The sky was unfamiliar. Angry. It felt wrong. The air itself was sick with death, and the clouds reflected the war that was tearing the city apart in a thick, crimson hue. It was the very essence of plague, and it was getting stronger by the second. This was strange to her, frightening even. For once, the doors were shut. The trees were silent. The birds had vanished. It was as if the world had enveloped itself in agony. It all happened so quickly, the pounding of her head had to catch up with the tempo of the shaking earth as it cried out. 'No..that's not nature..those are people..real people..' The nymph sat up, wincing as a sharp tingling sensation ran down into her legs. Looking down, she tried not to panic, instead doubling over in pain. Her feet were stuck. The leafy skirt that draped over her was now crimped, and ripped in some places. A forceful pull gathered nothing but aching limbs, the rubble she was trapped under not giving way at all. A whimper escaped her, hope fleeting from her as she tried a second time with no triumph. She was stuck. Pushing her arms outward, she tried to reach for leverage, instead coming across a horrific discovery. 'He's..' The man's face was familiar. She'd sold her unwanted ore and wood to him before in exchange for a low amount of coin. He was one of the refugees from the Shiverpeaks. His cold, stern face held no light of life at all underneath all that black fuzz. His cheeks no longer held that jubilant red glow. He was far gone. Not more than two feet away, another. A strong Norn woman with what looked to be the same fate. The trader's forum had collapsed, and from the looks of it, claimed a few lives as well. As if that wasn't the worst of the carnage, screams could be heard from every direction. Nympheadora dropped her head against her arms, resting her upper body. For the first time in her life, she felt alone. Very alone.
Another voice broke through the decay. It was strong, and desperate, calling out into the abyss of smoke and ruin. "This is the Trader's Forum Search and Rescue Squad. Is anyone out there?" It echoed, decibels dulled by the thickness of the pollution. Again it called, this time with a sense of urgency. "Trader's Forum Search and Rescue. Is anyone alive out there?" Nothing. Nothing but silence was returned. The same voice was muffled slightly, what seemed to be barking orders. Nympheadora tilted her head upward, trying to see amidst the wreckage and getting nothing but smoke. She couldn't find her voice. The putrid air had claimed it. Trying once more, she squeaked, uttering a small noise. It was progress. She tried again, more forcefully. It felt as though a weight the size of a dolyak was crushing her throat. Once more, she tried – then hesitated. A large airship hovered over, dropping off a few combatants. Something inside her told her these people weren't friendly. They dropped onto the dusty floor outside the front of what used to be the trader's forum, and were slowly making their way towards the mess. Weapons were in hand. Strange weapons. They looked nothing like the Lionguard. The voice from before grew more desperate, relaying the same message again, yet Nym held her attention on these newcomers. She knew if she yelled, these people would find her before they did. And they were getting closer. Reluctantly, she grabbed the closest corpse – the man she used to call a friend – and pulled his body over herself. If they thought she was dead, they wouldn't bother looking this way. All this was riding on the hope that the newcomers would leave and that the Lionguard would come soon. With this newly found hope, she swallowed, laying as still and as quietly as she could. She could feel her fronts wilting under all the heat and decay. Not too long after she heard their booming footsteps echo through the wood floor, the voice sent out a message that completely shattered all remnants of hope the sylvari had left. "Pull out. Pull out. There are no more survivors. The Miasma is getting worse. I repeat, all Lionguard report to the gates immediately. The gates are being destroyed in T minus one minute. I repeat, evacuate immediately." Those words trapped themselves in her mind as she stared at this man's lifeless body. The fact remained that soon she'd be a corpse like the rest of them. That she wasn't getting out. Swallowing again, she closed her eyes, silent tears streaming down the soft teal petals that made up her cheeks. She was going to die here.
Trembling, she tried so very hard to remain as still as possible while humming in her head. The utter sense of seclusion and hopelessness was starting to take its toll.
'And the bird sang to the tree
whipper wee whipper wee,
You can not fly as high as me..'
The keep was busy. Busier than usual. With all the attacks as of late, one would figure the factions as a whole would be utter chaos, but this. This was pure anarchy. A roaring crowd was buzzing around anxiously between relief tents, in and out of asura gates that seemed to have sprung up almost over night. A few vigil leaders were going around with fountain pens and scrolls in hand, catching witness details and consoling the victims. Surprisingly this was only a small fraction of the people that lived in Lion's Arch. The rest were either dead or missing. The list of priority went from the Priory, to the Whispers agents, to the Vigil soldiers and everyone else. While a lot of their research had gone up in flames, it was safe to say most if not all of the scholars made it out alive – or so they thought.
The male sylvari parted the crowd, his fern hound following as close to his heels as physically possible. He'd never seen such a crowd on the Vigil's doorstep, not since the attack on the Queen's Pavilion. The only thing he knew was that the gates to Lion's Arch had been sealed, and Lionguard were heavily present at guarding each one. Spotting another friend, he attempted to wave him down but to no avail did the pirate look up. Meihem scowled, scratching the back of his head in a moment's thought, hatching an idea. Leaning towards the hound, he whispered to his partner, who then dipped his muzzle in understanding and took off. The beast bounded towards the pirate, who was negotiating with a mildly disgruntled Charr about an exchange of some coin for a few pilfered belongings. Once there, the jaws locked on to a shining metal flask that hung at his belt, at which point the hound doubled back to his master with the pirate following.
"Cmere, ye damned mutt!" he shouted, almost tripping over people in his wake as the wolf slipped between the crowd. Finally, it stopped. "Gotcha!" As he went to grab the flask, a gloved hand caught it at the same time, bringing it up to a rather smug grin. The sylvari pirate wiped his forehead, holding back a haughty laugh. "Well, if't isn't Deputy Do-Right.." His bark-layered face narrowed into a spiteful glare. "To wot do I owe the honor for this snatching o' my rum?" he inquired, eying the beast with a displeased glower.
Meihem only grinned in return, ignoring the petty names. As the pirate went to snatch back his treasure, he simply pulled it further past his head. "Ah, a question – if you will." The ranger held a stern face, despite his young, childish antics.
"Ye? Wot? I'm 'earin the end o' my patience, twig." The pirate growled, bark brows furrowing with aggravation. Stopping a moment, he noticed something odd with the scene. The little sylvan lass that clung to his backside was missing. Throwing out a guess, his sneer twisted into a mockingly sincere smile. "Did ye lose somethin' mate?"
The ranger narrowed his eyes. "If you're referring to Nym, I haven't seen her. And with this commotion, it's starting to worry me.." Handing the flask back to him, his features changed from defensive to inquisitive. "What's going on, Demitri?"
It wasn't long before the flask was opened with him taking a few gulps, almost choking at the question. "By the Tree, where 'ave you been?" He wiped his mouth as he coughed, forcing the rum out of his windpipe. "Lion's Arch was raided by Scarlet and 'er band o' jumble. The city don't exist no more..and neither do most o' the peoples n'it, fer that matter.." He grumbled, taking another long swig of his flask.
"What?" Meihem asked in disbelief, his eyes widening as he slowly started to realize. This wasn't just a gathering. It was a refugee camp. Taking another quick look-over, he didn't see Nym. Demitri was right after all, even if he didn't want to admit it. Nympheadora had made it a custom to be as close as possible during this sort of thing, yet now she was no where to be found. She hadn't responded to his letter about the war. It wasn't like her at all. Regaining his train of thought, he turned to Demitri. "Dem, have you see Nympheadora anywhere? Did she come in with the other priory scholars?"
The pirate shook his head, recapping his flask and slipping it onto his belt. "Aye, haven' seen the wee lass since after the war. Said she got stationed in Lion's Arch to study dat drill o' somethin'.." Demitri studied the sylvari's face. He could almost feel the sense of dread creeping into his subconscious. His conscience told him he hadn't really helped with stemming his worries. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and patted his palm to the male's back. "C'mon lad. If she be anywhere, it'd most likely be at the Priory 'eadquarters.." Demitri turned, pointing out over the white heads of the tents to a hot air balloon that was ready for departure. "There be our ride, straight to Lornar's Pass."
"Then let's go." Meihem demanded, with out a second's thought. A slow feeling a dread was starting to fill his mind. 'Stop worrying, she's alright..don't assume the worst..' His mind was trying hard to convince him despite all the things running through it. This was going to be a long balloon ride.
The two men remained quiet. Demitri kept to himself out of respect, while Meihem sat contemplating. His tight ponytail pushed against the side of the basked as he closed his eyes, with his back leaning against it. The worrying made the trip all the more monotonous. What if she wasn't there? What if she was still in Lion's Arch? Dare he say it, what if she was a victim. He shook his head, as if trying to shake the notions from him. Letting out a long breath, he smiled, humming to try and calm his nerves.
'And the tree sang to the bird,
That is where you're wrong, I've heard,
For my dreams will always soar
higher than any bird has ever flown before..'