#tales in tyria

[vinetooth-prime]

Arvil Wardbreaker

— Harpy Angel || Astral Ward Rift Hunter || Devoted of Dwayna

"There's an old wive's tale in Elona. They say that harpies are the fallen servants of Dwayna." "Angels? Those filthy things?"

When the Fractals tethered to the Wizard Tower crashed into Tyria in 1337AE, they brought with them alien concepts and unheard of realities. Balthazar won. Maguuma overrun. Rata Novus thrived. Angels never fell.

A Tyria where the progression and evolution of magic was headed by the Gods and their extensions... What could that possibly look like? An Angel of Dwayna: a Devoted. Divine magic channeled and honed with Light and Fire, refined and redefined further when harpies have all but abandoned the art.

Before the Tower fell, though, Arvil found herself walking into our Tyria on her own accord.

In her old life, born and raised within her reality—the Fractal—Arvil was estranged and ostracized. Through her actions or inaction (though always designed in secret plots against her), Arvil was villainized time and time again, nearly facing excommunication more than once.

It's in her extensive time alone that she discovered the Astral Ward woven into her church in secret. As they studied the Fractal, she began to study them. In short time, she'd learn of the Kryptis and saw it within her duties to help against the demon threat.

She confronted the Astral Ward and became an ever-present thorn in their side, eventually even forcing her way into our Tyria in secret alongside a pair of researchers.

Considering the Kryptis threat and her skill & willingness to assist, Arvil was inducted into the Rift Hunters a full year before the fractal crash.

[lyhil]

Commander Week Day 2: Profession

I have never been known to wield magic well.

My body did not emerge from my pod as it should have. I was imperfect, flawed. The flow of magic that should have spurred my Sapling body onwards was quiet, empty. With my Luminaries hands submerged in my solar plexus, it could be stirred, awoken - but it refused to bend to my will. He looked at me with soft eyes and I hated the pity, and then hated the guilt that twisted my stomach at rejecting the aid of the kindest person I would ever know. Training became one of physical strength, and then of flexibility, anything that could give me the edge I would need. And yet, as if to torture myself on what I could not do, I read stories of Mesmers with magic that spellbound their foes and brought daggers to their fingertips.

You can imagine my relief when one day, as the earth rumbled with the cry of a beast that bore my destiny, I felt it spark to life. I didn't know then why my body responded as it did to the magic of Elder Dragons, as if it was greedily drinking the blood of its kin. I'm wiser now.

I felt the Elder Dragon Zhaitan's magic burn in my body and I, unwisely, clawed what I could from him. For the first time since I'd breathed the air of Tyria I felt strong, powerful. My destiny did not feel so impossible. I did not feel as if The Dream had mistaken me for another Sapling.

And with this power came the cold sting of daggers - the crystalline imaginations of my mind as I absorbed tales of Mesmers more skilled than I could hope to be back then. I was overjoyed, entranced. I could make copies of myself, and I danced with them in celebration, a childlike glee on my face as we - or rather, I - spun myself in circles.

But the magic of a dragon was not without its flaws. I was no more than a conduit, and the magic left my fingertips reflected that. A magic that usually glittered brilliantly faded with the shadows of Zhaitan. Reflections of myself would be marred by tinges of shadow where non-one else would notice. But I didn't care. I was strong, powerful.

And I was the child of an Elder Dragon.

[brightwingedbat]

Beware wandering the wilds of Tyria alone at night...

If you do, Kytos Corpsetaker is the last person you want to come across.

---

Meet my new Necromancer, Kytos Corpsetaker. A charr who once got trapped in the Mad Realm for a year, and was sent out a year after, unable to get back in before the barrier grew too strong.

His personality is rather all over the place, he is surprisingly well spoken, he would be a perfect host were it not for his true self. He loses all sense of composure and becomes near feral in moments of stress.

(Backstory involves undead and all that necromancer squick)

The year within the realm addled his mind, he became obsessed- incredibly so about the Mad King Thorn. So obsessed that even the Mad King himself had had enough of the consistent interruptions. And yet killing the man would have risked his soul being stuck there forever, having him outside and attempting to break the barrier from there was much preferred, and so locked out of the Mad Realm come the next halloween. Much to Kytos' despair.

But that doesn't stop him, oh no. He's too far gone, the Mad King is all on his mind. He needs to win back the King's favour, he needs to impress him, entertain him! But how? Oh but the Mad King does love theatrics... Kytos believed his way back would be to create a theatre play, one which he had full control over...

A theatre of necrotic minions.

But he needs a source for them, and no decayed corpse will do for his Mad King, no. He needs them before the rot sets in. And so does he hunt, for living souls, to use their bodies as material for his grand theatre.

---

Most don't survive a meeting with him, though he has been spied on at times. Tales tell that when alone at his decrepit shack of an abode, he can be seen curled over a glowing book. Whispering to it, as if speaking to the Mad King. Is he really speaking to him through the book, or does he just think he is?

None can say, but there is also one account of someone getting close enough to see the tome, to touch and read it. The short time they did, it appeared to all be studies of demons and the Mists, with a large segment especially dedicated to the Mad Realm.

When found by Kytos, he flew into a barbaric rage. Roaring and hissing that no one can touch his book, no one.

The spy barely left with their life, and vowed to never again go near that place.

Guards have been sent to deal with the threat, bounties have been placed. And yet every hunt ends the same way.

With Kytos' stock of theatre materials growing.

---

And though every year, he gifts his Mad King with a grand show. No matter how good he does, the Mad King locks him out every time. Mad King Thorn finds his efforts heavily entertaining, but not enough to deal with the obsession once again.

Kytos is too mad to blame his King, he needs the approval. He will build up his stock, and create an even grander show. Every year, unceasingly, until he no longer lives to create.

[writingwenches]

OC Spotlight — Beal Marlow

birthplace — Tyria, shores of the Smoking Sea near the ruins of Valyria enemy — Prince of Astapor asoiaf era — Dance of Dragons Era themes — Old Valyria Historian; eat the rich; prince to pauper; that one spider-man meme where they're all pointed at each other

the world's a stage

Growing up as a pauper in Essos had its ups and downs, always dodging the slavers in the bay, keeping busy was the key. Bael was raised amongst the stage and her players, traveling Slaver's Bay to entertain the wealthy masters. Until one night, Bael made a terrible and horrific mistake. He played the good fool mocked the wrong man, and was sentenced to death for his crimes...

and we are players

Escaping to Westeros was the only option, fleeing from his homelands and everything he knew. He found his home amongst players of his usual sort, but these peasant's minds had never heard the tales of home, of the diaries of Old Valyria passed down by playwrites before. What's wrong with a little white lie? Until one day...he finds himself in the presence of the noble royals, and a particular man who looks suspiciously...just like him? And this particular man tells him that he could be the Lord of Dorne? If he only played his part? What could possible go wrong?

notes: His name changed from William (of Shakespeare) to Bill to Beal hehehe

[meeeeeeese]

Huzzah inspiration has struck again and I have achieved writing.

The tale of Rugan's 'chance' encounter with a journalist at the start of SotO

It was lunch time at the parade grounds, and across the dusty paw-stomped courtyard, soldiers were taking a break from their drills to enjoy a bite to eat. However, one soldier stood out from the rest, a large copper-furred charr holding a letter in one paw and gently cradling a sleeping cub with the other. Rugan’s tail was beginning to twitch with annoyance, “Go to the parade grounds just north of the Hero's Forum. I'll meet you there.”, the letter said, and yet as the minutes ticked by, Rytlock was still nowhere to be seen. Rugan started to reach for his communicator, to ask where the hell Rytlock was, but stopped as he spotted someone walking up to him. It was a human woman, Canthan in origin, with a notepad and quill pinned under her arm. The brief moment of eye contact gave her an opening, and before she even stopped walking, she launched her introduction.

“The Pact Commander. Champion of an Elder Dragon. The talk of Tyria. In. The. Flesh.”

Rugan sighed, Rytlock had better turn up soon. He responded with a gruff “Do I know you?”, trying his best to indicate he wasn’t much interested in a chat. However, the human pressed on with her spiel unabated. “Mi-Rae of the Cantha Report. International News Desk. Seeing the sights and seeking stories from Central Tyria. Got a minute to chat? You've got one heck of a story, and the people deserve to hear it.”

Falx stirred in Rugan’s arm; he gave the cub an affectionate scratch under the chin before grumbling out “I can… probably spare a minute”.

Mi-Rae gave him a practiced smile before springing into the first question “Good. Walk with me. Talk with me. Didn't have the chance while you were still in Cantha. Big name like you probably has a thousand things to say, but let's start with this...” She tapped a jade-tech device strapped to her side before continuing, judging by its make, it looked to be a recorder. “Killing Soo-Won, saving the world. Ending the reign of the Elder Dragons. A lot to cope with. Thoughts?”

Rugan shrugged, he wasn’t all that interested in baring out his inner thoughts to a stranger and gave a brief response, “We did what needed to be done. At great cost, too.”

Mi-Rae nodded, writing some notes down before commenting “Mmm. An interesting perspective. How do you respond to charges that your leadership—or lack thereof—was one of the chief reasons for the catastrophic events that negatively impacted Cantha?”

Rugan’s eyes narrowed, truthfully the collateral damage from his actions had caused him a lot of anguish, and it was still an ever-present spectre lurking in the back of his mind. But again, he wasn’t about to say all that to a reporter, and so responded with the same hollow excuse he’d said to himself so many times, “I've always acted with the best information available at the time.” His gaze broke from the reporter and back down to his cub, who had woken up and was looking sleepily up at his sire.

Once again Mi-Rae jotted down some notes, before following Rugan’s gaze down to his cub and smiling excitedly. No one had broken the story yet that the legendary Pact Commander had a cub, and so she chose her next question to lead into asking more about Rugan’s personal life.

“That’s clearly a touchy subject. Let's move on, shall we? Do you think the world is a better place without the Elder Dragons? A better place for your cub to grow up?”

This question at least didn’t need a dodge or a long explanation, Rugan stated simply “If we hadn't acted, we wouldn't be here having this conversation”, he lifted his cub up a bit “He wouldn’t be here either”.

Mi-Rae gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, “Good point. Let's talk about you for a moment. What's next for the legendary commander? Any future plans you'd like to divulge here, exclusively for my audience?”. She gave a pointed look at the cub in Rugan’s arms as she talked, trying to indirectly probe for details. Rugan sighed again, truthfully, he had no damn idea what he was gonna do, but at least he had a short-term plan. He responded without breaking eye contact with Falx “Well… I think I know what my plan is for the next year or so. At least until it’s time for the little guy to go to the fahrar”

A quick flash of annoyance crossed Mi-Rae’s face as she scribbled down some more notes, the commander hadn’t divulged all that many headline worthy stories from her indirect questions, so it was time to go on the attack. “So, now that we've got the high-level questions answered, let's get to the meat of the matter. What my audience really wants to hear.” She paused for a moment, as if charging up her journalistic power. “Alright, tell me some of the juicy details. Scandal. Death. Romance. What’s the name of your cub, who’s the mother, are the rumours true that you’re in a secret relationship with Imperator Kindleshot? What are your hopes for the cub’s future?”

A grimace spread across Rugan’s face, Rytlock had better turn up right now or he was going to maul the tribune next time he saw him. If Mi-Rae was going to be blatant with the Gossip-mill questions he was going to dodge them that much more blatantly.

“There’s not much to say really, we prevented widespread disaster a few times. Lost some friends along the way. But now that the dragon cycle is over, it's...peaceful… The cub’s name is Falx by the way.”

The look of annoyance reappeared on Mi-Rae’s face, she muttered to herself "Pact Commander's retirement haunted by dreams of the past, the screams of war..." as she filled up her notepad. She opened her mouth to pry further when they were both distracted by a tiny Asuran golem skittering up to Rugan holding a box in its tiny little hands. A robotic voice echoed out “Delivery for Rugan Coppertail, thank you for choosing Larkk’s Delivery Service”.

Rugan had never looked so relieved in his life. He muttered under his breath “whoever sent this you are a lifesaver.” Before coughing and speaking louder to Mi-Rae, “Oh... burn me this looks really important… looks like I gotta go…”

Mi-Rae looked disappointed, but with one final glance down at her notes, she turned off her recorder and said “I think I've got what I need. Just you wait; your name will be painted on every chronicle in Tyria. Thank you, "Commander." You can trust me to tell your story as authentically and accurately as possible.” She gave him a final wave goodbye, spun around on her heel and walked off.

Before Rugan picked up the box, he took one final look at the letter from Rytlock. At this point he was wondering if he’d gotten the wrong place, and as he skimmed through it a realisation hit him like an overloading photon-forge.

“Please come at your earliest convenience.” “Please” -Rugan had known Rytlock for over a decade at this point. And Rytlock. Never. Uses. The word. Please. And... the reporter somehow knew exactly where to find him…

“OH SON OF A FLAMING TITAN!” He yelled out, loud enough that nearby soldiers gave a quick glance his way as Falx squirmed in Rugan’s arms, looking around to see why his dad was being loud.

Tricked by a damn reporter of all people. Rugan breathed deeply before scrunching up the letter from “Rytlock” and tossing it over his shoulder. Now, time to see what this delivery was all about.

[drakeheart]

Tell us about your cats that are in a relationship <3

sure, why not! also i lied, there's actually three, and they're all in relationships with characters my partner @full-of-skritt created, so check them out too! they got some good kids.

Felix (right) is in a tumultuous relationship Cole (left), a sylvari ranger who he met in Caledon after taking an accidental detour on a trip to Rata Sum. Cole offered to guide him to his intended destination, and by the end of the trek they were fast friends. they kept in contact, writing letters and occasionally visiting, too shy to admit their growing feelings for each other.

years later, the two were properly reunited when they both joined the Pact. they gladly worked together again, sticking side-by-side through Scarlet's uprising and all that follows, right up to the assault on Maguuma. then, of course, disaster strikes.

after the crash, Cole finds himself answering the call of Mordremoth, and Felix makes some difficult decisions that end with him saving Cole from total corruption, but losing most of his warband to the mordrem. they make it out alive, but their relationship is heavily damaged, with Cole traumatized and permanently changed by the dragon's influence, and Felix stricken with grief and guilt over the deaths of his friends that he can't help but blame himself for.

it takes a long time, but they gradually help each other come to terms with what happened and heal from it. in doing so, they finally admit to each other how they really feel, and begin a relationship in earnest.

Ranuk (left) is in a casual relationship with Speratus (right), an Ash legion elementalist who was placed on a "temporary" leave due to his stress-induced paranoia interfering with missions. Ranuk met him while exploring Southsun--or rather, ran right into him while fleeing from some particularly vicious karka, which Speratus promptly dispatched. the two got to talking, and Ranuk offered to try and help him work out his trauma "issues" through some Olmakhan methods, in return for Speratus providing him some extra protection on his journeys across Tyria. Speratus agreed, as anything was better than lying around on a beach with nothing to do. over the course of their travels together, they became good friends, and then a little more.

(and then the civil war happens, and Speratus is recalled to duty. we're still discussing exactly what that entails for them, as my partner hasn't actually gotten to play through IBS yet, but it'll probably be very sad and dramatic. charr do be going through trauma.)

finally, we have Sorex (right) and Vitalis (left), a pair of older gladium and fellow necromancers who both experienced the tragic loss of their respective warbands--Sorex to the Ascalonian ghosts, and Vitalis to the Flame Legion. feeling betrayed by charr society after their demotions, the two met and took solace in their shared experience, bonding fiercely. they decided to form their own secular warband, regardless of Legion approval--the Grave warband, functioning more like a family unit than a military one.

at some point, they adopt an orphaned female charr named Lexia and raise her as their daughter, teaching her important life skills such as how to properly scribe necromantic marks and which types of corpses are best for crafting a flesh golem. but with Lexia grown and on her own path, the two now spend their days adventuring together, chasing tales of ghosts and exploring ancient Ascalonian ruins, and generally just being a couple of feisty old coots--alongside their horde of well-loved undead minions.

[dasozelotvonnebenan]

Wait did I ever make a post here about Caladbolg things or was that on discord? I can't find it when searching my blog but also when does one ever.

Anyways all commanders get a piece of the broken sword after HoT. They all go on their own little adventures to reforge it. Fittingly enough there are five reforged caladbolg weapons in the game.

Yorg makes it a greatsword again. Restores it as best he can to it's former glory. It itself is a legend and it is here to tell it's tale. Through it Trahearnes work will not be forgotten.

Posh makes it into a scepter. Caladbolg is an object of powerful magic, fueled by the hands that held it. Through it Trahearnes work can go on.

Ruck makes it into a shield. Caladbolg had been forged to protect Tyria, and now it has been reforged to continue that duty. Through it Trahearnes achievements will endure.

Aluen makes it into sword. Caladbolg had allowed them to drive back the dragon threat and now it will carry that momentum. Through it Trahearnes death can be avenged.

Fenquin makes it into a dagger. Caladbolg had been shattered as a sacrifice. Through it that sacrifice is given power.

Valoop makes it into a seed and plants at her lost friends feet. He had grown in Caladbolgs light and now Caladbolg will grow in his soil. Through it Trahearne will live on.

[wall-legion]

Sooo... In-universe romance novel, competition for Snargle?

I don't suppose we can get a brief overview of what it's about, can we?

-- Question asked by totally not Nastazya Ragewelder, who definitely is not a fan of romance novels. Definitely. Yup.

So I wrote a reference to a romance novel called Dear Wolf's Dottir into Odetta's backstory, and a little blurb of a plot, for a plot point to show how Odetta was starting to resist Lady Elena's level of control over her daily routine and overall life... and honestly since then I keep going back to the idea and wanting to build on it. It's set during GW1, and a beautiful norn warrior named Sif finds a human monk named Laird passed out in a blizzard in the Shiverpeaks and nurses him back to health. It's the whole "learning about each other while we're trapped due to Circumstances" trope. I'll post the whole blurb from the backstory under a read more.

She pulled out a few different books, staring at the art on their covers and immediately blushing. They all featured adults in embraces that didn’t seem... appropriate. She decided on one with an unusually large woman throwing her head back as a shorter man appeared to be undoing her garments. Dear Wolf’s Dottir. it was called. She put the other books back and slipped out of the room with the book tucked into the sweater she had on that day, heading back to her room to look it over. And as soon as she did, she was engrossed: a female norn warrior named Sif rescuing a male human monk named Laird from a blizzard in the Shiverpeaks and helped him recuperate from the frostbite and exposure illness that he came down with after his time in the snowy wilderness. He was traveling north to see norn culture and to better understand all the races of Tyria; she was trying to find a fuller communion with the Spirit of Wolf so that she could become a havroun in his Lodge. As Laird recovered, their mutual spirituality allowed them to find topics to converse about; as time progressed and the blizzard continued onward, keeping them stuck inside the abandoned haven that Sif had managed to find and get Laird into, they realized that they were mutually attracted to each other. She was just beginning to read about them initiating their romantic relationship when the door to her room was flung open, and Lady Elena was standing there glaring at her. In her surprise, Odetta nearly flung the book off the end of the bed where she was laying and taking in the bawdy tale.

[dumb-dumb-mander]

Unusual muse association!

Tagged by @archesa ! (thank you <3)

─ Mikhail ─

SEASONING: Speculoos Cinnamon

WEATHER: The evening of a warm day in autumn

COLOUR: Blue

SKY: Clear night sky when you can see the stars

MAGICAL POWER: Passing through walls

PLANT: Delphinium “guardian blue”

WEAPON: Hammer

SUBJECT: Literature

SOCIAL MEDIA: Tumblr

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Gloss (lipstick gloss?)

CANDY: Airheads Blue Raspberry gum (I confess I asked Google a blue raspberry candy and definitively gum fit Mikhail)

FEAR: Be abandoned

ICE CUBE SHAPE: Nugget ice

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Jackal/Griffon

ART STYLE: Manga (not the question? don't care)

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Griffon

PIECE OF STATIONARY: 4 colors pen and Post-it/random papers (if I understood the question correctly and don't care if these pens don't exist in Tyria xD)

THREE EMOJIS: 💙✨👍

CELESTIAL BODY: Moon

I... don't remember who did it yet or not so hummm I tag @salad-tales , @icebrooding , @ashalsdream , @commander-henrietta and whoever need an excuse to do it !

[just-eyris-things]

Can I get all the preferences from the jumbo asks for my sweet baby boy Airell?

Yes. Yes, you can!

cw: bugs and eating bugs, some might find this disgusting.

adding read more because long-ass post ;w;

🔥 Give us a list of general likes and dislikes, such as colours, textures, music, weather and other stuff!

Airell loves most of music genres, he is a bard himself. He loves when the songs tell tales. He doesn't like too repetitive stuff, like Bash the Dragon song. He enjoys the festival, though.

His favourite colours are green and purple/violet. He's not a fan of orange, but he admits that it can look nice sometimes.

Airell likes warmer climates, but chilly weather is also nice. They like snow and think it's a lot of fun, but they don't like being exposed to it for too long. This changes to indifference post HoT.

Airell loves hylek cuisine. Ever since they got a taste of chak, they love adding it to their own dishes. They don't like apples, but might eat them if there is nothing else to eat and they're hungry. Similarly to majority of my characters, Airell has a sweet tooth.

🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?

Airell's favourite is the grub and chak stew! They love the crunchiness of the chitin and the chewiness of the insects themselves! Also they claim that chak goo is perfect for making jelly for desserts and they love baking. Airell always reminds everyone to be careful with chak, because they're quite tricky to work with in the kitchen.

What is your OC’s most hated food? Stuff they can’t stand to eat or drink?

brocolli. Airell absolutely hates the texture he would rather down an expired karka dipped in toxic waste from inquest labs than eat it. He has a similar reaction to brussells but simply because he hates how the name of that vegetable sounds.

🍑 Where is your OC’s favourite place to relax or calm down? Recount a story of their time spent in this place! What makes it so special to them?

Airell's special place would be the Ameyalli temple beneath Jaka Itzel. He was taught that it was a significant place for the Itzel, so he grew to love it too. In there he feels like he belongs and he forgets that he's actually all alone. Faith in the Jungle goddess makes his life easier. He feels the connection to the Jungle itself and he would hate to lose it. He always goes there when he's troubled or needs to relax.

Is there anywhere your OC hates to go to? Anywhere that stresses them out or have negative memories of?

The fallen and rotting tree that we know as the Heart of Thorns, the place where they lost someone they held dear. Airell feels like they've lost a part of themselves and they hate to even think of that place. The world is cruel, though. They have to come back there at some point and face what they've done, even if their actions were unintentional. Airell's reawakened the Tree and made it sprout new plant people. They have to take the responsibility, no matter how painful it is.

🧡 Who is your OC’s favourite person? Why is this person the top of their list and have they actually met them (an idol or rolemodel or celeb can be someone’s favourite after all!).

It's Trahearne. Trahearne taught Airell everything he knew, from necromancy to many unspoken rules of living in central Tyria. Trahearne was also the second person Airell has met that believed them when they said they were from the West. Airell also used to be Trahearne's apprentice for a while before they actually started dating. Even after HoT, when their paths...separated, so to speak... Airell never forgets Trahearne nor their feelings for him.

Who does your OC absolutely hate, the one person who they’d sell to Satan for one corn chip? Why do they loathe this person so?

There is a lot of self-loathing in Airell, but there is also a grudge against Nia. While they are thankful that she took over the Pact, they think she should have tried harder to save Trahearne.

They also hold a grudge against Rytlock because he is blamed for Eyris's death. As Airell is really close with her, knowing that Rytlock is responsible makes them on edge and the only reason they let him breathe is because Eyris asked them to stand down.

📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun?

Airell loves talking about music and travel, as well as cooking. He also really enjoys listening to others talk about their passions, even if he doesn't know much about them himself.

What things bore your OC to tears and they couldn’t care less about? Why?

He's not a fan of politics. As a commander he had to suffer through it, but ever since he retired he is much happier. Another topic that bores him is golemancy. He thinks minions are much better, but I'd say it's just a necromancer's bias.

Additionally, he really doesn't like listening about human gods. Trahearne used to tell him a lot about them when they were traversing Orr together and ever since their parting Airell can't stand hearing about them even by accident. It's dredging up painful memories.

[havoc-warband]

Scothin had emerged from his pod with the warm rays of the Tyrian sun on his new bark. The world had been bright and clear and bustling with life, which had been more than welcome after his Dream, which had been filled with fighting and violence and death.

He’d spoken to a Mender about it already, as one of the first things he’d done. They’d called it his Wyld Hunt, and had excitedly asked him what he planned to do to achieve it, had given him directions to the local branches of the three big Orders of Tyria.

He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, or if he would even want to- to have all that. What point is there to a life if there is only fighting in it? Scothin hadn’t felt like he could bring these thoughts up with the Menders, though, so he’d thanked them and went on his way, ostensibly to go talk to these Orders. As soon as he’d been out of their sight, he’d wandered into the complete opposite direction. He’d rather see some of the world with his own eyes before he started risking his life and limbs for it.

When dusk had fallen, he had returned to the Grove. The Caledon Forest had filled him with wonder, and he had thought about his Wyld Hunt long and hard, though he still had many doubts and uncertainties. Maybe, in a few days or weeks or months, whenever he felt ready for it, he’d follow through on the Menders’ suggestion about the Orders. If he ever did.

In the meanwhile, his first day on Tyria ended, and instead of going to sleep as he’d almost expected, the world just lit up with different kinds of life, other light finally visible now that the sun had gone down. Scothin’s siblings glowed a rainbow of colours, and he tried not to stare at them all in wonder as he explored the Grove. He looked down on his own hands, and he found veins of greenish yellow lighting up between the darker green and light blues of his bark. He felt like the colours fit him, somehow, and he was happy. Happy to exist here, like this, lighting up his birthplace with his family, safe from harm.

Without noticing, he’d wandered into the section of the Grove reserved for tending to new saplings. Scothin was torn from his wonder at the sound of agitated voices. Being curious and deciding he would help with the newborns if he could, he approached the source of the noise.

“He says he didn’t have a Dream, that he doesn’t know what we’re on about!” One Mender was loudly whispering to another, clearly disturbed.

“That can’t be - even the Soundless have the Dream, before they turn their backs on it,” her conversation partner said, pensively. The apathy in his voice caught wrongly in Scothin’s ears, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why.

“We should get one of the Firstborn,” the first Mender was talking again, “they might be able to help, or to- to fight him, if that would be necessary - I’ve never heard of anything like this, and there are these awful tales about the Nightmare Court-”

Something in Scothin’s chest flared at that, a protective note coming to life. They were condemning this poor newborn without knowing him, without giving him the benefit of the doubt. If Scothin had figured out anything in his first day of life, it’s that you should give things a chance, to let them figure out what they are, to not immediately assign them things based on your first impression of them.

“Hello, Menders!” He greeted them with a winning smile and a wave of his hand, stepping out from behind the wall.

The Menders startled at his intrusion. The apathetic one recovered first. “Hello, sapling. Can we help you with anything?” His voice still held some cold notes, and Scothin got the impression they wanted to dismiss him as fast as they could.

“In fact, I was wondering if I could help you!” Scothin said, cheerily. “I heard there are many pods about to bloom, and I figured you might need an extra hand.” He hadn’t, but he hoped that-

“Oh, well, in that case,” the first one said, glancing back at her partner with a shrug. Gotcha. “Follow us! You can help us prepare sets of explorer’s gear. We can’t let all our new siblings go into the world unprepared, and knowing the night blooms, they will want to immediately.”

“Great!” Scothin grinned, his first genuine facial expression of this interaction, and followed them to the pods.

He did help them prepare a good dozen kits. The first opportunity he got, though, he wandered off. They didn’t follow him or call him back, still too busy preparing more. It felt a little wrong to deceive them like this, but he told himself that if it was nothing, there had been no harm done, and in fact he’d helped them out. So.

Before long, he found what he was looking for.

A purple sylvari, with yellow eyes and a pinkish glow that were flaring periodically, faster than what Scothin thought normal, was sitting on the ground, arguing with a few Menders. He was making erratic gestures, and his eyes were wide, a bit wild.

“-can’t tell you what I don’t know, I’ve no clue who you people are, or where I am, or where I was before waking up here! You must believe me!”

Found him. The protective note from before had taken over Scothin’s chest and was burning warmly beneath his bark, so he walked over and sat down in the group, not caring for the strange looks of the others.

Conveniently, their conversation had lulled right then, so he jumped right in. “Greetings!” Scothin said, nodding at the Menders first, before looking at the suspicious sylvari and giving him a lingering smile. He looked apprehensive, distrustful, as if Scothin was also here to interrogate him, his eyes narrowing.

“Sapling, what are you-” one of the Menders began.

“Oh,” Scothin interjected easily, “I’m just here to help with the new blooms! I’d heard you were short on hands and help for tonight. I just awakened this morning, you see.”

“I- see,” the Mender said, confused. “You should really, erm, go help with the kits, though, we’ve got-”

“I already helped with the kits,” he said, putting on a little pout, which was only half fake. It had gotten tedious fast. “I was hoping I’d be able to talk with other newborns! Guide them into the world, as it were. I’m Scothin, what’s your name?” He followed this up with a curious, open look to the purple sylvari.

The other just stared at him, startled. “I-”

“Sapling, you need to-”

“I’d heard he couldn’t remember his Dream, is all, which I’ve heard can happen!” Scothin made up on the spot. He figured that if he just spoke enthusiastically enough, he would be able to fool them. He’d deal with the nasty feeling in his stomach about it later. “What I also heard is that if you take them on trips around the Forest, their memories will come back!”

“I-is that so?” the other Mender said, surprised.

“So I’ve heard!” Scothin said, glad that they’d taken the bait. He carefully didn’t look at the purple sylvari. “Now, would you like me to take him off your hands? It might be a busy night yet, from how many kits they had me packing! And he’ll come to no harm with me, I promise.”

Worst case scenario, he’d tell the Menders he’d converted to Soundlessness.

“I-” one Mender began, but was cut off by the other, who said: “Sure, why not!”

The Menders exchanged looks, one incredulous, the other pleading. Finally, the one clearly still doubting the plan sighed, and said: “Fine, you may take him. Don’t go near the Nightmare Court, and don’t leave the Forest. I’d prefer it if you didn’t even leave the bounds of Astorea, but I can tell that you’re a curious one.” The last sentence was said with a tolerant smile, already - he’d perfected the art of charming his way through situations, it seemed.

Scothin allowed himself a brilliant grin, and he thanked the Menders, before hauling himself up and extending a hand towards the purple sylvari.

He took it, allowing Scothin to pull him up to standing, and though he still looked wildly uncertain, his glow’s pulse had calmed down. The tangle in Scothin’s chest at having to lie in such a way eased a little at the sight.

“Hey, let’s go see the forest, see if that will ring any bells for you, yeah?” he said.

“Whyever not,” the other said under his breath, falling into step next to him. Scothin thought there might’ve been a hint of mocking in there, so he let out a chuckle.

“What, did you feel like sticking around until they’d call the Wardens on you?” he said, grinning.

That had been the wrong thing to say. The other stopped, and when Scothin stopped too and looked back at him, he looked startled. “The who? Like, guards?”

Scothin surreptitiously looked around a little. No one was especially close to them, and no one was paying attention to them, so he turned back to the other and whispered: “I’ve never heard any story of a sylvari waking up with complete Dream amnesia. They were speaking about how they might have to hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Wide, yellow eyes, pupils huge. “I- thank you? I think?”

Scothin leaned back again, grinning. He’d come clean about his lies, at least to this sylvari, and that seemed enough to finish untangling the web in his chest. “You’re welcome! Could I at least have your name for my troubles? I did give you mine earlier already.”

“Yes, Scothin, I remember,” he said. “I’m- uh.”

“Ah,” he winced, “do you also not remember-”

“No,” he said, frowning, “It’s just… on the tip of- Renfrac! My name is Renfrac.”

“Pleased to meet you, Renfrac,” Scothin said, extending his hand with a grin. Renfrac rolled his eyes but shook it anyway, a small smile playing around his lips.

“Right, let’s get out of this place before they verify your story,” he said with a lopsided smirk.

“Yes, let’s!” Scothin agreed, and continued leading him to the Grove’s exit.

—

Renfrac did not ever regain any memories of a Dream. He was very insistent that he’d never had any, and even though initially Scothin had harboured some hope for him in the same vein as his lies to the Menders, it had quickly become clear that even if Renfrac could remember his Dream, he wouldn’t have cared for it. So, Scothin had found out where the Soundless village in Caledon Forest was, and had shown it to his new friend. Renfrac never returned to the Grove.

Scothin had many discussions with Renfrac about his own Dream and Wyld Hunt, and what they meant. Renfrac was adamant that they should not govern his life in the slightest, and Scothin was sure that if he had had a Wyld Hunt, he’d have done everything to go against it. For his own part, that first night had shown him why his own Wyld Hunt was full of fighting and violence: some must fight, so that all may be free, as the Order of Tyria that he would end up joining would say. He was a protector in his heart, and the best defence was a good offence, in Scothin’s opinion. That first night had made the puzzle pieces fit, and he thought that even if he hadn’t had his Dream the way he did, he would’ve ended up on this path anyway.

He would often encounter Renfrac while out and about in the Forest: the other seemed to have a knack for finding him, especially when he was in trouble. Sometimes, this strange instinct worked the other way around as well: one time, Scothin was able to find and rescue Renfrac from some overly enthusiastic Nightmare Courtiers. They found out that the overly anxious Mender from that first night had not been wrong: the Court did have a tale about a sylvari without a Dream ushering in the end for the Pale Tree, and they were adamant to get their hands on Renfrac, who fit the bill close enough.

Nevertheless, they survived, and they grew, and they kept meeting up and having discussions at any hour of the day or night. Renfrac would remain very opinionated, though he learned to compromise, and Scothin became better at placing his unease with the Wardens and Menders and other Dreamers: they believed so strongly in their shared Pale Mother, did not think she would ever lead them astray, but from what he heard, Scothin was not so sure. She just seemed… so normal, not at all all-knowing, and it was dangerous to place all of his trust in that, he figured. He didn’t disagree with the teachings, like the Nightmare Court did, nor did he fully abandon it all, forsaking his connection to other siblings, like the Soundless, but he wasn’t fully a Dreamer anymore, either.

Eventually, Scothin moved to Vigil Keep, near lake Gendarr. He was afraid that he would never see the other again, but his fear proved unfounded: when his unit was ambushed by centaurs on a training mission, he could feel Renfrac’s presence a second before the enemy in front of him dropped dead in the middle of raising her sword at him, a bullet wound in her head spurting blood. Afterwards, in the impromptu camp set up to deal with the wounded, he knew to go take a short walk outside of the perimeter, where he found his friend. He’d asked him what he was doing here, instead of in Caledon, and Renfrac had responded vaguely, something about seeing new sights and dumb luck. Scothin instinctively knew it was bullshit, but he didn’t need to hear the actual words to know what his friend was really saying, so he just hugged him. Renfrac had a very interesting response: his glow flared up bright enough to light up the dusky forest and wouldn’t go down properly for several minutes, which he valiantly tried to ignore all the while. After they’d parted again, Scothin’s invitation to the campfire went unheeded, but then, he knew that Renfrac wasn’t one for big crowds. Crowds in general, to be honest. Actually, people is probably broad enough. People minus Scothin.

Maybe he’d eventually be able to rehabilitate his feral cat of a best friend. Though, for now, he did enjoy not having to share.

[mistfallengw2]

So I was researching some lore stuff for a few OCs involved with the Black Lion Trading Company, and it has come to my attention that the BLTC can't be much older than 5 years at the start of the personal story. Specifically, it's something that really took hold after Kralkatorrik's awakening.

[putting it under read more in case it's too long]

We have little info about when Evon Gnashblade's short story is set, just that he was 20 years old when he established the company, but he's not the most important part.

Mr. Sparkle is the key:

During the events of Edge of Destiny, Zojja and Snaff exclusively used pretty experimental golems made by him, and she doesn't mention having a golem of her own. The book is set in 1319-1320 AE.

Mr. Sparkle previous owner was Flummox, and he (or at least his salvaged remains) was sold after the events of Mr. Sparkles, A Tale of the Asura ("He would probably have to sell Mr. Sparkles to some younger golemancer." aka Zojja).

The other main character in that story is Sareb, Flummox's assistant and later Evon's personal assistant, who used her money to help found the Black Lion ("I've done some trading myself. I sold Zojja her golem, Mr. Sparkles. / She's heavily customized it, but I sold her the frame. It used to belong to an asura named Flummox, but he needed the money. I used my share to help Evon found the Black Lion.") [interesting note: Sareb's gender changes between the tale and the game, so I've decided she's trans and possibly the first ever user of a makeover kit]

There also is no mention of Kralkatorrik or the Brand in either short stories, and while it's not a detail necessary to include, it still means that both stories could be happening either around the same time of the book's events or shortly afterwards.

So, with all this information, I'd say that a believable timeline could be:

Evon becomes Legionnaire of his warband, takes control of the operations and properly establishes the BLTC between 1320 and 1321 AE (potentially even '19).

Around the same time, Flummox and Sareb have their little adventure with the jotun (potentially before Kralk's awakening), and at a later point (necessarily post-Kralk) they manage to sell Mr. Sparkle's frame to Zojja, then they part ways.

Sareb at one point meets the young charr entrepreneur and decides to use her share of the money to help him found his promising trading company, as well as keeping in check his aggressive methods with competition. Skip to 1325 AE, and they've grown so much that we find them all around Tyria.

[brax-was-here]

Intrigued by the mechanical wonders other races of Tyria have designed and built, you set out to forge your own. You heard tale of a sylvari before you that created wonders under the tutelage of teachers across the world. You have undertaken the task of travelling Tyria seeking her out. . Your journeys have taken you to the far corners of the land, but she has remained elusive.

Will you ever find her, Fronz?

[brightwingedbat]

have 2, 3, 5, and 13 from the gw2 asks for nastazya, if you’d like! :) @kerra-and-company

2 - What class would your character just absolutely blow at?

Thief. 100% Thief. Nastazya is loud, overbearing strength, up in your face. Everything a Thief is not. She does not have the dexterity to be a thief and would probably get stuck in places trying to sneak through small places because she's just BIG. I had questioned some of the magic-based professions but her Rage-empowering is a form of magic in itself, so she could probably learn that well. Thief is just an absolute fail for her aha. (Her missing left eye doesn't exactly help matters with the dexterity either.)

3 - What person impacted them the most?

General Almorra Soulkeeper. Nastazya was near the branding of Ascalon, lost half her original warband and her first mate to it. She then heard tales of Almorra, how far she went after going through the same but worse. It was part of the reason she chose Vigil when that chance came up. Almorra helped train Nastazya to control her rage better, fine tuning it into her combat. Nastazya would not be where she is now without Almorra. And spoiler note for Icebrood Saga - Finding out about Almorra's death was the first time Nastazya cried over someone who wasn't either her warband or family. And the angriest she had ever been on finding the truth out.

5 - What would they look like as the side character in someone else's story?

I've had discussions with this with a friend and my general thoughts is Nastazya would probably be a Vigil Warmaster, and often appear at points where Almorra does. Probably still end up with Marcus, that Whispers Lightbringer just can't seem to stay away. Without the Commander story to develop her, she largely just fits in the Vigil framework personality.

13 - What is the worst/funniest/dumbest article that could be written about them in Tyria's trashiest gossip mag?

Trashiest gossip mag would probably try to pin Naz as an exhibitionist of some sort because her choice of attire (until 1336 AE) leaves almost her entire muscled torso and arms on show. She honestly just likes the freedom, no bulky armour in the way of her whirlwind-of-steel axes, but of course the mags need to get those buyer numbers ahaha.

[wanderingchronicle]

Lol both your Path of Fire and End of Dragons class picks are GUARDIANS (the closest thing to a paladin Tyria has). Hitting people with books = using tales from history and legend as a source to inspire and empower people, as part of a tradition of resistance. Fire, quickness, healing, oh my! Zoomies = Willbender, a fighting style that originates with elite imperial bodyguards but in practice involves zipping around people like mad leaving trails of blue fire until they're surrounded by it and you sword them to death.

It's my customer service swag.

[meeeeeeese]

Sarro: where have your travels taken you? What have you recently seen that taught you something or inspired you? Or was it the people that you met?

Sarro looks up from his campfire, where a freshly caught fish is being cooked, held suspended above the flames by a gust of wind.

"Asking about my travels ey? Well gather 'round because I've been all over Tyria. My first destination was the priory headquarters in the ol' Shiverpeaks. Coulda spent years in their public library alone and there I learnt to use the ever-flowing and changing power of water to shift my form to something I found more natural to me. Beyond the Shiverpeaks I've been up and down Metrica and Caledon, climbing the floating rocks and communing with the local elementals. After seein' the tree children's home of the Pale Tree I hitched a ride on the restorationists barges to see the human ruins in Orr. Helped outta bit nourishing the soil for the plants an' clearing out the unchained before searching for secrets in the sunken libraries. Centuries under th'sea did little to spoil the scrolls there! Then I took a trip up to Garenhoff and telling you more would be breaking several promises so sadly Sarro's story ends here."

With a flick of his wrist he levitates the now cooked fish away from the flames, offering a piece as an apology for the incomplete tale. "Want some fish?"