#theldria

With a flash of pink light and the sound of glass shattering, she reappeared. Adjusting her glasses and brushing her hair back into place, the caramel-toned woman huffed in pain. Trickles of blood eased down her face, though no source could be found. Her allies stood arrayed around her and across from them stood their enemies. The Mordrem. Plants given sentience by the great jungle dragon slumbering far to the south.

Take two.

Zahvi dodged to the side, narrowing avoiding the cleaving swing of a gargantuan glowing hammer. Light whistling noises assaulted her senses as the blow impacted into the equally massive Charr to her left. He didn't flinch. Nor did he flail. The iron-clad behemoth took the stone as a mountain would the rain. The roar of rage that echoed through the verdant clearing assaulted the rest of the group and the Mordrem, caught in surprise of finding the immovable object instead of the fragile Mesmer, found itself lifted off the ground. It impacted the loamy soil with a dull smack and skidded a few feet back, clutching at what was left of its chest cavity.

The Revenant lowered his hand, still smouldering with glowing purple energy. Lost, the Mordrem glanced down and realized that its innards had been strewn in a cone behind it. One cough, perhaps of indignation perhaps of confusion. Back it fell, silent.

Time stood still for a brief moment before combat erupted once more. Zahvi lunged forward, deftly swinging her sword to cleave through vine and tendril alike. They were outnumbered and surrounded. As Drogoon preferred to call it, they were in a target rich environment. The Revenant at her side thrived in the thick of battle. He moved with feline grace and agility while wielding the most violent weapons she had ever seen. Not his blades, no; those were common. The Spirits he summoned from beyond the veil were not. Their names echoed through history, causing ripples where they lay. Shiro Tagachi, the Betrayer. Mallyx the Unyielding. Jalis Ironhammer, king of the Dwarves. Such were his weapons.

Step step twirl and Zahvi lifted above her guard to parry a blow from another Mordrem. This one's face looked like a rhododendron that someone had decided needed to be pruned with the blunt edge of a cargo container. Hissing in fury, the Mordrem's blades echoed dully off Zahvi's modest shield. It glared up at the spinning woman for a brief second; a blade plunging through its face cut the anger short. In between the eyes, out the base of its skull. For good measure, Zahvi twisted. The torrent of sappy gore satisfied for a brief moment. Momentum and a solid kick dragged her blade free though the sucking sound of flesh against steel caused her stomach to turn. It had been far too long since combat had coursed through her veins.

As she twirled to face her next opponent, Zahvi felt a sharp pain around her midsection. One of the Mordrem had caught her around her exposed midsection and thorns lining its whip sliced her fragile flesh like a hot knife through butter. Crying out, she fell as flesh flayed from bone. Her eyes flew open in agony and everything stopped. In a bright flash of light, she warped backwards through time.

Zahvi barely had time to register the hammer swinging at her midsection. Once more, she dodged and Drogoon took the blow.

Take three.

Blood trickled down her torso as she deftly dispatched the dagger-wielding Mordrem and turned her attention towards the whip coiling to lash around her. This time, the Mesmer blinked forward through the aether and drove her blade upwards through the Mordrem's lower back. She split sinewy vines from the leystone skeleton it had grown around. As her sword emerged from between the Mordrem's clavicle and rib cage, she twisted her wrist and raked downwards, splitting it asunder.

Another fluid gush of gore, almost coating another of her allies. Alvi, a Norn thief. The two terms seemed almost oxymoronic - how a nine-foot tall woman with breasts twice the size of Zahvi's head could be considered a lithe, stealthy creature was beyond her. And yet, Alvi's ability to sneak undetected through crowds and tombs was utterly unrivalled. The Norn offered a brief nod of her head, one hand snapping up with pistol drawn. One shot screamed past Zahvi's ear and she heard a cry of pain from behind her.

Whirling, the Mesmer had only time to watch the Mordrem clutch the half of its face that still existed upon its stump of a neck. Disgusted, she swung her blade to cleave its chest apart and knock it to the ground one last time.

All around her, combat had begun breaking out in force. Theldria, their so-called leader. Only because she was the one who seemed the most pig-headed in discussions and if she did not get her way she was liable to skulk off in the eve and do it herself. Avena, her love. The Sylvari who had spent her time locked in the Mists, only to return self-reliant beast, quiet and reserved. And Katherine, the red to Zahvi's blue. Insufferable, an annoyance, and her best friend. All had found themselves locked in combat either one on one or fighting multiple ambushers.

From the shadows a large, frog-like Hylek emerged. Its bugging eyes and putrid stench gave it away though it was the lidless, vacant gaze that truly put Zahvi's teeth on edge. It was no longer its own master. Hylek were inherently distrustful, but not dragon's minions. This one had died and found its corpse reanimated to fight at Mordremoth's side. Vowing to end its torment, Zahvi lunged forward. The exact move the Hylek had been waiting for.

"Hold your breath!" it taunted and fired an arrow towards her. The arrow exploded mid-flight in a cloud of noxious gas, choking her breath from her lungs. Searing pain ripped at her throat and eyes, but Zahvi had mere seconds to react. A bright pink flash, the sound of glass shattering, and she was back to square one.

Take seven.

Practiced now, Zahvi danced through the field. Though her injuries no longer showed upon her frame she could feel them. Pain coursed through her veins and rage boiled her heart. But she could not stop. She could not pause. Death would come if she did.

Under the hammer, into the Mordrem blade dancer. A backflip from the infested Hylek, firing off a bolt of phantasmal energy as she left an illusion in her place, firing away with dual pistols. The Hylek's eyes bugged then erupted like grapes beneath a smith's hammer, pierced by immaterial bullets.

Landing gracefully, Zahvi whirled about on her heel, blade raised. Parry the Mordrem ambusher's blow, spin, drive her blade's pommel into the small of its back. Twist, plunge, through the spine. Withdraw, two steps to the side and another graceful flip end-over-end to avoid another plagued Hylek's over-handed hammer smash. With the massive metal monstrosity wedged into bloodied mud beneath their feet, Zahvi scampered up the hammer's haft and kicked off the Hylek's head. Writhing mid-air she drove the tip of her blade into the base of the frog's skull and let momentum carry her downwards. Peeled like an orange.

Rolling to the side to avoid the spray of toxic gore that exploded from the fat frog's anterior, Zahvi blinked across the forest floor to avoid a hail of friendly arrows. Theldria's aim, while true, had never been taught friend from foe. Arrows killed indiscriminately. Scrambling upright, Zahvi stood back to back with the towering Norn ranger.

"Nice shot, love. You could've killed me." Zahvi taunted, blade singing through the air to parry and block several Mordrem that had tried to sneak up on her friend.

Theldria scoffed. "You lived."

"This time," the Mesmer fired back, albeit under her breath. Driving forward into the open Zahvi offered the Mordrem room to attack. It swing, rage-filled with hate boiling in its bright yellow eyes. Only a timely dodge roll to the left saved her head from being cloven in two; instead, the Mordrem impaled its ally. As shock filled its visage, Alvi swung round to let fly a precise dagger. In through the base of the skull, out through the throat. Clutching hands did little to stop life ebbing away.

As combat slowed and the final Mordrem fell, Zahvi smirked to herself. Seven tries; not too bad, considering the situation. She may have been a skilled swordswoman but fighting in a beautiful dress and as fluidly as she did took more than skill. Sometimes, one had to cheat. And to cheat, one had to create a few paradoxes.

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"Ya hey there!" Her voice was warm, jovial. Deep, but it fit, considering her frame. She stood just shy of five meters tall and was built like the mountains from whence she came. Thick. Massive. Each of her legs could have easily shared the girth of a human, if not more. Her arms were robust, heavily muscled from years of drawing a bow string. The weight she carried, she carried well. In no way was she ‘fat’ - the woman was simply huge in every sense of the term.

A bony mask covered her face, quite possibly a combination of trophies she had picked up over the years. Her face - what was visible, at least - seemed young. No creases or lines. However, her eyes shone with wisdom untold, that of an adventurer that had seen far too much in far too short a time. The bow she carried seemed to thrum with untold power, much too ancient or alien to be of this time. If pressed, she would politely explain that it had ‘belonged to an ancestor’ of hers and came from a place she would only refer to as ‘Torment’. No further inquiries would be answered.

Though polite, it was obvious that she was a woman of the land. Her accent rolled and she rattled off names of exotic places faster than most people could remember their own name. She had seen the majesty of the Honour of the Waves. She had fought the undead horde to a standstill outside of the Gates of Arah. She had even been far West, to the Verdant Cascades, and as far East as the Crystal Desert. The question was not where had she been; it was where did she have left to explore.

Beside her stood a rather proud leopard, matching her enormous size. Though it only came up to her waist, that was more than enough to dwarf most Humans. Those it did not dwarf, it looked straight in the eye. Large canines hung past its lower jaw, and, in typical feline fashion, it seemed overly protective of its owner one moment, and then completely disinterested with her existence the next.