In all our lives, there are times for silence, and there are times to speak and be heard. Quite what made me open up to Darr, that chill evening at the end of summer, surrounded …
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Garfas and I shared chuckled after I finished my retelling of the event. “I remember that day,” said Garfas. “I did most of the work while I gave you the easy part.” “I beg to …
A letter from the Artist: Thank you everyone for your support and interest in the NGTE webcomic. It pains me but I am leaving NGTE. I put a lot of work into creating this …
There are times when it pays to be cautious of one’s allies, to study their motives and try to rely on them as little as possible. There are also times when circumstances spiral out of your control and you need all the help you can get.
Times like now, when I was confronted by an earth elemental of colossal size, the centaur shaman summoning it, and my arch-enemy perched overhead, overseeing the whole thing. Now, I didn’t actually think Zurra had anything to do with the centaur gathering, but she had to be here for a reason. Just as we had arrived in the vicinity because of Blaise’s desire for revenge against the centaurs, so too must Zurra have her motives and schemes.
Because if there was one thing I understood better than any other when it came to Zurra, it was that she was never without a scheme or two.
I hadn’t seen Zurra in weeks, but there she was, as brazen as ever. Zurra, whose experiments for the Inquest had caused untold destruction. Zurra, who had killed my master and wanted nothing better than to see me dead.
Well, the feeling was certainly mutual.
Which put me in something of a tricky situation. Weir, Blaise and I still had our backs to one wall of the canyon, and Zurra was beside the other; between us were somewhere in the region of two hundred centaurs, their shaman, and the elemental he was in the process of summoning.
No matter how eager I was to reach Zurra, that elemental was starting to draw my attention. I hadn’t paid much heed to the shaman’s summoning – though Caolinn, who we’d left further up the cliff-face, had certainly been affected by it – but now I didn’t really have a choice. The very ground was shaking, the air thrumming with power, and thrusting their way out of the rock beneath the shaman’s feet were a pair of colossal hands.
It would be true to say that, for all my esoteric knowledge, elementals weren’t my speciality. In fact, I’d never seen anything like it.
I had forgotten how irritating Itan’s voice was, and I had also forgotten how easily I could ignore it. Once I had recovered from my injuries, I received an unusual sight once I had returned to my warband. Quite a few of them had actually seemed happy to see me, going as far as to asking how I was feeling and if I was ready to cut down some more Flame Legion. I was surprised enough as it is with all the questions, I was uncertain as to how to answer. Luckily Garfas appeared at the right moment and answered most of them for me. Everything appeared to be going back to normal until Itan showed up. He seemed especially upset today, and I was the easiest target in sight.
Welcome back to CoT Translations!
This week, we are going back and revisiting the Bazaar of the Four Winds, the Festival of the Four Winds as well as some banner hung up during the Cutthroat Politics patches.
Lets start off with a member of the favorite minor race in Tyria. This little guy performed a magic for us during all of those patches.
To say that the asura were still skeptic of me would be quite the understatement. Even so, they provided me with some new clothes, for which I was grateful. Sure, the clothes I bought from the sylvari were good enough for this hot and humid climate, but the way they were woven and the fabrics they used made them uncomfortable to wear.
In contrast, these asuran-made robes were much looser. Crafted from woven linen and studded leather, they provided all the protection I desired without hampering my movement. As opposed to charr clothes—which were generally dull and monotone—these were leaf green with white, intricate geometrical patterns woven into them.
“Whatcha doing?” a high, yet pleasant voice piped behind me.
“Trying to get this furnace to heat up,” I replied whilst giving the bellows a whack.