#pyritepaints

'Once I exited the mountain pass from Frostgorge, I resumed work on my more delicate projects—the ones which require unfrozen finger dexterity to avoid burning my hands off. The fragment of Mount Maelstrom’s core fit cleanly into the metal casing I acquired (acquired being a loose definition) from the Priory archives before I ran off, and I'm now wearing it close to my chest. The file brick I took from Infinite Coil has proven itself useful, being one very committed researcher’s sum-total knowledge about me and my necromancy. Hanne is nothing if not thorough—if only her expertise was directed towards better ends.’

'The whole device, if it can be called that, functions (How best to phrase this?) as a sort of breaker for my magic. Or maybe an airlock? I'm sure at least one of the fancy technological terms from these research papers applies to it. As the creation of an elder dragon, the fragment passively absorbs and filters magic, creating a buffer between me and the energy Vulpes and I channel. It should help limit the amount of energy I can draw from and expel at once by storing the excess within itself, preventing another feedback loop like the Accident. And if I do need that extra energy reserve, I can safely draw it from the fragment instead of my life force reserves.

This is all hypothetical, of course; I'm not a qualified artificer. If the device blows up in my face during stress testing, my ghost will make an amendment to this section.'

'Forward progress has been slow. The old guard Flame Legion still has some footholds in the region, clinging desperately to their war with the other Legions, and they don't take kindly to travelers. I've been moving from Legion camp to Legion camp, trying to avoid spending the nights out in the open. So much has been ravaged by fire up here, it's hard to find places that aren't swarming with elementals emerging from the fallout. The air is thick and cloying with smoke, even in the clearer patches of forest.'

'I've reached the end of the ration pouch Lia's parents—my Uncle and Entle, which is still a novel thought—gave me in Lion's Arch along with their well-wishes. There's a scrap of red fabric hidden at the bottom, embroidered with a golden insignia: I know enough to recognize it as the Order of Whispers crest. I'm not sure if one (or both?) of them put it there for me to find, or if someone else managed to sneak it in as I traveled. (I certainly didn't suspect anything in Lion's Arch, but if I've learned anything about the Order in my very brief interactions with them, it's that the Agents you can see are more often than not covering for the ones you can't.)

Can't say whether the discovery worries me or not. Well, on second thought, I can—I am always worrying about things and this is no exception. If the Order knows where I am, then the Priory almost certainly does too; the Pact is so tightly interconnected that the three Orders function more like a many-limbed beast than separate organizations. But then again, I haven't been tracked down yet; if I were truly a high-priority mark, I don't think I would have made it this far afield. I hate to leave the matter with a 'Who knows?' but it's not like I can do anything about it now.'

'At least the soldiers up here are isolated enough to have avoided any news of runaway novices. I've kept my guard up around Pact deployments, but the Legions have been reassuringly blasé about my presence. I'm just another stray human to them; as long as I hold my own and pitch in when Flame decides to rear its head, we don't have problems with each other.

That's about where the Rise's hospitality ends, though. On a whim (because I can have those now that I'm not running on borrowed time) I took an old side road up into some ancient ruins. The start of the trail ran through a camp of humans—Separatists, an Iron Legion soldier would later inform me—who didn't seem friendly. I gave them a wide berth and headed further up into the cliffs, through the crumbling remains of what must've once been an Ascalonian outpost. That's when I saw the ghosts.'

'There were swarms of them, spectral humans in ancient armor—but unlike the ghosts of Godslost, or the dead soldier I spoke to in the shadow of Mount Maelstrom, or even the skeletal hordes of Lornar's Pass, I felt only a strange, cold emptiness from them, so cold it burned. They reminded me more of the Risen, husks consumed by some other power. I was unsettled—frightened, really—and fled back down the trail as quickly as stealth would allow me.

Around the campfire that night, I listened with rapt attention as a grizzled Blood Legionnaire recounted tales of the Foefire.'

'As the season attempts to grow colder, Fireheart Rise continues to live up to its name. I can't tell if the fire raining from above is from artillery spells or just a weather phenomenon wrought by all the reckless magic usage in this place. The sandy soil is mottled with ash and cinders, burnt-out husks standing where trees once grew. I've grown accustomed to kicking petrified logs into lava flows and hopping across them before they can sink, and wonder if this is why I can't just stay safe in a library like a self-respecting person. I think I've fully broken whatever internal meter is supposed to tell me not to do dangerous things. Vulpes questions if I ever had one to begin with. (For the record, I used to before it came along.)'

'Effigies. Towering constructions of steel and fire, animated by enough raw magic to kill an unprepared caster. I'd seen them in the distance as I traveled, but always kept my path far from theirs.

Now I'm lying on the soft grass of a Legion camp, still recovering my breath after felling no less than six of them, one after another, over the course of a night. We spotted the first telltale glow in the twilight hours, approaching from a nearby canyon in the blind spot of the camp's cannons. It came stalking up the embankment, flanked by archers, slow enough for the camp sharpshooters to bring pieces of its armor down as the Blood infantry charged out to meet it. Without many other options, I went with them. We brought the first effigy down as the sun dropped below the horizon. An hour later, the second one appeared.

This continued for a long, long time.'

'If the effigies were made to move any faster, this journal entry may not have been written. The ones brought to assault the camp moved like their joints were encased in tar, and while I emerged singed and sleepless, I was a small enough target that the looming metal limbs couldn't hit me before I seized their life-fire for myself, cleaving at their cores through the gaps in their cage-like torsos.

When morning came, we fell back to the camp and waited for another call, but none came. The fight was over. Vulpes is antsy, and maybe a bit upset at me for doing something so dangerous, but I think I've earned the respect of the soldiers here. Which is good, because I'm exhausted and feel just a bit safer letting my guard down. In other news, I'd count the whole experience as prolonged, strenuous magic usage, and my buffer device seems to be working. (I haven't started throwing up shadows again, anyway.)'

'I'm holding out some small, foolish hope for easier roads, but keeping my expectations low. The hair on the back of my neck keeps prickling the further east I get, and the soldiers in each camp I pass through mutter warnings about the same thing. Sooner rather than later, I'll have to contend with the Dragonbrand.'

I've been traveling recently without much free time, but I finished this piece up today just in time to participate in @gw2communityevents's 2025 Elder Dragon Week.

pyrite's obtained a condi daredevil outfit and i wanted to draw it :]

'I asked a merchant for the date earlier today, and apparently I turned twenty several weeks ago. Happy birthday to me, I suppose.

I'm spending my young adulthood traipsing through ghost-infested ruins, trying to confuse Vulpes and I's trail by hiding among other Mists-adjacent entities. Ashford is probably the best option for throwing the guardian off my trail long enough to give my bad idea a slim chance of working---plenty of ghosts, plenty of Legion presence. She obviously hasn't given up the pursuit, but I think I've put enough distance between us to breathe a little.'

‘The trip through Ashford has been unsettling, though. I continue to find myself disturbed by the restless ghosts, wailing as they relive their final, harrowing hours of life over and over and over. Some of them talk to each other, the same conversations on eternal repeat. I am reminded of the farm in Kessex, how it felt when I went back after the accident. Adelaide. Adelburn. Maybe Ascalonians should stop picking names with 'Adel' in them. It's not helpful to compare disasters, but I can't keep the thoughts from intruding in my head.'

'It's more than likely I'm not savvy enough to make my bad idea work, but I need to need to know who I'm dealing with, and that means getting information on this guardian by any means necessary. (Maybe not any means. I guess I could go up and ask her, but approaching someone covered in plate armor and twice my height while she's actively invested in fighting me is not smart. Her hand is probably the size of my torso- This is not a productive tangent. Moving on.)

What I know right now is that she's wearing an altered Whispers brigantine---specifically altered to replace the crest with the Tyrian Alliance, which makes me think she's either badly undercover or (more likely) a contractor with the Pact. She also doesn't seem very old; her horns are much smoother than the Legion soldiers I've encountered on the road and her coat is short and glossy like marble. If I had to estimate, I wouldn't say she's much older than I am. That strikes me as pretty young to be voluntarily hunting demons (don't look at me like that, Vulpes), especially for someone Pact-adjacent. Maybe it's because Legion charr train to fight at a younger age? But then why is she avoiding the Legions? I'm thinking in circles here.'

'In any event, my bad idea involves making some clothing dye, and to do that I need privacy from my pursuer so she doesn't catch on to what I'm planning, and also access to cooking tools.

Ashford Forum supplies all of that in abundance, plus all of the red plants I could ever ask for as materials.

I can’t actually dye my armor just yet—if I do it too soon, someone might catch on to my plan before I have a chance to execute it. I need to set things up in advance so I can time this exactly right. If I’m not immediately caught, the idea is to take out two moas with one sword: I’ll be able to access records that might have information on the guardian, and I’ll pull a disappearing act under the cover provided by the Black Citadel.’

'For now, I need to come up with a good cover story and maybe five-to-six contingency plans.

It's not going to be easy to infiltrate a Whispers safehouse.'