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Alan Darkmare

"Alright boys, Andraste's watching, let's not embarrass the Divine!" [wip]

0 · 135 views · located in Ferelden | Thedas

a character in “DA: The Dragon's Ballad”, as played by Pyramids

Description

❝Alan Darkmare❞

❝Arlight boys, Andraste's watching, let's not embarrass the lovely lady!❞

Wink


Alt. |Who Did That To You?

Captain's Laments





Image



| Name |

Knight-Captain Alan Alexander Darkmare

| Nickname |

Cap'n, 'The Arm Of The Divine', Andraste's Butcher


| Gender |

Male

| Age |

28

| Sexuality |

Bisexual

| Race |

Human

| Status |

A youth spent in Tevinter as a slave has caused Alan to swear his allegiance to the Templar order. With his blade, and lyrium infused techniques such as 'Righteous Fire', he makes sure that not another life is ruined by the taint of magic.


| Eye Color |

An ice cold blue.[/i]

[b]| Hair Color |


White

| Height |

6'1

| Weight |

200 lbs

| Skin Tone |

Alan's skin is extremely pale, a result of the amounts of lyrium he's forced to ingest in the order.

| Distinct Markings |

Alan has two tattoos, one of the Templar insignia on his right forearm, and the other of the Chantry's symbol on the left nape of his neck. Alan's back and shoulders are covered in deep scars from lashes during his time as a slave in Tevinter. The corner of his top lip is his only visible scar other than that, it's from a scuffle back when he was younger.

| Physical Description |

Alan Darkmare is of average height, and athletic framing. Through rigorous training within the Templars, Alan's body his hardened, and while his body is free of any large muscles, he is incredibly toned for one of his size. The captain prides himself on keeping up a good appearance, not a bit of hair is out of place, his armor is never without it's brilliant luster, as a result, he almost always looks 'put together', even when off duty.

Alan's armor is quite different from the average Templar, a luxury of being a Knight-Captain. From the get-go, one will note the extreme increase in lightness to Alan's armor set, a decision made to match his fighting style. Gone are the incredibly bulky breastplates of old. For starters, underneath it all is a layer of chainmail. This chainmail is covered by by a light set of black plate mail that only covers his chest. Over this, the Captain dons a long, loose fitting hooded black silk robe. The robe has golden trimmings, and is stained with blood near the heart.

Alan's lower body is near identical to the average Templar, the main exception being the 'skirt' that the knights wear. Rather than wrap around his entire lower body, the cloth only covers the right half of his legs. The red center cloth still hangs where it should. The knight wears a pair of black trousers, and silver Templar greaves that start at his calves. The Captain's gauntlets are silver and clawed.

Around his neck, Alan wears a long red scarf, the end of which is flipped over his shoulder. The sheathe for his blade hangs on back loop of his belt by a silver chain.

| Weapon(s) |

Andraste's Grace. A powerful blade said to have been the blade of a Knight Commander during the Exalted Marches. Alan stole it from his master's home the night he escaped. The weapon is infused with powerful lyrium. It acts as a focus for his anti-magic abilities.

Alan's fighting style uses both the sheathe and blade. Blunt force of the heavy sheathe acts as a guard, and secondary striker, while the blade is used for swift, complex strikes. It's all very fluid and graceful


| Potential Interest |

Garhandor Lyrdius. By all means, he's a ghost. Records mention him a number of times as a notorious and powerful Blood Mage. His contacts have mentioned the Mage being spotted since the battle of Ostagar.

Kithic Desdemona. A runaway Mage recently awakened to her full powers. Desdemona ranaway from home a few years ago after turning her entire family to ice. An untrained Mage running about the countryside is a danger he won't allow.

Daylen Amell. He's a very good Mage. A talented one worthy of respect. For now, Daylen shows no signs of rebellion against the Circle, but that doesn't mean Alan will let him out of his sight.

Quest The Mad. No name fills him with more rage. The two have been playing a cat and mouse game for the past four years. The decadent runaway reminds him all too well of his former master from Tevinter.

| Family |
Father: Curtis Darkmare | 48 | Deceased
Mother: Leandra Darkmare | 47 | Unknown [somewhere in Tevinter]
Siblings: Elena Darkmare | 18 | Unknown [somewhere in Tevinter]

| Personality |

Alan is a man driven by duty and ambition. His goal is to protect the innocent from what he calls the 'taint of magic'. It is a desire rooted deeply from origins of Tevinter slavery. The captain moves steadily towards realizing his goals, often without much thought as to whom he has to use to get there. Alan believes that the ends justify the means, and will gladly sacrifice any number of soldiers he has to get there. He is a visionary, and that is what draws people towards following him. Alan Darkmare has an obsessive personality, once something is in his mind, he will stop at nothing to seize it.

Alan appears very regal and noble. Cleanliness and order are a value of his. He actually coordinates the Templar marching drills each year. Despite his faults, Alan can be considered very honorable. He will never strike an unarmed foe, and never harms innocents. The captain is very calm and collected, those who have seen him in battle note that he never loses his cool. He treats most with the utmost respect and possess manners that would make any mother proud. As noble as he may appear, Alan has a strong lust of pleasure, a lust that can only be described as sadistic. Rumors run around the barracks now and then about him sleeping with new recruits, both male and female. His pleasures are not just aroused by typical means. Other things such as the spilling of blood, and intense combat greatly arouse Captain Darkmare. During his short time as a Chantry Seeker, Alan earned the title 'Andraste's Butcher' from the bloody mess he left behind after interrogations.

In an effort to further strengthen his resistance to magic, Alan has been taking increased amounts of lyrium. The supply comes as a kickback from an underground smuggling ring he just happened to 'overlook'. The excessive amounts of the 'drug' have caused an imbalance to occur in his brain. The drug has amplified the primal aspects of his personality and has caused him to fall victim to random fits of erratic, often aggressive behavior. Only more doses will cause the fits to subside. Long periods without the drug lead to withdraw.

Alan has an extreme distaste for Mages and magic in general. If he had it his way, it would be wiped clean from the world.

| History |

Alan Darkmare was the firstborn child of Curtis and Leandra, two wealthy nobles from the city of Kirkwall. There, the name 'Darkmare' was held with the highest esteem.

That is, until Alan's father lost the entire fortune of the family after throwing it all away gambling.

Alan, his father, and his then pregnant mother were forced into the slums of Lowtown, barely able to rub two silvers together. Alan's father had one final plan left to save his family, and that was to take one more gamble. The man Curtis had been gambling with, little did the man know, was a Tevinter Magister named Rorik. The conditions of the bet were enormous, yet simple. If Curtis won the game of cards, Rorik would pay him the entirety of the previous bet back in full. If Curtis lost however, the family's lives would belong to him.

Curtis couldn't lose, the Maker wouldn't allow it!

But woe, the Maker did, and Curtis lost the bet, and that same night the family was packed into a transport headed straight for Tevinter.
Upon arrival, Alan and family were split. As a woman, pregnant to boot, she would be suited for far different work than Curtis and Alan. That was the last Alan ever saw of his mother. Rumors said that she had a girl, but he's never been able to confirm for sure. Curtis and Alan remained together, staying with Rorik the Magister as guniea pigs for his practice of new spells. Rorik had them ingest lyrium, a tactic used by the Templars in order to build resistance to magic, so that they would not die.

Alan became a slave at the age of ten. For seven long years he endured being set aflame, certain body parts being frozen solid, and total loss of his body's control as a result of blood magic. His master made sure they were given just the right amount of lyrium so that they wouldn't die, but at the same time still feel the pain of his abilities. It wasn't until Alan turned twenty that his father told his son about his detailed plan of escape.

There was an underground railroad in Tevinter, a path through the nation that lead into Nevarra, all the way to Orlais. Curtis and Alan would escape into the night, freeing themselves from this nightmarish life. The would then return one day, as free men, to save his mother and sister.

That night they made their escape, and all seemed well at first, until Rorik revealed the phylacteries he held of each of his slaves. Curtis and Alan were caught in an instant.

In a last ditch effort, the father threw himself at his master, attempting to make a way for his son to escape into the world. The last thing Alan saw before the two were completely out of sight was Rorik, draining the life out of his father with blood magic.

The underground railroad saw Alan's escape into freedom. In Orlais he met a traveling Templar named Gregoir. Gregoir was the Knight-Commander of Ferelden, and when he heard of the young man's experience at the hand of Mages, and the hate that festered inside, he immediately took him under his wing.

Alan excelled in every category from knowledge based studies, to combat. His skill saw him inducted to the elite ranks of the Chantry Seekers at twenty-one. There, for three years Alan created a name for himself as 'Andraste's Butcher', carving bloody, lasting wounds in whomever he saw fit. Interrogations were his specialty, and normally, not a single one of his suspects left the room without at least one body part missing. His extreme measures saw him placed back into the Templars, where he now resides as Knight Captain in Ferelden as a powerful right hand of the Knight-Commander.


Father: [Age: Status: Personality; Personality is a five sentence minimum.]

Mother: [Age: Status: Personality; Personality is a five sentence minimum.]

Sibling(s): [Does your character have siblings?][If so, Age: Status: Personality; Personality is a five sentence minimum.]



+ Alan keeps a journal of his life. Starting from the first week of his life in slavery, he hasn't missed a single date yet. His journal is currently in it's fourth volume.

+ Alan's time in Tevinter numbed him to the 'Elvan Issue' he doesn't see them as any different from humans.

+ He loathes gambling, and won't allow it in his sight when it comes to his soldiers.

+ His favorite drink is Antivan white wine.

+ Alan's humor ranges from sarcastic to brilliantly tongue and cheek. He's got a silver tongue.

+ All the world's a stage, and the men and women all players. And Alan's the playwright. Orlesian plays are a love of his, he often recites his words in the form of poetic prose.


So begins...

Alan Darkmare's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alan Darkmare

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Black blood spilled from a ghoulish foe and stained the extravagant robe the warrior wore. As the beast fell into the dirt beneath him, the white haired man grimaced. With a face full of malice, he kicked the thing’s skull in. Spit flew, and curses did too.

“God damn abominations. I loathe Darkspawn.”

Alan Darkmare loathed a great deal of things, but the Darkspawn were quickly nearing the top tier of the list. This was Ostagar, Darkspawn capital of Thedas. The Templar had found himself atop a hill, where he could overlook a good portion of the battlefield. As he gazed at the sight; the shards of steel flashing against dancing embers, he couldn’t help but scoff at his thoughts. Blights. Yet another thing we can thank the Robes for.

The area Alan was in, for the moment, was calm. If you could count dozens dead, and even more injured as calm. He did anyway, and as he passed by a group of medical Mages, he stopped a man clad in the armor of his order. The young man had his back turned so the moment his commanding officer touched him, he jumped and grabbed for his blade.

The youth turned on his heel, weapon in hand ready for action, but two clawed fingers from the Knight-Captain’s gauntlet stopped that in it’s tracks.

“Calm yourself soldier. Do I look like one of them?” He pointed to a fell creature a few feet away. Still shaking, the young soldier sheathed his blade and nodded at Alan. “Atta-boy. Now, I want a report. You came from further down correct? Myles’ unit, by the looks of it.” Knight-Captain Myles’ men all had a sort of...green look about them, none of the kids seemed fit for battle. The sick looking boy nodded and saluted.

“Y-yes sir. I came from the eastern front...the Darkspawn there are tearing us apart. The King’s troops are still waiting for the signal from the watchtower,the Captain suspects the worst and has sent me here to spread word to the other units.”

Alan was giving the boy an assessing look. What he said was expected. Expected, but troubling. The news of the Darkspawn’s triumph was something that anyone who took a passing glance at the field could easily determine. There were too many wounded and not enough mages. He didn’t know why he was even here any more--Ostagar was a lost cause.

“What of the other sqauds? You know, Captain Cullen, Captain Drake, Loghain and the King’s men?” The boy’s face was overcast with despair. The Captain just sighed.

“That bad eh?”

“Captain Drake’s unit’s been completely wiped out, the Captain’s okay, but he’s hurt right bad. Cullen’s unit, or what’s left of it is patching him up now with some of the Mages. The King’s unit though...” He bit his lip. “I saw the whole lot of em’ cut down m’self.”

Alan was intrigued, “The King?” The youth shook his head. The look on his face had said it all. King Cailin was dead, the battle had been an utter failure. From somewhere far off horns had sounded--someone’s troops had left the battlefield. What the hell was going on out there? “Tell me boy, what’s come of the Teyrn Loghain’s troops?” The boy’s mouth had opened wide, and then shut quick.

“No one’s seen them sir, you don’t think the Darkspawn took em’ out already?” Alan's brow furrowed and his forehead wrinkled. That couldn't be right.

“The Teyrn drove out Orlais soldiers. He wouldn’t let a few cave dwellers kill him. But it is strange...” The battle was horrendous. He watched from afar as a group of men was slaughtered by a single Darkspawn warrior. A sight that was common affair here it seemed.

“Boy, I want you to send the word to the rest of our men, we’re getting the hell out of here.” The youth was shocked at the notion, a fire had sparked in his eyes the likes unwhich Alan had only seen a few times before.

“But Captain! The Darkspawn--”

“The Darkspawn have won. They killed the King, and if we stick around we’ll end up just like him. I don’t know about you, but I have much more life to live.”

“Captain...”

“Now boy.” Ice blue eyes had dimmed the fire in the boy’s soul.

“Y-yes sir. I’ll spread word immediately.”

“Atta boy.”

The young recruit seized a horse, and darted down into the thick of the war. With another deep sigh, Alan reached for the golden hilt of his blade that hung from behind his waist. The captain sniffed the air. And even amid the mounds of ruined corpses, and the burnt flesh of the Darkspawn, something reeked even more. Something was amiss here.

The front was pushing forward to where he was. He’d have to fight again soon.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Alan Darkmare

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Daylen managed to stand up, using his staff as an aid. Ignoring Alan's smug comment, for the Knight-Captain had always been disdainful of mages and it fit with his personality that he would take another's actions as an opportunity to gloat. Still, Ethan Potts a genuinely good templar, one who had joined the Order for all the right reasons and treated mages like the creations of the Maker they were. He nodded at the templar.

"Thank you. Though, I fear we still have far to go if we are to survive this day," Daylen told the templar and Ethan responded in kind, helping him into the camp as he was given a bit of lyrium to replenish his mana. He gulped down the vial whole and smiled as he felt new energy surge through him. Trust templars to have an ample supply of lyrium, particularly on the battlefield. However, they never gave lyrium without cause and Daylen found himself set to work healing the wounded, which he did not mind. His eyes and hands glowed with power as he set to work healing who he could. He frowned, however, as he felt his magic overcome by an alien prescence in one wounded templar, however.

"He is Tainted. There is nothing more I can do. Only the Grey Wardens hold the cure for this," he told Ser Potts. The templar frowned, obviously distressed.

"The Wardens are gone, Ser Mage. The darkspawn slaughtered them along with the King and the troops," he told him. Daylen bowed his head.

"Maker, help us all," he murmured. The man panicked, of course. Thus, he was forced to sedate him with a sleep spell as his brother templars put an end to his suffering. What provisions they could take was loaded by now and Daylen took one of the spare horses for himself.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Talathiel Undovir Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Alan Darkmare

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Alan watched with some irritation as several of his men fell to the taint. It wasn't losing them in particular that caused him ire, more so than losing them to the Darkspawn did. He was more than ready to leave Ostagar. Alan rode in the center of the pack of fleeing Templars, Daylen was further along in the back, he wanted the mage there should any surprise attacks occur. As they marched on Alan barked out his orders, and the men moved in perfect sync to his words. Even in all the chaos of the battlefield, the Templar Knights stayed vigilant. Survival was their motivator, and their captain was the catalyst.

"Captain!" One of the men called out. Alan reared his horse to a halt. "A survivor," At the edge of the trees of the Wilds, their sat a bloodied elvan woman. Though her beauty enchanting, the captain was prepared to let her die--until he took notice of the griffin insignia on her armor.

"A Warden..." The vague traces of voice escaped from his mouth. "Amell! Can you heal this woman? She just might be what we need." If the Warden's truly were gone after Ostagar, this woman might be the must valuable boon in Ferelden. A boon Alan was not about to let slip through his fingers.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Talathiel Undovir Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona

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Darkspawn. Darkspawn everywhere. Kithic sit in a crowd of bushes watching the battle unfold with a sad shake of her head. No way in hell was she going to be able to find the Grey Wardens now, if any of them were even still alive that was. She watched as the King was killed mercilessly and closed her eyes to the splatter of blood all over the field. The battle was not supposed to end this way. What happened to the troops that would help? No matter, even if all the Grey Wardens weren't all dead she couldn't stand around here waiting to be killed.

Moving quickly in the shadows of the trees Kithic kept her eyes on the Darkspawn forces with careful study. They were....unusually organized for Darkspawn. The ones she had encountered had been so barbaric and primal. They didn't think before. If they were showing even an inkling of intelligence now, that was extremely bad. Her eyes skimmed the field and made notes to write down in her book later. This would be an interesting case study, even if it meant something terrible was about to happen.

Just as she reached a small path leading away from Ostagar, a horn sounded signalling the retreat. This sparked the need to move even faster than she had been. People fleeing usually meant that the enemy would try and follow to kill even more, and if they were moving off the battlefield then they would surely find this wandering mage and view her as a snack. With a sigh Kithic started to run as quietly as she could.

Unfortunately the Maker had a sense of humor today and led Kithic right to a group of about five Darkspawn. They were eating a couple dead bodies which...Kithic found to be disturbing and gross. She was thinking she might be able to sneak past them when she caught her scent. Dammit. She didn't have time to waste on this. With a groan she gripped her pack tighter to her back and raised one hand. Before the creatures could register what happened she had spoken her words and shuddered as her hand was sent from body temperature to near freezing. Small price to pay considered the five things were now blocks of ice. A small smile and she was on her way again; the ice wouldn't last forever and she had no doubt they would be angry at losing the next meal.

The farther from the battle she went the more distant the sounds of the dead became. The fainter the smell of burning flesh. The easier it was to ignore that she had just watched a king being crushed and drained of his blood like he was a mosquito. Kithic shook her head and skidded to a stop at the edge of the forest. She hadn't been paying attention and had nearly run into a group of Templars. Swell.

She crouched down and stayed silent, her hood pulled farther over her head. It was easy to see the man in charge, he was barking out orders like the alpha wolf. The group was small, but not small enough for her to feel comfortable. She scanned the group and saw they were tired and bloody, understandable given the circumstances. There was a mage though... that may come in handy. If they had one mage with them perhaps they wouldn't mind another? She gave a small chuckle at the stupidity of the notion and looked to see what they were all so intensely focused on. If she squinted she could make out an injured woman, an elf maybe since she was a great deal prettier than any other human she'd seen and it LOOKED like she had pointed ears. It was her armor that made her more interesting though.

It took longer than it should have to realize what the symbol on the woman's armor was and she looked up at the sky to thank the Maker. A Warden. Kithic stayed crouched down and eyes trained on the group in front of her.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Talathiel Undovir Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Alan Darkmare

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#, as written by Sammael
Talathiel’s world was a veil of black. She couldn’t see anything, feel anything, nor hear anything. Then, there was a burning sensation. It covered her body in a blanket of warmth as she felt her fingers twitch. Someone was healing her? Who would heal a corpse? Immediately, her eyes snapped open to the blazing glare of armour and soldiers. If she had not been quite as injured, she might have stood quickly with her blade drawn, however; the fevered feeling ran through her body like a hot knife searing her skin. Her hand still rested on the hilt of her blade, trying to pull it free from its sheath before she finally glanced around her surroundings. She noticed a small militia of men, standing around her as if they had just found a prize. She then noticed a human male standing directly in front of her, spilling magic from his hands and around her.

“Get away from me shemlen,” she spat, slapping his hand away from her as she did so. She then glared up towards the rest of the group before struggling to stand. She did not need the help of a mage, or any of the other humans for that matter. She needed to retreat further away from the battle field. The darkspawn would be marching soon and she would be in their line of march. She didn’t want to face the demons again and she was still wounded. Speaking of which, she thought as she placed her hand to her side. She was still bleeding as the liquid pooled into her hands. A breeze of air brushed passed her as she focused again on the army in front of her.

“And who are you?” she questioned as she stared at a man with peculiar white hair. As much as she didn’t want to be around humans, these particular armoured shemlen would provide the coverage she would need to survive the onslaught of darkspawn. Or at least escape and find a reasonable shelter to take home in.