"Then this will be a good way to start the new guild," says James, sounding cheerful. "A crisis, but hopefully not a world-ending crisis."

Snort.

Though, 'new guild'? She likes these people. While she doesn't know them very well, what she's seen so far has been pretty good. The words 'Can I join,' go unsaid. She probably hasn't known any of these people long enough to make it something other than awkward if she asks for membership.

"I shall take my leave, then." He hoists Valette over his shoulder like a sack of rice—he's apparently much stronger than his wiry plant-build would lead one to believe—and off he goes.

And now Marjory looks at Vetareh. "Are you by any chance from Orr?" she asks point blank.

Vetareh huffs a little laugh.

"Yes. From just before it blew itself up. I, uh."

She stops. The next words don't come, for some reason. Why is this so hard to say, it being hard to say is stupid. Fine, whatever, she's a mesmer, finding ways around problems is her thing, she can just figure out a different way. She makes her voice light and sarcastic so as not to engage with the complicated web of emotions involving her state for the last several hundred years.

"I decided that Orr just wasn't scenic enough and took a lovely stroll in the Mists."

"I believe the Bloodstone's instability and a magical anomaly I was fighting at the time might have opened the portal through which she returned to Tyria."

"...well, Commander, good luck explaining the last two and a half centuries of history to her. I think I'll return to Divinity's Reach with Canach."

"Heh. The Mists does like collecting prizes. Call me when you've found a lead on Lazarus," says Rytlock, following her.

"Nice meeting you," says Vetareh sincerely, a little amused that they both immediately decided to flee. Not that she blames them, or anything, just: wow. Not subtle, these people. Yep, she definitely likes them.

James shakes his head and pulls his mask off, turning to face Vetareh. "I believe I have two and a half centuries of history to explain to you, then."

"Can it wait until after a hug?"

"It most certainly can," he says, undoing the clasps of his wristguards and shoulderguards. "It had never occurred to me as a downside to this armour set that it makes hugging harder."

Giggle.

"I don't mind really mind, it reminds me not to, to... mess up your image?"

He laughs. "I thank you for that, although at this point it would not be much of a problem, especially around those guys." He holds out his arms.

Hug!

"Yeah, I got that impression. Thus why I was affectionate with you in front of them at all. I just don't want to do it thoughtlessly. You have a nice image, with the fire, spikes, door kicking, and running around like a shadow of death."

"I do think the shadow of death adds a nice touch, don't you?"

"You could be a second coming of Dhuum! Or perhaps Grenth and Balthazar's lovechild. I can't decide."

He chuckles. "Let's not go with Dhuum."

"He was a bit of a bastard," she agrees.

"Grenth is much more my style."

She smiles fondly at him. "I always liked Grenth. Sometimes more than Lyssa, actually, mesmer though I am." Then she winces and gives a little sad sigh. "... I can't believe they left us. Grenth especially, actually, if he's even abandoned the Underworld as well."

"...yeah. We don't know that they've left altogether but they barely answer prayers anymore, and resurrection no longer works."

"So there was no reason or explanation? They just. Stopped caring. For no apparent reason."

"Shortly after Abaddon was killed, yes."

"... Abaddon?"