Pact Commander in Dragon's Watch, Archaeologist in the Durmand Priory, Dragon mom, Harbinger Necromancer. I am Sylvari, born during the cycle of night. I've been out adventuring and causing problems to those that threaten Tyria. Currently in Nayos helping Kryptis Friend Peitha. Semi RP account for Guild Wars 2. Side blog for Artoriya.
8. Cylvahnas enjoys the shadows, but when she became the Commander, she had to step out and lead, so to speak. She's well known among her friends and soldiers she used to command. If anyone else knows her, she's surprised because she is a quiet person and thinks her actions go unnoticed.
11. It's a mix of both. She felt the initiative to stop Zhaitan because it was part of her Wyld Hunt, and she felt obligated to become a leader. Over time that changed when she gained a found family and saw the damage the elder dragons caused. She wanted to protect her friends and others from destruction. It became more personal with Balthazar and Joko. What motivates her is her desire to protect those she cares for, even if she's an introvert.
Another motivation is the desire to learn new things and explore the world. This inspired her to join the Priory and help them.
Their motivation has not changed too much as they are always wondering when the next threat will come. I think if there's any years of peace she will be content to spend time with Caithe in Cantha and go fishing all day.
15. She is confrontational when she needs to be. She would rather avoid conflict but if pushed she will confront the person or entity that has pushed her.
Part of that confrontation involves bringing out her companions with her necromancer magic. It is a warning to back off or suffer the consequences.
(Sorry I answered this so late, wasn't feeling well. )
Seeing talk about the topic going around, I felt the itch to try and make an ask list :>
Where did they grow up/spend their early years?
Do they distance themself from their background or embrace it?
Are they an outsider? Do they feel like one?
How do they feel about their past/younger self?
How do they feel about their family? Chosen and/or biological?
Are they always on schedule or do they easily lose track of time?
If asked to list a few fun facts about themself, what would they say?
Do they enjoy the spotlight or try to hide in the shadows? Are they actually well-known?
How easily do they make friends?
How easily do they make enemies?
Obligation or initiative, why do they do what they do? Is there something/someone specific that motivates them? (bonus: has their motivation changed over the years?)
Generally, what's most people's first impression of them? + What impression do they *want* to leave on others?
Is there anyone they'd like to be closer to than they are?
Is their worldview colorful or gray?
Are they more avoidant or confrontational?
How honest are they? To others and to themself?
How talkative are they?
Past, present, future - what do they think about most?
Do they love easily (platonic, familial, romantic, etc)? Is love easy for them to express?
Any song(s) that you feel represent your character best? (bonus: would *they* like this/these song(s)?)
Isera Paleleaf walked down an empty red and black corridor with more and more questions in her head. She had been pursuing a strange group of wizards when a fight ensued and now she was in a world she did not recognise.
"You certainly are not from here, what a curious creature you are."
The soft voice startled the sylvari and she froze. The first thing she thought of was the jungle dragon Mordremoth when he invaded her mind. She tried to push the voice and the memory out of her head and move but she could not. She felt...fear.
I am a nightmare courtier I do not fear anything! She kept telling herself, nightmares were not something to fear. They never were...so why did this cause chills? Not even the nightmares from her time in Maguuma terrified her or so she liked to tell herself. She had tried once to challenge the Pact Commander to show she was not afraid of the one who could slay dragons.
"Shut up!" She finally commanded at the voice.
"Oh, do not be afraid. I do not wish to hurt you...or do I?" The strange voice sounded almost curious at the last statement. Whomever it was sounded surprised at themselves that they did not wish to harm this little intruder.
Isera cursed, "by the pale mother shut up!" and moved forward into the strange hellish like castle? She was not sure and kept moving forward.
She found a platform and a strange looking being before her with large arm like wings and horns. Isera did not know whether to be impressed by the figure, scared, or confused. He had a deep voice that gave her more chills as she drew her crystal bow, if this creature wanted a fight then he would get one.
---------------------
Several hours later.....
The voice had continued to speak during and after her fight, she did not trust it but it had been a great help. Who are you?
"All in good time, dear." The voice was almost playful that time, which annoyed Isera because it was either playful, insightful, or cryptic. It was never informative on who they were and if she should consider them a threat.
Thoughts of Mordremoth again resurfaced as the voice spoke up again when she found herself with the astral ward. When she saw Zojja, the memories came flooding forward. She had not been against the asura but had been against the pact commander so she was not surprised when the woman angrily yelled at her. "I definitely deserved that..."
"What makes you say that? I felt like you enjoy those around you basking in your excellence."
"I was a...jerk then, I do not deserve any...basking....and you still have not told me who the hell you are!" Isera yelled, she was growing impatient with this voice and almost did not care she had a few onlookers now after that outburst. She glared at them, "WHAT?"
They turned away and she strode towards her skyscale, "you had better tell me who you are or..."
"Or what?" The voice laughed, playful again.
The sylvari muttered another curse and hopped on her skyscale, she was told to find those rifts but right now all she wanted to do was clear her head. She ended up finding a small island with a pond and a few palm trees, "floating islands in the sky...that will be an interesting story."
"It will, why do you seek solitude? I can feel your sadness and irritation."
Isera wanted to tell this voice where she could shover her questions but resisted, there was something that sounded like concern in the voice and genuine desire to understand. "I just like being by myself sometimes, I do not do well with crowds. And I am irritated at you!"
"Oh, I do apologise."
"You seem to be reading my mind and learn things about me without telling me what you want or who you are. You have seen my memories? You should know the last voice I had in my head tried to..." Isera froze again, she did not know who she was talking to. She did not know if she could even trust this voice, even after all these years of pushing the events of maguuma away from her thoughts it still hurt.
"I am not ready to tell you, I will however assure you that I am not like the dragon who sought to control you." The voice tried to be reassuring in her deep and melodic tone.
"Also do not tell anyone else, they will not react well to my presence in your mind."
"Can't you bother the pact commander? She has a far more interesting life than I do and I am a first born." The sylvari protested, she could accept the voice's reasoning but did not understand why she was getting this attention.
"How do you know I haven't already?"
"Just tell me your name, please?" Isera asked with less frustration in her voice this time. She gazed at the small angler fish in the pond as silence filled her mind and then one word:
The blood in his ears pumps loudly with his every fleeing step. At every corner, he’s met with darkness that surrounds him, envelops him, devouring him. Vines sprout from the ground and wrap around his legs to pull him down. He falls to the ground with a thud. A deep rumble laughs at him and his clawing attempts to escape its grasp and meets his gaze with its yellow eyes peering from the shadows as it slithers closer.
You cannot run from me.
At once, its maw opens wide allowing a figure to come out. It’s Trahearne—only his essence is completely warped by the jungle dragon. He grabs Eorlos by the throat and lifts him in the air as he tries to desperately kick away.
“You’re mine,” Trahearne’s voice interlaces with Mordremoth’s. “All that you are belongs to me.”
Trahearne’s corrupted image begins to twist and morph; his skin turns into dark, jagged bark and his blank, yellow eyes turn a slitted red. A sinister grin with fangs grows on his face. Eorlos feels his whole body freeze.
“Oh, poor brother. Don’t you ever learn?”
The figure drops him and disappears into green smoke. He scrambles to his feet as a hiss comes from the darkness. Giant, red eyes glare at him, and it slinks closer to reveal its drooling mouths and pointed legs. Its arms sway on its gigantic body as it fully shows itself. He winces at the shots of pain that go through his feet and hand. Laughter, hideous laughter, rings through his ears and all Eorlos can do is tremble at the sight of this monster.
“I’ve missed you, brother.” It lunges at him. Eorlos stumbles to react—it snatches him and holds him above one itself. He squirms in its grasp to try to free himself, but its grip tightens around him as it lowers him inside one of the wet caverns of its mouths. “We’ll be together, just like you said… Together forever.” Teeth gnash into his body and cut him piece by piece.
“NO!!” He claws at his own chest, trying to catch the air that escapes from his lungs. He pats his torso, his stomach, even his face. He’s in one piece. He’s alive. Eorlos cringes, still hearing the echoes of Dregris’ laughter, as he swallows his panic. He won’t get you. You’re safe. He won’t get you.
After a moment, his breathing calms and he gazes around the room he’s in. Moonlight shines in through a window, and even from here, he sees the lights of the extravagant city of Divinity’s Reach. The comfort of the bed he rests in and the blanket that’s draped over his body soothes him. But then he gasps sharply when someone stirs beside him.
“Not getting a good rest tonight, Commander?”
“So what!?” he fires at the other sylvari. Eorlos catches Canach’s eyes widening at his sudden explosion and flinches afterwards. “Sorry… I had a nightmare.”
“I know.” Canach’s hand brushes against his arm. “Would you lie back down for me?”
Eorlos sighs and slinks back under the blanket on his side with Canach coming up against his back with arms wrapping around him. Canach rests his head in the crook of Eorlos’ neck and his hand trails to Eorlos’ right hand, caressing his thumb against one of his warped fingers.
“I’ve never told you about what happened to me,” Eorlos says.
“About what?”
“About this.” Eorlos flexes his fingers slightly against Canach’s hand. “My nightmare… it was… I saw him in it. The one I used to call my brother.”
“You mean that thing that took us by surprise and snatched you before we fought Mordremoth?”
“Yeah.” He lets out a shaky breath. “That thing.”
A beat of quiet falls over them. Eorlos could sense Canach bristling, but he continues caressing his marred fingers as if they needed affection. There’s no snark, no biting words, and not even lust as was their usual interactions. No, the space—how little space there is between them in this moment—is gentle.
“Just what did he do to you?” the question Canach speaks is almost a whisper.
“He—” Eorlos chokes back a sob, one he didn’t realize he was holding back until now. “He tortured me. He told me to count. With every number he cut off my toes. After ten, I couldn’t speak. I—” Another shaky breath. “He forced me to continue counting. And then… my fingers…”
He must have been crying because he feels Canach’s arm tighten around his abdomen and pull him closer. Eorlos exhales and continues, “All I remember that night was his face… smiling at what he was doing. He enjoyed it like he was drinking in all of the pain he inflicted. I… it’s why I can never sleep.”
“Damn,” Canach says. His fingers interlock with Eorlos’, holding his hand firmly. “So, they grew back?”
“Mhm. Didn’t manage to… cut them down to the root. That’s what Mender Serimon said. I was… bedridden in the Grove for weeks.”
“Bedridden in the Grove for weeks? That must have been dreadfully exhausting.”
Eorlos solemnly chuckles, “You have no idea.”
“Look at me for one moment, will you?” Canach asks. Eorlos complies and turns his head towards him. Canach swiftly surprises him with a kiss—one that Eorlos drunkenly gives into—as he’s pressed up against his body. When Canach pulls away, he pouts.
Canach laughs at his visibly pouting face. “Hm, you know, I think there’s a perfect remedy that would help you sleep soundly.”
Eorlos raises a brow. But then he realizes what Canach means and a smirk spreads across his face. “Really? I don’t suppose you have this remedy, do you?”
“As a matter of fact,” Canach pulls him in with an even deeper kiss, “I do.”
I’m a bit late to the mordremvari party, but I just replayed HoT and had the terrible itch to draw a what-if scenario. Also I just love designing monsters!
Cesaria had a couple of really close calls in the deeper reaches of the jungle and without the help of his squadmates, one of them might’ve pushed him over the edge. Had that happened, he’d eventually turn up again a lot taller and looking like this after taking a bath in a blighting pod.
vaporwave
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
dededos
areudirty
romaincrisis
