Guild Wars: Ghosts of Ascalon (14 page)

It isn’t mind-reading,” said Killeen, “and we aren’t all connected into one big mass mind. However, before we come into the world, the sylvari are united in the Dream of Dreams.”

The three of them sat at the end of a table large enough for a platoon. Dougal had slept at least six hours in the most comfortable bed in all of Lion’s Arch, and had been roused only unwillingly by Killeen saying that Riona was back and dinner was in a half hour. It was already dark, and a heavy moon shown through the tall windows.

Dinner was excellent, a rare treat for Dougal. He had spent many of his years on the road, able to eat only what he was willing to carry with him. As a result, he had survived on mostly water and hardtack and the occasional bit of small game he brought down.

Tonight, though, Soulkeeper had made sure that he, Riona, and Killeen had the finest food and drink available in Lion’s Arch. They dined on succulent roast mutton, braised moa, fresh breads, and a selection of the finest fruits available from the city’s busy harbor market. They also split a pair of bottles of wine that was older than anyone at the table and finer than any
Dougal had ever tasted.

It was not the first “last meal” Dougal had enjoyed before heading off on a job from which he had no assurance he would ever return. He hoped it would not be the final one despite his misgivings, and he was determined to make the most of it either way.

Riona had set Killeen off by asking the question “You’re five years old. How do you know so much?” Indeed, it was a question that plagued Dougal as well. Unlike Riona, he had known a number of sylvari, and they always surprised him with the depth and breadth of their knowledge.

By the same token, there were matters that were completely beyond them. Emotions seemed to be a hard concept for them to understand fully, as was tact. The sylvari he had dealt with over the years would often unknowingly offend others by pointing out obvious and uncomfortable truths.

“We are the bounty of the Pale Tree, which grows at the center of the Grove,” said Killeen. “Long ago there was a human warrior named Ronan who found the seed of the Pale Tree in a cavern. Ronan tired of war and, along with a former foe, a centaur named Ventari, traveled to the south and planted the tree in what would become the Grove.

“Ronan passed on, and so, too, in time did Ventari, who spent his life tending to the young sapling. Before he died, Ventari carved his tablet and set it down at the base of the tree. When we awakened, that tablet became our law, and we were infused with the spirit of both brave Ronan and gentle Ventari.

“We were not there when all this happened, but we know it because of the Dream of Dreams. While we were quickening within the golden fruit of the Pale Tree, the tree spoke to us of the world outside. She taught us, if you will, of the nature of the waking world.

“We are not all-knowing,” she continued. “The Dream of Dreams is not like a tome of all knowledge. But it does give us a life before our life, in which we learn much of the world we are coming into. Fire is hot. Wild animals can be dangerous, but many can be tamed. Here is the proper way to use a sword. This is how you cast a spell, if you are so disposed. We come into the world with knowledge of the world, but not necessarily the experience.”

Riona shook her head. “Is there a difference? Experience gives you knowledge.”

“For humans, most likely,” said Killeen, “but not for us.” She picked up an oversized drumstick. “This is the leg of a young moa. I know that it was a moa from the Dream, and further that it is well cooked but not overcooked. I know what it tastes like but have never tasted it myself.” She took a bite of the leg, and chewed for a moment or two. “Chicken,” she said at last, the word muffled by the food in her cheek.

“I don’t know what is weirder,” said Riona, looking a little uneasy, “your telepathic dreams or the fact I am watching a plant eat an animal.”

“Many plants eat animals,” countered Killeen. “Flytraps, ibogas, jacarandas, pitcher plants. The oakhearts chase down and mash animals they encounter and use the remains to fertilize their young.”

“Of course they do,” said Riona. She turned to Dougal and whispered, loudly, “Creepy!”

If Killeen heard the comment, she did not respond to it. “But we don’t have telepathic dreams. In the Dream of Dreams, one grows one’s identity. When one is Awakened into the world, we leave the Dream behind, for the most part. But what we learn in the world goes back into the Dream to help new sylvari understand. The Firstborn entered into a world without sylvari, but what they learned helped all that followed them. So, too, what I learn will help future generations.”

“Must make it hard for sylvari to keep secrets,” said Riona, and Dougal realized what she was thinking: Killeen knew everything they knew about the mission. Who else has emerged, newly fallen from the Pale Tree who knew about this?

“We try not to keep secrets,” said Killeen, almost smugly. “But knowledge is rarely specific. A face, an item, perhaps a name, may stay with us once we Awaken. We may feel drawn to a particular place or person, or feel that some task needs to be done. Occasionally, something in the Dream echoes back to an awakened sylvari, but it is more of a feeling than a vision filled with details and specifics. That is one reason so many sylvari wish to fight the Elder Dragons: we dream of a great shadow in the Dream, and awaken to a world where the dragons cast an equally deep shadow on the land.

“As an example”—she motioned at Dougal with her moa bird—“I know about the long war between the charr and the humans, but not as much about the
reasons why, or what happened in Ascalon City.” She looked at Dougal and took another big bite of moa flesh to indicate she was done talking for a while.

Riona took another slug from her wineglass, then reached for the bottle again. “Give her the abridged version, please.”

Dougal wiped his mouth on his napkin, sat back in his chair, and began.

“As General Soulkeeper said, the charr were here on Tyria first and ran wild over the entire continent. When humans arrived, they were the first serious challenge to charr supremacy in centuries. But if it hadn’t been for the death of the Khan-Ur, humanity might not have survived those ancient days. The Khan-Ur’s children, who were also his four imperators—leaders of their own personal legions—fell to squabbling over his mantle, each accusing the others of treachery. They set their legions against each other. Blood, Iron, Flame, and Ash. None of them were strong enough to defeat the other three, though, and in the course of the civil war, the Claw of the Khan-Ur was lost. Yet, their internal dissension gave humanity some breathing room to develop, and with that time we conquered Ascalon.

“Several generations later, when the charr got their act together, we fought to keep them out of what we now considered our land. To that end, the kings of Ascalon began building a massive wall that ran west from the Shiverpeaks all the way to the Blazeridge Mountains on the Eastern Frontier. It took nine hundred years to complete, but it kept the charr to the north of it, where they belonged. Indeed, backed by the strength of
the wall, we pushed them even further north, so that for most Ascalonians the charr were a distant but always present threat.

“The Northern Wall stood unbreached for nearly two hundred years, but way back in 1070, the charr discovered a great magic, based on mighty cauldrons filled with mystic energy. The charr shamans, in particular those that commanded the Flame Legion, unlocked the secrets of the cauldrons and brought about the Searing. Great burning crystals fell from the sky and scourged the lands around them, breaking the Great Northern Wall.

“The charr flowed through the wall in an unstoppable wave that washed all the way through Ascalon until it crashed on the shores of Orr. In Orr, its most powerful vizier cast a forbidden spell of his own that stopped the charr cold, but only at the sacrifice of his entire nation, sinking Orr beneath the sea. But that, as they say, is another story.

“The Searing forced King Adelbern to move his throne from Rin to Ascalon City, the only major city in his nation that still stood. There, he felt, he would make his last stand against the charr invasion.

“The king’s sole heir, Prince Rurik, disagreed with him and led a large portion of his people over the Shiverpeaks to safety in Kryta rather than wait for their doom with their king. Prince Rurik, by the way, never made it to Kryta with his followers: he gave his own life so that they might find their freedom. It is said that Prince Rurik’s death hurt King Adelbern worse than the fall of Rin itself.

“Back in Ascalon City, the Flame Legion prepared
for a final assault on the place’s walls. The imperator of the Flame Legion somehow got his hands on the Claw.”

“So this Flame Legion imperator was really the last Khan-Ur?” asked Killeen.

Dougal clicked his tongue at that. “Not quite. The Claw is a powerful weapon, legends say, a force that would allow one to unite the legions under a single banner. But you still have to convince the other legions and earn the title of Khan-Ur to seal the deal, as it were. The Flame imperator decided that conquering Ascalon City and beheading King Adelbern with the Claw would cement his claim, so that’s what he set out to do.”

“The legions, led by the shamans of the Flame Legion, assaulted the walls of Ascalon City with their forces, their tamed siege devourers, and their magical cauldrons. The charr armies overran the defenders and surmounted the walls. Adelbern fought until the last, armed with his great magical sword, Magdaer. Magdaer was an artifact from ancient Arah, the City of the Gods, and infused with power. It is said that Magdaer’s twin, Sohothin, was in the hands of his son, Rurik, when he died. In any event, Adelbern single-handedly brought down wave upon wave of charr warbands, making his last great stand on the battlements of his own tower.

“At last King Adelbern faced the Flame Legion imperator, the leader of the charr forces, who himself bore the Claw of the Khan-Ur. When the two weapons met, the energies within both exploded in a great jet of power that was seen from the Shiverpeaks themselves.”

“The Foefire,” said Killeen.

Dougal fell silent then, picturing that terrible event in his mind, making it match up with the horrible images he’d witnessed on his own venture into the harrowed city.

“Tell me more about the Foefire,” Killeen said. “As a necromancer, that fascinates me.”

A gruff voice—Dougal recognized it as Doomforge’s—spoke from the darkness of the hallway. Dougal wondered how long the charr had been there and what she had heard.

“The Foefire destroyed every charr within Ascalon City, and for leagues around as well. The buildings, the farms, and the land were unharmed, but every charr within its reach was destroyed. The humans, however, suffered a different fate. Their souls were peeled loose from their shredded bodies, and they survive eternally as guardian ghosts to jealously protect the land. Adelbern, whom we call the Sorcerer-King, damned his people to destroy the charr. Adelbern did with cursed magic what his army had not been able to manage in years, and he cheated the charr of our triumph.”

Doomforge stood in the room’s arched entrance and waited for someone to gainsay her. Dougal resisted the temptation, and neither Riona nor Killeen seemed inclined to take the bait.

Doomforge grunted at the lack of any challenge. “General Soulkeeper sends me with her regrets. She cannot join us tonight.”

“ ‘Us’?” Dougal said.

Doomforge moved into the room and cast her eye
over the ruins of the meal. She had taken off her armor and now wore just a set of simple rope and leather clothes that Dougal could only describe as a harness. Dougal supposed that with all her fur she didn’t need clothes for warmth, only charr standards of modesty. It covered just enough of her to manage that, although on a human it would have been considered scandalous. Despite her casual attire, she seemed far less relaxed than she had been in her armor.

“Soulkeeper asked me to dine with you so that we might become better acquainted.” She looked down at the table. “But I see you are nearly finished.”

Dougal waited for the charr to turn around and leave. He enjoyed watching her try to decide how long she would have to endure their company to fulfill her orders. Despite her actions against the norn, he wasn’t about to make her feel at home.

Killeen, on the other hand, had no trouble with that at all. She leaped to her feet and scurried over to take the charr by the paw and escort her to a seat at the table. “The general is as wise as she is generous,” she said. “I’m thrilled to have someone like you as a part of our guild.”

Dougal winced at that word and saw Doomforge do the same as she accepted the seat the much smaller sylvari shoved in behind her. “I have a warband already,” the charr said. “I do not need a guild.”

Dougal nodded at that, finally finding something he and Doomforge could agree upon. “We are in no way a guild,” he said. “Guilds are permanent organizations. They are created and maintained by their own
membership, and are usually set up with long-term goals. We are four individuals gathered together for a single mission. We are a team, a company, maybe even what the asura call a krewe. And I don’t even like teams that much.” Riona failed to suppress a rude snort at that, but he ignored her. “It is often better to work alone.”

Killeen smiled at them both as if they were slow-headed children. “But you’re not working alone, are you? And you”—she turned back to Doomforge—“don’t have your warband with you. I suppose, in a way, we’re your warband.”

Dougal almost choked on his wine at this, but Doomforge’s reaction drowned out his own. “I am charr,” she said, pronouncing each word carefully. “My warband is to me what humans would consider a family. We were raised together as cubs in the crèche, in the fahrar. We were trained to fight together as a unit. We may not share blood, for we honor our elders and forebears, but the bonds of battle hold stronger than any family tie.”

“A family?” Killeen said, tilting her head at a curious angle. “All sylvari are a single family. We all sprang from the same source, the Pale Tree, but the Dream—our communal history and subconscious—binds us together even more than that. Perhaps that is why we treasure our individualism. When you have so much in common, the new experiences you have—those that separate you from the others—are what make you unique.”