Phases of the Moon by Kora
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Today's guest writer is Kora (also known as Guild Lores in the Guild Wars 2 community). Kora mainly discusses snippets of lore on her social media.
You can find out more about Kora on Twitter: @GuildLores
This story was published for our Summer of Short Stories (2019) event.
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Canach, Secondborn of the Cycle of Night, former Consortium mercenary, short-lived self-proclaimed Champion of the Weak, and the Terror of Southsun Cove was—as Countess Anise put it—in a mood.
Travelers from around Tyria, bustling with excitement, filled all levels of the Grove as they waited for the leaders of the various races at the World Summit.
But for Canach, his return home was bittersweet. Nowhere else in Tyria was the air so fresh and sweet. The soft bioluminescent glow from the flowers, vines, and pollen was as soothing as it was beautiful. Yet, standing here at the roots of his mother—hearing the whispers of his brothers and sisters—he never felt more an outsider.
“…responsible for the karka attacking Lion’s Arch…” It’s not as though he knew the local karka would start rampaging when he ordered his team to collect passion flower samples.
"Did you see his thorns? I would have sworn he was Nightmare Court…" He’d like to see them survive all alone with paid killers hunting them without growing a few thorns for self-protection.
"Do you suppose the guilt and shame made his leaves change?" Fools. He’d had to change what he could of his appearance to avoid being arrested by the Lionguard. Add in being on the run, fighting for his life, and killing the assassins the Consortium sent to ‘decommission’ him had weathered his leaves.
“Oh dear, it looks as though your attendance is causing more of a stir than you were expecting,” Countess Anise said as she walked a step ahead of him along the mossy path. “Not to worry, I’m sure once all the delegates arrive, they’ll have something else to occupy their minds.”
“As if I care what my simple-minded brethren think of me,” he replied.
The countess hummed at his curt tone.
“Besides, I’m not here for a family reunion.” Canach brushed a bit of pollen off his forearm. “You bought my billet. I go where you say I go. You say jump and I ask how high? Isn’t that how this works?”
A delicate laugh spilled from the countess’s lips. “Would you really? And here, I’d been thinking you were reticent to my plans for you.”
“Well, it was either die of boredom in jail or risk my life for the duration of my sentence. There really wasn’t much choice at all. I abhor boredom.”
“You mean my efforts to reform you into a lasting agent of the Shining Blade and a contributing member of society are for naught?”
“Sorry, I don’t really see this working out,” Canach said. “Once my sentence is up, you and I shall part ways, and never the twain shall meet again…at least not if I have anything to say about it.”
“So cruel.” The countess appeared wholly unaffected by his words. “Well, since you’re so eager to part ways. I have some things to attend to before Her Majesty arrives. I think I can leave you to your own devices for a little while.”
“I shall be eagerly counting the minutes until your return,” Canach’s tone was as dry as the air in the Maguuma Wastes.
Arms crossed, Canach watched the members of the visiting races—humans, charr, norn, asura, he even saw a few quaggan—as they wandered, taking in the beauty of the Grove.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a couple of his kind whispering with their rapt attention on him. One female was the shade of autumn, with spindly branches stretching out from the back of their head. They shoved the other sylvari—a pale spring blossom of a sproutling—forward in his direction.
“E-excuse me, I saw you. In my Dream, that is. I was hoping to—"
“I'm sorry, but I don't do small talk,” Canach said.
Her face, soft and as unblemished as a petal, fell. “Oh! O-of course! I’m sorry to have bothered you.
He watched from the corner of his eye as she rushed away.
“You do know it won’t actually hurt you to be nice towards others?” a voice said from behind him.
Canach faced the new speaker. "Tiachren. If it isn’t the renowned Knight of the Moon himself,” he gave a mocking bow, his arm sweeping wide and forcing a couple of humans to veer out of the way.
“I’m surprised to see you here, brother” Tiachren said.
“You and me both.” Canach crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing that fenced off the drop to the lower tier. “But, as my billet is held by another, I don’t get much say in what I do. I just go where I’m told…for now, at least.”
“After your crimes, you should be grateful for this chance to help others and reclaim your honor.” Tiachren stepped out of the path of a charr warrior and then continued “To be a shield and protect those who are unable to protect themselves.”
“Well, we can’t all be one of Mother’s favorites. Blessed to succeed in our every endeavor.”
“Every endeavor? Really? If my life were as blessed as you believe it to be, then Ysvelta would be here by my side. Instead, I have only the shield she gifted me and the lessons her love taught me.”
“How sweet? And when it is your turn to fall in battle, I suppose you wish to be buried with your beloved shield?”
“No,” Tiachren shook his head solemnly. “Ysvelta gave me this shield for protection. I fight to honor her memory. To honor the connection we had. The connection all Sylvari have through the Dream. This shield is a reminder that I don’t fight for myself and am never alone. I can only hope that should I fall in battle, another will take it up and continue the fight.”
“Canach, it’s time to move,” Countess Anise shouted from across the terrace.
Canach heaved a sigh. “Looks like my leash is being pulled.”
Tiachren halted his brother with a hand to his arm. “Let me share some advice with you that the Pale Tree once gave me. The heart is also a garden. Though burned, it may still bloom again one day.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t give up faith in the goodness of others. It’s okay to let others past your thorns. Our connections to others are what makes life worth living.”
“Foolish sentiments.” Canach shoved Tiachren’s hand off.
Tiachren shook his head. “Goodbye, brother. We’ll talk again after the summit. Or perhaps not.”
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Canach surveyed the damage around the Grove. The sight of the destruction set fire to his anger. Almost as infuriating was how the world leaders had needed to witness Mordremoth’s power first-hand to unite against the Jungle Dragon.
Members of all the races helped one another as they tended to the wounded, gathered the dead, and cleared what debris they could.
He stilled when he spotted a familiar shield on the ground. Silent and pensive, he knelt by the prone form next to it.
“I’m not dead, you know,” Tiachren said. “The least you could do is inquire after my health.”
“Why?” Canach asked. “You told me yourself that you aren’t dead and I can clearly see that while your injuries will keep you from fighting for some time, they aren’t life-threatening.”
“I’m glad you weren’t killed either, brother,” Tiachren said with a tired smile that quickly slipped from his face as he attempted to sit up.
“Fool. Just lie still lest you finish what the dragon started.”
Tiachren groaned as he lay his head back down. “You will be heading out soon? To fight Mordremoth?”
“Of course. The Jungle Dragon will suffer for this attack on our mother. I’ll make sure of it.”
“In that case, take this.” Tiachren gripped the edge of his shield and dragged it closer.
Canach started. “Ysvelta’s shield? Don’t tell me you’re dying, after all?”
“No, I’ll not die yet. And neither will you.”
“Of course, I won’t die.” Canach frowned. “I have the intelligence and foresight not to let myself get wounded.” He pulled a flask from his belt. “Drink!”
Tiachren took a sip and coughed. “I half-expected that to be a strong norn ale.”
“I’m sorry I’ve once again failed to live up to the expectations others have of me.”
“Who would have thought the Terror of Southsun Cove drinks distilled nectar,” Tiachren took another drink from the flask then continued, “You have a difficult battle ahead of you.” He nudged his shield toward Canach. “I will rest better knowing a part of me is there to guard your back…” Tiachren’s words trailed off as he slipped into an exhausted slumber.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Countess Anise, appearing no worse for wear despite the battle, stepped next to Canach. “A friend of yours?”
“No.” He paused. “A brother.”
“Will he make it?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” the countess said. “We need to move.”
Canach rose and took up Tiachren’s shield.
“Is it alright for you to take that?”
“Yes. My brother wanted me to have it.”
“Is that so?” The countess drawled.
“He thinks I’ll need it. Utter nonsense.”
“Then why take it?”
“I’d be a fool to turn down a sound weapon before a battle. Nothing more,” Canach snapped.
The countess’s amusement echoed in his ears as he left the Grove to join the Pact in Fort Trinity. Canach was prepared to strike at the heart of Mordremoth’s domain.