Hey guys! I have great news to share with you all. Trials of Tyria is back! :D
It's been over 3 years since chapter 17 of this story was posted and everything went quiet. Even after the announcement of this story being discontinued, it has been itching in the back of my mind, pondering new ideas and possibilities as the story of Guild Wars 2 continued to unfold over the past years. Through the expansions and living world seasons, Guild Wars 2 has now arrived at a point where I have a clear idea in mind for a fitting conclusion and the buildup towards it. And I like it a lot more than what I originally planned.
That being said however, I cannot promise to deliver new chapters on any form of schedule. Now that the story is complete in my head, rest assured we still have long (long!) way to go. But I look forward to finishing this journey with you all if you're willing to rejoin me in it. Now without further ado, we'll continue on our journey with chapter 18.
They arrived in the sandy canyon that held within it an abandoned base of operations. The group took in the view – on ground level, there were only two passages that led to the wastes. To the north and south, armed with fortifications. But instead of wood or stone, they were of sharp metal and buzzing conduits, ready to zap enemies that came too close. Lightning turrets stood abandoned and unused behind the barriers, turned to a low frequency so they wouldn't attract the enemy with their noise. The silence made the place less appealing to invading monsters. Inside the camp, tents and training areas were of abundance. At one side of the canyon was the armory, sheltered by the red-orange carvings of nature. On the other, There was a commander's station and an open kitchen. Several casting lines were bolted to the cliff edges above. The ropes swung quietly along the warm wind. There, not very long before, flying airships would have floated idly in the sky, awaiting takeoff.
They had taken off. The camp was void of life. Mostly.
Only a single group of skritt skittered along to scavenge for metal and other goods that they deemed precious. They paid little mind to the new arrivals – three humans, a sylvari, and a bear – focusing instead on what the camp's previous residents had left behind.
The small party of survivors, once they approached closer to the camp's center and settled under the shade of the cliff to catch their breaths, were greeted skeptically by the larger group of a dozen scavengers. A small, twitchy glance here. Faint, squeaking chatter there. The skritt seemed a bit suspicious of the new arrivals, and kept a safe distance. At least they didn't assume the worst. Both Asterix and Bohan glanced around in confusion. Other than the obvious, why was the place empty?
"Wait, everybody left?" asked Bohan. "The entire Pact is gone?"
"Yes, the whole fleet. Left here only a couple of days ago for the assault on the dragon. We were expecting them to be back by yesterday after their first bombardment, but they never came." The female of the two remainders of the Seraph company took her helm off to get her messed up hair away from her face. "Then came back survivors. Usually in pairs of one to three. They told us they had been defeated in one fell swoop. We had them sent to nearby field hospitals."
The other seraph didn't bother to comment. He held his head in his hands, mumbling quietly to himself. Perhaps he was telling himself that this was all just a bad nightmare, or tried to reassure himself knowing he was alive. The woman didn't seem affected as much, but Asterix knew, people dealt with these situations in each their own way. They had lost comrades in that fight.
"As the Queen's main military group, the Seraph remained behind to keep watch over the main entrance to the camp. Her orders were to keep Fort Vandal in check, even after the news got out. We were supposed to wait for reinforcements… Well, so much for that." the lady sighed sadly.
Asterix fumbled his mustache thoughtfully. So this is where the Pact was stationed before things got out of hand. That meant they were very close to the danger zone now. Nobody seemed comfortable with the idea. The Gaul had heard stories of what the land of Orr was like while the resident Elder Dragon, Zhaitan, was in power. Margrit told it to him so vividly. It was almost as if she had seen it all happen herself. It was simply well-documented.
Orr was said to be a lush and holy land of the humans. It was blessed by their gods who lived there among them. But clearly those blessings were not meant to last after those gods had left.
When the charr were still at war with humanity, Orr became a target of their conquest. One royal Orrian vizier was apparently not fond of the idea, and decided he would rather watch his homeland die than let it be conquered. From the scrolls he had kept, he unleashed a great curse that sank the entire peninsula and drowned all life on it.
But it wasn't the end for Orr – something had been sleeping underneath it. Zhaitan, the dragon of undeath, woke from its long slumber.
As the beast made its rise to the surface, the land rode its back, and was once again pushed back up along with the dragon, unleashing catastrophic tsunamis that destroyed many coastal cities. The monster took immediate control of all the dead that surfaced along with Orr. Any who were killed by its minions, or died in its field of influence, would rise again to serve the dragon. They had no will of their own; only Zhaitan's. Survivors who fought in the war and walked the risen land itself, told of rotting fauna, ancient, corroded ruins, and dead things watching them from every corner.
Back then, the thought of slaying such a creature was no more than a wild, hopeful dream. But the Pact made it possible. It was all combined effort; every race of being and the three orders, who made it their priority to find a solution to the Elder Dragon threat, fought together. Never before had the world been this united. Mordremoth was to be their next victory.
However, Mordremoth brought all that work low in the span of a single day. What was it that this dragon had that Zhaitan did not?
Asterix shook his head, after catching himself getting lost in thought again. He noticed that the others were contemplating their next step. Bohan still wanted to look for his friend. The two Seraph, obviously, didn't think this was a good idea, and opted to stay here and wait. Sighing, Asterix leaned his back against a nearby rock, and watched the skritt do their thing while he thought of a solution himself. The skritt didn't seem particularly dangerous. Some of the rat-like creatures looked back at him and the others, chittering high-pitched squeaks and whispers to one another as if gossiping.
Asterix look a short moment to check himself over again. Nothing wrong, thank the gods. His hands were healed. Only the skin on his arm where he had been burned had begun to prickle in the warm wind. He decided against using their valuable water reserves to cool it. It was nothing severe anyway. Though, he was sure that things were no longer going to happen as they had planned. There was no way back; the Mordrem would take them if they tried. And Liliwen was still on the run. All they could do was press forward or stay here. Neither option seemed very appealing, though he would have chosen to go back if it were possible, he favored pressing forward over staying at the camp. Chances are, the vines may spread further. So it was either meekly hoping for rescue at the risk of getting caught or wasting away here, or go to the jungle where they may have a better chance to survive, and a chance to find back Liliwen.
Though he would have liked to, he didn't think he was in the position of taking leadership. "What now?" he asked, hoping to hear some input of the others.
"I think we should wait it out here," one of the soldiers said. Bohan started to groan apprehensively.
"I'm not really for the idea of wilting in this heat or getting caught by those mordrem behind us. I have a friend to find and I'm not leaving without her. We might as well spend the time finding her while we wait for this passage to get cleared up."
Seemed that Bohan had the same idea. The Gaul stood up and approached the others. "I think I agree with my friend here. At least we might be able to find shade, food and water in the jungle," Asterix added after Bohan finished speaking.
"You're both insane! That place is crawling with Mordrem," the woman stressed.
"And more possible survivors. If people came through here, then that must mean they managed to reorganize in some way," said Asterix. "I don't know about you, but I think we've got better chances out there."
"Listen, if your friend has come through here all alone, then she's dead now. We are staying here. You do whatever you want." The seraph soldier turned away, starting to look over her comrade, checking for injury. Asterix and Bohan stared quietly. Though, the outcome wasn't unexpected.
The sylvari sighed. "That could have gone better."
"Let's just leave them," said the Gaul. "They already have enough on their minds." He raised his hand and pulled back a thumb. "Let's see if we can prepare for crossing the desert. It's not too big. We can probably get through before nightfall. We'll leave some supplies for the others as well." Bohan nodded, suggesting they could look around the base for goods like the skritt did. At least, as long as the skritt didn't mind. With that, Bohan began to approach the rat-creatures slowly with Asterix and Bobbo closely nearby, hoping not to startle them.
At first, the critters eyed the three suspiciously, until one of them, white furred and in nothing more than a loincloth, a belt strapped along his torso, and a stained cooking pan in hand, approached them. Skittish blood-red eyes gazed at them.
"Did you need something?" it asked. Its deeper than usual voice suggested it was of masculine nature. It was honestly hard to tell, with skritt. They all looked the same.
"Hello, my name is Bohan. We don't mean any harm," the sylvari began.
"Likewise, They call me Tch'akkit." The skritt said back.
"We need to cross the desert. But to do that, we need extra supplies."
The skritt's whiskers twitched. "I'm afraid we can't provide much from our own stores. Our families have enough trouble scrambling together whatever we can to survive out here. Those thorned monsters have become increasingly aggressive since recent, you see. You're welcome to scavenge through this abandoned camp. We are working on moving out of the desert, and just found the place empty, ourselves."
Asterix found himself doing a slight double-take when he heard the skritt speak. Of all the races he met, he always remembered skritt not to be the sharpest knife in the bunch. But this one spoke so properly, at an easier pace to follow, had a larger vocabulary and looked far less excitable than the ones he'd met before. He blinked, casting a quick glance to Bohan. He wasn't even surprised. Was this somehow normal?
"Right," Bohan answered calmly. "We'll take a look around. Thank you."
At least they were friendly. That was a plus.
"I'll search the training fields and the commanders' office," Bohan said. Asterix nodded.
"Alright. I'll check the rest."
And so they split up, leaving Bobbo to lay flopped on his belly in the shade of the rocks, not wanting to bother wasting energy in this heat.
Asterix began with the nearest tent, and inspected each of them carefully, both inside and outside. The pact really did expect to eventually return, as less important belongings had been left there in either a neat fashion, or a rushed mess, waiting patiently for their owners to return. Only the most important was missing – ration stores were empty, and most oil and water tanks were drained. There were no weapons or their respective ammunition if they had required any. A shame, Asterix thought to himself. He could have used a few extra bullets and arrows, figuring he was going to use his weapons a lot out there.
Tch'akkit helped out, too. Being a skritt, he was an expert at finding useful things. He followed Asterix around until the very last tent, and inspected whatever Asterix didn't pick up, salvaging various things mostly for himself, including a huge helm that looked so deformed, it could only have been meant for a charr to wear. The tall, sky-blue crest that lined over the top gave Asterix the impression that it was some sort of Centurion's helmet, but he waved that thought aside.
"This will make a good cooking pot, don't you think? It's a bit wide, but that just means we can fit more food in!" Tch'akkit chirped, while he showed the helm to the Gaul, who was rummaging through another crate. "And the frill?" He fumbled his whiskers thoughtfully. "Ooh. We can make a scrubber out of that! We've got to keep our ship clean. Scrub it good."
Overhearing the skritt's inward chatter, Asterix stopped searching and turned his head, perking an eyebrow at Tch'akkit. Now he started sounding more like a normal skritt again, strangely... "You have a ship?" he asked.
"Oh, yes! Old SS Topsy-Turvy. It's stationed in the underground where we live. We're fixing it, so we can sail out of here and find a new, better home."
"Oh, it's a flying ship?"
Tch'akkit shook his head dismissively, rat ears flapping along. "Oh, no, no. Not one of those," he said. "It's a water ship. Floats on water."
"But how are you going to sail? This is a desert. Is there any water here at all?"
"Well, no. Not enough yet anyway. But we're filling the canyon below with water! If our calculations are correct, we're in need of, uhh… about 75-bajillion bucket-fulls more."
Unsure if the skritt was just messing with him at this point, Asterix acknowledged him with a faked smile and resumed his search. There was nothing useful in the last crate, either; just more sand than goods, and those goods were worn, leather-bound books, filled with more sand. It seeped into every nook and cranny of each tome, embedding themselves into the paper.
But curiosity got the better of him, and he began flipping through the pages of several books. Maybe they had something useful, like a map. Much to his disappointment most of them were just the usual illegible text, but eventually he caught glimpses of drawings, and that's where he stopped. Quickly, he flipped a few pages back to look at what he had seen. The pages were crammed with pencil sketches. All of them were simple circular shapes, with different symbols drawn within them. Some had descriptions written next to them, while others were crossed out in a mad rush.
While he observed the sketches, something clicked in his head. He remembered these – they were signets! The magic spells contained within runes that Liliwen once told him about.
Deciding they could prove helpful, he gently tore the pages out of the book, careful not to leave tears in the wrong places by accident, then dusted the sand off and folded them carefully, storing them in his backpack. Hopefully, Bohan would be able to translate these for him. Who knows, maybe one of them had a magic spell they could make good use of once they went deeper into the jungle. There was no harm in trying. With that thought, he buttoned the pack shut again. He was done in this tent.
"Alright, that's all the tents here. Let's check the kitchen next."
It was then that he had noticed Tch'akkit had begun muttering to himself again, investigating the helm in his claws at piqued interest. The skritt seemed oblivious to anything else, red eyes scanning the object as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Sometimes, those eyes stopped and stared out blankly, and one could see that he was in deep thought, his rodent lips mumbling to himself. Asterix called his name several times, until finally, the Gaul gave up and simply snapped his fingers instead. The sharp click released Tch'akkit of his trance, and he stared at the cause of the noise.
"Hey, we lost you there for a second." Asterix laughed.
"O-oh," the skritt squeaked shamefully. His earlier excited, childish movements had slowed. As though he had matured in an instant. "My sincere apologies. Sometimes I get lost in my own train of thought."
Indeed, seeing Tch'akkit in that way, it was like watching a druid completely lost in his research. Definitely something Asterix had not seen a skritt do before. He wondered…
"Hey, excuse me if I'm rude, but…" Asterix started, becoming reluctant at the idea if he should really ask such a question. Still, he continued, a bit haphazardly. "I, uh… I've met your kind before, but they never talk like you do. They were a lot more…um," He stopped, unable to think of any words that wouldn't offend the rat-like creature.
"Oh!" Tch'akkit suddenly squeaked, and his face lit up in a wide grin. Somehow he understood where the question was going. And he seemed eager to provide an answer. "Well, you see, we skritt do a lot through group communication, rather than just talking. The more of us are in one place, the smarter we become. Likewise, if there are less of us, we become a bit more… well, simple. I hope that makes sense."
"Yeah, I think so." The Gaul began to smile. It was a hive-mind kind of deal. Yet another mystery solved. "Also, hope we're not getting in the way."
"No problem. Scavenge all you like. Finders keepers, right?" The skritt beamed with a fair look on his face. "But, uh, if you find anything you can't really make use out of…"
"I'll leave it for you, don't worry," Asterix smiled. As he turned, he rolled his eyes with the grin still on his face. There was still a trait in the skritt he recognized. He picked his backpack up and ordered Bobbo to come along. "I'm going to check the food stores and the armory now. We'll be on our way after that."
"Wait, this place has a kitchen?" Tch'akkit suddenly asked with curious eyes.
"Yeah, but there's probably nothing there."
"But if there is food, we share, right?" Tch'akkit questioned with a hint of anxiety lingering in his voice. "I-I have many kits to feed."
Oh, boy. That instantly shot a pang of guilt right through the Gaul. "Of course," he answered, collecting enough strength in order not to let his voice waver. "The jungle could provide us with something if we really need it." At that very instant, Tch'akkit's ears and rat-tail drooped. His whiskers shivered and claws shook.
"Wh-What? You're going into the jungle?" the skritt squeaked with sudden terror in his eyes. "Oh, no. No no. You shouldn't. It's full of those creepy thorn monsters! Why would you want to g-go there?"
"Just…" He couldn't help but feel bad for Tch'akkit, the hole in his chest now growing even wider. The creature looked so afraid. The thorn monsters he continued mentioning — Mordrem… they must truly be a nightmare to face. "Don't worry about it. Okay?" he tried to reassure, again. "We can handle it. We really need to cross the desert, as soon as we're ready."
Tch'akkit silently scratched his cheek, still looking very weary. But finally, after a little more reassurance, he let out a defeated sigh. "Well, if you really insist on going… then at least let us help. Crossing the desert is too risky. The monsters stand watch all the time. Fortunately, we have a tunnel system leading right to the jungle borders. It's much safer!"
"That sounds like a plan. I'm sure my friend will also appreciate that." Asterix forced himself to smile as best he could.
The cavern halls were dark, but much cooler than the surface, making it a far more pleasant place to be. The air was fresher here, allowing it to be breathed more easily than the hot, dusty desert air above. Between all the torches affixed to the walls that lit the place, a single torch moved among them, swaying, and bobbing slightly up and down in the grip of a pale, thin, clawed hand. Only the skritt knew these tunnels well enough. After all, they had spent maybe a generation or two here. So Tch'akkit explained. He was happy to tell the purpose of every object, contraption, tunnel, and bridge in their base, as though they were something never seen before. But to be fair, Asterix didn't feel like listening. He even didn't muster the strength to look when the skritt pointed proudly to the huge, upside-down ship that hung within the cavern's largest crevice, hearing only a blur of noises as he chattered away.
It wasn't that he didn't care at all. He was just feeling groggy. He could only assume that the scorching sun must have done a number on his comrades and himself, because as soon as they stepped into the shadows of the cavern, the sudden shift in temperature slapped each of them so hard in the face that it left them dazed. Bobbo only took mere minutes to recover, and once the animal did, he looked much better than when he did under the hot sun. Poor animal. Margrit would be fuming if she heard this.
But the fact remained that they were all tired. After all, today had been nothing but walking and fighting. At least Bohan cared enough to chat with the skritt, despite how he felt, and Tch'akkit seemed to enjoy the sylvari's attention so much that he forgot about the Gaul. That meant Asterix didn't have to worry much about being noticed for his silence for a while. Just keep setting one foot in front of the other, he quietly told to himself. It'll be fine.
He felt more at ease with the fact that the skritt were kind enough to take in the two remaining seraph soldiers. They may have not agreed to coming along, but they didn't need to suffer in the heat, either. In return, they promised to send help as soon as possible. Now, packed with what they could carry — not much at all, a bottle of blood-whiskey, the charr kind, and some leftover Pact rations, enough to last a few days, — that, and with a guide at their side, they pressed on. The sun snuck through the gaps of the cavernous den, trickling down bright light reaching as far down as the depths went. A light that, once their eyes were adjusted to the darkness, became unbearable to even look at.
Other than that, the canyons were indeed a very pretty sight. Once Asterix felt a bit more like himself, he mistakenly let his eyes trace along the lines of erosion, lime and iron that colored the walls like a work of art. Why didn't they have natural wonders like these back home? Suddenly, as he stepped, he felt a shift. A loose rock rolled away under his foot, arching him forward in a surprised yelp. For a moment, his mind scattered, panic setting in with the possibility that he was going to tumble down the gaping hole they were merely passing by.
He felt the palms of his hands hit the dusty rock as he practically slammed them into the floor to hopefully stop himself from meeting that fate. Which worked, thank Belenos. His heart raced as he flopped on the ground, coughing at the dust kicking up. When he finally looked up, he was met with worried and surprised faces.
"You alright?" Bohan asked immediately. He extended a hand, but Asterix scrambled to pick himself up, patting away the red dust from himself.
"Loose rock," he groaned. "Watch where you step…"
Slowly, as the group wandered deeper, the hive-minded nature the skritt became more apparent. The further away from home he walked, the more Tch'akkit began to, apparently, lose his intelligence. He soon began muttering to himself in a childish fashion. At a certain point, he had to be reminded of what he was doing. Steadily, the tunnels became more narrow. The air turned cooler, turned more humid… And, with it, the feeling of dread hanging over each shoulder grew heavier the closer they came. Tch'akkit became jittery and uneasy. Until finally, he stopped walking entirely.
"Here." Tch'akkit hissed, when he pointed at the sunlight that peered through the end of the last tunnel. "End of the tunnel. Jungle not far from here. Keep going forward. End of the line for me, yes? Not going any further."
"Thank you Tch'akkit. You've been a big help," Bohan said earnestly.
"Yes yes," Tch'akkit squeaked while he waved his hand around impatiently. "Be quick. I want to go home. Don't like it here…"
Were it not for what dangers loomed outside, Asterix would have been able to smile. "We won't keep you any longer. Go to your family Tch'akkit. And thanks again," he said. And then, Tch'akkit turned around, vanishing back into the darkness with his torch in hand. When he was fully out of view, Asterix and Bohan stared out to the exit.
"Well," the Gaul began, taking his sword into his grip and sliding it out of its scabbard. The flames answered to his touch, lighting the tunnel they stood in. "This is the hard part. Ready?"
"I must confess, I'm a little scared. But…" Bohan admitted. His hand reached for shakily for his hatchet, but he became firm and confident when his fingers curled around the handle. "I'm ready."