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AugustArria member of RPG for 8 years

Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Completionist Lifegiver

I am the Architect of the Works of Beauty and the Conductor of the Choir of Silence. Together with my friends we are gods of our own little world, one that's getting bigger all the time. We write a lot. We talk a lot. We feel a lot. It's good.
1,044,080 words written.
393 total posts.
2,657 words per post.
25 posts per roleplay.
350 average days in a roleplay.
16 universes joined.
1.25 INK received in tips.

Basic Information

Username:
AugustArria
Location:
Southeast US.
Age:
26
Occupation:
Traffic Director.
Interests:
Writing (novels, screenplays, short stories, RPs, games, etc), gaming, reading, film and television, watching the Falcons blow a 25 point lead in the Super Bowl...
Groups:
Began Role Playing:
26 Jun 2010
Favorite Role Playing Game:
The Canticle of Fate. Easy.
Game Master:
Yes
Favorite Setting:
Fantasy and Science Fiction.

User statistics

Joined:
Tue Dec 06, 2011 6:31 pm
Last visited:
Fri Apr 19, 2019 7:18 am
Medals:
9
Total posts:
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Contact AugustArria

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Medals

Promethean

Promethean

Successfully created a universe for others.

Conversation Starter

Conversation Starter

Created your first topic!

Author

Author

Wrote your first piece in a universe!

Inspiration

Inspiration

Another user created a post in a universe you created!

Conversationalist

Conversationalist

Participated in 10 different conversations on the forum!

Friendly Beginnings

Friendly Beginnings

You posted your first topic in the Welcome Forum.

Novelist

Novelist

Wrote over 80,000 total words!

Completionist

Completionist

Helped write the story of a universe that survived until the end (marked as "Completed") and was published to the Library.

Lifegiver

Lifegiver

Created a character in an RPG universe.

Universes

5 created.
0 active.
5 inactive.
3 completed.

Completed Stories

Skyrim: The Mentor & The Sellswords Completed

{Completed} After their Mentor disappears, a group of deeply troubled individuals working as mercenaries sets out to find him, only to be drawn into a deadly game run by forces beyond any of them.

Dragon Age: The Undoing Completed

The year is 1:95 Divine, and the second Blight has been raging for nearly a century. Pushed to desperation, the Grey Wardens assemble a team for a suicidal mission. None were prepared for what they would discover.

The City of Chains Completed

{Completed} These are the stories of nine lives in the city of Kirkwall, intertwined in the midst of magic, prejudice, war, and strife.

Avalon's Dawn Completed

<Arc One Complete> The king is a good man gone too far. The wizard has an agenda. The world could use a little saving. The members of Avalon's Dawn are nobody's noble knights in shining armor. But maybe they don't have to be.

The Canticle of Fate Completed

{Completed} This is the song of those that would stand against the chaos. The song of the Inquisition.

Universes Created

The Canticle of Fate: Silver Lion Stanza

{Private RP} Corypheus is gone, but strife still echoes across Orlais. This is the verse of the four souls called to keep the peace.

Most Tipped Posts

0.25 INK received for post #2647824, located in Thedas:

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Those who oppose Thee
Shall know the wrath of heaven.
Field and forest shall burn,
The seas shall rise and devour them,
The wind shall tear their nations
From the face of the earth.
Lightning shall rain down from the sky,
They shall cry out to their false gods,
And find silence.
—Canticle of Andraste 7:19

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He woke as he had lived: on his knees.

It was a sound that stirred Romulus first, a crackling like lightning, but without the thunder. Dull shocks of pain rattled up his arm and through his body, and he groaned quietly. His eyes slowly opened, to see nothing but blurred darkness. There was some dull light ahead of him, on the ground around him, but he couldn't make it out. He was hungry, but nauseous. Uncomfortable from the hot pains and the cold air. He was a man far from home, and worst of all, he didn't understand what had led him to this point.

Another crackle from below, and he grimaced, as a green light illuminated his peripherals. He tipped forward, barely putting his hands to the ground to catch himself. The green light was stifled, and Romulus heard the clink of iron manacles. In chains again. He shifted his feet beneath him. His legs were mostly numb, either from the cold or the awkward position, but he heard the same clink from them as well. Either he was a prisoner to someone, or he was home again, and in a great deal of trouble.

He turned his left hand over to look at his palm. A mark spread across his skin, a vaguely green-tinted scar, but from what weapon, Romulus could not say. Suddenly, it erupted with green light and the crackling noise, and the pain shot through him with ease, eliciting a growl of pain. In the light, he could see the symbol on the cold stone floor beneath him. The Chantry sun. His vision was clearing up. This was some kind of cellar or storage area. It hardly looked like a dungeon.

To his left was the only other person in the room. A young woman, by the looks of her, but it was hard to tell precisely how young, given that her face was streaked with dirt and half of it was planted against the floor. She may have originally been kneeling as he was, but if so, she’d tipped over sideways at some point, and was now half-sprawled with her head towards him, clearly unconscious. She was wearing some kind of dark red or maroon tunic, a silver stripe on the outside of her sleeve at her bicep, but beyond that she bore no identifying markers. An empty scabbard at one hip indicated she’d once been armed, but of greater interest was her right hand.

Her fingers were curled inwards slightly, obscuring her palm, but nonetheless there was a soft green light issuing from it, throwing her face into a sickly sort of relief in the gloom of whatever chamber they’d been thrown into.

He remembered her. Her face, her clothes. He'd seen her, not long ago, he knew that much. Romulus tried to rise, to push himself over to her, so that he might wake her and figure what had happened to them, but before he could even get his feet under him the green light burst again from his hand, forcing him back down. Nearby he heard soft footsteps, and stilled himself, breathing slowly through his nose.

The footsteps, deliberate but swift, grew louder, resolving into three distinct pairs of feet: two pairs heavier than the third. They hit what must have been a staircase, and then a door in the front of the room burst open with a bang, almost thrown back too hard. A woman in dark clothing entered, followed by a pair of larger men, both armed with halberds. She herself bore no visible weaponry, but from the way they were two paces behind her at all times, it was clear that she wielded the authority in the group.

She came to a stop before them, motioning to the guard on her right, who detached from her flank and circled around behind both Romulus and the girl. A shifting of armor plates made it obvious he’d leveled his weapon, but at a modest distance. The woman, blonde and entering middle age, narrowed her eyes, flicking them to the girl a moment before they came to rest on him.

“Explain.” The command was soft, but a threat was clearly implied.

Romulus had worked himself back to his centered kneeling position by the time the woman came before him with her two guards. Her command was not surprising to him; it was not difficult to tell he'd done something to land himself within these walls, in these chains, but he knew not what it was, or how it had happened. He remembered... some things, but they would not be shared with her on a simple command.

There was some that could be discerned simply by looking at him. The markings on him, not to mention his skin tone and general appearance, identified him as Rivaini of birth. His weapons had been either destroyed or confiscated, as had his tonics. He'd been removed of his outer layer of clothing, the leather armor chest piece and the thick cloak, leaving him only in a bland, dark tunic, and brown trousers. There were no identifying markers on his clothes or weapons to link him to any person or organization, nor were there any orders or notes in his possession to be confiscated. This, of course, was by design, in case this exact situation occurred.

He settled his hands on his thighs, and kept his gaze steady, around the level of the woman's feet. Any words he spoke would have repercussions for more than just himself, he knew. So he spoke none.

As it happened, that silence would go unchallenged, at least for a moment, because the girl next to him was starting to stir. At first, it looked like she’d fallen into the grip of some nightmare—her hands clenched and she seemed to curl in on herself, her knees pulled as close into her chest as her chains would allow. But then the cracking sound returned, and her eyes snapped open even as her expression twisted in pain.

She gripped her wrist with her other hand until it passed, then slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, her legs tucked under her. She blinked several times, apparently taking in her surroundings, before her brows knit and she tipped her head to look up at the woman. “Who… what’s… what happened?” She listed slightly sideways again, but caught herself before she fell over.

The woman’s lips thinned, frustration seeping into her facial expression. A muscle in her jaw ticked, but when she spoke, it was slow and deliberate, the cadence almost monotone. “The Conclave was attacked. The Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed. The Divine, hundreds of Templars and mages, all dead. And you—” Her hand spread in a gesture that encompassed both of them. “You were the only survivors. I will not ask again: explain. Give me a reason not to kill you where you sit.” Behind them, the guard’s armor plates scraped softly.

Romulus processed the information. The Conclave, attacked. The Temple, destroyed. The Divine, dead. And they believed him... responsible? If he'd been pulled from the ruins of a Temple, in his current shape, he supposed he would think himself guilty, too. He didn't feel great, but he was in no danger of dying. At least, not from physical wounds. The scar on his hand, the flashing green light, it was not a good sign. Perhaps he was a dead man already.

He had the words to stay her hand. At least, he suspected they might stay her hand. Perhaps they'd simply kill him anyway. He could give the parameters of his mission. To infiltrate the Temple, not destroy it. To watch over the Conclave and report on it, not attack it. To ensure that the Divine lived, not kill her. But to relay the orders he'd been given would prompt the question of who had given them. Better for them to think he'd acted on his own.

Romulus remained silent.

“D-dead?” the other prisoner seemed to have no such compunction. “All of them?” Here eyes were wide, undisguised grief slowly dawning over her features. Her next exhale shuddered from her lungs, but she straightened herself up, blinking away what must have been tears. She murmured something too low to hear, then squared her shoulders and met their interrogator’s eyes.

“Please, I…” she trailed off and licked her lips, swallowing audibly. “My name is Estella Avenarius. I’m… I’m a lieutenant with the Argent Lions mercenary company. We were… we were there to help protect the Conclave, to make sure that the mages and Templars kept the peace. I—” Her voice faltered. “I remember running.” She glanced to her side, at Romulus. “We were both running, from… something. And there was… a woman, I think, reaching toward us.” She shook her head. “And then nothing. This.”

A pause. “Please… we didn’t… we aren’t behind this.”

Despite his stoic demeanor thus far, Romulus could not hide the compulsory reaction at the name that fell from the lips of the other prisoner. His eyes shifted left, his head following suit before he turned it back a moment later. Estella Avenarius. Could it be that he recognized her from more than just a recent memory? He knew the family name, and knew it to be Tevinter. He remembered a pair of children, from a time when the word slave had no meaning to him. But more than that, he remembered the family name, and how it occasionally graced the tongue of his domina. Did she remember him, he wondered? Unlikely.

A slow breath hissed out of the interrogator, but she seemed to relax slightly at the mention of something the girl had said. Perhaps it was her name, or perhaps it was the company she spoke of. Still, she looked to be gathering herself for another question before the door opened again, this time with no footsteps to presage it. The guards remained in place when she turned, her shoulders easing further at the appearance of the new person.

From the ears, he could only be an elf, though a relatively tall one. His hair was white, but obviously not from age, and the sunburst mark of the Chantry was prominent upon his brow. He was dressed for battle, not so differently from the woman he stopped beside. Sharp eyes swept over the both of them, though they stopped on Estella. “Unchain her, and his feet. They must go to the Rift.” His tone was flat, as though devoid of any feeling whatsoever, and his expression remained neutral as Estella was released and the other guard warily unshackled Romulus’s feet, leaving his hands bound as they had been.

As soon as she was free, Estella sighed softly, then turned to the new arrival and smiled. It wasn’t a large one, and was contained primarily in her eyes, but though it faded quickly, it was definitely present. She looked relieved, and a few steps later she was directly in front of him. There was a slightly-unsure moment where it looked like she might attempt to hug him, but she didn’t, instead turning around partway, to where Romulus was still shackled. “Can’t we take those off? I don’t remember much of what happened, but I know it wasn’t his fault.”

"Perhaps, but other things remain to be determined. Follow me, both of you."

Romulus might've tried to make an escape after his feet were unshackled, but his estimations of his captors left him overmatched. The Tranquil moved extremely well, and was geared for a fight. Romulus had nothing but manacles around his wrists. Estella, at least, seemed to have a decent relationship with the elf. Her defense of him, while entirely unwarranted, was welcome. If she remembered the same that he did, there was no way to be so certain.

A strong hand gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. After being prodded to move forward, Romulus was allowed to walk on his own. His dark eyes were constantly moving, wary, unused to being the center of concern for so many. The guards didn't much care for watching Estella, he could see. They had eyes only for him, the man who would not speak in his own defense.

They passed through a heavy oak door, climbing some stairs until they entered the main hall of what looked to be a Chantry building. The pews had been pushed off to the sides or even dismantled, while the walls were lined with the wounded and weary. Their eyes found the two marked prisoners as they walked, and their gazes were accusing. How long had it been, Romulus wondered. There was a gap in his memory, but the length of it, he could not say.

Two guards at the main doors pushed them open for the group, and blinding afternoon light, reflected off the pearly white snow, assaulted his eyes. He brought a hand up against the light, and shuddered briefly from the chill, the feel of which he had yet to become accustomed to.

What urged him to open his eyes and look around was a crackle, not unlike the kind that came from his hand, but deeper and much more powerful, followed by rumbles and distant booms. He lowered his hands, and stared up into the sky. In the distance, above where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood, was now a great beacon of green light, reaching up into a great tear in the very sky itself. Even the clouds around it appeared ill, diseased. It seemed to radiate magical energy from within, even at this distance.

"It is called the Rift, or the Breach, depending on who is referring to it.” The Tranquil explained this with the same unshakeable air they always seemed to have. “Three days ago, it appeared in the sky, after an explosion that destroyed the Conclave, and killed almost everyone in attendance.” He turned to face them, and his eyes fell upon the marks on their hands. “It shares some properties with the marks you bear, though the exact nature of the connection is elusive. What we do know is that it is a sort of tear in the curtain between this world and the Fade. And it grows.”

Cutting his glance from Romulus to Estella and then back again, he continued. “It is not the only one, but it is the largest, and all have the same cause. If it continues to grow, the results will be unpleasant.”

“So then… how do we fix it?” Estella stared up at it, lips pursed into a thin line, before another loud burst accompanied her pitching forward onto her hands and knees as the mark on her hand brightened. As quickly as the pulse had come, it appeared to recede, and she clenched her fist around a chunk of snow.

Romulus suffered the same, his left hand bursting from within with the same green light, and he doubled over, clutching it to himself. He tightly controlled his breathing, tearing his eyes from the Breach and placing them on the Tranquil.

He’d bent over to assist Estella to her feet, taking hold of both her elbows until she was steady again. Once both were more or less recovered, he stepped back. "I do not know with certainty. But we have observed that every time the Rift grows, your marks do as well, and they are killing you. The best hypothesis we have is that those marks may be necessary to close the Breach, but time grows short, for you and for the rest of us.”

“If I can help, then I will. Just tell me what I have to do.” Estella drew herself up taller, her expression smoothing out even as her shoulders aligned properly over her spine. She held the Tranquil’s eyes for a moment, then turned hers towards Romulus, the question in them obvious.

Romulus took the news that he was dying fairly well, all things considered. The Tranquil's estimation of the situation made things a lot clearer for him, in fact. The tear in the sky was a danger to all, and to their knowledge, the marks on their hands were somehow linked. If there were no further questions for the moment as to why he was here, uninvited, or how he'd ended up a survivor of the deadly blast, then he could help. But there was a condition, first.

He held out his shackled hands, and spoke quietly. "Unbind me. And I will help." It was possible he didn't have a choice in the matter. But he was also much more useful with his hands at his disposal. And it seemed like they needed all the help they could get.

The elf nodded to the guard nearest, who stepped forward and unchained Romulus, replacing the shackles at his belt. For a moment, the Tranquil simply studied him, head tilted slightly to one side, but if he had anything further by way of questions, he asked only one.

"What is your name?”

For the moment, they displayed about the same level of emotion to one another, even though one was Tranquil. He rubbed his wrists once they were free.

"Romulus."


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The Canticle of Fate: Silver Lion Stanza
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"Though I am flesh, Your Light is ever present,
And those I have called, they remember,
And they shall endure."
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