The beginning of the level 30 Sylvari quests and the return of best boi.

6: The First to Die

He'd been summoned yet again, an urgent missive from Caithe brought to him by a messenger pigeon, but he had not been far from the Grove at the time, only visiting with Blathnat in Mabon Market. She had relocated there recently to see more of the world in her own way, and sent him back to the Grove with an encouraging smile and yet another new outfit, this one natural-grown of the leaves that many Sylvari covered themselves with.

Caithe met him in the Upper Commons; she was pacing impatiently until she caught sight of him. "Excellent, you received my letter."

Caoilfhionn tilted his head to listen. "Goodness. It sounds like there's a commotion in the Omphalos Chamber."

Caithe grimaced as she motioned him over to the seed lift. "The emissaries of the three Orders of Tyria are making that noise. There is a… situation. One that you are best suited for, Valiant Caoilfhionn."

"Me? Why? What am I walking into?"

"Zhaitan's might is growing," Caithe said. "Its undead minions are rising rapidly on the beaches of Kryta and the Tarnished Coast. To the north, Overlake Haven is in danger. The Lionguard there are outmatched by the Risen troops."

Ah, so he could take action against the dragon he was destined to fight. "But why are the emissaries arguing? Why don't they just do something about it?"

"We think alike, you and I," Caithe told him, the barest twinkle in her eye – he gathered she would have found that funny if the situation were not so serious. "But let us speak with the Mother Tree. You are about to take a step forward on your quest, Valiant."

Trahearne met them at the entrance to the Omphalos Chamber, a faint look of exasperation fixed on his face. "Valiant, I'm glad you're here. They've been going on like this for an hour."

"I'm glad to be here," Caoilfhionn said, a lovely feeling suffusing him at the thought that Trahearne was glad to see him, even if for practical reasons.

Trahearne nodded and led them over to where the Pale Tree's avatar presided calmly over her squabbling children. "Everyone, please be silent! We are all assembed, and the Mother Tree wishes to speak."

The three other Sylvari took notice of him and ceased their heated bickering, and the one in heavy armour saluted him cheerfully. He smiled back, and then the Pale Tree began to speak.

The attack had been repelled through intrepid force of arms, for he had chosen the Vigil's plan of defense – he really didn't see why they couldn't do both plans, but since they wanted him to choose, he had chosen. He could feel them grooming him for leadership – but why not? He might be young, but his Wyld Hunt would demand much of him, and should it demand he lead, he sorely needed the experience.

It had happened too quickly to send word to Wegaff to ask for aid, but he did on his return, though he had yet more to do. "I have good news, Mother Tree. Overake Haven is safe, and the undead have been driven away." He proceeded to elaborate upon all that had transpired.

"Well done," the Pale Tree said to him with a gentle smile. "But your task is far from over."

"Valiant Caoilfhionn, about this strange undead you saw on the battlefield…" Trahearne said to him. "I think I can help you there. The creature sounds like a lich. From the description you gave, I think I can identify it as Mazdak the Accursed."

"Mazdak the Accursed?" the Pale Tree said, and a shudder went through her avatar, as if a cold wind had blown past her great stem. "I know that name. One of my Firstborn, Riannoc, went to destroy Mazdak many years ago. I armed him with a thorn from my own bough, a mighty sword named Caladbolg. Both were lost, never to return to the Grove." She gave a sorrowful sigh, one Caoilfhionn nearly echoed – he knew faintly the tale of Riannoc, the first Sylvari to meet death. "Caoilfhionn, you have a chance to discover the fate of my lost son and perhaps even avenge his death."

The Sylvari with the cocky air, Cai, raised an eyebrow. "Legend says that Riannoc chose a Human to be his squire. We know that squire survived, and though we lost track of him years ago, the Order of Whispers could find him. The Order is very good at tracking people down… even when they don't want to be found."

"I know it well," Caoilfhionn said, thinking back to how he met Damara, Phiadi, and Mabbran. "But how would you find one Human in all of Tyria?"

"We'll find out," Cai said with a languid grin.

"Untrustworthy, as always," Iowerth said with a sniff. "I have an alternate suggestion. This sounds like an exciting opportunity to experiment with a ritual the Durmand Priory uncovered. If cast, it lets you witness the last moments of a person's life."

Trahearne's gaze turned towards Iowerth. "The mystery of Riannoc's death has pained the Sylvari since the days of the Firstborn. Knowing his fate would help to heal that wound…" His own wound, from his body language – losing a brother, back before the Sylvari knew of death… Caoilfhionn could not imagine it. He had still not lost anyone close to him personally, but by now, twenty-five years after the Firstborn awakened, the collective consciousness of the Dream had given him a sense of death – enough to know that it happened frequently. Trahearne and Caithe had had no such knowledge at that time. "Ah, Riannoc. I warned you… I told you not to go aone. But you did not listen." Trahearne sighed deeply. "We were all so confident. So unafraid of death…"

Caithe put a hand on his shoulder. "And still we are – but now we are wiser, too." Trahearne nodded.

Caoilfhionn didn't want to make a decision without having as much information as he could – for surely they were asking his opinion on how to proceed again. "Branthyn? Does the Vigil have any suggestions?"

His companion of the last few days smiled and shook her head. "Gathering information isn't our strong suit. Instead, I'm going to go ask my superiors how to kill a lich. I'll meet you back here when you're done."

"Mother, can you tell me about Caladbolg?" Caoilfhionn asked.

"It was the only weapon I ever made," the Pale Tree answered, "and doing so took a great deal of spirit. It was meant to be the blade of heroes."

"As he was," Caithe said softly. "As valiant as the shining sun."

"When Riannoc died, the blade was in his possession," the Pale Tree said. "It has not been seen since."

"Where was this?" Caoilfhionn asked.

"He traveled far to the north, to face an evil – to face Mazdak. When he died…" The Pale Tree paused, and both Caithe and Trahearne cast their gaze down in sorrow as fresh as morning dew. "The sun dimmed, and the Dream wept."

"We all felt it," Caithe said quietly. "It was like a part of the Dream was torn away… but we never knew why. Or how."

He wanted to weep himself, and he'd never met Riannoc. "I'm so sorry, Mother. What can I do to help you?"

"Discover the truth, my son. Return the sword. That will bring me peace."

He nodded. "I will, Mother. I swear it."

"Very well. Caoilfhionn, the choice is yours." The Pale Tree reached out a hand towards him.

"I'll be waiting in the present," Iowerth assured him, Wegaff standing by with several strange gizmos to record… whatever he could. "When you return, you may be disoriented, but I will do my best to ease you into consciousness."

"What if the ritual fails and I die in the past?" Caoilfhionn asked, standing by the simple grave marker that they thought might be Riannoc's final resting place. Iowerth had tossed out the possibility of dying a few minutes ago during preparation, and now it was on his mind.

Iowerth shook his head dismissively. "You are the Herald of the Pale Tree. The danger is real, but I believe you were meant to witness these events. You will return."

"I appreciate your confidence in me," Caoilfhionn said, his own confidence rising.

"Then prepare yourself, Valiant," Iowerth said, and his voice grew slower, almost trance-like, lulling Caoilfhionn into a meditative state. "Focus on the image of a Wyld Hunter, accompanied by his Human squire. He faces his enemy, a vast army of corpses. His struggle is your struggle. His courage, your courage. You are as one. Your breath quickens and your sap flows faster. Your enemies surround you. Now, in this moment, you are with Riannoc."

And he was, as he opened his eyes – Iowerth and Wegaff were gone, the swamp looked to be… earlier in the year, more spring than summer, and before him stood a tall, handsome Sylvari, chestnut brown and jade green, with a greatsword at his back, a sword that was definitely a thorn from the Mother Tree's branches, one edge sharp as a razor. At Riannoc's side stood a rather plain-looking, snub-nosed Human boy with a sword of steel. Caoiffhionn was no judge of Human ages, but the boy was definitely not past the Human's… larval? stage. He seemed to be the same height and weight as the small Humans who said they were twelve years old in Divinity's Reach, maybe a small fourteen. Strange to think… already so old, half as old as Trahearne and Caithe in the present, and yet far less prepared to take on the world than Caoilfhionn… Neither of them showed any sign that they saw him.

"We make our stand here, Waine," Riannoc said, gesturing to the slight hill rising out of the swamp which they stood upon. "Armed with Caladbolg, we cannot fail." He smiled, his eyes and teeth shining in the dim light. 'As valiant as the shining sun', Caithe had said, and he agreed with her. Definitely of the Cycle of Noon, like Eithne was.

"The lich is powerful, Riannoc," Waine said. "His army is vast!" His voice was high and quavering.

Riannoc laughed. "What good is power when it's afforded to you by an evil master? What good is an army when you're standing against love, honour, and loyalty?"

Caoilfhionn's chest ached in sorrow. Riannoc should have been right! He so wished he were right! But if he had been right, he would not have died… and the Dream would not have taught new generations of Sylvari that evil sometimes triumphed anyway, even against the purity and truth of love, honour, and loyalty… He reached out a hand, then lowered it uselessly. Riannoc could not see him or feel his pain.

"But none of your kind has ever experienced death," Waine said. "Do you even understand fear?" His voice cracked in fear… and frustration.

Riannoc smiled at him gently. "I don't need to understand it. I only need do what is right."

The boy backed away. "No! I'm… I'm afraid. I'm frightened, Riannoc! I can't… stay…" He looked further into the swamp and gasped. "They're coming!" Caoilfhionn looked, and when he looked back, Waine was running for his life.

Riannoc had not moved an inch backwards, only drawing Caladbolg from his back and staring down the rushing zombies with a proud smile. "Then I shall take you on!"

Here they came, and while Caoilfhionn was ready and determined to fight, he sort of understood Waine's fear as well. There were so many, almost as many as he'd seen at the entire assault on Overlake Haven, and it was just the two of them, with no fortress at their back nor sturdy armoured companions at their side. Riannoc took a step forward, raising the great sword to strike. Caladbolg was shimmering with magical light, anticipating the battle to come.

The battle was the toughest Caoilfhionn had ever been in, pushing him to his utter limit. Fire to water to air to earth, he had to make use of every spell at his disposal, every signet he'd learned, every rapid plant manipulation he'd yet mastered, just to keep himself a hair's breadth away from those grasping, clawing hands. For though Riannoc and Waine took no notice of him, the undead certainly did. The rattle of bones and rotting flesh, the splash of shambling steps echoed through the swamp, the mindless groans of the undead drowned out by the weighty slicing swings of Caladbolg and the crackling hiss of his spells.

The two Sylvari were thoroughly soaked and covered in mud from head to foot; Caoilfhionn skidded through the mud, leading five or six zombies on a merry chase between the trees. Until he rounded the last tree and came face-to-face with a humanoid horror, rotting flesh sagging from a slimy skull. He yelped and threw himself to the side to roll away, and a bony hand grasped his ankle, causing him to slam face-first into the mud instead. He dropped his dagger with the impact, gasping, panic surging through him as they lunged towards him, clawing at his arm; one of them reached down and bit.

Caoilfhionn yelled, clutching his focus in a vice-like grip, and a ring of fire erupted around him, scorching the undead back, burning away his fear in the primal determination to live. He scrambled for his dagger and spun to his feet, eyes wild, dashing straight through the centre of the cluster with a ribbon of fire trailing behind him from the point of his blade. The hastily-constructed leaf hound he'd summoned bounded to his side, snapping at the undead legs. This lot would fall soon – and then there would be more. How was Riannoc doing?

Not well, now that he had the space to look; he was using a tree to split their numbers, but against such a tide there was no hope but to become flanked by such a tactic. His armour was already cracking, and claws had raked across his handsome face, letting yellow sap ooze down his forehead and cheek. The undead were piling up before him, making a wall of their bodies; twenty lay there at least, but there were another thirty here still thirsting for blood. His smile had gone, replaced only by grim concentration. Caladbolg flashed and sang, glowing bright in the darkness of the swamp, but Riannoc was getting tired.

Caoilfhionn told himself yet again: you can't save him. You can only bear witness. And then he had to run again.

When the last zombie – for the time being – had collapsed into the mud, Riannoc tottered and fell to one knee, only Caladbolg holding him up from falling forward from exhaustion and pain from his injuries. "Waine! Waine, where are you?" His voice was hoarse, and he gasped for air around it.

Waine emerged from behind his tree, wailing. "I can't do this! I'm too scared! Let's run away! Come on, let's go!"

Riannoc shook his head, looking deeper into the swamp, where dark figures yet moved. "Waine – Caladbolg… the sword is powerful. With it, we still have a chance to-"

"A chance to escape, yes! Riannoc, I want to live. I have to get out of here. I don't want to die!" He ran forward, grasping at the hilt of the sword.

Riannoc's grip slipped in surprise, and Waine dragged the sword away from him before he could recover. "Waine! No! I need Caladbolg to kill Mazdak!" Waine backed away, eyes wide and staring, sheer terror still writ across his face, and then he fled, dragging the sword behind him. Riannoc reached out in his direction, his own voice cracking with emotion. "Come back! I cannot give up! Mazdak is coming!"

And indeed, in the shadows of the swamp, Caoilfhionn saw a familiar figure – the skeletal robed figure he had seen at Overlake Haven. Riannoc staggered to his feet, gasping and wincing, and drew his dagger as he took up a ready stance to face the coming abomination. "Forgive him, Mother… We were both… too young…"

Caoilfhionn woke with a sob. "Riannoc-!"

"Take your time," Iowerth told him, supporting him as he sat up. "Breathe slowly. Now, tell me – what did you see?"

He was still covered in mud, and his right arm was still scratched and bitten. Tears fell from his eyes as he tried to follow Iowerth's advice. "Poor Riannoc, abandoned by his best friend… I can't even imagine how that must have felt. None of us had ever been betrayed before…" And he himself still hadn't; all he knew was a dim echo of what others had faced over the short years.

"How tragic," Iowerth said. "The Dream was young, and the Firstborn knew little of the world."

"I feel for them both," Caoilfhionn said. "From the looks of it, Waine was still a… a child, they call them. But Riannoc couldn't know, couldn't have understood what it meant to take such an untried human into battle. He didn't know they weren't like us. To ask a mere seedling to face an army that would cause their most hardened warriors to pause… And poor Riannoc! To die alone, defenceless, surely in great pain and heartbreak…" He wept.

"What did you say?" Iowerth said, sounding suddenly angry. "Defenceless? What happened to Caladbolg?"

"Waine stole it," Caoilfhionn managed to say. "That was his betrayal, not that he fled in the face of danger. And yet Riannoc stood to defend him… It was the same lich from the Haven who killed Riannoc. The one it had been his Wyld Hunt to destroy."

"We must tell the Pale Tree at once," Iowerth said. "I'm sorry there was not more for you to do, Wegaff…"

"Not at all," Wegaff said. "I did get some very interesting data from the beginning and end of that ritual. I'll be compiling my findings and sending them in along with my application shortly."

Caoilfhionn sniffled and looked up. "You're joining the Durmand Priory, then?"

"Oh, yes. It's been my goal since I was a precocious progeny. The application is a mere formality, of course. They already want me. But I might have less time to assist you in the future, unless I can frame it as Priory-related research." Wegaff shrugged, packing up the last of his devices. "Sorry!"

"I think the Orders wish me to join one of them too," Caoilfhionn said. "But I have not decided yet…" And he was in no mood to decide now, not with this vision weighing on his soul, the intimate understanding of the grief that had fallen upon the Sylvari in their youth.

"You can decide later," Iowerth said kindly. "For now, let's get back to the Grove. Will you come with us, Wegaff?"

"I think I will," Wegaff said. "Sounds like you're not done with this 'quest', and the more data I can collect on the whole situation, the better my application will be."

"I'm glad to have you along," Caoilfhionn said. "Thank you."