The Story of a Skritt (GW2 Story)

[Sroth]

((Below is a story I wrote for GW2. It was received pretty well, so sharing here for more to read! This wasn't edited very much, but hopefully there aren't many errors lingering. Enjoy!))



The underbrush snapped under the weighted hoof as the boar sniffed around for food. It had been a long day with little to eat; too many other creatures had been in the area already, eating what little there was to begin with.

The woods of Kryta had no shortage of wild beasts and other scavengers scrounging for food. The boars always seemed to get what scraps were left behind. They may be tough for boars, but in the line of tough Krytan beasts, the boar was not very high. At the top stood humans, centaur, tengu, and other intelligent creatures. Some times it seemed the intelligent species outnumbered the beasts.

But some creatures were at times intelligent, and at times beasts.

A sword gently poked the boar in the side then backed away. The boar ignored it. Again, the sword poked and backed away. Clawed, rat-like hands pushed on the boar's rear, but the boar only grunted in protest. The sword slapped on the ground, starling the boar, but it only flinched and grunted.

The skritt assailant could see it was slowly making progress. In the speedy chirping speech of skritt, the brown-furred attacker said, "Boar attack soon. You watch. Kakrinaq slay boar, mighty hero."

A white-furred skritt answered, "Boar not want to attack. You just annoy."

Kakrinaq continued slapping the ground with his sword. Getting no new results, he began shoving the boar, then tried biting it. Finally, the boar seemed out of patience and turned on the skritt, huffing and grunting. It dug its hooves into the ground and charged. Kakrinaq turned to the side safely dodging the boar's tusks and in one swing of his sword slew the boar.

"Chitnik see now," said Kakrinaq, poking the fresh corpse with his reddened blade. "Kakrinaq mighty warrior. Greatest skritt champion. Make many sagas. Humans will sing name too."

"Kakrinaq slay boar, not mighty," said Chitnik in a flat, muted chitter.

"You watch. Kakrinaq become great warrior, win many shinies. Share shinies with Chitnik. We make babies, and grow into great warriors too. Great line of skritt."

Chitnik replied, "Still waiting for mighty warrior."

The two took apart the carcass, collecting bits of meat and bone, then, made their way out of the woods. Kakrinaq towered over Chitnik as they walked, something Chitnik took comfort in. Kakrinaq had always been larger than most skritt, but he never really appreciated his size until his first fight.

His first great "saga" was pilfering a sword from a pile of scavenged goods and fighting off a bat that had flown into their scratch— the skritt idea of a home. It wasn't a very ferocious bat, and it took Kakrinaq nearly an hour to defeat it, but it was enough for him to call himself a mighty warrior. In truth, carrying a weapon was enough for other skritt to see him as a warrior, even if he had no idea how to wield a weapon.

Kakrinaq's ear twitched as he caught the sound of a flowing river. "Kakrinaq show you. Mighty warrior slay mighty beast."

"Drake tougher than Kakrinaq," said Chitnik, knowing instinctively what Kakrinaq intended to do.

"Kakrinaq tougher. You watch."

The skritt pair deviated from the path home to humor Kakrinaq's desire for glory. They were sure to find drakes by the water, and a drake would be a spectacular trophy for a skritt warrior.

As expected, the dark shapes of swimming drakes moved under the water. Once more, Kakrinaq employed his barbaric methods of attracting his enemies. The two skritt waded into the water and he began kicking and slapping his sword on the water's surface. Minutes passed and no drake emerged.

"Drakes do you favor. None show up," chirped Chitnik.

"Not need favors, need drake!" Kakrinaq slapped the water harder and moved further out. "Must be scared. Terrified of mighty skritt warrior."

After more silence passed, Chitnik squeaked, "We go home now? Be mighty warrior tomorrow."

Kakrinaq turned to his mate and, in as close to a growl as skritt make in their tongue, said, "Kakrinaq mighty warrior, kill drake now!"

In the briefest moment in Kakrinaq's life, the water billowed as a large dark shape emerged, and in one motion massive jaws opened around Chitnik and closed. Kakrinaq's acute skritt ears heard clearly the sound of crunching bones and one terrified squeak. The dark mass was instantly back under the water, and in Chitnik's place was only a trickle of blood leading into the murky depths of the river.

Kakrinaq hadn't even noticed he let his sword fall into the shallows of the river as he scampered to where Chitnik had stood. The shivering skritt peered around and looked into the water. He dunked his head under but could see nothing. Dripping wet, Kakrinaq began squealing a series of long sharp noises. Every sound took effort as his body heaved to make it as loud as possible. He called again and again, in long sharp noises. "Chitnik!"

And again, "Chitnik!"

Kakrinaq sat, wet and cold, calling out until his little voice became hoarse and faint. His little skritt mind could not figure out what to do next. With no one else to speak to, he couldn't even understand the heavy weight in his chest. A skritt needs other skritt to quickly assess complicated things, but alone, he was barely more than an animal— simple and primal. Kakrinaq had the thought to begin beating his head until it could think on its own. A soft thud followed with each blow, but no matter how many times he hit himself, he couldn't bash intelligence into place. He finally stopped when he realized his claws had started cutting him.

Quiet and still, the skritt sat by the river until the sun was starting to set and the blue sky had dimmed to violet. He stared into the waters, wondering why none of the drakes returned for another meal. It was only then he realized that the dark shapes seemed to have vanished, likely swimming off to whatever a drake calls home. And so, Kakrinaq decided he too would head home.

The sword was placed back in its rough scabbard, and Kakrinaq looked once more into the river. He had no thoughts on it, really. Alone, he simply couldn't process the events thoroughly. Kakrinaq decided he would share what happened with the others, and they would figure it all out.

There had to be some way of bringing that level of intelligence with him, he decided. Would he always be this stupid, even if out in the world being a supposed champion of the skritt? Could he even hope to be a champion without any means of processing his surroundings? What would it take to make a skritt a true warrior?

***

The match sparked to life, kissed its flame to a cigar, and was waved back and forth until the flame's short life was over. It had been a long day with little to do. The roads were being watched by Seraph, and bounty hunters combed the woods. Corvac felt it was lucky that their backup hideout had yet to be discovered. The lads had hauled in everything from the main hideout barely an evening before the Seraph raided it only to find an empty lair and a loving note left by Corvac himself.

"Sorry you missed us, really. Feel free to help yourselves to the left over booze.
- Sincerely, Corvac"

The booze was of course a crate full of empty bottles. As he stepped outside, Corvac smiled to himself, mentally patting himself on the back for his oh-so-clever note. It was good to finally get some fresh air after spending the better half of the week hiding in one cave after another. Still, there was a sense of pride in being a wanted man. Corvac was doing a good job.

A sharp sound like that of a bird came from the treetops nearby. Corvac's eyes darted up to a boney youth hugging the top of a dangerously tall tree. The youth motioned out to the east and counted six on his fingers. Corvac nodded and looked to the guards posted by the entrance. One rushed back inside to fetch the rest of the gang. Who ever these six idiots were, they were about to be dealt with. Corvac checked his gun with a grin and puffed smoke from his cigar. He was enjoying himself greatly.

Soon, the six strangers came over the hill and the bandits stared in a mix of confusion and amusement. Six skritt approached the cave entrance, five of them were small and carried several packs strapped around them, but the sixth was large. He was covered in a heavy scale coat made from what appeared to be drake scales, and on his head sat a helmet unmistakably made from the skull of a drake. A long scar across the right side of his face was still visible under the helmet's cover. On the skritt's back he carried a large sword that most of the men there would have trouble lifting, and on his belt dangled two jagged maces. One bandit winced at the mere sight of the maces.

"That's got to be the biggest goddamn skritt I've ever seen," said Red Ralph, idly toying with his large— stolen— shield. The others laughed, but the skritt made no response.

Corvac pointed his gun at the large skritt that was clearly leading the party of rats. "That's some bad luck, you wanderin' up this way. If you wouldn't mind leaving your valuables, we just might let you walk away. No sense wastin' good bullets."

The large skritt moved a meaty arm to the hilt of his sword and unsheathed its vicious serrated blade. The skritt behind started buzzing back and forth with one another. The leader finally said, "I am Kakrinaq the Slayer, and I am here to collect a bounty."

The bandits exploded into laughter. The scrawny youth had trouble holding onto the tree. More bandits emerged from the cave, outnumbering the skritt nearly three to one.

"It's gonna take more than six rats to collect this bounty," said Bloody Rose, expertly twirling her daggers.

"You're mistaken," replied Kakrinaq with an un-skritt-like growl. "They are not here to fight. I alone will kill you all."

There was a chilling certainty in his voice, and as the rat raised his terrifying sword, Corvac fired his gun. The lone bullet bit into Kakrinaq's shoulder, but he remained unfazed. Kakrinaq charged forward at the bandit leader, but Ralph intercepted with his shield raised high. The sword came down like a cleaver and tore the shield in two. Ralph stared blankly at his shield, and his eyes focused in on his arm, noticing that it too was cut in half. He screamed for only a moment, as the sword came back around and silenced him for good.

The five skritt behind Kakrinaq squeaked and chirped wildly.

"What, do they just cheer him on?" asked on bandit who tried to attack from behind. His blade was blocked without the skritt warrior even looking, and in a mesmerizing twirl, the jagged edge turned and lobbed off the bandit's head. Kakrinaq dodged and parried with ease, chopping down bandit after bandit. The five skritt were not there to cheer, but to watch, analyze, deliberate, and issue tactics, all in the span of mere seconds. This was the strength and weakness of the skritt— the hive mind. In action, it was a sight to behold, frightening and mysterious. But without fellow skritt to commune with, they were slow, stupid, and only a danger to themselves.

Kakrinaq used his tail to fumble an attack, cut down another bandit, and was then warned by his committee of another bandit several paces away that was about to fire a rifle. The skritt tacticians determined that his posture suggested a trained marksman, and the rifle was high enough caliber to cause serious or fatal damage. Kakrinaq agreed that this bandit's threat was too high to ignore and hefted his sword over his head, then, launched it across the way. It crunched the man's bones and fixed him to the hillside in gory heap, but left Kakrinaq open.

An order to duck was issued, and he followed suit, watching an axe pass harmlessly over his head. The skritt warrior unhooked his maces and prepared to retaliate. The mace heads were balls of twisted, jagged, and angry looking iron. He struck back and the mace bit into the man's chest. As Karkinaq pulled it back out, chunks of skin and muscle ripped from the bandit as the teeth of the metal refused to release.

Another swing, a blow to the head, and another bandit down. Corvac alone remained. He turned to run, but his legs were suddenly shredded by the twisted iron of a thrown mace and he was knocked to the ground. He rolled over and screamed in pain as the movement caused the mace's weight to rip more flesh from his leg. Suddenly, Kakrinaq was on top of Corvac's chest. The bandit could feel the rats claws sinking into his skin from all the weight of the scale armor.

"I will be needing your head to show as proof."

The skritt gripped Corvac's face and chest, tilted its head to get a solid bite, then, sank its teeth into his neck. Corvac tried to force the skritt off, but did not have the strength for it. Kakrinaq tightened his grip, and a wayward claw jabbed into his eye. An already intense scream of pain intensified until it devolved into bloody gurgles. Kakrinaq began twisting his head, teeth still buried in the bandit's neck, and with tight claws pulled. With a grotesque crunch of bone, Corvac's head was relieved of its body. So too was blood relieved of its narrow roads and set free on the ground.

Karkinaq's entourage rushed forward, first collecting his weapons, then, collecting gold, bandit weapons, food, and other supplies from the slain. They stuffed their packs until they could carry no more. With Corvac's head in hand, hanging by reddened hair, Kakrinaq led his companions out of the forest.

When the skritt company turned in the head for the reward, the Seraph and other onlookers stared in awe. None of them had ever seen a skritt carry himself in such a way before. This drake-adorned warrior was focused, and still had an eye and ear collecting information about his environment like all skritt do. He eyed everyone he passed and his ears often shifted directions, catching every whisper from the nervous or intrigued watchers. Even more shocking, when he was paid the reward, he counted the coins, then, handed them off to his five followers.

There were many whispers that day. A name began to echo from one mouth to another— Karkinaq the Slayer.

[Mixxi]

((Gods, Sroth. I love this story so much. It literally changed how I view the skritt in Tyria. Everytime I go into one of their scratches, I think of this. They get a whole new level of respect from me.))

[Xerali]

((
Respect? Gods, I -fear- them! One skritt out in the wild, you know you're safe. Walking into one of their cobbled together hovels? Cheers to staying on their good side
))

[Jasyn]

(( I won't forget you, Chitnik! ))

[Sroth]

((Thanks guys! 

Yeah, it was inspired by some of the events in game where skritt really show off what they can do in large numbers, like the one in Metrica. It made me think about what a playable skritt would be like. I might even take this story over to some of the bigger GW2 sites  ))