[Gallagher]

The usual chaos of a bandit attack was nothing compared to what his guild caused. By the time Gambooge and his irritatingly slow Bag had caught up to the others at the farm, there were bodies all around the grounds, many of them obviously dead. As much as it made his stomach twist, he didn't linger on it before he turned to the golem, a press on the door of its hatch making it close. "Round up the cattle."

"Multiple—enemies—detected. Confirm—attack—mode."

"No," he replied, drawing his element around him. Cold prickled down his arm, fog collecting around his hands. It swirled, thickened, and ice crystals grew where it was most dense. "Keep your distance."

"Passive—mode—activated." With heavy footfalls, the golem started around the outskirts of the farm, away from the massacre inside its broken fences. A flash of light took Gambooge to the broken and burning crops. And he, he could tell at a glance, was the only one in his group that could be bothered. In fact, he frowned and glanced over his shoulder while he raised his hands, the fog spreading and thinning as water gathered in front of him. It looked like the sylvari was just going to pay this family off. Turning his attention back to his own task, he pushed his palms forward, waves of water lurching at the growing flames and dousing them.