Hello readers! I recognize I have MANY stories I haven’t updated in quite a while…sorry!

I hope you enjoy this story too! (This is set during the Factions Campaign)

Disclaimer: I do not own Guild Wars, I own my characters, I love my characters, but not Guild Wars…if only…if only….

Summary: To be blessed by Grenth, is to be hated, scorned, isolated, and looked upon disdainfully. Until you find someone equally blessed.

To be blessed by Grenth, the God of death and ruler of the mists, is to be hated, scorned, isolated and looked upon disdainfully. Hated by the Monks of Dwayna, who worship the life we so hate and banish the darkness we so covet. Scorned by Rangers who commune with the nature and raise it, only to have it destroyed and reborn by our cold hands. To be shunned by the warriors who see it unfit for a fallen soldier to be brought from the mists back after such a well-fought battle. Stares of confusion behind the masks of the Mesmers, who work so hard to contort reality and bring grief to their enemies, and we who do it with such little effort and without the flourish. Tolerance by Assassins, who see us as tools to aide them in battle, but dispensable. A cold shoulder from Dervishes, who can take the very form of the Gods themselves, while we grasp at Grenth’s hands for a taste of his power over the dead. Paragons look at us with indifference, for they are the messengers themselves, the revered and respected “angels”, while we are the lowly servants who take out the will of one God, and take it out with sacrifices of our very own life force. Even by Ritualists, who control and dominate the Spirits of the dead to do their will, make mockery of us, who control the body of the dead and dying. As well as Elementalists, who control all elements of nature, look upon us with jealousy as we control the power of cold and ice granted to us by Grenth himself, and not by hours and years of dedication.

But there is one thing that they all admit too, they fear us, because they know that once they die, they are in our domain, we control their corpses, and determine whether they serve us as minions, fiends, or if they’ll provide for a explosion or soul feast. But while they are in control, they make it known that we are not welcome, and are merely tolerated for our expertise in the dark arts. They keep us around just so we don’t go to the Charr, so we don’t go bad, and use our deadly arts of controlling the dead to overpower them. Yes, I am talking the grim reapers, the envoys of the dead, the ones who deliver souls to Grenth; I am talking about the living dead, the Necromancers.

So how was it? Read and review! I know it doesn’t really sound like a Romance…but it’ll get there!!!