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What annoys me the most is that I still have to reload.
I’m at least partially incorporeal now. Don’t have to eat or sleep. Landing from a huge fall doesn’t hurt one bit. But like I said, I still have to reload my revolvers manually, like a chump. Dump out the spent rounds, think real hard about a speedloader appearing in my off hand, and then shove it into the cylinder. Flick, spin, cock, ready. I did question why my sidearms even came here with me in the first place, and why I can do stupid bullshit with these things and never break something fragile but after the last few…encounters, I’m not complainin’.
I never ‘woke up’. Just suddenly became aware I was walking, alone, in this fucked up void of red and black. So I walked, and walked, and walked. By my count, it was about four days of nothingness before I found my first monstrosity. Three oversized wolves linked together by their tails, hairless red skin with boils all over. Some sort of protruding stalks replaced their eyes and ears, and slithering leeches flowed from their maws. Now that I think about it, it looked like those squirming things came from its gums. No teeth. Like I said, my revolvers still worked and I barely wanted to look at that disgusting thing, so I unloaded. Beastie got real angry, but it was still slow, and I shadowstepped rings around it, pumping out rounds until it finally gave from blood loss. I think. More leeches came out from its exit wounds, and I ain’t investigating that slag.
Had a perverse routine after that. Wander for a hundred hours, find another living nightmare, fill it with lead (or whatever the hell my guns are firing nowadays), and wander some more. After the fifth kill, I tried putting a bullet through my skull, and the damn round phased straight through. I was pissed for a long burnin’ time. No easy way out. But after that I started looking forward to those fights, if only to break the mind-numbing boredom of walking ‘cross this deserted world. Heh, careful what you wish for.
The next monster I found was different. A giant, unmoving human-shaped fucker big enough to dwarf a war wagon, with crooked spindling fingers long as it was tall. A corroded platform or dais of some sort rested on its headless neck. When I found it, each finger was spearing into the ground, gouging patterns from which the spirits of the Mists would emerge. Regular spirits, as in people that looked like they belong in Tyria. They were definitely being hunted, since the fingers would try to skewer them, and punctured ghosts would dissolve and float up towards the dais, before getting sucked in and disappearing. The lucky ones managed to jump off into the void. Well, I got my ratbrained wish, so I ripped out both guns and started firing.
I unloaded close to a hundred rounds into its torso before the soulsucking bastard took notice. One finger drew a longer, jagged pattern, and a different set of spirits came out. My size, but with cracked stone masks…and wielding an assortment of weapons. Minor win since the regular spirits weren’t being summoned anymore, but obviously I had to switch my focus. The masks were mostly bulletproof but those spooks weren’t any better trained than the standard Legion grunt. I managed to put down at least forty of ‘em until every finger started drawing those patterns, and then way too many started spawning. Figured it was time to leave, so I grabbed the scruff of one of the last straggling spirits – a charr, surprisingly, and threw ourselves off into the abyss.
Y’know, prior to that jump I didn’t know about our safety from high falls, so I lucked out there. Still made a decent sized crater though. The other charr’s name is Reave. He had questions, and I couldn’t give any answers. And now we’re here, wandering together and fighting off these horrors until something else happens or we run out of luck. He managed to pilfer a sword from another island that looked like a graveyard, so he’s at least not total dead weight. Reave did mention one side of the red horizon looked…less bleak. He was Blood Legion recon in the past life; “scout’s intuition”, he says. Not like I had a plan anyways, so we’re headed in that direction, hoping the skies clear up as we move on and we find a section of the Mists that isn’t so torched. Assuming this is the Mists. I have my doubts.
Still, when those mask-wearing attackers closed in for the first time…damn, I was nursing a semi. They had daggers, polearms, shields, bows, rifles – weaponry that I could use. Unloading a pair of revolvers a thousand times against a gargantuan monster was almost boring enough for me to attempt another suicide. And if Reave and I are resigned to killing these slagstains for eternity, they should at least be interesting to fight. Since I saved his tail, we’ve come across a few more corrupted spirits – most maskless, but similarly armed. And I’ve been having the time of my life with those mooks.
If this is some punishment for what I’ve done in Tyria, the gods that set this up aren’t doing a good job. And when the time comes, I have plenty of bullets to spare for ‘em too.
- Archuk Swampmoss
So I decided to give my designated Deceased Charr Dads™ an arc in the afterlife rather than just remain as figureheads for their cubs. Maybe they'll get to see 'em one day as well.
Reave Dustwake, Archuk Swampmoss © me
Art ©
howlite
GW2 and charr © ArenaNet
I’m at least partially incorporeal now. Don’t have to eat or sleep. Landing from a huge fall doesn’t hurt one bit. But like I said, I still have to reload my revolvers manually, like a chump. Dump out the spent rounds, think real hard about a speedloader appearing in my off hand, and then shove it into the cylinder. Flick, spin, cock, ready. I did question why my sidearms even came here with me in the first place, and why I can do stupid bullshit with these things and never break something fragile but after the last few…encounters, I’m not complainin’.
I never ‘woke up’. Just suddenly became aware I was walking, alone, in this fucked up void of red and black. So I walked, and walked, and walked. By my count, it was about four days of nothingness before I found my first monstrosity. Three oversized wolves linked together by their tails, hairless red skin with boils all over. Some sort of protruding stalks replaced their eyes and ears, and slithering leeches flowed from their maws. Now that I think about it, it looked like those squirming things came from its gums. No teeth. Like I said, my revolvers still worked and I barely wanted to look at that disgusting thing, so I unloaded. Beastie got real angry, but it was still slow, and I shadowstepped rings around it, pumping out rounds until it finally gave from blood loss. I think. More leeches came out from its exit wounds, and I ain’t investigating that slag.
Had a perverse routine after that. Wander for a hundred hours, find another living nightmare, fill it with lead (or whatever the hell my guns are firing nowadays), and wander some more. After the fifth kill, I tried putting a bullet through my skull, and the damn round phased straight through. I was pissed for a long burnin’ time. No easy way out. But after that I started looking forward to those fights, if only to break the mind-numbing boredom of walking ‘cross this deserted world. Heh, careful what you wish for.
The next monster I found was different. A giant, unmoving human-shaped fucker big enough to dwarf a war wagon, with crooked spindling fingers long as it was tall. A corroded platform or dais of some sort rested on its headless neck. When I found it, each finger was spearing into the ground, gouging patterns from which the spirits of the Mists would emerge. Regular spirits, as in people that looked like they belong in Tyria. They were definitely being hunted, since the fingers would try to skewer them, and punctured ghosts would dissolve and float up towards the dais, before getting sucked in and disappearing. The lucky ones managed to jump off into the void. Well, I got my ratbrained wish, so I ripped out both guns and started firing.
I unloaded close to a hundred rounds into its torso before the soulsucking bastard took notice. One finger drew a longer, jagged pattern, and a different set of spirits came out. My size, but with cracked stone masks…and wielding an assortment of weapons. Minor win since the regular spirits weren’t being summoned anymore, but obviously I had to switch my focus. The masks were mostly bulletproof but those spooks weren’t any better trained than the standard Legion grunt. I managed to put down at least forty of ‘em until every finger started drawing those patterns, and then way too many started spawning. Figured it was time to leave, so I grabbed the scruff of one of the last straggling spirits – a charr, surprisingly, and threw ourselves off into the abyss.
Y’know, prior to that jump I didn’t know about our safety from high falls, so I lucked out there. Still made a decent sized crater though. The other charr’s name is Reave. He had questions, and I couldn’t give any answers. And now we’re here, wandering together and fighting off these horrors until something else happens or we run out of luck. He managed to pilfer a sword from another island that looked like a graveyard, so he’s at least not total dead weight. Reave did mention one side of the red horizon looked…less bleak. He was Blood Legion recon in the past life; “scout’s intuition”, he says. Not like I had a plan anyways, so we’re headed in that direction, hoping the skies clear up as we move on and we find a section of the Mists that isn’t so torched. Assuming this is the Mists. I have my doubts.
Still, when those mask-wearing attackers closed in for the first time…damn, I was nursing a semi. They had daggers, polearms, shields, bows, rifles – weaponry that I could use. Unloading a pair of revolvers a thousand times against a gargantuan monster was almost boring enough for me to attempt another suicide. And if Reave and I are resigned to killing these slagstains for eternity, they should at least be interesting to fight. Since I saved his tail, we’ve come across a few more corrupted spirits – most maskless, but similarly armed. And I’ve been having the time of my life with those mooks.
If this is some punishment for what I’ve done in Tyria, the gods that set this up aren’t doing a good job. And when the time comes, I have plenty of bullets to spare for ‘em too.
- Archuk Swampmoss
So I decided to give my designated Deceased Charr Dads™ an arc in the afterlife rather than just remain as figureheads for their cubs. Maybe they'll get to see 'em one day as well.
Reave Dustwake, Archuk Swampmoss © me
Art ©
howliteGW2 and charr © ArenaNet
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Charr
Size 1200 x 900px
File Size 1.68 MB
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