Curse

Secksy · Sep 10, 2009, 09:17 PM // 21:17

Summary: They never expected the Shaman's to go quietly, but they never considered what they would do when they became desperate.
Notes: Does not pay attention to any of the lore that has been reveiled for GW2.

Part One:

His staff was clutched in white knuckled hands, his palms sweating profusely. He was fighting back the building anxiety with sheer force of will.

Simons was irritated, that, over everything else, was certain. Pyre and himself had ventured into the Cathedral of Flames in chase of a shaman: Baleil Burntkin.

Baleil, according to Pyre, was the alpha of his war band and had been ever since the downfall of Hierophant Burntsoul and his false gods. He also leads the now falling Shaman Caste and what few followers of it still remain.

Baleil, however, had been wreaking havoc far outside of the Charr homelands; there have increased number of attacks on the Eye, as well as further attempts to invade Kryta. A Vanguard troop would not be able to get anywhere near him (they’d tried and failed). Simon and his group were asked to their relations with Pyre’s warband for assistance.

The Fierce warband had dedicated their lives to the fall of the Shamans; that had very nearly been accomplished. But the Charr were, as a race, stubborn, and in Simon’s eyes, cruel. The Shamans were not going to go easily, that much was clear.

Pyre had begrudgingly accepted the assistance; he was one of the better examples of the Charr race. Simon was capable of tolerating Pyre’s presence, and sometimes tricked himself into thinking that he and Pyre might be friends. Not often, but sometimes.

In their search for Baleil, however, he had assaulted Doomlore Shrine, and succeeded, to a point. But the Fierce band ever proved their resourcefulness, cunning, and overall intelligence; the retreated. Not something an everyday Charr would have even considered doing. The losses had been few. In Pyre’s eyes, however, it was a few too many. He took the assault and death of his comrades personally, as every leader should.

They regrouped with the Fierce band on the outskirts of Longeye’s Ledge, and then marched on Doomlore. They had been victorious.

With the fall of the majority of his followers, Baliel fled into the bowels of the Cathedral, Simon, Pyre, and his group in close pursuit. Until, however, a stray fireball from Baliel struck the opening to the Cathedral, causing the entrance to collapse in on itself, effectively cutting Pyre and himself off from the rest of their allies.

There was a definite worry that was haunting Simon’s mind as he stared as the collapse: had his group, his friends, escaped the cave-in unharmed? He had lost allies in battle before; he was from Ascalon, after all. But it never became easier to lose someone you cared about. Not ever.

There was something else bothering him as well; that one fireball should not have caused a cave-in of this magnitude. Not unless the entrance had been previously rigged to do so. That prospect alone, the fact that Baleil leading them in here might be premeditated, was enough to send a chill down Simon’s spine.

“Well, meat?” Pyre huffed, visibly trying to contain his fury as he eyed the rubble. “What now?”

He didn’t know. “Keep a leveled head, for starters.” Glancing at the agitated Charr as he spoke, stepping closer to the rubble. “Oi!” He called. “Anyone hear me?” His heart dropped when his query was met with silence.

“Excellent.” Pyre retorted. “Perhaps we should formulate a plan b?”

Simon had to struggle to not reply sarcastically. “Well, there aren’t any other exits or entrances we can use down here, which is a good and bad thing. Baleil can’t escape, but on the flip side, we’re trapped.” He turned around, looking off into the distance of the cathedral. “He’s got one hell of a head start, though.”

Pyre let out a low growl, glaring at route Baleil had taken. “I always get my prey.”

“I’ve no doubt. But we can’t rush into this. Baleil wouldn’t be stupid enough to come to a place unless he had a way out. He probably has more followers in the lower levels of the Cathedral as well.”

Some of Pyre’s fury boiled over, his head whipping around to face Simon. “Do not say we will not pursue him, meat.”

The monk met Pyre’s eyes, not backing down. “I’m saying we need to be smart and not rush into things.” He gestured towards the cave in. “Look at this, Pyre. A single spell should not have been able to cause this, not without some major energy behind it. Baleil was on the run, and shooting blind and it still caved in. This wasn’t an accident, it was planned. If we follow him now, on our own, into what is most defiantly a trap, we will die.”

“I do not fear death, meat!” Pyre roared.

Simon tried to keep his voice steady, controlled. “That does not mean you should seek it.”

Something flashed in Pyre’s yellow eyes, something Simon couldn’t quite recognize. What ever it was, the Charr visibly deflated a bit, his shoulders hunching forward slightly. He huffed. “So what do we do?”

“Keep a level head. We’ll get through this, just need to take it slow is all.”

Pyre let out a low growl, turning and starting deeper into the dungeon.

Simon frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Taking it slow.”



And so, against Simon’s better judgment, they walked. The Cathedral was just as hellish as he remembered. The scent of ash and smoke littered the air, making it almost impossible to breathe.

It was the heat, however, that bothered Simon the most. He was currently channeling small sums of energy to coat himself in a weak barrier. It helped prevent him from dehydrating and kept his temperature moderately leveled, though it was still scorching. His bare chest and armored enchanted tattoo’s weren’t helping nearly as much as one might think.

Pyre collapsing down to one knee, clutching his left side, pulled him from his thoughts of discomfort.

“Woah—hey!” Simon stuttered, surprised, quickly dropping down next to him, laying his staff on the ground. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” The Charr snapped, his voice wavering.

“Like hell it is. Let me see.” He said, moving to move Pyre’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” Pyre growled in warning. He was clutching at his armor as if he was trying to claw through it. He was clearly in a significant amount of pain.

And Simon was in no mood for his attitude. “Pyre.” He said in a low, commanding voice, causing the Charr to meet his gaze. “Stop being an idiot and let me help.”

Yellow eyes narrowed dangerously, and for a few moments Simon really thought he was going to try and tear his head off. But along a long, tense few seconds, Pyre began to remove his armor from him torso.

Simon, being the experienced monk that he was, kept his face neutral as he examined the wound. On the left side of Pyre’s lower abdomen, what ever fur had once been there had been seared away. The skin was black, cracked, and trickling a steady stream of blood. He recognized this wound almost immediately:

“A Mark of Rodgort… why didn’t you say anything?” Simon was quite familiar with the Mark. It was a spell that easily bypassed armor and clothing and set what ever, and whoever, was underneath ablaze for a short while. Quick, painful, and easily debilitating depending on where the mark ended up.

“I’m a Charr, meat. It is not my first burn, and it will not be my last.”

“That doesn’t mean ask for help when you need it.” The monks voice was cool, almost detached. The Mark looked painful, very painful. Just how long had he been walking around with a wound like this? Simon sighed, and without asking permission, covered the wound with his hands. Pyre visibly tensed, his eyes locked on the monk, but Simon was no longer paying attention.

Simon reached our for Her and She answered immediately. He felt Dwayna’s swirling energy; felt the very essence of Her being. He dipped into his own energy reserves and began combining his essence with Hers until he had created something new; an imitation of life.

He let this energy flow out of his tips and into the Charr. When it made contact with Pyre’s skin Simon could sense the damage; a buzzing that vibrated through his palms and up his arm. He started to repair it, starting with the areas that were bleeding. He sealed the open wounds, replacing dead tissue with healthy living flesh until the wound was more or less gone. With the some pools of energy he had left over from the spell he dissolved the rest of the Mark into harmless nothingness.

All of this took only a second. Simon blinked back into consciousness, sending up a silent prayer to Her, and retrieved his staff from where he had lain it, getting back up to his feet. He looked back towards Pyre who was already wordlessly replacing his armor. When he was done, he stood and continued down into the Cathedral, passing Simon without even a glance.

Simon sighed, rolling his eyes, and followed after him.

CronkTheImpaler · Sep 10, 2009, 11:25 PM // 23:25

Honestly, this is the first lore/story ive read fully. normally i cant get passed the deep nostalgic Lore and legend. This was simply easy to read and actually felt like it really represented the characters you were using in the story.

Well done.

Cronk

Aquabeard · Sep 11, 2009, 09:27 PM // 21:27

Neat. I'm curious what surprises the shaman has in store for them.

Also, I see Pyre as being more cold and calculating, less haughty and prideful. Maybe that's just me. I do like the interactions between him and Simon though.