What if I went insane about VoE and the Inquest and the machine augmentation stuff but like a month late and very quietly
anyway here's Quasar (she/her) and Hematite (he/it), they are t-minus 5 seconds away from turning on their 'inventors' and this will only mean good things for my commander probably
(Journal of Adelaide Montaine; 1338 AE - Season of the Colossus)
'The weather should be freezing this time of year, if not for the volcanic mountains looming in the distance. Vulpes, in ongoing efforts to expand its vocabulary, says Fireheart Rise is 'aggressively temperate.' After nearly losing my eyebrows to a lava bomb, I'm inclined to call that an understatement.'
'Once I exited the mountain pass from Frostgorge, I resumed work on my more delicate projects—the ones which require unfrozen finger dexterity to avoid burning my hands off. The fragment of Mount Maelstrom’s core fit cleanly into the metal casing I acquired (acquired being a loose definition) from the Priory archives before I ran off, and I'm now wearing it close to my chest. The file brick I took from Infinite Coil has proven itself useful, being one very committed researcher’s sum-total knowledge about me and my necromancy. Hanne is nothing if not thorough—if only her expertise was directed towards better ends.’
'The whole device, if it can be called that, functions (How best to phrase this?) as a sort of breaker for my magic. Or maybe an airlock? I'm sure at least one of the fancy technological terms from these research papers applies to it. As the creation of an elder dragon, the fragment passively absorbs and filters magic, creating a buffer between me and the energy Vulpes and I channel. It should help limit the amount of energy I can draw from and expel at once by storing the excess within itself, preventing another feedback loop like the Accident. And if I do need that extra energy reserve, I can safely draw it from the fragment instead of my life force reserves.
This is all hypothetical, of course; I'm not a qualified artificer. If the device blows up in my face during stress testing, my ghost will make an amendment to this section.'
'Forward progress has been slow. The old guard Flame Legion still has some footholds in the region, clinging desperately to their war with the other Legions, and they don't take kindly to travelers. I've been moving from Legion camp to Legion camp, trying to avoid spending the nights out in the open. So much has been ravaged by fire up here, it's hard to find places that aren't swarming with elementals emerging from the fallout. The air is thick and cloying with smoke, even in the clearer patches of forest.'
'I've reached the end of the ration pouch Lia's parents—my Uncle and Entle, which is still a novel thought—gave me in Lion's Arch along with their well-wishes. There's a scrap of red fabric hidden at the bottom, embroidered with a golden insignia: I know enough to recognize it as the Order of Whispers crest. I'm not sure if one (or both?) of them put it there for me to find, or if someone else managed to sneak it in as I traveled. (I certainly didn't suspect anything in Lion's Arch, but if I've learned anything about the Order in my very brief interactions with them, it's that the Agents you can see are more often than not covering for the ones you can't.)
Can't say whether the discovery worries me or not. Well, on second thought, I can—I am always worrying about things and this is no exception. If the Order knows where I am, then the Priory almost certainly does too; the Pact is so tightly interconnected that the three Orders function more like a many-limbed beast than separate organizations. But then again, I haven't been tracked down yet; if I were truly a high-priority mark, I don't think I would have made it this far afield. I hate to leave the matter with a 'Who knows?' but it's not like I can do anything about it now.'
'At least the soldiers up here are isolated enough to have avoided any news of runaway novices. I've kept my guard up around Pact deployments, but the Legions have been reassuringly blasé about my presence. I'm just another stray human to them; as long as I hold my own and pitch in when Flame decides to rear its head, we don't have problems with each other.
That's about where the Rise's hospitality ends, though. On a whim (because I can have those now that I'm not running on borrowed time) I took an old side road up into some ancient ruins. The start of the trail ran through a camp of humans—Separatists, an Iron Legion soldier would later inform me—who didn't seem friendly. I gave them a wide berth and headed further up into the cliffs, through the crumbling remains of what must've once been an Ascalonian outpost. That's when I saw the ghosts.'
'There were swarms of them, spectral humans in ancient armor—but unlike the ghosts of Godslost, or the dead soldier I spoke to in the shadow of Mount Maelstrom, or even the skeletal hordes of Lornar's Pass, I felt only a strange, cold emptiness from them, so cold it burned. They reminded me more of the Risen, husks consumed by some other power. I was unsettled—frightened, really—and fled back down the trail as quickly as stealth would allow me.
Around the campfire that night, I listened with rapt attention as a grizzled Blood Legionnaire recounted tales of the Foefire.'
'As the season attempts to grow colder, Fireheart Rise continues to live up to its name. I can't tell if the fire raining from above is from artillery spells or just a weather phenomenon wrought by all the reckless magic usage in this place. The sandy soil is mottled with ash and cinders, burnt-out husks standing where trees once grew. I've grown accustomed to kicking petrified logs into lava flows and hopping across them before they can sink, and wonder if this is why I can't just stay safe in a library like a self-respecting person. I think I've fully broken whatever internal meter is supposed to tell me not to do dangerous things. Vulpes questions if I ever had one to begin with. (For the record, I used to before it came along.)'
'Effigies. Towering constructions of steel and fire, animated by enough raw magic to kill an unprepared caster. I'd seen them in the distance as I traveled, but always kept my path far from theirs.
Now I'm lying on the soft grass of a Legion camp, still recovering my breath after felling no less than six of them, one after another, over the course of a night. We spotted the first telltale glow in the twilight hours, approaching from a nearby canyon in the blind spot of the camp's cannons. It came stalking up the embankment, flanked by archers, slow enough for the camp sharpshooters to bring pieces of its armor down as the Blood infantry charged out to meet it. Without many other options, I went with them. We brought the first effigy down as the sun dropped below the horizon. An hour later, the second one appeared.
This continued for a long, long time.'
'If the effigies were made to move any faster, this journal entry may not have been written. The ones brought to assault the camp moved like their joints were encased in tar, and while I emerged singed and sleepless, I was a small enough target that the looming metal limbs couldn't hit me before I seized their life-fire for myself, cleaving at their cores through the gaps in their cage-like torsos.
When morning came, we fell back to the camp and waited for another call, but none came. The fight was over. Vulpes is antsy, and maybe a bit upset at me for doing something so dangerous, but I think I've earned the respect of the soldiers here. Which is good, because I'm exhausted and feel just a bit safer letting my guard down. In other news, I'd count the whole experience as prolonged, strenuous magic usage, and my buffer device seems to be working. (I haven't started throwing up shadows again, anyway.)'
'I'm holding out some small, foolish hope for easier roads, but keeping my expectations low. The hair on the back of my neck keeps prickling the further east I get, and the soldiers in each camp I pass through mutter warnings about the same thing. Sooner rather than later, I'll have to contend with the Dragonbrand.'
something something ancient dragon champion who's taken on a much less combat-oriented role/maybe hibernates in a crystal for a while...refuses to get a haircut
idk when he'd actually show up in the proper au but ive been thinking abt him anyway
I've been traveling recently without much free time, but I finished this piece up today just in time to participate in @gw2communityevents's 2025 Elder Dragon Week.
I don't have writing to go with this piece, but the big inspiration was the parallels between Aurene and Caithe; the scions and the sylvari, and where they stand without the looming presence of the Dragon Cycle to inform/define their purpose, origins, and family.
local commander puts on even more layers before leaving for tropical continent, claims heat stroke doesn't apply to him; immediately sets self on fire infiltrating inquest lab
pyrite's obtained a condi daredevil outfit and i wanted to draw it :]
(Journal of Adelaide Montaine; 1339 AE - Season of the Phoenix)
'They sent a guardian after me. Oh Gods, the Priory thinks I'm possessed.'
'It's been an eventful few weeks. I'm trying to catch up as I sit here on the back of a supply wagon bound for the Fields of Ruin, but my head is still spinning. I suppose I should just start where I left off. After leaving Scholar Worfmir and the rest of the priory team monitoring Bria to their work, I spent a long time pondering why my escape early retirement from the Priory seemed to have gone so smoothly after I got clear of Lion's Arch, especially with the Whispers badge slipped into my bag making it clear that even the Order was aware of my departure. Maybe my letter to Gixx really was as convincing as I'd hoped it was.'
'Stopping to question a captive Inquest operative against my better judgement was really the first mistake I made in the Steppes. The shadow of Hanne's words had been hanging heavily over me for a while, and when I saw the opportunity to possibly confirm whether or not she was still following me, I couldn't help but take it.
I put up my hood and stormed into their hidden lab with less subtlety than the situation warranted, which was the second mistake. Or mistake 1.5, maybe? I shut off the alarm manually (hit it with a sword) and went right for the databases. My limited experience with Inquest technology isn't much more than other farm girls from Kessex have, but it's at least enough to know what a keyword search is.'
'I don't know if I was expecting her to jump out of the console and stab me, or what. The feeling of being watched had only gotten stronger as I traveled through the region and part of me had thoroughly convinced itself I was about to be jumped and dragged off to a vivisection table at any given moment.
The Inquest assignment databases told the opposite story. Biothaumist Hanne had been reassigned shortly after our encounter to a highly classified new krewe, and shipped off to...somewhere. I was so baffled that the shadow I'd been convinced was right behind me wasn't even on mainland Tyria anymore that I barely noticed the alarm reactivating until I had to hightail it away from the lab supervisor.'
'Even after learning that Hanne had been sent far away, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was breathing down my neck, one step behind me. At this point, I decided that if my instincts weren't leading me completely astray, and Gixx kept his word about advocating for my innocence in Kryta, the unshakeable presence was most likely the Order of Whispers. But STILL, no matter how close I got to Pact encampments, no one made any attempts to capture, question, or really even talk to me. My hood is a serviceable disguise from a distance, but it isn't that good. I actually felt like I was being ignored, which, in hindsight, was probably true.'
'I started avoiding the Pact camps after that, staying with friendly ogres and camping out in the old Ascalonian ruins. Still, the feeling stayed, but I kept it at bay thinking about what the old wall must have looked like in its prime. An ancient feat of human dedication, and a symbol of old Ascalon's hostility and fear. Ghosts still mill around it, trying to keep outsiders at bay. I wish I could help them realize their war is over.
I was camped in a nook below those ruins (the third mistake was starting an uncovered fire) when she found me.'
'One moment, I was writing down my thoughts, and the next I had blue chains clamped around my neck, burning cold. At first I thought it was a ghost attack, but Vulpes' immediate panic felt different somehow. Then I saw the charr. I haven't encountered many guardians before, just a few among Priory and Vigil squads, but I was able to put two and two together. She was staring directly through me, like she could see the demon snarling behind my eyes.
I didn't recognize her armor, not at first. The only thoughts running through my head were the fight-flight-freeze kind, and I wasn't exactly examining what I would later realize was a modified Whispers brigantine bearing the Tyrian Alliance's crest on the back.'
'A bellowing shriek from above snapped me out of my panic (or maybe just made me panic more productively) and my flesh construct got a lucky hit on the bounty hunter. The magic sustaining the chains faltered and I threw the biggest concentration of terror magic I could in my attacker's direction before she could get a paw around the crossbow at her hip. I ran for the nearest Legion base as a Shatterer (an entire Torment-ridden Shatterer) passed overhead.
The bounty hunter wasn't dissuaded for long. We traded strikes as I clambered through the ruins and eventually decided to take my chances in the Brand itself. I don't know if you, imaginary reader, have ever had to out-sprint a charr who is actively trying to kill you, but it's not fun. I only have two legs to work with.'
'It was at about this point, sprinting full-tilt through the Dragonbrand, that I realized most of her shots were going embarrassingly wide. Then I realized she was missing on purpose, trying to herd me back out of the Brand rather than kill me outright. I put it together when I identified the Tyrian Alliance crest; this wasn't just any bounty hunter. She was here for Vulpes, not me.
From the Priory's perspective, I stumbled into their hall all those months ago in a delirium and denied their attempts to screen me for extraworldly entities, only to run off and immediately be accused of graverobbing and murder in Kryta. They know about the Accident, they know small-scale disasters tend to follow in my wake, and they know that once I finally managed to secure a place of safety in their underground library, I abruptly ran away again with little explanation. In their records, I've been nothing but erratic and flighty, a random Kessex orphan with magic too strong for my own good.'
'The Priory must think I'm a victim of demonic possession. (And they're not exactly wrong, either.) That would explain why the normal Pact forces haven't made any attempts to detain me; they must not know how strong or weak of a demon Vulpes is. They were waiting for a specialist to track me down.
The bounty hunter gave up the chase abruptly, just clear of Steeleye Span. I don't know why. It's possible her jurisdiction doesn't apply to places under the control of the United Legions, or that she'd rather not provoke whatever she thinks Vulpes is that close to a populated area - even if the population is made up of battle-hardened Sentinels. Either way, I took the lucky break and wound my way down towards the Fields of Ruin, much more careful to ensure I wasn't leaving a trail.'
'I haven't seen her since, but I can only assume she's still out there, probably regrouping and adapting her strategy now that we've actually exchanged blows. I wanted to drag my feet before investigating the address in Ebonhawke from Ma's book, but it looks like I won't get the luxury of traveling slowly.'
