Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tyria is a world belonging to Arenanet and NCSOFT in the form of the Guild Wars franchise.

I also only in part own the Foundation-Hub (. org) unofficial universe, in which this story coincides.

ACT I: So Long, Halcyon

Chapter 1: Ball and Chain

Seven felt the ground shudder as walls and buildings tumbled down in long lines that the massive artillery cut through Divinity's Reach raising clouds of dust which glowed in a bluish light. The wall was breached, it was his time.

A static tingle stirred in the air as Seven walked forward with his warband, faceless nemeses behind their fierce iron helmets.

CRACK

He glanced down at his left leg. For no apparent reason it bent outward and he could not bring it back in place. He called for his warband to wait for him but they had vanished into the glowing dust. He limped, desperate to catch up and be in on the initial battle. He gasped for air and ripped off his helmet revealing his face. Air whistled between his sharp teeth of his silver muzzle which gave him his second name, Steelwolf. He continued to shed his armour, not understanding why. Underneath instead of chain mail he wore simple rancher's clothes over his feline bulk. Part of his mind ordered him to flee, he was not equipped, he could barely walk, he was nothing, but he trudged forward, ignoring his doubts, his only desire was to fight and die for the Legion.

Despite how slow his progress seemed, he somehow caught up with his warband in mere minutes in the outer ring of the city. Clouds of sparkling dust concealed their view but eventually it cleared enough for them to view the devastation. Bodies littered the streets but the group of charr remained un-phased. These were humans, humans were enemies. He started at a strange rattling shriek and turned his head just as a raven flew over his shoulder, spraying scarlet specks on his woven sleeve, somehow able to fly with its wings soaked in thick blood. He followed it with his eyes where it landed on a tower and melted like ice, leaving a dark stain on the purity of the turret.

He continued on, putting the strange event from his mind, hungry for the glory of reaching the centre of the city where there was bound to be a fight.

A piercing wail brought his warband to a halt. There before them knelt a young woman cradling the crushed body of what was once a tiny girl in a blue dress.

Even the stoutest warrior was frozen in place, confronted by the first horror of conquest. Despite all their training or discipline, deep within their feline hearts they felt a glimmer of pity. A parent's loss of their child was something a perfect world would forbid.

A straw coloured charr was the first to stalk forwards, drawing a wicked blade to end the woman's misery. Instead, air rushed out of his lungs in a gasp as the woman appeared in front of him and slammed a fist into the his chest. He fell, and the woman moved on, her dark hair turning red and flying in a trail behind her. Every member of the warband tried to stop her and each one found themselves flung aside like straw to the wind. Seven raised his rifle but was not quick enough and found himself staring into the woman's frightening eyes.

The city was gone, only darkness surrounded him. Seven cried out, calling the names of his comrades. No answers came. Out of the darkness, twelve long, grey feathers drifted into view floating on an unperceivable current. They tenderly brush his and dance through his four ears and horns until coming to rest on the ground around his leonine tale, arranging themselves so they lay radiating outwards.

In the distance the darkness parted and a pair of giant blue eyes appeared before him glaring in disapproval through narrow pupils.

Seven gasped and sat up in bed. It was just a dream. "Not again." He groaned. He looked in the corner of his simply furnished room to see a wide eyed teen girl stare at him in concern as she sat at attention on her straw filled mattress in the corner.

"Dreaming of your war band?" she asked.

"Yeah…" he shook his head to wake himself. "But I think you were there this time, kicking all of our tails."

She chuckled, her brown eyes sparkling. "Really? I don't know how to take that." The girl stepped forward and grasped Seven's arm to help him out of his bed. Some of her long rusty bangs fell in front of her almond shaped eyes, impeding her view, but she faithfully clung to his arm.

He groaned stiffly as he moved his crumpled leg to the floor. "Thanks Orla," he muttered, grinning toothily.

After brushing her hair back she smiled brightly in return. "It's what I'm here for. Come on, Srykar made breakfast, and you don't want to keep that old lion waiting."

Seven chuckled as he grabbed his crutch and hobbled after the young woman towards the farmhouse's large kitchen.

Another charr stood before a blazing fire over which hung a large kettle. He was much larger than Seven, his fur was a dark brown like a dirt road after the rain, with white hairs scattered around his features betraying his age. He turned his grizzled head to them. "Well top of the morning to you. Groggy like a dog in summer are you? Keep down the thrashing next time, I could barely sleep with the noise of you doing you-know-what in your bed."

Seven rolled his eyes. "Relax old one, it was just a bad dream, no need to be talking like that in front of the young one."

Orla snorted, then covered her face in embarrassment. "I already know more than I need to about Charr behaviours, it's not like Srykar's wistful chatter can ruin me further."

"I'll have both of you know…" the elderly feline began, proudly stroking his tusks.

"Now you've done it." Seven hissed at Orla as she sat next to him.

Srykar began his account. "Back when I was a legionnaire, I was very wanted by the females. All of them needed their brood to have my genes, and of course I was more than willing to…"

Seven and Orla rolled their eyes and toned out the ramblings of the retired warrior as they chowed down on the savoury gruel. However, the elder waxed graphic and both charr and girl turned a shade of green, snatched up their bowls and hastened out the door to finish their meal in peace.

Taking their seats underneath a weeping willow by the brook beside the house, the two resumed their meal to the tune of the bubbling brook and the singing birds.

Orla grumbled, glancing back at the house. "Pervert."

"What happened to all that bravado earlier?" Seven inquired teasingly.

"I just didn't want you standing up for me, I can do that myself!"

"Or not…"

"…or not…" she conceded with a sigh.

Seven grinned at his little friend. "You should give him a bit of a break though. He's almost seventy but his mind is still back on the battlefield with his war-brothers. Of course he's going to be a bit crass."

Orla glared. "Just don't let him be a bad influence on you. That clear? If I hear the charr I've been nursing the last two years turned out into a breeding-fiend I might be forced to resort to dire measures."

Seven wiped his heavily whiskered muzzle and lowered his bowl. Then he wrapped a big arm around the girl's tiny shoulders. "That won't happen for two reasons. One; females are trouble-,"

Orla glared but allowed him to continue. "and two; cripples don't exactly attract many options."

The girl shook her head. "But you're smart, silver, and adorable!" she insisted.

He snorted in comic derision. "Females look for scars, lineage, strength and war stories. I have none of the above."

Orla looked sadly at her friend's twisted leg. It was hard for her to understand the charr's feelings. She had been raised as a slave, same as her parents, grandparents and back into the mists of time. They had accepted this life for even the Flame Legion charr, who once owned her, were not grievous taskmasters. They offered protection from the orcs, bandits, and trolls. Freedom to her was having the wide blue sky over her head and prairies and woods to lead the herds of cattle through. She was content.

And yet here was Seven Steelwolf, a young charr born free but bound by an injury to live as a farmer. He would be blessed with a long life and friends that would never leave. Why did he want to trade it for the horrors of the battlefield? Was the bent leg that saved Seven's life also his ball and chain like the one Orla remembered wearing at the slave market?

Her considerations were interrupted by her friend's rumbling voice. "Come on, it's time to move the cows to pasture."

She silently nodded and followed Seven to the house. From the rack by the door Seven retrieved his belt which had two identical, antique pistols, and a rifle which he slung on his back. Orla grabbed her shepherd's staff. Keeping pace with her crippled companion she took the cows to pasture under the idyllic blue sky.

Four calm hours passed when Seven halted and raised his snout to the breeze. He sniffed deeply, then nodded. "Hey, Orla! Let's take a break in the valley by the spring."

"Yes Seven!" Orla dashed around the outskirts of the herd, and with skill earned through years of practice brought them into the small sheltered valley.

Seven grinned at her work and nodded in approval as he lowered himself to the ground. Once she was done Orla sat on a boulder, her back to her friend and pulled out a reed flute. She looked askance at him, gesturing towards the instrument.

"Oh er-, go ahead."

She flashed a happy smile and soon the flittering notes filled the air and danced with the cacophony of the bubbling spring and the singing birds.

Seven sighed contentedly and lay down on the grassy slope in the shade of a birch grove. He watched as the light danced on his assistant's reddish hair and shoulders. His eyes widened in realisation. His hand snuck into his jacket and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil. He opened the book and flipped passed the intricate blue prints of engines, devices, and gadgets to the middle of the book which was filled with sketches of butterflies, trees, and landscapes though his eyes were mostly looking at the scattered picture studies of the girl in front of him. Most were sketches of her face and it's many expressions though some were simple, candid poses of her daydreaming, working or napping.

"I thought so," He mumbled. "I don't have one from this angle."

Swiftly, his pencil flew across the yellow paper as he drew the scene before him, trying his best to catch the lighting and ambience with his one colour.

He was nearly done, just trying to get the shoulders right, when his subject's voice made his heart leap in his throat. "What are you drawing, Seven?"

He immediately slammed the book shut and dropped it beside him. His flustered expression drew a smile from Orla. "What is it? You can show me."

That's just the thing, I-I can't. "Um… er… well…." He thumbed through the pages hurriedly until he arrived at a blueprint for one of his long forgotten projects. "Here! Here is what I was working on! You just… umm… surprised me!"

The teen cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. "Really? What is it."

"A… a-an intristernarfgarberato-, it digs holes!"

"Huh, couldn't you just use a shovel?"

"Yeah… it was a stupid idea anyway."

"Oh don't stop trying!" Orla insisted, excitement bubbling in her voice. "If it could dig holes faster, then it might be a great idea! You could get a prize at the annual engineering event in Black Citadel. You know the last one to win an award there received a permanent workshop and a hefty sum of money, and did you know? He was a farmer too! Didn't live more than ten miles from here."

Pleased with the shift in the conversation's focus Seven asked, "So, how did you find out about this?"

"Srykar lets me read the news over his shoulder." she shrugged. "Speaking of Srykar, he's going to need our help back at the house soon."

Looking to the sky, Seven noticed the angle of the sun. "Yeah, and it looks like the cows should have had their fill, they'll need to get ready for milking."

"Oh and Seven…" He looked askance up at her. She smirked, "Tell me when you want to show what you were really drawing."

"Urk!" he scratched his snout nervously and pretended he had not heard.

The two guided the cows back to the house, but not even the charr's keen senses detected five pairs of watchful eyes in the brambles as they passed.

At the gate they re-counted the cows as they passed through.

"That's all of them." Seven said pleased, leaning on the fence post.

"Really? I only counted seventeen." Orla replied.

They both looked over the cows again then spoke in unison. "Where's Hilda?"

"I'll go get her." Orla offered. "You go in and help Srykar, I'll go get her…" her voice drifted off as she swept her gaze over the rolling hills. "Oh there she is!" She pointed to the roguish bovine who was devouring the brambles a hundred metres away.

Seven nodded, giving her leave to retrieve the animal. "I'll fry some potatoes for you."

As she jogged away she shouted back. "Don't you dare! I have trouble enough staying fit with Srykar's cooking!"

He laughed, confused at her vanity, then limped back to the farmhouse, keeping his hand on the fence for support. Aromas of marinated beef drifted out the door as Seven stepped onto the porch causing his stomach to growl and making him liven his pace.

Before he took a step past the threshold, the wind picked up and carried with it a faint stench that made his hackles rise. Seven's eyes widened in horror. "Orla!" he roared as he spun around.

Thoughts?

And yeah, Seven... he likes Orla just a mite. I suppose I should admit now that part of this story is influenced by Beauty and the Beast, particularly Disney's version. Also, anyone notice that charr = The Beast just with an extra pair of horns and ears? I did, and I can never un-see the comparison.