Ser Bruce Le-Guy
For a moment, Bruce thought it was a miracle performed by the Maker in the most desperate hour of their fight, however as reality came back to him, he remembered that large number of mages that were also in the fight. One had to know how to heal, though what impressed Bruce the most was the fact that the mage had chosen to heal everyone instead of him, or her, self.
Although Bruce would have loved to stay and have thought over it a little while longer, time didn’t allow him, the Hurlock was already lifting its weapon to finish Bruce off, but thankfully his Templar Brother reacted to the danger and killed the Hurlock before it even managed to let its attack fall. The two exchanged a look, the look that showed the bond between Templars, one that wasn’t easy to break.
Bruce watched as his fellow Templar fell down on his knees, down on the mud. Not while I am here, Bruce though and then yanked the arrows out of his left leg, like Raelnor’s wound, Bruce’s wounds were quickly healed, leaving faint scars behind. Bruce, with his sword returned to its holder and his shield on his back, he stepped next to his Brother, bend down and took the man’s arm and helped him up; Bruce was shorter than the other Templar, which suited perfectly.
“Lend a hand to a fellow Templar. Never fall before the enemy of the Maker. Stand firm in the face of the demons of the Fade,” Bruce quoted. This was a very traditional saying for the newly appointed Templars as they were given their armor, and rank. Bruce didn’t know if this Templar had heard the same saying (some trainers held other quotes more dear than his), though he was certain that the message was clear. ‘I am here, brother, I’ve got your back.’
Lisa Smith
The door was swung open, letting in a strong wind of bone chilling wind into the tavern of Lothering. “Shut the damn door!” the inn owner called to the person at the door. The person shut the door, much to everyone’s pleasure, “Where are the stables?” the person called across the quiet room.
It was night, the majority of the population was asleep, soundly in their bed. The defeat at Ostagar had send hundreds of peasants this way, many were seeking a single night in the tavern before they would make the long journey further into Ferelden, in the hope that they would be safe.
“No need to shout,” the inn owner called back, more quiet in his tone, “Round the inn, there is a roof, some hay, water and a log you can tie it to.” With that said, the person returned to the dreadful weather outside to tie the horse in the stable, and was back, sooner than most people could possibly have hoped for.
The person, or, the woman who wore a large light brown trench coat and pointy hat walked through the room, shaking her coat to get the worst of water off, “No need to tell me, there aren’t any rooms available. I think every Templar told me while I made my way over here, however…I do trust that the chair would be for rent for the night, aye?”
The inn owner was surprised that the woman would rather have a chair than a comfortable bed to sleep in. “Well…I suppose so, one silver and thirty copper for the night, and then I can get you a meal.”
“How can I say no to that?” the woman said and smiled innocently.
Lisa made her way through the room, it as mainly populated by drunks who had lost everything that they had ever held dear. They should know better than spending their money on this. Every penny spend here is one less on the streets, Lisa thought, keeping her face polite.
She got out her pipe, placed some tobacco in it, lit it and began puffing smoke out, skillfully making circles in the air as she patiently waited for her food and drink to come. Lisa was a member of the Chantry, however she wasn’t of Ferelden where the women populated the Chantry and made the Templars enforce their will, no, she was from the Free Marches and that meant that things were run differently, a lot differently. The Chantry in Free Marches had held on to the ancient ways of the Templars and had two factions that enforced its will throughout the land. The Templars took care of the public, maintained the mages. The Inquisition, on the other hand was tasked with more politically sensitive tasks, such as hunting down corruption within the Chantry, taking care of political opposition and, whenever it was deemed necessary, they participated in the hunting of Apostates, serving as reinforcement when the Templars needed some extra swords.
Lisa is such an Inquisitor. With the news of a Blight rising, the fall of Ostagar, the lack of actual actions against the Blight by the Ferelden Chantry was more than enough to make the Chantry of the Free Marches to turn its attention to its former colonizer.
Lisa had been tasked with observing how vast this Blight was, why none had truly opposed it, and while she was at it, she was also to check for corruption within the Ferelden Chantry. The mission was of great risk, not just for the Free Marches’ political standing with Ferelden, but also if Lisa was to die, the information would never reach the Chantry of the Free Marches.
A lot was on stake. Political stability, the life of the innocent, the Chantry, ancient artifacts of the Chantry and pilgrim roads, Hell, when aren’t everything on stake here? Lisa mused as she nodded and smiled warmly to the inn owner as he gave her the food she had paid for.