Between trying to finish my Valentines/LS3 writing and work I decided to stick my main and most written about characters into a line up.

Left to RIght: Vrishya, Odette De Lys, Aelestri, Varyllis, Ateyla, Faerylie, Klivvik, Caerthys, Tasia Wraithrend, Ellie Blacksmith, Erebus Swiftreaper, Lyaeris, Fyianna and Phenriel.

Something she’d never known about The Grove, rarely having stepped foot into it’s borders all her life, was that it was an abundantly good place. It was buzzing, safe and welcoming in a way she was sure she’d never experienced elsewhere. The strange city was a hub of life, explorers entering for the first time, citizens returning home, people everywhere living. Alive.

By now she’d sent word out to the Pale Reavers that while she was forever in their debt for pulling her out of a hot mess, she’d not be returning to them, at least not for a while. They were pleasant, thankful and pleased for her in their reply, which was swiftly followed by the arrival of a familiar Sylvari to the Sniper.

Lyaeris hadn’t sent word of her visit to The Grove, but Varyllis greeted her warmly anyway. Not that she’d have greeted her any other way, the Sylvari that had pulled her free of the Blighting Pod, her Saviour. They’d spent hours into the night talking about how things had been going, the Mender commenting heartily on how Varyllis had grown and healed since they’d last seen each other, a sly glance to the Thief lurking nearby and a light hearted comment on her choice of company.

Aelestri was entirely baffled by the intensely bright Sylvari that had joined them, wholly absorbed in the stories being retold and recounted, and finally realising exactly how firmly this cemented the fact in his head that Varyllis had survived Dragon corruption. Still, he kept to himself, out of their way while they chattered energetically.

By the time morning had rolled around, Lyaeris had left with a humbly proud grin and a tight embrace for the Sylvari she’d saved, a firm instruction to the slightly startled thief to ‘Keep looking out for her’ to which he’d nodded aggressively and promised.

The rest of the day was quiet.

“You know, she was right when she said you looked better than before,” he’d said quietly, eyes down turned to the pistols in pieces beside him on the ground, “You’ve got petals and leaves and little branches growing in.”

Not quite sure how to take this piece of observation, Varyllis swiveled on her seat, standing and stepping out of the breaking sunlight inside to find a mirror. On inspection, he was right too. Immediately she noticed how much of a vibrant red her vined hair was once again. Her skin, bark and leaves and brand new soft petals, had stayed a dark ashy brown but the vines cascaded longer than ever, crimson red. And her eyes, dulled like everything else a golden yellow, brighter than before.

In fact this revelation was startling to her. Did she feel better? Why hadn’t she noticed all of this? Taking a couple of deep breaths, eyes looking at the mirror...through it, she realised that, yes, she did feel better.

“You alright?”

She hadn’t noticed the smile across her lips when she turned away from her reflection to look down at the Sylvari thief on the ground behind. The Sylvari thief who seemed to need a moment to process something as he lifted his view and it set on the Engineer grinning confidently, comfortably.

The way the tactician rubbed her hands, a gleefully wicked smile on her lips, Lyaeris was beginning to think bringing the other Sylvari straight to the Silverwastes, into the arms of the Pact, was a bad idea.

“No! No, sapling. This...” Phenriel gestured widely, Bushels peering under her arm from his curled position behind, “This could not be better.”

Varyllis looked sour at best, mouth down turned, brow furrowed. Before she could get a word out, the other began again.

“Countess. What do I owe this pleasure to?”

A second of silence passed, Varyllis looking towards the healer for answers.

“Varyllis is here t-”

Bushels stood abruptly, Phenriel holding her hands out suddenly, “Let her speak for herself. She’s so good at it.”

More silence. More awkward shuffling. More sour scowling, “I want to join the Pact. I want to work with the Pale Reavers.”

The ranger’s hands lowered slowly, face a picture of shock, “I wasn’t ready for that. That’s uh...That’s a heck of a turn around.”

No reply.

Lyaeris, the healer, had been too kind and Varyllis, unsure of where this feeling had come from, was uncertain she’d ever be able to repay such a debt. She owed this Sylvari her life.

Of course it felt weird considering that. Usually she’d have shaken it off, stepped over, and probably on the poor sap that’d dared to show some kind of sympathy, and thought nothing of it.

And yet it’d been niggling away at her for days now.

A constant thought as they left Auric Basin behind, travelling to Verdant Brink and back towards the Tyria she was more familiar with. Some areas sparked memories of just before the Mordrem had taken her, but for the most part this area was as strange as everywhere else.

There were many more Sylvari here though. Soldiers everywhere. Of course Mordremoth’s grasp was weaker here. That would make sense.

But why so many Sylvari soldiers?

“They are known as the Pale Reavers. The Elite Sylvari force within the Pact.”

Varyllis looked over the small squad that passed them quickly, rifles in hand. She instinctively reached down to rest a hand on her own rifle, only to remember it was long lost now.

“They fight Dragon minions?”

Lyaeris nodded, “Indominable. Totally incorruptible. Sadly I am not so inclined to combat else I would have joined their ranks.”

The survivor glanced back.

“What if I wanted to fight the Dragons?”

“Who doesn’t want to fight the Dragons? Although I would urge you to rest first, let your senses recover.”

A silence fell between them for a brief moment, Varyllis lagging behind, thoughts wrapped up in possibilities. The Grand Duchess was dead. Her own courtiers had abandoned her, all in good sense to be fair. She had a debt to repay that was bigger and more valuable than herself.

“What if I wanted to fight the Dragon’s alongside the Sylvari? The Pale Reavers?”

“Are you not a Courtier?”

Varyllis pursed her lips a moment, “I never told you that...”

‘You will obey the Jungle Dragon.’

“This one’s still alive, Captain!”

Muffled behind the grasp of the pod and the haze of the Dragon’s reach seeping into her conscious, somehow that last call stood out. That wasn’t a voice she knew. Wasn’t Mordremoth, a minion, a guard, a Commander. Almost unmistakably human. Refreshingly unfamiliar.

As hard as she tried, remembering the sound of anything but the pod and the ambient sound of Mordrem going about their business was a tough task.

“Get it out of there!”

The next few minutes were surreal; the pod wrenched open, the feeling of fresh air on her skin, in her lungs, strange fleshy hands attempting to keep her upright. The last time something had held her it was thorned and angry.

“She looks like she’s turned, Sir! Orders?”

No, wait!

Did she move her lips at all? Was there even a sound made? She didn’t even feel like she was in her own body.

“Captain, give her a chance! She is too weak to fight back.”

Sylvari. A Dreamer, powerful and unbreakable. There was a hand in front of her, raised and reaching in the direction of the Sylvari who’d spoken, and after a few seconds of staring at it, bemused, she realised it was her own. Definitely this time, she felt her lips move, forming words and the Sylvari decked in opalescent armor knelt down to her, letting the strange hand rest on her shoulder.

“Do not waste your energy, Sister. You are safe now.”

Dragon’s Stand to Auric Basic passed in a blur. Snippets of memory stayed; the other Sylvari, clearly experienced in strange healing magic, tending to her whenever they stopped. The same Sylvari, who upon reaching the beautiful city of gold, tucked her into a cot in one of the Pact camps nearby, made sure she ate, drank, bathed, before allowing her to fall into a fitful sleep.

Again, the same Sylvari who was there, panicked and startled when the other awoke suddenly from her nightmares, screaming.

“Hush, Sister. Breathe. Speak to me, what did you see?”

No words again, only strained gasps, wheezes and frustrated grunts. Even the hand soothingly petting her head felt foreign and strange. Maybe it was her head that was strange and so her own hands flew upwards grasping the thorned vines that made up her hair, the roughness of her bark, the way her leaves peeled away under her touch, strange shapes that had never been there before.

Another scream and the healer gripped her hands, pulling them down, holding them firm.

“Calm. Be calm. You will be alright.”

There were tears, definitely tears, hot and wet down her cheeks. Hands trembling in the other Sylvari’s. Thorns, they should have just left her to die.

“Speak to me, Sister. Who are you? Are you one of us or one of them?”

Again she choked on her words, tongue dry in her mouth, sounds forming clumsily and unpracticed.

Another Lyaeris.

Quick doodle of my new Revenant before I get on GW.