The tip of the sword encountered resistance and a light pierced through the shroud where the blade had dug. Ice sizzling as it covered her armour and withered the still fragile buds of the sword, she slashed desperately at the vision, a litany of pleas and reassurances dying on her lips as she struggled to breathe. Wreathed in obscurity, Trahearne charged at her and struck with yet another powerful blow that seemed to drain even the memory of warmth around them.
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She blocked another swing of the sword, sent to her knees by the force of the blow and barely dodged the shadows frothing neath her feet, a column of darkness rising from the ground a split second before a scythe slashed it through.
#Gw2 efficentsy the shining blade skin#
Pumice-like bark covered his bulk, a wreath of sharp thorns breaking through his skin like a crown, and at his side, half buried in the entanglement of roots and creeper plants conjured in his wake, laid the twisted forms of familiar figures, friends broken, corrupted by blight. She instinctively rolled away, a stone greatsword shattering the ground where she stood and vines like whips breaking through the metal carcass as if it were dirt to slash and ensnare her, but it were his eyes - fiery and burning with hatred - that immobilised her. Her heart sank in her chest, her lungs filling with frozen dread, and within moments before the second vision seized her, she knew what deep hidden, dark and secluded part of her the Sword had conjured. The Glory of Tyria laid broken, suspended in her last moments, a frozen speck of time holding within its core a shard of Trahearne’s soul - a part of him that had never left Maguuma.Īnwen took in a deep, confident breath before she plunged in the vision. The Vision Crystal next led them on the edge of Verdant Brink, where the Pact had fallen, the Thorn broken, and the wreckage of the fleet still painted in sharp broken lines of scorched vines and shattered metal a vivid recollection of their mistakes and nightmares. She prevailed because even in the sword’s memory, Riannoc was alone, and even as she stood her ground in single combat against the fallen knight of the thorn, she was not. Visiting Riannoc’s tomb was a very emotionally charged endeavour - Trahearne’s grief and regret echoed through the blade as much as it radiated through him, sorrow and guilt weighting on her shoulders as if they were her own, all the more crueler as she could barely find in herself the strength to comfort her beloved.īut the duel itself sparked anew her courage, reminded her of the power of unity, of the danger of isolation, fueled her pride at the thought that they had remained strong and loyal and steadfast in the face of certain death.
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#Gw2 efficentsy the shining blade full#
And if the Thorn was willingly offered, it still demanded Anwen reconciled with the memories of its last two bearers to attune to its full potential. She had taken Caladbolg with her, from the depths of the jungle to the heights of Divinity’s Reach, from the warmth and golden days of Tarir to the mists and starlit nights of Caer Aval, without a second thought as to why the Sword did not reject her the way she had rejected Canach - and it took broaching the subject to Trahearne for her to realise that Caladbolg had chosen her as her new bearer.