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Writing Prompt: The Future

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I just thought of this while thinking about my own characters. What would happen to them in 10, 20 or even 30 years. would it be a glorious death? Possibly assassinated? Would they retire to a lap of luxury? Or would they living in total obscurity? Perhaps villified? Write that stuff here! I'll add my own at some point.
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Posted Nov 30, 17 · OP
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My guild did a 15 years later prompt, so going to post Cervato's story here.

Cervato was still a beauty to behold, fifteen years since the young woman had been prominently known as the Commander of the Tyrian Accord. At the age of forty, she still retained long raven tresses, only a hint of silver threading between the dark strands. Certainly, she'd added plenty more ink as well to her skin, a mark for every person that she held dear in an intricate sleeve upon her right arm.

It'd been just a few years since she'd stepped down as Commander. It was time to pass on the torch to another bright soul who sought to take on Drake's dream. The Accord watched as she shined brightly like a falling star against one of their most devastating foes. However, the toll upon her body using that much magic had nearly succeeded in killing her. Those hands that once skillfully took down adversaries quickly with her blades, could barely support herself upon her father's cane. The fire in her soul still displayed itself in her eyes however as she watched the Accord grow and prosper. It all had been worth it. Despite the heavy losses of friends. Despite the loss of her father. Despite the loss of her ability to fight properly alongside them all. She had found peace.

It'd taken a few more years before she could walk without the cane. Now, she traveled the world on a fleet of airships, part of the Ryuuzaki Merchant Empire that had quickly soared to success. Based out of Lion's Arch, they flew from Orr to Elona. Kurai and Cervato had many adventures that somehow had landed them a successful business venture. The married couple, the true definition of fools in love, frequently made it a priority to visit their friends from their days in the Accord.

Three children quickly followed, and unfortunately quickly grew wicked reputations. Their eldest son was shy compared to the outgoing parents, and had the most trouble when it came to girls flirting with him. Their daughter was the most impish, brazen, and was a spitfire like her mother with the roguish charm of her father, which only gave Cervato headaches. And their youngest son, was rather determined to follow in his grandmother Ryobo's footsteps, to be a legend of pirates.

Cervato hosted many parties to bring the legends of the Accord together. To enjoy time with Drake and Meli and their children. To swap stories with Emilie. Enjoying her talks with Fijit and Graham, while their children were off on their own adventures. To tease Llyonel as he tried to train her daughter how to find her inner fire. To gasp in surprise as Kihrae took their youngest on a joyride over Kryta. And to reminisce with Atreyu over the good old days from long ago, when an immature girl on a boat had gotten seasick. And with Kurai, she knew she'd always be able to have a life filled with love and laughter.


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silver.7895 - Cervato - Her Story - The Tyrian Accord
Posted Dec 2, 17
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Hey, this seems fun..... I'm doing three characters

Still the courteous ranger she was before now, ten years later, Beth was still fighting with all she had. The sixteen-year old sylvari had seen and done much, almost to fill a novel. Despite her status as a former Vigil warmaster and Pact captain, she was still bothered by up-and-coming leaders in both organizations. Still a wanderer, still a hunter. Scars now litter even her face and she bore these badges with pride. Still driven with the purpose from her youth, she continued to put others before herself, even throwing herself in front of her friend, Kanilin and ending up in the hospital. On the more secretive side, she was master in her dearheart's organization and respected by others.

Meava, now 26, works with her older brother, Kanilin, closely and still tinkers away in her workshop, coming up with increasingly wondrous contraptions to use in many a situation. She's helped Beth in many a sticky spot and considers the sylvari to be her sister.

Kanilin, now a thief with mesmeric training, owes Beth many a favor, but is having a hard time convincing her to take those chances for him to repay her.
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http://www.guildwars2roleplayers.com/forum/m/2737230/viewthread/20134607-tcbg-beth-feywind-permawip-comments-welcome/post/132420751#post_132420751
http://www.guildwars2roleplayers.com/forum/m/2737230/viewthread/30880464-tc-karigan-gyren
http://www.guildwars2roleplayers.com/home/m/2737230/viewthread/31135773-researcher-trixxi/page/1
Posted Dec 2, 17
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((I also did this on that same thread as Cerv, so here is this pre-written thing!))

Time has not been kind to Marea, though it never has been, so she was not surprised when her body started to fall apart. At age forty, she appears closer to sixty, most of her teeth rotted out and replaced with haphazard bits of gold and human bone, the defiant gleam of her prosthetic limbs dulled by a fine, persistent rust, that slows her finger movements to a maddening, sloth-like clawing. One of her legs was lost not too long ago, and this time, there was no one to bail her out, no one to rob, nothing to plunder, so, starting at the knee, she wears a peg-leg. She limps as fast as she can across the desert sands, still surprisingly nimble. But with her brittle bones, and an inability to digest anything other than crackers and bread, she is a shadow of the vivacious killer that once wandered across the globe, big-eyed and full of life, picking up reluctant friends and dropping them without a worry on her mind.

She lost those friends, many years ago. Even after she learned how to keep them. They were almost all criminals, many of them murderers, so she was not surprised when enemies and the law alike picked them off, one by one. A man she called her brother, a woman her sister, a guileless sylvari who took a bullet for her, and a guiding hand that told her she had value, she was unique, she had a perspective on the world that no one else could replace. They reaped what they sowed, but she, as she always had, glided on past her consequences. As if a god was watching over her.

She keeps one companion by her side. A curious blue sylvari, small of stature but hearty and strong. When hundreds of past atrocities suddenly came together in one terribly inconvenient, planet-wide aha moment, it was Pen Yfan that saved her, that swept her off her feet and ran for the ends of the earth. She guides her through the dunes of Vabbi when she grows tired and weak. She speaks with a deep, sonorous voice, warm and affectionate, and though the voice is her own, Marea knows that the words are not. Pen never had a choice if she loved Marea or not--she awakened with the heart of another imprinted on her own, and from the time she opened her eyes, there was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to love and care for her cub. Sometimes, Marea speaks directly with the spirit on the other side of Pen's golden eyes. But Rajya sounds different, amongst the dead, the legends. Marea feels unworthy. Her mom-thing walks beside giants, true giants. Not just an imposing figure in the mind of a broken little girl.

And that is the one thing that Marea has to be thankful for, aside from her constant caretaker. She is no longer broken. She is wasting away, skin ghastly pale and stretched taut over her bones as if weathered down by the shifting sands. Half of her body is fake, shoddy replacements. She takes no joy in the weapons embedded in her limbs, the weapons along her belt, hidden in her one boot, slipped down her bodice. She no longer cares to be terrible. She is not angry, she doesn't scream and curse and smash and slaughter. She fades, and finds herself at peace. Soon, she will leave. She does not know what soon is. She's never had a very good perception of time. But in her isolation, in her weakness, there are parts of her that grow stronger. She can sense the life of the sand scorpions, buried beneath the dunes. The faint glimmering of energy in a cactus, almost a mile away. Life pulses around her, and she doesn't need an old stone or a separatist's skull to feel it. She cannot put it into words. But it's something like peace. Quiet. Home. Dying, without a copper to her name, she is home at last.

Release, freedom. Empty handed, she understands.
Posted Dec 2, 17 · Last edited Dec 2, 17
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God damn, I've never even met your character but this had me sniffling a little.
Posted Dec 10, 17
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wrote:
God damn, I've never even met your character but this had me sniffling a little.
Awwwwww, no sniffles! Though I won't say I'm disappointed. :p
Posted Dec 11, 17
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What'll eventually happen to all my characters.

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heh
Posted Dec 11, 17
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( I guess I'll give this a shot. I'm gonna focus on my main, Operative Deadsmith, based on where he currently is in his own story. )

You're born into this world alone. You might as well die in it alone too.

For all of the efforts poured into getting him back, the Kontract Krewe weren't successful in pulling the Human away from his self-destructive life choices. The things that happened to Deadsmith when he was younger were too damaging psychologically. Every time they pulled him in, he pushed away twice as hard. Eventually even they had to know when to call it quits after 10 long years of trying to help him, as painful as it was for them to watch someone they care about isolate themselves the way he did. His 45th birthday felt more like a funeral to them, despite him being very much alive.

For someone who wanted to die so badly, he didn't take his own life. No, that was too cowardly. Deadsmith wouldn't take his own life. He was determined to find someone who could best him in combat or take on a mission that would be too much even for him to complete. Tyria was full of all kinds of dangerous individuals, places, and situations. Surely someone or something out there would do him in. Wherever the Pact or the Commander or Destiny's Edge or Dragon's Watch went, he went. That was where the action was. That was where he would get paid. He was a mercenary, after all. Go where the action is, kill things, get paid, maybe die in the process.

Alas, he didn't die though. His 55th birthday passed, even his 65th, and all he had to show for it for scars. Physical. Mental. Emotional. He never stayed in one place, always on the move even at old age. He kept his distance from everyone, only socializing in the event he needed to go to a metropolitan area to buy things like weapons or armor or supplies and even then those brief encounters were just that - brief. He still wore the armor he began wearing when he was 35, still fitting him perfectly, still providing him with the means of surviving despite wanting to pass on.

For all of the traveling he did around Tyria though, he avoided Rata Sum. It pained him considering how much he liked and cared about the Asura. However, he didn't want to risk running into the Kontract Krewe again and them trying fruitlessly to help him all over again. He couldn't be helped. He couldn't be loved.

Deadsmith never learned of what happened to his family and krewe, both biological and extended, not since leaving after Balthazar's death and his fight with his younger brother in Amnoon. Their names were distant memories that were foggy and faded: Adamillian, Michael, Deborah, Gnaff, Greoppa, Vlozz, Hexx, Ferra, Nemmy, Ellna, Vrukk, Shammi, Heldi, Aiadd, Moord, Mogga, Pokk.

In a way, he didn't care either. They were better off without a damaged individual like him. Everyone was better off without a damaged individual like him.

He was born for war, for fighting. He was determined to go out that way too.

In a blaze of glory.

Alone.
Posted Dec 15, 17
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