Disclaimer: I do not own Guild Wars, Arenanet, or anything of the like. However, though I don't know how one may claim to 'own' a character or personality, I claim ownership to the characters' personalities.

This is a novelization of the story of Guild Wars: Prophecies solely for the purpose of honing my skills as a potential novelist, specifically, to develop my abilities to develop interesting characters. As a result, my interpretations of the different professions may not appeal to the grand majority. But this is just my interpretation.

This story is intended for those who have at least basic knowledge of the Guild Wars universe. Comments and Criticisms are very much appreciated, especially ones pertaining to me style of writing - I find that I'm not as clear as I'd like to be, and any suggestions on improving this would be especially welcome.

So, enjoy. Kudos to whoever gets the poor reference in this chapter's title.

Chapter One: Mesmer Mesmer

"You would dare speak to, let alone do business with them?" King Adelbern had leapt off his throne in a show of anger, surprising from one his age. Before him knelt a nobleman, dressed in exquisite green clothing made from the finest silk.

Sermo Malum remained calm, despite the threat of arrest and execution. "Your highness, with all the investments I have made with regards to the Ascalon Army, as well as my other endeavors, my coffers are running dangerously low. I require some foreign gold from to maintain my commitments to the war against Kryta, Orr, and the Charr."

The aged king paced the breadth of the raised dais the marble throne rested on, fuming at both himself–for showing such weakness–and the man who knelt before him. He chose to nitpick the man's plan. Perhaps the nobleman would slip up, and reveal some incriminating detail. "How did you contact the Krytan king?"

Keeping his head low so the King would not be able to see his smile, Sermo spoke, "I merely gave the request to the local Xunlai representative. They read the message to ensure it did not contain any state secrets, and then sent it along to their people in Lion's Arch. I received the reply in the same fashion."

Adelbern inwardly swore: he had no choice but to trust the Mesmer's words. To question them would be to question the neutrality of the Xunlai guild, a terrible diplomatic faux pas. "How do you know that the Krytans will just let you do your business and walk away with the platinum? Surely they know that you'd use it to fund the war against them."

Sermo's hidden smile grew wider. "I will be traveling with members of the Alherius Guild, as a guest. The Krytans won't so much as touch me, lest they offend their creditors."

Adelbern, exhausted by his receding anger, collapsed into his throne. In a voice that betrayed his age, he asked another question, "What guarantee do we have that you will return to Ascalon?"

Sermo raised his voice in a show out mock outrage, "With all due respect, your highness, I have given more to the army and the public than any other noble family! While I understand that you asked that in the spirit of caution, I am insulted that anyone could consider my loyalty in question!"

The King exploded again, "Stop acting. I'd expect this sort of thing on stage at Lady Althea's theatre, but not from you. I need concrete proof that you will return, with the gold, and not flee to Kryta as others have."

"Very well, your highness. I can offer you the deeds to my land. Should I, in a state of complete lunacy, abandon my homeland, all my family's lands will go to the crown, rather than to my nephew. I'll have the necessary paperwork written as soon as possible."

In thin, tired voice, King Adelbern replied, "That is sufficient. Go now. We need a few days to think over your request."

The Mesmer slowly raised himself up with the help of his cane, and bowed towards the king. "May Lyssa guide your fortune."

"And may she do the same for you. Now get gone."

Sermo, still smiling, opened the door to his carriage. He told the Warrior sitting inside, "Tor, I want you to ride up front in case of a Charr attack on the way back. They've been more daring of late."

A few seconds later an enormous bear of a man awkwardly extracted himself from a doorway that was obviously too small for him, and landed hard on the cobblestone road. Tor then turned around, and reached inside the coach for his weapons. After he'd climbed up front with the driver, he said in a deep and monotone voice, "Ready, boss."

The Mesmer nodded, and then knocked on the front wall to the compartment twice, signaling that he too was ready to depart. Immediately the carriage leapt to a sudden start. Sermo reached into the right pocket of his coat and pulled out a book on the History of Vabbi.

An hour outside Rin the carriage stopped. Sermo put his head outside the window, and demanded to know what was wrong. The driver nervously called back, "The horses are getting really nervous. They refuse to move at all."

Sighing in annoyance, the Mesmer pulled the glove on his right hand off and massaged the bridge of his nose. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by the detonation of a flare spell two feet to the right of the carriage. Tor leapt into action, while Sermo kicked open the door and hopped onto the dirt road. He saw that Tor had already reached the top of a nearby hill, and was dueling two Char warriors, both armed with axes and dressed in cruel, jagged armor. A few feet beyond were another pair of Charr, their unarmored forms revealing the distorted feline shape that was all teeth and fur. While slowly climbing the hill, he began chanting in a rhythmic and smooth tongue, with harsh consonants. His speech slowly crescendoed, ending with a point of his cane.

Almost immediately one of the Charr exploded in purple flames, as the energy it used to fuel its spells boiled away. The two beasts turned their attention towards the Mesmer, and spoke in the guttural tongue of the element they were invoking, intending to roast their victim alive. Flames appeared and flitted over their paws for a second before being launched towards Sermo. As soon as the spell left its paws, one of the Charr Shamans howled as purple fire raced over its body a second time.

Seeing both bursts of flame fall towards him, Sermo threw himself to the right and rolled down the hill a few feet. He used his cane to help him stand, and then spat out an interrupt. One of the shamans lost control of its spell, and howled as the flare detonated in its paws. Fueled by rage, it cast a series of flares, not noticing the damage being done with each complete casting. Eventually the purple fire was too much for its body, and it collapsed. The other Charr Shaman, upon seeing its comrade reduced to a wretched pile of burnt hair, snarled and ran towards Sermo, intending to tear him apart limb from limb.

Sermo, already bruised and tired from dodging so many flares, swore. As he ran down the hill, he gasped out a quick spell. The Shaman suddenly felt a great weight fall upon his back. When he twisted around to see what was there, he saw the charred body of its fellow Shaman.

Sermo allowed himself a moment to smile at the image of a Charr slowed by an imaginary weight. He then cast one more spell before turning to walk towards his carriage.

Now the corpse on the Shaman's back was clawing at its former comrade. The phantom wailed and scratched, while the Shaman crawled down the hill towards the Mesmer, slowed by the illusionary weight, but fueled with the knowledge that this human was responsible for its suffering.

Still the phantom of the dead Charr tore into its ally, through fur, skin, muscle and bone. The Shaman howled in agony, eventually attacking the weight on its back to try to drive it off. It pulled off the blackened skull, but still the phantom kept attacking. The Shaman only died when it witnessed the removal of its heart, torn out by the phantom.

When he was sure both of his enemies were dead, Sermo turned his attention towards Tor and his foes. Upon seeing that the Warrior had already killed one Charr, he whispered a few words and watched as purple flames raced across the hide of the remaining foe every time it swung its axe. Taking advantage of this, Tor blocked an attack with his shield, and as it winced, stabbed his sword into its heart as a final thrust.

Sermo called to the Warrior, "Hurry up. I want to be back in Ascalon City before dark, and we've wasted enough time here as it is." The warrior gave no sign of acknowledgement, choosing to slowly walk down the hill. Sermo shook his head and climbed into the carriage. Upon inspecting himself, he noticed that his sleeve had torn in the tumble down the hill.

It was well past midnight by the time the stagecoach pulled in front of the house Sermo owned in Ascalon City. Normally he would have retired to his country estate, but he had business which required his staying in the city proper.

As he slowly stepped onto the cobblestone road, he turned to his driver and said, "Send word to Morton that I want to speak with him, noon tomorrow. He's probably down in the catacombs, exploring. The other necromancers will know where he is, so ask them." Seeing the man's face pale visibly upon hearing this task, Sermo said, "Remember what I did to those Charr back there?" Upon seeing the man slowly nod, he smiled and said, "Good. Now go."

After watching the man run until he was lost to the darkness, he turned to Tor and threw him a bag of gold. "Here. Fifty gold per slain Charr. I assume that it will be enough to buy a woman or two?" Tor nodded. "Go enjoy yourself."

Tor turned and slowly walked in the direction of the eastern quarter of the city. Sermo entered his house, and walked up to his room. He dismissed the maids who would normally have helped him change, and fell onto the bed, exhausted, but ever-plotting.