If you play enough GW2, you come to realize that there are different types of players: the casual-only players who hate PvP, and the PvPers who hate casual players playing PvP (go on, say that three times fast). This is an homage to the latter. Sort of.

When his attempt to dodge the Seraph draft leads to a black eye and an embarrassing arrest in a moa shed, 18-year-old Ffeldy will be lucky to get a job as apprentice armorer in the Mists. In a series of misadventures proving Ffeldy does NOT have what it takes to be fighter, mage, or thief, his ineptitude catches the eye of an asuran engineer in need of a suitable test subject.

GW2 pvp takes an existentialist turn when Engi Prufrock tries to get on the leaderboards. Matches are futile...and then you die. Apologies to T.S. Eliot, and also to any reader who has neither majored in English Lit nor obsessively played pvp. If you like this one (and why should you?), check out my Gunga PVP poem, too.

This one-shot started as an exercise in excessive purple prose that got hilariously out of hand. Someone stole Alistair's helmet! Who? Pokes fun of those "The [adjective] sun rose in the [adjective] sky, casting its [adjective] light over the [adjective] land" openings, paradoxes of description, and also those shared armor game mechanics. Maybe you'll even laugh.