Beyond - Legends "Real Pretender" 4/4 (AU - SW/Guild Wars 2 X-over; alternate Ganner origin; completed 9/22)

A/N: I'm not dead.

Seriously, I've just been very busy - things are going well, just trying to wrap up Sernpidal's Amethyst, which this 'fic is a very-sort-of-prequel to (same timeline, but this is my take on Ganner's origin in this AU, and mostly set on a VERY different interpretation of Teyr ...

Teyr, Tyria - similar spelling, hmm? (And no Sarkin-Tainer jokes, I promise. )

As to what Guild Wars 2 is - here's a link: https://www.guildwars2.com/en/the-game/

As for how it might possibly co-exist or even be within SW ... well, more below, including the first appearance of the child of who will someday Stand at the Well of the World Brain ...

And, for where all this will someday lead ... ? : http://boards.theforce.net/threads/...-t-more-post-sbs-njo-finished-12-27.50042496/

Warning: infodump, but later chapters will have more action (nothing worse than PG-13, but just a heads-up).

***************************************************
Prologue: 19 BBY, Galactic Standard Calendar/
1276 After Exodus, Mouvelian (Tyrian-native) Calendar:
Claw Island, Lion's Arch (Sodonna), Kingdom of Kryta,
Tyria (Teyr in Galactic Basic), Surric System, Colonies Region:
***************************************************

"What," growled Imperial Lieutenant Delvian Rast, "are those?"

The clone troopers of the 354th Batallion turned toward the pier, as did the port city's "Commodore" - according to Rast's quick infodump from Teyrian Port Control, the "first among equals" among the pirates who ran the shipping center.

"Dwayna protect us," breathed the Commodore, a human (mercifully! thought Rast, who was already exhausted from the strange looks he and his troops were receiving from the various indigenes whom the human Teyrians freely interacted with) woman named Ydera Marriner.

The dark-skinned woman held up what looked like a terribly quaint spyglass, then shouted, "Dead Ships! TO ARMS!"

Rast lifted his electrobinoculars, gritting his teeth - he was under orders to secure this backwater. He'd survived Felucia, a tour on Christophsis, and the aftermath of Order 66 (Jedi be forever cursed, the Eriaduan man thought). This was nothing.

Even his stomach, however, churned when he saw the tattered sails, rotting timbers ... and things ... crewing the seemingly-ruined boats approaching the harbor. "What ... is ... this armada?" Rast asked Marriner.

The Commodore dared to scowl at him for an instant, before she said, "Apologies - Lieutenant. I forget you're an offworlder. The Dead Ships are manned by the Risen - minions of the Elder Dragon that sank Orr centuries ago."

"... undead?" Rast said, keeping his voice neutral - he was a loyal officer in the Imperial Army, after all, not superstitious.

That said, he'd also done a tour on Korriban, chasing down straggling Jedi. He'd seen ... things ... on the dusty Sith world.

Ydera nodded, a bit more respect in her eyes as the turbolasers of Rast's AT-STs managed to decimate the rotting invaders long before they got near the harbor. "We get these incursions every so often. My ancestor, Cobiah Marriner, organized the surviving corsairs who weren't wiped out by the Great Tsunami caused by Orr's rise from the depths. Zhaitan, the dragon driving those damned corpses, lifted the old continent from the waters," she said, totally straight-faced, even tired.

Rast's blood chilled; the entire story would be ridiculous ... but he had his orders from Imperial Center.

"Report any and all unusual activity on Teyr, and allow us to assess assignment strength for the Surric system," Director Isard had emphasized.

Rast double-checked his electrobinoculars, swallowed again at the ghastliness approaching, then asked Ydera, "And how many of these dragons are there?"

"Six. And Zhaitan's not even the worst of them - the most directly damaging, true. Primordus, the Fire Dragon, causes groundquakes every so often," Marriner said, counting off on her fingers. "You've got Jormag up north in the Shiverpeaks, Kralkatorrik out in the Crystal Desert, and two others - the Durmand Priory doesn't have names on those last two."

"Six," Rast repeated, making sure his 3-PO protocol droid was recording the data. (The simpering scrap pile lacked even a conscript's strength, but no good human should be wasted taking notes, the crewcut-blond lieutenant felt.)

Another barrage of laser fire sank the ships, and the Teyrians cheered, lifting even Rast's spirits ... a bit.

He would later confess to his wife, once safely back home and in the privacy of their bedroom, that His Imperial Excellency's decision to interdict all but tourist traffic to Teyr was a "wise safety precaution."

(No loyal Imperial officer would admit that the idea of giant dragons lifting continents scared them ... openly, anyway.)

------------------------------------------
5 ABY Galactic/1300 A.E.,
Salma District, Divinity's Reach,
Northern Kryta, Tyria:
------------------------------------------

The Six keep us, where is that accursed healer!?

Graham Rhysode - descendant of the Queensdale Rhysodes, who'd distinguished themselves against those Grenth-damned Modniir centaurs and earned a home in humanity's last bastion - paced the hall of his house as he waited for the priestess of Dwayna. The goddess of healing, air, and life was certainly needed now, if ever.

The servants - mostly human commoners, although the family's asuran advisor and tutor, Krann, was waiting with the elder Rhysode heir, Geraint - were wisely keeping their distance.

Minister Rhysode could be magnanimous, but he had a temper as ferocious as his war record; he'd kept up both the Rhysode legacy of warcraft and loyal worship of the Six human gods, regardless of the deities' self-imposed Exodus from Tyria more than a millennium before.

Graham ran through the litanies as he waited outside his wife Shahera's bedroom - their second child was due soon, but the birth was harder than Geraint's arrival. Shahera was such a frail woman for all her emotional strength ...

So, Graham sat, recalling the great high deeds of humanity so he didn't hover, and nag his wife or her maids.

The old stories were something of a comfort, and Graham recalled his own childhood lessons - how High King Doric, first ruler of the three great human nations on the continent of Tyria, Orr, Ascalon, and Kryta, had pleaded with the Six Human gods to seal away rampant magical energies in the legendary Bloodstone.

The deities had agreed, shattering the enormous, magically-charged artifact into five pieces before plunging them into the largest volcano in the Fire Islands to the southwest.

The act had served to prevent any one mortal from accumulating too much magic - in the process, dividing which schools of magic could be learned into preservation, aggression, destruction, and denial. The fifth stone, the Keystone, held the secret of reuniting magic, but most sages felt such a quest was foolish.

However, the former god of secrets - his name was not to be uttered, as far as Graham was concerned - had rebelled against the other five. Grenth, Lord of Death, alongside Dwayna; Balthazar, deity of War; Lyssa, twin goddess of illusions; and Melandru, goddess of nature, had fought their treacherous brother, sealing him away.

The remaining Six then stepped back into the Mists, leaving Tyria to spare mortals the risk of destruction in more reckless warfare - the Exodus, Year Zero of humanity's calendar.

In gratitude, humanity continued to revere the Six. Unfortunately, Doric's line hadn't been able to prevent the shattering of their ancestor's kingdom; Kryta continued, isolated, while Ascalon, to Kryta's east, stood alone against the felinoid charr. And the Orrians, formerly favored of the Six, wallowed in excess magical experimentation on their island.

Then, in 1070 AE, the charr unleashed the fiery storm called the Searing, all but incinerating Ascalon.

They swept past the Great Northern Wall that had split Ascalon from the charr lands, eventually crushing it, and taking Ascalon before invading Kryta and heading for Orr.

Orr's insane Vizier Khilbron used a forbidden scroll that sank the island nation, and Arah, City of the Six, with it. Kryta turned to the White Mantle, and their "unseen gods," to fight back the chaar - proof that spurning the Six was self-destructive, Graham reflected.

Only years later did the Krytans learn the horrible truth - that the Mantle were insane cultists bowing to the whims of the ancient, spellcasting mursaat. One of the five older races, which had narrowly survived the last rising of the Elder Dragons, the mursaat were desperate to keep shut the Door of Komalie in the Fire Islands.

Worse yet, in 1078 AE, the deadliest of the Elder Dragons - Primordus, Dragon of Fire, deep below Tyria's surface - stirred, for the first time in millennia.

The ancient dwarves, another of the elder races which had survived the last rising of the Dragons, sacrificed themselves, turning to stone to combat Primordus' minions, the Destroyers. The technomages of the asura - rodent-like, but intelligent and civilized - first appeared on the surface of Tyria, later entirely moving to live in sunlight and becoming part of society.

A group of heroes managed to wipe out Primordus' general, the Great Destroyer, but Tyria's chaos was hardly done just because the Elder Dragon returned to slumber. Princess Salma, descendant of Doric, overthrew the White Mantle with the aid of her Shining Blade troops in 1079 AE.

While all loyal Krytans were right to be glad of the Mantle's downfall, their cult's repudiation meant that their muursat masters lost access to the souls they needed to keep the Door closed. When the interdimensional gate opened, it let the Titans - the unnatural deities of the charr - loose into Tyria, dooming the mursaat but also threatening to free the imprisoned fallen member of the Six.

The mortal Kormir later ascended to take the fallen god of secrets' place, as goddess of Truth, sealing away the unholy threat, and the Mantle and their deranged leaders were finally broken. Unfortunately, the surviving Ascalonians were all but wiped out in 1090 AE, by a reckless spell cast by their last king, Adelbern - the Foefire - to deny the charr total victory.

The ghosts of Ascalon City still haunted the lands, battling the charr, while Kryta absorbed their surviving Ascalonian cousins. Only a schism in charr society, caused by the revelation that their Titan "gods" were nothing but imposters, and the Ascalonian ghosts had kept the charr occupied - that, and Ebonhawke, the last outpost of Ascalonian humans.

Kryta had its own problems, not the least of which were the stirrings of other Elder Dragons - Primordus shook off his sleep in 1120 AE, followed by Jormag, Dragon of Ice, in 1165 AE, in the Far Shiverpeak Mountains, home to the norn and the bearlike kodan. Both species had been forced to flee south to the Southern Shiverpeaks, near charr territory.

But worst - or best, depending on one's point of view - had been Zhaitan, Dragon of Undeath, rising in 1219 AE.

He'd caused the Great Tsunami, sinking Kryta's then-capitol of Lion's Arch, and raised Orr as an undead nation, their Dead Ships cutting Tyria off from the other great human continents - Cantha, far to the south, and Elona to the southeast.

Of course, Lion's Arch was rebuilt by the Corsairs, and King Beade ordered Divinity's Reach built in 1220. My ancestors were among the settlers, fighting the centaurs, and we earned both our house here in the city and our estate in the country, Graham thought, praying to Melandru to aid Shahera. The Six answered the prayers of their loyal worshippers.

Well, from a certain point of view, they answer prayers, Graham thought, cursing himself for the heretical thought - then, breathing a sigh of relief as his footman, Nial, brought a blue-and-silver-robed priestess of Dwayna up the stairs, her red hair pulled back in a functional braid.

"Apologies, Minister Rhysode. I was kept - we had another offworld visitor from the 'Empire,' attempting to warn the various temples to keep our 'primitive gibbering' quiet when they deign to visit the city. As if we would kneel to those interlopers - all they want is access to Garrenhoff, which they call Pyre Folas," the black-haired priestess explained.

Graham nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as Shahera cried out - his wife was more his concern than offworlders were.

For years, there had been visitors from offworld - defying the beliefs of the scholars of the Durmand Priory that Tyria and the planets in the sky were a closed system.

But other than some messiness (a "clone war," whatever that had been) off in the Maguuma Jungle when Graham had been Geraint's age, or the occasional embassy to King Jorran, the offworlders stayed away.

(Why they thought the Cereboth Canyon, far to the south and west, was such a grand tourist attraction was beyond most Krytans' understanding. True, the asura had built a monorail over the canyon, but you'd think the strange visitors had seen the Six return, the way they viewed Tyria. Most Tyrians were more intrigued by the floating castle near Garrenhoff.)

Graham focused, hearing Shahera's cries peak - then, he breathed a sigh of relief at another cry.

"F-Father ... ?" called a small voice, and Graham smiled as Geraint - all of 3 years old, but bright, and Graham and Shahera's pride - approached, Krann walking beside the boy. The asura's ears twitched a bit, and he nudged Geraint forward; the boy was a bit shy toward Graham, and the elder Rhysode wondered just why his firstborn was so quiet.

Be thankful he's respectful, and not some shrieking hellspawn, like some noble-born children, Graham reminded himself.

He lifted Graham into his arms, saying, "Your new brother or sister's arrived, little man. Let's go greet them, shall we?"

"I believe you have another son, Minister - basing my hypothesis upon the temperature and season when the child was -" Krann said, punching numbers into one of his odd little devices.

Graham cleared his throat - or growled, the tutor wasn't always politic in his babblings - and the asura quieted as the priestess of Dwayna appeared at the doorway to Shahera's chambers. "Mother and son are healthy," she said.

Thank the Six, Graham thought, smiling at Geraint when the boy's manner brightened. "May we see them?" he asked.

"You may - but Minister, I would advise ... I would ask, that afterward, we speak away from small ears," the priestess said, gravity in her gaze. Lord Rhysode was unsurprised; the healers had warned that Shahera had shown signs of trouble.

Graham nodded, thanking the Dwaynan cleric for her assistance (and circumspection), and directed Nial to show the priestess to the sitting room before taking Geraint into the chambers.

Graham almost stopped at the door; Shahera was deathly pale, her raven hair flowing behind her across her pillows like a shroud. But her eyes glowed with happiness when she saw her husband and firstborn, and she held a whimpering bundle.

"Darlings! Come see," Lady Rhysode said, and Graham set Geraint down to let the boy run to his mother. Adela, first among Shahera's maids, carefully let Geraint see his new brother, while Graham sat gently on the edge of the bed.

He held Shahera's hand, his voice failing him, but Shahera shook her head and mouthed the words, Not in front of Geraint.

So it WAS a near thing, Graham feared - but not so near that Grenth had claimed Shahera or the baby. That was a blessing.

"M'Lord? Your son," Adela said, and Graham thanked her as he took his newborn son in his arms. Like Geraint, the baby had a shock of dark hair, and grey Rhysode eyes which Graham was sure would turn a shade of his own blue with time.

"You're the lord of the manor. Naming him is your right," Shahera gently teased, hugging Geraint, and Graham laughed - her humor was intact, at least.

"Another G name, I think ..." Graham considered, until the baby let loose a yowl that shook the windows - literally.

Krann suddenly rushed in, unbidden, and Graham was about to lecture the tutor - until the asura's usually-floppy ears twitched, a look of concern in his eyes. "M'Lord, M'Lady - forgive my intrusion, but the infant is very magically strong," Krann advised, scanning the baby and looking at Graham with almost comical concern.

"Magic!?" Graham and Shahera both exclaimed - Graham with shock, Shahera with joy - while Geraint squinted.

Magic, Graham grieved. Rhysodes could be warriors, guardians, rangers - wielders of blades, shields, bows - but mages?

A sharp mind is needed to lead, but not so sharp that the thinker gets lost in the library. And Geraint ... I fear Geraint is no great warrior in the making, Graham worried; his elder son was small, even for his age, and a bit uncoordinated.

He looked down at the baby, who cried again - not out of fear, at least, but more frustration, and Graham allowed himself a smile. The boy did have courage, even if he had more than his share of magic.

"Loud goose," Geraint laughed, and a name came to Graham, who ruffled his elder son's hair in bemusement.

"No, he's a Ganner," Lord Rhysode decided.

"Ganner Rhysode ... welcome to Tyria."

With that, he left the baby with Shahera, kissing his wife's forehead and whispering his love to her, before letting Adela shoo Geraint back to the nursery.

Krann, however, fell into step with Graham at the Lord Rhysode's commanding glance, and they walked to the priestess.

She stood from where she'd sat, giving Graham a quick bow, and said, "My thanks for your time, Minister. I shall be brief - first, your asuran advisor has likely told you what I already sensed. Your new son is very magically gifted."

"Fishing for a new acolyte when he's old enough to train?" Graham asked, with neither disrespect nor wasted time. (He was devout, but he wasn't blinded by faith, and he actually admired forthrightness in those who detected talent in others.)

The priestess smiled with what might be called wryness, were she not a cleric. "Your reputation precedes you, M'Lord. But no - I believe your son's talents lie more along the path of aggression than protection. Balthazar is his patron," she said.

Graham felt a quick spike of pride; the Lord of War was his own preferred member of the Six, although his duties kept him from taking to the field to kill centaur filth as he had in his youth. His brother, Guran, kept Rhysode Manor free of the hooved heathens, and Graham allowed himself a moment's whimsy of an older Ganner slaying centaurs.

He focused on the present, looking at Krann, and said, "You're a capable tutor, but no warrior - no offense."

"M'Lord ... with all due respect to your human deities ... I fear the boy's magical training is ... ill-advised," Krann said.

Graham bit back a retort; Krann rarely minced words. So, the human Minister asked, "You fear him? A baby?"

Krann looked at Graham, replying, "Lord Rhysode - Graham - your son's organelles for gathering magic ... are numerous."

Graham muttered a curse to the Fallen Sixth to save him from the ramblings of asura - drawing a gasp from the cleric - and apologized before growling, "Explain."

Krann nodded, punching keys on his scanner, and said, "To the point, M'Lord, all life has tiny structures called cells, and within those cells are organelles. Some of those microscopic structures channel the magic naturally created by life, as well as the ambient energies from Tyria itself. The greatest mages possess many such structures - an offworld sect, called Jedi, consisted of warrior-magi who called the structures midi-chlorians, and the Empire feared them enough to wipe them out."

Graham's blood cooled, even chilling at the idea - less out of fear of his son, and more for Ganner. "Would they -?" he asked, unable to even speak the horror that haunted him.

Krann shook his head, and replied, "By treaty, the 'Imperials' are banned from harassing Tyrian - 'Force-users,' they call us. The Council in Rata Sum, the asuran capital, believes these offworld savages fear Tyria, or specifically, the Elder Dragons."

The cleric looked discomfited at the asura's forthrightness, and barely hid a frown when Graham muttered, "Hmph. The one bit of wisdom from those star-crossing heretics ... so, how strong is Ganner, anyhow?"

"Enough that he could be an incredible - or incredibly destructive - mage," the cleric advised, glancing at Krann.

Graham ran a hand through his hair, finally waving his hands in disdain. "You want a son of House Rhysode to shy away from his talent for war? Balthazar's Hounds, that's madness!" he barked, finally tired of the debate.

Krann sighed, and the cleric shrugged. "By your leave, M'Lord," the woman said, starting to go.

She called over her shoulder, adding, "If you won't turn the lad to the scholar's path, Lord Rhysode, I'd watch he doesn't become reckless. Potential such as his can drive arrogance to the forefront, and none of the Six look kindly on fool's pride."

"I'll remember that, priestess - ?" Graham asked; he should at least commend the woman to her superiors for her work.

She smiled more kindly, and said, "Shira."

----------------------

to be continued ...

 

A/N: An update. More with Ganner's childhood, as well as some very long-range seeds of political intrigue ...

*************************************
Chapter 2:
10 ABY Galactic/1305 AE, Tyrian:
Rhydian Estates, Queensdale,
Kingdom of Kryta, Tyria/Teyr:
*************************************

"Ganner, pay attention. You can play with your silly magic later."

"Sorry, Uncle Guran," Ganner replied, setting down the rock he was levitating - he did want to learn how to use a rifle.

Mama didn't think he was old enough to learn to shoot, but Papa had just sniffed, in that way he had when he thought someone was being silly. "He's 5, already, Shahera. At his age, I was plinking carved wooden charr off of fenceposts," Papa had said, before he and Ganner had ridden horses to the family estate.

I like the outdoors better 'n Divinity's Reach anyway. More to do and see here, the boy thought, paying attention as Uncle Guran explained how the rifle worked. It was sort of similar to pistols, just bigger.

"... and make sure you put the safety on when you're not shooting. That, and - NEVER point a gun at someone unless you mean to shoot them," his uncle said, and Ganner thanked him before taking the rifle. There were a row of targets, similar to archery targets, a few meters away, and Geraint and Papa were practicing shooting off to Ganner's left.

He watched them, sensing Papa's upset; Geraint was older than Ganner, but he just wasn't a good shot. Another bullet went far of Geraint's target, and Ganner gulped as one of the birds in the distance squawked.

"I'm trying, Father! But my vision blurs that far out," Geraint complained, ducking when Papa growled at him.

"Excuses, boy! Your vision tested fine not that long ago. Ganner, let's see if you can do any better than Geraint, hmm?" Papa called.

"Yessir," Ganner said, taking careful aim. Uncle Guran had warned him about recoil.

Still, he went flying when the rifle went off, and Ganner tried not to cry - Geraint wasn't mean, but sometimes he liked to tease Ganner when something went wrong. Or he'd call Ganner "Magic Boy," during Ganner's practice with Tutor Krann.

"HA! Now that's how you shoot, boys!" Ganner heard as he got to his feet and blinked - his target had a hole dead-center.

He started to smile - Papa and Uncle Guran both felt happy - but then, a light blinked out, and Ganner felt sick.

"Gan? What's wrong, lad?" Papa asked. Ganner tried to explain, but gasped and pointed as one of the servants ran over.

"M'Lords! Centaurs! They killed Irken, and -" Overseer Jack shouted, as hooves got closer ...

Don't be 'fraid. You're not a baby anymore, Ganner tried to remind himself - but centaurs fought commoners and nobles.

Someone grabbed Ganner's arm, and he managed to hold onto the rifle just as centaurs galloped into the yard. The guards started fighting them, but Geraint panicked, rolling into a ball, and Papa and Uncle Garun were busy fighting the attackers.

Ganner ducked behind a cart, taking a deep breath - he could do this, he had to.

He peeked up over the cart, leading the target on one centaur as it reached for Geraint. Ganner pulled the trigger, going tumbling again - he hated recoil.

The centaur tumbled, making an awful noise, and everything was justyelling and smells and gunshots.

Geraint cried again, but this time it sounded different. He ran to Ganner and hugged him, shouting, "Thanks, but run!"

"Inside the house!" Papa yelled, and he picked both boys up and pushed them in through the front door. Ganner looked past Papa, gasping - there was a huge centaur riding up -!

And then arrows and gunshots lanced into the centaurs, and Papa pulled Uncle Guran and Overseer Jack inside and slammed the door.

"Finally. Seraph troops and some mercenaries. You'd think the former would get here faster out of duty, while the latter wanted to fatten their pocketbooks," Papa growled, looking out the front window while Guran and the overseer checked on the boys.

"I'm OK, thanks - Papa, I shot a centaur," Ganner said, wondering why he didn't feel happier.

It's not a happy thing. Fighting is scarier than in the stories, Ganner realized. He looked up as Papa took the rifle from him, but felt a little better when Papa ruffled his hair and put the rifle back above the fireplace.

"You make me proud, Ganner. You showed great courage today. But ... let's wait a few more years before you go making any more stands against centaurs, hmm?" Papa said, and Ganner nodded - fighting was just too big, right now.

He turned to Geraint, but his brother scowled and said, "Only way you even hit that stupid centaur was luck."

"Was not! I 'membered lining up an' leading the shot!" Ganner yelled back - he didn't say how Geraint had cowered.

Papa, though,gave Geraint a mean look, while Uncle Garun frowned. "Don't go playing favorites, Graham," he said.

"It's not favoritism when one of my sons shows spine far beyond his years, and the other panicked," Papa spat.

Geraint looked, and felt, like he was going to cry, but just ran upstairs. Ganner heard a knock at the door, and wanted to see who it was, but Uncle Garun pointed upstairs and said, "Ganner, you'd best wait for your father to talk to the Seraph."

"Yessir," Ganner said. When Papa or Garun used that voice, it was serious, and Ganner knew not to get in the way.

He ran upstairs, wondering if he should check on Geraint, but his brother stuck his head out of his bedroom door with red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy face. "J-just go 'way. Runt," Geraint spat, and Ganner tried not to tear up.

"I'm sorry Papa yelled -" Ganner tried to explain, but Geraint just slammed the door in his face, and Ganner sighed.

Still, I shot a centaur! Mama'll be proud of me ... maybe. If she doesn't cry and try to make me stay home, he thought. He loved his mother, but she just wanted him to be "safe."

Safe doesn't get you recognized, Ganner thought.

He wasn't sure how he knew it, but it felt ... right.

-----------------------------------
13 ABY/1308 AE: Divinity's
Reach, Queensdale, Kryta:
-----------------------------------

"Showoff," Geraint grumbled, looking across the playground as Ganner made a rock do a figure-8.

"What? It makes people happy," Ganner sniffed; his big brother could be such a jerk, sometimes.

The other kids seemed to like Ganner's levitating trick (telekinesis, Krann called it, but levitating sounded cooler, and asura always seemed to use bigger words than they needed).

One of the other noble kids, a girl, applauded, and Ganner blushed, but smiled and bowed - he wanted to be polite, after all, even if Geraint was more interested in girls than he was. Some of the other boys made faces, but Ganner shrugged; what was the point of having power if you didn't enjoy it a little sometimes?

The party inside Legate Minister Caudecus Beetlestone's manor house started to break up, and Ganner set the rock down. He'd never misuse his power; the Six would disapprove, and Ganner wanted to make it to the Hall of Heroes after he died.

That means keeping up my combat training. Father wants me to take over managing the estate when I grow up, but Cousin Gherin can do that - he and Uncle Garun are better with it than I am, Ganner thought.

He wanted to go join a guild, or maybe even the Seraph, the main military of Divinity's Reach. (There were the Ministry Guard, too, but Father didn't trust them - privately, of course, even Ganner knew better than to just blurt that out.)

Geraint tapped Ganner's shoulder, stirring him, and Ganner tensed - they'd been fighting more lately, and Ganner didn't like that. Geraint was getting stronger and healthier, which was good, but he was cocky, too, 'specially about Ganner's power.

"Time to go," Geraint just said, and Ganner nodded, following him into Minister Beetlestone's house. Neither of them liked the Minister very much; he was bald, with a strange goatee, and Mother really didn't like how Caudecus talked so happily about when Kryta was ruled by the White Mantle.

"Young masters," Caudecus said, nodding as they caught up with their parents. Both boys bowed - strictly speaking, Ministers should be equal to each other, but the Legate Minister was in charge of the Ministry Guard and had King Jorran's ear.

And showing respect is a good idea, at least to people older than you, Ganner figured. He smiled at his mother when she patted his shoulder, and they walked with two House Rhysode guards back to their home.

"Well, that was a pleasant enough afternoon. Caudecus seemed ... pleasant enough," Father said, but Ganner could hear the stress in his voice (and, through his magical senses, feel his father's hesitation).

He doesn't like the Legate Minister either, but Father has to play political games, Ganner realized, both angry and sad about it. Adults just didn't make much sense sometimes.

"The girls liked Gan's rock-floating trick, too," Geraint tattled - Ganner wanted to smack him for that, but they were in public, and Mother wouldn't like them fighting.

Ganner settled for Father scowling at Geraint, but Mother still sighed and said, "Ganner. Your magic's very potent, but must you show off at parties like that? There's a time and place, and you don't want to look prideful in front of others."

"But, Mum, I wasn't hurting anyone," Ganner sighed - he knew he shouldn't whine, but nobody understood.
"Not physically, son. But the gifted have a responsibility not to rub their gifts in others' faces," Father said - Ganner could hear a smile in his father's voice, though, and he grinned back at him.

Still. Maybe I should lay off the power in front of other people, Ganner figured.

He was only 8, after all. Krann said he was getting stronger and better every day - and someday, Ganner'd show them all.


********************

to be continued ...

 

A/N: One more chapter to this to go - I should be able to finish it on Friday.

***************************
18 ABY Galactic/1313 AE, Tyrian:
Salma District, Divinity's Reach,
Kingdom of Kryta, Tyria/Teyr:
***************************

"HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST YOUR MIND?!"

Ganner repressed an eyeroll; he'd reviewed the rules, he knew the loopholes, and there really wasn't any way out of this.

(Besides, the few guilds he'd quietly applied to before this incident had laughed him out of the pub.)

"It's a matter of honor, sir," he told his father - who, actually, hadn't been the one to scream.

As usual, his brother Geraint was panicking.

Father raised an eyebrow, giving Geraint - who, at 16, was finally developing into House Rhysode's expected heir, even if he was quiet and more bookish than Father might prefer - a disdainful look. "He's got a point," Father noted.

"He's 13, though, Graham," Mother interjected. Ganner felt a little bad about worrying her, but he'd planned for her response.

"Ma'am, if we wilt in front of the other Houses now, Geraint's prospects will be harmed. It's not like I went after Bors, after all. He called me out in front of Lady Hilene," Ganner said, smiling at his mother.

(OK, so maybe serenading the daughter of Lord Gilbrecht had been arrogant, but Ganner thought he had a good voice. And Hilene was pretty. But Bors, Hilene's older brother, had caught Ganner and slapped him with a glove, calling for a duel.)

Geraint facepalmed, muttering, "If you get killed, who'll care for the estate?"

"Cousin Gherin, remember? Worst comes to worst, I have to leave town. I'm old enough to sign on as a squire in a guild -" Ganner started to say.

That drew Father's ire (Ganner never could quite understand the difference between serving in, say, the Ministry or the Seraph, which Father thought were honorable positions, and becoming a "common adventurer").

"NO son of House Rhysode is going to - to - gallavant across Tyria fighting - the Six know what kind of horrors!" he roared.

Ganner tried to hide his disappointment, but Father actually grew a bit soft for a moment, and clapped Ganner on the shoulder. "Don't misunderstand, son. I may not hold mercenaries in high regard, but I acknowledge their necessity. It's ... the dangers involved that I don't want you to fall victim to," he said, concern and pride both in his voice.

"Thanks, sir - Father - but I accepted the terms of the duel. And the last thing we need is to let some bratty son of one of Beetlebreath's jerk supporters to show us up," Ganner said, standing tall. "I can do this."

Father grinned - just for a second - and Ganner smiled, before kissing Mother's cheek and winking at Geraint.

I'm good with a rapier and I have my magic to back me up. What can go wrong?

-----------------------------------
Manor Hill, Salma District:
-----------------------------------

"Certainly the Ministry Guard or the Seraph can intervene - doesn't this fall under 'disturbing the peace'?!"

Ganner tried not to scowl toward whoever'd spoken - it wasn't like this was some common street riot or something. His gaze fell upon an older noblewoman who was fanning herself in the heat, while a crowd gathered as Bors glared at him.

"The Ministry would probably sanction this display, as 'a reminder of ancient Krytan traditions,'" said a woman in Ascalonian clothes, a disapproving look on her face. She smirked, adding, "Besides, spoiled noble brats are plentiful."

Ganner ignored the jibe - Ascalonians hadn't been able to keep their own country out of the charr's paws, after all, but it was beneath him to tease people who'd suffered so much. (Or, at least, it'd sound petulant - he could mock fellow Krytans, and nobody would look twice at him.)

He could see Seraph on the edges of the crowd, their silver and white armor setting them apart from the handful of red-and-grey-uniformed Ministry Guardsmen who'd gathered with the crowd.

The difference, as usual, was that the Seraph looked eager to break up the duel, but the Guard wanted to see the fight.

Better be careful and finish this fast, Ganner decided, nevertheless flourishing his rapier as Bors examined his own weapon. Neither blade was terribly expensive - Bors was only a couple years older than Ganner, and as younger sons of Krytan nobles, they didn't rate the good steel - but Ganner still took this fight seriously.

Old Lord Pilleus Thackary - a distant relative of the legendary Thackarys who'd helped fight the charr centuries earlier - looked between the boys. Ganner admitted it didn't look very fair - he looked every inch the puffed-up dandy, half-a-head shorter than Bors, with shaggy black locks in a short tail, while blond Bors sported a soldier's short hair - but he was ready.

"As per the ancient rules, this duel is until first surrender, not first blood. The loser will be exiled from Divinity's Reach; the winner will receive an apology and bragging rights. Clear?" Pilleus croaked, and both boys nodded.

Bors sneered, assuming a fencer's stance, while Ganner just tensed - the arrogant Gilbrecht whelp wasn't expecting this.

This, being a magic-assisted rush, and Ganner was inside Bors' guard, forcing his foe back as the crowd gasped.

"You - savage! If THAT's how you want to play this, FINE!" Bors snapped, driving Ganner back and pulling a dagger.

Ganner started to protest, but strictly speaking, there wasn't a rule against two weapons - then, he felt a warning flash.

And then flame danced around Bors' free left hand, and Ganner suddenly realized he'd badly overestimated his foe.

Balthazar's Hounds, he's an elementalist!? And using fire attunement in an open street!? Ganner thought, horrified.

He was willing to surrender right then - honor be damned, innocents were in danger - but the Seraph finally started in.

Bors spat at the approaching soldiers, barking, "The whelp stepped above his station! I'll not be denied satisfaction!"

With that, he cast three short, fast-moving spikes of flame along the ground - a Dragon's Claw, Ganner recognized from Krann's lessons on various schools of magic - but Ganner concentrated his own power into a shield, and lunged.

The next thing he knew, Ganner was in front of a shocked-looking Bors ... and Ganner's rapier was in Bors' chest.

Then, all he knew were bodies piling on him, as the crowd screamed, and Ganner's mind shut down.

---------------------------

All he knew, for a while, was someone caring for him; he felt feverish, then sick, then dazed.

Finally, Ganner managed to sit up - he was in pajamas, at least, but in a rather rough-looking bedroom ... oh.

The family estate in Queensdale, Ganner realized, before he heard a squeaky voice say, "Thank the Eternal Alchemy."

Ganner managed a faint smile when he saw Krann sitting beside him. The asura's ears twitched, and Ganner swore he could see a flicker of relief in his old tutor's eyes.

"You worried us. Your skills are exceptional for your age, but you were nearly crushed when the riot broke out," Krann said.

Ganner started to ask, but the asura shook his head, holding up a paw, and said, "Your father will fill you in. Wait here."

"I don't think I could move ... was anyone else hurt?" Ganner asked, shame filling him when he remembered -

"A few bruises, a few broken bones among the rioters ... and that idiot Bors needed a Priestess of Dwayna, but he'll live."

"Father!" Ganner greeted, relief filling him as his father stepped into the room. His smile died when he saw the grave expression on his father's face, and Krann bowed to Graham before slipping out into the hall.

Father sat beside Ganner's bed, a flash of pride in his eyes before he said, "Before I explain - this is not your fault."

Melandru keep me, Ganner prayed, his gut sinking - whatever'd happened had been his fault. He'd serenaded Hilene.

Father took a deep breath, more hesitant than Ganner'd ever seen him, and began, "Lord Gilbrecht waived any charges. He acknowledged that Bors was a hot-headed - heh, pardon the bad pun - fool. The riot broke out because some of Bors' friends wanted a piece of you, and the Seraph and Guard stepped in, together, for once. We pulled you out of the dogpile."

"But there's a cost," Ganner whispered, expecting he knew exactly where this'd end.

Father nodded, almost pale. "The Ministry Guard could ignore the duel - they wanted to, in fact. But when commoners were endangered, the Seraph refused to let it go, and they were right to pursue the matter. It's one thing for the upper classes to spar amongst ourselves, but powered dueling in the street ... I know you were trying to finish it quickly," he said.

"Still, I messed up. Badly," Ganner admitted, trying not to cry. He was too old to bawl, and he'd made a grievous error.

Father sighed, running a hand through his shoulder-length black-and-grey hair, finally nodding.

"The Ministry has agreed to waive the charges - disturbing the peace, assault with unsanctioned magics, and aggravated assault - in exchange for your ... Ganner, I'm sorry, but you can't return to Divinity's Reach for 5 years," Father said.

Ganner gaped - not out of denial, but surprise. "Th-they're not going to throw me in a cell? Unsanctioned magics and aggravated assault are high crimes," he stammered.

Father chuckled without humor. "Attempting to prosecute a mere stripling for unsanctioned magics and aggravated assaults would be a ... controversial use of the Ministry's time, given the exact details of the incident," he said.

He grew grave again, adding, "Still, a message had to be sent. Bors paid his price, and we were lucky no commoners were hurt ... but the Six don't give too many chances. Neither do the Krytan courts. I'd let you stay here, but ... it's a bit too close."

"I need to get out of Kryta," Ganner said; somehow, he'd expected this. He'd wanted adventure - just not like this.

Father clapped Ganner on the shoulder, saying, "I've arranged for you to be a squire to a warrior. You'll travel, see Tyria ... and in a few years, you'll return, covered in glory. Were the circumstances different, we'd be feasting, I promise you."

"Thank you, sir," Ganner said, wishing he didn't sound or feel so terribly young.

"Get dressed; the warrior's downstairs. You've traveling clothes in the dresser," Father said, leaving Ganner to change.

A squire. I wonder what Geraint'd say, Ganner wondered, standing and stretching. He still felt like one big bruise, but he didn't want to keep his new lord waiting.

Once he'd donned the clothes - a surprising shade of green, with some brown in the boots - Ganner strapped on the longsword he'd been given, and examined the glass-like blue blade ... noticing decorative thorns along the bark-like hilt.

What in Dwayna's name is this sword? Ganner pondered, shaking his head - it was a weapon, more than he deserved.

He darted downstairs, making sure to bow to the figures gathered in the living room - Father, with Uncle Guran and cousin Gherin, all of whom shared Ganner's black hair and blue eyes, and ... a unique being.

The tall, green-skinned man had leaves for hair, tapering ears, and a suit of heavy armor that was a mix of bark-like brown, ash-white, and blue highlights. Ganner tried not to stare; he'd heard of sylvari, of course, from Krann's lessons.

Emerging full-grown from pods on the mysterious, sentient Pale Tree in the legendary Grove on the Tarnished Coast, to the west of Kryta, the sylvari had first appeared when Ganner was barely old enough to take lessons. The "plant people" were a young species, intelligent but naive to the ways of Tyria, and they claimed to exist to fight the Elder Dragons.

They generally followed an honorable code of conduct; Krann's contacts in the Durmand Priory alleged the Pale Tree had grown from a seed found by a human man, who'd somehow managed to find a peace, even friendship, with a centaur. The centaur, named Ventari, had inscribed rules for good living on a tablet, which grew as part of the Pale Tree, and seeped into the communal, subconscious "Dream" which all sylvari could experience before emerging from their pod.

Most humans viewed sylvari as either amusing or exotic, although some of the rougher Krytans viewed the "green-skins" as a potential threat. "Worshipping the words of a centaur? Sounds suspect," a mercenary once told Ganner.

Just be glad even one of them considers you worth taking as a squire, Ganner thought, bowing again to the sylvari.

"M'Lord. I'm Ganner Rhysode," he said, surprised (and pleased) when the sylvari extended a hand in greeting.

"Althair, warrior of the Grove. I hear you've had some difficulties. I need someone to watch my back on the road, and I'm more than willing to offer a second chance to someone who can actually benefit from it," Althair said, as Ganner shook his hand.

Hope spiked a bit in Ganner's chest, but he just nodded when he saw Geraint step in from the kitchen, looking a bit - lost?

"You - just ... stay alive, all right?" Geraint managed, his voice suspiciously thick as he clapped Ganner on the back.

"Thanks," Ganner said, ignoring how his vision blurred. He hadn't thought he'd miss his stuffy older brother.

A quick round of handclasps, and a quick hug from Father, and Ganner was ready to leave - until he and Althair stepped outside, and Mother hugged Ganner as she held back her tears. "Dwayna go with you, darling - be careful, and remember to pray," she whispered, while Ganner bit back a sob.

"I will, Mama. Love you," Ganner whispered. Mother kissed his forehead, handing him a pack, and Ganner tried to smile as he started to follow Althair - but he felt one last tug at his shin, and looked down.

"Krann?" Ganner asked, smiling a bit at the asura. His old teacher looked almost sad, but coughed and held up an object.

"It's not much, but I want you to have this. It'll add a bit of health to your overall total," the asura said, giving Ganner a pendant. It was a copper amulet with turquoise highlights, and Ganner donned it before thanking Krann.

Ganner waved one last time to his family, then caught up with Althair, blushing as he said, "Sorry, M'Lord."

The sylvari just smiled, and Ganner felt a measure of relief as Althair said, "Leavetakings are much the same among my people. We may not have parents - other than the Mother Tree, of course - but we do have some sense of family. And I'd be a poor teacher were I to deny you the chance to bid your loved ones farewell."

He grew serious as they headed east, and the sylvari added, "Where we're going, memories of home will sustain you."

"We're headed to Ascalon."

-------------------------------------

to be concluded ...

 

Awesomeness. I was excited as soon as I saw Guild Wars mentioned in the story listings, so you already had my good favours before I read word one.

In your favour as well, GW is one of the few games that I have played, that puts some effort into making your character part of the history.

You found an excellent way to lay out the history; by using it to keep Graham's mind of the midwifery, it did not feel like exposition at all (or maybe I was too busy trying to find my place in the world being described - I remember the Chaar; but not the "centaur filth".

You sound experienced in medieval-type writings: success in battle helping to provide a secure place in the human bastion; commoners and lords of manors; little versions judged on courage and combat prowess; the missus with her hair splayed across the pillow.

Great stuff, big picture, with the Six Dragons / Human deities; down to the twitches of Kraan's ears.

Lord Rhysode was your best written character, I think, plenty on the page to make him feel natural; and your secondary characters were not far off.

As others will attest, I'm a dip-in reviewer; I rarely follow a project to completion. This...may be an exception.

Excellent work. 10/10

A-Star

Granted, I'm biased, cos it is Guild Wars, but that does not take anything away from the level of quality on show here.

 

Sith-I-5: Thank you very much for the kind words!

I'm having a lot of fun with this one - while I'm not a GW or GW 2 player myself (I don't have a lot of time for MMORPGs, due to a busy job IRL), I am a big fan of fantasy. And the sheer depth of Tyria is fascinating, while still being wide enough in spots to support projects like this.

I stumbled across GW 2 quite by accident a few years back, mostly through Youtube videos and reading the Wiki; from there, the idea of Teyr being fairly underdescribed, let me put 2 and 2 together ...

As for where this is going - well, there's only one more chapter to this particular 'fic. Exploring Ganner's origin, and what drove his ego - and, in this AU, his future after the Well (mild spoilers for Maelstroms, the link to which is in the first chapter) - is the focus for Real Pretender.

But, the idea of a son of Ganner's returning to Tyria, and learning about its' particular issues - and helping with them - is something I'm working on ...

(Plus, the GW 2 story arc is quite fun, with a lot of fascinating characters ...

- Thanks again,
Onderon1

 

A/N: Well, the end of one story ... as noted, if you're looking for what happens to Ganner in this timeline's future, please check out Maelstroms - there's a link in the first post.

As I told Sith-I-5 in one of the above replies, I do plan to return to Teyr/Tyria at some point. I just have to get caught up on some other stories first ...

******************************
19 ABY Galactic/1314 AE, Tyrian:
Siege Plains in front of Ebonhawke,
contested Kingdom of Ascalon, Tyria:
******************************

"TREBUCHETS!"

Grenth's Scythe, not again! Damned charr! Ganner cursed, rolling as he evaded another fireball coming down at him.

The past year had been ... hard. Ascalon was the center of human-charr conflict ever since the felinoid warmongers'd swept over it during the late 11th century AE.

First, the charr's Flame Legion shamans had unleashed the horror of the Searing - raining flaming crystals down on Ascalon, boiling lakes, ruining croplands, and savaging the population centers of Ascalon City, Rin, and Surmia. That'd been in 1070 AE.

Then, only 2 decades later, King Adelbern, the last human ruler of Ascalon, had used his flaming sword Magdaer - itself an artifact from the mage-artificers of Orr - to unleash the Foefire, a blast-wave of arcane flame which'd claimed the life of every Ascalonian soldier remaining in Ascalon City during the last charr surge there. The charr army had been decimated.

The Ascalonians, though, had become ghosts, cursed to defend Ascalon until the true heir returned Magdaer or its' twin, Sohothin, to Ascalon City.

So far, nobody had recovered either sword, and between the ghosts, ogres, and charr, Ascalon was full of opportunities for learning the ways of war. Ganner had honed his magics and swordplay both, fighting beside Althair at Ebonhawke.

The city was humanity's last bastion in Ascalon, deep in the scorched nation's southwest reaches. While the Ebon Vanguard - soldiers descended from Ascalonian stock, who could be a bit stuffy and self-righteous to Ganner's perspective - held the line, they neither approved nor disapproved of help from adventurers.

Of course, the squire doesn't count, Ganner grumbled - oh, Althair was a decent enough warrior to serve, sure. He didn't just treat Ganner as a servant, and the sylvari had actually taught the youth some basic plant magic.

(It wasn't common for human mages to command plant life, and Ganner's control was limited to causing grass to entangle foes, but it was a nice trick to know, if nothing else.)

But the rest of the Razor Thorns - Althair's guild, consisting of five "actual" adventurers, as the Canthan-descended elementalist Yoriko Kahashi liked to jibe, and Ganner - could be ... well, demanding.

"Rhysode! A little help, here!" Yoriko snapped, fiery spirals around her as she was surrounded by charr. "If I unleash -"

Ganner didn't give her the satisfaction of finishing her statement; he darted over with a magic-assisted burst of speed, his longsword finding purchase beneath the right arm of a charr soldier. The felinoid warrior howled, but by that point, Ganner had rolled away and launched a telekinetic shove at the second charr.

The female charr was launched backwards, and Yoriko nodded. "Better," she actually praised, gesturing with her staff.

Ganner looked away - he knew the elementalist preferred fire magic, all the more to anger the charr. The felinoids had overthrown their Flame Legion cult-leaders after realizing that the dreaded Titans had used the charr, posing as deities to further their own fallen god's plans. Today's charr mistrusted magic, at best, and loathed it when used against them.

All the more reason to use a mix of swordplay and spellcraft, Ganner thought, glancing around for the other Thorns.

Althair was dicing his way through a few charr, as usual; the sylvari's frost-tinged blade, Claiomh Fuar, slowed the clawed warriors and made their armor brittle. That freed up Bikki, the Thorns' asuran thief, to use her pistols and finish off their furred foes. (The asura's small size and black fur didn't hurt her sneakiness.)

Gerta Hillbreaker, the Thorns' enormous norn berzerker, was clearing attackers with every swing of her greatsword, and it was best to just let the blonde-haired, steel-armored woman do her thing. She treated Ganner fairly well, although he was a little sick of falling over every time she clapped him on the back.

That just left the last of the Thorns, the smarmy, but capable, human mesmer who called himself Cadmon Blackblade.

Why a Krytan with a preference for flashy gold-silk clothing with blue highlights, and a simple steel longsword to focus his illusion spells, had picked Blackblade as an adventuring name was anyone's guess. But Ganner had seen Cadmon's way with the ladies, and he had to admit, the mesmer had a knack for storytelling which rivaled some bards.

What did he call it? "Presentation?" Or panache? Ganner tried to remember, watching Cadmon weave, dance, and deceive his way through some charr. At points, the mesmer generated an illusory clone of himself to attack or frustrate the felinoids - and when Blackblade shattered his illusions, the charr were almost unable to target him.

A few flicks of Cadmon's blade caused a few charr to wobble, clearly stunned, and he called, "Ganner! Take them now!"

"Right - thanks," Ganner replied, focusing - this was a battle, not a book reading.

And I'm not going to fail the other Thorns, he decided, darting back into the fray. The charr fell before him, and he started to smile - he might just earn some glory today, after all.

That was when a thunderclap, surrounded by jolts of lightning, slammed into the field, scattering the combatants.

Ganner rolled, holding his breath to prevent the wind from being knocked out of him, and rose quickly. He cast about with his magical sense, trying to detect the rest of the Thorns amidst the dust storm that'd been kicked up.

"Althair! Anyone!?" Ganner called, trying not to sound terribly young. His voice still cracked every so often, which he hated.

All he could see, off in the distance, was his teacher's sword, half-jammed into the ground, green sap on the hilt.

Althair ... Ganner thought, his heart sinking - then, the dust cleared, and he turned about to face a nightmare.

It was huge, metal and the size of a carriage with what looked like a cannon on the top, two large treads pulling it forward. The cannon swung toward Yoriko as she wove a blue-glowing shield with her staff, and the battlewagon fired.

Ganner bit back a scream, seeing the projectile slam into the elementalist's shield - but she managed to throw it back at the vehicle. The impact struck the side of the war machine, denting it, and the charr howled their defiance as they rallied.

Their cries, though, were nothing compared to that let loose by a bloodied, roaring norn who lunged from the cloud.

Gerta cleft her way through the charr surrounding the machine, and hammered at its' right tread, while Bikki laid down cover fire and Cadmon distracted or slashed charr soldiers. Ganner felt a measure of hope, then, and started forward.

The tank's top opened, and the biggest charr Ganner had ever seen leapt out, snarling, "I've had enough of you!"

Gerta staggered back when the charr - a tribune, from the black armor the towering felinoid wore - hammered at her defenses, but the norn refused to give ground. She managed to hold the charr at bay, but gasped when his left paw flickered - and Ganner bit back a curse when he saw a dagger jutting between plates of Gerta's armor.

The norn stumbled back, and the tribune howled in triumph before bellowing, "WHO will face Laius Shardclaw NOW!?"

"I will, Tribune."

Ganner didn't even realize he'd said the words before they left his lips - but he locked eyes with the charr, and glared.

Shardclaw roared with laughter, while Yoriko, Cadmon, and Bikki helped Gerta to get closer to Ebonhawke's Hawkgate. "A whelp!? A WHELP taunts me! ME, a Tribune of the Iron Legion!" the charr mocked, and Ganner's blood boiled at the sound.

He knew, logically, what would happen if he was reckless enough to plunge forward. He was 14 - barely more than a boy, with half-trained sword skills and a few magical tricks.

The charr's Iron Legion specialized in mechanical warfare, and no charr reached the rank of tribune - only one step below the Imperator, the leader of each legion - without great war skills.

But at this moment - after years of insults, mistakes, foul-ups, and pure missed chances - Ganner had had enough.

This is my moment, Ganner realized, dusting flecks of dirt and metal off of his light armor, as he angled his sword.

"GANNER! Grenth's Teeth, boy, come away from there! You'll be reduced to just another corpse!" Cadmon called.

Ganner looked back over his shoulder, smiling at the other Thorns, and gave them a tip-salute as he called:

"Then I'd better make the show worthy of leaving a good-looking corpse, right?"

Yoriko looked at him like he'd gone mad, but Cadmon snorted with amusement, and Gerta boomed, "YES! That's the way!"

"Humans. You never know when to quit," Bikki sighed, glancing about as if she expected some last-minute reprieve.

Ganner winked at her - the asura sometimes pocketed knick-knacks, but she'd treated him kindly - then waved to the Ebon Vanguard troops up on Ebonhawke's wall. Some yelled at him to come back, while others cheered, and Ganner grinned.

Know your audience, he remembered.

And with that, Ganner Rhysode launched himself forward against a roughly 7-foot-tall wall of metal, fangs, and fur.

It was like running into a castle wall full-tilt; Ganner barely managed to raise a telekinetic shield in time to keep from being rent asunder by a cleaver-like blade which Shardclaw swept like a tree trunk. As it was, even rolling away didn't deflect the entire shock, and Ganner narrowly managed to get to his feet as the charr stomped toward him.

"Brave, boy. Stupid, but brave. I'll make this quick," the tribune rambled.

It was all the time Ganner needed to latch onto a particularly large rock with his telekinesis, and throw it.

Laius barely managed to dodge the projectile, but Ganner hadn't meant for that to be the attack.

The tribune's fur stood on end, and rage flickered in his eyes as the charr howled their disapproval - magic in a duel was an insult to them.

"What?" Ganner taunted, grinning as he waved at the tribune. "Oh, I thought you were Flame. Sorry for using magic."

If the TK hadn't inflamed Shardclaw's rage before, the slander of calling him Flame Legion certainly did. The charr's maw parted in a ferocious howl, and he charged at Ganner almost as imposingly as the charr battlewagon had.

Of course, Ganner dodged - that was the easy part. The trick was the quick telekinetic shove he gave the off-balance charr, who went rolling out of control (more from the momentum of his charge than the TK-nudge).

That was all the opening Ganner needed to cause a nearby patch of hardy weeds to entangle Shardclaw, who snarled as the youth strode forward with sword held high. The charr went quiet, and even the shouts from Ebonhawke's walls stopped.

"FINISH IT!" one of the charr yelled - Ganner tensed; it was one thing to slay a foe in open battle, but this?

Shardclaw sneered, embarrassment mixed with outrage in his eyes as he growled, "Vardlmane speaks truth. End this."

It was the logical - sensible - earned outcome, Ganner knew. He'd earn a name for himself among Laius' warband as an honorable foe, courageous and cunning (if hated for using magic, but all charr knew humans played dirty, after all).

But this wasn't honorable by human standards. Shardclaw was a helpless prisoner, and Ganner suddenly felt very alone.

Nobody ever told me what to do when the spotlight's on me and I'm directing, he realized, his heart pounding.

He prepared for the strike ... then felt, more than heard, a quiet, reassuring voice call, Not like this.

Ganner spun, blinking through dust (or so he told himself it was dust), seeing a greenish-brown figure step forward.

Relief filled him as he watched Althair stride forward, sap oozing from half a dozen minor wounds. The sylvari's armor was blackened in spots, but he seemed otherwise all right, Claiomh Fuar giving off mist in the heat of day.

"The weed. I should've known you had some plant-help with all these parlor tricks - cub," Shardclaw mocked.

Ganner spun around, grabbing his rage by the throat - but by then, the charr's claws shredded the thicket, and he leapt.

"GANNER!!" Althair shouted, horrified, and time slowed; Ganner knew his mentor hadn't wanted to distract him like this.

All Ganner could do was lash out, and something that dwarfed the warmachine's might threw the charr back into a rock.

The effort exhausted the youth, and Ganner felt numb as his sword slipped from his fingers, and he dropped to his knees.

Across the field, Laius Shardclaw was pressed INTO a rockface, while the charr rumbled - then roared - then -

SNAP-HISS

Everyone froze; the sound was something between a fire and a hiss, and Ganner gaped as two cloaked, hooded figures walked toward the charr. The taller wielded a purple blade, while the shorter held a blue "sword," each trailing afterglow.

The charr forces took a step back. The purple blade's wielder threw back his green hood, revealing a human man in perhaps his mid-20s, clad in purple and blue robes, brown hair flowing in the breeze and green eyes twinkling. His companion - probably a squire, given the youth's age - wore plainer brown and tan robes, his black hair cropped short with only a braid dangling from behind his right ear.

"... Jedi," Ganner heard, and he looked behind him to see the Thorns - even Althair - staring in awe.

"The offworld warrior-monks? Here? B-but - why?" Ganner managed, struggling to his feet and looking from the charr to the Jedi - both of whom assumed combat stances.

One of the charr bellowed (rather weakly, Ganner noted), darting forward with his sword held high.

Purple-Blade smirked, his weapon meeting the charr's sword - and melting it in half, while the charr's jaw dropped.

"Wolf's Jaws! The stories of their 'light-sabers' ARE true!" Gerta exclaimed, and Purple-Blade flickered with power.

The hapless charr froze, FLOATING in mid-air, and the Jedi said in accented Krytan, "Well? Are we done here?"

"... CURSE you, yes!" the charr spat, and the Jedi nodded, making a flicking motion.

Ganner couldn't help but grin as the charr went tumbling backwards, and the rest of the feline forces broke into a run.

Ebonhawke cheered, the air rippling, but Ganner could sense Althair's disapproval, while Cadmon laughed, "Good show!"

The Jedi deactivated their blades, and walked toward the Thorns; the older Jedi nodded at Althair, who said, "I'm Althair. I'm in charge of this guild - Master Jedi, is that the right title?"

"Knight, please - you're sylvari, right? Call me Kyp," the Jedi said, shaking Althair's hand. "We sensed someone ..."

The younger Jedi did a double-take, then smiled and said, "Master Kyp! It's this one - the boy, he's the one!"

Ganner blinked, realizing they meant him - and he tried not to frown at being called boy, the young Jedi was his age. "Ah - hi ... you're looking for me?" Ganner asked, shaking the Jedi's hands.

Kyp nodded, while his squire said, "We know there's a lot of Force-sensitives on Teyr - Tyria - but you're skilled, too."

"As Miko says, your telekinetic prowess rivals my own. We could use your talents in the Jedi Order," Kyp said.

Me ... a JEDI? Ganner thought, stunned for a second - then, he looked at Shardclaw, felt ill, and said, "But - I killed -"

He felt a clap on his shoulder, and looked up at Kyp, whose expression flickered with kindness. "That - charr - left you no choice. True, you might go down the wrong path; power has a way of blinding you. But with training -" he started to say.

"Now, wait!" Althair interrupted. "This boy is my squire - I'm pledged to train him!"

"To fight on one world, in a backwater part of the Colonies? The Jedi are pledged to fight injustice across the galaxy," Kyp replied, standing tall, and Ganner's mind raced.

I could help people - be a hero - across the stars themselves, he thought, turning to the Thorns with a serious expression.

"M'lord - Althair - all of you - I'm grateful. But ... but my father told me the Six don't give many chances," Ganner said.

Cadmon and Gerta grinned, while Bikki facepalmed and Yoriko shook her head - only Althair looked saddened.

"Ganner ... I suppose I can't stop you. Knowing your father, he'd agree with you. And this is an opportunity," Althair agreed.

Ganner bowed to his teacher, then handed back the plant-hilted blade the sylvari had given him when they'd first left Kryta. "Thank you, Althair. I'll make you proud, I promise," he said, clasping Althair's other wrist.

The sylvari smiled, just a bit, replying, "Just remember - the stage might be larger, but the stakes will grow, too."

Ganner could only nod; Shardclaw's body still haunted the edge of his thoughts, and he had to swallow down nausea.

But the idea of wielding one of those lightsabers drove back the fear, and Ganner turned to Kyp and Miko, saying:

"I'm Ganner Rhysode. So ... you call magic the Force, huh?"

---------------------------------

exeunt, stage right ...