COLLABORATION ART MISCELLANEOUS WRITING GW2 Shenanigans

"The Fahrar is where my first memories of worth came about." Softpaw spoke with reverence to the time as the interview began. "We were young; rowdy; full of energy and a lack of understanding. Our Primus was Urbaan Goreclaw, an old-timer with a bum knee and a twitchy eye. He was no looker," Soft laughed to himself, "but hell if he didn't know how to scare us straight. We learned fast; about government, military, history...everything in the books, like what you'd expect from a grizzled old shut-in like Urbaan, but that's what you get when you aren't lucky enough to be in the Fahrar of Young Heroes. Not that I'm bitter about it..."

Soft readjusted himself before moving on, "My warband's name was left up to us, so we wrote our suggestions and drew one out of a hat. Mine was selected, Mud, and it became the base of our surnames from then on. My name's suffix came from my Primus, thus the name 'Mudclaw'. Looking back, I might have chosen something different, but back then I was upset. I had then recently learned that my sire, curse his name, fled from his warband and had become a Gladium. My mother's death to a Flame Legion raid followed soon after, and I conveniently lumped the details of each tragedy together. It made me into a cynical cub. Then, in our lessons of history, Urbaan brought up an old human idiom, 'his name is now mud'. It resonated with me, and to some extent, still does...but I ramble. That is how I simultaneously spurned my sire and earned my surname."

"Honestly, the wound on my pride is still fresh when it comes to my sire. After becoming independent with my warband, I was called on assignment to an outlying Ash Legion outpost. My sire was stirring up trouble for his fellow soldiers, and thought I would provide a fresh perspective, considering I was his son. Well, they assumed so. I had yet to reclaim that title." Soft massaged his temples as he recollected details. "My sire lost a companion to human separatists, and was attempting to trade an artifact of the human god, Balthazar, for his safe return. With myself present as reinforcements, he wouldn't take no for an answer, and took off ahead to make the trade. The fool figured that we would be right behind him, but the truth is that we had no other options. If we didn't chase him down and retrieve that artifact, there wasn't a chance he'd survive, much less get his friend back. Only an idiot trusts the separatists."

"The trade had fallen through just as we'd arrived. A soldier was dead, and my sire was frothing and incoherent. I had him detained while we razed the camp, then he was arrested by his Legionnaire and led back to the Citadel." Soft took a deep breath, holding it in meditation. Whatever he had to say, it was obvious he wasn't happy with it. "I...don't know what pressed me, but I was curious of my sire's motives. I visited him in prison to hear him out. It wasn't until the jailer was out of earshot that he started talking: He claimed innocence; that he could prove it once heat was off him. I should have crushed his neck with the butt of my rifle then and there. He had already been accused of making trades with separatists in the past, and evidence, however circumstantial, was already mounted against him. He'd shown his colors. I should have just left him there. Left him to rot..." Soft shook his head and cleared his throat, looking eager to make quick work of this part of the story, "But he said he'd prove it if he could just get out of prison! Corvus' mane, I just wanted to see the man in the Bane, but something in me swayed, and that night, I killed many charr just to watch my sire walk through an Asura Gate. He wanted a tearful goodbye, father to son, and I gave it to him... I gave it to him so I can see the look on his face when I tear his leg off and shove it through his heart!" Soft snarled loudly, spitting the taste of the past off to the side before returning to a more passive position. "...I was pardoned due to extenuating circumstances. The Tribune put trust in my hands, so I, in the end, was the final say in my sire's fate. For the record, though, I want him to turn to dust and scatter across the swarms of humans he loved so much that he abandoned everything. An unmarked grave, deserving of an heir-less Gladium like him. I've since washed my hands of that moment, though it still lives to haunt my nightmares."

"...But life went on. I became a Legionnaire in the Ash legion, and pirated much of my current field of expertise off of the less attentive sorts in Iron until I had enough know-how to go beyond simple engineering. I was on the fast track to Centurion, but my Tribune contacted me with different arrangements. After leaving my warband in capable hands, I took up arms for the Durmand Priory. The Order of Whispers nearly had me, but their approach to problems was over-complicated. I would have liked to have lead them on a more stable path, but it seemed all they wanted was another lackey with talent. Granted, that was the case with all three orders, but at least with the Priory, I could apply what I learned in Ash without going through back doors."

"It was early in my career at the Priory when I met the unending thorn in my flank: Hildegarde Greef, an asura in league with the Order of Whispers. Exhausting, that woman. Simply talking about her is enough to make me see double..." Soft took a moment to catch his breath and rub his eyes. "To be frank, words aren't enough to describe her. She's boisterous and untethered, incredibly dangerous, tirelessly persistent, and aptly named. Why she found anything in me worth making friends with is beyond me." Soft cracked a few knuckles and popped his neck in anticipation of the next leg of his story.

"We met during a joint operation between the Priory and Whispers. The intent was to gather information on krait in Kessex Hills. Their work in the field of toxins and poisons had been escalating for a time, and the orders suspected the involvement of an artifact. Resources were a bit scarce at the time, so information was as far down the rabbit hole as we were allowed to go. After being briefed separately, we had our first encounter before the gates of our destination, a hylek homestead with a guide ready to lead us on. She was strikingly...bright, in a physical sense. Pinkish-white skin with no blemish outside of a few freckles on her nose, and intense, massive blue eyes. A student of mine described her voice as... witch-y, I believe. It matches her demeanor at least. I remember our first words to each other distinctly. She'd arrived late and said, 'I'd say good morning sunshine, but I feel like that'd be an insult.' " Soft, surprisingly, gave a brief chuckle before recounting further, "I humored her and asked, 'To whom?' She responded, 'To the sunshine.' To this day, that's been our way of saying hello. Strange how easily a tradition can come about... But moving on, Greef, despite coming off clumsy and inept most of the time, is an incredibly efficient mesmer. She's more a killer than an information-gatherer, which is the main reason she was placed in my care...well, I say that, but the woman has a will stronger than a ghost with a grudge. When she wants to go, there's little else to be done about it. I suppose that's how we ended up losing contact with our respective orders during the mission, returning three weeks later than scheduled with three high-value krait prisoners, research notes on a lich dissection, and the artifact we were initially only supposed to gather information on." Soft sighed. "...we were presumed dead, and our living quarters were handed off to new recruits. We were compensated with promotions, but it didn't help to replace most of my custom-crafted equipment. You would think the Priory would think before scrapping a prototype holo-generator..."

"In time, the problem of elder dragons fell on back-burner for me. The priory took notice and assigned me to a tutoring position for various offices of the orders. Greef, while technically still a field agent, attends class at rare intervals more to 'liven up' my lectures, as she'd put it. Aside from her, two of my more promising prospects are a human, Eliza Pembroke, and a sylvari, Erienwyn. We recently delved into the Nightmare Court to observe the finer details of their architecture. I fear it may have been a...traumatizing experience, but there's nothing to be done about it now. I'd say that covers the major details up to present. Now if you'll excuse me..."

After months of convincing, we were finally granted access to the Nightmare Court for our next interview: Fennel, leader of the Court's more diverse branch, named "Sleepwalkers." Heralds of the Court lead us deep into Joy's End, where Fennel held a summer home. After situating ourselves and respectfully (and wisely, given her responding expression) declined Fennel's offer of tea, the interview began. Our first question was...

"Why Sleepwalkers?" Fennel mused after a moment of thought, "We're pretty fringe by Nightmare Court standards because we don't actively work against the Dream, or Ventari's teachings. In fact, I'm rather fond of what I learned from the Tablet, and from the dream. However, we do wish to see a uniquely Sylvarian theology rise above second-hand wisdom. Ventari's Tablet would put the whole of the Sylvari race in jeporady were it not for the Nightmare Court's disruptions. We stop the daydreamers from walking off cliffs, and make them think. The Sylvari as a whole are so naive...it's important for us to maintain critical thought rather than relying on the Pale Tree, or the gods-blessed First-Borns. We walk with the sleepers, you see?" Fennel sipped from her cup. "...Pretty stupid reason on the whole, in my opinion, but I didn't come up with the name."

"My own dream still rests vividly in my mind," She sat back to reminisce, her lips curling in a satisfied grin, "like a chalice of spirits, I'd say. Looking back on silly dreams can get you drunk on glory, and hung up on the finery of interpretations: A fast path to getting maimed and slaughtered, I think. But a sip here and there can do a wonder on the nerves, so here it is: In my dream, I was walking a steady path. To my sides stood all kinds of terrible things. Sons of Svanir; the Inquest; Separatists; Flame Legion; the Nightmare Court..." She continued listing for a few minutes longer, recalling everything from a rambunctious squall of Quaggan pirates to a rebel legion of Kodan. "When I crossed their path, they looked at me with rage. I could feel it! It shook me to my spine...but I kept walking. The moment I passed them, they were engulfed in flames, and turned to ash. At first I was terrified, but I grew used to the heat before long, and I found that the flames would never go ahead of me, even as I stopped to watch armies burn to ash in my wake." Fennel gave herself a hug, trying to find a way to best describe the feeling she was having. Then she took a deep, satisfied breath, and continued.

"My path didn't stop there. The further I walked, the more I saw. Branded; Destroyers; Icebrood; Mordrem; Risen...and they burned as well. Their heralds flew down, and they roared down at me, hurling curses and speaking spells I could hardly understand! They distorted my path, and blinded me; turned me around and did all in their power to force me to move...but I could feel the fire. Every time I was shaken or shifted, I would feel for the heat on my back, close my eyes, and walk forward. In time, the elder dragons were nothing more than..." Fennel chuckled, "...a nightmare. Then I woke in the cool cycle of dusk, and was told how grand my Wyld hunt was to be, and how monumental my achievements would be, and how my name would be known the world over!" She scoffed, taking another sip of tea. "I just wanted to be warm. I just wanted to live. It was the fire that was trying to earn all this glory and honor. It could have it, for all I cared."

"But life is full of unexpected stings. I felt no desire for the Wyld Hunt I was given, so when the Nightmare Court came in the night to abduct more members, I awoke and followed willingly. Despite being a passive sort back in the day, I was a zealous sapling. When I set my mind to something, I was rarely shaken off it. My budding fixation on independence made itself known to the Court, so they laid me to rest near the roots of their own Nightmare Tree, and from there, my dream continued."

Fennel adjusted her seat, sitting in a more upright position now. Her expression was eager. "The elder dragons were nowhere to be seen. Piles of ashes high as hilltops and scattered as far as I could see were all that remained of my past dream. Yet once more, I felt a heat to my back, prodding me forward despite the lack of a pathway. Ahead, I could see friends I had made in the grove: People who had come to expect so much out of my Wyld Hunt, and pressed me to follow it with all of my heart. You won't regret it, They said... So naive, but then again, so was I. I remember wailing and screaming as I was forced to step past them, one by one. I'll never forget their screams. They were alive. They were in maddening pain. I looked back only once, and saw a pool of blood slowly evaporating away...I remember wishing for a second pair of hands to cover my ears as well as my eyes, but I had no such luck. Instead, I just kept walking. Humans, Charr, Norn, Asura, Sylvari; death, death, death...all around me. All these things that I had been brought up to view as goods in the world." Fennel placed a finger to her lips, her expression twisting in some attempt at empathy. She failed to find the right face, and simply shrugged.

"That wasn't all, either! Djinn, Mursaat, Exalted...the whole human Pantheon! Burning, burning, burning!" Fennel's eyes lit up, her lips curled, fangs showed, and the spark of madness that she'd been holding back finally began to show. "All of Tyria burning below my knees, the ash sticking to my heels, clipping my palms, scratching across my cheek; thick as sandpaper, flush as snow. The screaming of a choir, the colors of the fire...I saw the whole world turn from green to gold in a matter of minutes. Then! And then! A grand portal to the Mists appeared before me, and I gasped. In that split second, all the ash and fire swarmed into me, and I woke up."

She finished her tea with a final sip, and moved on to a platter of sandwiches. A deep, heavy swallow prefaced the next portion of her story. "*ahem* That was my descent into the Nightmare. I woke up in the midst of thorny roots and poisonous leaves a new Sylvari, burdened with glorious purpose and uninhibited drive. The Dream woke me up as a useless weed, without any protection, talent, or strength of my own. I was told that it was my destiny to be fragile...but the Nightmare revealed a new way; a second path, uninhibited by teachings branded into my very existence. Yes, the path is perilous, and yes, the ending is uncertain! It's ugly, mean, harsh, troublesome, harmful, and beyond the moral boundaries of any natural thing...but I want it. Survival is fear. Destruction is power." Fennel slammed her fist on the table before her, jostling the sandwiches and spilling the other cups of tea. She stood like a preacher, arms open and smile broad, as she repeated herself. "Destruction, little ashes, is power. The more you can cause, the more you can have. That is My Hunt. No Wyld, no Dark, but MINE! MINE!"

Fennel picked up in volume from there, laughing maniacally as her hands ignited and eager to follow through with her preaching. "Idiots! Morons! Worthless, useless twigs! From the Grove to the Court, it's all a fat farce! I'd tear my foliage out if I didn't have an image to uphold. From the second I woke from the nightmare I've been a scheduled lackey for some glorified children's camp! Rising through the ranks was easy enough with a purpose as strong as mine, but everyone has their rules. Now I'm stuck between Joy's End and Brokenhope, running myself ragged instead of pursuing my destiny! Bah, if it's not the Tablet, it's some convoluted, romanticized chain of command. I'll spit up what little I've gotten to eat if I hear talk of barons or dukes again today." She let her flames flicker out, taking a seat with a sigh.

"I think this interview has run its course, but it had been nice to blow off this steam. Why not stay a while longer? I have cookies in the oven!"

We carefully declined Fennel's offer and wrapped up, thankful for the lack of casualties.