Veiled Encounters
Season of the Colossus, 1338 AE
Brittle leaves in the canopy above trembled with every passing breeze and the animals were scarcely seen as they readied themselves for the harsh season ahead. A cold chill had settled into the region and all around the cycle of death and rebirth went along its natural course. These wonders did little to quell the storm raging within Jalinar as he left Harvest Den behind that day. Spring might have lifted his spirits, alas winter was soon to be and he hadn’t packed a warm scarf for the occasion.
Rather than accepting a short airship ride with the rest of his team, Jalinar walked to Divinity’s Reach through the Woodland Cascades—a vast, treacherous, and sparsely inhabited forest. The journey would take a week at most, just long enough to get a stern talking to from Steward’s Gixx about delays and schedules, but not enough for any real consequences. He knew what Gixx would tolerate and Jalinar needed to be alone after a mission. The wilderness called to him.
Only a few in Tyria truly understood what his job was about. As a chronicler, his duty was to the dead. To unravel and rethread the stories of lost souls. Over the past decade, he stood within countless forgotten halls and spoke to spirits from all corners of Tyria to ensure their memories were kept for posterity. However, those recently passed had always been his toughest encounters and his latest case still clung to his every step through the forest. Even by Sylvari standards, Calypso had been young. Barely a few seasons old, she had joined the Durmand Priory to see the world and learn of its people. Yet her life had been cut short by her supervisor—Vexx—during an episode of bloodstone psychosis. Now his duty was to ensure she lived on in the memories of others.
But there was one piece of the puzzle missing. Since their encounter, Jalinar felt the burning intensify within his lungs and the crisp air of the upcoming seasonal changes had done little to ease the pain. He felt the change the moment Calypso’s spirit tumbled off the cliff. A final gift to him—a common tactic amongst undead. They often imprinted their memories into assailant’s minds to distract them or catch them off-guard. For the dead’s sake, Jalinar allowed these memories to flow through him. How could he presume to tell someone else’s entire life story if he did not experience it until its bitter end. It was the only way for him to atone for what he did. He suppressed the feeling while his team was around, but now, kneeling by the river’s edge, he allowed it to run its course. Within his mind’s eye, he was back within the ruins by the edge of the bloodstone crater.
Calypso’s death had been painful. As Vexx struck her with his bloodstone-infused arm, crystals had broken off and embedded themselves within her sternum. Absorbing the ambient magics swirling around them, the crystals grew, piercing and ripping through her skin—corrupting all they touched. Jalinar felt every tear and break as if it was his own body. Calypso’s concern for her supervisor’s appearance quickly turn to fright as the burning sensation spread. The crystals soon reached her lungs as she collapsed to the ground. Chocking on her every breath chock-full of dust, the crystals continued to crystalizing flesh, organs and sap. Looking up, she saw her colleague—Dobson—stare at her in disbelief as he ran out closely followed by Vexx. As she coughed her final breath, her body became the glass statue Jalinar found in the ruins. He sensed it all. His muscles tensed under the pressure and tears welled in the corner of his eyes. He felt trapped within his own body, unable to scream as his own lungs filled with dust and burned. His limbs refused to move and no one was around to see him die. ‘It was better this way’ he thought to himself. He had done his duty in recording the lives of others, his own could disappear into obscurity.
While it couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, the memory of Calypso’s death seemed to stretch on into eternity until it finally released its grasp on him. Jalinar’s muscles relaxed and he collapsed. He laid there in the cold mud, listening to the rushing rapids—the water racing its way towards the sea. The memory was still present within his mind, but the physical symptoms had ebbed away, flowing down the river of his own mind where the others lived. Death—It was always the moment of their death that spirits imparted. The one experience that could never be fully grasped by the living. The senses shutting down one by one until eternal silence and tranquility set in. It was an incomprehensible yet familiar feeling for him now. Each time without fail, it made him yearn for Grenth’s sweet and cold embrace. Was he not happy with his life? He had accomplished so much in the last decade. Few in the Priory were honored with the position of chronicler, But why did it all feel so hollow? He still did not have the answers after all these years. The questions continued to swirl in him mind as his exhaustion took over. For now, the embrace of the cold mud would do.
Jalinar did not remember falling asleep when he awoke coughing. He recognized the familiar feeling at once—bloodstone dust. The same burning sensation he had felt in Calypso’s memory was now coursing through his lungs. He could feel it lodged deep inside of him, burning like embers as it fed off his magic. His eyes burned as he opened them and tears quickly filled his vision, blinding him. Attempting to wipe the tears away did little to improve his sight as he caught a brief glimpse of the darkness surrounding before the stinging intensified. Blood was pounding in his ears, deafening everything around him. His heart raced to the rhythm of thoughts scrambling through his mind. The investigation in Janthir had taken too long, he must have exposed himself to a lethal dose of the airborne pollutant. He didn’t actually want to die like Calypso—alone in the hostile wilderness of the Cascades. The memory of her death had simply played tricks on his mind, that’s all. Yet, no one would come looking for him for at least a week.
The answer hooked its way to the front of his mind. “The river…” he managed to croak. He could weave a cleanse spell if he fully submerged. Pushing himself up to his feet, he confidently stepped forward. The river had only been a few paces away, he would make it there in a few strides. He tripped as his foot encountered an unexpected obstacle. Landing heavily on one elbow, the wind was knocked out of him and something twisted in his left shoulder. Instinctively, he inhaled once more and the air seemed to burn his lungs more intensely, launching him into a coughing fit. Grasping at his surroundings, he felt the muddy ground slopping downwards to his right towards the river bank. He crawled on his hands and knees until his hand found the bitter cold of the rushing waters. He let himself fall into the water and allowed the current to take him.
Reciting an incantation, Jalinar imbued the waters around him as his priory garments grew heavy and pulled him beneath the surface. His plan would either work or he would become a forgotten crystalline statue at the bottom of a river. Focusing his mind on mending the damage done to his sight first, the water glowed around him, illuminated the vague shapes of rocks and fish by his side as the current carried him downstream. He opened his eyes and felt as each droplet of water pulled and plucked the stinging pollutants away, releasing them into the river. Soon enough, the burning sensation subsided.
Meanwhile, the fire within his lungs intensified as his meager resources of air dwindled rapidly. He knew his time was precious, but his plan had one major flaw. To remove the dust from his lung, he would need to empty his lungs of air and fill them with water, essentially drowning himself on purpose. It hadn't been the most thought out of plans, but it was the only one his mind could come up with on the fly. As he hesitated, the decision was made for him when he collided with a rock and exhaled from the impact. An uncontrollable flow of water filled his mouth, throat and lungs. Panicking under the suddenness of the impact, his concentration on the spell faltered and the magic dissipated. The light around him dimmed as he struck the river bed.
Was it really how his story would end? His last thought wondered if Steward Gixx would send another chronicler to find his spirit and bring him back to the Priory to chastise him. The Gods, the Eternal Alchemy, the Mist—whatever was out there—had quite the sense of humour if that was the case. At least the burning had subsided, there was only cold now. Darkness engulfed him as he allowed Grenth to take him away. Although he had experienced death through the memories of countless individuals, his own was like nothing he had every experienced. It held him in its embrace tightly. It dug into his side, rocking him back and forth with the current. The pressure was unbearable against his chest.
Air filled his lungs as a voice boomed from above. “Why do you insist on traveling alone? Who will tell your tale, Chronicler?”
Opening his eyes, he saw a large shadow looming over him. The figure moved its hands away from his chest as Jalinar sputtered “Grenth?”.
“By the Spirits, do not insult me. My legend would be tarnished if I were to ever wear his horrid vestments.”
He knew this voice. A distant memory of his very first mission as a chronicler sprang into his mind. “Brokkr.” He said as a smile cracked his lips.
Here Lies Duchess Adelaide Barradin
From Rolling Greens of Ascalon
Assailed from Within and Without
Flames of Vengeance and Revenge
Loves & Kingdom to Ashes
Sent as Envoy Seeking Aid
To Sorrowful Seas of Kryta
Overthrown by Belief and Deceit
Tears of Lies and Grief
Loves & Kingdom to Quench
Settled as Patron Inciting Change
After several centuries and the destruction of Lion’s Arch twice over—the inscription remained spotless. The Priory had been looking for an entrance into the royal crypts below Lion’s Arch for decades, but none could be found since the flooding of the old city. Whether by luck, happenstance, or fate, Scarlet’s Breachmaker managed what the Priory could not. Amidst the fires, debris and wounded, the Priory also sent teams to assess the damage incurred to the old city. During their survey, Chronicler Jalinar and his team found a newly-opened underwater passageway into the crypts. The team split to cover more ground and after some meandering throughout the network of tunnels—a gentle flame flickering in his palm as his only companion—he now faced the tomb of an Ascalonian noble.
The doors to her crypt were as well-maintained as her epitaph. Jalinar knew little of the duchess’ life, but Ascalonian history was at the core of Priory teachings. Carved into the stone were scenes he recognized: the Searing and the White Mantle uprising. The rest of her life was an enigma which Jalinar was ready to uncover. He knew of no records of her presence in Kryta during the White Mantle occupation in the Priory’s archive. However, his gaze found its way on a series of intriguing engravings slotted beneath these two historical moments: gatherings composed of unknown figures—Adelaide at their head. Was that the crest of the Shining Blade? He would have to find Minna and Amaryllis, they would know what this all meant better than he did.
As he took a step back towards the entrance of the cavern, Jalinar stopped himself. It wouldn’t hurt to just have a look in the crypt, would it? Maybe the ghost of Duchess Adelaide still resided within and he could ask her a question or two to clear up the significance of the carvings. Wasn’t that why Gixx had bestowed the title upon him? Chronicler Jalinar. He liked the ring of it. The others were there to assist him in his task, but he was the one who had to deal with the spirits. The crypts had been lost for hundreds of years after all, the sudden appearance of his entire team may intimidate her and force her into hiding. It would indeed be better this way. He would walk in, introduce himself and hope she would be willing to talk to him. Turning around, he strode towards the door and pushed on it.
To his surprise, the doors gave way easily. Soundlessly, they swung inwards and as he peered in through the opening as a blinding light struck him—a trap. Of course, the tomb of an important political figure would not have been left unprotected against adventurous looters. Idiot. Reflexively, he pulled dagger and focus out and raised a wall of earth as protection. The light from the doorway continued to illuminate the corridor around him. He waited there, holding his breath as his eyes adjusted to the light. Moments passed, but nothing happened. No projectiles or spell struck his barrier nor did any creature spring out of the tomb to defend its long dead master. Jalinar moved slowly to the edge of his cover and peered into the crypt. Beyond the opened doorway was the strangest sight he had ever seen.
A pathway of cobblestone cut through a grassy meadow over a bridge and into the courtyard of a small compound. Buildings of Ascalonian architecture—human Ascalonian—had been built amongst the plants, bushes, and trees scattered throughout the meadow. The compound was surrounded by a deep moat and a low stone wall upon which various ivy plants were climbing. Nestled in a valley between rolling green hills, the soft light of a spring’s afternoon bathed the pastoral scene.
Stepping beyond his cover, he stared dumbfounded. The door could not have led outside. The crypt was deep underground and the sky above Lion’s Arch was still thick with the smoke of fires left behind by Scarlet’s attack. Yet, how could this all be here. The scene in front of him was idyllic—a perfect corner of serene nature.
It struck him in that moment, the scene reminded him of a painting from the Durmand Priory. A representation of Ascalon before the Searing ravaged the land. The piece had depicted the homestead of the Barradin lineage—Barradin Estate—and its vineyards. What stood before him was a far cry from the austere temple-like building of the painting however. These buildings were more akin to a noble’s country house, but the location was unmistakable. Looking past the hills, he could even see the Great Northern Wall’s peaks.
Taking a step forward, Jalinar felt the familiar prickle of magic at the edge of the doorway—Illusions. The details were exquisite and had persisted for centuries. Realizing he was still holding his breath, he exhaled and stepped in. The stuffiness of the crypt was replaced by fresh air and a gentle breeze blew in bringing the fragrant scent of grapes to his nostrils. The grass and cobblestone felt real under his touch and the buzzing of insects was soothing. Although he knew he was standing in an illusion, he could not but feel impressed by it fooling his senses so easily. Whoever had weaved this landscape into existence must have been a master of their craft in their time, a true artist leaving behind a masterpiece of a tomb for Lady Barradin. He would have to inform Gixx and see if they could find whoever had created it. Their story would be invaluable for their records.
“Hail” a feminine voice called out. He jumped at the sudden voice and looked around, blade at the ready. The main structure was nestled within a copse of red-leafed trees and a figure sat on an ornate white metal chair sipping from a cup. She looked at him over her cup. “Impressive, is it not? Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you. Come, sit.” She gestured to one of the chairs. “We were not expecting a new Shroud so soon.” Her voice was gentle, like one speaking to an old acquaintance.
Shroud? Jalinar had never heard the term before. Cautiously he stowed his weapons, hoping the figure hadn’t noticed. Stepping over the bridge and into the courtyard, he was able to get a better look at her. Her brown hair was pulled back into a chignon. A few strands flowed free in the breeze. A long purple gown embroidered with golden patterns flowed down her body. He estimated her to be late twenties or early thirties, but her gaze was piercing—wise beyond her years. This women was far too young to be the noble he was looking for. But something prickled the back of his mind. Something was strange about her posture, or was it her demeanor? What was she doing down here in this crypt? Was she an illusion herself? She did not have the ethereal appearance of what he believed spirit should look like.
He realized he had been standing in front of her, staring her down for what seemed to be far too long. Pretending to be distracted by the flowerbeds lining the inner wall, he averted his gaze as he took a seat by her side.
“I assume you have been prepared for this moment, but before we begin. I have a question of my own.” she said. “There has been an awful ruckus coming from above in the last few days, would you mind telling me about it? The Collective has been awfully quiet recently.”
The Collective—another strange term. Obviously, she believed him to be here for some reason. He simply had to play along and answer her questions. Whoever had created this illusion must have had a purpose for it. Maybe it could enlighten him about Lady Barradin’s fate.
“Great earthquakes have been rocking the region” he lied.
“Dreadful. I hope everyone is safe and the city will recovery swiftly. After all Lion’s Arch has endured, it does not deserve more suffering to befell it.” As she spoke, the doors to the main building swung open and another figure wearing a dress of similar style dress with a high collar stepped into view. The woman was holding a tray with what appeared to be sandwiches and vegetables when she spotted him.
“Ah, you have come at last.” The young woman beamed at the newcomer. “The Collective has sent a new recruit our way. It is a bit ahead of schedule, but it might be because of the earth—” The tea-drinker was suddenly interrupted by the angered voice of the newcomer.
“This man should not be here.” Anger rapidly spread through her face, distorting her features as she dropped the tray sending its content splattering upon the floor. Except her hand had not moved, the tray had passed through her hand. Her voice softened as she adressed the young woman. “Step away from him, my dear. The air around him stinks of lies.” Quickly, the tea drinker rose, cup still in hand and stood beside her.
Seeing them side by side, he now understood what had bothered him so much when he had first glanced upon the woman. They had a familial air about them that he hadn’t caught before. The one drinking tea looked like a younger version of the other. And this newcomer was undeniably his quarry—Adelaide Barradin.
“Lady Barradin. Please excuse my intrusion into your tomb. I did not mean to scare you or your daughter.” Jalinar said. Spirits needed to be spoken to in a calm and gentle manner. That’s what Minna had taught him and he would now put it to the test. “ The Priory only seeks—”
“A lackey of the Priory. I’ve heard all about Durmand and his legacy of grave robbing.”
“I think you misunderstand. The Priory wants to…” he trailed off as his mind registered what she had said and quickly made the calculations. “What do you mean his legacy? The Priory was a fledgling organization in your time. Durmand was still alive in your time, wasn’t he?”
“Enough. I can tell what you are trying to do. You will not get what you want from me. By your presence, our peace has been shattered.” She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Althea. You know what to do.” Turning around, she walked back towards the building and disappeared inside.
“Yes, Mother.” she replied.
He had lost control of the situation in what he assumed must have been record time for a new chronicler. Had he truly mishandled the situation this badly? His first mission with his own team and he had failed miserably. He could already see the scene unfold as he returned empty-handed, an opportunity having slipped through his fingers. Gixx would make an example out of him. You should have waited for your team. Minna is much more diplomatic than you. Why do you think Amaryllis is on the team? He’s expert on human history of Kryta, Ascalon and Orr. By the Eternal Alchemy, of course a spirit would perceive you as a grave robber! Gixx could go on for hours on end if he liked. The punishment was more about the spectacle than anything else. Lost in thought, he did not notice Althea approaching and clasping her hand in his.
“Do not resist it and don’t come looking for us again. I’m sorry it had to be that way.” She smiled as he felt a jolt of energy pass between the two of them.
“Resist what? We can come to an under—” He tried desperately, but those were the last words he spoke before his body convulsed. He caught one last glance at Althea’s downcast and sorrowful eyes. In that moment, he felt it for the very first time in his long career. The illusion around him shattered like a mirror. The skies darkened. The vineyards burned. The structures crumbled. Althea disappeared in a flurry of ash. He felt what it was like to die.