#c: adelbern

[ascalonianlightbringer]

Last time in the core GW2 story/headcanon liveblog, Tybalt and Gwen decided to try a dungeon pitch in and help Rytlock contain the ghostly upheaval caused by Eir's venture into the Ascalonian catacombs. Tybalt advised Gwen that Rytlock would remember she's Logan's friend, and find it suspicious if she was her usual pleasant self, so Gwen should be a bit prickly.

Gwen embraced the role of Prickly Ascalonian with enthusiasm as they ventured through the catacombs with two more Charr and a grumpy Asura from the Priory. After skirting various dangers, the group had just found Eir.

At this point, Eir bursts out, "Rytlock, what are you doing here?"

Rytlock, reasonably enough, snaps back, "I came to stop you from inciting a full-scale ghost rampage. What are you doing here?"

Eir explains that she's looking for Magdaer, the magic sword of King Adelbern. Rytlock says he destroyed it to create the Foefire. Eir thinks it survived and can be found.

Rytlock shifts his weight. Now even more clearly on edge, he says, "You are following a foolish human legend."

Gwen doesn't know this one, but she lifts her chin defiantly anyway. The walls feel a bit like they might crumble down on them all at any moment, and she keeps an eye out for any stray ghosts—her tormented people, she remembers. Adelbern had been driven mad by the brutality and atrocities of the Charr invasion, but he'd still unilaterally decided the fate of all his people without consulting them in any way. She's not exactly on his side, either.

Royals, she thinks, but here, it's an echo of her usual disdain.

Eir glances between Rytlock and Gwen, and says, "You of all people should know the power of legends. You bear Magdaer's twin, Sohothin. It was Rurik's sword."

To Gwen, Rytlock seems plainly defensive. "What if I do? Adelbern's sword is no more, just like his nation."

"Oh, have you managed to take Ebonhawke yet?" Gwen says sweetly. "I hadn't heard."

Both Eir and Rytlock look at her with some impatience. Eir seems a little amused; Rytlock points Sohothin right at her. Gwen looks back, unimpressed; she doesn't think he'd be stupid enough to kill an Ascalonian hero of Kryta in the catacombs, without any cause but words.

"Maybe I should gut you instead of Logan," he growls.

Gwen just looks at him, her head tilted a little. Tybalt coughs.

"I, uh, don't think that'd be a good idea, tribune. She's an advocate of the crown of Kryta, so it'd be bad for the peace talks and all, and I'd lose my deals with the fruit sellers in Queensdale—"

Rytlock scoffs, but when Eir clears her throat, he lowers Sohothin and turns back to her.

"Then let us go to the top of the stairs and see for ourselves," she says calmly.

Or at least, it seems calmly. Eir has a quiet charisma and assurance that Gwen likes. But after they fight off a bunch of ghosts, Eir moves forward to lead with Gwen and looks down at her.

"You're Logan's friend, aren't you?"

Gwen sighs. "Yes." After a moment, she adds, "He hasn't said anything against you."

Eir lowers her voice. "Perhaps I was unwise to come here."

Gwen is essentially thinking "no shit" but she gives the canon response, "Only time well tell."

Sure enough, at the top of the stairs, they find the broken remains of a sword, complete with ghostly trails. It doesn't look completely irreparable, at least if it were an ordinary sword; Gwen has a good eye for that kind of weaponry (i.e. she took weaponsmithing). Before they can go far, though, a ghostly lieutenant appears to defend Adelbern and the sword.

Gwen nearly takes a step back as the lieutenant orders them to leave and stop disturbing Adelbern. He follows it up with "You leave me no choice. Attack! Protect the king!"

This is a harder fight than most, but Eir's help makes it easier, and the Priory Asura is able to heal himself from a nasty-looking injury.

"Better get that looked at when we're done," says Gwen.

Eir is focused on the sword, and turns excitedly to Rytlock. "The broken sword! It's the twin to your own!"

Rytlock points at a tall ghost coalescing across the chamber. "Worry more about the sword's master. Look there!"

"I sense Sohothin's presence," the new ghost says, solidifying into the figure of an older man—already old, presumably, when he died. His crown proclaims his identity. "Rurik, my son! You've returned!"

Rytlock steps forwards. "Your son is dead," he says flatly. "So is your kingdom. Leave us!"

The Asura pipes up, "There is some debate about the continuity of—"

Even Gwen, who is annoyed that the Charr conveniently overlook Ebonhawke in their pretenses to total victory after spending over 200 years trying to destroy it, is like ... shhh.

The joy in the ghost's face vanishes, and his features twist in rage.

"Foul creature! Your entire race will pay! Even now, my champions prepare to invade the surface. You will fall before the might of Master Ranger Nente, deadly Kasha Blackblood, and the lovers, Ralena and Vassar. We'll destroy you as you destroyed us!"

"We're not destroyed," Gwen says quietly, but Adelbern is too focused on Rytlock to listen, if he's even capable of it.

"You frighten no one with your meaningless threats," Rytlock growls to the king. "We've killed you before; we'll do it again!"

Gwen, despite having no love for kings, glowers at him. Adelbern just bursts into a mad cackle before disappearing.

"Now you've angered them," Eir says.

"They were already angry," says Rytlock, with a brief glance at Gwen. "Now we must find his champions and silence them."

He does explain (for a Rytlock value of "explain") that killing "the Sorcerer King's" champions will bring Adelbern out into the open for good.

"Who was Kasha Blackblood?" asks one of the stranger Charr. "Sounds creepy."

"This whole place is creepy," says the Asura.

Even Gwen can't disagree there.

"Necromancy is disgusting. Kasha Blackblood was one of Adelbern's grotesque practitioners of the art," announces Rytlock.

Gwen rolls her eyes. To her surprise, though, it's Tybalt who breaks in this time.

"Can't say I know much about Kasha," he says, undoubtedly lying, "but that's a bit—um—well, I've got a friend who dabbles in necromancy, more than dabbles, really. A good friend, actually, a sylvari—"

"Sylvari are different," says the other unknown Charr.

Gwen is just wondering if Tybalt's "friend" is another Order member, and is surprised he'd mention them, if so. But he's engaging enough to have friends outside it as well, she supposes.

"You have to stay focused on her, not her minions," Rytlock carries on, "or she'll siphon your life away."

Gwen would be all for it if it didn't mean her life. And Tybalt's. Maybe the Asura's.

He goes on to explain that "the lovers" are Vassar and Ralena Stormbringer, a mesmer and an elementalist who were strong together, and thus should be divided for victory. Gwen actually has heard some stories of them, mostly because she was always interested in tales of great mesmers of the past, but she hasn't heard much. Rytlock concludes with a dismissive description of Master Ranger Nente.

"Nente was a ranger, a specialist in cowardice. He hid behind his pets and slaughtered my ancestors with arrows."

"It's so hard when people defend themselves from your massacres," says Gwen.

"Gwen," mutters Tybalt. She's not sure if he means to pull back or if it's just for show.

Rytlock also explains a little about Magdaer and how it was forged in Orr and Adelbern broke it to create the Foefire. One of the Charr asks what that has to do with the sword Rytlock carries.

"Sohothin is twin to Adelbern's sword," says Rytlock. "His son Rurik wielded it once. It's mine now."

"How did you end up with Sohothin?" asks the Asura.

"That's none of your concern," Rytlock says shortly.

They all examine the remnants of Magdaer before deciding to take the westwards route. They have to fight numerous ghosts on the way there, then arrive to find Master Range Nente on a pillar in a good-sized room. He immediately addresses Rytlock.

"Your desire to destroy still unsatisfied, beast?" he shouts. "Burning Ascalon not enough for you?"

Rytlock doesn't really give an answer to that, but says, "As long as you stalk us, we'll fight you tooth and claw."

You're the ones who've stalked us, thinks Gwen.

"By Melandru's will, I will rend you from this world, Charr!" says Nente.

If only.

But Gwen glances at Tybalt to make sure he's well placed. He is, and though the battle is much harder than any previous ones, they're able to defeat Nente.

"With valor, we have won the day!" cries Eir.

"Not yet," Rytlock tells her. "We need to find the other champions."

Without waiting for Gwen to take the lead again, he heads back to the central chamber, which has passages north and east as well. Gwen follows, with a backwards glance at the ghostly remains of Nente.

Under her breath, she mouths, Go in peace.

They end up taking the east route out of the central chamber, then heading north into what looks like a cathedral. The atmosphere, as usual, is eerie, with candles flickering and green light encasing the upper level of the chamber.

A ghostly woman materializes, as expected.

"Why are you here?" she asks, sounding considerably more sane than the other ghosts. "This is the land of ghosts."

"Stand down, specter. We seek only to protect the living," replies Eir, civilly enough.

Rytlock turns on Eir. "Don't chat with her, Eir! Dispatch her!"

Kasha immediately attacks, calling on ghosts to defend her, casting wells, and summoning minions that regularly throw people back. At one point, Gwen is launched forcefully by one she's fighting with her swords, all the way back into a glowing green circle so cold that she nearly drops her main sword. She has to scramble up and launch herself away.

Once Kasha is defeated, she snarls, "I curse you to the Mists!" as she vanishes.

Even Rytlock seems thoughtful as he looks at the spot where she had been.

"She fought well," he says at last. "Her trials over this world are over."

Gwen looks at him in very genuine surprise. She says nothing, but mentally files away the remark for consideration.

They briefly confer about strategy for taking down two champions at once, since Ralena and Vassar are the last, and Rytlock says they're more powerful together. Gwen, to his surprise, volunteers to distract Vassar; she's the most suited to countering another mesmer. Tybalt immediately says he'll help her, joined by the Priory Asura. The others will keep Ralena as far from Vassar as possible and take her out.

It goes basically according to plan, though even with Gwen's magic pouring through her swords and pushing him back, Vassar is a challenge, using her own tricks against her and some she doesn't even know. But between Tybalt, the Asura, her own power, and perhaps the blessing of Lyssa on her, Gwen manages to keep herself standing and Vassar at bay while Rytlock and the other Charr fight off Ralena.

They're still fighting her when Vassar goes down. Gwen, the only melee fighter of her group, spares a moment to make sure they've got the situation under her control, then gives a slight bow to what remains of Vassar. As she does, a slight glitter catches her eye—a pair of rings, by their size, clearly meant for human hands. She's still got enough of bandit Gwen in her to use clones to conceal her hand scooping the rings up and slipping them into her pocket. They're hot to the touch, but she doesn't care; she's seen the Charr systematically destroying Ascalonian artifacts on the way through, and they're not going to get everything.

She murmurs a benediction for Vassar's spirit, then joins the last of the fight against Ralena, who quickly falls to all of them.

With a trace of smugness, Rytlock says, "With all this death, Adelbern's blood must be boiling by now. Perfect chance to deal with him."

"Does he have blood?" says the Asura.

They brace themselves as they return to the core chamber, where Magdaer is still sparking. Adelbern is there, madder than ever.

"What have you done?" he howls.

"Your champions are gone, ghost!" snaps Rytlock. "Just like your son and your kingdom!"

Lyssa's tears, thinks Gwen. She supposes that's what she gets for thinking slightly better of him for a moment; she hadn't really expected him to taunt a ghost his people had driven to madness about the death of his son. Least of all when he'd looted that son's sword.

"We still hold Ebonhawke," she says stubbornly. King or no king, he deserves to know that.

Adelbern, again, seems not even to hear or notice her.

"I will have my vengeance!" he screams. "Join me in death!"

They don't, of course, though he is the most difficult opponent of them all. After he vanishes, the catacombs fall completely silent, and for a moment, they just look at each other. It's hard to feel jubilant—maybe even for Rytlock.

Eir gestures at the broken sword.

"Magdaer is shattered," she says, "but I know a blacksmith who can mend these pieces."

Rytlock whirls around to face her, and now he seems more angered than he'd ever been by Gwen.

"Did you really think that if you got me a sword you'd earn forgiveness?" he demands.

Forgiveness? Gwen thinks. For what?

"For you?" says Eir, sounding puzzled. "The sword would be for Logan."

Gwen starts.

"What?" says Rytlock. "Why would you risk our lives, my life, for that coward?"

"He isn't a coward!" says Gwen hotly.

"I thought it would heal old wounds," says Eir, though her resigned tone makes it clear that she's realized the truth. "It would remind you—"

Even Gwen is a bit puzzled by this line of thinking. She could see the idea of the sword winning Logan over, though Gwen doubts even so fine a gift would succeed, but as for Rytlock—

"Remind me of what, betrayal?" he snarls. "Pah! You've become a sentimental old woman. We're finished here!"

With that, he stalks away, a little belatedly followed by everyone but Gwen and Tybalt.

"I understand why Logan would hate Rytlock," Gwen says at last. "But why does Rytlock hate Logan?"

Eir turns to look down at her, and sighs.

"Mistakes from a lifetime ago, best forgotten. Rytlock's right. I've gotten too sentimental. Too weak."

Gwen's eyes widen.

"A long time ago, I led us into a disaster," Eir goes on. "He blames me. They all do. The thing is, they might be right."

"I'm sure you did what you thought was right," says Tybalt.

Eir just shakes her head. "Come, we should leave. Ultimately, this mission was a failure."

"It's not a failure," says Gwen, with a glance over at where Adelbern had materialized. "We gave these people some peace and made Ashford safer."

Tybalt gives a decided nod. "She's right."

"Yes, but I was stupid to think a sword could slice through the wall between Logan and Rytlock," says Eir.

After a pause, Gwen says, "Should we follow Rytlock and see where he's going?"

"No," says Eir. "He still hates Logan—and now he hates me. I should have left well enough alone."

------

And that's the Ascalonian Catacombs dungeon headcanon! Quite a bit of it comes from the canon dialogue etc, of course, but I wanted to go over it for story purposes anyway.

[anghraine]

pro patria, 71-77

“These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.” Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely.

title: pro patria (71-77/?) stuff that happens: One minute, Althea's realizing that her life as an aristocrat does not represent a universal Ascalonian experience; the next, she's manufacturing pirate slang.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Ailoda Langmar, Agent Ihan; Captain Barnicus, First Mate Gaets, others; Althea & Ailoda, Althea & Ihan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49, 50-56, 57-63, 64-70

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SEVENTY-ONE 1 According to our stories and records, all the Fairchilds alive today were descendants of Lady Irene Fairchild. Irene, a cousin of Duke Barradin and member of the first Vanguard, claimed that she’d left Ascalon on a mission before the Searing, and returned afterwards upon being summoned by Prince Rurik himself. She’d defied King Adelbern to help Rurik lead desperate survivors of the Searing to Kryta, and taken over the expedition upon Rurik’s death. She and some companions joined Kryta’s White Mantle government, only to turn on it when they discovered its corruption, at which point they became allies of the Shining Blade instead, and aided Queen Salma's ascension to the throne. Irene even left notes of something to do with a lich and Rurik, though she was vague on the details. The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, first under Captain Langmar and then Gwen Thackeray, and helped establish Ebonhawke. It sounded like the stories were true—all of them. 2 It made for a pleasant diversion, but after that, I seemed to encounter something disturbing about my people everywhere I went. One man near the gates complained about his offspring creating a guild to attack Ascalonian children. The woman he was speaking to shrugged and replied, “Someone’s got to teach them a lesson.” And people wondered why we stuck to Rurikton and Salma. In the upper city, I overheard a man asking another man and a woman why we didn’t have more Ascalonian ministers, something I’d certainly wondered about enough times. The other man said grimly, “The usual. No land, no vote.” 3 That was what my mother thought; she only knew three or four other ones. Of course, nothing prevented people from voting for someone who just happened to be Ascalonian—but they almost never did. In the meanwhile, I heard various gossip about Queen Jennah, ranging from whispers about Caudecus taking over—over my dead body—to anxious curiosity about when she would marry, to staunch declarations of support. Something must have happened; Logan, evidently, had gotten in a fight with some of Caudecus’s people, though I wasn’t exactly sure when or why it had happened. I could think of any number of reasons, really. Exhaustion crept up on me, perhaps from the exceptionally long morning I’d had, but more than that, too. I had never wished for another heritage, another life, but sometimes I wished I could just get away from everything that came with it. 4 I didn’t want to be poor, of course. But I’d like to pass through my city without hearing about the war or the Charr, or any of the things that Krytans thought were wrong with us. Not bothering to hide my scowl, I made my way back towards Seraph Headquarters and the palace, where the city was particularly beautiful and the people particularly inoffensive. I walked around under the dangling moons and stars of the mossy courtyard until my mood and my headache improved—and even then, I couldn’t help but think of how few Ascalonians could simply show up for a stroll in the royal courtyard when the world became overwhelming. And here I was, the Lady Althea, daughter of a Langmar minister and a Fairchild heir, hero of Shaemoor, Advocate of the Crown, doing absolutely nothing for my people. Helping others in general, sure—but not Ascalonians, who needed it more than anyone else. Someday I would. 5 I promised myself that. Zhaitan or no Zhaitan, I would go to Ebonhawke, where my people had lived and fought for so long, where my own family had, where I’d come into the world. I would offer my services to the Vanguard, in whichever way they saw fit, whether sword and sceptre or political strings pulled or whatever else. I would earn a right to the Ascalonian banners that hung throughout every manor I’d lived in. I’d earn the right to say I am an Ascalonian. I would go home, at last. To Ascalon. 6 I returned to the Salma manor to rest, glad to see the familiar lines and curves of the place I’d known for so many years—a place where I knew myself to be safe from all the rest of the world. Another advantage that most Ascalonians wouldn’t share with me. I’d never thought of that before. This time, I did manage to sleep, my intended nap turning into the hours until dinner. Despite all the irregularities of my schedule, I scrambled to appear on time. My mother, entering the dining room from the opposite side, looked startled. “Althea?” 7 “You’re here!” she said happily. “I can’t stay long,” I replied, seating myself at her right hand, “but I did want to see you.” She smiled. “I would have come home earlier, had I known you were here—what have you been up to?” I weighed what I could tell her, and what I wanted to tell her. “Oh, I had a meeting with Logan and some other people,” I said, “and ran a few errands, and then”—I swallowed—“then I took a long walk about the city.” She gazed steadily at me, and said, “Was any word of that true?”

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1) she was vague on the details: the GW1 PC doesn’t cover themself with glory in their dealings with the lich; they’re constantly fooled through the first half of the game.

2) The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard: in the GW1 expansion Guild Wars: Eye of the North, the PC has the option to become an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, gaining ascending '[x] Agent' titles. The game isn't clear about what happens after that, but I imagine them (or at least Irene) sticking with the Vanguard.

3) a guild to attack Ascalonian children: an actual ambient conversation.  

---------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-TWO 1 “Every word was true,” I assured her. “Vague, I grant you—but true, and no vaguer than they have to be.” She nodded, accepting this, or appearing to. “Can you tell me where you’re headed now?” Only then did I feel the weight of my next destination, a place I’d so often read of, heard of, seen on maps. I took a deep breath. “Lion’s Arch.” 2 “Lion’s Arch!” my mother exclaimed. “What in the names of the Six are—oh, you probably can’t tell me.” “I’m afraid not,” I replied. I didn’t quite regret it; I could only imagine how worried she’d be if she knew I was fighting dragon minions and chasing a deranged Seraph in the company of a spy. “Be careful,” said Mother, already looking worried. “The city’s not what it used to be. It’s full of unsavoury types who think they’re too good for the queen, and it’s crawling with Charr.” 3 Charr! I hadn’t thought of that. I should have. I’d heard that Lion’s Arch paid no respects to the lines between human and Charr, sylvari and Asura, any of them and Norn—paid no respects to anything at all, except money. To me, nothing but perhaps the architecture sounded appealing. Nevertheless, to Lion’s Arch I was to go, if only on my way to somewhere else. And I couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the place. 4 “I’ll take care,” I promised. “You don’t need to worry—I can look after myself, I promise.” “Sometimes,” said my mother, “that’s what I’m afraid of.” I laughed. “Well, I won’t pick fights with anyone, either. Even the Charr.” But I’d given my word, so I added, “Not in Lion’s Arch.” 5 Mother sighed, but said, “I don’t suppose I can ask for more than that. You’ve grown up so much, Althea.” I picked up my fork, poking at our cook’s best attempts to make something of rationed food. Sometimes I didn’t feel very grown-up. More often, I wished I didn’t. But Tervelan’s plot had yanked me out of childhood forever, and Shaemoor and its consequences had done the rest of the work. “One minute I’m little Althea Fairchild,” I said lightly, “and the next I’m Advocate of the Crown.” 6 “You’re what?” I hadn’t meant it as a distraction, but I seized the opportunity when it presented itself. That was, I supposed, my way. “Queen Jennah appointed me this morning,” I told her. Only this morning? Holy Kormir, what a day. “It’s a sort of diplomatic thing.” 7 I half-expected her to press further, or at least express some disappointment or dismay at the secrecy, but instead, she lit up. “Oh, Althea.” She searched my face, then pressed my free hand, a trembling smile on her lips. “A government position? Darling, I’m so proud; I never dreamed that you’d follow me!” I couldn’t help but return her smile, even though I wouldn’t exactly call fighting undead following my mother’s path in the Ministry—but she’d started with battles against the Charr, hadn’t she? “It’s all very complicated,” I said. SEVENTY-THREE 1 Contrary to my own expectations, I slept as easily as a cat in the daytime. Unlike one, however, I woke at dawn—I had a substantial journey from Lion’s Arch to Lionbridge Expanse to complete this morning. According to a decidedly sketchy map in my collection, I’d go north out of Lion’s Arch into Gendarran Fields, head west out of Cornucopian Fields through Broadhollow Bluffs, and then run into the Expanse. The route would take me right past the Ascalon Settlement, the town that the first Ascalonian refugees in Kryta had established; with Ebonhawke and Rurikton, it was one of the main centers of Ascalonian culture. I’d always wanted to see it, but hadn’t dared the journey. Now, I couldn’t afford any detours—this time. But maybe I’d be able to go once this was all over. 2 I dressed quickly, gathered the supplies for the journey I’d packed last night, left a note for my mother, and headed out to the royal courtyard. I could go through Queensdale instead of Lion’s Arch, and felt strongly tempted to do so, but that would be pure self-indulgence; the Asura gate to Lion’s Arch gleamed right here in the courtyard. Once, I’d been composed of little but self-indulgence. Now, some things had to come first—and efficiency ranked high among them. Despite my best intentions, I hesitated at the gate. I wasn’t a healer, able to identify bone and organs at will, so I couldn’t say exactly what shivered in my chest as I stood before the gate. Did it matter? 3 Footsteps sounded behind me, and someone said, “Are you going through?” I turned, saw a man in merchant’s clothes, saw him step back. “My lady,” he added hastily. “Pardon,” I said, embarrassed at my own weakness. Determined to cast it aside, I summoned up all the resolve I possessed, and continued, “Yes, I’m going.” With that, I paid the Asura by the gate, and stepped through. 4 I only dimly remembered the last time I’d taken an Asura gate, when my family left Ebonhawke. One moment, I was crying as Aunt Elwin kissed me goodbye; the next, with a flash of purple light, I was staring around at Rurikton’s narrow walls and tall buildings. This gate seemed both like and unlike that memory, and like and unlike the waypoints I used so often. As my vision filled with purple, my body felt oddly compressed and heavy, while my heart raced and my stomach clenched down on nothing. But then everything cleared and my feet landed on solid ground, without any lurching disorientation. I took a few steady steps down a wooden ramp, and looked around with interest. So this was Lion’s Arch. 5 I stood on a sort of mossy circle, which centered on small levels rather like a fountain leading up to a flowery crystal. On one side of the circle, a stone ramp ran up to the main city, which from here looked like a very dramatic collection of shipwrecks; on the other side, a wooden bridge headed off into some trees. All around me, Asura gates cast light from their rocky pedestals just beyond the edges of the circle, each accessible by another ramp, and guarded by soldiers of various species. Including Charr. I steadied my nerves; they weren’t even looking at me, but talking in their low growls to a sylvari gesturing at the gate. Something, something Black Citadel. Sweet Lyssa, who would want to go there? 6 I’d heard little of it, of course, and had no interest in finding out more. But I knew that it was the Charr capital, deliberately built on the bones of slaughtered Ascalonians. This must be a gate to Ascalon. I eyed the Charr guards, unable to repress a curl of my lip. I’d never go this way. But they didn’t matter, I told myself; what they stood for mattered, but these were just two monsters among thousands, perhaps millions. I turned away. 7 My gate was likewise guarded, by two professional-looking Seraph who appeared remarkably sanguine about the Charr so near to them. I greeted them by rank, which seemed to gratify one of them, and then said, “I need to go to Gendarran Fields.” “We’re not tour guides,” said one of the Seraph, but the other hushed him. “You go all the way north, past Trader’s Forum,” she told me, and when I thanked them and headed off, she hissed at her companion, “Don’t you know who she is?” “Why should I care?” he said. “She’s Captain Thackeray’s right hand!” He scoffed, saying, “No, that’s Lieutenant … wait, you mean that was the hero of Shaemoor?” SEVENTY-FOUR 1 I nearly got lost about a half-dozen times on my way to the Trader’s Forum, as I navigated assorted buildings pieced together out of assorted ships—many of them looked very much the same, even with strings of glowing lights and the occasional waypoint lighting the way. And the crowds were like nothing I’d ever seen before, even in Divinity’s Reach on its busiest days. Everyone was shouting and shoving and jostling on the ways to the bank and the Black Lion market, which lay right in my path. Once, a Charr actually touched me as she pushed on by. My stomach turned and I jerked away. Eventually, however, I found myself in the much more sparsely populated stretch of crafting stations along the northern edge of the city, very little different from those in the Commons back home. I repressed the urge to stop and look at jewelry and clothes, and more relieved than not, strode through the portal. 2 I emerged into a landscape of green fields and hills, and took off running to the west. At first it looked nearly idyllic—an impression that lasted the three minutes that passed before I encountered giant spiders spitting poison. I killed them without very much difficulty, though I felt decidedly queasy, and raced onwards until I nearly collided into a green and purple sylvari. “Hello!” she said. “I am called Brigid. And you?” “Althea,” I said, certain that neither lady nor Fairchild would carry any meaning for her. 3 “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she continued happily. “So green and fertile.” I nodded, and she chattered on, talking about the apparently hard-working farmers of Applenook, along with the dangers of pirates. While I certainly disapproved of piracy as both a fellow citizen and a loyal subject to the queen, it came as quasi-welcome news in this case. Evidently, I’d arrived at the right place. “Thank you,” I said, and we parted ways, Brigid peering around herself as I took off for the west. Onwards. 4 Despite the occasional fight along the way, I made good time, and ran through grass and clumps of cheerful yellow flowers to arrive at Lionbridge Expanse early. Ihan was, of course, already at the bridge. Well, under it. At first, when I didn’t see him, I shrugged and clambered down the slope to the stream flowing beneath the bridge. A large skale attacked me, so I thought I’d pass the time in fighting it. “Advocate, over here,” whispered Ihan. I flung aether towards the skale and whirled about. 5 My long skirt whirled with me, and settled neatly back down again, rather to my relief; Faren would have approved, though I couldn’t imagine Ihan cared one way or the other. I could only make out a vague figure in any case. Then Ihan stepped forward, himself once more, and murmured, “Keep your voice low.” I hadn’t said anything, but I nodded. “The pirates are still spooked from Kellach’s attack,” he said. “They won’t be quick to trust newcomers.” I didn’t mean to be impatient, but— 6 “We need them to tell us what they know,” I said firmly. “How do we get them to talk?” Ihan gave one of his thin smiles. “Don’t worry, Advocate. The Order’s been thinking ahead—it’s what we do. The Order of Whispers is the oldest organization in Tyria; we’ve managed to survive this long because we always have a plan.” I’d hoped to hear that.

7

“I’m listening,” I told him. “What do you suggest we do?” “I’ve hidden special torches on the outskirts of the pirate camp—they’re enchanted with pure life force by a priest of Melandru,” he said. “The power of these torches will draw in the undead, but nobody else will notice the difference.” “Draw in the undead?” I hissed. “That’s dangerous!” That was what he’d been doing while I slept?

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1) jewelry and clothes: you can develop crafting abilities in the game, including as a jeweler and a tailor, though Althea would probably just buy things.

----------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-FIVE 1 “People could get hurt,” I added. “These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.” Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely. I nodded, not quite trusting myself with words. 2 “Disguise yourself,” said Ihan, “and attempt to join the crew. When the undead attack, prove yourself defending the camp. They’ll trust you after that.” Well, now it made sense. It was much easier to do something like this with a clear objective in mind, and clearer plan for achieving it. “I’ll maintain the torches,” Ihan continued, “and watch for undead. I’ll be nearby in case the situation escalates out of control.” 3 That sounded promising. Ihan set a pack down on the bank of the stream, opened it up, and started rummaging inside. He emerged with some things that someone more generous than me might have called clothes. There were leather trousers, which I could have expected. There was a feathered hat—all right. There were assorted belts and straps and scarves, and unexpectedly, a half-corset, something I’d never imagined pirates wearing. There was not a shirt. 4 “Here, put on this disguise,” he told me, his mouth quirking as he glanced from the fashionably slashed caps of my sleeves to my long skirt. “No one’s going to believe you’re a pirate in your current get-up.” “Uh,” I said. “What am I supposed to wear here?” I gestured vaguely at my chest. Ihan, thankfully, didn’t look. “This.” 5 He tossed the half-corset at me. “Fine,” I said, “but what am I wearing over it?” “Nothing,” said Ihan, a trace of impatience touching his even voice as he handed over the rest of the quasi-clothes. “You’re a pirate, Advocate. If you’re going to continue in the Order of Whispers, you have to learn to set Lady Althea aside, and become whatever is needed.” I had never said anything about continuing in the Order of Whispers! I preferred them to the others—maybe—but— 6 “Now you’re Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea,” he added. “Right,” I said faintly. “Now, hurry up.” “Well, turn around,” I said, though with that corset, it hardly made any difference; he’d see everything anyway. Everyone would. I shuddered, but remembered the undead, and once he turned his head aside, swiftly disentangled myself from my coat and skirt and did my best to figure out the pirate gear. With deep reluctance, I said, “Done.” 7 Ihan turned back to me and glanced at the outfit; to my relief, it was only a glance before his eyes returned to my face. “Good. Are you ready?” “Is there anything else I need to know about being a pirate?” This horrible outfit couldn’t be enough. “Work on your swagger, your swearing, and your slang,” he said, and smiled again, more warmly. “You’ll be fine.”

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1) At this point in the story, Althea’s standard outfit is this; the pirate costume is this.

--------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-SIX 1 Swagger I could handle. As for swearing and slang, I didn’t know what about me gave the impression that I might be conversant in either. I didn’t even know people who were; Logan didn’t bother, Faren found them inelegant, Deborah … well, all right, she swore like a sailor when she got angry. I strained to remember some of her more vivid insults. “All right,” I told him. “Thanks, Ihan. Here I go.” 2 Despite all my apprehensions and discomfort, the plan went off like a dream. I made my way to the camp, ignored the low, drunken singing of a small group of pirates, and was promptly directed to the captain by a surly underling. The first mate stopped me on the way there. “Get out of here before I use your parts for chum, you swine-hugging lowlife,” she snarled. I eyed her coolly. “Big talk from someone who smells like an unwashed dolyak.” “That's the best you got?” 3 She gave a hoarse laugh, adding, “Your wits are 'bout as quick as a pregnant cow.” My wits were just fine, and I didn’t care one way or another what some pirate thought of them. My first inclination was to shrug and continue on my way, but I remembered Ihan’s advice, and tried to imagine what Deborah would say. “Hey, don't go bringing your mother into this,” I said, and smiled cheerfully, making sure it showed my teeth. “Someone might get hurt. You, in fact.” 4 She didn’t look intimidated, but her eyes narrowed, which I counted as a success of sorts. “What’s that?” she growled. “I'd murder you right now if I didn't mind getting the blood of a Charr-loving rat-catcher on my blade.” A Charr-loving— Me? Me? My vision tightened, narrowing in on where she stood before me, a sneer on her face, and—I didn’t normally condone them, but I had half a mind to to challenge her to a duel on the spot. 5 In other circumstances. Not now, when I needed information, when undead were loose in Kryta. I forced my fury to a reasonable simmer, steadied my hands and breaths. “Oh, please,” I told her. “You even think about murdering me, you better stop yourself and apologize, skritt-licker.” To my astonishment, she chuckled. “Good one!” 6 “I like you,” she added, grinning down at me. “You can live for now.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I don't need any favors from you, flotsam-face.” I tipped my hat; it seemed a pirate-ish thing to do. “See you around.” I very much hoped I wouldn’t. For her sake. 7 She marched ahead of me as I walked towards the captain, my heart thudding, and Ihan’s torches shining clear and bright around the camp. “Splendid view, isn’t it?” the captain told her. “Only thing missing is our bloody ship! We never should have let that Seraph dog board the Ravenous again.” My nerves all seemed to spring to life at the same time, but I tried not to look too obviously interested. She saluted and said, “Ravenous died a noble death, Cap’n: on fire and full of holes.” Apparently that was their idea of nobility. SEVENTY-SEVEN 1 The first mate sniffed. “She went down fighting, like the grand dame she was.” “Aye, that she did, that she did,” Captain Barnicus said gravely. He glanced my way, and his eyes narrowed. “Here, who’s this new lubber come to stare at us?” I saluted him, aiming for a mix of deference and assurance—like a rough-around-the-edges Logan, maybe, though I could just imagine his face at the comparison. Especially considering the corset. 2 “Reporting for duty, captain,” I said, dropping my voice. “They call me Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea. I hear you’re looking for a new crew?” The captain’s scowl deepened. “You heard wrong. We’re looking for brothers and sisters of fortune. Sailors that’ll stand by us when the blood starts flowin’.” 3 “Now sling your hook before I—” A sylvari pirate (not two words I would have ever expected to use together) swivelled about towards us. He shouted, “Captain! The undead are back! We’re under attack!” The menace on Barnicus’s face turned into surprised fury, his hand already brandishing his sword. “Damn them!” 4 He pointed at me with his other hand. “You there, Yardarm! If you want to earn a berth on my ship, draw your weapon and risk your neck with the rest of us!” Ihan’s plan, such as it was, had gone off perfectly. I seized my own sword and leapt into the battle, dodging the rotting limbs, decaying weapons, and inexorable tread of the Risen. The aether lashing through my sceptre and my illusions destroyed undead as well as anything else. Not easily, though: they just kept coming and coming, and I spent as much time protecting and bracing up pirates as I did fighting—victory wouldn’t go very far if Barnicus lost his crew with it. 5 After three waves of attacks, this group of undead lay, well, dead. We burned the corpses and scattered the bones; you couldn’t really be too careful. Then, astonishingly, the pirates returned to drinking, singing, working, and/or mourning the ship, as if nothing had happened. I’d worried about them figuring out the cause of the attack, but they didn’t even try to guess. Barnicus gave me a slightly painful clap on the arm. “You did well, Yardarm, but if you’re lookin’ to join my crew, fightin’ ain’t enough. You need sharp wit, too.” 6 “My wit?” I said, not prepared for this, but not willing to abandon the plan. “What does that have to do with anything?” He shook his head, hand still on my bare arm. I refused to flinch, though every particle of my body urged me to cringe away. “Listen ’ere, matey. My crew has to settle scores with words, or we’d kill each other off! Speak with Gaets, she’ll set you to rights.” 7 It sounded positively deranged to me, but I agreed; I hardly had another choice—and it gave me some distance, at any rate. When Gaets turned out to be the first mate I’d exchanged words with before, however, I nearly balked. If she called me a Charr-lover again, I’d … well, in all honesty, I’d probably just endure it again, but I wouldn’t forget. Luckily, Gaets seemed to pride herself on a certain level of originality; each insult she threw at me was unique—lily-livered bilge-rat, lice-infested hammock hanger, and the like. Even more luckily, I had enough inventiveness (and enough memories) to return each insult in kind. She took a deep, satisfied breath. “That was amazing.”

[ascalonianlightbringer]

I barely missed my bus today and had to wait fifteen minutes for the next, so I decided to check out the GW2 subreddit, which sometimes has interesting conversations.

And there was a conversation about Adelbern that wasn't completely unfair and which leaned on GW1! I was so thrilled to see a GW1 lore conversation that (mostly) wasn't Charr apologia that I nearly forgot about standing in the wind and before I knew it, the next bus was there. :D