FA+
Shop
1181
Views
Views
60
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Charr
Size 1403 x 992
File Size 782.8 kB
Report this content
More from Rivelta
Listed in Folders
A cold wind blew through Ash Checkpoint 13, rattling the weapon racks and flapping around sheaves of paper. The ruffled pages didn't draw a reaction from Laxia Swampdrown, as she sighed and dropped the quill back into its inkwell. In front of her was another pile of forms, but these ones were freshly inked with her signature. The most recent inspection reports, usual post-meeting sign-offs, a few more requisition forms, and an errant document ordering a keg of beer owed to the Gut warband for some help in Swamp’s latest sortie. The last hour or two was just a deluge of review-this, initials-here, undersigned-hereby-understands, and other regulatory bullshit mounting an assault against her one good eye. It was always the centurions drafting these things up. The skeleton of bureaucracy built on that one rank, because legionnaires had to be paws-on-the-ground while tribunes vied for the same thing, if only for appearance’s sake. And Laxia had been on…both sides of that legionary ladder.
Laxia shifted away from her desk as she suppressed the flashbacks of her old rank. The checkpoint tent was empty, and had been so for a long time. Before another gust of wind vied for her attention again, she stepped out into the cool autumnal air.
The outside din occupied Laxia’s ears as she doted outside briefly before leaning against a tentpole. There was some party going on in the Hero’s Forum, but Laxia was never one for any social frivolities. Even from the checkpoint, she could hear the clamours, shouts, and songs across the canton. The celebrations had started hours ago, and the reddened evening sky around now wouldn’t be stopping the festivities any time soon. Homecoming. Several ‘bands stationed off in the fringes of Fireheart Rise, and it would’ve been a multi-week trek for the trip back. Those bastards couldn’t go on forever though. Tomorrow’s another work day, and any charr would be hard-pressed to find a legionnaire that wouldn’t cut off a soldier’s tail for being hung over. Still, a drink would’ve been good around now. Something to relieve her thoughts dried out by the paperwork.
“Thirsty?”
Laxia jerked forward, almost losing her support off the pole. Her first instinct was anger followed by a quick jab to the intruder’s throat. Maybe a few choice words for the luckless stranger who would ever dare to sneak up on her, but that voice carried a sliver of familiarity. Just enough that the stranger was anything but.
Veshe Swallowtail held out a mug of frothy brew, still foamy and chilled. The last hints of shadow magic evaporated off her form, no dark wisps obscuring her omnipresent smile.
An eternity passed through Laxia’s mind. The homecoming must have been for the Tail warband, among others. But that doesn’t explain why she’s here. It was…years ago that Veshe was her student and rising star, but there was still some finality when she left. She had Swamp’s expertise ingrained in her and evolved beyond it. But despite this, Veshe was clearly emulating her own attire. Form-fitting leather, metal plates stitched in without limiting movement, and darkened hues. The quarterstaff usually slung on her back has been replaced by something newer – procured from the battlefield, it seems. Swirling arcane outlines laid upon a glowing light blue core, and a navy-blue ribbon wrapped around the grip. The staff’s upper ended with a long, beautiful bayonet, similarly clad in the same engravings, while the lower end had to manage with a shorter spear-like tip.
Eventually, Laxia scowled and snatched the drink. A poor peace offering, but an offering nonetheless. “What are you doing here?” she muttered.
Veshe’s smile grew in teeth. “Just visiting, and-” Her speech was punctuated by the loud chugging from Laxia. “…and the party was getting a bit too loud for me,” she continued.
“Hmph,” Laxia grunted. “I don’t recall you ever shying away from a good bar song.” The old legionnaire smacked her lips and belched. “You should be in there, with the rest of your ‘band. Dealing with the worst of Flame in their own territory? It’s something to celebrate.”
“I’ve had my fill of barbeque and liquor already.”
“So why don’t you tell me why you’re actually here?”
Veshe straightened up. “Truth is…I’m here for a Blackswamp Dance.”
Laxia’s features hardened. The Blackswamp Dance was a time-honoured tradition within the ranks of Swamp. A duel with live blades that must be witnessed by Laxia herself, with a mandatory wager of reputation, and reputation alone. No gold or valuables, and only favours at best. Khelle Blackswamp was the first victor of such a bout and promptly named this trial-by-combat after herself, permanently etching Laxia’s annoyance into the warband’s culture as she was the one who lost against Khelle. One of the few charr who left Swamp not through her own volition, as the bodies of a Flame Legion castrum served as Khelle’s final escort off into the Mists. But Veshe invoking Khelle’s name was almost sacrilege. Laxia opened her mouth to spew off a deluge of abuse, but hesitated again once she saw Veshe’s eyes soften. She settled with something a bit less contemptuous. “No. Flame off.”
Long, silent seconds passed as Laxia avoided her ex-protégé’s gaze while finishing the drink. But she could feel Veshe boring a hole through her temple with those golden eyes of hers. Eventually, the combination of alcohol and deafening lack of talk became too much for Laxia. “I don’t even understand why you’re here, cub. Tail is your warband now, and if you don’t want to get drunk with them then go stab some wooden dummies in the training yard. Not here, asking for something you aren’t owed.”
“I’m also here to apologize,” Veshe said.
“For what?”
Veshe clasped her hands together in penance. “I never told you why I left.”
The mug clattered onto the ground as Laxia’s rage grew. “Why in the hell would I need a reason?” she barked. “Twelve of Swamp just out the door, and seven of them were in half a year. All the reasons were clear enough for that scorching lot, that our reputation was reduced to ashes after that bastard Marrowfeast outed my tribuneship. So please, Veshe. Please tell me why charr number thirteen was gone. And you know, you could have been-”
Laxia cut herself off, despite seething with rage. The next few words in her mind felt foreign, numb. Like her own mouth didn’t know how to form the syllables. Banter and curses came with the territory of such a history in the legions, and Laxia had cussed out many a soldier. But Veshe, she was too pliant, too respectful. Like trying to yell at a happy puppy. Laxia leaned back and turned away from Veshe, arms crossed as she tried to hide her dissipating anger.
Unfazed, Veshe continued. “What happened after I left?”
“Nothing much,” Laxia derided. “We were already in the shit-pits, hard to fall any further. Do you have a point with all this?”
“But you started rebuilding, didn’t you? The transfers eventually stopped, and the ones left were still the best in the field. Others in Command were still willing to give Swamp a chance, and you still executed perfectly. Even now, the name Swamp holds some clout.”
Laxia turned back to face her former student. Veshe was twiddling one of her belt studs, scratching the metal in rhythm. “There was this one summer, years ago, and not long after the…incident,” she said solemnly. “You somehow got us an assignment on the borders of the Shiverpeaks, less than a week after you said I hadn’t gotten enough combat experience against Icebrood. Two of our warbandmates were against the move, but you brushed them off. After we returned from the sortie, they were gone as well.”
The corners of Veshe’s mouth started creeping back into its ever-smiling shape, and she puffed up a bit. “I will always be grateful for what I’ve learned from you, but I couldn’t bear watching you dismantle Swamp and your own legacy just for me.”
“So you left.”
“Yes. Everything after that incident with your rank, the collapse of Swamp held above your head. I was the last anchor left before you could move on. And I’m glad you did.”
Laxia found it hard to return Veshe’s gaze again. The last few years had been rough, and Laxia could still swear that every hushed whisper or passing glance was a jab against her tattered legacy. But at the very least, it wasn’t the outright jeers and sneers for the first year that grinded against her brain like sandpaper. Over time, victories were had, favours were received and given, and every once in a while, there was a respectful nod from some cub who just had history class. Former tribune was not the easiest mantle to carry, but at times, others still appreciated its weight.
“What are you doing here, cub?” Laxia repeated, no bite left in her words.
Veshe relaxed, and looked across the empty canton grounds. Cracks of purple had worked up along the evening sky’s horizon. Muted shouts and the strum of strings still echoed out from the forum, albeit with lesser volume. “I wanted to see you again. And to remember,” she admitted. “Because Swallowtail may be my name for everyone else, but far as I’m concerned, I’m still Swampsplash.”
Paw on her face, Laxia turned away to hide her burgeoning smile. Veshe was always like this. An amiable and kind-hearted charr in the most frustrating of ways. The first thing Laxia tried doing as her newly-minted student was to toughen her up, but every yelled word or harsh lesson would be faced with redoubled efforts or Yes Ma'am’s. There were only signs of physical weariness in all those late-night training sessions, never mental. And then the next day would be full of the same spright greetings and endless thanks that she was learning from a tribune. Eventually, the lessons would manifest into cold efficiency and decisiveness in battle, but outside it? Still Swamp’s cheerleader. Laxia still remembered the promise she held even in her fahrar days, as a happy-go-lucky charr who was lightning fast with her movements and took up shadow arts like a skritt to shinies. It was fifteen years since then. And if Veshe says she’s still Swamp in her heart, well…
“Alright, cub. You’ll get your damn dance. The wager?”
Without missing a beat, Veshe replied, “Loser has to march into the forum and grab a drink for the winner.”
Laxia chortled. “You know I hate parties, right?”
“Well, that’s the point. And I know you have precisely zero interest in meeting anyone from Tail as well,” Veshe said, laughing in kind.
“I don’t, and I don’t ever intent to,” Laxia claimed as she drew her sword in a fanciful twirl. “Let’s see if you actually deserve the Swamp name.”
A continuation to the blurb appended to Drifting Arc. The story was originally going to be a more involved piece involving an extended fight and multiple flashbacks to Laxia's history, but turns out I was writing a screenplay rather than a story, so that got scrapped. Still, this arc between master and (former) student has concluded.
Laxia Swampdrown, Veshe Swallowtail © me
Art ©
hounds-tooth
GW2 and charr © ArenaNet
Laxia shifted away from her desk as she suppressed the flashbacks of her old rank. The checkpoint tent was empty, and had been so for a long time. Before another gust of wind vied for her attention again, she stepped out into the cool autumnal air.
The outside din occupied Laxia’s ears as she doted outside briefly before leaning against a tentpole. There was some party going on in the Hero’s Forum, but Laxia was never one for any social frivolities. Even from the checkpoint, she could hear the clamours, shouts, and songs across the canton. The celebrations had started hours ago, and the reddened evening sky around now wouldn’t be stopping the festivities any time soon. Homecoming. Several ‘bands stationed off in the fringes of Fireheart Rise, and it would’ve been a multi-week trek for the trip back. Those bastards couldn’t go on forever though. Tomorrow’s another work day, and any charr would be hard-pressed to find a legionnaire that wouldn’t cut off a soldier’s tail for being hung over. Still, a drink would’ve been good around now. Something to relieve her thoughts dried out by the paperwork.
“Thirsty?”
Laxia jerked forward, almost losing her support off the pole. Her first instinct was anger followed by a quick jab to the intruder’s throat. Maybe a few choice words for the luckless stranger who would ever dare to sneak up on her, but that voice carried a sliver of familiarity. Just enough that the stranger was anything but.
Veshe Swallowtail held out a mug of frothy brew, still foamy and chilled. The last hints of shadow magic evaporated off her form, no dark wisps obscuring her omnipresent smile.
An eternity passed through Laxia’s mind. The homecoming must have been for the Tail warband, among others. But that doesn’t explain why she’s here. It was…years ago that Veshe was her student and rising star, but there was still some finality when she left. She had Swamp’s expertise ingrained in her and evolved beyond it. But despite this, Veshe was clearly emulating her own attire. Form-fitting leather, metal plates stitched in without limiting movement, and darkened hues. The quarterstaff usually slung on her back has been replaced by something newer – procured from the battlefield, it seems. Swirling arcane outlines laid upon a glowing light blue core, and a navy-blue ribbon wrapped around the grip. The staff’s upper ended with a long, beautiful bayonet, similarly clad in the same engravings, while the lower end had to manage with a shorter spear-like tip.
Eventually, Laxia scowled and snatched the drink. A poor peace offering, but an offering nonetheless. “What are you doing here?” she muttered.
Veshe’s smile grew in teeth. “Just visiting, and-” Her speech was punctuated by the loud chugging from Laxia. “…and the party was getting a bit too loud for me,” she continued.
“Hmph,” Laxia grunted. “I don’t recall you ever shying away from a good bar song.” The old legionnaire smacked her lips and belched. “You should be in there, with the rest of your ‘band. Dealing with the worst of Flame in their own territory? It’s something to celebrate.”
“I’ve had my fill of barbeque and liquor already.”
“So why don’t you tell me why you’re actually here?”
Veshe straightened up. “Truth is…I’m here for a Blackswamp Dance.”
Laxia’s features hardened. The Blackswamp Dance was a time-honoured tradition within the ranks of Swamp. A duel with live blades that must be witnessed by Laxia herself, with a mandatory wager of reputation, and reputation alone. No gold or valuables, and only favours at best. Khelle Blackswamp was the first victor of such a bout and promptly named this trial-by-combat after herself, permanently etching Laxia’s annoyance into the warband’s culture as she was the one who lost against Khelle. One of the few charr who left Swamp not through her own volition, as the bodies of a Flame Legion castrum served as Khelle’s final escort off into the Mists. But Veshe invoking Khelle’s name was almost sacrilege. Laxia opened her mouth to spew off a deluge of abuse, but hesitated again once she saw Veshe’s eyes soften. She settled with something a bit less contemptuous. “No. Flame off.”
Long, silent seconds passed as Laxia avoided her ex-protégé’s gaze while finishing the drink. But she could feel Veshe boring a hole through her temple with those golden eyes of hers. Eventually, the combination of alcohol and deafening lack of talk became too much for Laxia. “I don’t even understand why you’re here, cub. Tail is your warband now, and if you don’t want to get drunk with them then go stab some wooden dummies in the training yard. Not here, asking for something you aren’t owed.”
“I’m also here to apologize,” Veshe said.
“For what?”
Veshe clasped her hands together in penance. “I never told you why I left.”
The mug clattered onto the ground as Laxia’s rage grew. “Why in the hell would I need a reason?” she barked. “Twelve of Swamp just out the door, and seven of them were in half a year. All the reasons were clear enough for that scorching lot, that our reputation was reduced to ashes after that bastard Marrowfeast outed my tribuneship. So please, Veshe. Please tell me why charr number thirteen was gone. And you know, you could have been-”
Laxia cut herself off, despite seething with rage. The next few words in her mind felt foreign, numb. Like her own mouth didn’t know how to form the syllables. Banter and curses came with the territory of such a history in the legions, and Laxia had cussed out many a soldier. But Veshe, she was too pliant, too respectful. Like trying to yell at a happy puppy. Laxia leaned back and turned away from Veshe, arms crossed as she tried to hide her dissipating anger.
Unfazed, Veshe continued. “What happened after I left?”
“Nothing much,” Laxia derided. “We were already in the shit-pits, hard to fall any further. Do you have a point with all this?”
“But you started rebuilding, didn’t you? The transfers eventually stopped, and the ones left were still the best in the field. Others in Command were still willing to give Swamp a chance, and you still executed perfectly. Even now, the name Swamp holds some clout.”
Laxia turned back to face her former student. Veshe was twiddling one of her belt studs, scratching the metal in rhythm. “There was this one summer, years ago, and not long after the…incident,” she said solemnly. “You somehow got us an assignment on the borders of the Shiverpeaks, less than a week after you said I hadn’t gotten enough combat experience against Icebrood. Two of our warbandmates were against the move, but you brushed them off. After we returned from the sortie, they were gone as well.”
The corners of Veshe’s mouth started creeping back into its ever-smiling shape, and she puffed up a bit. “I will always be grateful for what I’ve learned from you, but I couldn’t bear watching you dismantle Swamp and your own legacy just for me.”
“So you left.”
“Yes. Everything after that incident with your rank, the collapse of Swamp held above your head. I was the last anchor left before you could move on. And I’m glad you did.”
Laxia found it hard to return Veshe’s gaze again. The last few years had been rough, and Laxia could still swear that every hushed whisper or passing glance was a jab against her tattered legacy. But at the very least, it wasn’t the outright jeers and sneers for the first year that grinded against her brain like sandpaper. Over time, victories were had, favours were received and given, and every once in a while, there was a respectful nod from some cub who just had history class. Former tribune was not the easiest mantle to carry, but at times, others still appreciated its weight.
“What are you doing here, cub?” Laxia repeated, no bite left in her words.
Veshe relaxed, and looked across the empty canton grounds. Cracks of purple had worked up along the evening sky’s horizon. Muted shouts and the strum of strings still echoed out from the forum, albeit with lesser volume. “I wanted to see you again. And to remember,” she admitted. “Because Swallowtail may be my name for everyone else, but far as I’m concerned, I’m still Swampsplash.”
Paw on her face, Laxia turned away to hide her burgeoning smile. Veshe was always like this. An amiable and kind-hearted charr in the most frustrating of ways. The first thing Laxia tried doing as her newly-minted student was to toughen her up, but every yelled word or harsh lesson would be faced with redoubled efforts or Yes Ma'am’s. There were only signs of physical weariness in all those late-night training sessions, never mental. And then the next day would be full of the same spright greetings and endless thanks that she was learning from a tribune. Eventually, the lessons would manifest into cold efficiency and decisiveness in battle, but outside it? Still Swamp’s cheerleader. Laxia still remembered the promise she held even in her fahrar days, as a happy-go-lucky charr who was lightning fast with her movements and took up shadow arts like a skritt to shinies. It was fifteen years since then. And if Veshe says she’s still Swamp in her heart, well…
“Alright, cub. You’ll get your damn dance. The wager?”
Without missing a beat, Veshe replied, “Loser has to march into the forum and grab a drink for the winner.”
Laxia chortled. “You know I hate parties, right?”
“Well, that’s the point. And I know you have precisely zero interest in meeting anyone from Tail as well,” Veshe said, laughing in kind.
“I don’t, and I don’t ever intent to,” Laxia claimed as she drew her sword in a fanciful twirl. “Let’s see if you actually deserve the Swamp name.”
A continuation to the blurb appended to Drifting Arc. The story was originally going to be a more involved piece involving an extended fight and multiple flashbacks to Laxia's history, but turns out I was writing a screenplay rather than a story, so that got scrapped. Still, this arc between master and (former) student has concluded.
Laxia Swampdrown, Veshe Swallowtail © me
Art ©
hounds-toothGW2 and charr © ArenaNet
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Charr
Size 1403 x 992px
File Size 782.8 kB
Comments