and pleasant normally didn't go in the same sentence. All around him he could see the cat-like creatures going about their business, looking at the human caravan in contempt. Growls and shouts came from everywhere, some directed at them, some at each other - honestly, it was hard to tell. Smoke bellowed from a multitude of forges and the smell of metal and black powder was in the air, accompanied by the a ceaseless hammering and the grinding of massive wheels. Garret had heard many stories of this place, but to see it for real...it was a whole different kind of experience. It reminded him of a well-oiled machine, but instead of cogs this one had ill-tempered, furry felines who could swipe your head off with their clawed hand.

The rest of the caravan had stopped ahead of them, finally having reached its destination. They were greeted by a group of armed Charr, who were in conversation with the mysterious man and woman. There were also some other figures Garret didn't recognise; they were probably members of the other Orders or their servants. How had they gotten here, he wondered? Perhaps by using those Asura gates, which begged the question of why Garret and the others had to hike through the bloody mountains instead of using one, but he didn't get paid to ask questions like that.

It had been a strange month and would likely get even stranger, but for now at least, Garret would have a place to rest and hopefully, a chance to drink a pint or two.

[Valchyrie]

It seemed that some of the assistants had finally arrived at the Black Citadel, with those Norn animals, Doylaks. That would explain why it would have taken them such a long time to get to the Charr citadel. Feyra Acor had been standing at the meeting point for about two hours, and the assistants had shown up as if they were on time. According to Feyra Acor’s inner clock, they hadn’t reached it at time, they should have been there when she was there, but it seemed that these assistants had better things to do than getting the mission started. ‘An Elder Dragon doesn’t mean much to these humans it seems. Why do we even let them breath the same air as us? Even the Charrs are better company than these humans.’ She thought to herself. Feyra wasn’t known to be very happy for any of the ruling races, some even doubted that she liked her own Sylvari race, even though she was part of them, but she never really got into a deeper discussion about her homeland with anyone. Though now that the assistants were here, the weather had become worse, and even Feyra thought that it would be a bad idea to start the expedition now. The thunder was roaring over their heads and lightning strikes could be seen in the far distance, which meant that going on into hostile territory would be suicide with a weather like that on the rise. So instead of preparing to go out, she would have to find a place to sleep, but first, since the other agents of The Vigil and the Whispers hadn’t arrived yet, or at least hadn’t made their presence known, she would have to take charge of the assistants that had arrived.

She walked over to the group and raised her voice “Because of your delay, the weather has now turned to a threatening situation, and therefore we have to delay the expedition until tomorrow. No matter what the weather is like tomorrow, we will start the expedition. If any of you are not ready at six in the morning, you can consider yourself thrown out of the order you are representing.” She walked down the side of the assistants group to examine them, trying to get a grasp of what kind of equipment they had brought. “Those that have travelled with Doylaks will have to figure out a way to carry their equipment on foot. We cannot lose more time because of thickheaded slow creatures that the Doylaks seems to be. Should you decide to take them with you and you cannot keep up with the rest of the expedition team, you will be left alone in the wilderness, which will mean death to some of you. But I will not sacrifice the future for a single life! If there is indeed an Elder Dragon on the rise, our duty to find it and take any defensive measurements will be first priority! If anyone disagrees with this, they are free to leave without being thrown out of their represented order, but I will need the names of those that leave, before midnight tonight!” she spoke with a harsh tone, clearly someone who was used to the battlefield and tough situations. Some of the assistants in the groups, probably the veteran assistants, would understand her way of speaking and her concerns, while some of the newer assistants might think she was being overly dramatic and acting more like a dictator-commander than someone who represented an Order. “I am Feyra Acor, to those who should not know me. I represent the Durmand Priory. It seems the other agents are delayed as well, and therefore you all report to me. This means that the Whispers and Vigil assistants will come to me with names of those that won’t go on the expedition, before midnight, if there are any. Should their agent have arrived before that, they will report to those. I will be staying at Serrated Blade Tavern. The rest of you will have to find another place to stay for the night. You are all dismissed.” She didn’t care who was in charge of the group, or who was talking with who, she had said what she had on her mind, and that was enough for her. Even though she had wanted to keep a low profile, it had annoyed her that they had been delayed, and that meant she had had to go through her speech here.

She then turned around, her leaf skirt swaying nicely, and almost showing just the bottom of her rear, though not because the skirt was short, since it was knee-length, but because that the sway from turning around combined with the stormy weather that had appeared, made her skirt fly up a bit higher than it normally would have. She didn’t notice it herself though, so she just kept walking away from the group after that, towards the Serrated Blade Tavern, even though she would have preferred if the Charrs had had a better place for someone to sleep in. It wasn’t like the Charrs were great at making new houses and luxury beddings, they were more interested in their war machines and fighting the ghosts of Ascalon than making their own homes comfortable, which was understandable to a point. But Feyra Acor was used to a certain standard from the Durmand Priory, and she still had to accept that even though the Serrated Blade Tavern were seen as a luxury tavern, it still wasn’t luxury in Feyra’s head. Though when all was said and done, it was the best choice out of all the taverns and inns that were in the Black Citadel, so she had to stay satisfied with the options that she was given.

She found it easily and walked inside. The tavern itself, with it’s food and drinks were buzzing with life, war stories, drunks and so on. It was just how she had always seen the Charr, but if there was one thing she had to admit about them, it was their team spirit. Even though they were brutes, they were also comrades in arms, and the way they treated each other showed that all of them had stories to tell, and it were stories that had brought them all closer to each other. Many of them had probably been fighting against Zhaitan and maybe even Mordremoth, the jungle dragon. Feyra had respect for those that had stood their ground against an Elder Dragon, no matter which one it was, and when she had respect for someone, the race of that person didn’t matter. She had a system of her own, that once you were accepted by that system, she no longer put your race traits unto you, then she saw you as an individual who had done something outstanding. She walked up to the desk now and made eye contact with the Charr bartender. He gave her a nod and came over to her after having finished with a customer. The other Charrs at the desk thought it would be an unpleasant exchange of words, since some of them did know who she was. But to their surprise, it seemed that the Charr behind the desk knew her. “Feyra Acor! As I live an breath! It’s been ages since I last saw you!” he grinned. He slammed his elbow on the desk and put his hand up for an arm-wrestle “Come on, like the good old days, winner takes all.” He grinned. Feyra, for the first time since she had arrived, gave a grin as well and put her own elbow on the desk and grabbed his fury hand that was almost twice her size. “Long time no see Morga, let’s see if all that tavern running has made you soft.” “Hah! I’ll never go soft! Let's go!” then they started their arm wrestling, the other customers at the desk watched in confusion, and while they were confused, they still had an odd interest in what was going on. To everyone’s surprise, Feyra Acor held out against the strong former warrior Morga, for three whole minutes, which was rather amazing for a Necromancer going up against a former warrior. She did lose though, and Morga laughed “Well, seems I still got it! You owe me a liter of ale my friend.” Feyra gave him a small smile “No problem, I’ll pay for that and a room.” Morga grabbed a key to one of the bedrooms and put his palm towards her with a smile. Feyra put a small coin purse from her sack, into his hand “Pleasure doing business with you, as always.” Morga said. Feyra grinned “The pleasure hasn’t even started yet.” Morga grinned back “Be careful, curiosity killed the cat they say.” And with that, Feyra went up to the room she had been given.

It didn’t contain much. It had a painting of old Ascalonian ruins, a small table and a chair, both made of wood and a bed. It was a hard bed, though it did have a thin mattress on it, probably the best kind of mattress you could find around these parts. There were also a small closet, but it was big enough for her to put in her sack and her clothing. She took off her skirt and her top, which meant she was now naked at her upper body and only wearing hot pants like underwear, though made of thin grass, though it was comfortable and it didn’t break easy at all. She then went to her bed and laid down on it, pulling the carpet up over her body. She put her hands behind her head and looked up into the ceiling. She had to spend an evening here, and a night, before she could go anywhere, and the only good thing was that she was able to say hi to her friend Morga. She couldn’t even sleep yet, in case someone would come and announce their retreat from the expedition. It was only 21:00 in the evening, which meant she still had three hours before she could sleep. This would be a long evening and night.

[Vor]

The Black Citadel was without a doubt one of the most magnificent things he had seen in his entire life. Steam and water turned huge wheels, which propelled various machines of all shapes and sizes, while rows upon rows of cannons were stacked next to the smithies and caused the ground to shake when they were tested on the firing range. It also happened to be the ugliest, noisiest and most unwelcoming places he'd had the dubious pleasure of exploring. These Charr were deadly serious all the time, each one occupied with patrolling, forging weapons, training in their combat fields and Gods knew what else apart from having any fun. Damn it, was this a city or a military camp?

He'd been wandering in the downpour for the past couple of hours, still not certain where he was supposed to find a place to stay. Most locals he encountered didn't even stop to answer his questions and the ones that did had a few choice words directed at humans. The Charr had been ancestral foes of the humans for centuries and these last few years of peace were not enough to mend those prejudices - to say that they hated Garret and those like him would be putting it mildly. The feeling was, of course, mutual, but Garret was the guest here, so he strived to be on his best behaviour.

All of this had given him plenty of time to think and consider his options. That Sylvari woman at the gate had been very blunt and forthcoming, which was both a relief and a shock to Garret. Relief because someone had finally given them some details and shock because the extent of what he had gotten himself into had just become painfully clear. Hauling crates and dealing with doylaks was one thing, but going up against an Elder Dragon of all things was quite a different matter. Aye, he knew that he was signing up for this back in Divinity's Reach but at the time the threat appeared so distant and unreal. And yet, the woman spoke about it as a matter of fact, as if considering the possibility that it actually was real.

Actually, come to think of it, that Sylvari might be more unpleasant than the Black Citadel itself. She was commanding and haughty, strutting around like she owned the place. Garret had hoped that the two had been leading their caravan would assume charge or, perhaps, somebody else. But no, he was stuck with a cold-hearted bitch that threatened to leave stragglers behind. Just great, that's what it was.

With every passing minute he regretted his decision to come here more and more. Should he just leave? He was supposed to report to the Sylvari, but why should he? These damned Orders were supposed to provide them with at least some form of shelter after a month of lugging their baggage around, but they hadn't even taken care of that. What sort of organisation was that? By Balthazar's hairy balls, he didn't even know what Order had hired him, how was he supposed to report to anyone?!

Occupied with such grim thoughts, Garret kept walking through the darkening city, until he eventually came upon a tavern. A statue of a fearsome Charr towered over the entrance, holding a huge bow that must have been as tall as a man. Since Garret was tired of being cold, wet and miserable, he decided to try his chances here and walked through the door.

He was greeted by sounds not unlike the ones in human taverns, only here the music sounded more like battle marches and the raucous laughter was replaced by raucous...growls? When he set foot inside, all heads turned toward him at once, making him feel like he was a particularly interesting create that had crawled out from under a rock. Well, these overgrown cats could go to hell for all he cared, Garret hadn't always been a wagon driver, so if they thought they could intimidate him with a few harsh stares, they could guess again.

The lone human walked over to what he supposed was the bar, where a grey-haired Charr had narrowed its eyes on him. He was a bit shocked to realise that she was female, judging by the way her hair was braided and how her features appeared somewhat softer than those of the males. Still, she towered over him and seemed just as tough and muscular as the rest of them. Garret coughed politely before raising his voice to speak.

"Hello, I was wonderi-"

"We don't serve your kind here" she snarled at him "you humans are too weak to appreciate a proper Charr drinking hole!"

"I'm not here to drink..." Garret sighed, but he was interrupted before he could continue.

"Then what the hell are you doing here, pink-skin?"

"If you'd just let me talk, I might be able to explain."

That's when he felt a big, hairy hand clench his shoulder. He turned around and a saw a much larger Charr, a male no doubt about it, with reddish fur, huge horns and a fearsome set of teeth jutting out from his mouth. An even more wicked-looking sword was strapped to his side.

"This one giving you problems, Karra?" He said in a deep, rumbling voice.

"I don't need your help to deal with this runt," she retorted, "he was just about to leave."

Garret gritted his teeth, trying to get a rein on his emotions, but to no avail. He considered himself a calm man, but the ,month-long march, coupled with that blasted Sylvari mouthing off at the gate and now these bloody Charr…It was too damned much.

“I wasn’t about to leave.” He told them, his voice taking on a threatening edge. “I want a fucking room to stay the night and a pint of ale to wet my throat. I’ve got coin.”

He proceeded to take out his coin pouch and placed it on the bar, but at the same time the male Charr slammed his palm over his hand, trapping it under a layer of fur and muscle.

“You insolent scum,” he leaned in closer to Garret, spittle flying from his mouth that reeked of alcohol, “you know how many humans I killed in the last war? You know how my ancestors torched this pathetic kingdom to the ground and routed your cowardly armies?”

“Best leave now, pink-skin,” the innkeeper said, her smile revealing her sharp fangs, “you don’t want to rile up Scaarin.”

The Charr’s grip on his hand tightened, producing an audible crunch, a little more of this and he was likely to have a shattered hand among the list of things he hated about today. A familiar sensation shot up through his veins, the thrill of the adrenaline rushing through his body. Aye, Garret hadn’t always been a wagon driver, he had been a soldier once and he had fought his fair share of centaurs. They were dumber than Charr, but just as big, if not stronger.

“Or what?” Garret shouted “I’ve had enough of your furry bastards! Are you all talk are you going to back those threats?”

Silence descended upon the room and the tension grew so thick that one could cut it with a knife. The male Charr, trembling with anger, let go of his hand and looked him straight in the eye.

“You’ve got three seconds before I take your head off. One…”

Garret returned the gaze and remained unflinching. This was it – his plan would either work and he’d get a bed or his head was going to decorate the fireplace, which meant he wouldn’t have to suffer this blasted existence any longer. Seemed like a fair deal, either way you looked at it.

“Two…”

Scaarin’s long claws did seem capable of slicing him to shreds, the Charr wouldn’t even reach for his sword, Garret was certain. The way the Charr’s arms hung at the ready indicated that. At least, that’s what he hoped – it was hard to tell with these felines.

“Three!”

As expected, the beast swiped a clawed hand in his direction, but Garret was faster. He ducked under it and reached for the big Charr’s sword, drawing it from its scabbard. Another blow came in his direction, but he spun around before his opponent had a chance to react. Garret went low, slicing the tendons behind the Charr’s knee, effectively hamstringing him. A bestial roar followed as Garret’s opponent went to one knee and tried to turn around.

And again, Garret was faster. The sword in his hands was already at the Charr’s neck when their gazes met. If the room had been silent before, it was now as quiet as a graveyard. The shocked expression on the innkeeper’s face almost compensated all the shite Garret had to endure today. Almost.

“You wanted a fight? There’s you fucking fight!” he cried out, voice thick with anger. “I just wanted a damned bed, but no – you Charr always have to fight something! And what’s this talk of ancestors, eh? My own great-great grandparents lived here and fled after you bastards summoned that firestorm from the sky, because you couldn't beat them in a fair fight. Should I avenge them, here and now, is that what you want?!”

He pressed the sword into the Charr’s throat, drawing blood to prove his point. Their gazes held each other for a moment, which seemed to stretch on for an infinity, but then Garret threw the sword aside and offered his hand.

“Fuck history and fuck wars. That’s all in the past.”

The Charr, Scaarin, eventually accepted his hand and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. Two other Charr came to accompany him back to his table, where his leg was bandaged and another drink was poured. Everyone went back to their business, as if two patrons hadn’t just tried to murder each other before their eyes.

“You’ve got guts, pink-skin, I’ll give you that,” the innkeep, Karra, said, “but don’t think you can drink any of our ale, it’s too strong for you. Wait here.”

Garret sat there, the realisation of what he’d just done finally dawning on him. He looked around, trying to see if anyone was contemplating revenge on him, but he saw nothing. Even the big, angry Scaarin was merrily drinking and talking with his companions, the events of a couple of minutes ago already forgotten. In a way, by fighting and proving his mettle, Garret had earned his place here. That’s how he felt it, at least. The Charr were thought too much of themselves to directly admit it.

Karra returned with a cask of ale, bearing a familiar marking. Lion’s Arch!

“Here, this one’s on the house” she said, as she poured him a pint, “room’s on the left, take this key.”

Garret downed the pint in one go and then took the offered key.

“Don’t think it’s anything much,” Karra continued, “no fancy beds that you humans like, you’ll sleep on the ground and I’ll hear no complaints from you!”

Garret nodded. He ordered another pint and paid for it and the room, after which he departed to his quarters. It was indeed very sparsely-decorated, with a small window, a straw mat and a broken piece of glass that was supposedly a mirror. There was a chair as well, where he could leave his clothes, but that was it. In short, the room was as severe as the Charr that had built it.

He wasn’t one to complain, however. After months of sleeping under the stars, this looked like the Queen’s chambers to him. He tossed his cloak on the chair, took off his traveller’s boots and lied down on the mat, where he discovered a coarse blanket waiting for him. It wasn’t much, but it was more than sufficient.

His mind sorted through the events of the day. After they had been given their orders, the wagon-drivers had decided to set up a makeshift camp outside the city walls. Garret, of course, would have none of it and had decided to seek a proper place to stay, along with a few other brave souls. He hoped those men hadn’t gotten into any fights, because they were decidedly less prepared to handle them than he was. Ah well, he wasn’t their mother, no sense worrying over them…

Whatever other thoughts came to his mind were quickly forgotten, as the exhaustion that had piled up for weeks finally overcame him. Thoughts and worries were cast aside, replaced by the calmness of a deep, dreamless sleep.

[Valchyrie]

She haven’t been lying in the bed that long, before it knocked on her door. She got up from the bed, grabbed her shirt and skirt, and put it on fast before opening it, not bothering to put on the underwear When she opened the door, she could see a line with about fifteen people in it. She knew what they wanted to do, and took them into the room she had rented for the night. She wrote down each name she got and wrote that they backed out of the expedition. She then signed it with her name so that they wouldn’t get problems from their bosses in their Orders. Once she was finished with all fifteen, she sighed a bit. It meant they would have to leave at least three, if not four, wagons behind, though that also meant that there was less to take care of and that could speed up their travel time by at least a day, maybe more if they got lucky and the stupid Doylaks listened to the drivers of the wagons and carriages. She went back to her bed after she had let the last of the fifteen people out of the room, and had locked the door. She had once again taken off her clothing and laid in the bed naked, with the covers up to the middle of her chest. She had about four hours before she had to be up again and be ready. 6 AM was the meeting time she had set, and she wanted to keep it that way. The longer they waited, the stronger the Elder Dragon would grow, if it were indeed true that there was one. Though from the information and signs they had got and seen, Feyra Acor was sure that the rumors were true. She had accepted that this expedition was more than likely a one-way trip, though she couldn’t tell the expedition crew that, as many of them wouldn’t be able to accept that they would sacrifice their lives for the rest of the world. Humans these days were very selfish and wanted to protect themselves more than they wanted to protect the world, at least that’s how the human race had acted every time Feyra Acor had gotten into contact with them.

Now she was finally asleep, but her mind had other plans than letting her get a peaceful night. Many people knew about the Sylvaris Wyld Hunt, which was best explained as a dream they got when they were born, that explained them what they were destined to carry out in life. Feyra Acor had not had an easy Wyld Hunt when she had come to life, she had seen a dragon, whether it was an Elder Dragon or not was impossible to say, as the dream offered no words, but only images of what was to come. But it had indeed been a dragon, and it had not gone in peaceful directions during her dream. As she slept, she got further and further into the dream of her Wyld Hunt, and she could almost feel the dragon breathing down her neck. She stood in front of it again, just like she had done in her Wyld Hunt. It was tall and black, it’s body as hard as diamond skin, almost impossible to penetrate with normal weapons. But that was not the worst of it, it was also intelligent and knew the language of the world. It could speak with all the races in their own tongue and that was a scary thought. “Feyra Acor, you cannot run away forever. One day, I will get you. Hahahaha…” the laughter from the Dragon wasn’t loud, it sounded like it was far away in the distance and just fading away. She was standing on a beach, looking out over the sea, and out of nowhere, the teeth and mouth of the dragon was in front of her. She then woke up fast, sitting up in the bed and sweating with her head in her hands. She refused to give into the Wyld Hunt, she didn’t want to let it control her. If it was the Elder Dragon they were going to go up against, then she would accept that, but if it was another kind of dragon, or being, since she couldn’t prove it was a dragon exactly, she would put it on hold until they had dealt with the current thread.

She realized now that she was sitting up in the bed, that the sun had already risen again, and that it was close to being six in the morning. Luckily, she hadn’t overslept, and she knew she still had about thirty minutes before she had to meet the others. She was sure that the other agents from the Vigil and the Whispers would have arrived now. She wouldn’t have to take care of their members during the expedition, she just had to make sure her own members from the Durmand Priory would stay alive long enough to gather information on the Elder Dragon. She would die protecting them until then, unless they slowed down as she had explained the day before, when they had all arrived. She got out of the bed and got dressed in all her clothing from the day before again, grabbing her scythe and attaching it on her back. She then went out of her room with her sack, and over to the bathroom where she could get some water. She splashed it in her face, and because she was born from nature, this was one of the most pleasuring feelings she could ever get, and it felt good to splash water in her face in the morning. Then she went down stairs again to the desk she had gotten the key from the day before. Morga was still there, though he looked tired.

Feyra sighed a bit at the sight of the Charr, she knew he had pulled an all-nighter again, like he usually did when they served together. She went over to him and put the key on the desk “Get some sleep Morga, this doesn’t suit you one bit.” Morga turned his head to look at Feyra Acor and smiled a little “Says the one shouting in her dreams. Still haven’t finished your Wyld Hunt I hear.” Feyra shrugged “I don’t shout in my dreams.” Morga laughed a little “Call it what you want, but you made everyone go silent around four this morning. Then again, I would probably have screamed too if your Wyld Hunt is still the same as it was when we worked together.” Feyra sighed a little and rubbed her right chin a bit “Yeah well, that dream can go to the mist for all I care. I’m here to hunt information, not to get scared to death by dreams. I would be a horrible member of the Durmand Priory if I let something that have so little with magic and science to do, kill me in my sleep.” Morga smiled a little at her “Well, some of your members think you are horrible, you know that.” He grinned. Feyra rolled her eyes “Ha…Ha….ha….Very funny.” Morga gave a soft smile to her “I live to please. But Feyra, take care out there. I have been through too much with you, to see you fall on a long and stupid expedition, even though I don’t know what you are looking for exactly.” Feyra nodded a bit and put her hand on top of his “You take care too, if the rumors are indeed true, you might be called into service again.” And with that, she left the Inn.

The time had come to prepare themselves for the expedition and she was standing outside at the black gates again that led outside of the Black Citadel. She could see that some of the people had already gathered there, and she could see the member from the Vigil and the member from the Whispers as well, which meant that they at least had finally arrived and prepared themselves as well. She went over to them to discuss their plan of approach while they waited for the rest of the expedition to assemble. Whether or not more of the expedition would quit, without saying so, was yet to be seen, but Feyra Acor hoped that they wouldn’t have anymore that would leave, after all, they did need carriages and supplies, and while she was sure that they would come across cities and villages, they still needed to have supplies on the road, until they reached those cities and villages. She didn’t want to risk dying of hunger just because someone had turned out to be a scared little puppy, but if they had indeed left, she would live with it and hunt in the wild to gather food, should it come to that. With the plan of approach settled, should there be an Elder Dragon, she turned to look out over the expedition, and wait for the last ones to arrive. This journey was going to be long.

[Vor]

He woke up with a groan; his body was still tired from the ordeals of their journey, but his mind knew it was time to get up. It was a habit that remained from his soldiering days - when on duty you learned to sleep when you could and where you could, often for only minutes at a time before having to rouse your body from sleep. Ironically, this skill of his had proven just as useful during his march through the Shiverpeaks.

And so, he got up, splashed some water onto his face from and looked at his crooked expression in the broken mirror. Garret wasn't exactly a handsome man, but there was a hardness to his features that some women had found pleasing in the past. A mop of black hair covered his head and stopped just shy of his shoulders. His brown eyes were bloodshot and looked tired, but that was not too unusual as they looked lazy and uninterested in the best of times. Though he kept his oval face clean-shaven when he could, it was now covered by a thick stubble that obscured a scar or two. He would have to shave it at some point, but he felt too lazy to do it at the moment.

There was nothing else noteworthy of his features and Garret had always considered himself an unassuming man for precisely that reason. In fact, his naturally-pressed lips and frowning brows made him look as if he was perpetually scowling at something in disappointment, giving him an all-around unpleasant appearance. Coupled with his worn clothes - a dusty dark coat, pants of a similar colour and a dirty white shirt - he looked like those haggard beggars that crowded the poorer quarters of Divinity's Reach and spoke in a drunken haze about the good old days. Not exactly the kind of man you'd hope to take on a quest to save the world, but so what? Nobody better looking had volunteered, Garret thought with a smirk.

Wasting no more time with vanity, he left his room and went downstairs to pay what was due for his short stay. Though hungry, he was weary of trying Charr food and for good reason, Karra assured him. Still, he managed to haggle for some loaves of hard bread that looked somewhat edible and a small cask of Lion's Arch ale. They had supplies on the wagons, but when going on such a journey it was better not to rely too much on others.

"Good luck, pink-skin," Karra told him as he prepared to depart, "some of the boys told me you're part of some caravan. You travelling somewhere dangerous?"

Garret shrugged. "No idea, but it's probably so. Why else would they hire so many people?" It was a rhetoric question, he knew that the Charr innkeeper had even less of an inkling than he did. "Still, it's good coin, so who am I to complain?"

"Well, you take care. You're a good sort."

"Is that why your friend tried to kill me last night?"

Karra laughed, a strangely feminine sound coming from such a fearsome looking creature. "Ah, you humans! After you showed us that you had a pair of balls between those scrawny legs, we knew that you're alright. We Charr value actions, not empty words as you humans do." She waved her hand, brushing the matter aside. "Say, you a fighter, a guard? What they'd hire you for?

"I'm a wagon driver, actually," Garret said simply, "they hired me to deal with those Gods-forsaken beasts called doylaks."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh? A wagon driver got the best of Scaarin, who was one of the best in the Blood Legion back in the day and fought alongside Tribune Brimstone himself?"

"He was drunk and I was lucky, that's it."

Karra said nothing, but her expression made it obvious what she thought of that. She handed him the loaves of bread and the cask, which he strapped to his backpack, and then bid him farewell. For some strange reason Garret felt a pang of emotion as he left the tavern. In a way, he had enjoyed that place and the Charr's hospitality, while harsh, was genuine. It was more than he could say for most humans he knew.

The weather seemed to have cleared, with only the puddles and muddied roads indicating that there had been heavy rain the night before. Garret made his way to the city's gates quickly, anxious to get this journey started. He knew that the more he debated whether he should go, the bigger the chances of him running away became. It still seemed like a good idea, but he had nowhere else to go. Even if he made a run for it, he couldn't just go back to Diviity's Reach - some men there would be very unhappy to see him unless he came back with a hefty sum of money. The other option was to try his luck here in the Citadel, but that was likely to get him killed before long. Truthfully, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

When he arrived at the Black Citadel's gates, he found that most of the expedition had assembled, though there were noticeably less wagoners than the day before. So, he wasn't the only one who thought about going back, the only difference being that these men actually had possessed the sense to abandon this mad quest in time. Well, his mother had always said that he was a fool, so he shook his head and drew nearer. He noticed a few familiar faces, other doylak handlers that he had spoken with on their journey, as well the helpful old man that had guided his doylak yesterday. They told him that they had slept in their hastily made camp, instead of braving the insides of the Citadel; a mistake, Garret thought, but it meant that they had already prepared the supplies for their trip and that was not something he was going to complain about.

“Here take this, laddie.” The old man, Symon he said his name was, offered him a long length of oak wood, a quarterstaff which could also double as a walking stick. “We’re goin’ to have a long road ahead, might as well have somethin’ to support yerself with.”

“Thank you.” Garret said with a nod, he had been somewhat ungrateful last night due to his mood, so he thought he could afford to be at least a little less of an insolent arse this time around. “What news? Have they said where we’re going?”

The gathered men began talking over each other almost at once, each one trying to put his own spin on the story, but it basically amounted to “we know nothing”. People said that washerwomen were horrible gossips, but wagoners were no better and even though their information was limited, their educated guesses on the situation were not. How “educated” those guesses were was another matter entirely…

What he gathered was that the silent men and women that had led their caravan were revealed to be members of the so-called Vigil, one of the three Orders that were behind this expedition. Now Garret at least knew who he was getting his pay from, but there was little to indicate what their motives were, so he was still in the dark. The other thing of note the others told him was that it had been decided that they would take with them only one third of the remaining doylaks. First of all, about fifteen people had deserted, which meant there were less drivers to go around and secondly, the larger number of beasts would only slow their march. Thus, only the most docile of doylaks would remain, given to the care of the more experienced wagoners, like Symon.

Garret would have to carry a rather oversized backpack, a rolled up tent, as well as his own traveller’s pack. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the proposition, but what was he to do? He had been given a chance to flee and yet here he was, it was too late to turn back now and certainly not with half the city watching. His name was sullied enough already, he couldn’t bear the shame of cowardice yet again in this foreign land. At least Symon had given him this damned walking stick, which would certainly come in handy, especially now that he’d been given so much things to lug around.

He examined the actual members of the Orders that had gathered slightly to the side and were in deep discussion. He saw the Sylvari woman from yesterday, as well as the serious-looking duo from the Vigil, but there were others – humans and Asura and even a couple of Charr. It was strange to see former enemies consulting among themselves, but as Garret himself had pointed out in the tavern last night, the wars between the races were a thing of the past, why should any grudges remain?

While waiting for the order to move out, he packed his things as best he could and tried to assess how much effort carrying all of it would require. The others had seen that he was a well-built man, young compared to most of them, so they had given him a greater load. It was fair, he supposed, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. If he’d stayed in the camp that night, there was a chance he could have avoided this extra weight, but he had forfeited that chance in exchange for a bed. He sighed. Nothing ever came without a price, did it?

[Valchyrie]

Feyra Acor was deep in conversation with the other agents that had arrived to lead the expedition. The problem was not so much the expedition in itself, the problem was more about what they should do if an Elder Dragon attacked them. Whether or not it existed was not important, they had to be prepared for the worst, and the worst was indeed an Elder Dragon. They couldn’t afford to fall on the battlefield without giving the vital information to the rest of the world, if there was indeed an Elder Dragon. However, could they just leave the helpers behind? They still had quite a few people who would pull wagons for them and carry their supplies, but would it even be possible to save them and get away with the information at the same time? Feyra Acor didn’t think so, and she spoke against it with the other agents. She was known to abandon people if the stakes were high enough, some thought she did it just because she wanted too, but the reality was that she didn’t bring the mission in jeopardy just to save a few non-essential people. If the other agents didn’t agree with her view, she didn’t really care, out in the field, you would have to be prepared to leave everything and everyone behind, and Feyra Acor was willing to do so. That was the same reason she had become a feared necromancer, as she didn’t put her own needs first, but the mission she had been given. After she finished her mission or objective, then she would take care of her own needs, but the mission always came first, hence the reason she also didn’t mind leaving people behind if it meant finishing the mission. But it seemed that the other agents from the Vigil and The Whispers didn’t agree with her view on things, and she had to respect and accept that, after all, these agents were high-ranking agents as well, and they had just as much experience on the battlefield as Feyra, they just didn’t have her mind or magical abilities.

After about an hour of discussing, while everyone else had been waiting for them to finish their discussion, they had finally laid down a plan for the expedition. They would go to the mountains far away, and see what they could find, and during their trip, they would always keep one agent behind the expedition and two agents in the front, while there would be one agent who functioned as the scout. Feyra Acor had agreed to be the agent that stayed at the back of the expedition, not because she wanted too, but because she had the abilities to slow down enemies that would attack from behind. The two Vigil agents would lead the team from the front and the agent from The Whispers would function as the scout, as she was specialized in stealth and infiltration and could hide in the shadows while scouting ahead. Feyra could summon the necessary underworld creatures and minions that she needed to keep the enemy from reaching them from the back, which meant she could more or less raise a minor army by herself, to buy the rest of the expedition time to prepare themselves for the battle. This was of course just the plan for the journey itself, there was more to the plan once they would arrive at the designated location, but for now, this was all the rest of the expedition needed to know.

The two Vigil agents went out through the Black Gates to make sure that no one was waiting for them outside. One of the agents were wielding a two handed sword and the other was wielding a mace and a shield. The scout had already set out on her own journey, to scout ahead for the rest of the expedition, which left Feyra back to explain the plan to the wagon drivers and carriers and so on. She sighed annoyed at the fact she once again had to speak to the crowd of people that was going with them, but she had no choice. She turned to them all, and while she started to walk down to the back of the expedition group, she started to talk as well. “Listen up! This is the plan for now! The two Vigil agents will stay at the front to function as your guides and front defense, should we all be attacked. Our agent from The Whisper order will function as our scout! She is in charge of giving us information about the enemy position, terrain and other important details we need to know, therefore, she is scouting ahead most of the time, and will only return every third hour to update us! I will be the one staying at the back of the expedition, to act as a defense from the back! Therefore, I don’t want to see anyone slacking off or making the rest of us move slowly! I’m not picking any of you up if you fall! Either you will follow the speed that we move in, or you will be left alone! This is an important mission and every one of you have an important part to play! That should keep you moving and in high spirits! Now go!” and with that, she was at the back of the expedition. The front of it started to move now and they were all going out through the Black Gates, where the two Vigil agents were now starting to lead them forward. Feyra Acor was at the back now, determined to get this journey started and finished as fast as it could possibly be done.

[Vor]

The caravan, or what was left of it, finally made its way out of the city, sluggishly at first, then picking up the pace as the group got into stride. Garret walked by Symon, exchanging a few words with the old wagoner who was leading one of the eldest and biggest doylaks in their herd. Their talk spanned many topics, even though the words said between them were only a handful. Garret liked that, he had believed Symon to be unpleasantly talkative at first, but had since found that the man shared his love for quiet while on the road.

He still didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to find at their journey’s end. It was a troubling prospect, an encounter with an Elder Dragon, but even if they found no such beast, they would doubtlessly run into many other obstacles along the way. He knew little of the Blazeridge Mountains, save that beyond them lay vast stretches of uncharted territory, some of it held by the Charr, but the rest was shrouded in mystery. Still, one would have to be a fool to believe that whatever powers ruled on the other side of the mountain range would let them pass uncontested if they discovered their presence. Things were never as simple as that – a point life had proven to him over and over again.

The Sylvari had given a brief speech before their departure, though Garret let most of it pass by his ears. She sounded like an over-eager sergeant shouting down recruits at a muster, something which he had endured numerous times during his service with the Seraphs. Maybe such sternness and severity could awe the other wagoners, but for Garret it was par for the course. In fact, he had dearly hoped that he would never have to listen to some bossy official ordering him around again, but as always, his non-existent luck would have it otherwise.

Whatever the case, he had gleamed a measure of information from Freya Alcor’s talk. Behind the brash words and grim warnings was a thinly-veiled worry and uncertainty. They were still in sight of the Black Citadel’s walls and already they were cautioning folks against deserting and falling behind? Then what would they say once they actually crossed those damned mountains? Threaten them with execution? Pfah!

Perhaps these Orders knew more than they were letting on, it occurred to him. Maybe they knew exactly what they were setting out to confront and were trying to steel the group’s resolve from early on? And perhaps they willingly sent them on a suicide mission, knowing full well what was coming? No…that was doubtful, little more than paranoia, he told himself. If the Orders truly knew that an Elder Dragon was lurking in the east they would be bringing with them an army, not a bunch of doylaks and their handlers.

Still, that line of thought left him uneasy and he began looking around in order to clear his head. Unfortunately, the desolation that had once been the lush lands of Ascalon was about as bleak as his thoughts, so it hardly made him feel better. The caravan occasionally crossed paths with groups of Charr on their business and some wildlife could be seen cresting the hills in the distance. Considering where they were, the “wildlife” consisted mainly of vicious devourers and the creatures referred to as Wind Riders; a far cry from the foxes and rabbits and boars of Kryta.

Finding nothing interesting to occupy his mind with, Garret began surveying the caravan itself, looking among the now-familiar faces to gouge their mood. Up ahead he could see the outlines of the two warriors, members of the so-called Vigil according to the others, fully armed and armoured, yet just as silent as they had been before. A bit farther behind came the rest of the caravan, made up by a collection of men and women who were decidedly not fighters. Then came their rear guard, in the form of the sharp-tongued Sylvari.

Garret could see why they had chosen her for that task. Who would dare to think of deserting if they risked getting an earful from that bitch? Well…that and her sheer presence was intimidating, Garret had to admit. He didn’t know if it was the wicked scythe slung across her back or the way she held herself, but his finely-honed soldier senses told him that this woman was trouble. Better stay out of her way and avoid drawing attention to himself. He’d never gotten along well with authority figures and something told him that this one in particular would not take kindly to her command not being respected.

Having nothing else to occupy his attention, he turned to Symon and made an effort to hold a normal conversation. He led with some questions, letting the older man speak of his home and wife and sons at his leisure. Symon would sometimes interject with a question of his own, but he seemed content to do most of the talking. Their sentences were followed by long bouts of silence, giving the impression that not much was said between them. In truth, however, it was precisely these quiet moments that strengthened the growing bond between them.

“I can tell ye one thing, son. Assumin’ we come back alive, we’ll have some amazing stories t’ tell” Symon said at one point, followed by an earnest laugh.

Aye, they’d have some and more, Garret thought with a frown, lacking his companion’s enthusiasm. It was going to be a miserable journey, he was certain of it, and no amount of blind optimism was going to change that fact.