#and I took Canach and Caithe with me into the final fight because I wanted the Sylvari to tell the plant dragon to fuck off directly

[atonalginger]

I did it. I’m many years late but I finally completed Heart of Thorns. Good Lord do I loathe the maps in the Heart of Maguuma. In theory they are so much fun. In practice I am always lost and frustrated to damn near the point of tears while mordrem, angry frogpeople, wildlife, and/or chak just maul me. 

Not to mention when the NPCs are with you they will fight but not help you if you go downstate so you end up dying because splash damage keeps interrupting you and then Jory, Kas, or Brahm stands over your dead body until you revive at a checkpoint. Usually Brahm. *sigh* I’m always frustrated with the boy...you’re a guardian who never heals and pops your shield bubbles in terrible locations and help none of us. I know you’re going through a lot right now but like Taimi’s over here getting mauled by a chak while Canach and I are working overtime and you’re off in a corner seemingly shielding a pile of rubble!

Fights were tedious and zones were packed with enemies in a “oh no oh no oh no oh no” sort of way. But I did like the story. I thought it was engaging and interesting...when I wasn’t overwhelmed with traversal. And its sad. So sad.

It was fun...don’t think I’ll play through it again unless my husband or a friend end up getting back into the game and wants to go through it. I will help them out. But I will not solo that freaking xpac again.

[mordremrose]

I’m just gonna write a little thing! A little thought for Bloom, nothing too intense, just so I don’t forget it!

1000 words later? Whoops

Writing below the cut, major spoilers for the end of Heart of Thorns and implied End of Dragons spoilers but nothing explicit from EoD :]

Bloom

“Kill me, Commander.” Trahearne could hear his own voice tremble, as horror overtook his dear friend’s face. Around them all, their friends— Rytlock, Caithe, Canach, Marjory, Braham— were exhausted. Worn thin by the fight against the jungle dragon, both physical and within the Dream.

“What? No! Mordremoth is dead. We destroyed its mind from the inside.” The commander protested, their fingers curled around the hilt of Caladbolg.

“But I still hear its voice.” Trahearne looked down at his hands, twisted and blighted as they were. His body was not his— he was corrupted. It was only cruel fate that he had kept his mind this long. Or perhaps something more sinister.

“Mordremoth is alive. One last hateful vestige… a terrible seed, planted deep in my mind.”

Trahearne’s hands curled into fist, as he took a deep steadying breath.

“You must kill me, Commander, before that seed grows. Before… before Mordremoth reclaims what it has lost.”

He reached out now, hands on his friend’s shoulders. The tears streaming down their face broke his heart. He did not want this. He didn’t want to hurt them, to see them suffer so.

Trahearne wished there was another way.

“What is left of me can’t survive on its own, my friend.” He croaked, and felt the Commander tremble beneath his hands. Were they always so small?

“Strike now or—“

Against his will, a rage rose up. A sick bile that boiled in his stomach and burned through his chest as his mind lurched.

Through his mouth, Mordremoth spoke.

“I am the future! I am this world! You cannot destroy me!” The dragon roared, hands tightening around the commander.

“Run while you can!” It took everything he had left to force his fingers to uncurl, to release the commander even as the dragon wanted to tear them to shreds to be remade anew.

Caladbolg flashed in the corner of his eye.

“No!” The commander yelled. Strike true my friend! Trahearne wanted to yell. But he couldn’t, and his mind went dark.

There was no great explosion. There was no dying scream.

If you asked those present what happened, none of them gave any concrete answer.

Canach hesitated to answer, but would confirm that Mordremoth was no longer hounding his mind, or any of the sylvari.

All Rytlock would say was that the confrontation wasn’t pretty.

Caithe mourned Trahearne, in her quiet and melancholic manner, and asked not to push the matter further.

Braham would scowl, shake his head, and shove his way past, unwilling or perhaps unable to describe that final blow.

Marjory Delaqua, normally so elegant and clever with her words, who could see the twists of a plot before anyone else— when she was asked, she could only shake her head and reply ‘I don’t know’.

The Commander didn’t answer at all, because no one was able to find them to ask.

Eventually, researchers at the newly established lab of Rata Novus confirmed what the entire world held its breath to hear.

Mordremoth was dead. He had to be, to explain the slow steady trickle of magic escaping the jungle, supposedly as the dragon… decayed wasn’t the right word, but it conveyed the idea well enough. It was a slow death, they said, not quite the explosive reaction from Zhaitan, who had gorged itself on magic before its death, but a gradual decay. It changed things, about magic, about how the people of Tyria and the soon to be established Dragon’s Watch understood the flow of magic around and through the Elder Dragons. But it was dead.

It had to be.

He woke up. His body ached, as it always did, as he woke. A consequence of being too bigsmall. He stirred slowly, limbs stretching out and tail dragging behind. He had buried himself beneath massive vines this time, the weight of them both familiar and restricting. These conflicting sensations, the constant disagreement with himself… it was the only thing he could rely on. Even his name escaped his memory, although he could hear whispers of it on the edges of his mind.

Traherdremaneth.

It didn’t matter, really.

He moved slowly, not truly wanting to rise, but knowing he must.

He was something in between, and there was no stillness for him. No place of his own.

His one companion, if you could call it that, would be upon him soon. A dogged purserer, both a thorn in his side and a trusted ally, trailed behind him. For a time he thought they left him— and the feelings that had wrought left him stationary in a deep cave for nearly a week before they had reappeared.

He didn’t want them close, he knew that much, but they were one of the few things he had, a consistency. He couldn’t see them well, not with the distance between them, but he could always make out the broken blade at their hip. The one that made the scar across his chest ache.

He wondered what would happen if he let them get closer. Would they strike? Would they know him?

They were his enemyfriend. What would they make of him? Caution kept him at a distance from them.

The longer he was awake, the more memories he could half-remember.

The Orrian landscape stretches out before him and it reeks of his sibling, twisting beneath the dirt. The undead don’t notice him, not yet, and he can take a moment to look closer at the coral. It was neither alive nor dead. Not unlike himself and yet so different to him or anything he had ever encountered before.

He missed his siblings, their quiet talks among the then empty roots, among safe coils with their constant presence around him. They were too distant to feel or simply gone now and it unnerved him. This was wrong. Perhaps they could help him make it right.

There was one other thing, other than his sort-of companion and his unsteady roiling mind, that remained constant. And this was the true constant. A steady beacon, that he could not see or hear, but simply felt in a way that he could not describe. A magnetic sort of pull that had him orbiting closer and closer.

It drew him in, out of the depths and dark underbelly of the jungle and the cave systems, towards the strange golden stones, the elegant walls meant to keep out creatures that wished to destroy the beacon. He was not welcome there, not yet, even though he meant no harm. He just needed to be closer.

He didn’t know how he knew that. He just knew it.

[axe-trio-commanders]

The Whole Truth

Yeah, beginning of PoF was... rough, for Seremnis. That’s what happens when the commander disappears after fighting a deity in a volcano, though. Spoilers for PoF, lws3, and personal story, as well as mention of death, grieving, and a whole lot of not knowing how to communicate properly. Also Kasmeer!

---

It was... nice out, tonight. Seremnis supposed having less clouds in the desert was... natural. She’d heard, once, that somewhere out here they’d built an Astralarium- looked out at the stars from some form of impressive building. It... it’d been a little while since she’d looked at the stars- the real ones, since she’d begun simply replicating them in her dreams, but it was... she needed the comfort. And while it’d be... nice, maybe, to share the view with someone...

She’d only allow a small twitch of her ears in recognition of it, but she felt someone else approaching- familiar, not an enemy, but who exactly it was she wasn’t quite...

...Seremnis looked as they sat down beside her, hardly making a sound- recognizing with unhidden surprise that it was... Kasmeer, of all people. She’d doubted it would be Rytlock, but Canach... honestly, she’d been hoping to talk to him anyways.

“...Couldn’t sleep?” The mesmer asked, attention focused on Seremnis- who, on her part, looked back up to the stars.

“...No,” she answered, after some thought. It... didn’t seem smart to-

“Why not?”

...Well. There went that option. For a moment, she imagined it, floating off into the distance, on the wind... right into a forged camp... gone, burned to ashes... there it went. “...There’s a lot to think about.”

“...Care to be any more specific?”

Seremnis... tried not to wince at the irritation in her tone. It wasn’t like she could blame her- they’d just come out of Kormir’s temple, attacked by the follower of another of their gods- not to mention that Marjory wasn’t there. But... given what relatively little she knew about Kormir, she’d... expected Kasmeer to be the hardest to talk to out of all of them. She’d expect the truth. Likely all of it.

“...Not really.”

Seremnis didn’t have to look at Kasmeer to know the answer only made things worse, but... she wasn’t sure what to say. How exactly did she articulate the vast number of problems she was currently dealing with in an even vaguely succinct way?

“Seremnis.” ...Oh, pale mother help her... “I know Aurene trusts you. I know the commander... trusted you.” Seremnis dug her fingers into the sand, tensing. The commander wasn’t gone, she was just- ...missing. For now. They’d find her. “But I find it hard to trust you to lead us when you never tell us anything.”

And... there it was. Honestly, she expected it sooner, but... she supposed there hadn’t really been time until this... long roadtrip north. And as much as she’d stayed up at night thinking about it, she was... no closer to a solution.

“...You could... find someone else,” she eventually suggested.

“Now? In the middle of a desert, chasing after the Herald?” Kasmeer responded dryly.

“I’m not going to start listing off secrets because you asked me to,” Seremnis muttered back.

“And why not?”

“It’s not that simple.” Seremnis paused, noting the bite in her own tone and forcing it back down. “...I am... aware that this is... a lot. And I am also aware that we see the matter of truth differently.” Seremnis finally looked back at Kasmeer, trying to judge how she was... taking that. She didn’t look... happy, or... convinced, but it wasn’t... worse...? “...You... follow Kormir. A god of truth. You’ve worked as a detective for... a while now, discovering truth.”

“...And you’re in Whispers?” She said it like it was an excuse she’d heard too many times before- and Seremnis bristled, forcing her own mouth shut until she’d managed to calm herself down again. She still... wasn’t exactly comfortable with anyone knowing that, but... it probably was inevitable, at this point.

“...And I awoke into the cycle of Night,” she continued, doing her best not to grit her teeth. “We can see the value of truths, yes, but also the value of secrets. There are things certain people are better off not knowing.” ...Examples, maybe? Examples might help. “Our firstborn luminary, Malomedies, is an astrologer and mathematician- he finds truths, though it’s... difficult to get close enough to him to get him to share them in earnest. And... Caithe is a night bloom as well.”

“...Didn’t Caithe keeping secrets end up hurting?”

“Not all of them. If she’d told everyone what sylvari were much earlier, you would have-”

“No. Mordremoth I understand, to a point, but you said yourself that she never told you about Faolin.”

Seremnis... paused, unsure of how to respond for a moment. “...I learned anyways.”

“But don’t you think it hurt her, not to tell anyone?” Seremnis refused to look at her, but she could still feel Kasmeer edging closer. “The truth is a risk, but so are secrets, and you’re keeping so many that none of us have any idea who you are. You’re only going to hurt yourself if you keep that up.”

“Then I’m the only one hurt, and you don’t have anything to worry about,” Seremnis concluded smoothly- becoming aware, rather immediately after, that this was probably the worst way to respond.

“I have you to worry about! I have Dragon’s Watch to worry about! How in the six can you not see this is a problem?”

Seremnis shifted in place, uncomfortable. “It’s not- that I don’t see it, I...” She trailed off, desperately trying to find some way to justify this.

“Then why haven’t you fixed it?”

“...I don’t... know how,” came the final... pathetic answer. It was an excuse, and it was a terrible one, and she... honestly hated that it... really was the entire truth of it.

A long, and... heavy silence followed. Seremnis didn’t quite care to see what Kasmeer thought of it- nothing good, she was sure- but... she was sure Kasmeer would need more than that to believe it.

“Like... like I said, I was... born in the night cycle. It doesn’t... trusting someone with the whole truth doesn’t come naturally to me like it does you.”

And, then... more silence. Was- was that not what she’d wanted? Was it something else, was it not enough? She didn’t know any better way to explain it, she’d never known how to explain...

“...That must make finding close friends hard.” ...Seremnis looked at Kasmeer in disbelief, trying to verify what she’d just heard. Not even the words themselves, really, just the... lack of anger, the... even her expression was so soft all of a sudden.

“I... suppose,” she managed, hoping to whatever happened to be listening that Kasmeer wouldn’t notice the slight increase in bioluminescence.

“Could you see yourself trusting me like that?”

“I... I don’t know. It only seems to happen out of obligation.”

“And afterwards?”

“...Try not to lose them.”

She... hated this. She hated faltering like this, not knowing what else to say- shouldn’t they want her to at least act like she knew what she was doing? Inspire confidence? She wasn’t- she wasn’t Zori. She couldn’t lead a group, couldn’t bring people together by accident like she seemed to, she... oh, pale mother, she wished Zori hadn’t disappeared... she took a long breath, rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand, trying to think of ways to change topic.

“...Is that all you came here to ask?” Seremnis eventually asked, noting, and not really fighting, the tiredness that crept into her voice.

“No, but it’s a good start,” Kasmeer answered evenly.

“To... what, exactly...?”

“Understanding you. Difficult as it might be, you’ve told me a lot.”

Seremnis looked over to her again, warily. “...Like... what, exactly...?”

“That this is... difficult, for you. Trusting. Just keep in mind that, while I’m sure some secrets you’re keeping for good reason, you don’t have to keep all of them.”

She looked away again, looking out into the vast sands, spotting some fires beyond it. “...I’ve listened in on enough conversations to know they’ll all come out eventually.”

“...That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” A pause, and Seremnis heard her shuffle a little closer. “So I’ll ask again. Why are you still awake?”

“...Why are you?”

“Seremnis, please.”

She rolled her eyes, then focused on the middle horizon again. So she had to do this, then? ...Fine. It... it shouldn’t be this hard. Just pretend it was...

...Demmi.

...Her hand unconsciously rose again to her opposite arm, squeezed a little. Still, before anything good came, and... mother, there was so much more of it- still, emblazoned in her mind was the bloodstained carpet, Demmi’s face so much paler than it should be, and even when she closed her eyes the feeling of life force ever so slowly fading even when she was trying so desperately to keep her there, just a little longer, she still had so much to say...

...It took... a little less time, now, for it to... pass. The feeling of something trying to escape her throat, an emptiness in her chest... homesick for a home that she hadn’t awoken to. She wondered if she’d recognized the feeling of home when she had it. She... wondered if, had she the time, she would’ve mourned Tybalt like this. She hadn’t even seen him die...

“...I’m not meant for this.”

It wasn’t... everything she could have said- she couldn’t protect them, she wasn’t strong enough to lose them even with how little she still knew them, after everything- how was she supposed to lead when talking to Kasmeer had been so hard-? ...Would she... ever have anyone like Demmi to talk to again...? Someone who already... knew, accepted... everything... she only realized, upon a glimpse of Kasmeer’s concerned expression, that her own eyes felt wet. And, upon noticing, she’d force herself to take a deep breath- notice, with irritation, that it shook- and close her eyes, focusing again. What... had she said, again...? 

“I’ve never... lead before.” A pause. No, that wasn’t... entirely the truth, was it? Oh, mother, if she hadn’t met Albas, she would’ve never trusted a mesmer like Kasmeer with... 

Seremnis took in a breath, let out a breath. Kasmeer would see through that. “...Not... well. Not without casualties. I... I can’t be the commander.”

She caught Kasmeer smiling a little. “...You know, I don’t think she thought she could be either. I’d always guessed that’s why she asked us to call her by name.”

Seremnis paused, then smiled a little herself. “I’d thought it was because she wasn’t sure any of us actually knew it.”

Kasmeer laughed, and Seremnis... found herself smiling a little easier. She... deserved to laugh, after everything that’d happened. Maybe they all did. Maybe... maybe she was doing something right, here.

“At the time, she was probably right.” Kasmeer shook her head. “But- point is, you don’t... quite need to know how to do this.”

Seremnis stiffened- noticeably- at the feeling of another hand’s fingers touching her own, light and hesitant as the touch was.

“...You’ll have us with you. Everyone here’s got your back on this, alright...?” Kasmeer continued.

Seremnis... pulled her hand away, slowly, but nodded. “...Right.” She... supposed she already knew Canach did- as smooth as he played it, she knew he’d been waiting for them; one didn’t just casually go to Amnoon, legal gambling or not. And... being honest with herself, he... might know more about her than anyone else in this guild. She... she really should find time to talk with him later- but for now... 

She pushed herself up, brushing some sand off of herself- not like it’d get all of it, but it was an attempt- and, one last time, looked up at the stars.

“...Kasmeer...?” She began, faltering slightly. How did she say...

“...Mm?”

“...Thank you.”

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

The Heartrending Mind, Part I

TL;DR: Eveanin, the youngest and weakest of the Commander’s sylvari allies, only agrees to be the fourth member of the team going into Mordremoth’s mind because it is better for her to turn there... than out here where Trahearne is vulnerable.

~oOoOo~

“Mordremoth didn’t even try to cover its tracks,” Marjory Delaqua informs the group after a cursory glance around. “Either this is a trap, or the dragon’s getting desperate.”

Tiffany Commander, her mouth pressed in a thin line, volunteers a comment. “I’m going to vote for trap. Mordremoth is painless.”

Wait, what? Commander hadn’t mentioned that before. Commander had always felt intense pain around any kind of dragon corruption.

Eveanin glances around again - the jungle dragon surrounds them on all sides. She can feel it breathing… in sync with her own. Or maybe she is in sync with it. I’m the weak link here. If anyone turns, it’ll be me. The matching of the breathing - all by itself - makes her jittery and nervous. I’m the youngest, the weakest, the one with the worst secret. The easiest to manipulate. “Can we get going?” she asks. “I want to get away from here already.”

“Seconded,” Canach says dryly.

Mordremoth wants us gone, as well,” Marjory points out. “We’ve got company.”

“News to me,” Canach snarks back, even as he draws his blade.

Eveanin steels herself against the feeling that she is fighting allies. Other sylvari, corrupted - her sisters and brothers. Other Mordrem - her cousins from other Blighting Trees. Her kin. They’re Mordremoth’s minions. They are the enemy. They captured me. They took Trahearne.

Blue magic swirls around her fingertips, and a furious flame springs up in a ring around the small group of rescuers. She seizes the five nearest Mordrem with a magical hook and draws them into the fire, into the weapons of her allies. Commander falls back from melee range, nocking an arrow.

Thorns, she’s vulnerable back there! A protective blue dome flashes into existence around the Commander, knocking back a charging Mordrem. Eveanin is a frontline fighter. She can’t handle Mordremoth’s subtlety. She doesn’t have the time to question her every impulse, not in the heat of battle. But I have to. I’m a liability otherwise - a constant menace.

“We’re clear,” Rytlock announces, when the Mordrem are gone.

“Looks like there’s only one way forward,” Braham observes, gesturing toward the tunnel leading further south… and down.

“Let’s move, then,” Commander says with a resigned sigh. “Stick close - we don’t know what’s down here.”

Armies cannot stop me.

The dragon is focused on the battle outside,” Canach points out. “We’ll never get a better chance.”

Yeah, except since when do we hear its stray thoughts? Eveanin wonders, following Commander down the path. Mordremoth intended for us to hear that. It wants us to think we have an advantage.

More Blighting Pods. Eveanin glances away and hurries past them, trying to ignore the way the pulsing light inside the pods lines up perfectly with the rhythm of her own breathing. She’d already tried and failed to change it, but each breath requires intense concentration to time right. And it just makes her anxious.

Ahead of her, Commander inhales sharply. “There he is,” she whispers, hurrying forward. “Great gods, what has Mordremoth done to him?”

Eveanin glances up and sees him, too - physically bound to the dragon, Trahearne looks haggard and weak. Blue magic flares around her fingertips in anger. She wants to murder something. Mordremoth has no right to do this - any of this - to Trahearne. To anyone. The Marshal shouldn’t have sent her with the others to escape. She shouldn’t have let him.

She glances away. Canach might want to pound the dragon into the dust for its crimes, Commander might want to defy Mordremoth to the Underworld and back, Caithe might just want to ensure freedom, even at the price of death… but Eveanin just wants to run far, far away. Or just surrender, give up, let the inevitable happen and let myself die. I don’t have to care. Eveanin shivers. Stop it. Every second that passes, surrender becomes more and more inviting.

“Commander?” comes Trahearne’s tired voice. “The Pact… is it…”

You’re an admirable fool, Trahearne. Asking after the Pact, and you in this condition?

“All but gone, Marshal,” Commander says quietly. “But once we get you out of here, we can regroup and finish the dragon once and for all.”

Trahearne shakes his head slowly. “It’s too late. I know - I am part of the jungle dragon now. It is everywhere.”

“Oh, Trahearne,” Commander whispers, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice slightly creaky. Commander, her own shoulders slumped, opens her mouth to protest, but Braham speaks first.

“So how do we kill it?” Braham asks, drawing attention back to the main point. “Burn every field and fell every forest?”

“No,” Trahearne replies with a sigh. “It can’t be defeated that way. It’ll just grow back. Its roots have spread too far, too deep.”

“Then… we destroy the root,” Commander says slowly, in that thinking-out-loud manner she does when figuring things out. “Mordremoth’s mind! Its strongest attacks come from its mind, from the Dream. That’s our target.”

Not only from the Dream. Scarlet and Aerin were Soundless, and they fell more easily than anyone. Eveanin glances around, wondering what else Mordremoth uses as a tool to broadcast its Call.

“Sound strategy, Commander,” Canach says approvingly. “Turn the tables and attack the dragon the same way it’s been attacking us? Brilliant.”

But we are barely strong enough to hold it off ourselves. How can we be strong enough to counterattack effectively? And then, a crushing, impending cloud descends on her mind, stifling all thought. A low rumble rolls through her, and every part of her being fixates on the sensation - it is all she can sense, all she can imagine - and her breathing in time to the discordant beat of Mordremoth’s thoughts.

Eveanin blinks, looks around frantically; dimly, she hears Canach scoffing at the dragon’s dislike of the idea, the strain of the pressure invisible under thick layers of sarcasm. Eveanin casts around desperately for some outside influence to focus on, to help separate her mind from Mordremoth’s.

“Yes…” Trahearne says, and his voice sounds distant and far-off, as if from down a long tunnel. “Strike at the dragon’s mind… through the Dream.” It’s not the Dream, it’s not - Eveanin clings to the thought, to Trahearne’s voice, to the terrifying plan ahead of them. “It can work. And my connection will provide the access you need.”

“The Rata Novans said each Elder Dragon has a weak spot. We just identified Mordremoth’s,” Commander says, sounding confident and sure. Why now? Why now, of all times, to be the stronger person, the one I’ll have to rely on?

“I’m ready,” Trahearne says after a moment. “If I concentrate, I can open a path into the Dream… into Mordremoth’s mind.” That’s where we’re going, not the Dream - we’re going into Mordremoth’s very mind. Trahearne knows. Oh, curse the day I let him send me away. Curse the day I carried that message to Commander. Trahearne goes on; “your minds will make the journey, but your bodies will remain here in the cavern.”

Rytlock growls. “I’ve seen enough metaphysical landscapes lately. I’ll stay behind to keep the Mordrem at bay.”

“I’ll stay too,” Marjory speaks up. “If something goes wrong… or Trahearne isn’t what he seems to be… I’ll be standing by.”

You absolute idiot! Eveanin wants to scream. Now is not the time to go sowing distrust and suspicion! You’re as bad as Mordremoth! Eveanin pauses. No, no call for that, either. ‘Blame will get us nowhere.’ Eveanin glances at Caithe, who hadn’t said a word since Faolain. What she thinks of this whole situation, Eveanin can’t guess.

“I’ll be more useful out here,” Pharlt speaks up, his voice tinged with sadness, as it had been since Creepylaugh’s death. “I don’t… I don’t trust myself in fighting Mordremoth mentally.”

“Alright,” Commander says slowly. She glances through the group of those who hadn’t spoken. “Canach, Braham - you’re with me. Eveanin?”

Eveanin pauses. She wants to say no. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to hold up inside Mordremoth’s mind itself. But if I stay, and I turn, that puts Trahearne in danger. Commander can deal with me if needs be… but those who are staying out might not even notice. She finally nods.

“I swear by the Pale Tree,” Caithe says firmly, “none of you are being taken by the dragon on my watch.” She turns and eyes the tunnel they had come through. “Taking on an Elder Dragon and all its hordes. Just like old times, eh, Rytlock?”

“Exactly like old times,” Rytlock grumbles. “Which means you stay where I can see you.”

Eveanin meets Caithe’s eye and gives a little nod. She doesn’t blame the older sylvari, nor distrust her. And a little trust goes a long way in helping against Mordremoth.

“Whoa - “ Rytlock says suddenly. “Three out of four going into Mordremoth’s mind can already hear its voice? Does anyone else - “

Rytlock’s words dwindle to nothing as the world around Eveanin dissolves into blackness and vines and jungle tendrils and Mordremoth’s voice.

You should not have come here. I am everywhere. I am all.

An answering thought - Only in your mind. And I will reduce your mind to ashes before I’m done! That’s Commander. She’d sounded quite ferocious - angry - vengeful.

You are not me. Eveanin herself feels small and tiny, but the words ring true. You may have your claws in my mind and your corruption in my body, but I still walk free.

Stupid dragon doesn’t even have the ability to see beyond its own domain. I don’t think it’s even capable of corrupting non-plants. That’s Braham, probably rolling his eyes and being all overconfident. And unaware of the fact that this is a conversation, not a private thought.

Your ability to be in control of everything seems greatly lacking when you alone of all dragons find it difficult to control your own minions. Canach’s scathing insults - accurate as always and elaborate to the core - are more along the lines of what Eveanin can identify with. Sharp wit and dry humor are probably Mordremoth’s worst enemies.

Bold words, Mordremoth replies at last, his thoughts full of intent - but empty ones.

The vines and tendrils around her writhe into an arena, a battleground, in a form more familiar to Eveanin’s senses than the empty void of pure mindspace. Eveanin glances around - her allies are all here, all still apparently themselves.

“Thanks to you, my legend ended in failure,” the familiar voice of Eir Stegalkin speaks up, scathingly, disappointedly angry. “Fallen, forgotten, and far from home.”

Eveanin opens her mouth to speak - Eir had always belittled herself and said her time had passed - but Braham beats her to it. “I’m done listening to these lies. You’re not my mother - you’re Mordremoth’s toy!”

Eir snaps her fingers.

“Watch out, she’s calling - “ Eveanin throws magic out in front of her to stop the dire wolf from knocking her over. She turns and sprints away, Garm hot on her heels. A domed barrier, pushing him back. Eveanin pauses, gathers herself, and turns on the wolf, blade in her hands. She doesn’t want to fight Garm - she’d fought beside him too often for that - but she forces herself to as she had for the Mordrem. It’s all fake.

“I can’t pin her down,” Commander calls. “She’s too quick!”

“Focus on Garm!” Braham calls back. “Believe me, if you down him, she’ll come running.”

And, just like that, the other three are at her side, kiting Garm away and staying out of Eir’s range, until he falls prone, injured and unmoving. Eir teleports - since when can Eir teleport? - to his side and kneels down.

Eveanin is shocked to see the wolf healing, flesh knitting together far more quickly than any magic she had ever seen before. Eveanin throws Eir back with magic. “Keep her away from Garm!” she says urgently. An arrow from Commander, charged with magic, forces Eir back even further, and Eveanin darts forward with her blade on fire, spreading it to the ground around them and Garm, in case Eir gets back to him.

Eir is finally incapacitated, standing in place in disoriented confusion.

“She looks normal - is this another trick?” Braham asks suspiciously.

“Look there,” Commander calls, pointing across the arena. “A rift opened. Maybe now we can break Mordremoth’s illusion. Let’s widen the rift.”

Canach and the Commander pull the sides of the glowing rift, forcing it open. A huge sucking starts up, like an unplugged drain, drawing Eir and Garm and all corrupted things to it, peeling a layer off the mindscape.

Where is it going? Where did the rift come from? Is that something Trahearne did? I knew ‘mind’ was too vague of a ‘weakness.’ There’s something else at play here.

“Commander, at the end there…” Braham says slowly. “She seemed like herself again.”

“That’s because we overcame Mordremoth’s illusion,” Commander explains. “And the real Eir would be proud of how you did it.”

Eveanin tries not to think resentful thoughts at the Commander. It will only interfere with the mission.

Suddenly, a new illusion appears - a towering vision of Canach, glaring sullenly at them.

“Who are you supposed to be?” real-Canach asks, sounding disgusted.

“Oh, I’m you,” Blighted Canach says, sounding delighted in a mocking sort of way. So this one might be corrupted, but it’s still Canach… that’s terrifying. “What you were meant to be, what you will be: Mordremoth’s loyal servant, and gladly so.” He’s as bad as Faolain! Eveanin sighs, as the corrupted sylvari goes on. “You are strong, but lack focus. So you seek a master. Mordremoth is that master.”

“Is this a joke?” Canach asks, but Eveanin can feel the fear radiating from him, the knowledge of the grain of truth inside the deception. “My will has always been my own. I seek no master and never have. I am no one’s servant.”

“Oh?” Blighted Canach sneers. “Countess Anise would disagree. Accept the truth: Mordremoth needs servants, and you were born to serve.”

Oh thorns, don’t give in to get away from Anise!

“No,” Canach says. “To redeem myself, I choose to serve. As I choose to kill you now!”

And then, Blighted Canach starts throwing bombs everywhere. Ten times as tough as the real Canach. Eveanin finds herself busy dodging them for some time, while Commander and Canach shout encouragement to each other. Finally, Commander finds another rift, and Blighted Canach disappears.

“I was strong enough to change what I was,” Canach says disdainfully. “I will be strong enough not to become… that. Thank you for trusting my strength, Commander. And for lending me yours.”

“You earned it,” Commander replies. “In my world, a willful comrade is always better than an obedient puppet.”

Eveanin glances around nervously. Braham, then Canach. Just me and Commander left, for Mordremoth to create a specialized attack. Eveanin knows what hers is. Mordremoth had been tormenting her with it since the crash. Now, she just wonders what form it will take.

That form turns out to be Trahearne.

“Heh, well,” Commander says with a strained smile, “if we had any doubt these were illusions before… what do you want?” she asks the shade.

But the corrupted vision ignores Commander and turns toward Eveanin instead. “See how she assumes I am targeted at her,” he says, sounding amused. Eveanin doesn’t reply. She can’t. Humiliation burns through her like a scalding acid. The fake goes on; “who would choose you? I needed a commander, not a student. I needed a friend, not an admirer. An encourager, not a parasite.”

Eveanin can’t look away, can’t think through the sluggish mire surrounding her thoughts to protest the dragon’s words. She isn’t sure she’d want to. What she can’t understand is why nobody else is intervening.

It continues. “But you have learned. You have grown; older and wiser. You helped bring Destiny’s Edge together and kill Zhaitan. You even more than proved your worth to Trahearne, helping him through the days after the crash, when his precious Commander had stayed behind on her little egg hunt. And yet he still did not see your true worth, and sent you away. Mordremoth has shown me your potential. Now, I choose you over the Commander.”

Eveanin exhales slowly - matched by the twisting vines at the edge of the arena - and shudders at the… intimacy the shared breath has. Chosen by Trahearne… at long last… a worthy replacement of the Commander… chosen by Trahearne. Eveanin blinks, her mind a foggy haze. You look different. Corrupted. Mordremoth is… Eveanin blinks again, unsure. Mordremoth was the one that revealed my worth to you in the first place.

“Mordremoth is not the enemy,” Trahearne tells her quietly, stepping over to her. “Do you trust me?”

Eveanin nods slowly, her eyes vacant and staring. Yes. Yes, I trust you, Trahearne. His voice - slightly different from normal - speaks directly into her mind. Now we have to fight Tiffany. She is not the Commander anymore. She can join us as a soldier or die.

But… but she isn’t the Commander anymore. She doesn’t matter. I have no quarrel with her. Eveanin doesn’t know why she is protesting. She just feels tired. She doesn’t want to fight any more.

You fight with your mind, here. Your magic is useless. But your mind is strong. The mindscape is different, now; just Eveanin and Trahearne, with the arena fading off a few feet away. The chaotic, loud voices of Tiffany and Canach and Braham are nearby, but she can’t see them. Stop… stop, it hurts. Stop fighting it. It’s wrong.

The voices get louder, but they are still muted, as if behind a door. She can’t understand what they are saying. You’re fighting the natural order. It’s wrong. It’s against nature. Stop, please, it isn’t working. Trahearne, help, they aren’t listening. Make them stop.

The rest of the arena fades away, and Trahearne vanishes - she is back in the void of the mindspace - but she can feel his mind - powerful and terrifying, and she is glad to obey his orders. He shows her how to reach through the darkness and find a voice; to tune in to what is being said.

Commander needs to be shut down. She’d dominated Trahearne and the Pact for too long.

Eveanin, snap out of it, don’t let Mordremoth win! Commander sounds frantic and panicked. Her voice is out of sync with the rhythm of the mind around her.

But Mordremoth has already won. You’re fighting an unwinnable battle. Mordremoth has shown Trahearne who the true Commander should be. You can still fight under him, but I am his second now.

Commander, Trahearne says, his tone mocking, but aligned with Mordremoth’s pattern perfectly. Not loud and incoherent like a drunken norn. You think I would keep you after your near desertion on that wild egg hunt of yours? Eveanin is loyal. Trahearne’s voice fuzzes out - Eveanin can’t hear him anymore - but he’s still on the same wavelength as Mordremoth. Fight Canach, he tells her, his voice discernible for a moment before going distant and incomprehensible again.

Eveanin reaches, and finds him, and is shocked by Canach’s vehemence. He stabs into her mind with a gut-wrenching, discordant yell. Your greatest vulnerability was wanting to follow the great Firstborn around like a blind puppy? You’re more pathetic than I thought.

Eveanin fires back, aren’t you the one who said you admired him for charging at Mordremoth head-on, when you could barely stand it?

Yes, exactly. I admired him for resisting the dragon, not falling blindly into its embrace like a weak-willed sheep!

Like a vent of fresh air, these words puncture the hazy cloud surrounding Eveanin’s mind, the first sparks of returning reason. Yes… but Mordremoth can’t be all bad. He told Trahearne how valuable I am.

I thought you were smarter than this, Canach snorts, disgusted. That’s not actually Trahearne, that’s a farce a blind dolyak could see through.

True enough; Trahearne joining Mordremoth does sound a bit preposterous… Mordremoth is an Elder Dragon… but isn’t this rather like a Wyld Hunt? Our created purpose is to - 

Stop, stop, stop. For one, I don’t have a Wyld Hunt and never did, and for two, do you honestly expect me to hare off on some wild quest like Trahearne did, just because our illustrious Mother - or the Dream - or the Menders - told me to?

Well… I suppose not… but - 

But nothing.

Eveanin’s thought-pattern shifts slightly, contrasting to Mordremoth’s for a moment as she realizes: but my Wyld Hunt is to kill Mordremoth.

Like a rushing wind blowing clouds out of the sky, Eveanin returns to reason, and the mindscape returns. She is locked in a battle with Canach, somehow, and Tiffany is fighting Trahearne, and Braham is rushing across the arena to another rift.

Eveanin blinks as she reorients herself. That’s not Trahearne, that’s a corrupted copy; Canach isn’t fighting against the rhythm of nature, he’s maintaining independence; Tiffany is still the Commander, and Eveanin is back to being the overlooked shy one.

She breaks from the battle with Canach as a wave of dizziness sweeps over her; a depressing cloud of inertia hangs over her thoughts, which are sluggish and detail-oriented. She puts a hand to her head as pain threatens to split it open, she feels Mordremoth stabbing lances of pain into her brain, drawing single thoughts into obsessive clarity and detail. Not even full thoughts, or really anything; just the obsessing over nothing that brings on a splitting headache.

And fear, anger, rage - all jumbled together. What if Canach doesn’t realize I’ve snapped out of it and what did you do, I could’ve gone on living forever in that fantasy and then… I just wanted to be accepted, chosen, appreciated.

You can be. Just give in.

“One rift wasn’t enough! There’s got to be another one!” Braham hollers.

Eveanin wavers on the edge, her mind relatively clear - but desire, the happily-ever-after she could have, warring with reality, with sense, with not wanting to live in a fantasy for the rest of her life.

A rift opens at her feet, and Trahearne’s voice - the real Trahearne - speaks urgently into her mind. Mordremoth doesn’t have long left to live. Keep fighting. Eveanin doesn’t know if Trahearne had intended to speak to her, or if those were just his current thoughts, but she sees life again. Mordremoth isn’t everything. Mordremoth is not the world, the all-consuming fabric of the world. This fight isn’t a small pocket rebellion that will be wiped out soon - it’s the victory, it’s the future.

It’s what Trahearne is fighting for, risking his own mind to send her into Mordremoth’s mind and free them all. Victory is inevitable. Giving in is just stupid.

So she reaches down to the rift and pulls, Canach with her, and she feels the last of the dragon’s influence drain away. The corrupted vision of Trahearne slides into the rift as well, and then it snaps closed.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Eveanin says quickly, as Commander and Braham look at her. “I… ouch.”

“I didn’t know you…” Commander stops. She looks slightly lost and confused. “You wanted to be Trahearne’s friend,” she says finally.

Eveanin glances away. “Yeah.” Jealousy, that’s what that had been. Commander is just too nice to say it.

“You know just because he didn’t choose you to be his second doesn’t mean he doesn’t value you as a friend.”

Eveanin shrugs. “Yeah, well… it’s clear to see he thinks the world of you.” Not that this doesn’t sting. The Commander will never see Trahearne as more than a friend. But… “Thanks for snapping me out of that, Canach,” she adds. “I… yeah.”

“Sylvari need to stick together when we have monsters trying to turn us into wooden puppets,” he reminds her.

Eveanin cracks a smile. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll do better next fight.”

[velancea]

Velancea: Origins

OKAY so I have a quick, roughly written ‘lore’ thing for Vel! There’s so much more to her, but as of now, I’ll post what I have, along with some tidbits and a bit of Canach x Vel stuff!

under the cut again because, y’know, size

Velancea was born in time to the sylvari personal story in the game. She met Caithe and fought the shadow of the dragon. Her dream remains the same, but varies with the glimpse of a bright-eyed sylvari. She felt a sense of warmth and… home. As she traversed through the dream with Caithe, she felt as though she were being watched by the same eyes she had seen earlier in her dream.

When she emerged from the dream, she found that her pod was actually connected to another. It remained closed, and Serimon had informed her that pods may open at different times of the day. She felt weary leaving the pod behind, but went to find Caithe and explore the Grove, refusing to actually leave the Grove until the pod opened.

A long time went by, and other menders were worried that the sapling within the pod would never emerge - either they would forever be stuck within the dream, or they were dead. Vel, however, never gave up, and continuously visited the unhatched pod. Finally, after a week or so (she’d lost count), the pod opened, and she was met with the face she had seen in her dream. He looked up at her with bright, golden eyes.

The sapling’s name was Remulys, and Vel took him in as her younger brother, and he immediately treasured her as his big sister.

They shared the same dream of the Green Knight, and set off to fight it together.

Velancea continued to bring Remulys along on all of her endeavors, but around the time she joined the Vigil, Remulys began to stick around the Grove more. However, he was content. He told her he was happy staying behind, not wanting to be in her way at all. Vel didn’t quite like that, but things became more busy and she visited the Grove less, and wrote more letters. Unfortunately, even those began to faze out. Still, Remulys remained content, only wanting his beloved sister to succeed. (read Remi’s life here)

Velancea traveled with Trahearne, and to her, he was her mentor. He taught her many things about Orr and the world, and she would listen with rapt attention, always enthralled in his stories. Often times, he took her to that little place in the Grove (before things got too chaotic and they no longer had time to go to the Grove) and nerded out on his lore he learned about Orr and Tyria, and she would just sit there and listen, all bright eyed and eager to learn.

And then the events of Heart of Thorns happened.

While in the jungle, Velancea and Canach entered into a sort of “friends with benefits” situation, always instigated with the words “make me forget.” Velancea had first spoken this to him whilst they were both kept up at night in camp, unable to quiet Mordremoth’s voice as they drew closer. At night, they spent time in each other’s arms, desperate for a moment away from the dragon’s voice, but during the day, it was as though nothing had changed since day one of entering into Maguuma.

After everything ended and Canach and Vel went their separate ways, Velancea turned to alcohol, desperate to numb the pain of Trahearne’s death. Eventually, she was able to clean herself up (mostly after an encounter with a certain someone Canach), and that is when the events of LWS3 begin.

Some lil tidbits

- long ago, she was retrieving an item that had fallen into a body of water. When she grabbed it, she caught sight of a key. Curious, she brought it up to the surface with her. Ever since, she has carried the ornate key with her, using it on every lock she and the team come across (much to their annoyance. it’s become something she has to do and no matter how much the key and lock don’t match, she still does it. It’s priority) for the time being, someone else is the holder of that key

- she has backhanded Braham across the face

- the cattails in her hair are both a blessing and a curse. when needed, she tends to use the fluff inside as a getaway diversion. Unfortunately, there are also times where she could really go without it. There are times during a battle where they get hit and explode in a mass of fluff. Other times, they are sensitive enough to get caught on something and, well, explode. Again - a blessing and a curse

- she only recently discovered Wintersday, and boy was it something. Somehow she had never heard of it or come across it in the past, and so when she went into Divinity’s Reach during it, she became almost akin to a child in a candy store. Taimi was with her and didn’t know what to do, so called for backup from the rest of the guild, who arrived as though it were an emergency. Also, with it being her first Wintersday and actually having the time to discover it, Laranthir gifted her a new hammer (her terracotta antique)

- she and Kas get along fine, but since the beginning of Heart of Thorns, Vel and Marjory haven’t been on the best of terms. She snapped at Marjory after so many remarks about the sylvari, and since then, while they can work together, their relationship is a bit strained

- she’s super curious and easily amused, often leading the group astray a little if she’s not completely focused

- she loves to have fun and joke around, but she often takes on the hard, outer shell persona of the Commander and keeps a lot to herself, which has caused some issues at many times

CaVel

There were several conversations between the two of them during his imprisonment at Vigil Keep when he had been moved there during Scarlet’s attack on Lion’s Arch. While she was the Commander, she was still treated as a bit of a “newbie” in the Vigil (all in good fun). She would be tasked with certain small missions and made to carry out certain chores that had her pass by Canach’s cell. He would always comment on things, and while she tried to remain annoyed and ignore him, she eventually began talking to him and found herself looking forward to being sent down to the cells for a task. One day, she went down to boast about a difficult mission she went on and handled primarily on her own, but he was gone, much to her disappointment.

When he was assigned to accompany the Pact into Maguuma to defeat Mordremoth, things were kept professional, until one night, under the strain of their mission and the roaring voice in their heads, Vel muttered to him “make me forget.” From then to the end of the events of Heart of Thorns, the two were in a sort of “friends with benefits” relationship many nights following either of them telling the other to “make them forget.”

Following the death of Trahearne, Canach knew that Vel was by no means okay, and wanted to come to her aid, but had no choice but to return to Anise.

At some point, Canach was in Divinity’s Reach with Anise, forced to tag along with her as they entered a local pub. It was there that a cloaked figure drunkenly stumbled into him, and he saw that it was none other Velancea, drunk off her ass. Surprisingly enough, she recognized him and greeted him with a bright smile and asked if she could buy him a drink. He politely declined, and instead offered to check her into a local inn. It took some trying, but he finally got her out of there and into an inn, where she continuously tried to throw herself at him in her drunken stupor. It wasn’t until she murmured in his ear “make me forget” that he realized why she was like this and wondered just how long she had been doing this to herself. When he managed to get her to sleep, he was conflicted with staying through the night to keep watch over her or leaving, but ultimately decided that it would be best for him to find and return to Anise.

Their paths never crossed again until the events of LWS3 took place and they met up in the asuran lab. He watched her, noting how stable she seemed to be. Silently, she seemed to tell him that she was okay now, but he still wondered how long she had drowned herself in the comfort of alcohol before cleaning herself up.

As they worked together in the Crystal Desert, Velancea seemed to avoid being too alone with him, as though she feared an inevitable conversation about their personal events back in Maguuma.

I have plans to write about two things for CaVel for pre-all or nothing and post-all or nothing, so hopefully I get the time to write and share them with you all soon! In the meantime, don’t hesitate to ask about Vel or any other of my characters (I’m working writing the lore for my others when I have time!). I am more than happy to answer all! There’s so much I have to share about my kids!