Chapter Text
It never seemed to get any warmer at the Durmond Priory. Warming her paw every few moments over the light of a dimming oil lamp did little to ease the creak of the cold in her joints. The walls of stone only looked warm and yellow from the firelight. Even her thick, black fur could barely keep her comfortable.
She hadn’t written much down in the past few hours. Orin, a charr whose upbringing didn’t include wielding the pen as much as it did the sword, mostly stalled and pondered, stretching for facts she thought she remembered about their last run in with the grawl. They hadn’t learned much more than they already knew. Grawl were notoriously difficult research subjects, but Sieran had insisted that if anyone could forge a friendly relationship with the tribal race, it was her.
Orin had believed her, being new to the priory when her mentor set her mind to the project. The young sylvari was as friendly as they came, though most of the vegetal people were just as naïve as Sieran, having literally been born yesterday. She was kind, but reckless, conducting her research like a mad alchemist. It was supposed to be a peaceful exchange of religious history to be taken down for Priory cultural records, but as all things tended to do with the grawl, the exchange turned into that of blows, thanks in part to her mentor’s actions.
The shamans of the grawl, Orin noted, were not to be “joked with” about their dragon god melting in the sun and react with hostility toward blasphemy. Orin hoped the tribe would eventually forgive her for the dagger she left in their chief’s chest so that their entire plan wouldn’t be cut short here.
She sighed, setting her quill back into its stand. That would have to do for volume one of their studies. This was her first major field operation with the priory, which had been slow-going to say the least. She didn’t relish the thought of trading any more of her trinkets away to put off the grawls’ threats to take her remaining paw, but the pressure to prove herself a good scholar was ever weighing on her shoulders.
She leaned back in her chair and glanced over at her mentor, who was still asleep on the bench in the corner of the room. Magister Sieran could sleep almost anywhere in the Priory, not seeming to mind the permanent chill that seeped from every surface, which Orin found odd for a sylvari who was used to the balmy, tropical climate of the Grove. Sieran’s mouth hung open and Orin could swear she heard soft snoring.
Orin blew gently on the ink of her finished page until it was dry to the touch and tucked it neatly into the binding of journal entries she had previously made. The compendium might please Sieran, but satisfying steward Gixx was another story. He had often told Orin that he found her to be an exceptionally good student, at the same time lamenting that she lacked true potential to become a genius. Orin wasn’t incredibly motivated to please a grumpy old asura with a heightened expectation of what “genius” meant. Still, Sieran pushed her to continue under her mentorship with her on her passion-project, at least until Orin found something she could find the drive to dedicate herself to.
Right now though, she thought to dedicate herself to some dolyak stew after the long day to try and warm herself up from the inside. Orin glanced again at Sieran and then down at her claws. She did have one thing that interested her. But first, maybe just a little practice in secret.
A greenish glow began to grow from seemingly inside her hand and radiated out through the tips of her fur. Spectral black smoke crept up her arm as she extended it, palm open towards the doorknob. She closed her eyes and thought only about willing her hand to reach further, exerting her will on the knob to make it turn. The black smoke billowed thicker until suddenly, a spectral hand shot forth from her palm, catching Orin by surprise. It thudded loudly against the door, missing the handle by quite a few feet, and hit the floor dissipating into a puff of black smoke.
She heard a snort behind her as Sieran stirred in her sleep at the sound. “Still sloppy,” Orin hissed to herself, and padded quietly to the door. Before she managed to sneak out, three loud knocks came from the outside of the door and startled her.
“Who’s there?” Sieran called out, now sitting up with confusion of someone who was still half asleep. She rubbed her eyes. “Oh Orin, you’re still here! Pulling a late night?”
Orin shook her head and sighed. “I was trying not to. Actually, it sounds like we have company.” She opened the door and at first only saw an unfamiliar sylvari man who seemed just as surprised to see her. He was tall, taller than Sieran, with dark green skin. As he eyed her with interest, someone cleared their throat somewhere around her knees and she looked down to find Priory Steward Gixx wearing what appeared to be sleeping robes, looking rather tired and impatient.
“Magister Sieran, this gentleman wishes to speak with you about, what he calls, some important matters. Oh, by the Eternal Alchemy, were you asleep and making your protégé do all of your scribing again?”
Sieran’s eyes widened and Orin noticed her posture stiffen. “Not at all Steward! Orin merely offered to rearrange my bookshelves. They’ve been getting…overfull lately.”
Gixx narrowed his eyes at Orin, questioning the truth of the claim as she slid her ink-stained paw behind her back and nodded in agreement with her mentor. “You don’t suppose our young scholar’s time might be better suited for more engaging pursuits than returning your overdue library books?”
Sieran was on her feet now, straightening her robes. “It’s quite alright, Steward. Orin put out a lot of effort during fieldwork today. I think she might even be ready to lead her own expedition soon. It can’t hurt to let her rest.” The sylvari winked at her and Orin wondered why she was covering for Sieran at all. Sieran’s ability to charm others knew no bounds it seemed, and Orin didn’t so feel bad about falling for it all the time, as even Gixx appeared to soften his mood at her explanation.
“I suppose she does,” the asura agreed, nodding in approval at her. “Well done, scholar.”
The sylvari man who was standing behind Gixx, cleared his throat and stepped from the darkness of the hallway into the dim light of the room at last, revealing his emerald green skin and foliage in the firelight. His face was hooded in places by thin leaves, but his bright, yellow eyes stood out from their surroundings. Despite the fierceness of their color, they seemed friendly. “I hate to interrupt, but I do have an urgent matter I need to speak with my old friend about. Sieran, it’s been awhile.”
Orin had never seen her mentor quite so stunned to attention before. Sieran straightened herself and bowed respectfully. “Firstborn Trahearne!”
The sylvari guest laughed and waved her gesture off. “Please, I hardly deserve such deference. I’m not one to wake a sleeping scholar at such an hour, but I hope you will forgive me and lend some of your knowledge.” He turned to Gixx and bowed deeply, almost to the small asura’s height. “Thank you. I hope I can also be of service to your organization in the future.”
Even Gixx looked positively charmed by him, as he fumbled to put his nightcap back on. Orin hadn’t met many sylvari outside of the priory, but this seemed to be a trait common to the people. “Of course it’s no trouble. Magister Sieran will be your host from hereon. Good evening.” The asura turned and waddled out, placing his palm over his face and muttering to himself about work schedules.
Orin stepped over to close the door, glancing out of the corner of her eye as Trahearne and Sieran embraced. The two sylvari looked so different from each other, but it was clear they shared a connection that Orin had only seen before in her warband back home.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?” Sieran asked, offering Trahearne a chair.
“No pleasure, I’m afraid.” He sat down and Orin noticed his shoulders droop as he slumped forward a bit, like a dignified man who held inside untold horrors. “The priory may be one of the most complete collections of Tyrian history, including on the subject of elder dragons. Of course you’ve heard of the elder dragon that raised the sunken city of Orr from the depths?”
“Zhaitan?” Sieran mused out loud. “I can’t say I know much. Being in the Shiverpeaks, we tend to have to deal with icebrood the majority of the time. But teams from the priory are camped all over southern Kryta lately. They tell the most awful stories about risen corpses shambling through camp in the middle of the night. I’d rather deal with icebrood any day!”
Orin stiffened, blood running cold from something other than the chill in the air. Trahearne seemed to notice her expression sour and offered his hand. “I’m sorry, friend. We haven’t been properly introduced.”
“Orin Oneclaw, sir. Formerly of the Iron Legion, recent scholar of the priory.” She took his hand gently in her massive paw, but she felt that even for his size, he commanded great respect. She felt small though she stood two heads above him.
“It’s nice to meet you, Orin. I can see why Sieran took you on as an apprentice.” Trahearne sighed and smiled wearily, addressing Sieran again. “Of course. I’ve met some of the priory at your outer encampments, but as often as they’ve encountered the risen, they’ve never come close to finding a way to stem the endless tide of the undead.”
“Well of course not. I don’t suppose anyone here has tried,” Sieran answered. “We’re librarians at best, not warriors. The most I’ve ever done to combat an elder dragon is set an icebrood wolf’s tail on fire.” She winked. “Taught him a lesson, though.”
“I don’t think sending an army in is going to help us gain ground on Zhaitan,” Trahearne replied. “I would have reached out to my contacts at the vigil if that had been the best option. But sending fresh bodies in for corruption will only make the cause more difficult to combat should our comrades fall. It sounds clinical, but I turned my attentions to the priory hoping we could try to get a leg up using brains rather than brawn.”
“They can’t be stopped.” Both Trahearne and Sieran turned to look at Orin with surprise at her abrupt interruption. Orin stared down at the hook that took the place of her left paw. “It’s impossible. Those that fall always get back up. Trahearne is right. Sending anyone to fight is foolish.” She shuddered. The unflinching walls of shambling zombies that she’d seen, Orin would never forget. The more allies they lost, the more the enemy’s army grew. The undead…they were far worse than the ghosts that haunted Ascalon ever were. If Trahearne was requesting her help to fight, she didn’t care how much Sieran trusted him. She wouldn’t face them again.
“You seem to be acquainted with Zhaitan’s minions. Where have you encountered the risen before, Orin?” Trahearne’s voice was tense, but understanding. His yellow eyes were searching her with a steady hunger for anything that she knew. It was almost unsettling.
“In the south of Ascalon years ago,” Orin replied. “The charr had never seen them before in our territories, but little by little they kept coming in bigger groups until…” She paused. “I don’t even know if they’re still there.”
Trahearne stood up from his seat and appeared both excited and deep in thought. “Undead in Ascalon…I’ve never…”
Sieran looked terrified. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to actually fight Zhaitan!” she interrupted. “Trahearne, is that where you’ve been all these years? You can’t kill an elder dragon! They're...they're inevitable, like a force of nature.”
“It’s alright. Now is not the time for fighting, Sieran. We don’t know nearly enough to launch an assault against such a resilient enemy, but knowledge is what I am in pursuit of.” Trahearne put a comforting hand on Sieran’s shoulder. “You know as well as I do what the burden of a wyld hunt is like. Throughout the years, I’ve seen in my dreams myself, cleansing the blighted lands of Orr and the undead being put to rest so as to no longer serve the dragon. If it comes to fighting Zhaitan in the end, I must do it.”
“But could you do it?” Orin asked. “Could there really be a way to get rid of the undead for good?”
Trahearne smiled at her. The sylvari looked so confident that Orin felt a weight lifting from her heart for the first time in years. “I was born to do so. Have faith.” She believed him. “But of course I cannot do it alone. I’m hoping you and Sieran can be a vital piece of that puzzle. If you don’t mind, Sieran, may I borrow your student for the evening?”
“Of course,” Sieran replied, still appearing to be very worried. She flitted to a bookshelf and grabbed books at random to hand to Orin, which she knew were likely the overdue books Gixx has scolded her for earlier. She could barely see over the growing stack being piled into her arms. “If you don’t mind doing this favor for me.” Standing on her tip-toes to reach Orin’s left ears, she whispered. “And tell me everything he says. He’s not going to get away with leaving me out of this like he’s done before.”
“Will do,” Orin agreed reluctantly and shuffled around the door frame to lead the way down to the library.