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.
Chapter 8: Serendipity
Laughter… giggles… how do I know of these things?
Why do they make me happy?
Sand… soft and warm, trickling down my back.
Feels nice.
A pair of violet eyes flickered open, beholding white sands and azure blue sky and ocean. She stared blank faced, uncertain of what expression to wear. A pink, wide head with floppy triangular ears obstructed her view.
"Hey, she woke up!" the strange creature cried through a wide mouth in a high-pitched, cheerful voice.
She sat up, sending a formidable pile of sand tumbling off her chest and heard a chorus of tiny cries of dismay. She looked around and saw more of the miniscule people, all pink skinned with large eyes and hair on top of their melon shaped heads and wearing brightly coloured frocks.
"Awe, you broked our sawnd cahsle Fwowa-head!" the littlest one complained while jumping up and down on her stumpy three-toed feet.
The other two joined in, expressing their displeasure with various degrees of mispronunciation.
She was at a loss of what to do. Three tiny creatures were dancing around her, and she did not even know how she got here. She touched her head with her hand and felt her flower petal hair which she somehow knew was a bright belladonna pink. She looked at her skin with wonder. It was pale as the sand but with a slightly greenish tint.
Another voice, a deeper one, called out catching her attention. She turned just in time to see a larger, but still shorter than her, grey skinned creature appear over a sand dune. His hair was a reddish brown and cut flat on top like a tree stump and was clothed in a white and yellow dress shirt and brown pants. His golden eyes looked at her in surprise. "Nook, Tuu, Anza, what are you doing with that sylvari?"
Sylvari, is that what I am? I thought I was 'fwowa-head'?
"Come over here!" he ordered. "I told you not to talk with strangers!"
The three tiny creatures skittered away, gathering around at the newcomer's knees. The littlest one jumped and swung from his toned arm.
The sylvari rose from her sitting position.
Immediately the biggest creature ordered the tiny ones to turn around and cover their eyes.
She did not understand his reaction, then she realised something, while those creatures were all wearing brightly coloured pieces of fabric, but she had nothing but a pair of leaves, originating from her shoulder blades, covering her small chest and a leaf which was attached to the bottom of her back and wrapped underneath her to cover her nether parts. She did not know why, but she felt very embarrassed.
She opened her mouth, hoping she knew how to make the sounds that played in her head, and to her surprise she made them without trouble. "I'm lost, can you help me? Please?"
The creature's big eyes softened. He looked down at the little ones. "Run along to your aunt." He glanced back at her. "Wait right here."
And with that, he scurried off over the dune. The sylvari did not have to wait long before he reappeared over the rise carrying a very large blanket. He handed her the cloth, careful to keep his eyes focussed on her face on not more anatomically intriguing areas.
She wrapped the cloth around her and it draped from her shoulders to her knees.
"Thank you," she said bowing a little.
"Do you have any place you need to go?" he asked, attempting to alleviate the awkward situation.
"No, I don't even know how I got here."
"Well at least we know where you came from."
"You do?" her face displayed honest curiosity.
"Yes, that grove, the closest thing you sylvari have for a city. By the way, my name is Urpp, from Rata Sum." He then gestured to the three giggling toddlers. "Those miscreants are my children. You've already heard their names."
She nodded, and realised she was going to have to tell him hers. "My name is…" Her mind was blank. Was she not supposed to have a name? "Where do I find one of these names?" she asked, figuring it the best way to relieve herself of the dilemma.
He was taken aback by the question. "What do you mean boo-?" he stopped himself, not wanting to send a sylvari off thinking her name was 'bookah.'
"Well, you have a name. Those three have names. Where did they get them from?" she pressed.
He had to admit, she asked reasonable questions, potentially a philosopher. "Well, I gave them their names just like my father gave me mine."
The sylvari nodded thoughtfully. "Well, since I can tell you are more knowledgeable than me about names, why don't you give me one?"
"A name?!"
"Of course."
"Shouldn't you already have one?"
She shook her head.
Now that he thought about it, he did not know where sylvari got their names. But when he looked at her hopeful face he spat out the first sylvari sounding name he could think of. "Rhiannon." After saying it, he had the sinking feeling he had repeated the name of a Krytan brew, but he did not recant.
Her face lit up in joy. "That's a beautiful name!" She did not know how 'beautiful' could be applied to something she could not see, but it seemed like the right word at the moment.
He scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, overwhelmed by the happy expression he had elicited. "Well come on," he grumbled. "Follow me."
And so the odd pair walked up the dune where the children scampered around them, with their young but haggard aunt trying her best to corral them. They were too fascinated and full of questions that neither Urpp nor Rhiannon could answer. As far as the sylvari was concerned, she had found a safe place and kind people, far away from that vague memory of the woodland of terror and darkness where nightmares lived.
It took almost a full month for Seven to put all the ranch in order, following the four page letter as if it was law. On the final day, he finished the sale of the cows to the neighbouring ranch and closed the farmhouse for the last time. In the balmy afternoon he made one last, long look around the property, searing the scene into his memory. Content, he set off with all of his necessary belongings in a pack. He looked towards the horizon, over the distant forest and beyond the low hills he could just make out the top of the Black Citadel. It was going to be a long limp to get there.
For several hours, he hobbled along the dirt road with his crutch, keeping his right hand on his holster, ready to whip out his pistol if there was any trouble. He was about to give up all hope of reaching the city by nightfall, and he was considering his prospects of sleeping in a hedge when the clamour of wheels beckoned from behind him. He looked back and saw a giant ox-driven hay cart crest over a hill, then vanish into a valley. It crested two more hills before coming within shouting range.
Seven was about to call out, but the driver, a large charr male with yellow and black tiger stripes, and interestingly dressed in a flashy black vest, shouted gruffly, "Hey there hobbler, want a ride?"
The silver charr sighed in relief and answered. "Yes! Thanks, I thought I would not make the citadel by sundown."
"Well hop on!" he replied, bringing the cart to a stop beside Seven. He rolled his right shoulder stump as if forgetting he did not have an arm to wave with. Seven smiled, recognising the injury as a sign of kinship.
He started to clamber up, but it was a slow process, so the driver put the reigns in his teeth. With his one hand, he grabbed Seven by the scruff and deposited him on the bench beside him.
"Whew, you may be small, but you are a sure lot denser than I thought!" The driver let out a boisterous laugh as he flicked the reigns to get the oxen to resume the journey. "My name's Wick Quickclaw, and yours?"
"Seven Steelwolf, and I owe you one."
"Hey, us ranchers got to stick together." Wick grinned through his big tusks.
The two enjoyed several pleasant minutes of conversation. Seven was taken aback by the three-limbed charr's attitude. He seemed far more cheerful than was normal for decommissioned soldier, not even a hint of cynicism. As the citadel's globe began to loom closer in the distance, Seven's curiosity got the better of him.
"Wick?"
"Yes?"
"I hope I don't seem impertinent, but… what's the occasion?"
"Ha! You wonderin' why I'm dressed like a preened moa?"
Seven nodded.
"I have a mate who lives in the Citadel, she likes to see me looking my best. Makes up for not having a uniform anymore."
"Decommissioned? Me too."
"Yep—, my field days are over." After a quick snort Wick glowered at the much smaller Seven who shrank back. "However," he began gravely, wiggling his stump, "I lost an arm, but Ebonhawk lost a battalion."
Seven looked at his companion in new wonder, until Wick seemed unable to keep back his grin. "Look at you! So gullible! Ha-ha-ha! No… I lost this arm in a scramble with an ogre. But it's not too bad, losing my arm was the best thing that ever happened to me. It won me the most striking female I've ever laid eyes on. I had been trying to get her attention for years! My arm saved her life, you see, but she will never admit to it. Now she's pregnant with our second—and maybe third, and mad as a wet wasp!" He let out a roaring laugh that shook the cart and echoed off of the now looming metropolis.
"She lives in the citadel and works as a butcher. The hay I'm transporting is going to her live inventory. You should come and meet her."
Seven was not so sure about meeting a female who was 'mad as a wet wasp', but he felt it would be rude of him to turn the offer down. He looked up at Black Citadel and a rush of nostalgia struck him from his fahrar days and he wondered if any from his war band were still around.
They rode around the black, metal wall for a while until they reached a corral filled with dozens of cattle. Wick brought his oxen to a halt and hopped down from the bench.
"Dearest honeybee, I'm back!" he called in the most ridiculous tone Seven had ever heard a male utter.
A female voice called back, far less cordially, "Is that a one-armed, bloody snot, flee bitten, whelp I hear?" A slightly taller than average female came into view. Her fur was brick-coloured and decorated by black, irregular ring-spots all over her body. She was clad in yellowish work clothes, which may have once been white, and a leather apron covered in the fluids of her trade. Her scowling face was by far her most intimidating feature. She had a sharp, but graceful feline snout with long canines and bony protrusions at her brows, cheeks, and chin as well as four serrated horns. Her eyes were verdant green which glowed with an angry fire.
"What business do you have showing up so late? You've been drinking again at a tavern, haven't you? So help me, if I smell a wiff of alcohol on y-"
Wick seemed unaffected by the snappish greeting. "Relax, my little strawberry, I just picked up a stray traveller. The oxen were slower because of the added weight." He assisted the Seven down, grunting in exertion.
Seven was beginning sympathise with how Wick aggravated his mate as he was pushed forward almost as a sort of peace offering. He caught his balance with his crutch and looked awkwardly between the scowling female and the male who was gesturing frantically for him to say something. At last Seven gulped and looked the female in the eye then inclined his head politely. "I apologise for delaying him, ma'am."
When he looked back up she was smiling and he was certain he saw a hint of mischief in her eye. She scratched her cheek barbs thoughtfully and examined Seven as if he was a cow brought in for the slaughter. After she paced around him a few times, nodding and occasionally prodding at him she stopped, finished with her assessment. "Well, I've seen taller humans, but he's got a lot of bulk on him. Not bad at all."
Seven's eyes shifted in discomfort. He wondered if he should attempt to flee, draw his pistol and fight to the death, or smile shyly at the compliment. He was still in the midst of his decision making when she spoke up again.
"I'll take him, Wick, you can go. It was nice knowing you."
Wick's jaw dropped in dismay while Seven's dropped in shock at the many possible implications. Just as Seven finally resolved to whip out his pistol and fight to the death against the forward butcher and Wick who was sure to be mad with jealousy, the former let out a mirthful chuckle. Her face softened and she pranced almost like she had become a cub again and leapt into Wick's embrace, squeezing his massive chest.
"I missed you my sweet battle-ax." she cooed. "You've been away too long!"
"I'm sorry my little gorekitten, I'll never be gone so long again." Wick replied, nuzzling his snout into her neck.
"Liar," she replied, tightening the embrace. "You can't make that ox cart go any faster."
"Then I'll lasso a tribe of grawl and whip them double time to bring me back to you, darling salt cube."
Their words soon devolved into a series of low coos and growls while they revelled in their mutual affections.
Uncertain what to do next, Seven just stood awkwardly while he tried not to gag at the over the top reunion. As quiet as he could he began to shuffle away, leaving the lovers to their whispered sweet nothings. However he did not get far before the female broke the embrace and waved towards him.
"Hey, sorry for the joke, I never got your name."
Wick stood close behind her. "His name is Seven. Seven, this is my lovely, ravishing, strong—,"
"Oh cut it Wick!" she ordered, hiding her eyes in embarrassment.
"…magnificent mate, Lakka Bloodstream."
"Honoured to meet you." Seven replied.
"The honour's mine, are you new to the Black Citadel? Wick could show you around." she offered.
Seven shook his head. "No, I grew up here, I know my way around. Besides I have an appoi-, er, an engagement tonight."
"Will you be here for a while then?" Lakka pried in a motherly tone, "Because if so, we would be happy to have you visit. Our cub would love any stories you might have too, true or not."
Seven grinned. "I would like that, thank you."
Wick impatiently scooped up his mate with ease, despite her being almost as tall as him, and carried her past Seven as she protested at being treated like a kit.
He glanced his direction a moment before returning his attention to the perturbed Lakka. "See you later. In the meantime, I need to finish… apologising for my absence." He accentuated his words with a playful lick which she returned.
Seven could no longer hide his queasiness as they left. After a brief gag, which he hoped, rather than believed they did not hear, he limped off, opening up the letter and reading the directions with care so he did not get lost.
It was roughly half an hour later when he entered a certain part of the dark, lower section of the city. In this area, some other races had taken up residence, particularly sylvari, warranting the occasional streetlight. It made this area, the Gladium Canton, opposite most of the lower city in the Iron Legion capital, since charr had near perfect night vision.
Seven counted the doors on the left until number eight and looked at the ankh symbol beside the entrance. This must be it. He thought as his chest thumped in anticipation. He rehearsed one more time what he would say and knocked.
"By the six! Who is it at this hour!?" an angry voice shouted. The door opened to reveal an aging man, his hair greying and his face rugged and square. He glared down at Seven, standing at least six inches taller than him. "What do you want?"
Seven's ears perked in surprise. The man's voice was so gruff it put some charr to shame.
"What? Cat got your tongue? Speak u-p!" his voice trailed off at the sight of Seven's crutch. He sighed heavily and his attitude became a mite pleasanter. "You're Seven. Srykar told me you would be coming soon. I assume the old cat has breathed his last has he?" he sighed, his face softening, "Well, stop gawking like a kitten at a yarn ball, come on in, I'm not getting any younger!"
So much for rehearsing, Seven thought, I'm not even getting a word in and he knows everything about me!
The man was the most intimidating human Seven had ever come across, and he knew already he was not going to speak until permission was granted. He entered in as fast as his bum leg would allow and found himself in a bizarrely decorated room which lacked any resemblance to the plain, black exterior of the building. On the inside was what looked like a kind of printed paper covered the walls and smooth hardwood tiles were on the floor under his paws. Seven had never entered a more un-charr space in his entire life. He wondered if the homes in Divinity's Reach were decorated like this.
The grizzled man plopped down on a wooden chair behind a small desk and gestured for Seven to sit in a much sturdier seat opposite him. Once he was settled the man spoke up again.
"Listen, don't take my being here as anything special. I only came to the Black Citadel after the recent truce because I could make money here without those insufferable pansies back in Kryta breathing down my neck. Your treatment is not because of my acquaintance to Srykar or Limmock back in our Lion's Arch days. So don't expect any niceties from me! Pay the gold promised to me, get better, and don't talk unless you are singing my praises throughout this gods-forsaken scrapheap! Do you understand?"
"Ye-"
"What did I say about speaking?" he snapped.
Seven got the point and just nodded.
"Good. Depending on how bad you're banged up, you could be better in a mere four months or as much as four years. It's your own decision how fast you heal. In the meantime, you can stay in the bedroom, the door to your left, as my first inpatient. You can come and go as you please, but remember, that leg is mine until I'm finished with it. Don't. Screw. It. Up! Any questions?"
Seven shook his head.
"Good, I think we will get along famously." His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Seven realised three things at that moment: first, this was the least pleasant healer he would ever encounter; second, the previous statement was probably the most beneficial factor towards a swift healing process; and third, he was going to be spending more time than he intended around a certain pair of nauseating love-moas.
The old man picked a book from his shelf and started reading. Seven could only take that action as a dismissal. Grabbing his bag, he rose and entered the door to his room. After turning on the light he discovered a cosy space with a charr-sized bed, a bookshelf with a sampling of various topics, and a small desk with a sturdy chair before it.
Sitting on the firm bed he sighed, looking out the small window into the dark street. After a few quiet moments of listening to the clanking of distant machinery, he reached into his bag and pulled out his sketchbook. Since he was going to have a lot of spare time, he figured that he might as well work on the designs for a multi-purpose motor.
He flipped through the pages and stopped. A heavy breath of sadness escaped his chest. On the bottom of the page were the beginnings of the motor structure, but then the straight functional strokes morphed into gentle, gliding ones forming a picture of Orla, frozen in time, pack on her back, looking towards the outer edge of the page. Framed by her hair blown about by the breeze, her face was filled with the expression of eagerness she had tried so hard to hide from him.
He fell back onto the bed, repositioning his lame leg and lay on his side while staring at her image. His claws traced her jaw. He had purposefully drawn her without the scars on her cheek, because he knew that was not how she saw herself, and it would never be how he saw her.
He wondered if she still remembered him, if she was happy in her new home. He wanted to see her, to know that she was fine, not just hope. To know she still remembered him.
At last exhaustion from the day's long trek caught up with him and Sleep claimed him into her merciful embrace.
Thoughts?
I'm just gonna say now, the charr sap between Wick and Lakka was weird for even me to write. I mean... I was trying to figure out how charr affection would work, provided their... umm... different biology when compared to humans/norn/sylvari. Not to mention, the cultural differences (which on closer examination makes charr the most similar of the big five races to humans in my opinion.)
Well, I hoped I pulled it off! I had to get some inspiration from listening to the chatter around the Black Citadel in game. The ambient dialogue of GW2 is some of the best and very amusing at times.
In closing, this is my longest chapter yet, and also brings the close of the opening act, So Long Halcyon.