Endenvar
Season of the Phoenix - 1304 AE
After a short, but intense debate, Olaf and Endenvar set up camp in the shadow of the large boulder. Shortly after the decision was made, Olaf disappeared into the surrounding hills in search of dry lumber to make a fire, while Endenvar built a tent. Even though the sky above them was showing no signs of another thunderstorm, Lorner's pass was well known for its sudden storms. After their adventure to reach the shrine, Endenvar wasn't keen on being caught in another of nature's wonders. When the tent was up and as stable as he could make it, Endenvar stripped out of his cloth and surcoat, while doing this he took care to keep the little Asura wrapped in the warmth of his shirt. He hung his soaked clothes on a line he had tied between the top of the shrine and a nearby tree. He prayed that Wolf would not take offence at his indiscretion, but knew that it would probably understand his need to be dry. He needed to take advantage of the sun while it lasted. He dug up some slightly cleaner clothes from his pack, grateful he had decided to take an extra set, and slid into their slightly damp mass. While not perfectly dry they were better than the soaked remnants hanging from the makeshift line. Once fully clothed he searched his pack once more and bought out some dried meat and cheese. Pulling out a long knife, he cut a sliver of dried meat and gave it to the babe to gum. It did so with gusto.
Olaf had been desperate to continue his journey, but as Endenvar pointed out, jumping waypoints so often in such a short period of time would lead to waypoint sickness. An age ago an enterprising Asura by the name of Kito proved that the use, or misuse, of waypoints could have drastic effects on the user's health. It took Kito thirty seven jumps to prove that overuse of waypoints was a fatal offence. Thanks to his enterprising research however, it was found that individuals whose battle prowess relied more on physical attributes alone did not suffer as much, but those who were born to magical gifts had a set amount of jumps before their magic would be affected or affect others. In Endenvar's case it was a splitting migraine that throbbed behind his temples, in another jump his magical capacity would diminish and become slightly uncontrollable, a jump after that would render him unconscious for at least an hour. The more jumps made in short periods, the more severe the side effects. It wasn't just the magically inclined that suffered, already Olaf was beginning to show wear and tear.
Although he said nothing, Endenvar couldn't help but notice the slight tremble in Olaf's hands, or the veined redness of his eyes. Olaf had taken to drinking heavily after Gylda's loss, and Endenvar suspected that he had begun to rely on that vice too heavily. Besides the waypoint sickness, there were other matters to consider before jumping to Naui Waters. For one, Endenvar had to consider the babe. He wasn't sure on Asuran child physiology and couldn't be sure how the jump would affect it. What he did know is that in all his years he had never seen an Asuran babe, and that fact was worrying. Besides this, there was Olaf's mental state. As their journey progressed Olaf had become steadily more surly and desperate. His emotional turmoil was plain to see and Endenvar did not know how to handle it. In fact he didn't know how to handle this whole situation, he hadn't from the moment that Olaf met Gylda.
He scooped the babe up in one hand and with the other picked up the mangled golem he had found it in, and then made his way to Xanthia's grave. He sat cross legged in front of it the heavy stone with the little Asuran in his lap and slowly and methodically took the mangled golem apart. From what he could see it was damaged from the inside out. Once all the parts where completely disengaged from each other and spread out before him, he looked carefully at the mechanisms that held it together.
"Someone sure wanted to keep you in there." He said to the babe. It was still sucking noisily on the piece of meat he had given it. At the sound of his voice it looked up at him with big blue eyes and gave him a gummy smile. Endenvar felt his heart lift looking at it.
"Why would anyone want to imprison you, little one?"
He ran his finger across the downy softness of its blue hair and marveled at its silkiness. The babe reminded him of another Asura he had known a lifetime ago. She was a curious little thing by the name of Zinnia; she was always puttering in their wake as they made their way through the wilds of Tyria. They were young when they knew her, and the world was still filled with wonder and mystery. Perhaps it was because of their youth that they were unable to protect the small Asura from the events that caused her demise. It was a life changing experience for Endenvar that weighed heavily on his conscious, only Xanthia had known its full extent. She had told him to keep a quiet heart, that one day an opportunity for redemption would come. He genuinely believed that this small child was that opportunity.
"It's funny how the world works." He said to the grave marker. "Olaf loses a child and I gain one. Should I keep it mamma?"
He cocked his head as if listening to what Xanthia had to say. The little Asuran stirred in his lap and then hid behind his wrist, its prized meat still held firmly in its hands.
A thick mist began to creep around the edges of the boulder, a chill filled the air and his breath began to condense in front of his face. He could feel the babe shivering behind his wrist and moved his hand so that he could cup it in its warmth. Two blue eyes looked up at him fearfully. A small whimpering filled his ears as the child curled itself into a fetal position and began to rock itself.
The only warning he had of the attack was the rank odor of burning charcoal before a clawed foot flashed past where his head would have been. Time slowed. He watched as the furred foot arced above him, taking hold of the babe in his hand, he weaved an illusion with the other. It wasn't his best work, but without the aid of a weapon as a focus it was all he could do to distract the attacker. He closed his eyes and with a surge of power blinked out of his attackers reach. When he opened them again, it was to the sharp tang of an edged blade to his throat.
"You are not the only one who can move in shadow, Mesmer." A voice growled in his year. He could feel the clawed tips of its paw pressing into the corded muscle of his arm as it held him in place. It was tall. Judging from the warmth along his back, he would say the creatures head would brush under his chin should they stand face to face. The child was held tightly in his hand pressed to his chest, he could feel it squirm as he squeezed it too tight. He could feel a warm trail slide down his neck as the blade pressed too close.
"Mistress Wolf is this truly necessary." Called a female voice to his left, its tone was clipped and commanding. "I daren't think what would happen if we accosted all Norn in this manner."
"Madam Strange, this one fits the profile." His attacker growled behind him. Charr. His attacker was Charr. He could recognize that musky odor anywhere. Apparently it was also female, in Endenvar's experience it was extremely difficult to tell between Charr sexes. Why, only last year he got into a fight with a male he had thought to be a rather dashing female.
"Are you sure Mistress Wolf, wasn't it just the other day that you mentioned that you thought all Norn looked the same."
His attacker, Mistress Wolf, grumbled but didn't let up her grip on his shoulder or the move the blade from his throat. He had yet to see Madam Strange, but he could hear her rifling through their packs. His breath was shallow; deep within himself he began to shore the reserves of magic that powered his Mesmic abilities. He would have one chance to use them; he needed to distract the thief before making for the tree line. He thought he would be able to hold at least two illusions, but without the aid of a focus he wasn't sure for how long. The hand that wasn't holding the babe fisted, he focused his energy on it and slowly breathed out. He concentrated his attention only on the movement of his magic along his arm, trying to build it within his fist. The voices of his captors droned around him in a gentle susurration. His nails bit into his palm, he could feel blood welling between his fingers only to be burned away by the intensity of the magic he collected. The magic built within him, surging and swelling like the beating of his heart. He would have only one chance to do this; he had to make it count.
He was so focused on the magic burning within him that he didn't notice his captors had stopped talking. While his eyes were open, they were unseeing. Had he paid attention to his surroundings, he would have noticed that the Charr behind him had removed her paw from his arm, and had instead used it to place another blade at his kidneys. If he had paid more attention, he would have felt the unseen communication between his two captors. If he had listened, he would have heard the whisper of a cry coming from the hand holding the babe. He didn't notice any of this however.
He snapped back to attention when he felt small hands ease around his own. He felt a surge, and then a great feeling of loss as his power drained out of him. Shocked he looked down into a pair black eyes glistening with ill purpose. She was small, her head would brush against his hip bone, but more than that she was so definitively other. Endenvar had heard of the Sylvari before, but in his journey's had yet to encounter one. This was hardly surprising considering they were barely two years old. This one had the look of swamp things, her barklike skin was dark brownish grey smeared with moss green, branches grew from her head haphazardly, and each was tipped with tiny lime green leaves. His heart burned in his chest as his life force began to drain out of him. Panicked, he attempted to break free of the Charr's grip only to feel the bite of a blade in the flesh where his kidneys were. Weakness flooded his system. Slowly the Charr behind him eased him to the ground. He couldn't move.
"My." said Madam Strange, "I bet you thought yourself awfully smart trying that."
She drew a deep breath, the Charr moved him to his side. His arm fell from his chest, his fingers, weakened, opened up revealing the babe. It sat in his palm so still, ears flattened against its head as it shivered under the gaze of his assailants.
"That explains that then." Mistress Wolf rumbled.
"I don't understand?"
"He's got a cub. It stands to reason he would try to protect it Madam Strange."
"Really? Why?"
Above him, he could see the Charr regarding the dark creature with a fierce expression on its face.
"Madam Strange, it just is. One does not ask why one does it only that one does. That is all."
"My, the rules you creatures follow is quiet intense. Personally I would lob the thing like a grenade, I couldn't think of a better distraction."
The Charr's expression became dark.
"Madam, I would ask you kindly to step away from the child."
The Charr scooped the babe up in her hand and flipped it over.
"Ahh." She said. "A little girl. Aren't you a sweet little thing?" she purred.
Mistress Wolf's fur was black as night splotched with white patches, she had scars on the left of her body. Old burns weaved their way around her arm and the left side of her face where a milky white eye stared blankly at the world. The other, a brilliant green, was filled with sharp intelligence. Two sets of ears flicked with annoyance as she regarded the creature before her. Despite this, she was gentle with the babe, carefully holding it so that her claws wouldn't penetrate her delicate skin.
"Is it?" asked Madam Strange.
"Is it what, Madam Strange?"
"Is it sweet? Can I taste her?"
The Charr bought the child closer to her breast and cleared her throat. Endenvar began to feel a tingling in his fingers, the weakness was wearing off.
"Poor choice of wording Madam Strange. Did you find anything of interest in their packs?"
"Indeed."
"And?"
"And finally we are near our goal. Be a dear and stab the gentleman again Mistress Wolf. He is beginning to stir and we have some questions to ask before he is able to attack us again."
She bought her bottomless black eyes to his and stared into their muddied depths.
"Now, Norn, I don't want any foolery. You will tell me the truth. If you tell me a lie I will know and Mistress Wolf here will be forced to coerce you into giving truthful answers. You would not enjoy that I assure you, Mistress Wolf knows a great deal about poison and the manners in which to inflict great pain. Is that not right Mistress Wolf?"
"It is indeed Madam Strange."
"Now, I'm going to let you speak, I am not going to insult you by telling you not to scream, I know a Norn of your stature would be gravely insulted by the sentiment."
He could move his head. The first thing he did was scan for Olaf. He was not back, and he could not sense him nearby. The wolf pups where hiding in their den, he could see their yellow eyes staring out at him. He then bought his gaze to the babe. She was so tiny all he could make out of her was the tips of her ears from between the Charr's claws. They were standing straight up.
"What is your name?" asked the Sylvari, she was pacing in front of him. With the limited movement available to him he tried to follow her movements, but it was difficult, so instead he focused his attention in front of him to where he knew Xanthia's grave to be. Silently he prayed to Wolf that Olaf would not walk in on this. His friend would never let him live it down.
Mistress Wolf kicked him. Pain blossomed. He gasped for breath. If he could move he would be doubled over in pain.
"Madam Strange asked you a question." She growled at him.
"Endenvar."
Breathing became difficult; he suspected that the Charr had broken a rib.
"Truth." said Madam Strange; she held an etching in front of his face. It was small, about the size of Madam Strange's hand. In it Gylda had Aliana wrapped tightly in her embrace; two sets of smiling eyes looked out to the viewer. It had been a perfect moment immortalized. "Do you know who they are?"
Endenvar's muddy eyes sort that of the Sylvari. She had stopped and was regarding him intently. She crouched down so she could better see his face, her small bark roughened hand gripped his chin so that she could better see his face.
"Do you know who they are?!" her voice was filled with power. Around them the mist grew thicker, it crept about them making visibility almost nonexistent. The world suddenly consisted of Madam Strange and Mistress Wolf. The Charr shifted uncomfortably and tucked the babe into a more secure position.
"Dead." he whispered, "They are long dead."
"Truth." she said, "but also a lie. I have no patience for games Norn."
"We never found their bodies, but the blood trail let to a dead end. No one could have survived the amount of blood lost. The woman was torn up by a rampaging Norn."
"I do not care for the woman, Endenvar, only the child."
His chest tightened. He needed to tread carefully. Slowly he schooled his features into a blank mask.
"The child died first." Technically this was not a lie; Olaf had said that the child had been taken by Jormag. The Sylvari's black eyes burned. The paper holding Gylda's likeness crumpled in her hands. Necrotic power spilled off her in waves.
"Truth, but also a lie." She shared a dark look with the Charr.
Mistress Wolf moved so fast that he didn't see her. One minute she was standing at rest with the child in her paw, the next excruciating pain exploded in his chest. Blood pooled around the embedded dagger.
"What you are feeling now, Mister Norn, is a special blend of spider venom harvested from a very specific breed of spider." The Charr's voice was calm, inflectionless. "It is magical stuff. I find one dose is sufficient to convince anyone that I prefer the full truth to half-truths."
He couldn't breathe. Pain spread from the dagger towards his limbs. It wove around his heart and lungs, then eased its way to his guts. He felt them spasm and come alive within him. It was too much, he began to scream.
"Enough of that." said Madam Strange. His lungs shut off and his voice strangled off to a gurgle. He burned.
"Now, Endenvar, we are going to be candid with one another. You are going to tell me what happened to the child, or what you suspect happened, and I am not going to make my dear friend kill that lovely baby she had nestled in her paw. Are we clear?"
He could barely think past the agony that burned through him. He stared malignantly up at the Sylvari. He would not be broken by this foul creature.
"Are we clear, Endenvar?!"
Mistress Wolf jostled the dagger sticking from his chest. He did not think he could hurt more, he was wrong. Slowly, not breaking eye contact with the Sylvari, he nodded.
"Good. I am glad we understand one another."
She released the magical bonds that held his chest and vocal cords. Mistress Wolf stood and resumed her position behind Madam Strange, the babe hidden from sight.
"Now, tell me about that night."
"I wasn't there," he said.
"I know. I have been hunting your companion for a long time. Imagine my disappointment when I found out that bigger fish were after him. I have been told that I am insane, but I assure you, even I am not mad enough to take on those madwomen." She shuddered. "This left me with a dilemma you see. I could not question him, and everyone else seemed to think that the child was taken by Jotan. My, I thought, what am I to do? My dear Mistress Wolf is the one who suggested that perhaps his best friend would know the true story. She explained how strange sentients are, how they liked to tell at least one person their secrets. Personally I think that is poor housekeeping, but then, I am not known for my stupidity. So, Endenvar, tell me what you know about that night. Believe me when I tell you that if you lie to me again, even slightly, I will destroy you." She bought her face close to his; he was tempted to bite the smirk off of it. "And trust me, Endenvar, I do know the worst possible way."
She smiled toothlessly, and then stood and resumed pacing in front of him. Behind her Mistress Wolf stared straight ahead, her face blank.
"Speak."
So he did. He spoke through pain that was eating him alive, through limbs reduced to jelly. He told her everything he knew or suspected. He spoke until his deep voice was hoarse with use. When he was done, she nodded once; as if he had confirmed suspicions she already held, then turned and walked into the mists that surrounded them. Mistress Wolf came to him and pulled the dagger from his chest. With it went the pain. She then folded the little Asuran back into his vest and patted her head before turning and following her companion. Mist folded around her leaving him alone in the clearing. The wolf pups tumbled out of their den and sniffed at his prone figure. It was a long time before he could move again.
