User:The Holy Dragons/The Seraphim Background

Prologue

We are a Guild,

a Special Force,

a Brotherhood.

We are the Protectors,

the Guardians.

We are The Seraphim.

And this is our story.

Many view us as a special unit of the Seraph, but they are mistaken. We date back much further. Pointing back all the way to the Zephyr of 476 AE, when The Seraphim was founded on the north-west coast of Kryta. Members stitched golden lining on their armor, shaped like tiny wings. They would operate behind the scenes, carefully looking after Tyria as much as possible, to keep us all safe. We guided the (then long independent) Kryta

We did not restrict ourselves to Kryta alone. Over time we spread our branches out across Maguuma, Ascalon, the Crystal Desert. We walked Orr, before the Guild Wars ignited and kept to the shadows during them. After the Guild Wars we crossed the vast seas once again to settle with more branches on Cantha and Elona. Eventually we retreated from Elona, after formally introducing ourselves to the Order of Whispers. We are in no need to return unless the scale of any threat outwits the more-than-capable Order of Whispers by itself. We never left Cantha. Some of us fell during the Tengu Wars throughout the time, some of our own fell to the horrible plague. We have witnessed it all.

Our history is richer than one could even dream to fathom. Our knowledge of Tyria nearly endless. But as clocks tick on, time will tell different stories. Stories of rebellion and betrayal. A force as grand as ours was not without the breaking of trust.

In the Scion of 1218 AE, various leaders and officers of the Tyrian branches were assassinated near-simultaneously. No one claimed these murders. The hundreds of members now without leadership fell into chaos and despair, clouding their tasks and judgment. Revenge. Canthan branches failed to respond to messages. The guild fell into the shadows. The Seraphim seemed to be no more. The wing motif was scarcely seen, thereafter.

It was not until 1315 AE when a grandson of the then-veteran co-leader from behind the scenes stepped forward. His grandfather had sealed off the libraries and secured the original design of the wing motif. He then passed these — along with his trust — onto this particular grandson. With these 2 vital bits of information the man took off on his would-be last journey. From Divinity's Reach to Rata Sum, from the Black Citadel to Hoelbrak, he searched for a fitting successor of one of the oldest guilds in Tyrian history. A past hardly relevant with the guild in its current state.

Restructuring is of the essence

In 1316 AE the man managed his way through Lion's Arch, dealing with the most horrible cough one would ever hear. His restless search would soon come to an end, secrets dying with him. Suddenly, from behind he heard the deep voice of a pirate whom had followed the old man around, reasons known to no one but himself.
"Old geeze', d'ya got 'ère?" he asked with intimidating tone.
But the fragile figure simply had another nasty cough escape it. Not afraid of this man more so afraid of his lack of health and possible failure of his mission. Resolve in place, he slowly carried on further down the street.

The pirate, however, had his own resolve at the ready; looting this old, walking corpse and taking this treasure as his own. Whomever stated bandits and pirates don't make for an excellent combination were clearly out of their minds. The man charged the older one. Closing in fast, with a hidden dagger in the event this old man was putting on a show for pity. Can never be too cautious these days. He was close enough and grasped for whatever they were holding. But he never quite made it.

Ethereal chains bound him in place, just barely out of reach of his target. A flash in front of his eyes, a horrible feeling dawned upon him. He was on fire. Then, a shield conjured in front of him, knocking him out of his immobilization and place. He landed about 20 feet away.
"Only scum would think to mug an ill man."
The pirate looked up in pain. In front of the fragile old man now stood a teenager in some trench coat, small scepter and a solid shield in his hands. A guardian had appeared. Was he with some form of gang control here in Lion's Arch? An undercover Seraph, maybe? Either way this kid had stopped him. And severely hurt him due to the element of surprise. Sneaky kid, can he not just mind his own business? The pirate attempted to stand up, but the wounds had already gotten the better of him. Time to retreat. Revenge can come later. He took a swig from the jug on his belt and seemed to regain control of his body instantly, only to make a run for it.

The teenager not once hesitated his next move. He let the man get away. More pressing issues were to be taken care of. He turned around and faced the old man he just protected from harm. Gratitude shining through his tired, watery eyes. No words had to be spoken, lest it would trigger another cough, potentially fatal due to the shock of what just transpired.
"My name is Nero. Sir, that pirate will bother you no longer. Please excuse me for my sudden barging in, it was done to ensure your safety. May I perform healing on you, to ensure your health is at the best possible levels?"
The old man nodded slowly. Nero performed the spell. Not much benefit was found in it; this old man was not suffering from many curable wounds or illnesses. At least the man regained the comfort of speaking. The teenager took a flask filled with clear water from his belt, opened it, and handed it to the man. Slowly but surely, the man had emptied the flask. He must've been quite parched.

"M'name is Tulen and I am be'ond grateful for your help, young man. Would'you be so kind to support me as we make our way over to that bench, I could do with some rest."
Nero gladly offered the support and shortly afterwards the old man was seated on the bench, the teen standing in front of him.
"Never had children of my own but I always dreamed of having grandson much like yourself."
The young man shook his head and was very briefly caught in his own mind. The old man continued:
"I must ask of you, what are you fighting for at such a young age?"
"I want to live up to my heritage. I have the blood of a hero of old running through my veins. I fight to become a hero of today and tomorrow."
The old man mustered a chuckle. "Yes, yes I can understand that more than I might look't."
Nero watched the man loosen his grip on the package he was carrying. The cloth was folded away and it revealed a piece of what was, presumably, worn leather — or some other tough material — with a golden symbol on it. It had the shape of a little wing, much reminding the teenager of the Seraph's logo. It wasn't quite the same, though.

"This is the logo of a secret, gigantic guild of ancient times. My grandfather was once a leader behind the scenes here in Tyria and when the guild broke apart he took initiative in sealing off the secrets and secured the original logo. When he felt it was time, he passed these things onto me, asking- no, begging me to carry on the legacy." Tulen sighed. "But I am old and my time is coming to an end. The Seraphim will be no more if I don't find anyone worthy of carrying the immense weight upon my shoulders. You are a commendable man, Nero. If I may be so rude, could I ask of you your support a little while longer, as I travel just a little while longer? Perhaps events are about to unfold that will allow me to complete what my grandfather once started."
Nero merely nodded. The truth was that he was not quite sure how to go about being a hero of the present. He had travelled to Lion's Arch from Divinity's Reach, but other than that he was in the dark. He would help this man find a new successor. A hero would never turn away from a last wish. If his ancestor was once such a great man and he happened to be looking upon the scene from the Hall of Heroes, this was a moment of pride.

And thus the start of a new Seraphim commenced for Nero Angelo.

How the current main division came to be

More to come...

How Nero attained his current position as leader of the Seraphim

More to come...

The present

That was then. This is now.

We face the threat of the Elder Dragons. Tyria appears to unite against them, worrying about nothing else but these gigantic threats and the damage they inflict on our world. Fear not, for us Seraphim will look after them and everything else. Like we always do. The sheer scale of our operations rival those of the Order of Whispers. Our libraries almost as rich as the Durmand Priory's. Our will to fight equal to the Vigil. We are simply there.

There when others forget to be there. Shielding Tyria with our wings.

The Seraphim