BOOM!

That time, he felt it, even so far away from his perch in the trees, and when he turned to look, sure enough, a thick plume of oddly pink-tinted smoke was rising from the eaves of the forest. Tomas groaned, bringing up an arm to ward off the afternoon sun, and turned away…but the breeze wafted to him the acrid scent of the explosion, and underneath his mask, his eyes narrowed. That scent was familiar…

Intrigued and annoyed at the same time, he stood and brushed himself off, using his abilities to "blink" across various branches, moving nearly silently through the treetops until he came to where the explosion had originated. The place was already crawling with Wardens and even a couple Lionguard. There were a couple asura, and what were very definitely the corpses of a few more, along with the remains of outdoor lab equipment and…

Under the mask, his gaze homed in again; there looked to be the remains of seed-plants amongst the trashed equipment…plant "mines" the sylvari used in both defense and offense in the Maguuma jungle. There was something a little off about them though… Of course, if he wanted to find out what it was, he'd have to get closer, which meant being seen. Which he didn't want to do. Fortunately, sitting in the shadows above the rather grisly scene, he could hear what was going on quite well.

"I am telling you, it couldn't have been as you say. It must have been Nightm—"

The asura apprentice the Warden was talking to looked as if he were going to combust from anger, "Don't you dare demean my intellect by telling me I didn't see what I saw! I know the difference between a Nightmare Court and one of you sodding Wardens! They were Wardens I tell you, and I—"

"Hold it," one of the Lionguard, a human by height and look, cut in wearily, "look, what was your name again?"

The asura still looked two steps away from venting his rage again, but snapped out, "Krewe Apprentice Slivv, Alumnus of Dynamics, protégé of—"

"Fine fine," the Lionguard didn't look as if he had the patience for any more, "just tell us exactly what happened, in your own words."

Tomas almost forgot himself and groaned aloud, settling instead for putting his palm to his face in aggravation. The guard had been doing so well in condensing the situation, up until telling an asura, "in your own words." They were going to be there awhile… and while Tomas was highly curious about what actually had happened, not to mention noting certain details it seemed many of them either didn't see or were ignoring, he had no desire to deal with any sylvari from the Grove.

There was a shattering noise, and where he had been there was only the suggestion of butterfly wings and broken glass as his magic placed him elsewhere.

It was less than twenty-four hours later, Tomas was on his way down one of the roads leading to Morgan's Spiral, when a young sylvari came dashing up to him. It was dressed like one of the runners from the Grove, and skidded to a halt as it – she, he saw, on closer examination – approached him. "Tomas Bloodthorn?"

He folded his arms, and his words came not out loud, but in her mind: "Who is asking?"

"I bring you a summons from the Pale Tree herself!" For whatever reason, the sprout seemed to think that would get him moving.

Instead, he wrinkled his nose. "I'm busy. Shoo."

"But –"

He leveled a stare at her, made all the more discomfiting from the banded mask he wore that covered his eyes and mouth, so it was impossible to tell if he was actually looking at her or not—it had been a cause of much speculation among both his guild mates and fellow Priory members. Was he blind? Mute? Disfigured in some way? Only Tomas himself knew, and he wouldn't say.

Two days later, in the Omphalos Chamber, the soul of the Pale Tree was discussing some of the events of the past few weeks with her wardens when an ethereal voice came from nowhere. It was male and impossible to tell if it was actually in their heads or echoing around them.

"I came. What is it you want?"

There were three of him, fanned out around her from behind, and the Wardens there immediately lowered weapons at all three… until the Pale Tree held up one hand. "No, he is right, I summoned him. Although he took his time in answering my call."

The three of Tomas each made a different indication of disgust. "I'm not some lackey to come running. I am not one of yours."

She only smiled that secretive, knowing smile. "So you say." Turning to the guards and others in the chamber, "Leave us. I have something to discuss with Tomas Bloodthorn in private."

It took some time – her guards were loath to leave her with a sylvari of his reputation – but finally, they obeyed, and the chamber was empty except for her and the three of him. "Well?"

Again that maddeningly serene smile. "Tomas, I asked you here for many reasons. I'm sure if you've been anywhere near my boughs of late you've seen some of the incidents that have occurred between my children and the asura that reside in Maguuma alongside us."

Two of them nodded, one shrugged, and two shattered and vanished – the one left standing was to the right, not in the center as the Wardens had seemed to think. "What of it?"

"You haven't noticed anything odd?"

"Probably more so than your own Wardens, I'd wager."

The Pale Tree was venturing the same, but she did not say so aloud. "I want you to find out what is going on. There's more to this than mistaken identities and random lab accidents. I sense a purpose to this chaos that we do not yet understand. I want whoever's behind it rooted out and stopped. There is enough bad blood between my own children, Grove and Nightmare – we do not need to begin quarreling with neighbors of other races. There are bigger problems threatening Tyria that need our unified attention."

He started to nod, then tilted his head, "Wait a minute. Are you trying to send ME on a mission for you? I am not one of your lackeys! Nor some starry-eyed Grove sapling to do your bidding!"

She blinked at him as if in surprise. "Oh? I thought you were curious about these things as well, Tomas. After all if it is nothing it should be solved in short order. And if there is something behind all these strange 'mishaps' then are you not uniquely suited for getting at the truth? I was under the impression you were perceptive and very good at what you do."

Around the bands of the mask his skin crinkled as if he'd narrowed his eyes at her. "You may requisition allies from the Grove to assist if that would help," she added. As if the company of new saplings on this sort of mission would be useful… Almost as if she read the thought, she continued, "And no, you do not have to choose anyone who is new to the world – there are plenty still under my boughs who have experience that could aid you."

That was how he found himself haphazardly wandering the Grove, fuming slightly while trying to sift through the gathering of sylvari without really having to deal with any. Eventually, his path took him to the lowest level, off the beaten track where the Wardens kept prisoners – everything from mere troublemakers and malcontents to actual Nightmare Court if they could catch any. In the entryway, three Wardens were taking turns questioning a sylvari who was, in turn, making them all obviously nervous as he fiddled with a grenade while in their presence. He was seated, so Tomas could not make out how big he really was, and had dark greenish skin and branchy hair feathered with white leaves. He wore goggles and green and brown leathers, and seemed totally unconcerned that an incorrect slip of the fingers could blow them all up.

"I like him already," Tomas thought dryly, projecting the thought out loud and interrupting the Warden's questioning.

Startled, they looked up, and at least one seemed to get paler. "T-Tomas Bloodthorn?"

"Ah. Reputation precedes me again, good. I need this one's help on a mission from the Pale Tree. Step aside."

"We are ascertaining if this one had anything to do with the troubles in the forest of late," one Warden snapped, either oblivious to what Tomas had said or who he was… or not caring.

Tomas was not tall for a sylvari, but it didn't seem to matter. He had skin that was red with a few traces of new green, a thorny-looking Mohawk of red so dark it was almost black – and now that it was getting into dusk, his natural bioluminescence could be seen in his hair and what little of his skin showed – blood-red and baleful. He never spoke, either projecting what he wanted to say mentally to others or "out loud." Now, he did the latter, so all could hear. "Did you miss the part where I am doing this with the Pale Tree's authority, or did you miss the part about who I am?"

That same warden, who appeared to have a stubborn streak (or in Tomas' opinion, just a streak of idiocy) refused to budge. "It doesn't matter who you are. We're detaining this one until we're done."

"Ah, this one has a name, thank you," the dark sylvari cut in. His glow was silvery-white, which contrasted oddly with his very dark skin.

The Warden waved him off, as if that was a trivial detail. "He's had a reputation for liking fire and explosions since he podded. We're investigating the likelihood of his involvement in these so-called 'random' lab accidents the asurans keep having –"

"And I'm telling you it's not me! I've been in the Black Citadel since before these things started, training with another engineer! You can contact –"

"You'll do," Tomas interrupted. Come on."

"Now wait just a second, Tomas –" the Warden started to puff up, and the mesmer's full attention fastened on him.

"Bloodthorn, to you. You are no associate of mine. And if you have a problem, take it up with the Pale Tree."

The engineer could practically feel the anger in the words through the air; he wasn't entirely certain if he'd heard Tomas' half of the conversation in his head or aloud. He stood up, put the grenade away, and brushed himself off, pulling a rather full pack onto his back. "Where are we going?"

Tomas held up one finger to silence him, he was watching a new procession of Wardens inbound toward the jail – at least, his head had turned in that direction and he appeared to be studying the prisoner. There were six Wardens corralling him, two in front, two in back, and one on either side. The one farthest back was struggling under the weight of an enormous hammer with a stylized skull motif; it obviously did not belong to her.

The prisoner in the center of their group, his hands tied together with thick vines, stood out from the rest. He had dark ashy skin and a craggy face, as if some of his features were formed of rough bark. His hair was short, spiky leaves that looked to be almost black but proved instead to be a deep purple, and his eyes were somewhere between red and violet, the glow he gave off a lambent poison-purple as well. His armor was dark, too dark in the shadows of the jail's path to see its hues, and unlike Tomas or the engineer beside him his gear was crafted naturally – leaves and thorns woven together to make plate mail.

"Nightmare."

The one word made the prisoner stop, and his head turned to pin the pair of them with a no-nonsense gaze. "And what of it?"

Behind the mask, Tomas grinned. "You'll do, as well."

Well, that just about put the head Warden over the edge. "No! I refuse to allow it!" one of the guards had come up to inform him of the prisoner, and his green skin was turning interesting shades in his rage, "That is a Knight of the Court! I will not let him walk off willy-nilly on some fool's errand with a Mesmer who isn't even of the Tree!"

The silence following his declaration was palpable. Finally, it broke with Tomas' odd echoing way of not-speaking: "Keep in mind, dear Warden, if I chose, you would think you'd never captured him at all. I said, he will do. I need a meat shield and an expert on explosions. I have them. We're leaving."

The eerie mask turned to the Knight, "Get whatever things are yours. You too, pyro. And hurry up. I'm not in the mood to dawdle here any longer."

"I'm not a –" the engineer started to protest again but Tomas had started off at a brisk walk, his long coat flaring behind him as he went. Hurriedly, the dark sylvari scrambled to hoist the pack on his back, things in it and his pockets rattling as he jogged.

The Knight cleared his throat meaningfully and when Tomas turned, held up his bound hands in a pointed gesture. The Mesmer sighed in irritation and pulled a staff over his shoulder; with a flick of the wrist sending a wisp of chaos magic to burn through the shackles. It bounced erringly to the Knight and the Wardens, invigorating them all briefly – an unintended side effect that left Tomas even more annoyed. With a smirk, the Knight turned to the one still trying to hold the hammer and lifted it gracefully, one-handing it over his shoulder and following, whistling as he went as if he hadn't a care in the world.