#also demmi's re-alive in this au she just doesn't feature in this part of it

[axe-trio-commanders]

Griffons

Spoiler warning for PoF, a bit of HoT, and LWS4. This one actually doesn’t take place in my commanders’ cannon- it’s based on... one of several AU’s I’ve put them in, as will all but one of the stories I’m doing for the Tyrias library halloween prompts. This one in particular is from one dubbed the ‘TC’ au- which stands for ‘technically cannon’, as it... was that, until it uh. Wasn’t. Might have used it as an excuse for griffon plants. Anyways, enjoy some cryptids! (Oh also a small tw for severe burn wound descriptions and being held hostage at dagger-point)

The fire griffon of Elona.

It wouldn't be the first time Zafirah had encountered the thing, if she saw it here- entire form covered in fire, feral growls echoing from its throat... it’d only been in passing, and she’d been assured Balthazar had it ‘under control’, but she’d seen the charred remains of both sides of combat littering the desert. Nothing survived contact with it.

It had arrived near the same time Balthazar had, and rumors of where it’d come from abounded- some claimed it was simply a new pet of the god’s, others that it was some corrupted form of a third hound- still others that it was some poor fool who’d unknowingly desecrated his name.

Everyone had assumed it’d run rampant upon Balthazar’s death at the hands of the… ‘commander’, but sightings of it simply... vanished, after the event. It hadn’t seemed under control before, to Zafira’s knowledge, but perhaps it was simply consumed by the crystal dragon. And yet...

And yet, her god’s death seemed to bring about something... else. She’d heard it referred to as the griffon’s ghost, but she- nor anyone else she’d managed to talk to- had ever gotten a clear glimpse of the thing. She’d hoped, herself, to find it and get answers to what had happened to Balthazar, but... the best she’d got were vague descriptions- a small, planty form, (like one of those ‘sylvari’, some claimed,) large ghostly wings, a cold, gripping magic that shifted sands into demons- some had even claimed it to glow violet in the darkness...

The deadeye breathed a long sigh, gaze travelling across the horizon from across her tower. Her final stand, arena below filled with gas that’d already claimed the lives of a few... ‘pact members'. Not as many as she’d like. She supposed, as her last stand, it was... maybe a little silly to be thinking about such legends now- it wasn’t as if she’d see either of them tonight. It wasn’t as if she’d get any answers tonight.

She paused, tightening her hold on her rifle as she caught movement at the far end of the arena. A few glimpses, and she could make out the basics. Charr, medium armor, close-range weapons, hooded face. Maybe they thought it would help with the gas...? Either way, she’d steady her aim, focusing on it as it made its way closer. Just like so many others...

And then, she felt a chill at her back, turning to see-

Zafirah’s eyes widened at the sight before her. Large, ghostly wings, reminiscent of the now rarely seen sunspear griffon, spread wide as if they’d just landed. The blue glow of the somewhat translucent wings mixed with bright violet on the stone below- eyes like a feline’s staring back at her, long, feathered ears tilted forwards, bright lines marking out what might have been a human-like face, were it not so dark red in hue, and-

The creature smiled, lifting Balthazar’s sword from the ground. “Apologies, but we’re going to need this.”

...Legend or not, she needed that sword. She needed it until the... commander showed their face, and they certainly hadn’t yet. She’d heard no hints that they’d be this subtle- a charr wouldn’t be bashful after killing a god.

Zafirah narrowed her eyes, shoving her rifle into it’s hold as she brought out her paired daggers, lunging for the creature. As ghostly as their wings looked, the rest of them seemed solid- and though they were nimble, they seemed noticeably slowed by the weight of the sword they were carrying, only barely dodging her attacks, unable to offer any of her own with her hands full.

“I think I need it more,” Zafirah growled, lunging again.

“I really doubt that.” The other’s tone grew darker, leaping over her with a beat of those ghostly wings. “We need it to track an elder dragon who’s been cavorting about the mists, tearing through reality.”

“So, what Balthazar was doing before he was murdered?”

“Yes, but with less loss of innocent lives or general world-imploding.”

They’d continue their dance on the rooftop- Zafirah getting closer with each strike, the other’s eyes cold, calculating- was that a hint of nervousness she saw?

“You really think you can kill a dragon better than a god?”

“I’d say I’m obligated to try.” The other paused, standing up a little straighter near the edge of the roof. “Or- well, we are.”

...The sword was gone. Zafirah wasn’t sure when the other had... lost it, but- ...the charr. She must have thrown it to-

No, not now, she hadn’t lost yet. Wouldn’t lose yet.

Her opponent was too cocky, grin too confident- an easy target. Not thinking further, the deadeye lunged, knocking her back and against the low wall of the tower roof- then placing a knee against her chest to hold her there, placing a dagger to her throat. Zafirah saw her wings start to curl around the both of them, felt clawed hands pushing at her arm- saw the first clear hint of fear in her eyes. Still mortal, then.

“Bring me back the sword, and I let her live,” Zafirah called, letting her voice echo around the arena.

The creature’s eyes narrowed. “It’s fine, just take the sword and go! She’s bluffing,” She retorted.

Zafirah leaned more weight into her hold, seeing the other wince. “Legend or not, I really wouldn’t mind killing you.”

The other paused, then smirked. “And what’s to say I don’t just come back again?”

...She was bluffing. Zafirah had seen the fear in her eyes- she feared death just as much as anyone else.

And then... they both turned their gaze towards movement in the corner of their vision- seeing that same charr make her way up the steps towards them, ears pinned flat against her head, tail whipping back and forth in agitation- and Zafirah saw her god’s sword held in both of their clawed hands. The charr certainly believed it.

“...Let her go. Please.”

The charr’s voice was... softer, than she’d expected it to be- somewhat hoarse, but lacking the raw aggression their race had been famed for.

“If you want her, you’ll give me the sword,” she replied evenly.

“I- I know. And I will, but- I want you to think about this first. She wasn’t lying to you, we... we really do need it- innocent people are dying because we have no idea where Kralkatorrik will strike. The land is being corrupted- even breaking reality itself in places. Tyria- Elona is dying.” She took a step forward, lowering her head. “You can help us. You can help us finish what Balthazar started, in a way that will actually save everyone.”

A… tempting offer. A soft, strained voice, with honeyed words... she narrowed her eyes. “You can have the sword when the commander is dead.”

The charr paused, and she caught her and the creature exchanging glances. Did they... know the commander? If they did, she might have to keep this hostage a little-

“I think your god kinda beat you to that,” the creature chirped, earning a sharp glare from the charr. “Problem is, I’ve kinda got this habit of not staying dead.”

Zafirah looked down at her, gaze clearly disbelieving. No... no, this couldn’t be the commander. This tiny thing couldn’t have the power to kill a god- not hers, not anyone’s god, let alone elder dragons... but the ability to come back from the dead, only in the faintest of rumors-

“...No, I’m not letting you do this,” the charr muttered- and Zafirah glanced back to her, saw her fur standing on end, saw her posture straighten. “She might have been involved, but if it’s the commander you’re after, it’s more likely you’ve been looking for me.” She paused. “...I know I’m not what you expected. I’m not... really what anyone expected, let alone myself. But I... don’t want to lie to you. I’d really rather not fight you. Just let her go. Please.”

...Hm. It’d be so easy for either of them to lie, wouldn’t it? Should she believe either of them? Maybe she should just take the lives of both of them and be done with it. But if either of them were telling the truth, and she’d never know...?

“Prove it to me, then. Give me some reason to believe you’ve fought a god.”

“Well, if you’d like me to give you a tour of the mists-”

The creature’s words were cut short as the charr slipped off her hood, then pulled down the mask covering her muzzle- looking towards Zafirah with a pleading gaze. It was...

...it was almost... horrific, the scars that laced her muzzle. Burns, most of them- she could only see patches of what bright orange fur should have covered it, but the rest was either charred black or covered in dark red scars, one of her two long front teeth seeming to have recently acquired a metal brace. It was the marks of a battle-worn charr, and it was easy to imagine the sort of deistic fire that may have caused them- but the look in her eyes, the pleading in her voice, seemed so... out of place...

“...I took something important from you. I might not understand what that was, not completely- charr aren’t known for their, uh... belief. But I hope you understand me when I say that I can’t lose her again.”

...No. No, she couldn’t understand. Zafirah would have to make her understand.

She’d only start to push in the dagger when she felt, saw and heard the roar of flames, the charr an abrupt blur of motion as the deadeye felt herself thrown across the roof, skidding across stone. She heard snarls, only slightly above the fire, and looked up to see that same scarred face- now unrecognizable beneath the yellow-orange glow of flames, wings splayed threateningly from their back, tail whipping back and forth as they slowly stalked towards her on all fours to-

“...Zori?”

...The smaller one’s words were enough to give the predator pause- pause enough for the small, equally griffon-esque figure to push themself up, bounding in front of the fiery cat- putting a shaking hand through the fire to hold the side of their face. “Zori, it’s okay, it’s over. I’m okay. I’m alive, Balthazar’s gone, Joko’s gone, Mordremoth’s been dead for months- we’re gonna get the sword, we’re gonna deal with Kralkatorrik, and then we’ll get to rest, okay?”

The flames slowly, surely began to die down again, wings soon wisping away into the air, and... again, Zafirah was left with only a charr- an exhausted one, by how hard she was breathing, and how her entire form... collapsed, when the final flame died, apparently needing a moment to recover before pulling the smaller into a tight embrace.

“...I- Seremnis, are you-?” “I’m just fine, Zori. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But I almost-”

“But you came back, and I’m still here.”

"I'm... I'm sorry..."

Zafirah stood, shakily, stepping back from the both of them. Her gaze wandered to the sword she’d been so adamantly protecting, seeing it... alight, burning with a new fire- then back towards the pair, now sitting in a companionable silence. She noticed the smaller give a fearful glance towards the sword, heard her breathing hitch for a moment before she buried her face in the charr’s fur.

Zafirah wasn’t convinced of their motives, not yet- ...but she’d just... follow them, for now. Let them have the sword. See what they said they’d do with it once they thought she was out of earshot. After all...

...There was... another legend. Maybe less of a legend, more of a warning- though it’d been plenty long enough since the other race had been spotted in Elona that it was more a parable than a true warning for most.

She turned, putting her daggers back in their hold as she walked down from the roof, shadowstepping through the fog. 

You could fight the charr in war all you wanted, but only a fool would ever hurt their cubs.