#siocanta

[thatonebirbnerd]

Siocánta's class choice was never very important, and I have way too many sylvari medium classes, so I feel like putting her in light armor and retiring her as a Soulbeast. (Spoiling a character who's canonically dead-for-real... classic.)

But since I have three or more of each light armor class, I also have run the gamut of builds that would be appropriate. Unless I go support Catalyst. Ice fortifies, ice protects.

Thoughts, ideas, etc?

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #siocanta

[thatonebirbnerd]

I’m a straight up villain, straight up villain / Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

(I’m alive but I’m dead, hear my voice up in your head, watch it fill you full of dread ‘til you go pow)

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #icebrood #siocanta #i caved and got the shoulders + gloves. WORTH. #song: k/da - villain

[thatonebirbnerd]

10. “Do that again and you’ll regret it.”

Thanks Kinos!

I have a lot of bystander accounts of Siocánta. I think it's high time I did a oneshot of what happens to anyone bold enough to approach her...

---

What's a sylvari doing out here in Drizzlewood? The last one you saw may well have been in Maguuma.

She seems entirely unaware of the world around her. Something's off about this. But every body you bring in lets you eat for a week, and this one may as well already be in the bag.

You growl under your breath and set up a perch on a nearby cliffside. You notice it's a bit chilly, but otherwise, so far, so good.

Lock, load, ready, aim, fire. The shot rings out over the drone of tanks and propaganda speakers in the distance.

You got her, right?

No, you didn't. What happened? You look through your scope. She's practically shambling, like she's got fungus growing in her brain. And more worryingly, she's downright frozen. She can't have moved that quickly. Her coat's torn at the stomach, but it would appear you've only hit her in the elbow, taking off chunks of ice.

She stops in her tracks, caught off guard. Is she in pain? Doesn't matter. That strategy won't work twice.

You climb down from the cliff and pick out an angle of approach on the ground.

Sneaking up on the sylvari is too easy. You get a sinking feeling that this is a trap, but you need the pay.

You expect Dominion stalkers to jump on you any second. Instead, you get right behind her, pull your knife -

- and she whirls around, disarming you easily with a corrupted ice shard that you realize is an overgrown finger. It looks... new. As a charr, you are much taller than the frozen sylvari, and could still force her down - but you learn too late that you never had the element of surprise.

Your head spins. You can't think of a way out. That spike-finger grazes your throat, and you get a look at your quarry up close. Her face is almost humanlike. Her eyes are a smooth, lifeless, icy blue; the petals and leaves on her head are covered in frost, glinting in the sun. You didn't think a sylvari could be this far gone.

She glares up at you and opens her mouth to speak, but instead she winces and splutters. A soothing but stern voice infiltrates your mind. Jormag. The sylvari mouths haltingly along with the dragon's words, spitting out bits of ice as she "talks."

Do that again, and you'll regret it.

She lets you go, and you recover your senses in seconds - enough sense to get the hell out, at least. From a distance, you watch her seemingly commune with Jormag's unseen presence. Remember how you weren't sure she was in pain after your bullet landed in her elbow? Well, this looks painful: the ice isn't just reforming on her elbow. There's... a lot more than that.

No pay today, please and thank you. You're no longer sure if you want rations.

Instead, all you can think about on the way back to camp is that your 'band won't believe this.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #prompt fic #sylvari #siocanta #body horror //

[thatonebirbnerd]

This sylvari’s mouth seems literally frozen into a drooling grin. Yet she otherwise appears to be in indescribable agony: her shoulders and wrists are covered in ice, and the crystals ripple, perhaps anchoring themselves deeper within her heartwood. Tears stream down her cheeks, crystallizing on contact with the air. You contemplate putting her out of her misery, but something gnaws at you, as if trying to tell you not to underestimate her.

You wonder briefly what might be tormenting her so, beyond the obvious, but your questions are answered when she abruptly doubles over. You notice her head lolls to one side, just like... no, you don’t want to think about that. Instead your mind wanders to the fact that a fan of ice spikes has pushed through the sylvari’s bark, above where a human would have a heart, complementing the twisted wreckage of her arms and shoulders. She retches - or tries to, her gasps for breath cut off by the mass that now extends up her neck, nearly impaling her chin. Something churns beneath her ornate coat; her lifeless eyes widen - with fear, you realize - and well up once again, with enough moisture to blur what vision she might still have. As she seems to mouth a plea for mercy, a soothing, androgynous voice reaches into the corners of your mind.

Hers? - no, gods, no.

I see you’ve met one of my puppets. I freed her, you know. This was what she wanted.

To be turned into this? You fight the urge to reply. Who would...

Perhaps you could come with us, and taste this power...

No. No, you do not want that. You should get going. Now.

---

Technically a redo of one of my first edits of Siocánta. I might actually be getting better at this.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #icebrood #tyriaslibrary #siocanta #kestrel writes #gore // #body horror // #vomit //

[thatonebirbnerd]

Oh, Look At That

Spoilers under the cut for Jormag Rising.

Oh... what's this? Dead charr... one of ours.

That armor will serve you well.

Yes... what’s- the ice is... growing? Arms... shoulders... prickling...

So... cold - urgh, that HURTS - *gurgle* -

I've given you all you wanted - life, limb, liberty from what made you.

*gasp* - *cough* -

But you are merely a means to an end. Practice, I suppose. I won’t truly speak through you...

- not... my neck...

...but through another.

For now... I’ll leave you -

- urk -

- here.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #icebrood #siocanta #lws5 spoilers #body horror // #gore // #(WELL IT'S SAP BUT) #kestrel writes

[thatonebirbnerd]

What the hell is behind you?

You scamper off and hide behind a tree to observe, and realize it’s a sylvari. But... turned, covered in frost and ice crystals. She didn’t chase you, and she’s not drawing any weapons. She doesn’t seem to notice you at all. But she is grinning, her head posed at an awkward angle as she smiles at nothing in particular. Something’s coming out of her mouth, freezing to her lip. Drool?

She slowly shambles forward, toward where you were just a moment ago. Reminds you of a Risen. There’s no saving this one. 

She opens her mouth, then abruptly crouches down, clutching her neck - her *limp* neck - with rime-coated hands. She leans forward, her head swinging so much she nearly loses her balance, and seems to choke on something. There are ice shards tumbling from her lips. She can’t be alive, you think to yourself.

Alive. Not alive. With me, it doesn’t matter. Jormag’s whispers are getting louder. It can hear your thoughts. You resist the urge to tell it to shut up.

The sylvari holds her head in place as she rears back up to an unsteady stance. The grimace returns, and she lets her head fall backward. It’s as if she’d thrown it back to laugh. But instead, a spike of corrupted ice pierces through the bark of her neck. Still ecstatic, still leaving crystals on the ground below, she mouths something amid the grisly spectacle. You can only hear it because Jormag is saying it too.

Join me. Rest.

She snaps the spike and turns her head toward you, a near about-face that would break the neck of anything living, and you realize she’s starting to run, as fast as if she were still alive and not a frozen husk. Hers is not a demise you want to meet. You’d best get back to camp.

---

It took sixteen years and a broken neck, but Siocánta is finally cold enough. The whole “being icebrood” part... she couldn’t really care less about the specifics. She made the deal, after all.

You can read her story here.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #siocanta #kestrel writes #gore // #body horror // #these pic edits were horrifically fun

[thatonebirbnerd]

Siocánta, no. We talked about this. This is how you lost your fingers last time.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #siocanta #well yeah i had to take her to bjora #idk what happens to her next bc all the sylvari who fall to jormag die #cause of course they can't be corrupted

[thatonebirbnerd]

Went with the magical blue eyes, and a bit more of a sinister look with the slider adjustments. 

Her name is Siocánta. It means “frozen” or “chilled" in Gaelic. She’s a Ranger with an ice drake as her primary pet.

So yeah, I now have a sylvari of every class, because I just love plant elves ok?

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #siocanta

[thatonebirbnerd]

A study, hopefully, in avoiding same-face syndrome. All four of these sylvari gals are using the same face preset. Of course Morwenna doesn't entirely count because half her face is a tumor of dragon magic. But you get the point.

Siofra was created as a Dreamer. She uses almost entirely default sliders. The Nightmare Courtier part came later, and the Incarnate mask worked well enough.

Siocánta was a sylvari of dubious intent from the start. So I took on the task of making her look both villainous and frostbitten. She has some adjustments that fit the Disney villain caricature of sharp, thin features and small eyes, but her nose is stunted, as it had to be snipped after being frostbitten. Her lips, too, are perhaps even thinner than the archetype would suggest, and her ears are curled like frost-nipped leaves. Thank the cold for that.

Morwenna was going to have a mask on from the moment I decided she was a Mordrem. But before I decided on the leystone mask that concealed my slider work with her nose, I had to create the illusion that she had no eyes. Larger eye sockets would have produced a more shocking effect, perhaps, but in-game she technically still has eyes; they're just jet black. Light reflected off them and created a buglike effect, rather than an empty socket. To get an almost entirely unreflective appearance, I had to make her eyes much smaller, almost as small as they could get. The rest, as they say, was history.

Finally, Neasa. The same buglike effect that failed on Morwenna was perfect for whatever the hell replaced her eyes. Her huge eyes alone set her apart - that isn't something I do very much on anyone. Angled brows and sharper features like Siocánta's made her look more obviously Nightmarish and certifiably insane than like a Disney protag. The blurriness of this shade of orange was also something I'd discovered while exploring Siocánta - a shade of blue I considered for her had a similar hazy effect. While experimenting a few days ago, I decided to see what I could do with other eye colors on this face... et voila, a couple shades of orange (Brass, which I used, and Neon Orange) that reminded me quite a lot of an eye-horror character from another fandom I'm in. So that's how her wasp gall eyes became a thing, as the most radical departure from the other three.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #morwenna the broken #siocanta #neasa galleye #timewinder siofra

[thatonebirbnerd]

Snowing. All around me. So beautiful. Cold trees...

Look at all this. It’s all yours, if you wish.

I am a cold tree too... aren’t I?

Here. Take my strength. Claim all this for me.

T-thanks - wait... not... this again -

Revel in it, my strange wooden child.

- my eye! - urgh- ow!- okay... that’s better - why can’t I -

It’ll go back to normal. I promise.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #icebrood #siocanta #the iceberg lettuce returns #eye trauma // #also maybe #vomit // #just to be safe

[thatonebirbnerd]

Giving In

Word count: 2295

Trigger warnings: Suicide (but not exactly?), body horror, mind control, amputation, vomiting, a little swearing. Contains depictions of severe frostbite on a nonhuman, death, and mild body horror.

The Dream and Nightmare protect sylvari from corruption by elder dragons, but when someone like Siocánta (sho-KAHN-ta) rejects both, it's only a matter of time. She dreamed of Jormag, and her love of the cold and morbid curiosity may get her more than what she bargained for as she ventures north toward the dragon beckoning her. Sons of Svanir be damned: she'll find a way to be cold enough, even if it kills her.

So this is what I’ve been hinting at for the past few days. I really thought it couldn’t happen, but here we are!

AO3 link

It seems so long ago that I first heard its voice. No, not Mordremoth’s. We all heard that. No, I mean Jormag; for in my mind, the voice of one dragon was merely replaced with another.

I’d left the Nightmare Court by then, and was well into the Shiverpeaks, desperate to leave the stifling heat of both sylvari territory and civilization. As much as I liked the ideal of rejecting the laws of life and morality, I couldn’t believe how many of the courtiers genuinely enjoyed torturing neophytes - or how much I overheated even in the coolest reaches of its territory.

Even after Mordremoth’s death, a whisper nagged at the back of my mind, too quiet to hear. Was this the remnants of my link to the Dream of Dreams, trying to rekindle itself and find a lost soul? I certainly assumed as much. But as I reveled in the cold around me - finally, somewhere that didn’t feel like it was killing me slowly! - I felt pulled toward every shard of corrupted ice I encountered on my way northward. No, it was just the call of the void.

Well, it might have been, until it grew louder as I made my way into a Svanir-infested cave.

To be blunt, I realized I’d made a fatal mistake after it was too late to turn back. The cultists called me a wench and a slave to a dead, heretical dragon - but they figured that either I’d die here, or I’d become their minion if this somehow worked. What a fucked-up win-win situation that would be. But it somehow meant that they didn’t butcher me on the spot. Instead, they led me over to a secluded patch of frozen ground. Spikes of magic-clouded ice, gleaming blue and purple, surrounded me. As the Sons of Svanir bragged about their plans for me, for the first time, I could understand something the faint whisper said.

Let me help you.

Against all the judgement I had, be it better or worse, I let the cold creep in as I listened to what this strange new presence had to say.

I must have been in that cavern for hours, maybe even days. I sat there, alone and numb, with the inklings of words infiltrating my consciousness to keep me company. Every surface around me was covered in ice, and I saw myself change in each shimmering wall and crystal. The frost touched every corner of me with its magic, curling leaves and petals and tracing filigrees over my fading bark. Most of my armor fell off, dead and dry. I stared into the clearest facet I could find, refusing to blink as my once-green irises shifted to the bright turquoise of my surroundings.

But at some point, I simply gave up. Nothing had come to me to bargain. I was still alive, still sane, and apparently intact. I walked out - straight into a Vigil patrol.

Their norn leader spoke up first, a burly dark-bearded man. “C’mon. Get up. What’s a sylvari like you doing in a Svanir den? You’ve gotta have a death wish.”

A sandy-furred charr replied to him. “Hold on. She’s as frozen over as one of them. How does that…”

A sylvari - and let me tell you, I did not want to see another one here in the mountains - interrupted the charr. “We plants get frost. Figure this one’s no exception.”

“She’s not in good shape,” they continued. “And I’ve never seen eyes the color of that ice before, but hers are so bright I’m worried she’s genuinely turned. I don’t think camp has enough resources for what she needs. Get her to Hoelbrak.”

“I’m still a pathetic grandchild of Mordremoth, much to my chagrin,” I retorted. “I’m not quite sure what took me into that cave, but hell, I’m in one piece, and that’s what matters to you folk.”

The charr signaled me to climb on her back. “I’ve carried rucksacks bigger than you,” she wisecracked. “We’ve got no spare gear, and I figure you shouldn’t be in the snow even for another hour.” That bad, eh?

You can’t trust them. Kill her. No. Why would I bite the hand that feeds me? Couldn’t do that.

Which was probably a good thing, because my condition was that bad. Lost most of my fingers, and nearly my legs below the knee, but got away with just some toes missing. They’d grow back, but no telling how slowly. The charr got some of her friends to make what they joked were the smallest combat prosthetics they’d ever made, a pair of metal gloves with articulated fingers. Moving what remained of my hands let me control the gloves to grip things and do simple enough tasks - and at least I could fight.

---

But enough about my reckless four-years-ago self. It’s not even worth bringing up how I got this big old doofus of an ice drake. Thing is, I’m a lot further north now. I have the Vigil to thank for taking me on the long road up. And here, the whispers are a hell of a lot louder. They are now a voice. Jormag’s voice.

I’ve seen others of your kind here. Curious things, you sylvari are. Every single one of you is desperate for control over your own lives. I can give you that. And so much more.

After spending nearly a year stationed in Frostgorge Sound, I’ve finally made it to the edge of the world, as far north as anyone can go: Bjora Marches. Once the norn heartland, now the den of the ice dragon’s champion, Drakkar.

It’s so cold here. Yet not cold enough, even as I walk amongst glaciers. Everyone here can hear the dragon. It’s disturbingly soothing. Alluring, even. Its voice is androgynous, and able to morph into anything, usually the reassuring voice of a loved one. I cut all my ties long ago, but sometimes I hear the voice of a friend from the Court, and wonder what went wrong. Why did you leave? You could have brought so many with you.

You can’t trust the soldiers, Jormag tells me. They will say they want to help. They don’t. You’re better with me. But I’m not ready to believe that yet. Instead, I wander off.

The inland sea to the west of Jora’s Keep and the kodan settlement of Still Waters Speaking, once called Drakkar Lake, is completely icebound. I follow the frozen waters southward, past crystalline cliffs and treacherous crags. The lake is still at night, empty of kodan fishers, but I still have to evade Svanir as I duck into a lonely passage - one that leads to a moonlit cave.

It’s beautiful. And it’s… familiar. I saw this in my Dream, the Dream I swore to forget. Here, Jormag’s voice presses on my mind nearly as much as Mordremoth’s did. No, more than that. But instead of a headache, its presence exhausts me, in a way that just makes me want to fall into a deep, refreshing sleep.

Now that I think about it, I could sleep here. Give in. Sleep.

I could rest. Yes. Rest.

It’s freezing, but I feel warm. Hot, even. I take my coat and boots off, and snap off my gloves. I stretch what remains of my hands. You could stay here forever. Maybe I could.

I lie down, spreading myself over the smooth, icy floor. Some repressed instinct inside of me makes my bark scream in pain, threatening to spill its blackening death into my heartwood. Then it dulls as I go numb, and I let my consciousness slip away. For a moment, I hope it doesn’t come back. Why would you ever leave this place? But instead, for the first time in a decade and a half, I dream - a dragon’s dream.

---

I find myself in… is this the same cave? No. I’m still looking up at the sky, but in every other way, it’s different. A deeper voice growls around me, echoing against the walls, deafening yet near unintelligible aside from a single phrase: You are here…

There’s even more ice here, and it’s… green. How strange. I talk as I stir. My voice is not mine. My voice is the dragon’s. Something rises inside me, forcing the words out of my frost-chapped lips.

You have done well, child. I will give you the strength you seek. But you must first let go.

I stagger to my feet. My leaves are as frostbitten as they were in that Svanir den. My fingers and toes are still stubs. Every movement I make is wrong, every joint at once tense and limp. My head clings to my neck at an odd angle. It could snap, and I could fall down. I am a puppet. Jormag’s puppet.

Ice fortifies. Ice protects. Yet you still fear that which can save you?

My veins are still. My sap is frozen, expanding, ready to burst out. The cold fills every cavity of my body.

I limp to a gleaming wall, smooth and polished as a mirror. I see myself. I am not myself.

This is what you could be. With me.

Don’t you like it?

I can’t respond. The chill creeps up through my throat, seizing my tongue.

My limbs creak, laden with ice, as I reach for my neck in a panic. Then I keel over, tipped off balance, as my head swings forward. For a moment I can see my hands growing back, corrupted crystals pushing through the bark, the new digits covered in rime, before everything goes black.

Then I wake up, gasping for air, still the same old me, in the same place I was before I drifted off.

Jormag continues to plead to me as I put my armor back on. Don’t you want this? Don’t you want what you lost?

The stumps of my hands and feet have lost feeling, and darkened to an ugly shade of blue-black. I can’t lose more of myself and still fight.

I have no choice but to say yes.

Then I will take you, child, to the place where the ice is green.

---

The frostbite is bad enough that it’s hard to walk. But if Jormag says I’m not going very far, then I should trust it and push on.

Indeed, I only have to retrace my steps back to the center of Drakkar Lake. There is a tunnel leading beneath the surface. No one has gone in and come back alive, short of Sons of Svanir. I think I know why.

Everything in the tunnel averts its gaze from me. Must be Jormag’s blessing - because I’d be too slow not to get caught by any of its minions in here.

I’m stumbling, now, as I wind through this strange new cavern. But it isn’t long before I see it: green ice. Not this chamber. Not yet. Soon.

I’m warm again. I leave my armor and gloves behind. My arms and legs are numb. I have to crawl.

Just a bit more. Come on. Not much longer. But the entrance to this chamber, the one I dreamed of, is a ledge. It must be a twenty-foot drop to the ground below, and I can’t walk, let alone climb-

Jump.

If you say so, Jormag.

It takes all my strength to get to my feet and brace myself. I fall, and for a moment I’m aware that my head is… in the wrong place -

---

Is this the end?

No. Not for you. I have plans for you.

Get up.

I’m… awake? So cold. Talking. Not my voice. Familiar… that dream… YOU ARE HERE. I’m moving. Stiff. Ice all over me. Ice inside me. Neck feels… wrong. Cold is good. Finally enough. But need my coat…

My arms… they… hurt! Not numb anymore. Not black anymore? Trying to scream. Something in my throat. Can’t… breathe!… no… don’t need to breathe. Wait - my hands, they’re…?!

Calm down, child. Let it take hold. Take your weapons.

They’re so… beautiful. I can… move my fingers. One by one.

Your dagger broke. But you can do better than that.

AGH! - still choking back something - a spike of ice is… coming out of my hand. There are more coming… all over my wrists. The reason they hurt. They’re so… swollen…

Take the big one. Snap it off. See? It’s a new dagger. You’re welcome.

Thank… you…

Need to bend over. My neck - oh, no. Have to… fix that. There we go. Something in my mouth. I gotta… urgh.

Everything inside… the shards… won’t stop coming. There’s spit frozen on my lip. I try to talk to Jormag. The only one who will listen now. All that comes out is ice.

Now go home. They will let you in. Then you kill them.

---

“I’m not sure what happened to that strange sylvari, the one with the mechanical hands who kept insisting she liked the cold. She came back to camp last night in a silent daze after wandering off a few days ago, leaving her drake behind. We placed her in the infirmary immediately, as her frostbite seemed so severe, she should have been dead. I say “should have” because she summoned icy daggers out of nowhere and utterly butchered the medics who were about to save what they could, then fled. Someone told me there were crystals all over her arms. I heard someone else say that she opened her mouth to speak, but frozen flowers and petals fell out instead. She’s… she’s a sylvari. She can’t be icebrood. Can she?

“Spirits save us from her deranged wrath, but we can’t speak of her anymore. For as the kodan say, her voice is not her own.”

- Final notes in a fallen Vigil soldier’s notebook

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #gw2 fanfiction #fanfic #tyriaslibrary #sylvari #kestrel writes #siocanta #suicide // #body horror // #mind control // #amputation // #vomit // #language //

[thatonebirbnerd]

3 and 8 whoever you want 👍

Hmm, needs to be someone I’ve written about, and who better to talk about bad habits with than Siocánta… though I feel like I’m gonna regret it, because this is where things get freaky.

3. Well, this is vague. If we’re talking someone else describing:

“Someone told me there were crystals all over her arms. I heard someone else say that she opened her mouth to speak, but frozen flowers and petals fell out instead. She’s… she’s a sylvari. She can’t be icebrood. Can she?”

If we’re talking about just something that depicts who she is, though? Let’s pull out the on-the-spot writing juices.

“Who were you, anyway? What did this to you?”

The sylvari gags, through what might be a grin, or a grimace. In place of her voice, you hear Jormag’s, describing her. “Restless. Always seeking purpose, control - and power. This was her price, and she paid it willingly.”

You think otherwise. But you should probably not argue with an elder dragon. Especially not this one.

8. I mean, does the thing where she’s basically Jormag’s pincushion count as a bad habit?!? If not, then well, murder counts.

#siocanta

[thatonebirbnerd]

I’m still trying to figure out what happens to Siocánta in E1-E2. It’s seeming lore-accurate to kill her off, but I’m attached, dangit! She’s too pretty and I keep getting the urge to write her and get a feeling for her as a character, though IRL circumstances haven’t been in favor of my writing lately.

#siocanta #sylvari #gw2 #guild wars 2 #sticking this in game tags so maybe one of you can point out some cool dialogue #there's only that one sylvari in the caves who's losing it but ok then what? #i have the glacial gloves so that'd help with any appearance changes but not sure what else can really happen

[thatonebirbnerd]

Just a fun thingy I did with Siocanta’s backstory feat. attempt at a painted-in blanket.

What’s left of her outfit is supposed to have severe frost damage. The rest would have torn off, being already dead after hours to days in the cold.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #siocanta #WHY AM I INSPIRED BY THESE THINGS BRAIN DO HOMEWORK

[thatonebirbnerd]

“no light, no light / in your bright blue eyes”

--

I always felt a calling to the cold.

The Court promised me refuge from the blazing tropical heat of the Grove. I begged to go to Mount Maelstrom, as far away from it all as they could take me. But this was not enough.

My Dream lied. The only moment I kept with me was the vision of an icy dragon that could never truly consume me.

I left, and headed northward. I wanted to see it for myself.

The cold traced my bark and hair with frost. It cut away at my armor-leaves, and once that was gone it gnawed at my limbs. But despite my best efforts, the dragon had done nothing. I was still me. It was a norn who found me, bark blackened by frostbite. He gave me the smallest robe he could find, and let a crew of Vigil charr survey the damage and determine what to cut away.

By the time they were through with me, many of my fingers were stubs, and it had been a miracle I hadn’t lost my feet. If my digits regrew at all, it would be a slow process. But they gave me one last gift before they moved on: a pair of metal prosthetic gloves. These made it far easier to wield the icy power of the weapons I’d stolen from fallen Svanir.

I suppose it must have been the Dream, as much as I hated it, that gave me something else as I left. Lorcán, my drake. The young reptile I’d found on the banks of a frozen river instantly took a liking to me. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to be entirely alone in my search for meaning.

--

Siocánta, my walking Elsa reference (ok maybe with more angst) and foil to Áedh, is level 80! So as usual, I took a ton of pics to celebrate. I feel like that Florence and the Machine lyric fits her all too well...

Pics were taken around the Shiverpeaks.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #siocanta #kestrel writes

[thatonebirbnerd]

Just some more experimenting with Siocanta while I figured out some juicier backstory pics.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #siocanta