[GW2] The Poetry of Wuv

A ranger watches as the bulk of the army runs back towards the keep. He pats the yak’s head trying to keep the animal’s focus on the road ahead instead of all the bodies of the enemy at the southwest supply camp. The ranger plods along with the yak. He sees and hears sounds of war coming from the western keep. Siege engines are tearing down walls, and the supply is critical to bolstering their thinning defenses. For now the yak will move at its own pace, and the ranger’s thoughts slow down to echo the patient ease of the animal.

The ranger notices now the way the grass sways in the wind. He looks out across the lake to see blue skies. There is no storm portending the doom of a keep today.  A small hill blocks the lake from view, and the ranger watches the local fauna holding court on that pinnacle of their kingdom. A few allies run by headed for war. They wave happily, and the ranger and the yak tramp along in a meditative rhythm.

An enemy appears from the hill. The asura thief drives with sole purpose to end the yak’s life. She succeeds amidst dozens of blows from the ranger and his allies and falls to the ground dead a few yards away from the yak’s body. The ranger and his allies stand above the asura’s corpse for a second in silent pause. Her death being little compensation.

The ranger falls to his knees, the certainty of the yak now gone.

–Ravious

 

10 thoughts on “[GW2] The Poetry of Wuv

  1. Alfonso Deegan, Private Eye

    The ranger fell to his knees, rubbing the yak as a swarm of green numbers flashed above the creature’s prone form. Moments later it arose with a rumbling groan. Death, as always, was but a minor setback. Meaningless. Even the asura thief would be back mere moments later.

    In their wisdom, the gods had seen fit to remove any consequence of action from this world. The honorable battlefield had been reduced to shambling ex-corpses gathering into mindless hordes and flinging themselves at one another endlessly. The repeated, traumatic deaths combined with the realization that nothing truly mattered had taken their toll on the combatants’ minds – each seemed to know only a few rudimentary battle techniques, all mastered in mere moments shortly after each fighter’s introduction to the war. Finesse was unknown. They all dressed alike save for dye haphazardly applied to their armor. A sea of identical foes differing only in color waged a war with no victor using carbon-copy strategies and human wave tactics.

    There was no fulfillment here, not for those who weren’t already dead inside, conditioned to accept the mundane and beg for more. This battle would soon end due to apathy rather than attrition, but there would be more to come. Endless, meaningless conflicts where the losers lost nothing and the winners gained little more. What would be left at the height of power, at the point they were all striving to reach? More of the same, save the dull-but-present sense of meaningless progression.

    This was a world with no heroes, for what is heroism without the risk of failure? Yet the ranger and yak plodded slowly on. Time might pass, but nothing would change.

  2. gnome

    Ahhh the best moments usually are from a great PvP setting like wvw in GW2. NPCs may stay the same, but players and circumstances change from moment to moment.

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