Foreword: This story takes place 250 years after the events of Guild Wars, in the setting of Guild Wars 2. I'm writing this as a treat to myself, so I've decided to take some creative license and change a few things here and there, especially since not a lot is currently known about the mechanics of Guild Wars 2. As I'm sure you all can logically infer, I own nothing relating to Guild Wars or its affiliates, though I did create a few of the characters that appear herein. Everything else belongs to the wonderful people over at ArenaNet and NCSoft. That said, I hope you enjoy this little tale. Do I have the willpower to finish it? Time will tell. Let it commence! Rated M for possible mature content in the future. Not sure where this will go exactly (I know, I'm terrible), so suggestions are more than welcome!
—
Lightning rattled the glass panes set in the casements of Maerion Meldevin's office, just behind her writing desk, and its power threatened to topple over her ink jar, but she paid it very little mind, scribbling just as zealously on the fresh piece of parchment as she had before. Outwardly she may have seemed only slightly flustered, but she was really in quite a rage, and she would make certain that word of this reached Captain Thackeray's ears immediately. She knew he shared her dislike of Commander Serentine, and if anyone could step in and manage to make that wretched woman remove her tyrannical hand from Salma District, it was he.
Of course that coward would make her move in the dead of night and in the middle of a storm, when she believed Thackeray couldn't be sent for. Just for good measure, she would likely have her lackeys detain anyone who tried to leave Salma, under the pretext of imminent danger from the weather. But she was sadly mistaken if she thought Maerion would wait placidly with her hands folded at her lap until morning. She finished adding her signature to the bottom of the letter with a pointed swish of her quill and rolled up the parchment, securing it with a piece of finely woven red string, signaling urgency, and handed it to the dark little man in front of her. She'd been assured that he was quite skilled, and that if he couldn't slip past Serentine's minions, no one could. In truth, she would've marched into Thackeray's quarters herself—surely they wouldn't dare confine her—even with this Jorel at her disposal, but she feared what else that despicable creature would get away with if she left the district unattended.
"I'll deliver your message right away, Governor," Jorel said in that drawling, silky voice, but Maerion still pursed her lips in consternation. Given the circumstances, even if he moved as quickly as possible, it would still be a few hours before he made it to the Captain of the Seraph, though with reign to move about freely and horses at his disposal, Thackeray should then arrive without delay.
She dismissed Jorel with a wave of her hand and poured herself a spot of tea from the white porcelain pot as the door clicked shut behind him. It had gone cold, but still tasted pleasantly minty, and the thick honey soothed her mood. The room flashed white as more bolts of lightning fell outside, but she remained unshaken. Perhaps it was time to rid Divinity's Reach of the Ministry Guard in its entirety, and the corruption of the ministers along with it.
—
No matter how he twisted and turned in his four-poster bed, Logan had a hard time putting his mind to rest and getting any decent sleep this evening, and it had little to do with the deafening roars of thunder crashing overhead. The rain outside was falling in torrents, pounding against the delicate glass of the windows, and so he felt as though it should've been cooler, but he'd been forced to remove his nightshirt when it began to cling uncomfortably with hot sweat. He would attribute his wakefulness to that, if he hadn't been able to sleep on a forest floor with rain falling actually on him while on a mission with his Seraph before. No, something in the back of his head was troubling him, and he intended to find out what.
Sliding out of bed, he slipped into his armor, polished to gleaming even in the solid darkness, and strode out of his chambers and into the vestibule of the Seraph Headquarters, barely catching himself before he ran over a night shift soldier that had approached him with a document in her hands.
"I was just coming to wake you, Captain," she said, straightening rigidly and slapping her fist to her heart in formal salute. "This just arrived for you from Salma District. It's apparently urgent."
"Well done, private," he said absently, taking the proffered parchment. Salma District? That was one of the quieter neighborhoods in all of Divinity's Reach. What could've happened there so late at night? Undoing the red string seal, he unrolled the parchment and scanned the letter hastily at first, but had to read it two more times at his leisure to fully take in what he was reading. He crumpled the paper in his hand until his knuckles went white and he shook with fury.
"Captain?" the girl's apprehensive tone brought him brusquely back to reality, back from the dream world where Serentine's neck snapped over and over under the crush of his fingers.
"Have the stablemen saddle Gwen and fifty other horses, the best they can muster, and roust that many Seraph. And send for Countess Anise. Quickly, woman!" The girl squawked and ran in the opposite direction, and he instantly regretted shouting, but he doubted he had ever felt such burning hatred in his heart. The Ministry would seize any opportunity to undermine Jennah's authority, and with the Queen in Ebonhawke, they believed themselves free to do as they pleased with the city, and Serentine, ever their puppet, would of course never object to even the cruelest brutalities. In fact, that psychopath would happily carry them out with excessive force. By Lyssa's tears, he would wring that idiot woman's neck until he severed it from her shoulders! He tucked the letter in a pocket under his breastplate and made his way out of the white marble building through its massive double oak doors.
Outside, the tempest seemed to have picked up strength instead of subsiding. He marched through the sludge-covered cobblestones, ignoring the hair plastering to his face under the downpour, and was surprised to find the requested amount of mounts already being prepped for the ride when he reached the stables. He must've really put the fear of the Six Gods into that poor woman. He made a mental note to apologize when he saw her again.
"Bring me Gwen," he called to a lanky groom who couldn't have been a day over fourteen. He tossed him a few silver coins, and the boy's grin split his face as he ran off to fetch the mare. There were several workers bustling in different directions, expressions ranging from surprise to fear to annoyance. The Seraph he'd asked for were beginning to show individually or in small clusters, some already on duty, some freshly awakened. In relatively short order, girth straps, saddles, and harnesses had been properly secured, and the men and women under his command were mounting their steeds, himself included, jumping on the spirited charger he'd named after his late mother. Now, all that was missing was—
"You weren't leaving without me, were you, darling?" a sultry voice called, and he turned to catch a glimpse of the slender silhouette of Countess Anise, standing under the arched doorway that led to the stables. A fat gibbous moon, peeking through the thunderclouds, framed her dark figure in a dim silver nimbus until she stepped into the light, sauntering with a certain sway that spoke of elegance and grace. Despite the storm raging as fiercely as ever outside, she showed no signs of being wet. A beautiful woman.
"Certainly not, Countess." Logan blushed crimson as several of those behind him whistled appreciatively. She only smiled, raking a hand through her slicked-back auburn hair coquettishly. A very beautiful woman. He cleared his throat and made to hand her Governor Meldevin's letter to update her on the situation, but she took his hand instead and used his grip to hoist herself up behind him on Gwen. She forestalled him with a finger raised to his lips when he opened his mouth, giving her a questioning look.
"The Shining Blade's eyes reach far and wide, Captain. I'd have thought you'd've learned not to underestimate its Master Exemplar." She wrapped her arms around Logan's waist and leaned in to whisper in his ear, her voice like crystal wind chimes. "Let's go cut that sick Ministry bitch."
—
Anise would have preferred to handle this matter quietly, but she understood Thackeray's inclination to use force and intimidation when dealing with the Commander of the Ministry Guard. In truth, all three of Kryta's military factions, the Seraph, the Shining Blade, and the Ministry Guard, were often at odds with each other, caught in a three-way deadlock, but amicable relations between herself and Captain of the Seraph Logan Thackeray had allowed them to craft an allegiance of sorts to root out the festering plague that was the third organization. Its corruption touched deep, and this matter with the Taralien boy was the latest in a batch of violent acts committed by them against the working class of Divinity's Reach, actions wholly at odds with the intentions of Queen Jennah's egalitarian rule.
She'd managed to keep mostly dry until the storm dissipated as they rode forward, having cast an arcane shield over herself and her pretty manfriend. Looks could be important when dealing with political affairs, even if Logan couldn't see it. She had let the shield dissolve when the rain began to die off. It was quite taxing to maintain. As their company approached the guarded iron gates of Salma District, several of the men and women wearing the Ministry Guard's tabard, an elaborate golden hammer on a field of red, seemed taken aback by their appearance, and a few stalked off, no doubt to warn Serentine. Logan straightened in his saddle, his back stiff, the muscles in his arms hardening as he tightened his grip on Gwen's reins. Anise allowed herself a small smile and wondered, not for the first time, what bedding this man would be like.
"Open the gates," he said simply, his low tone reasonably composed. Some hesitated, obviously having been ordered to keep the entrance shut off against all "visitors," but when the Captain's hands flashed from the reins to the hilt of his sword, there was no shortage of volunteers willing to let them through.
Within, Anise caught sight of Governor Maerion Meldevin of Salma District, a plumply pretty woman several years her senior with threads of white in her blonde hair, held loosely by a silver net at the nape of her neck, wearing a conservative snug dress made of light gray wool and a matching cloak. She must've been warned that they were nearby. There was an ancient oil lantern in her hands, lit with a small fire that cast a feeble golden pool of light around her. She seemed to be whispering furiously to the woman towering over her, and who should that be but the serpent herself, in burnished plate-and-mail armor, surrounded by a bevy of her lapdogs. Dark and sinewy, she could've been called handsome if she weren't permanently stuck with that expression of disgust on her face. The sound of the horses' hooves stomping on the cobblestones drew their attention, and Serentine's fingers immediately went to caress the shaft of her gilded hammer at the sight of Logan, a twisted smile that held no satisfaction touching her lips.
"Both the Captain of the Seraph and the Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade?" she called, sounding amused, with an air of one that had been in the know from the beginning. "My, I am flattered, but I verily hope you are not here to butt into Ministry matters, my dears. I would hate to think what Legate Minister Caudecus would think if he thought you were intruding with his will, and that of the rest of the Ministry."
"That will be the least of his—and your—problems when Queen Jennah catches wind of this, Serentine," Logan said, dismounting. Her expression darkened, but she held her ground rigidly as he approached her. "You will free that innocent man immediately. Immediately, Serentine. And you will offer him the Ministry's apologies and a recompense for what you've put him through."
She laughed airily, as if he had told a fine joke. "I am afraid that is going to be quite impossible, Captain. The Ministry sat not five hours ago to reach a decision on this matter, and not that it is any of your concern, but the lesser consensus standing, a law that prohibits the use of magic in Divinity's Reach by anyone not belonging to Krytan nobility or not on duty as a government official or soldier has been passed. Despite the approval of this law, the Taralien boy was caught handling Fire magic before the eyes of several witnesses in the middle of this very street, and so has been taken into custody and awaits trial in the morning. Surely even the thicker heads in the Seraph can understand that the abhorrent misuse of magic by the bandits that roam these parts must be quelled."
"He was performing tricks for indigent children who cannot afford to visit a circus," the Governor put in irately, green eyes flashing hotly, "not robbing an old woman of her purse, you blithering twat! And if the Ministry had only just passed this 'law,' how could he have known that he was doing anything wrong?"
"I am very sorry, dear," Serentine said, sounding as if she were not very sorry at all, "but ignorance, as I'm sure you know, is not an excuse."
"No law proposed by the Ministry is final until the Queen has stamped her seal of approval on it, Commander," Anise offered, pleasantly cool, edging Gwen closer to the group. "This arrest is a gross miscarriage of justice and an ugly blot in our city's history of fairness and vision of equality for all. We cannot simply take away the rights of many because they have been abused by some."
"Be that as it may, Countess," Serentine went on smugly, blind and deaf to logic and reason, "the Queen still finds herself occupied with the negotiations with the savages at Ebonhawke. As has been the case in the past, the Ministry rules Divinity's Reach when Her Majesty is… unavailable, and they have said their final words on this particular affair."
By Melandru's roots, the woman was obstinate! Logan had put his hands behind his back in what could only be an attempt to prevent himself from decking her in the jaw, and Governor Meldevin seemed to be in the process of chipping a tooth.
"Very well," Anise said quietly, her voice trailing to a thin thread. She slid off Gwen and reached into a compartment within her blue dress. "I was rather hoping it would not come to this, Commander, but you have left me no alternative."
Suddenly Serentine took a hasty step back, a look of horror contorting her face as her hands flew to unhook her hammer from her wide plate belt. The sharp sound of steel flying off sheaths and scabbards filled the chill night air as the Ministry Guard readied for a confrontation behind her, and the Seraph mirrored their movements behind herself and Logan.
Anise only chuckled musically. She retrieved a tiny slip of neatly folded white paper from her pocket and handed it to Serentine, who glared at her heatedly, lips curling. "Surely you did not think I would bring this to blows, did you, Commander?" she said sweetly.
Serentine snatched the small note briskly and read quickly, looking as if she'd been slapped when she had finished. She blinked and read again, this time quite clearly feigning calm. The corners of her mouth twitched. How very satisfying.
"I will bring you to him," she said, surprisingly meek, as she handed the note back, her face pale.
Logan glanced sideways at Anise, raising an eyebrow at her, but she merely pinched his cheek and trailed after Serentine, who had slumped visibly and seemed to have lost a little balance. She whispered into her second-in-command's ear, a heavily built young man with titillating hazel eyes, and he gave the order for the Guard to retreat. Logan likewise ordered the Seraph to hold their position while he and Governor Meldevin fell in beside Anise on Serentine's heels, with Meldevin holding up her skirts to keep them from the mud. They turned a corner lit softly by a failing lamppost, their footsteps echoing in the dark. They finally approached a small guardhouse manned by a man and a woman wearing the red-and-gold tabard who saluted Serentine, but she merely motioned sharply for them to get out, and they hurried off after their fellow soldiers.
Once inside, the Governor's lantern provided the only source of light. They descended a spiral staircase that led to an underground holding cell, a small claustrophobic room that smelled strongly of sweat mixed with a slight tang of human waste. The walls were coated with thick layers of slime, and deep cracks spiderwebbed across them. And there, behind a set of wrought iron black bars, lay the motionless shape of Saine Taralien, draped in fleeting shadows, an eye purple and a trickle of dry blood running from his temple to his chin.