#morivitae

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The very last thing the Pact Marshal expected when waging war against Zhaitan was to strike a bargain with Zhaitan's child. Information against his master and aid in cleansing Orr - in exchange for freedom once the Elder Dragon was slain. But, still, keeping a beast of that caliber on a leash proved a challenge, even when he could shapeshift more or less into mortal shape. After all, an ancient beast that subsisted on eating life force and grafting foreign body parts to itself did not take to Tyrian morals immediately. It wasn't a partnership by any means - a monster was a monster, but so was a promise. As long as the creature called "Morivitae" behaved, he could prove an asset against the other Dragons. A weapon. A wildcard. But then, awakened Mordremoth. The Maguuma disaster. His greatest failure, and, ultimately, his end. A final request for the Commander to take Caladbolg from his shaking hands and strike. But something within the Death Scion stirred at the sorrow. At the Commander's cries. An inkling of emotion, a faint flicker of something unfathomable. And gold eyes opened again. Welcome, O Champion of Shadow and Death. And now, the Marshal was on a leash of his own.

Trahearne went to the Domain of the Lost when he died, and time flowed differently there. So he spent "days" wandering and fighting the phantoms that took his name and face, just like the Commander. He met the Judge but there was no crisis in the Mists, so no offer to come back like during PoF, just gotta accept death but also have to process it first. Poor Trahearne was dissociated the whole time, thinking he was Mordremoth. He had to be given a second name to latch onto until he found his real one - and then he was ripped out of the Mists by Mori just before he could claim his rightful rest. Needless to say, waking back up a Risen of all things and cut off from the Dream did not do his mental health any favors.

"I don't remember my name but I was something horrible. You mustn't let me into the afterlife. I can't destroy it, too..." "You must find your name before you continue onward, wherever your final destination lies. If you fail, your soul will fade." "Good. I want to fade. I need to." "No, you must find the truth. That is the law of this place. Your spirit is noble, there is no malice in you. But there is suffering, and this isn't your final punishment." "I'm fading. I can't tell how - why - I can't move anymore. I need to... what am I..." "You are.. Inmorte, The Lost Wanderer. This name I give you now so you may continue. Hold onto it tightly and find your purpose. Your real name." "...I... I will."

Following his resurrection, he continues to lead the Pact as its Marshal, and is adamant on never using a mask nor mesmer illusions to cover his face - wearing his disfigurement openly in solidarity with all the other sylvari mutilated by Mordremoth's influence. There are questions as to why the Marshal was torn from the Dream and his glow changed to a necromantic green, but not many dare seek the truth of their own accord. Trahearne becomes a much more fearsome, decisive leader - going from scholar to truly formidable strategic mastermind, wanting nothing more than to ensure the tragedy of Maguuma never repeats.

"It's not mere confidence, it's pathological. As though everything stopped mattering back in that jungle, and yet I am ever more determined to see things through til the end. It's the only reason I can justify existing in this state."

The only instance where he does use illusions (excluding stealth missions, of course) is over his hands - due to an unfortunate incident where Caladbolg completely burned off the flesh from his fingers. As a result, his real hands are skeletal. This is due to his obsession with the sword, practically never letting it go, to the point he once fell asleep holding it. Since he no longer feels pain correctly, the damage was done before he woke back up - and Mori does not seem to possess the ability to mend, only animate that which should already be dead.

Trahearne's obsession with Caladbolg stems from the fact he initially believes the weapon to be the only thing keeping his soul from being fully corrupted by the Dragon he is bound to - clinging to a hope that the Thorn could purify the death magic in him just like it had once purified Orr. Alas, that is not the case, but also he eventually finds he is not as doomed as he had once believed - growing into a Champion of Death and Rebirth under his Scion patron as they both find their greater purpose - a balance to Aestus and Aurene's light. Still, his destiny remains irrevocably tied to the very land that haunted his Dream and cursed him with a seemingly impossible task.

"You're the First of the First, born in the garden of Eden and destined to purify a sunken hell risen from the depths on the other side of the sea. A task thought impossible, especially as your siblings begin to rise around you with destinies that seem more achievable. Compelled, you spend over twenty years studying the land of the walking dead, so much that the stench of it all is all but branded into your flesh. It's all you see when you sleep. The neverending expanse of bleak, gray-brown rock and twisting anemone and tide-torn ruins. Nothing living grows in Orr. It's all absolute desolation. There are none of your siblings there and you're so terribly lonely. ...In all your years, you never thought this could happen. With the Commander at your side and the son of Zhaitan mutinying against his father, Orr blooms again. The Artesian waters run clear, and life wanders slowly back into the land. It will take years, many more years than you'll be alive for, but the weight is lifted. You can leave. It's over. With hope in your heart, you feel like whatever comes next will only be easier. It's not. You die. And you rise. You never left Orr, because Orr never had the intention of leaving you."