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| A New Chapter; IC (will open eventually) | |
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| Topic Started: May 23 2017, 11:56 PM (1,174 Views) | |
| Benevolent Thomas | May 23 2017, 11:56 PM Post #1 |
Daddy
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Thomas woke with a start. A moment ago, he was among the hordes deep beneath the surface. The whispers he once heard are now turning to cries. Something is brewing. He takes a look at his surroundings. The inn he is staying at is rather modest with only the necessities being offered without luxury. There was battle in the air. The aroma of breakfast was clashing with the unmistakable stench of last night's booze. The aging Warden dresses and heads downstairs. The inn was bustling with patrons. The few staff feverishly worked to keep the masses satisfied, naught a table available. Thomas takes a seat at the bar where he is greeted with a meal and a pint. Patrons look on in disgust as he drains his glass before taking his first bite. A young woman takes his mug and heads behind the bar. Thomas continues to excavate his plate until he is interrupted with the clank of another pint hitting the table. He looks up to the sight of a sly grin. "Good morning, Sir Thomas. What grand adventures do you have planned today?" "That's not my title anymore" he replied. "I'll have you know that there are still many who remember you and what you did for us, Benevo-" "Please, Katherine" he replied, a grin taking hold on his face. "There we go" she said with a smile. "Welcome back to the world of the living". Katherine takes his plate and returns to her duties. Thomas watches as she moves from table to table, gathering orders and clearing away dishes. Her beautiful, dark brown hair sways behind her shoulders as she moves about. Her youth is apparent in the way she moves, as if her feet never truly touch the ground. Her slender body could be lighter than air, tethered to this world only by her signature light-blue dress. A kind face that warms the heart of all whom she serves, her dark eyes contrast the paleness of her skin which is accented by a mark do the left of her full lips. Thomas looks into his glass, his rough reflection stares back at him through the ale. His once youthful face is now cloaked by the scars of a harsh life. Patches of silver have begun to slowly colonize his black hair. The stubble that grows unkempt speaks to his indifference. His large stature makes him a standout in most settings, but a once robust physique has begun to wither. Looking into his brown eyes, he gathers what resolve he can and finishes the drink. He looks back at Katherine once more before heading out into the world. |
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| Sir Merlin | May 29 2017, 11:48 AM Post #21 |
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The morning came, sleeping in a corner only a wooden chair under you wasn't the best place to sleep, but so wasn't sleeping next to bunch of dead bodies of both humans and demons. The smell was like you expected it to be after a night of warmness and rotting bodies lying at the floor. Sir Merlin quickly searched for a map of Ferelden and left the chantry for the road to city of Amarathine to seek the grey wardens before any templars could get to the chantry, because a sight of a him in there surrounded with dead bodies and demons wasn't something the Merlin wanted to happen. Edited by Sir Merlin, May 31 2017, 12:34 PM.
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| Benevolent Thomas | May 30 2017, 02:43 AM Post #22 |
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Daddy
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"The Vigil? You're going to want to head east toward Amara-" A man then collapsed between them. A pool of blood started to form beneath his head. "Bride of the Maker! Let's move him inside." The pair lifted the man and retreated into the inn. Upon reentering the inn, Thomas boomed "Clear a table! Katherine, get us hot water and rags. Quickly!" The room sprung into action. A table was quickly made clear, the sounds of plates hitting the floor and ale sloshing about. Thomas and the stranger laid the unconscious man onto a table as Katherine approached with a hot kettle and rags draped over her shoulder. "Heavens, what happened?" Katherine inquired. "Not quite sure. As soon as I made my way onto the street, this man collapsed before me. Lets get this man cleaned up while someone gets professional help". Thomas then gazed up at the surrounding crowd and a few people jumped up and ran to acquire assistance. After he saw the inn door swing open then shut, Thomas examined the man on the table. "There doesn't appear to be any other injuries besides the blow to the head and some scrapes probably caused by the fall. Katherine, we'll have two pints and a bottle of something stronger. The ale for my friend and I and the bottle for the unconscious gentleman if he happens to wake soon." "Well, there goes this day" he whispers under his breath. |
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| Charles Watson-Turing | May 30 2017, 04:21 AM Post #23 |
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Charles was in a strange state. His mind swung between periods of nothingness and periods of fleeting consciousness. He was lying on a table. A man leaned over him...a Warden? There were wolves everywhere in the inn, and a giant head floated in the air. It was the pickpocket. The floating head began to laugh at him, and so did the wolves. They were telling him how pitiful he was. How he never should have left his home. Even the Warden began to laugh, though the sound came out of an unmoving, closed mouth. Amid the sea of cackling, Charles receded back into the peaceful sea of sleep. When Charles opened his eyes again, the world swam and danced around him. Everything was blurry, apart from the corner of the room. There, on a stool, sat Louis, Charles' dead son. Charles called out to him, in what came out as a moan, and Louis began to walk towards him. A tear ran down Charles' face. Louis was at arms length now, and Charles reached his hand out. But before he could touch Louis, a Darkspawn materialised out of nowhere, and struck Louis down with a sharp, serrated blade. Charles watched his son being killed in front of him for the second time in his life, before falling back into the nether. The third time Charles woke, he knew he would not fall back under. He looked around. He was in the inn. Men and women clustered around him. There was a doctor leaning over him, and the Warden was not far away. The doctor saw that he was awake, and quickly told him not to try to talk. Charles ignored him. 'Wnng...Wheeerr.... Where's the wolf?' he asked. As people stared at him, not understanding, thinking he was mad, he felt the back of his head. It was bandaged. The sharp, cutting pain was now but a dull throb. Charles reached out towards a bottle of spirits, which had been placed near his hand. He took a long swig straight from the bottle, and immediately felt the confusion in his mind go. With renewed strength, he tried again. 'There's a baby wolf. Named Granite. On the street outside. Someone go and get him. Please. Show him my cloak, I think one of you took it off and put it on that chair. Show him my cloak, and he'll know what's happened.' Charles smiles as a man walks out with his cloak. Charles turns to the tall man, who he thinks is a Warden. 'Thank you so much for helping me. I was going to ask you something earlier. Are you a Grey Warden?' |
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| Roavin | May 30 2017, 08:15 AM Post #24 |
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The tall man began to answer, though Johtir was already half distracted as he noticed the purple coated man had walked towards them in a bloodied stupor, then fall down again. The presumed Warden immediately took charge of the situation and called for the two of them to pick up the helpless man to carry him into the inn. As they lifted the man, a woman with a broom yelled "That man's wolf killed this child!" At once, Johtir's mind went to work. See Wolf. Cub. Half-starved. Look at boy. Ugh, bloody. Still subtly moving, breathing. See small leather bag on floor. Coins. Look down at man's boots. Mud. Just came in. Look at wolf. Paws dirty, not muddy. Not his wolf. See wolf looking at coat. Probably fed the beast. Look at pouch again. Aah, probably a pickpocket. Look at woman chasing after wolf. "Hey, that's not his wolf! The boy's still alive, go help him, for Andraste's sake!" Johtir then turned to carry the man inside the inn, not having the chance to see if his words were heeded. Inside the Inn, the tall man took charge once again, much to Johtir's pleasure as his mind was trying to convince him that the patrons were towering over him again. The barmaid gave him an ale, ordered by the surmised Warden for him. As the big hustle died down, he turned to the tall man. "Thank you - I may as well introduce myself. Johtir Aerert, from Denerim. I used to trade knowledge." Fuck. Notice that eyes are focused on feet. Someday I'll learn. Look up. In his eyes. Smile. Too much smile. Must look like I'm selling snake oil. Smile a bit less. Extend right hand. Notice that the unconscious man stirs. Edited by Roavin, May 30 2017, 11:29 AM.
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| Wolf Havens | May 30 2017, 01:41 PM Post #25 |
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The woman with the broom had ceased her pursuit of Sylven after a word from the man talking to the "Warden" and was stooped over the pickpocket, gingerly pressing his wounds with a rag. Sylven warily watched her out of the corner of his eye but focused on the door to the inn. The man with the purple cloak was in there. Should he follow? A burly oaf stumbled out through the door into the sunlight and stood squinting around the street. No, that is not the right place for lone wolf puppies. Sylven moved to an inconspicuous spot next to the inn and licked his paw. It felt better... A coarse shout in his direction. Sylven looked up as the full bodied oaf walked towards him, waving... a purple cloak. Sylven shot around the man and dove into the inn. A barrage of smells; cheap whisky, unwashed men, blood; hit him. Blood... What had they done to the man in the purple cloak? Where had they taken him? There, on the table. He was looking towards the entrance and caught Sylven's eye, tried to say something, but a man in fine clothes held him down. "Rrrrrrrrrgh," Sylven found himself growling and crouching. He was slightly surprised how protective he felt of the man who previously had a purple cloak. He sprang up on the table and lunged angrily at the doctor. Hurt this man over my fleabitten corpse! |
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| Charles Watson-Turing | May 30 2017, 02:29 PM Post #26 |
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As Granite barrelled into the doctor's chest, Charles gasped in shock. 'Granite! STOP!' But Granite had already knocked the poor man to the ground. Charles sat up wincing. 'Granite, this man helped me!' To put it in terms the wolf could understand, Charles placed his hand on the doctor's shoulder and helped him up, before smiling, 'I am so sorry, sir. You save my life, and then my wolf knocks you over like that! Here, take these coins.' Charles pressed some coins into the doctor's hand, then said that he could leave now. The doctor, after instructing Charles not to move about too much, or do anything too adventurous, left in a hurry. Charles immediately jumped off the table, and bent down to ruffle Granite's hair. 'The doctor wasn't the only one who helped me today. You also deserve a reward.' Charles turned to the bartender. 'Excuse me, do you serve any meat dishes here? Because if you do, I'll take your finest steak, please!' After further stroking Granite, Charles turned back to Thomas, expecting him to give a reply to Charles' inquiry about whether or not he was a Warden. Edited by Charles Watson-Turing, May 30 2017, 03:06 PM.
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| Birdkeeper | May 30 2017, 07:03 PM Post #27 |
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A year has passed since Grokir felt as if he was reborn. Birdkeeper he thought with a smile as he started the morning. Its amazing to think what all has changed since that day His shanty not only houses his forge, but has accommodations for various birds, always filled with crusts of bread and each corner having a small dish for water. Every time the camp settles, soldiers and citizens fight for a spot close to Grokir's Birds and Steel. The camp no longer rises to the sound of pounding steel, but to the pleasant chirps of the various avian wildlife in the area. Maybe I will open an Inn when I get to Vigil's Keep instead of a forge Grokir mused to himself, All these people gathering here, it fills the heart with joy. But what to call it... Altas found Grokir firing up his forge, laughter in her eyes as she watched him heat up metal while preparing the next batch of bread for the birds' supper. Shaking her head, she goes and helps him, taking over making the dough, as Grokir, with a thankful smile, concentrated on the forge. Four blades, two shields and an axe later, Grokir sat just outside his shanty, mingling with people while hand feeding Roa, Naari, and Toh, the three crows he saved. Altas sat next to him, petting Naari as she eats another bit of corn from Grokir's hand. "You know," Grokir said suddenly, "ever notice how there is always two of these crows near me? I would have thought they have moved on by now..." Altas, smiling as Naari takes off from her hand, said "You saved their lives, raised them, even managed to teach them to fly. They have imprinted themselves on you, bonded in the deepest way a creature can to you, and they will never leave you. Be grateful, there are many who have tried and failed to be as close as you are with your winged friends. None, in my knowledge however, happened to be a dwarf." She laughs, getting up and stretching. "Now come, you old bull, its noon and you still have work to do. We leave in the morrow, and there is still metal for you to break." She said with a wink. "Silly elf, dwarves do not break metal, we form it as the elves form the trees, as the humans form alliances. It is in our very nature!" Grokir exclaimed. "Then why do you know how to make bread?" Altas fired back, stifling a laugh. "And why did I see you talking to the brewer, without a tankard in your hand?" Grokir stared. Looking down, he spoke softly "Maybe because I have been considering opening an inn... The elf crouches in front of the dwarf, surprisingly serious. "You will need more than bread and beer, my diminutive friend. You need beds, a cook, a bar maid.." she said with a wink. "And a name of course." Grokir grunts, pondering. Suddenly his face lights up, and jumps with excitement. "I know just the name!" "The Staggering Griffin!" |
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| Nakari | May 31 2017, 08:25 PM Post #28 |
Spy!
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The man leaves, and Myrrha exhales a breath she hadn't known she was holding. She's still drowsy, eyes heavy as she traces her route in her head again. It's familiar now as her dagger's hilt, but running over it again and again satisfies her. She likes following orders. It clears her mind. The map is engraved into her memory by constant redrawing. It's the first map she'd ever seen and it was beautiful, the black ink luxurious and exquisite, the jagged coastlines confined to parchment. The compass rose with its almost-perfect symmetry. She draws it with her finger on the wooden table. Here's the crosshatched mass of the forest, here's Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep, here's the road that snakes along to the town that her target last sent a message from. Myrrha's been filled in on the basics. The Ben-Hassrath is a Viddathari like her, though on a slightly less voluntary basis. Vigil's Keep and the largest Grey Warden base are nearby. It's the only important thing nearby to monitor - they must be experimenting with all kinds of magic that the Qun could take advantage of. There's a burst of noise. The man from earlier enters hefting a body in his arms, bellowing orders, along with another man. The second is more hunched over, hiding in a cloak. Myrrha's instinct is to investigate. She darts over and slips between the others clearing the table, snatching up plates and someone's tankard. She can play nervous pretty well. Wide dark eyes and hands clutching tightly until the tankard's owner nudges her and she reluctantly hands it over. Even once the crowd begins to clear a little and patrons begin to return to their places, Myrrha lingers. She kneels. Makes herself useful by collecting the few plates that had clattered to the floor. A wolf cub with bones nearly visible through its baby fluff trots in - it passes Myrrha, who shrinks back as if afraid of its tiny teeth. A young wolf had limped up to her while she was exploring the Graves once, and Myrrha had fed it and tried to tame it. Mostly because the Keeper always told her to avoid wolves, and she knew it'd upset him to see his own daughter with a cub at her heels. She wanted to see if he'd stop her. As usual, he didn't. After a few days the wolf had become too sluggish to keep up with her, then curled up and died on her lap. She stacks the plates up in her arms and listens. Edited by Nakari, Jun 1 2017, 02:24 AM.
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| Birdkeeper | Jun 6 2017, 05:54 AM Post #29 |
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Grokir gripped his hammer tighter as he tore it from the Darkspawn's face, turning around to break another's back with his swing. He roared loudly as pounced on another unfortunate group, too slow to run away from the dwarf’s fury. The rest of the soldiers could only stand and stare in awe as Grokir demolished the entire Darkspawn attack force. They could only watch as Grokir's hammer and arms got wet with more and more blood. No one dared join the raging dwarf, fearing for their own lives. The ambush in the night came as a surprise, a raid that turned unsuccessful due to the dwarf and his fury. Altas called off the fire buckets, sadly shaking her head at the smoldering heap that used to be Birdkeeper's shanty. "Who knows how long this rage of his will go." She muttered, as she made her way to where the fighting sounds were coming from. Grokir could only see red, as he drank in his bloodthirst and rage, not caring for the injuries or aching muscles as he swung blindly, grunting in satisfaction with every successful hit. And yet, though his eyes could not see, his senses were at their peak, seeking the Darkspawn as a predator seeks its prey. It seemed there was nothing that could stop him… Altas looked up at the sky, watching the sun shatter the darkness. What a contrast this beautiful day is to this horrible night. Soldiers were going back to the camp, silent but for the sounds of preparing for the day. Altas looked back out to Grokir, the man on his knees, arms slumped at his sides and his hammer on the ground. Moving closer, she saw the dwarf’s shoulders heave in silent sobs, his face wet with a mix of blood, sweat, and tears. She sat next to him, and put a comforting arm on his shoulders. “Why did they have to burn it down…kill so many birds who had not yet even experienced flight…?” Grokir sobbed. Altas took him into her arms, and held him as he poured out his sorrow into her shoulder. ------------------- It was almost evening when Grokir finally returned to the camp. Sore, eyes red and swollen, he made his way slowly to what was left of his shanty. Every person he passed moved out of his way, his grief stricken rage still fresh in their minds. As he arrived, the sight hit him with pain in his gut. Altas arrived with a bucket of water, relieving Grokir of his hammer to clean it. “The silence here is deafening,” Grokir managed to say. He licked his lips and whistled a bird’s call, trying to break the silence. To his surprise he heard a call back. Looking up, he saw a black shape diving down from the sky. Landing on the ground next to Grokir was Toh, hopping on his legs left and right. Picking at his hand, Toh half walked, half flew away from the shanty, leading Grokir while catching the attention of Altas. The crow, the dwarf, and the elf turned to the fallen over tree near the Birdkeeper’s shanty, and found a hole near the trunk, where Naari and Roa sat, guarding and and keeping silent the many birds that Grokir had been caring for. Edited by Birdkeeper, Jun 10 2017, 01:01 PM.
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| Benevolent Thomas | Jun 7 2017, 08:46 PM Post #30 |
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Daddy
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The mention of the word "warden" and suddenly Thomas felt the eyes of the tavern looking upon him. While the Order's role in ending the fifth blight had not quite been forgotten, its legacy of conscripting many of the Arling's denizens are fresh on the minds of everyone. The numerous criminals that skipped imprisonment and execution by enlisting, the glory seeking youth that never saw the end of their Joining, the countless that died during the Darkspawn Civil War, and the many sacrificed by the Wardens weighed heavy on the Order's reputation. Thomas could only respond with "aye". The atmosphere of the inn turned solemn. The faces of the elderly turned tense, barely holding back their anger. Several younger men began to fade deeper into the crowd that had been surrounding the scene at the table. Eyes darted towards widows that the Order created. Thomas then looked at the young man and said "You should find a place to rest for the next few days. A blow to the head is not to be taken lightly." His cover had been blown. Thomas could no longer slip around town without being harassed by the many who were negatively impacted by the Order's acquisition of the Arling. With the crowd dispersing, Thomas turned to the man with the pipe from before and said "Johtir, was it? I will be accompanying you to the keep. I have an urgent matter that needs attending to". Thomas sees the now lively young man begin to spring from his seat and scolds him "You need to lay your arse down. I will be back in five to seven days; we can discuss then". The Warden made his way to his room and gathered his belongings. After equipping his armor, he made his way back to the common room to see Katherine standing next to Johtir, wearing a traveler's cloak. "And just what is this supposed to be?" Thomas questioned. "I will be going with you" Katherine replied. "the Maker you are" the Warden answered "I'm not in the business of escorting young girls on a holiday". Katherine then straightened her posture and exclaimed "I wish to join the Order!" Just then, a man emerged from the inn's kitchen, waiving a butcher's knife shrieking "Not my daughter too, you son of a bitch!" Katherine ran to confront her father. Thomas gave Johtir a look and nodded towards the exit. The pair split from the unfolding scene and made their way down the road. They had not even reached the town's limits before they were re-accompanied by a now panting Katherine. "Listen", she said between breaths, "I am coming with you". Now frustrated, Thomas puffs his chest and says "Look, I bet you don't even know how to hold a swo-" Thomas then feels his leg sweep out from underneath him before his butt lands on the ground. Katherine then extends her hand to help the warden up. As he gets back on his feet, she grins and reassures him "these legs can also run quite fast if the situation calls for it". Dusting himself off, Thomas grins back at her and replies "Attacking an unsuspecting opponent? There may be hope for you yet". He starts to lead the party out of town before jokingly questioning "is there anybody else from this Maker-forsaken town looking to get to Amaranthine?" |
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| Charles Watson-Turing | Jun 9 2017, 03:48 PM Post #31 |
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Charles couldn't be happier! The man was a Warden! After three years, Charles had finally found what he was looking for! And so close to his former home in the Free Marches, too. As soon as Charles saw the Warden leave, pursued by the barkeeper's daughter, he jumped off the table again, ignoring the Warden's advice. Just one more week! One more week and he would be a Warden! He was already impatient. Calm down Charles. It's just a week. You've waited 3 years for this. One week more won't kill you. Charles looked up as the innkeeper walked over, holding the steak he had ordered for Granite. He had tears streaming down his face. Charles thanked him, and tossed the steak to Granite. 'That's for saving my life!' As Charles watched Granite, smiling, he walked over to the innkeeper. 'Sir,' he said, 'I'm very sorry about your daughter. If you need anything, be sure to ask me. Could I also get a room here in the inn? I don't know how long I'll need it for, anything between 5-7 days, but I'll pay for 10 days in advance, just in case, and you can keep the extra.' Charles, being a very successful politician in his home town, Brokham, was not at all strapped for cash. 'Fine. That'll be 15 silver in total. But you can't take that creature in the room.' The innkeeper nodded at the wolf. Charles was amazed. 15 silver?! That was ridiculously cheap compared to what he was used to. But then again, I doubt this was the kind of place people of his social standing usually stayed. If anything, the innkeeper had probably raised the price after looking at his blatantly extravagant, costly, purple cloak. Anyhow, Charles was ready and willing to negotiate with the innkeeper. 'I'll double the price. 30 silver, and I'll give you my oath that the wolf won't do anything to the room.' 'Nope. No wolf.' '45' 'No wolf.' '80 silver.' 'I'm not going to let the wolf in. I have a policy, and I'll stick to it.' 'A sovereign.' The innkeeper stared at Charles open mouthed. 'I'm sorry- did you say- are you going to pay-' 'One sovereign, for one room for 10 days, with the wolf. That is my final offer.' 'Deal! Yes, of course sir! Be my guest. The room will be ready in an hour.' Charles removed the single gold coin from his pouch, which was almost stolen, and dropped it on the bar's surface. He thanked the innkeeper, then walked back to his table, watching Granite again. He sipped his drink, and proceeded to ponder for a while. So, you're going to be a Grey Warden. Are you ready, Charles? Of course I am! I fought off all those Darkspawn attacking Brokham, remember? That was over 3 years ago, Charles. I still have that hate inside me. But do you have the talent? I...er...yes...of course! Charles, you're a damn politician, not a fighter. Did you see that Warden? He has killed, many times before. And probably not just Darkspawn. Think about him, then look at yourself. You're a middle-aged man with a colourful cloak and a fancy sword. That doesn't make you a fighter. Fine. I'll train. Train how? I'll go hunting. Right now. I'm going hunting. There's a small wood to the West of this town. I passed through it on my way here. I'll go there. Charles leapt to his feet, almost an hour after securing his room. He glanced over at Granite, indicating that if he wanted to, he should come. Then, he strode out the inn, and began to march West, down the Main Street. The wood began to come into view. |
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| Wolf Havens | Jun 9 2017, 04:43 PM Post #32 |
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Sylven caught the steak in his mouth and its weight nearly knocked him down. Real meat. And he didn't even have to steal it! Sylven carried the steak into a corner anyway, away from the innkeeper - in case he decides he wants it back... His teeth sunk into the tasty flesh and Sylven was soon engrossed in shredding it up and gulping it down. I could get used to food like this. It wasn't as flavorful as the venison he had eaten in the forest, but rich, tender, and deliciously fatty. The meal made him sleepy. He observed what was happening inside the inn contentedly. The innkeeper was rolling another barrel of ale behind the bar, a particularly sour look on his face. At a nearby table three old men chuckled among themselves through their three untended beer-stained beards. A wide-eyed girl floated by him clutching at her cloak. And Sylven curled up in the corner, tail flipped adorably over him nose, and took a nap. Sylven glanced up. Familiar footsteps.. This is still not a good place for a wolf puppy... The man in the purple cloak was walking by, headed for the door. He nodded to Sylven, inviting him along. Where's he going now? Sylven was somewhat inclined to stay at the inn. After all, he had gotten food there. But he got up, shook out his pelt to dispel the sleepy feeling he still had, and trotted out after Charles. |
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| Sir Merlin | Jun 9 2017, 05:33 PM Post #33 |
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The Pilgrim's path was long one, connecting both Denerim and Amaranthine, but after the Fifth blight it had turned into a roads with loads of darkspawn spotting and guards patrols to make sure that human casualties were minimized. After a while, a glorious fortress came to Merlin's eyes; The Vigil's Keep. The keep was main base to Grey Wardens which he needed to bring something which he didn't have nor know what it is. But surely they would tell him what it was Merlin hoped as he walked to trough the gates to the outter city. His stomach informed him of his hunger by growling and his pocket of reminded him of his poorness by not existing. "bloody thieves woulden't let me keep even a silver to have me alive for next mugging." he said as he sat to next to a building hoping that a someone would give him a silver or two. "What does a fellow mage of the Circle do here sitting and begging for money?" Says a mage standing near him. "And who might you be?" Asks Sir Merlin looking at the mage that was standing next to him. "We are the mage's collective and I have some work that you might be interested in." "And what that might be?" "I need you to bring these vials of lyrium to this fine gentleman at this inn and after you are done with that, you may get a silver or ten" Mage says as he slips a paper to Sir Merlin. "So, are you in?" "if you give me something to eat before I go and deliver them, i'm in on this mission" Says Merlin as he rises up and stretches out his hand for food. The mage puts a chunk of bread and the vials of lyrium to Sir Merlin hand and says "We have a deal then." and leaves. "Well, maybe doing some secondary missions before I will pursue the Wardens was a good idea" Sir Merlin thinks out loud silently before heading to the inn that the paper that mage gave to him lead to. Edited by Sir Merlin, Jun 10 2017, 10:20 AM.
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| Charles Watson-Turing | Jun 10 2017, 04:01 PM Post #34 |
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Charles looked around. He had arrived in the forest. He looked down at Granite, faithfully trotting at Charles' ankles. What now? Now you wait. Charles crouched down in the shrubbery, trying to be as still as possible. He looked at Granite, compelling him to be motionless. Is this what hunting is like? Yes, now shut up and just look for movement. So, Charles waited there. It seemed like hours that he just waited, crouching in the shrubbery. Every so often, he fed Granite a small strip of dried meat. He kept a careful eye in the trees ahead, but saw nothing. Wait. Is that something? I see something! Moving! Over there! Yes, very good! Now quit staring and start hunting! Charles sprang up, unsheathing his silverite sword. He sprinted through the woods, following the brief flashes of motion he saw. He bounded over roots, and ducked under branches, checking Granite was nearby. He was gaining on the creature. It was now just a few metres away. Charles began to barrel through the undergrowth. He saw the creature again. It was just behind a bush. Charles took a run up, then crashed through the bush, feet first. He emerged into a clearing. The creature was there. It was a huge boar, almost the size of Charles, with great big tusks. Its nostrils flared, and its chest heaved. It was incredibly muscular. Wow! I have to kill that?! Yes. Now go for it! Charles charged, sword held high above him. He brought the sword down, grazing the flank of the beast. At once it turned to him. Its whole composure had changed. It looked at Charles with rage and fury in its eyes. Oh no...what have I done? This is why you're not a fighter, Charles. Now run! Charles began to edge away from the boar backwards. The slow shuffling began to turn into a fast paced backwards run. The boar began to charge. Charles was at this point bounding backwards, never taking his eyes off the boar, which was closing on him. The hunter had become the hunted. Charles froze when he felt his back hit something hard behind him. A large tree. Charles had run straight into its trunk. He was trapped. The boar was closing in on him. It leaped at Charles. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! The boar's tusks were now either side of Charles. He was pinned against the tree trunk, staring right into the boar's cavernous mouth, looking fearfully at the boar's pointed teeth. The choking stench of the boar's breath began to envelope Charles. Please don't let this be the last odour I smell...It is going to be, isn't it? Oh no. I'm going to die. I'm going to die to an animal. Please. No! This can't happen! Why do I have to be so weak! I can't do this. I'm going to die. I was too cocky. This is what I deserve. Shut up, Charles! You're going to die if you keep that attitude! Just imagine this is a Darkspawn. You hate them. What happened to Charles the adventurer? Charles the Darkspawn-slayer? Charles the hero of Brokham? This blade has killed before. You have killed before. Now grow up, and act like it! At once it became clear. The boar's snout faded, and was replaced by the grotesque visage of a Darkspawn. Charles could handle this. He sighed, and calmed his mind, summoning all his strength. He could do this. He gripped his sword tighter. He could manoeuvre it up, and had enough strength to drive this blade right through the boar, felling it, putting all his weight behind the single blow. But right now, the only place this blade would go was into the boar's mouth. He needed to see its flank again. First, he needed a distraction. Something to make the creature turn round. Charles glimpsed a flash of mottled grey fur. Granite! Charles stared at the wolf, trying to transmit his thoughts into the young pup's mind. He just needed Granite to nip the beast's foot, anything to make the boar turn. Charles willed those instructions into Granite, hoping that the wolf would understand. Edited by Charles Watson-Turing, Jun 10 2017, 04:03 PM.
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| Nakari | Jun 10 2017, 05:23 PM Post #35 |
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Spy!
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So the man she’s quietly admiring is a Warden. Myrrha files that away as interesting. She places the plates carefully back on the table in a neat stack, waiting for the barmaid to come collect them. But the barmaid doesn’t. Myrrha is reminded abruptly of herself as the barmaid declares that she’ll be abandoning her past to follow her purpose. Her own father had reacted similarly, too. The Warden, the barmaid, and the knowledge trader all sweep past Myrrha as they leave. As if this had extinguished a flame, she sets her curiosity aside. They’re interesting people but she has no time to try and understand them. She needs to follow her purpose. So she does, and heads out the inn. It grows easier all the time to appreciate the world as it is. Sunlight helps too, and being out of the forest. Years ago it took a moment of aimlessness to send Myrrha spinning into her own thoughts, wondering if she was doing the right thing, and wistfully remembering Arvehan and how solid his hands had felt on her skin… She thought the world was empty and purposeless. She couldn’t see past herself. Now she thinks of the Qun and it clears her mind. The air smells of soil after rain, leaves, horses. The bright sunlight makes the trees glow white around the edges. Birds beat their wings and call to each other. Under the shade of the trees that line the path, she sees a patch of deathroot in fruit. As she crouches to pluck the blood-red pods, a fallow deer bounds past her. She sits in the knee length grass to tuck them into her pack. How much abundance the world carries if every fistful of sand is an eternity of mountains. Myrrha doesn’t realise it but she’s smiling as she walks. The sky revolves to reveal its darker half. Birds change their songs to different melodies. Blue light turns orange turns purple. According to the map, the town is a short way before her. Myrrha sees only starlight where the lights of candles and watchmen’s lanterns should be. The closer she gets the more she doubts her memory. Then moonlight outlines roofs and the distinctive arch of a chantry on the horizon. The village is silver and silent. A shiver runs down Myrrha’s spine, but she presses on. Bravery is nothing without first being a little afraid. There is something wrong here, but nothing she can’t handle. Myrrha’s right hand rests on the hilt of the dagger at her hip. She listens hard but hears nobody. Not even breathing. Now she’s between two buildings, she thinks. She can only judge by the relative darknesses. Myrrha looks down and sees a slightly darker shade of black, the shape of a figure, lying on the floor. When she nudges it with her foot it doesn’t respond and when she touches its neck there’s no heartbeat. All she hears are her own steady breaths. There are more dark shapes on the floor, and no light anywhere. The whole village is full of corpses. Edited by Nakari, Jun 10 2017, 05:28 PM.
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| Wolf Havens | Jun 14 2017, 05:37 AM Post #36 |
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Sylven was enjoying being under the trees. Fallen leaves crackled and made a soft carpet for his paws. Brambles and low tree branches caressed his ill-used body. He felt safe for once, and at home. He sniffed out a rabbit trail, but kept alongside the man in the purple cloak instead of following. As the man sat under a tree, looking about alertly, Sylven studied the breeze more carefully. Ashy. Also a closer musty smell. He fought the urge to wag his tail. This is so fun being out in the woods again!! As Charles began chasing the boar, Sylven bounded along behind him. He wasn't scared of the boar. He was agile enough to dart circles around it. He wouldn't exactly chase it though... but hey, whatever this guy thought he could do. But when the boar turned ferociously back and Sylven saw the look of fear in Charles' eye, he began to seriously assess the situation. He could not kill the boar. His claws would barely rake through the beast's skin, unless it was on his face... The boar charged forward and Sylven saw the man stumble over something. Murdersome ivory tusks gored next to him. As Charles slitted his eyes and focused on Sylven, the wolf pup bounded forward, leaped up over the boar's now unstuck and mightily swinging tusks, and landed, claws extended and tearing, on it's bristly but relatively tender snout. The boar snorted and bounced his head, forcing Sylven's grip loose. He scrabbled further up and sunk his claws in again, this time nearer the wild animal's eyes. The beast reacted energetically, forgetting Charles in his frenzy. He set his head low and pounded through the forest, shaking his head, snapping his jaws, tossing his snout against tree trunks as he flew past them, trying to knock off his tiny attacker. While Sylven tried to grip on tightly, he was eventually forced to fling himself off the mad boar for dear pelt as it went careening around a sycamore so sharply, no doubt the very fleas were ripped off its hide. The wolf pup landed in a bunch of ferns at the base of a looming oak, and he lay there exhausted. |
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| Charles Watson-Turing | Jun 15 2017, 08:04 AM Post #37 |
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Charles smiled as Granite leapt onto the boar's snout. Now, he just had to jam his sword into the boar. But he hadn't been anticipating the boar's reaction. As the boar turned and charged into the forest, with Granite clinging on desperately, Charles began to run after the boar. The run turned into a sprint, and Charles was catching up to the two animals. Time seemed to slow down for Charles as he watched Granite being flung from the boar's head. As Charles looked down at the poor wolf, lying amidst the leaves, he got angry. How dare that beast inflict such cruelty! Charles barreled after the boar, bringing his sword up over his head. Charles leapt onto the boar's back, squeezing the boar's spine between his knees, and began to bring the sword down into the boar's flesh, over and over again. He ignored the fact that the boar had now sunk to the food, ignored the boar letting out its final, rattling breath. All Charles could see was the constant motion of his sword, now red with blood, piercing the flesh of the boar. Eventually, Charles got up, panting. He turned to look at Granite, and saw that he was extremely exhausted. 'That's the second time you've saved my life today!' he cried. Charles quickly wiped his silverite blade with a large fern, then ripped one of the boar's legs off. He scooped Granite up, seeing that he was in no position to walk, and carried him in the crook of his elbow. Charles tucked the leg of boar in his pocket so that Granite could nibble some of the raw meat from it, being very careful to wrap the bottom of the leg in a scrap of cloth so that the blood and grease didn't stain his violet pocket. There's still room for improvement, but that wasn't so bad, right? No, it wasn't. You're well on your way to becoming a Warden, Charles. Charles opened the door of the tavern, and marched in, still holding Granite in his arm. He collected the key to his room from the still grateful innkeeper, who lead him up the stairs to the inn's largest room. Charles thanked the innkeeper, and looked around. The room was moderately furnished, with a comfortable double bed, a fireplace, and a chest of drawers. Charles set the fire ablaze and put plenty of logs on the fire, before making a small bed-nest for Granite out of a few sheets. Charles carefully laid Granite, now fast asleep, down by the fire, and left the leg of boar within biting distance, before heading downstairs to while away the rest of the evening with the assistance of a pint of ale, which had the added benefit of helping his still throbbing head. |
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| Sir Merlin | Jun 17 2017, 09:39 AM Post #38 |
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Sir Merlin was getting closer to the door of the inn that he needed to deliver the vials of lyrium to. But as he got to the door, did he notice a sign saying "For sale" and a balding man with a goatee next to him says; "So are you interested in buying that place or what?" "No, I just have something to deliver to man and we needed to meet here." "Well, you are late. The inn has been closed for a week now, the man that you seek is not here." "But do you know where he went? I have his picture here." Sir Merlin said as he showed the picture of a older man with a cloak to the Inn owner. "Oh, that guy? He went to the north up to town close to Amaranthine, said to go to the local inn if someone sought him. I can mark it on a map if you have one." "there you go" said Merlin giving the map to the Inn Owner to get it marked, given back and walked out of the Vigil's keep's outer walls and proceeds to north delivering the vials of lyrium to the man in the another inn close to the city of Amaranthine. And so, he arrived to the town, the floor inside of the walls surrounding the town was made of cobblestone and the market was loud like it would be in such a busy time of day, and such time was excellent for pickpockets as he with own eyes caught couple of them trying to pickpocket people around him. Sir Merlin entered the inn and looked around him for the old man that he had business with; which was drinking a pint of ale and sat next to him. "A delivery from our friend" Merlin whispered and placed the vials of lyrium on the table. Edited by Sir Merlin, Jun 17 2017, 09:49 AM.
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| Charles Watson-Turing | Jun 17 2017, 10:07 AM Post #39 |
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Charles looked down at the vials. He let out a sigh of relief. He was worried that the lyrium would stop coming. He hadn't had a deliver for weeks, and he was beginning to get scared. The lyrium was the only thing that kept him going; kept him moving forward. If the lyrium ever stopped coming, Charles didn't know what he'd do. Probably take the easy way out. For Charles, suicide was more pleasurable than a world where he didn't receive lyrium. Charles shuddered at the thought. Of course, he didn't actually consume the lyrium. Charles was much too high a class and much too worried about his health to take such substances. No, it wasn't the lyrium itself he cared about. It was what it meant. All those years ago, when Charles left Brokham, he agreed something with his family. They needed to let him know that they were alright, that they were all still alive at regular intervals. They needed some method of communication that would ensure Charles could be confident in his home's wellbeing, and a medium that would be able to reach Charles wherever he was on his travels, even when his family didn't know his location. So, they decided on lyrium. Every few weeks, the Brokhamites would arrange for vials of lyrium to be sent to Charles. The prosperous nature of the lyrium smuggling trade meant that the vials would arrive much faster than any conventional messenger, no matter where Charles was. So, after all these years, a smuggling sub-network had begun to grow around Charles. There was one branch in Brokham, which took orders and money from Charles' family. The order was carried up a chain reaction through to the other end of the network, which was never more than a few miles from Charles. Charles would then pay some more upon receiving the lyrium, and everyone was happy. Charles disposed of the vials by donating them for free to any addicts he saw on his travels. Charles turned to look at the man who had delivered the vials this time. He wasn't the normal man, a stout casteless dwarf who had been delivering to Charles for several months now, ever since he entered Northeastern Ferelden. No, this man was different. A mage?/ I wonder what he's doing here... Charles pressed a few dozen silvers into the man's hand, then quickly placed the vials of lyrium into a small pouch he kept around his belt. "So, friend! What brings a mage like you to these parts? What's your story?" |
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| Sir Merlin | Jul 1 2017, 08:22 AM Post #40 |
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"Was about to go and meet with the grey wardens until I got robbed at middle of the road, lost all of my stuff and my old robe" Merlin says as he places the silvers into his pocket. "Got this new from some nice people at small town to south from the Vigil's Keep, which was my next stop. A person from Mage's collective gave me this job to deliver the vials to you." He said as he walked to the bar, bought himself a pint of mead and walked back to the table where the old man in purple cloak was drinking his pint of ale. "But you dont seem to be a templar nor a mage, why would anyone like you need lyrium?" asked Merlin. |
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