GWOnline - Blogs - title by releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/blog.php?181038-title Guild Wars 2 Community Site en Sun, 26 May 2013 07:17:25 GMT vBulletin 60 http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/images/misc/rss.jpg GWOnline - Blogs - title by releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/blog.php?181038-title <![CDATA[RTW's character stories]]> http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?1260-RTW-s-character-stories Fri, 04 Jan 2008 07:46:33 GMT The year was winding down like the snow falling on Kryta’s golden shores, gently tucking in the city of Lion’s Arch in a white blanket. But the city was not settling down to sleep, rather it is during this time of year that the city is most active. Lights and decorations transmogrified the city... The year was winding down like the snow falling on Kryta’s golden shores, gently tucking in the city of Lion’s Arch in a white blanket. But the city was not settling down to sleep, rather it is during this time of year that the city is most active. Lights and decorations transmogrified the city into a Wintersday wonderland. The biting cold ignored by the masses as they shifted through the city on their own agenda. Some sought the perfect gift for friends or loves one, while others hunted joy and extinguished merriment where possible. With the names of gods as excuse for behavior, followers sang carols, adults threw snowballs at one another, children played and made snowmen, and all participated one way or another in the holiday season.

All but Preston, who looked over the center of the city for a moment and watched the shifting masses. He had not come to Lion’s Arch to buy presents. Nor had he come to destroy them. He was not here to aid Dwayna in delivering gifts to the children, and he was not here to spread woe in Grenth’s name. He had not visited to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the festive décor. He had no intention of singing songs or throwing snowballs. He had simply wished to excuse himself and have a seat by the old lion overlooking the shore. Unfortunately, he found his favorite sitting spot occupied by some of those carolers of Dwayna singing cheerful tunes.

And so he looked over the center of the city for a moment, before letting out a sigh that, in the cold air, took shape of its own upon escaping his lungs. Turning to find another destination, Preston walked around to the other side of the lion statue only to discover that again the location was already occupied. Though this time not by a group of singing monks, but rather a wrapped box, tied with a ribbon. A present, no doubt sent from Dwayna to brighten someone’s day. But who’s?

Preston walked up to the object obstructing his sitting place and looked down at it. A quick glance around revealed he was alone, save for the carolers on the other side of the statue. Curiosity getting the better of him, Preston prodded the gift with is boot. It budged in reaction, but otherwise refused to reveal its secrets. Reaching down, the shiny paper reflected the glow from Preston’s hands; the aftermath of a night filled with fighting, drinking, and one brother saying to the other “You know what we should do?” Revance was sensible enough not to waste his money on having such an expensive procedure done himself, though senseless enough to help fund his brother’s. However once the hangover had gone, Preston rather liked the look.

Closer investigation showed no sign of a tag, and so the present remained unidentified. Uncertain just what to do, the necromancer leaned against the statue and removed his tinted spectacles, messaging his closed eyes. In the moment of blindness, his ears picked up the sound of something coming his way. He heard it, hopping closer, not the usually metronome of a person’s casual walk crunching the snow beneath. Possibly a Grentch to destroy the gift he thought. Preston placed his glasses back on and looked down as he felt a tug on his pant leg.

A young Krytan girl looked back up at him, holding out the candy cane she had previously been enjoying, as an offer. Preston looked around again for the Grentch, but finding none, concluded it was the sound of the child skipping he had heard. Looking down again the girl spoke.

“You can have this, if it will make you happy.”

“Excuse me?” asked Preston in response.

“You can have this. You didn’t look very happy, so I thought you’d like my candy cane,” she replied. Briefly, Preston simply glared over his spectacles at the child, whom to his confusion simply continue to offer the half eaten sweet. He finally spoke to break the silence.

“That’s disgusting,” he muttered as he sat leaning against the lion statue and turning his gaze from the girl. Though determined to pester the man it seemed, the girl walked over and picked up the present.

“Did you get this for someone?” she asked and she shook it gently near her ear, attempting to guess what was inside by sound.

“No.”

“Did someone get it for you?” she continued, attempting to judge its contents by weight.

“No.”

“What do you think is inside?” she persisted, searching every face of the box for the answer.

“Sunshine and fun,” Preston replied fed up with the line of questioning. “Listen kid, why don’t you just-…” he stopped himself, looking at the girl who started to pout. But the silence didn’t allow for apologizes, only allowed a cackling to be heard approaching. The maniacal laughter of a Grentch, whose joy and merriment came from others despair. He hobbled towards the two, intent on destroying the gift for a cheap thrill. The hunched over giddy green gremlin closed the gap quickly on its mission to make the child’s day less bright.

Preston pushed himself quickly from the statue and stood in the Grentch’s path. Crouching down to the Grentch’s level, hands raised like claws and bearing his teeth, Preston snarled animalisticly at the goblinoid, one disciple of Grenth to another. The Grentch fell backwards as its legs tried to retreat against momentum. Fear ridden, it scrambled to its feet and hobbled off.

Watching the creature retreat, Preston relaxed from his primal stance and looked at the girl, who took the candy cane out of her mouth and held it out for him. Again Preston released a sigh which danced momentarily in the cold air.

“That’s disgusting,” he said before taking the candy. He examined it quickly before deciding on a shrug and took a bite. ]]> releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?1260-RTW-s-character-stories <![CDATA[RTW's character stories]]> http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?1231-RTW-s-character-stories Sat, 01 Dec 2007 12:37:47 GMT So I haven't been here in a while huh? Lucky for you, I had a pretty sleepless night last night. This little story idea had been playing itself out in my head for a few nights now, and it wasn't until just tonight that I managed to wrestle it onto a more sharing friendly format. This little blurb is about my assassin character Art Double and my rit Carrie Nurse. As a little known fact, the name Art Double is derived from my forum name Releasetheweasel. Split it up to release the weasel, then take the first letters of each for RTW. Take the RT away from the W and say it out loud. Artie, like the strongest man in the world. Shorten that down to Art. Then you take the W and again just say that. Double you. Double. Art Double. A crazy leap not even Evil Knievel could make... Anyway, the story takes place after their first year at Shing Jea Monastary. Enjoy.

-----------------------------

It was the start of summer and Kaineng Center was busy with activity. Moving through the crowd, two teenage students of the Shing Jea Monestary made their way to Bukdek Byway with haste. One trying to keep up with her friend, and the other trying to lose her.

Finally, the young man gave up and turned to face her. He was thin and tan, and though he was youthful and energetic, his messy hair was already grey. Though summer vacation had started, he still wore his school uniform. Basic assassin garb, the only piece missing being the mask. He folded his arms impatiently and waited for his friend to catch up.

“What’s the rush Art? I almost lost you,” said the girl, who had finally managed to weave her way out of the crowd to where the young man waited. She was a pretty girl, her hair tied back into a pony tail and decorated with beads. Her arms were covered in mehndi designs, as was they typical fashion for ritualists.

“Sorry Carrie, I’m just in a hurry,” he replied.

“Oh, you miss your parents that much huh?” The girl teased. “Well, the boat got here a little early, I don’t think my father has sent anyone to get me yet. I thought I’d meet your parents while-…”

“No!” The outburst left a moment of silence between the two. Art looked at Carrie and sighed. He could tell she was upset and it made him feel bad. “Listen, it’s just that my parents are, well, nothing special. Okay? Why don’t you just wait here and do some shopping, and I’ll see you again when school starts.”

Carrie sighed and took her friend’s arm. “They can’t be that bad. Come on, you can introduce me real quick and then I’ll go.” Knowing she wouldn’t let go, Art sighed and started to walk away from the hectic city center. He had no way to get out of this one and he knew it.

As the two walked, Art looked around nervously. Carrie had never before seen the carefree assassin so cautious, and it worried her a little. Maybe he’s really nervous about introducing me to his parents, she thought. But as they rounded a corner into a back alley, she let out a shocked gasp.

“Am Fah,” she whispered in fear. Three men stood with weapons drawn, ready to attack. The one in the middle was holding a dagger in each hand, while the other two had bows. After a second they lowered their weapons laughed.

“Bido, you’re early,” Said the man in the middle. “Who’s the girl?”

Art looked around for a moment and then asked, ignoring the previously asked question, “Lou, where are my parents? I thought they were supposed to be here.”

“They had more important things to take care of. Don’t worry, you’ve got all summer to see them before you have to go back to school,” said Lou, mocking the young assassin and rustling his already messy hair.

Carrie leaned closer to Art and asked, “Art, do you know these gangsters?”

The three Am Fah started to laugh at her question as Lou replied, “Art? Is that the dumb cover name you picked Bido? So this girl’s from the Monastery huh?” His voice quickly changed from laughter to anger. “Why did you bring her here? Are you trying to blow our cover? Bido you fool, I outta-…”

“I brought her because she is the daughter of a wealthy merchant. She just spent her first year away from home, and I’m sure her father will pay a generous boat load of gold to have her returned unharmed,” the young assassin said with a grin.

Carrie gasped as he pulled his arm free from her and stepped towards the Am Fah, who greeted his plan with grins of approval. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She only knew Art for their first year at the Monastery, but he had quickly become her best friend. But all of it to come to this, their entire friendship was a lie just to lure her into a trap. It crushed the girl, and tears started to well up in her eyes.

“Alright boys, take her to the hideout. Come Bido, we’ll go tell your parents of your cunning little plan, they’ll be so proud of you, for once,” Said Lou.

“Wait, shouldn’t I take her to the hideout? I just want to make sure this all goes off without any problems,” asked the young assassin.

“It’s okay, we’ll handle this. Come on.”

Art saw his chance as the Am Fah assassin turned his back. Closing his eyes and emptying his mind, the young assassin opened his hand flat and with his palm, steeled in a meditative trance, he struck Lou in the side.

Lou gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of him. The rangers looked at him curiously, having missed the attack. Carrie held her breath in fear. Art used the confusion, quickly slipping out of his meditative trance and rushed up to the girl, wrapping an arm around her and in a puff of black smoke, stepped through the shadow onto the roof of a building across the street.

“Hey Lou! Tell my parents to shove it! I’m not going to be a ruthless thug like they are!” the young assassin shouted before he stuck his tongue out and gave the three Am Fah an obscene gesture. He then quickly ducked down, pulling Carrie with him as two arrows flew over their heads. When he looked up he saw Lou emerge from a puff of black smoke having shadow stepped up as well, his daggers drawn.

“You little brat!” He shouted as he made his attack. Art pushed Carrie out of the way, sending her off balance as she shrieked. The dagger plunged deep into his chest, but the young assassin just laughed as he burst into black smoke again, caltrops falling to the ground replacing him.

Looking up, Carrie saw Art with his hand extended. “Hurry, we need to get back to where the guards can help us,” he said with a smile, grabbing her hand. He helped her to her feet and started to lead her back towards Kaineng Center. Lou cursed as he stepped on another caltrop in attempts to pursue.

As Art pulled Carrie along he looked back. Seeing Lou falling behind, he grinned. “Just around this corner and we’re free! Hurry!” But just as he said that, he lost his footing. He fell flat on his face, letting go of Carrie so he didn’t drag her down.

Looking down he saw what was now obvious to him, a thin wire wrapped around his ankle. Carrie turned to him and yelled, “Art!” as she was started to head back to help him.

But before she could take a step he yelled back, “No! Run! Just around the corner, don’t wait for me!” And as he said it, Lou appeared from out of the shadow and kicked him. With only a moment’s hesitation, Carrie turned and ran, leaving her friend behind.

Lou looked up as the two other Am Fah had finally caught up and stopped. “What are you waiting for? Get the girl!” he barked at them.

“She’s too far now. By the time we reach her she will be in the guard’s sight,” one of them answered.

Lou yelled back, shaking his fist as he rolled up the wire. “Scorpion wire. Am I the only one who brought scorpion wire!? Gods you guys are a waste!” Looking down, he sighed away his anger and smiled again. “Well, at least we got little Bido here. A disappointment to your parents as always, huh Bido?”

*******

The summer went on and the students of the Shing Jea Monastery moved back into their dorm rooms, getting ready for another school year. Carrie sat by the window, looking into the night sky at the stars and the moon. She moved over to her bed, where she held one of her stuffed animals for comfort.

Over the past few months she had tried to get her father to send the guards to find her friend. He flat out refused, saying it wasn’t wise to cross the Am Fah even with the emperor’s guards backing him. All she received was harsh words to have better judgment in people and a personal body guard, who she immediately relieved from duty once she returned to Shing Jea. Though her other friends tried to cheer her up, she often found herself alone, bursting into tears at the thought of the trouble she had caused her best friend. If only I had listened, if only I didn’t go with him…

Carrie heard a tapping on her window. Then another. Cautiously, she walked over to it and lift it open. Looking down she saw Art in his full school gear, mask and all, hanging on her windowsill three stories up.

“Hey! Can I come in? My arms are getting tired,” he casually asked.

“Art! You’re alright! I missed you! Oh I’m so sorry. Please, can you ever forgive me?” The girl was speaking very quickly as the assassin pulled himself up and flopped into the room. He sat up against the wall next to the window and caught his breath.

“Listen, Carrie, I just wanted to explain…” He started.

“Art, it’s alright. I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, listen, I need to explain.” He looked down, unable to look at her face as he explained. “My real name is actually Bido. See, I was born into the Am Fah. I never wanted to be a part of it, but both of my parents are in the gang. I wanted out any way possible, and then I had my opportunity. They were going to send me here for training, but I was really supposed to be doing reconnaissance. Keep the Am Fah in the know about what’s going on here.

“I honestly never meant for you to get caught up in any of this. But now I’m free from all that, and, well I just came back to say I’m sorry.” He finally looked up and saw Carrie sit down in front of him. She leaned in and gave him a hug.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re back now,” she said as she held him. The moment was only spoiled by the sound of his empty stomach. Carrie couldn’t help but giggle as she asked, “Hungry?”

Art sighed and looked down at his belly. “Actually, I haven’t eaten in a while. I spent the last few days hidden on a ship I couldn’t afford to ride. Had to eat left-overs off of people’s plates when they weren’t looking.”

“Here, I think I have a bean cake on my desk,” Carrie said as she stood and grabbed the snack for him. His eyes lit up as she handed it to him and he quickly unwrapped it. Then, he hesitantly turned and removed his mask, devoured the snack, and put the mask back on before facing Carrie again. It was now that she realized he was still wearing it.

“Art?” She started to ask.

“Carrie, you can call me Bido,” he replied.

“I like Art better. Anyway, why are you still wearing your mask?” The brightness faded from his eyes as he looked down in silence. Carrie knew something was wrong now, and she reached to lower his mask.

As she pulled it down, she saw why. Burned into his right cheek was a brand mark. A single symbol, she ran her fingers across gently, thinking of how it must have hurt. She whispered the meaning of the symbol to herself, “Traitor.”

Art pulled down his mask the rest of the way and explained, “My final punishment, for betraying the Am Fah. My parents managed to spare my life, but the gang marked me a traitor forever before letting me go.”

“Oh Art, does it hurt?” Carrie asked.

“Not anymore, not physically…”

Carrie pulled Art in for another hug and the two sat in silence before Carrie finally asked, “Will you be able to continue you training here?”

“No. The Am Fah was paying my tuition,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t even have a gold to my name. Perhaps I will find a kind farmer who can take me on as an indentured servant. Not much else for an untrained mo zing like myself to do.”

Carrie pushed Art back and stood up. She just had a brilliant idea. “I’ve got it! I’ll get my father to pay your tuition!”

“I don’t think-…” He started, but Carrie was already on a roll.

“I’ll let him know I’ve chosen a new body guard! He’s been bugging me about letting the last one go, and he’ll be pleased I picked anyone at all. Even if that means paying your tuition, he’ll hire you to protect me!”

Art jumped t his feet, his face lit with excitement. “Really? Do you think it’ll work?”

“I’ll write him first thing in the morning! I’m sure it will work!” The two jumped with delight. This time, Art grabbed Carrie for a big hug before he pulled his mask back up and leapt up onto her windowsill.

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he said with a devil-may-care look in his eyes. She waved to him as he jumped, and in a puff of black smoke he shadow stepped to the ground to negate the fall.

As he ran off, Carrie leaned out her window and yelled, “Oh, and you can just use the door next time!” ]]> releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?1231-RTW-s-character-stories <![CDATA[RTW's character stories]]> http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?780-RTW-s-character-stories Fri, 27 Apr 2007 22:24:53 GMT Hello devoted (ummm...) reader(s?)! Here is a little something I like to call Nec-romance. I think the title gives it away a little but I don't mind. I wrote this for the 300 fanfic contest, where the rules stated to write a story about some character's death. I wanted to start this one off sort of like a buddy flick, like two guys in a war looking out for each others back. Maybe trick someone into thinking one of them would die in an epic fight and afterwards the other would cradle his best friends dying body and yell "NOOOOOO" at the top of his lungs as the overhead camera slowly backs away and fades out... I doubt I did, and now just gave away my surprise. Me and my big mouth :sealed: .

A note about the cahracters. They are not mine. The female necromancer's name was suggested by a good friend of mine (yes, I mean you my devoted reader. If you're someone else thinking "I never suggested a name" then I'm not talking about you... Oh and thanks for reading this, go check out my other stuff!) It was her necromancer who I suppose she deleted... The other names, since I'm horrid with name creation, came from various inspirations. Nos, the main necromancer, is simply just Nosferatu the vampire shortened. In fact, I was going to make his full name Nos Feratu, but it didn't come up. Mal Kavian was a close second (wikipedia it as one word if you don't quite get it.) The name Imaginos came from another one of my constant sources of inspiration. Blue Oyster Cult. Just as I got the names Desdinova, Susie Dear and Carrie Nurse, Imaginos is a character that shows up in their songs (in fact, there is a whole album that tells the story of Imaginos in a sort of rock opera.) I might just go ahead and make that character actually, Imaginos The Blue or something like that. I don't have an elementalist primary...

*ahem* Without further bordom, I present to you the story (which can also be found in the fanfic section. -UPDATE- I've decided to expand apon the story, which can be found in the fanfic section. I won't further update the the blog with Nec-romance, so you'll have to check there for any new material I choose to add to it. -END UPDATE-)

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Many tales have been told of heroes. Their deeds forever engraved in history. But every story comes to an end. So it is for the life of these heroes. But seldom is it mourned, for a hero to die for what he believed in, what drove and inspired him, is cause for rejoice. This is truly what makes a hero.

This tale. . .

Nos looked over the scorched land. An island formed from the rage of the earth. The molten lava bleeding from the cracked land bubbled idly, filling the air with a particular stench. The creatures of this setting, twisted and rotten, beings of unimaginable.

Though his armor hid the malicious grin, one look in his eyes would reveal more than his mouth ever could. He intended to clear the area known as Perdition Rock of any forms of life.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked the tall blue haired man. His garb suggested scholar, but his hardened demeanor and rough eyes told otherwise. He leaned on his staff, shifting to a more comfortable stance. He saw a spark in the necromancer Nos’s eyes and knew the answer well before he asked.

Lowering the neck of his necrotic armor treated the world to his smile. His white teeth contrast to his ebony skin. He removed his gloves and held them under his arm, running his fingers over his scalp, down his silver cornrows. Looking back to the elementalist, he gave him the thumbs up.

Imaginos sighed and pulled his long hair back into a ponytail. He lifted his staff and drew several glyphs in the air before him which surged with arcane power. The powerful mage had mastered every element. He spent most of his youth in his study chambers looming over texts. His only saving grace from the ostracized life of a hermit was his best friend Nos, who insisted they play and explore.

Nos watched as his friend commanded the magic in preparation of the battle ahead with a heavy heart. He knew the danger that lay ahead, and that Imaginos would make no profit from it. His selfish desire brought him to this place.

“You know, you don’t have to help me with this. You’ve nothing to gain and everything to lose,” Nos plead.

The elementalist finished his concentration and the glyph lazily circled around him, waiting for its cue to take effect. With a smirk, Imaginos turned to his comrade and replied, “I have my best friend to lose if I don’t come along.”

Placing a hand on his pal’s shoulder, Nos grinned. “Thank you. Alright, let’s do this. There are our first victims now!”

The two entered battle poses and charged the pack of dark flame dryders with a powerful yell that rang out across the land.

As the two battled fearlessly with vast magics at their mercy, the thought of failure never once crossed their minds. But Imaginos did not know then how true his final statement was. And unfortunately would not know until it was too late.

*******

Exhausted both physically and mentally, the blue haired mage found a rock to sit on. The hours of seemingly nonstop combat left his cloths dirty. His face was covered in filth mixed with his own sweat running down and dripping off. After catching his breath, he stood and observed the scene. Dead creatures lying on the floor all around.

“We did it Nos. Well killed them all!” he shout. But they only reply he heard was his own echo mocking him. “Nos?” he shouted out again, with a hint of fear in his voice.

He must still be alive, he thought. I saw Nos in that last group of hydras. He surely couldn’t have… “NOS!” He ran over the land, jumping over bodies looking for his companion. A gurgling sound made him draw his staff and ready for danger.

A grotesque being of twisted flesh and bone stood before him, having just clawed its way out of an igneous ettin and leaving behind the parts unused. A maleficent laughter reverberated across the once battlefield.

Imaginos sighed a breath of relief and smiled. Nos walked up laughing and threw his arm over the minion’s shoulders. Lowering the neck of his armor he stuck his tongue out at the elementalist. “All according to plan,” he confirmed. “And a little ahead of schedule.”

*******

“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this Imaginos,” Nos said looking into a mirror. He had hastily removed his armor and had donned a fine white suit. Imaginos was just coming back with the rest of the supplies and looked up at his friend.

“Hey man, you look great! C’mon, you’ve been going on about this for such a long time now. You even came up with this elaborate plan, don’t second guess yourself,” his voice was full of excitement and reassurance.

“But what if-,” Nos started before his friend interrupted him.

“No buts. We’re already this far into the plan, don’t back down now. We’ve put too much time and effort, not to mention gold, into this to turn back now.” The inspiring words gave Nos a new confidence. He surveyed the location once more, running over a checklist in his head.

The minions had cleared out the area, been dressed in specially tailored jackets, and were now being handed the supplies needed. Nos quickly cast a spell, causing blood to flow from his own veins and to each minion, giving them a prolonged existence. Imaginos, seeing this, cast a spell from his secondary school of mystical training, using Dwayna’s teachings in the art of healing to refresh his necromancer companion.

“Are you sure your spell will keep me well enough to keep feeding these minions?” asked Nos hesitantly.

“Are you seriously doubting my mastery over the realm of magic?” Imaginos questioned while magically filling a bucket with ice and handing it to a minion. Nos shrugged and continued to fiddle with his outfit, making sure everything was perfect. “Anyway, we’re all set up here. And I think…” he trailed off as he checked around a rock formation that kept the two and their troupe of minions hidden. He nearly jumped and started to rush back to his friend. “Yeah, she’s here! Let me just…” the mage quickly cast a spell that devoted a constant strain on his energy and focused it to keeping his friend refreshed.

Before he left, Imaginos put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Good luck man.”

Nos smiled and nodded. “I will, and… Thanks.”

Imaginos nodded back, and then quickly scurried away behind some rocks, keeping himself near enough to keep the enchantment going.

From the other direction, a beautiful woman walked around the rock formation. “Nos? Are you here? I heard you sent for me and- Oh my!” The sight left her shocked.

Several minions had been dressed in suit jackets and wearing ties, each one of them holding a different item. A basket of food, a blanket, all the necessary components of a picnic. And standing before them all was Nos, dressed in his fine white suit.

“Sitara, my love! What do you think?” asked the necromancer in a sly tone of voice.

“What is all this?” she asked, blush in the face.

“I though maybe I’d do something special just for you. Come, your chariot awaits,” he bowed and gestured to the large flesh golem which had been fashioned with a harness that could seat two.

“I-… I’m not really dressed for the occasion,” Sitara said bashfully as she took the young man’s hand. Considering the location, she thought it fitting to wear her cultist’s armor, tailored for her by the specialist Hagen in Granite Citadel.

“My darling, you look as beautiful as ever,” Nos replied, helping her into her seat on the golem’s back.

Imaginos, who was hidden close enough to hear the conversation, rolled his eyes and silently chuckled with himself.

*******

The picnic was going as well as expected. The region was the perfect setting, dead land pooled with bubbling death traps. And not a monster in sight. The minions stood around like patient butlers, only moving when commanded to bring the basket of food or clean up the mess. Imaginos’s spell, though the mage was hidden out of sight, mended any loss of blood Nos suffered to keep them alive.

And now, as the sun began to set over the horizon, Nos motioned for the minion with the bucket. The moment was coming soon; the plan was finally coming together. He grabbed the bottle from the bucket and raised it for Sitara to see.

“Wine my dear? Imported from Cantha, aged to perfection,” he said as he poured the bubbling drink into two glasses.

“Nos, this has been amazing. But how can you afford all this?” She asked, taking the drink.

“No expense is too great as long as it is for you,” replied the charming Nos as he tapped the two glasses together. “The food, the minions, I did this all for you. And if I could stop that sunset right where it was, I’d keep it there forever just for you.” The sentence gave him chills to say. He had spent hours thinking of that one, and now that he had finally said it he felt so relieved. “And now that we’re alone, I have to ask you something…”

“Oh Nos. Let’s go over there, we can get a better view of the sunset,” Sitara suggested as she stood, pointing. Nos went pale as she started to head over to the flesh golem. This wasn’t how he had planned it, but he could improvise.

As the couple rode the lumbering undead to the ample sunset location, Nos felt his knees weaken. He could hardly control his body as it shook with nervous anticipation. He was finally going to do it; he was finally going to ask his life long girlfriend Sitara to marry him.

After a few moments of silence appreciating the sunset, Nos grabbed Sitara’s hand and gazed into her eyes.

“Nos, you’re hands are cold, what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. For once, everything is perfect. And now, I have to ask…” This was it! Nos reached into his pocket and grabbed the ring. His body shook, his ebony skin paled, his heart began to race rapidly.

“Sitara, will yo-…” were the last words Nos spoke, as the last of his blood drained from his body and into his minions.

For a moment, there was an awkward calm as Sitara attempted to ***** the situation. She attempted to run as the abandoned minions turned on her…

This tale. . . is not the tale of a hero, but of a love struck fool. . .
 ]]> releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?780-RTW-s-character-stories <![CDATA[RTW's character stories]]> http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?726-RTW-s-character-stories Sat, 07 Apr 2007 05:55:40 GMT This is just a funny story I thought of while at work last night (it was very, very slow) and I decided to type it up. ----------------------------------------------------------------- The sun rolled in through the windows, gently warming the small hut in which Preston Nightdeath and Susie Dear... This is just a funny story I thought of while at work last night (it was very, very slow) and I decided to type it up.
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The sun rolled in through the windows, gently warming the small hut in which Preston Nightdeath and Susie Dear lived on the Zoo Crew's guild hall. As the morning sun rose, so did Preston. Lazily, the necromancer rolled out of bed and stumbled for the bathroom. After a few groggy, confused moments, he realized he was missing something...

The high pitched scream woke Susie with a start, and she jumped out of bed with a haste to find the source. Before she could take more than a few steps, the bathroom door swung open to a sight that left her speechless.

A thin, pale skinned, green haired green scarred necromancer stood there in their underwear. Not an uncommon sight for Susie to find in the morning except for one minor detail... The necromancer before her was a woman.

"Who are you!?" Susie bellowed out in a burly, deep voice. The sound of her voice caused her to clasp both hands over her mouth. She caught a glimpse of her hands as she did so. Large, rough fingers, all attached to a meaty arm. Susie looked down to examine the rest of her when it suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. She was in the body of a man.

***

The two sat across from each other at the breakfast table. Neither of them had much of an appetite, but eating seemed to keep them occupied from asking questions. Though once the plates were cleared, they had little else to do but ask those questions.

"What the hell happened?!?!" Preston exclaimed, breaking the silence like a stone through glass.

"I-... I don't know. Do you think it happened to anyone else?"

"Maybe. We should go find out just in ca-"

"NO!" Susie burst out. "I mean, what if it is only us? I don't want to be seen like this..." She ran her hand over her now shaved head and looked dejectedly to the ground.

A moment of silence fell between the two before Preston stated, while adjusting his top, "At least whoever or whatever did this to us had the common decency to change our cloths to suit us..."

Susie looked over her armor resting on the ground in the corner and nearly burst into tears.

***

The sun now rose to its peak as the couple headed for the old lion statue overlooking the sea. The others were already there, and from the looks of it, suffering from the same affliction.

A young mesmer raised his hand and waved to the two, yelling, “Oh Preston! Little brother! Come here and let your big sister take a look.” Lysandra, who was now a charming looking young man with short, wavy hair, adjusted her new mask and grinned.

“Not the time for jokes Lysandra,” Preston retorted, which caused the mesmer to pout. “Okay, so I see you’ve all been… changed as well.”

Revance stepped forward, recognizable by his sun bleached dreadlocks under a bandana and his ranger mask, which he seldom wore in the cities. In a feminine voice he said, “Yeah, and I don’t much like it either.”

From behind Revance, a robbed figure spoke up from underneath a concealing hood in a deep, rumbling voice, “The sooner we figure out what caused this and fix it the better.”

Susie stepped forward and hugged the robed man, saying in a comforting voice, “Soria, honey, we’ll figure this out.”

“Well until we do, I’m keeping this hood up. I’m… I’m-,” She hesitated to complete her sentence, but finally whispered, “Bald.”

Susie pat her back and replied, “Its okay honey, I miss my hair too. At least you have a hood to wear.”

A Canthan man with short pink hair politely cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. His mismatched clothing caused Preston and Susie to stare for a moment before it actually sunk in who it was. Carrie Nurse, the once nimble and radiant ritualist said, “So, what exactly do you propose we do about this? I don’t think any of us want to look like this for the rest of our lives.”

Lysandra, who was now looking into a fancy Elonian hand mirror, said, “Well, I do make a hansom man though.” Looking up she saw a few questioning glances and hastily added, “But you’re right. I don’t want to stay like this.”

“Why?” The question came from the short white haired assassin, who had been rather quiet up until this point.

Carrie turned to her friend and asked, “What do you mean ‘why?’ You can’t seriously want to stay a woman can you Art?”

“Well it certainly was a surprise this morning, and seemed unwelcome. But I can still perform as well as I could yesterday. So, you know…” Art trailed off with a shoulder shrug.

The group stared at Art with shared curiosity as he turned and left the conversation to do some exercises. Preston was the first to get back on track and said, “That aside, I’m sorry Carrie but I don’t know how to answer your question. We have to do something, but what I don’t know.”

“Oh Priscilla, who put you in charge anyway?” Lysandra questioned with a grin.

“What did you call me?” Preston asked with a hiss. Revance giggled at the situation, but abruptly stopped as the sound of his laughter gave him an eerie feeling.

“Don’t laugh at your baby sister there Revalerie, it’s not nice.” The comment was met with a glare that Lysandra simply ignored.

“Gee, you seem to be taking this very lightly Lys-… man-dra,” Preston struggled to find a way to twist her name.

“Lysander. If you need a boys name for me, I’d go with Lysander,” the mesmer corrected.

“Right… Lysander. Anyway, you might want to take this situation a little more seriously. It’s not like putting on one of your silly little masks or anything…” Preston placed his hand on his chin to think for a moment about what he just said, and let out a shout as he came to a conclusion. “I think I know what happened!”

***

The group found their way to the Temple of Ages without any trouble. The statues of the five gods were alight with activity.

“Are you sure about this?” Lysandra asked from the back of the pack.

“Yes I’m sure. Now get up there and conjure a representative.” Preston’s voice held a weight of bitterness in it now, as he pointed to the statue of Lyssa. Lysandra sighed and walked before the statue of her goddess, kneeling down in respect.

“Lyssa, twin goddess of beauty and illusions, I beseech thee. I seek guidance through this mask and from my heart.”

Two pink lights slowly emerged from the faces of the statue and danced around before the group. They then swirled together and formed the face of Lyssa’s muse. Her voice rang out in stereo, as if two women were talking simultaneously.

“And what can the goddess do for you today my child?”

Before Lysandra could answer, Preston stepped forward with his arms crossed and a mean scowl across his face. “We are not amused…”

***

The setting sun cast an orange glow over the sea port city of Lion’s Arch. Susie ran her hand across Preston’s chest as she listened to his heartbeat. Holding her in a warm embrace, Preston rested against the lion statue. He held out his hand and looked at it, glad to be back to his normal self again.

Revance was busy combing Soria’s hair, which fell to her waist. “Tell me again, my love,” She demanded sweetly.

Revance sighed and answered, “Your hair is one of your most beautiful features. I would throw myself on my own spear if you were to lose it.” Though the response sounded forced and repetitive, Soria still smiled happily.

Susie looked from the married couple to Preston and asked, “Would you throw yourself on a spear if I lost my hair?”

Preston laughed and ran his fingers through her hair, then leaned in to kiss the top of her head. Susie balled her hand into a fist and placed it to Preston’s jaw and threatened teasingly, “You didn’t answer me.”

Art lounged back in the grass, his eyes closed. Carrie watched him rest and admired his carefree will. He seemed as unaffected by the day’s events as if it were any other day.

Opening his eyes, Art caught Carrie’s gaze and sat up. “Something wrong?”

Carrie quickly turned away and looked out over the sea. “Oh, no. It was… Nothing.” She bit her lower lip nervously and closed her eyes.

“Alright then,” Art obliviously replied as he lie back down again.

Lysandra looked over the group and sighed. Looking into her mirror she asked, “Some people just can’t take a joke, am I right?”

From the other side of the mirror, Lysander replied, “Yeah, they seem to take the little things just a bit too seriously…” ]]> releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?726-RTW-s-character-stories <![CDATA[RTW's character stories]]> http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?615-RTW-s-character-stories Sat, 24 Feb 2007 03:36:09 GMT Yeah so it's been a while huh? I had promised to write up Lysandra's back story next but once I had started I realized that just might take me a bit longer. So I'm going to go ahead and give you this little tasty short story. Enjoy.
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Preston stepped outside and drew in a breath of crisp morning air, the sun's rays just beginning to peak out over the horizon. He began to casually stroll down the street. Preston was feeling good about himself, as many recent events had happened to make him feel this way. He had just recently graduated from Nolani Academy where he had been studying necromancy for the past six years. He had proven himself to Susie's wealthy father whom had adopted him, and managed to request a small loan from the merchant to buy his own house in Ascalon City. But most importantly, he had turned eighteen in little under a year ago, meaning he was man enough to follow in his family's tradition. He had adopted the surname Nightdeath on his family's naming convention.

The normally busy streets were at a hush now, still early in the morning for the hustle and bustle. Preston wandered aimlessly through the city streets, appreciating the silence a city never knew. A silence that seemed... out of place.

"Preston!" A woman’s voice echoed down the empty streets. Lifting his head and squinting into the sun, Preston could make out Susie Dear waving. A smile flashed across his face as he ran down the street to her. Before he could say a word, she embraced him in a hug.

Closing his eyes, he hoped that the moment would never pass. But something was wrong. He felt no warmth, no comfort. Opening his eyes he saw a sight of horror. The buildings were on fire, people lay dead in the streets. Pushing himself from Susie's embrace he watched as she fell to the ground, inert and cold, in a state he knew all to well. Dead. He screamed...

Preston bolted upright with a scream. His body was covered in a cold sweat, his eyes swelling with tears at the sight he had just witnessed. Breathing heavy, he cleared his eyes and looked around. The land was barren and disfigured.

Preston woke from one nightmare into another. The only difference was he knew this one was real.

Since the great devastation people called the Searing several months back, Preston had found himself wandering the infested and ruined land, host to haunting dreams he could not cure.

The scream would attract the attention of some undesirable creature or another, so Preston began to gather his things. He would have to find a new spot to sleep for the rest of the night. Preston knew how trackers thought, having had much experience hunting himself, and left clues hinting in the wrong direction to his whereabouts.

Another day wretchedly began, just like all the rest...

But as the day wore on, things only seemed to get better. Preston decided to head out to the Catacombs in Ashford Abbey. He could practice his art there in peace. The sun shining bright in the clear blue sky warmed his bones as he headed into the cool entrance tunnel of the Catacombs.

Preston walked slowly in serenity. He approached the large mural of Grenth and dropped to one knee. Remembering the prayer of Desmina, Grenth's first follower, Preston repeated.

"Where is the god to whom I may give my undying devotion? Where is the God to whom I may beg revenge against those who scorn me?"

"Revenge? Against whom silly?" The familiar voice of a young girl rang out from behind him, followed by a giggle. Preston turned his head to see his sister, Lysandra, standing with his older brother Revance. Neither of them had grown since last he'd seen them, making his sister fourteen and his brother eighteen. But this was not a concern in Preston's eyes. He stood and turned to face them.

"Sissy? Vance? Is-... Is it really you?" He took a cautious step forward and reached out a hand.

"Who else would it be bro?" His brother replied with a warm smile. "I told you I would find Lysandra, and now that we're together again, we can live happy. Nothing bad will happen again."

The young girl and walked up and took Preston's arm. She began to lead Preston in a walk, further into the Catacombs. She casually engaged Preston in idle chatter which all came out to gibberish. There was laughter in the stories told, but Preston couldn't make out a word. Finally, he found himself in a part of the Catacombs he didn't often visit.

Revance, keeping up his warm smile, turned to Preston and looked him in the eyes. He spoke, his words making sense again. "You know where we are. And you know why we're here."

Preston nodded wordlessly. His siblings had lead him to the place where their parents had been buried. After a few seconds of searching, Preston found the words he was looking for.

"I can't do it. It-... It just can't be done."

Lysandra looked up at her younger brother, releasing her hold on his arm. "But Preston, isn't this what you wanted? You searched for it, did you not? You must have found something in those tomes of text. You never told anyone what you were looking for, didn't you find it?"

"Yeah, c'mon Preston. You can do this." Revance gave Preston a reassuring pat on the shoulder which lead to a shove towards the graves. Preston drew in a deep breath and cleared his mind. He began to focus on a spell.

He remembered back to the books he had read in the deepest corners of the Nolani Academy's library. He remembered reading what he was attempting could not be done. Why was he trying? Why hadn't his siblings aged? What was this uneasy feeling he was getting?

Opening his eyes, Preston watched as his completed spell took effect. From the grave burst two twisted forms of bone and flesh. His eyes widened in horror at the atrocity he had just preformed. Bone minions created from his own mother and father.

Preston dropped to his knees and covered his mouth, holding back the urge to vomit. Looking to his side he saw a sight that did not help. His brother and sister lying on the ground, blood running down their faces.

His sister's eyes rolled into the back of her head, as Revance gave Preston a cold, blank stare. His jaw moved slightly, and he gurgled out, "How-... How could you Preston? It's all-... your... fault." His voice was silenced with the sound of bones and flesh remolding. Two more minions had risen from his siblings.

The rotted undead underlings moved towards Preston with malicious intent. Preston pulled himself to his feet as the nearest creature took a swing at him, striking him across the back. Ignoring the pain, he ran. With every step he took, more undead servants rose to chase after him.

He continued to run. He ran until his muscles would not allow him to move and his lungs burned. He was outside, in Ashford Village...

No. The land had been burned. Where the once pleasant village rested, there was now only scorched earth and bleak sands. Singed trees refused to grow. Large crystals which had fallen from the sky left their mark on the devastated earth.

Preston fell to the ground exhausted. His body ached, and he couldn't help but laugh maniacally. Tears ran down his face as he rolled onto his back, yelling into the dust filled, rust colored sky.

"WHY!? Why? Grenth, do you hear me? What sort of curse is this?"

Hours passed while Preston waited for a reply he knew he'd never get. When the sun had set over the horizon and darkness enveloped the land, Preston stood again and dust himself off. He started walking back the way he came.

Back to Ashford Abbey.

Back to the Sardelac Sanitarium.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Few paid attention to the green haired necromancer, as it was not uncommon to find a practitioner of Grenth's teachings in Sardelac Sanitarium. Preston slipped in and out of his dream world, though he did little in either.

He had given up on life. If his mind would not allow him to know what was real from the nightmares, then he would no longer engage in either. Numb himself to the world, doing little more than playing disheartening tunes on his flute. His eyes lied and his ears played tricks, Preston no longer trusted either.

The Lakeside County was warm as the sun shone high in the sky. Preston had left Ashford Abbey for a short walk to the river side. He watched the trees rustle in the breeze. Glancing down the hill he saw Farmer Dirk's pigs running about. Lifting his head, Preston looked down the old dirt path he was walking. His mind tormented him further.

Two charr engaged a solider of the Ascalon Army in battle. The female solider, both graceful and strong, held well against the beasts. Though she was at a disadvantage. Out numbered, separated from her unit. She yelled out for help, though no one heard.

No one but Preston. He heard, and he knew what was going on. An all too familiar haunting. The cry for help, the female warrior...

"Susie," the necromancer whispered beneath his breath.

He watched as the warrior defended herself against the dual attackers. He watched her growing tired and weaker.

He knew it wasn't real.

The charr maneuvered themselves into position, flanking the soldier of Ascalon. Turning to fend off one attacker left her exposed to the other. The charr drew back his blade and made use of the opening.

The attack did not connect. The charr fumbled to the ground as its blood shot forth from its body. The red liquid streamed through the air in a pattern, flowing like a river towards the necromancer charging to the warrior's aid.

Susie struck a wounding blow with her mighty hammer to the remaining attacker and fell back. The attack exerted the last of her energy and sent her off balance, landing on the ground.

Why? This isn't real. This isn't happening. You can't save her. She's not there. Why are you doing this then? Why?

The charr raised his sword for one final blow to the downed warrior.

"Susie!" Preston yelled as he positioned himself between the woman and the steel. The sword bit into his back with a crimson splash.

With a renewed burst of adrenalin, Susie quickly took up her hammer and dealt the creature a fatal blow.

Preston laid face first on the grass. The trees swayed silently around him. Susie knelt down next to him. Tear filled her eyes.

"Preston! Preston, you're going to be fine. Please, say something to me. Tell me you're alright!"

It doesn't matter... I can't change the past. What I tell you here... It won't matter...

Susie cautiously placed her hands over the wound. "You'll be okay. Talk to me." Tears ran down her cheeks.

The tears fell on Preston. He felt them. How could it feel so real? Never before had his dreams been so genuine.

Preston's eyes widened. He knew now! Focusing his will, he drew a pattern in his mind, which formed around the body of the charr. Magic drew the ever potent source of life from the beast's body. The blood welled up from the now dry husk and seeped into the necromancer's wound. His body made use of the substance and healed the gashing injury.

Preston shifted slightly and rolled onto his back, looking up into Susie's relieved face. For the first time in over a year, he smiled.

Before he could say a word, she embraced him in a hug. Closing his eyes, he hoped that the moment would never pass. ]]> releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?615-RTW-s-character-stories <![CDATA[RTW's character stories]]> http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?284-RTW-s-character-stories Wed, 30 Aug 2006 03:09:50 GMT 1050 AE, season of the Scion, a child is born in a small log cabin deep in the woods of Regent Valley. The proud parents name their third child Preston.

As the years pass, the young boy showed great interest in his father's work. Leonard Swiftnight was a simple trapper and hunter, skilled enough with a bow to kill game. But when it came to combat, fear would freeze him in his tracks. He never joined a guild, and never fought in the Guild Wars. This was all well enough for him, Leonard was content with supporting his small happy family. If hunting animals for food and hides were all the skill Melandru would bestow upon him, he truly felt blessed for it.

When Preston was eight, his father gave him a gift. A starter bow. Preston was quick to shoot, if a little reckless at first. His first day with the bow, he flooded one of the outside walls of the cabin with arrows. Not one of them hit the target he had drawn, which was little bigger than his fist. On his first hunting trip with his father and brother, who is five years older, Preston's inaccurate shot and impatience scared away all the animals. The only quarry they brought home on that trip was the caged animals from Leonard's traps.

Over the next few years though, Preston honed his ability with the bow. He picked up on the tricks his father used to hunt and to trap game. At age eleven, Preston and his older brother could do the hunting and trapping by themselves. With the boys doing the physical work, Leonard turned his attention to his daughter. Though only a year older than Preston, she was very intelligent and observant. Leonard taught her the art of bartering. Bringing her to Fort Ranik, Foibel's Fair, Piken Square and Ascalon City to trade hides. Before long, the three children were doing all of the hunting, skinning and trading. The two parents couldn't have been prouder.

Life seemed sweet for young Preston. But at age twelve, it would all come crashing down. Coming back from a long trading trip to Rin, Preston's older brother noticed something was amiss. He smelt smoke in the air. He hushed is younger siblings’ bickering and strained his ears to hear laughter in the distance. He knew too quickly it was coming from the direction of their small log cabin, and immediately assumed the worst. Leaving the cart of traded goods behind, the three children slowly crept up to the sight of horror.

Seven men stood laughing as Preston's home burned in a blazing inferno. Bandits. But worst of all was not what could be seen, but what was heard. Trapped inside the fiery house, Preston's parents screamed, left to burn alive. Having had enough of the torment, Preston drew his bow in rage and charged into the clearing. Blinded by anger, he did all he could to try and kill the men before a hammer blow to side of his face knocked him out cold.

Preston awoke some time later in a bed. A large bandage had been placed over his face where the hammer had struck. Looking around the room, Preston saw his older brother in the corner with a scowl on his face. He was covered in bandages, badly bruised, and his arm was in a sling. On the other end of the room, Preston's sister was crying in the arms of Sarah, one of the healers of Ashford Village.

Shortly after Preston came to, a guard from the Ascalon Army and another unidentifiable man entered the room. The guard asked Preston what had happened, and Preston explained that they had just gotten home when it was already ablaze, and he attacked the bandits with his bow. The guard then told Preston that a few of the guardsmen in the area had seen the smoke, and headed out to find the source. They found a girl, Preston's sister, running towards Fort Ranik and questioned her. She told them what was happening and showed them the way to the cabin. When they got there, two of the bandits were dead and the other five were taking turns beating Preston's older brother. After the guards disposed of the bandits, they brought the children to Ashford Village to be treated. He then mentioned that the guards would return to the cabin later to find what they could, and that their parents would be buried in the Ashford Abbey.

Then, the mysterious man stepped forward and asked Preston if he knew how the two men had died. Preston hung his head and confessed he may have killed them with his bow. The man laughed and mentioned that, unfortunately, none of the men had even been hit by an arrow. The man then introduced himself as Oberan the Reviled, and said the source of the men’s death was a force of Grenth, necromantic powers conjured through Preston. He told Preston he had great potential, and suggested he take up education at the Nolani Academy.

The next few days were filled with sorrow. They stayed with Sarah's family for the time being, and a funeral was held for their parents. Talk of what was to be done with the children quickly arose, and plans for splitting them up and sending them to orphanages were made. Though the plans were quickly discarded as a wealthy traveling merchant said he would adopt the three. The man was the father of Preston's friend Susie Dear, who had pleaded with her father to help them.

After a few months of living in the large manor in Ascalon City, Preston began to think about what Oberan the Reviled had told him. The next semester was about to begin, and one of the house maids suggest Preston should get an education at the Ascalon Academy with Susie, since the boy was near thirteen years old and still could not read. When Preston said he would rather attend Nolani Academy to study necromancy, Susie's father said he would fund his education, and sent him on his way.

School was difficult for Preston. He was always behind in his studies, spending his first year struggling to learn to read. But when it came to practical application of necromantic arts, he excelled rather amazingly. He began to change as he furthered his studies. His hair turned an unnatural shade of green, his skin paled, and he viewed his scar as a badge of power rather than a disfigurement. Though he took his new trade very seriously, Preston never forgot about the hunt. He often times went out on hunts with other young rangers from the surrounding areas. He was never very welcomed amongst them, but no one made him leave so long as he didn't scare away the game or perform any of what many of them called creepy voodoo.

Shortly into his first semester at the academy, Preston received word that his sister would be joining Susie's father and his caravan as they traveled to Kryta and Orr to do trade. When the caravan returned a few months later, they brought news that while in Orr, she had gone missing. Preston felt a little upset over the ordeal since he had always been a little mean to his older sister and never got the chance to make up for it.

About a year later, Preston's older brother left without saying a word. He just left the manor with a few of his possessions and never returned. Preston got two letters over the next few weeks. The first was from Susie's father, which in a borderline cynical tone said that he would continue to fund his education as long as he didn't decide to disappear like his siblings had. And should he leave, it would almost be considered a robbery on his part how much money was invested into him and his siblings, just to have them run off. A clear threat.

The second letter was from his brother. It had a similar borderline cynical tone to it, saying that he grew bored with the life his baby brother had provided and was content with. It then said he wished to go back to the life his real family had planned for him, and that he was going to start by traveling the wilderness until he found his way to Orr in attempt to find his sister.

The harsh words did not deter Preston from his life now. He continued at the academy until his graduation. Eighteen years old, he followed the traditional naming convention of his family and now goes by the name Preston Nightdeath. He stuck around Ascalon City, furthering his abilities in the Catacombs and providing support to his friend Susie Dear, who had taken up training into the Ascalon Army at Fort Ranik.

In two years, The Searing would happen. Preston watches again as his home burns down to the ground. In a year after that, Preston hears of The Cataclysm and can only help but remember his brother and sister, both last known to be in or heading for Orr. The rest is a whole other story… ]]> releasetheweasel http://guildwars.incgamers.com/forums/entry.php?284-RTW-s-character-stories