Ferelden

[Attention: we won't have different tabs for locations within Ferelden, that can get confusing. Instead tabs will be for continents unlocked during the RP. And we do not have to have locations that go by the book. We can make shiz up in the OOC thread so post ideas there or PM me. This post takes place somewhere in the wilderness of Ferelden, it's a dark and stormy night. Woooo. *wiggly ghost fingers*]


Crying. The man is actually crying, weeping for his life. For mercy. Yet why should she spare this man? He's currently in the position that he himself has forced many into before. A life suspended by the edge of a blade. Down on his knees, knuckles a hazardous pallor as his fingers grip onto the salvation of the land. She stares down at him indignantly, indifferently. How dare he believe he should be given another chance, how damn dare he. Now the dog crawls forth and grasps the hem of her cloak. Rain continues to pelt them mercilessly, outdoing the tears upon the man's face and drowning out his sobs. Nothing could drown out the harsh words from Severia's mouth. "Shut up! You've done this to yourself." with a dark look she then pulls herself away from the man. She won't even waste the swing of her sword on him. Instead as she steps back a flying mass of muscle on four legs lunges forth, silent as dogs are when they're in that grim state of mind to massacre. Severia then turns and heads back for their peaceful campsite as Kujo makes short of the bandit leader who threatened the small party moments earlier.

At least not all of this is new to her. The outdoors, the Wild, the scents and the sights...but she knows they'll come to a village or a city soon. And then what? For now the female will have to enjoy being within the Wild. Blysse just doesn't all that much approve of killing. Sure her distaste for humans can be evident but she's grown some respect for Severia after the warrioress fought off a pack of Blight wolves from tearing apart her halla one morning. That and the human doesn't treat her like an idiot as most humans will with elves. The young elf tugs up an arrow from the corpse of a bandit that fell not too long ago, body still warm. Murmuring a prayer to her gods she closes the man's eyes before heading back into the cave. Before sunset a group of bandits thought they could overtake the small group. Severia, Blysse and Arvin proved them wrong. Now they're all hopefully going to be able to settle down for a rest. She'll be taking the first watch for the night. Blysse goes to kneel by the fire Arvin had conjured and wills her clothes to dry quickly, shuddering at the chill.

By the time Severia has stepped into the cave the bandit leader had ceased screaming. Kujo is either enjoying a meal of the body or exploring before returning to them. While he's a strict soldier like his mistress, he's still a bit of a dog and might be chasing some woodland creatures around during his clockwork patrol. Digging into her pack she pulls out a few things to start making spiced apple cider. A little pick-me-up, hold the alcohol. Severia wants to get her companions warmed up before she heads off to rest until her watch shift. She always takes the last watch since it starts at an ungoldy morning hour. Being a night owl she's accustomed to such. Severia stirs the pot and glances to Blysse. "Have you seen Arvin?" getting a negative shake of the head from Blysse, Severia grumbles slightly. Where the hell did that mage get off to now? Being a warrior she isn't very fond of mages and doesn't think much of magick. If Arvin doesn't show up soon she'll send Kujo to go find him. And that doesn't always turn out well. Kujo can sense Severia's initial dislike for Arvin, meaning he isn't very friendly towards the mage either.

"I'll go see if I can't find him, he might've gone to fetch more wood to dry by the fire." Blysse stands up and doesn't bother to wring out her drenched hair. She's grateful that Severia offers her her cloak though. Although it's already damp, it'll be better than enduring the rain on her bare flesh again. Cinching it shut she trots out into the dark hills, glancing over the woods and meadow nearby. Sometimes Blysse wishes Severia weren't so impatient with Arvin. Surely he has good reason for not regrouping right away. What if he's harmed? With an injury kit tucked along her belt she hastens her pace. Blysse glances to a crevice as movement appears. Tucked into it is her halla, looking sleepy and shoved in with Severia's stunning blue roan stallion and Arvin's equine. Oddly enough those three have been getting along stunningly well, even Kujo seems to group with the larger animals. It brings some hope to her that all isn't lost just yet. If the animals can get along then soon shall the humanoid group. "Arvin! Arrrviiiin! Where are yooou?" the elven maiden calls out with abandon, padding along a path. Being loud won't matter too much since they just fended off their only danger so far in this area. Blysse scans the realm briefly with a thoughtful frown.

In her wake is an elven male, slightly shorter than herself. Cash hurries after his sister with clumsy strides vainly given a dignified gait. "Blysse, slow down!" sure the group massacred the bandits. It doesn't make the young elf feel any better. This is his first time outside of his clan. Not that he was given permission to leave. He snuck out not too long after his sister was given leave, but his being here has been kept secret between the siblings. Cash is simply worried about his older sister and inwardly wants some form of adventure. Not that this is all fun and games, oh no. The bookish musician knows the land is in turmoil and surmounting pandemonium. He tightens the collar of his jacket as rain seeps from the corners of his sensitive ears. Hopefully they find Arvin soon and he can rest easy by the warm flame with Blysse. Cash sticks to her as an eyelash fallen in one's eye; he's wary of the others in the group. It could become his downfall or their uprising.

He had not been present during the bandit attack, out scouting as was his most accustom job in their little party, and after he began his own form of watch. He wore A hardened suit of Dalish leather armor, along with a heirloom from his mother a cloak embroidered with several pictures of their culture, along with characters from their stories. He himself can't remember clearly everything that is marked on his cloak, due to extensive time in the crows; due to being picked up from a young age. He was molded into the perfect weapon, or so he was told countless times by his brotheren, and his superiors. This was the past though, and currently he had been retreating to the cave to warm up and dry, off but his acute hearing picked up the words of one of the other Elves, in their small party.

He watched as she exited, with the male in tow. This causing a smile to form upon his flawless face "Wonder if I could startle them alittle" He thought to himself as he followed close behind, though quietly. Once they had moved farther down the path he was about to pop out, when his noble mount; though noble in it's own mind, to him it was a bothersome creature that he had grown up with, and was more like a brother then a mount. Lenwë his Wrag tackled him into clear view, a few paces behind the siblings, and with that settled into curling up ontop of him "You brute! I wasn't going to scare them to badly" He retorted to the action that had been taken upon him, now that he laid in a puddle of mud and tree leaves. Lenwë only replying with a partial growl, this causing Ryuu to whine and push at the bulk of the creature. "They were right I should have turned you into a handbag when we were younger~!" He cursed at the large wolf on his body, then looking to the siblings who undoubtedly were watching this with either humor or slight annoyance and blushed. "My apologies, I only wished to playfully startle you, I ment no harm, and well you can see how that ended up He waved a hand to Lenwë and only received a lick to the hand, and thus causing another scowl and angry pushing. "Get off, get off, Get off!" his voice growing louder and louder until finally he did, and thus giving Ryuu the chance to stand and wipe some of the mud from his form, though he was at the most pouting quite noticeably.

Blysse was the first to react when din rose from the foliage. A trained huntress it is only second nature for her to draw an arrow towards something alarming. With her bow taut she blinks as she realizes just whom is in her crosshairs. "Oh! Ryuu, Lenwë...you spooked me." the blonde tilts her head, eyes bright with mirth at the sight of the rider struggling with his warg. Blysse politely lowers her bow and arrow, depositing the arrow into her quiver again as she laughs softly and hides her mouth behind a slender wrist. Her brother, meanwhile, laughs openly and out of spite towards Ryuu. "I doubt you'll get much sneaking in with that cumbersome mutt knocking you down. Blysse, you should've done us all a favor and just shot him." Cash narrows his eyes shrewdly at Ryuu. The young elf has ducked behind his sister in favor of shielding himself. He had mysteriously disappeared during the bandit attack.

Cash simply has never been in a fight and isn't interested in it. He carries a simple dagger on his person but nothing else to indicate he has any physical bite besides his supple form. Honestly the bard would much rather be reading than charging against an opponent. Thankfully he has his sister with him whom has seen bloodshed and collected blood price. Blysse sighs faintly and glances to the shadows again in case Arvin had been wounded. "Cash, we need everyone to get along...please stop being surly.", she approaches the warg and its rider with a bitten bottom lip, eagerly eying the beast, "Lenwë is quite the gentleman, not wanting me to get scared." she coos gently before reaching out to offer her hand towards the warg.

In the background Cash leers at Ryuu, bristled. He doesn't like others in the least. Most specifically strange elves who are much too tall. Ryuu is a giant compared to anyone else in the party! With an indignant exhale he crosses his arms over his chest and busies himself by toeing the muddy ground. At least this rain is lighting up but the same cannot be said about the bard's boorish attitude. Blysse turns her attention to Ryuu and inclines her head politely. "Abelas. My brother has never been outside of our clan. Were you wounded in the attack lethallin?"

Asmara resisted the need to double over. It seemed that each step came only with twice the effort of the last. She had fled Ostagar after the bloody massacre that occurred there, even though she was still exhausted from her Joining. The pendant, filled with Darkspawn blood, hung heavily against her chest, a constant reminder that the same taint, that identical blood, was coursing through her system even now. The knowledge weighed on her tangibly, and for a moment, she wondered if there might be anything left for it. How much she wished to return to her woodland hut and go back to her peaceful life there!

But it hadn’t really been all that peaceful, had it? She was probably just idealizing it in retrospect. Well… all of that mattered little, anyway. She was here and now, and she would do the best she possibly could. Teyrn Loghain’s betrayal had spelled the end of most of her compatriots, and green as she was, Asmara was going to need some help. The question now became: how to obtain it?

The swampy terrain informed the mage that she was once again in the Korcari Wilds. Some of her fellow recruits had found the are imposing, but Asmara herself was well-used to such surroundings, and the transition from the ancient fort to the swampy forest outside it was a welcome one. It meant that her flight from her pursuers would be all the easier. Presently, she was being followed by a contingent of Loghain’s men, this much she knew. She did not have the skills to fight all of them; fleeing was her only option, and she was going to need everything she had in order to get away with her life.

She tried to make less noise traveling through the thrushes and other wetland plants, but she didn’t have time to properly cover her trail, especially at the rather breakneck pace she was currently moving. The young mage would be easy to track, but she had to put more distance between herself and those following her before she could even think about backtracking or moving without disturbing anything. She just wasn’t sure she had enough stamina left to make it. A rather harrowing recruitment, a swift and arduous joining, a battle bigger than anything she’d ever experienced in her life; Asmara was lucky she could still move at all, much less keep on running as she was. Things were looking grim indeed, she reflected, crashing through more underbrush, ignoring the stinging cuts she was receiving from plants and branches. There would be time enough to heal those later, when she wasn’t about to die.

Someone… anyone… Spirits help me…

Elfroot tea wasn't the best kind of tea, but it was healthy and abundant in the Wilds, Antius mused as he sat in front of his campfire, warming himself with the said tea and looking over a tablet thoughtfully. A scavenger along the old Imperial Highway had sold it to him and it proved authentic. He could feel the lyrium infused in it tingling his senses as he rubbed his hand over it. Yes, this was an artifact of the old Tevinter Imperium from when it extended south into Ferelden. The writing ws faded, but he could decipher some words in the old Tevinter tongue. They looked to be earth spells, perhaps for repairing and maintaining the highway! He'd have to send this back to the Tower, he decided.

This was only his second venture outside the Circle of Magi and he was already enjoying it immensely. Perhaps he was a little close to the rumored darkspawn incursion, but the King's army was holding them off and he'd be on his way to the Brecillian Forest soon enough. He only sought to find a little of Tevinter and Chasind knowledge, perhaps a little information on Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. If he found one useful tidbit, it would be the first in over two Ages!

He frowned a bit when he heard some rustling in the bushes. What was that? An animal, perhaps. Quickly, he set his tea down and stood up, gripping his staff. He moved into the foliage, scanning for intruders. He knew how to defend himself. Primal magic was his specialty, after all. His expression dropped when he saw what was disturbing the trail behind his campsite, an elf, a fellow magi from the looks of the staff on her back. He approached her wit ha frown.

"Are you alright, milady? Surely, the Darkspawn haven't slipped past Ostagar?" he asked in concern, already digging through his robes for a health poultice. She didn't look familiar and he knew almost every mage from the Tower. And her skin was tanned. Could she be an apostate? Maybe she could provide him with some magical lore outside the Circle and Chantry's grasp. He shook his head, ridding himself of such self-serving thoughts. The poor woman looked exhausted.

[ignore this post~almostinsane beat me to the punch.]

Jasper raised an eyebrow. Were they really fine leaving their campsite so unguarded? The main group of them were off in the forest somewhere, thought the woman with the hound was not with them. If he'd been here to steal anything or ambush them, they'd be in quite the unfortunate situation indeed.

The young man shifted his weight slightly. Presently aloft in a nearby tree, he was watching the goings-on with some measure of curiosity. From his vantage, he could spy both the cluster of elven-kin and the camp proper. His stealth ensured that he would not be seen, though the tree was a precaution against the hound. Having been raised for a good chunk of his childhood in his family's estate in South Reach, he was well familiar with the species, even if they were next to useless at sea. He still rather liked them; they were smarter than some of the imbeciles he'd met on the water.

Truth be told, he wasn't exactly certain why he'd bothered following them at all. But, really, it was a group of warriors most motley, and he was fairly certain that one of them was even a Grey Warden. It was not as though he had anything more interesting to do, and if Jasper could be said to have any overriding goal in life, it was to find a cure for his unending boredom with it. Still, they had yet to do anything of particular significance, Warden or no Warden, and the Pirate King scratched at a stubbled cheek absently. If it kept up being this uneventful, he might just either have to reveal himself or leave as though he had never been present at all. As novel as traveling through trees and swamps was, it would not be enough to hold his attention for long.

The world had lost its sense of adventure, and that was truly a tragedy of unfortunate scale. Jasper's uncovered golden eye glanced up at the sky and caught sight of the agile falcon enjoying itself on the thermals there. A smile twitched upon the rogue's face; at least Valhalla was amused. His gaze was soon back on the camp, though, and he avoided the urge to crack his neck. Yes, watching could indeed grow wearisome.

Severia stokes the fire with her blade and stares into it with apathy. Just days ago she was cozily holed up in her family's estate, giving gasconade to the guards of her latest achievement against her brother. And everything changed. There was shouting, the bite of blades and nothing but betrayal. The Couslands were no more. A musky aroma fills the cave as Kujo returns to his mistress. Stubby tail wiggling with nothing but jubilant malice the canine drops his bum down next to her and stares at the boiling pot. This moment is deceivingly tranquil. Kujo rolls over to become supine and Severia rubs his belly, being ever mindful of the speedbump past his navel. The warm fire gently strokes her armor to encase herself in a warm cocoon and the young woman hums in delight.

Being backed into the cave and waiting for the mixture to boil isn't all that fascinating. Severia rises from her seat to lean against the lip of the cave and stare at the melancholy rain dribbling from the sky. Curious, her hound joins his mistress. Kujo tilts his head at the armor clad woman before flopping down on his belly with his forelegs reaching back along his sides. A bemused smirk plays along the lady's mouth. Silly thing. Her eyes cast skywards again she furrows her brow at a hawk. Has it found something of interest amidst the storm?

She doesn't go to investigate although she knows if she were a girl again she'd chance throwing a stone at it. Perhaps she should for old time's sake. Not that Severia will intentionally aim for the hawk just try to get it as high as the bird. There's a competitive streak in her after all. She kneels down and takes up a small stone, bouncing it in her palm before hurling it over the trees surrounding the cave. Where is the rest of her party? The silence leaves nothing but an ominous fog covering the area. She'll blame Arvin for this pause in departure. After a short rest the group will need to get moving and soon.

A good half-hour into her breakneck run, and Asmara's lungs were burning with each new intake of breath. Slender legs far from used to this sustained level of activity on unfamiliar terrain were close to giving out on her, feet dragging as lead weights might. She was constantly throwing furtive green-eyed glances over her shoulder as though her pursuers might reappear at any moment, but she knew that this was likely not the case. Oh, how she wished she had not lost her beloved horse in the chaos that was the Battle of Ostagar. Chances were, the men following her would take their time waiting for her to run herself to exhaustion after the manner of a frightened rabbit, and then kill her when they found her. Had she been a little bit more world-wise, she might have known that it was not death but imprisonment that she should fear the most.

Perhaps luckily, naivete spared her these thoughts, and so when her foot caught on a stray root and she crashed to the ground, her only thought was that she was going to die a most untimely death. Ironic, that she had survived the joining only to be killed in such an inane manner as by an enemy soldier.

Somehow, Asmara willed herself to her feet once more, and tried to keep her focus on the road ahead. Perhaps she was finally at enough distance to try and make her passage less obvious. Either way, she was going to need some time to catch her breath, and she veered off her path into a thicket, hoping to preserve at least some measure of stealth, though a rogue she was not, and would have to rely on the inattentiveness of others.

It was a scant few moments, though, before a man's voice broke the unnatural silence that Darkspawn presence had produced in the Wilds, and Asmara knew her fortunes had fled her. The man looked more mage than soldier, between the staff and the Circle robes, but she knew well that sometimes the greatest danger for one such as herself could be not from the Chantry's Templars, but another mage. So many of them hated what apostates had done to their reputations, or so she had gathered, and it was they who knew best the dangers of the Fade and maleficarum. Asmara was no such creature, but then the fact that nobody really believed her when she said as much constituted the main reason she was a Grey Warden in the first place.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, shooting furtive glances back over her shoulder once again. It was a difficult thing, deciding how to answer his question, and it took her a moment to process what he was actually asking through her adrenaline-addled mind. "Ostagar... the King has fallen. Teyrn Loghain, he..." she cut herself off and shook her head. There was no way she'd be believed, even she knew that. Teyrn Loghain was a hero, as much as anyone in Ferelden could claim to be. And what was she? An apostate, a Grey Warden, a mage, and elf with no status, all marks against her in popular opinion. Or at least they were now.

Wide green eyes regarded the man pleadingly. "Please... if Teyrn Loghain's men come through here, tell them you saw nothing. I... I can't run for much longer, anyway."

Antius calmly waited for the woman to catch her breath. From her uneven breathing and panicked eyes, as well as her stance, he could perceive that she was exhausted, from running most likely. He frowned a little as she mentioned Teyrn Loghain's men. It wasn't often that a mage and an elf got involved with a man of such high stature. Nonetheless, the pleading in her eyes was sincere and she did not have the look of a Maleficar. Nonetheless, he stepped forward and checked her arms before nodding in satisfaction that there were no self-inflicted cuts. She didn't practice blood magic then. So, he helped her over to the fire and sat her down, attempting a friendly smile at her.

"It is alright. I will not turn you in. You seem like you have an interesting story to tell and Circle Magi such as myself are notorious gossips," he told her with a kind smile before handing her his cup of elfroot tea and gesturing at his tent, an old shabby thing that nonetheless still had working wounds to ward off the worst of the weather, Maker bless the Tranquil, "If you hear anything, hide in there. There are few mundanes that dare to enter a Mage's tent. Few mundane humans, anyway. I hear that Dalish elves have less superstitions regarding Magic, considering that each clan is led by a Keeper, a formidable Mage in their own right."

The scholar frowned a little, thinking back at what she said. The King had fallen in Ostagar? That was troubling. Every history book he read where a King died leaving no heir, bloody civil war followed and if there really was a Blight... The Chantry wouldn't allow the Mages to flee the Circle Tower. Maybe the Templars, but they were little better than Mages in a way, tools for the Chantry. And tools could be left to die if there was justification. But then, a more terrifying thought occurred to him.

"If the Darkspawn succeed, then all this land's lost knowledge will be gone forever!" he exclaimed in horror.

Damned rain, Jasper thought to himself, from his tree. He made a low, trilling whistle, unremarkable to most ears and too similar to birdsong to be noticed as anything more than incidental, and Val ceased her wheeling in the sky and landed safely a few trees away from himself, a little closer to the cluster of elves. He wondered if they were discussing anything interesting, and considered moving to find out from a lack of anything better to do, but ultimately he decided against it.

It was not as though he disliked rain on principle, really; you couldn't harbor such ill feelings toward something you had to deal with on a routine basis, and if there was one thing every sailor knew how to handle, it was an ocean squall. Nevertheless, he was damp, and he was not fond of the sensation. Dry, excellent; sopping wet... well, fine. But damp was simply irritating.

Shaking his shaggy mane, Jasper resigned himself to his fate and settled in, stretching his long legs out on the branch with an inaudible sigh. He was used to having a bit more freedom of movement than this. His thoughts drifted to his recently-purchased horse, which was apparently trained not to wander too far from where he left it. Normally, in a situation like this he would wait for nightfall, then steal out of the area to retrieve his horse and make ready for another day of following. Right now, however, he had no desire to risk his footing on slick bark. Detaching his weighted black cloak, the man settled it over himself and leaned his head back against the tree. Not the most comfortable of situations, but it would do for now. At least this way he'd be around if anything interesting were to occur. Plus, the tree smelled kind of nice. Pine needles and all that. Not the salty air one inhaled on a deck, but appealing nevertheless. He was beginning to understand why the Dalish liked forests so bloody much.

He kept an ear out for any approaching dangers, but other than that, the Pirate King allowed his mind to wander, only really half-awake and dozing. The rain pattered against the leaves of the deciduous trees around his own, and though the sound was nice, he rather envied the lady knight in the cave. At least, that's what he assumed she was; no self-respecting backstabber wore that much armor. Not if they wanted to avoid getting their heads bashed in, anyway.

Of the elves, he guessed that two were Dalish. It was one of those things you acquired an eye for, having seen the hunched shoulders and defeated faces of the city sort more often tan you'd really like. That kind of thing was just depressing, really. Still... if an elf had fire in their eyes or laughter in their natures, chances were they belonged to the forest clans. Of course, that skillfully excluded the elven sailors that made up a good quarter of his crew. Only one of them was Dalish originally, and he was actually the least raucous and belligerent of the lot.

The thought of his crew brought a lopsided smirk to Jasper's face, and he figured they were all probably getting land-sick by now. He'd told them to sail out and do what they would if he wasn't back to Denerim in a month, but he knew well that they were only a falcon-carried message away from whatever port he chose to meet them at next. Loyalty was a sweet, sweet thing.

Asmara wasn't exactly sure how to handle the man's manners. She was not used to being treated with respect of any kind, and it showed in the rather awkward way she accepted the tea and bowed halfway at the waist before settling down on a nearby log. The man's campfire was warm, and she was so very exhausted. She resisted the urge to sit closer to the flames, as the shock of the sudden warmth to her clammy system would not be good for her health.

She sipped the tea and suppressed a slight grimace. Elfroot, while useful in poultices, made a rather bitter brew, but she knew that for this very reason it would help her, and so she drank it without even a hint of complaint, regarding first the man and then his proffered tent with wary eyes. He didn't look all that frightening, this blue-eyed stranger, but... she had learned the hard way that this made no difference at all. Still... there was little she could do but trust him, and take him at his word. Her legs, steady as they'd needed to be when she stood, now shook along with the rest of her, whether from exhaustion or fright was hard to tell.

Asmara spent a long few moments looking into the depths of the fire, ears straining for any sign of her pursuers. Finding none, she allowed herself to relax just minutely, and looked back up at the man, who was speaking again. She only caught the gist of most of it, but the last line was so odd that it almost made her smile. Unfortunately, it turned out looking more like a grimace than anything else, but there was little to be done for that.

She owed him a story, and she knew it. He was a mage of the Circle, and it was easy to tell that she was not. Fatigued as she was, Asmara had not missed his examination of her arms; he knew to be wary, and the fact that she was once again under suspicion of being a creature less-than-conscionable hurt a bit, even though she could not blame him for it. Swallowing hard, the young woman placed her empty drinking vessel on the log beside her and hugged her torso with both arms. Unwilling or unable to maintain eye contact, she resumed her examination of the burning logs and sighed softly.

"My name is Asmara, and I am a Grey Warden," she began softly. When he did not immediately attempt to kill her or laugh at her, she continued. "Two weeks ago, I was inducted into the order, on the day a great battle was to take place at Ostagar. The king was there, and strange as I thought it was, I actually spoke to him..." The mage trailed off, she was rambling, and this was all beside the larger point.

"The battle... was not as they told me it would be. An easy rout, they said, with the combined might of the King, the Teyrn, and the Grey Wardens; the Darkspawn wouldn't stand a chance. The main army was supposed to engage the beasts while Teyrn Loghain flanked them on our signal. The signal was lit, but... the Teyrn never came. By the time any of us realized what had happened, it was far too late. My senior Wardens bid me flee, and like a coward I obeyed." She bit down on her lower lip, shaking her head as though trying to clear it of the recollection, but the mournful expression laid openly on her face would indicate that she was unsuccessful.

"I spent much time out here, just... wandering about, looking for anyone, any survivors, anything, but all I have found is men who want to kill me. The Grey Wardens have been blamed for the betrayal, and I am hunted. I know not why 'tis so, but... I went back to Ostagar today, hoping to find some kind of clue, or maybe a friend who had survived as well, but all I found were bodies and more soldiers. I've been running ever since." Asmara hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin upon them and ignoring the soreness this caused. She'd have to stretch out soon, or risk serious pain the next time she tried to move, but she couldn't really drum up the motivation at present.

She had no idea why she'd told him everything; maybe it was out of some twisted logic. If she died, at least someone would know the truth in its entirety, right? A twinge of guilt flickered into life- 'twas a heavy burden, and she had just shouldered someone else with it, whether this had been her original intention or not.

Bruce sat on top of his horse, gently trotting down the gravel road. He gave himself a self-satisfied smile as he could see a city looming into view as he made a turn, Finally, I can get rid of this burden, Bruce though and then turned to give a glance to his newly captured apostate.

The apostate’s name was James Henderson, an old poster with his face drawn on it had given Bruce his quest to hunt him down. James’ clothes were ragged after days of being forced to walk behind the horse, both hands tied tightly with robes, in fact, Bruce was sure that when the robes were removed, there would be bruisers where the robe had been. James’ fingers were all in an awkward angle; they had been cruelly broken, rendered useless with a hammer or the edge of a shield.

It was Bruce’s way of dealing with apostates. If they surrender immediately, Bruce would only gag them and tie (not in a harsh manner) them to his horse. If they attempted to flee, then they would find their fingers broken, gagged and tied roughly. Now, if they threw a spell at Bruce, then they had doomed themselves.

Bruce would give a damn to the code of the Templars and the Chantry about returning the apostates; if as much as one spell were thrown in the presence of Bruce, he’d see them killed on the spot. It wouldn’t have been the first time, he had done it five times before, run-away mages would try to use magic against him, only to find themselves beneath his iron heel, beaten and with a noose being tied around their neck.
Five mages/apostates were currently hanging and swaying in the forests of Ferelden, all thanks to their inability to simply surrender to their superiors.

Of course, at first when Bruce had done these deeds, his own superiors had scowled him. He had been told that such methods weren’t necessary, that they wanted the apostates alive so they could judge him, however, in Bruce’s eyes the only judge in the wilds were the Templars, and the apostates were the ones who would plea guilty or innocent depending on how they reacted to their arrest.
With time, members of the Chantry had come to see, and even understand, Bruce’s logic, and were encouraging other Templars to take up similar methods. Some members of the Chantry called them radicals, others for mindless savages, but in their own eyes they were the Law Enforcers of the Chantry and the Maker.

“Ho there Holy Templar.” the guard called and raised a hand to stop Bruce before he could enter the city, “What business do you have here? Why do you have such a ragged tag-on?”
Bruce gave a gentle smile to the guards, “By the will of the Maker, I am here to deliver this apostate to justice.”
The guard looked at the apostate and then at Bruce, “You sure that you don’t want to take him to the Circle of Magi or Denrim instead of here. I mean…We don’t have any experience with apostates here.”
“Fear not. I do,” Bruce said in a gentle tone, yet despite his polite tone, a shiver was send down the guards’ spines. Bruce said it with such confidence and experience that it couldn’t bode well for the apostate. Not at all.

Bruce rode into the town and towards the local Chantry where a group of Templars was standing, at first they were discussing amongst themselves, and as Bruce neared, they hushed their conversation and turned to see who it was that was coming.
“Hail noble Templars,” Bruce called and saluted, “This is an apostate. I saw his wanted post and hunted him down. I have brought him here to face the justice of the Chantry.”
The men were silent at first, but as Bruce dismounted and showed them the poster, the leader amongst them nodded and called for one of them to fetch the Mother of the town, while the others undid James’ tied hands and presented him to the Knight Templar of the town and the Mother.

“I must say it has been a long while since we have last judged and apostate,” the Mother said as she looked down at James. Bruce could tell that she had some sympathy for the man, though she didn’t say anything to show it.
“Aye…It has been years since I last participated in my trial with an apostate. Tell me, ser…?”
“Bruce Le-Guy.”
“Ser Bruce, how long since has it been since you participated in a trial?”
“Three weeks ago,” Bruce said plainly, though he could feel the amazement from the Mother and the other Templars. They obviously weren’t used to such circumstances.

The Knight Templar and the Mother regarded James for a while, and then the Mother asked, “What are the general outcome of these trials? My age is affecting my memory, ser Bruce.”
“There have been three outcomes, as far as I have witnessed. One, the apostate is executed on the city square. Two, the apostate is gagged, placed in a cage and left there for a week before he is returned to the Circle of Magi. Or, the apostate is simply escorted back to the Circle of Magi for a trial which the Chantry can’t deliver.”
The Mother and the Knight Templar looked at each other, “Well,” the Templar said, unsurely at first, but then he mustered his confidence, “We’ll have an escort to bring him back to the Circle of Magi. We have neither the tools, nor the experience with dealing with such trials anymore.”
“As you wish,” Bruce said, bowed and then saluted the two, “I do not wish to be a burden, however I have been tracking this man for two days, and I am low on supplies and my horse could use food and water as well.”
“Why, of course, do come in, ser Bruce,” the Mother said and then motioned for two other Templars to take the apostate away and prepare for the journey towards the Circle of Magi.

“Ser Bruce Le-Guy the Apostate Hunter, am I correct?” the Knight Templar asked as the trio walked inside the Chantry.
“Well, sire, I would not go into titles. It is merely a label I have been given by my fellow-”
“Nonsense. I have heard that you have dedicated yourself into hunting both apostates, maleficars8 and abominations, a most noble quest, however, do not consider my question an insult, how dedicated to the Chantry are you truly?”
Bruce stopped and looked the Knight Templar in the eyes, “Sire, I would walk into the Deep Roads if the Chantry asked me to. I am not a fool, but I have learned, a long time ago, that the Faithful of Andraste and the Maker have their protection.”
“Good. Now ser Bruce, we have a problem with the locals, while the harvest haven’t gone as expected, good men has been pulled out of their homes to fight in Ostagar, Templars have likewise been send to participate in the war, leaving us with little else than a poor militia and barely half a dozen Templars to keep order. Already sending two Templars to the Circle of Magi is going to thin out our forces significantly, so will ask you to do us a favor,” the Knight Templar said with a cool voice
“It is no favor. It is my duty,” Bruce replied and the Knight Templar smiled.
“Good. Now…Bandits have started to harass the nearby country, and to make matters worse, they are preying upon the roads where the Chantry has its Lyrium trade. Ser Bruce, I am sure you’d understand that it would be highly dangerous if the Chantry didn’t have its Lyrium for its Templars.”

Bruce thought about it for a moment. He was being asked to go search for people whom weren’t apostates, simple men who had turned to an extreme alternative in the time of war. On the other hand, if the Lyrium trade was threatened then the Templars could go insane without it…The Chantry could be crippled and that would mean that the mages of the Tower could run out and roam the land…That can not be allowed! Bruce thought.
“Where is this road?” Bruce asked and allowed a sinister smile to creep up his lips.



It was dark. The rain was pouring down all around Bruce, and with the cold temperature it wasn’t becoming any better, no wait, it just did! The wind was whipping up cold air against Bruce, I swear, my toes and fingers will fall off in this cold, Bruce thought as he hugged his cloak tighter.

He had been wandering along the road which the Knight Templar had told him, it had taken him an hour before he had seen the first sign of bandits; a toppled wagon which looked like they had attempted to set fire to. They aren’t common bandits. There must be something else who had done this, Bruce thought.

Bruce didn’t have his horse, he had left it in the village, after all it wasn’t his, and it was the Chantry’s. His bag had been filled with food, water, to bottles of Lyrium and a single bottle of wine for him to enjoy; he hadn’t expected the weather to turn like this over the night, raining enough to create a river, bone chilling winds that ripped in his thick cloak, and a darkness so thick that he could only see a few paces ahead of himself.

Wait…What is that? Bruce thought as he looked down the road. It was light that could be seen further down the road, Bruce hadn’t expected to see travelers but then again, in times of war all sorts of people came and went. Bruce remember he had once met a merchant who lived off from war, ‘Listen lad, while them officers thinks that they may have all that fancy stuff for ‘em soldiers, however ‘em soldiers always want some more. Ale, whiskey, food, or even a better blanket ‘an what them officers give ‘em. There are good coins from them soldiers when there is war. Good coins worth dying for.’ The merchant had a cruel sense of humor though he had all sorts of goods which were of high interest for Bruce, such as Lyrium.

Bruce picked up the pace. Walking briskly down the muddy road, he wanted to get to the fire and get a place to rest, if he was lucky, it was a merchant whom he could get some information from, concerning the war at Ostagar.
“Ho there!” Bruce called as he got closer to the fire, “Do not be alarmed! I am neither bandit nor murder. I am a Templar of the Chantry, I seek nothing more but your fire, and I am willing to share some good wine with you.” Bruce continued to approach the fire.

His steps faltered as he saw there wasn’t anyone near the fire, What trickery is this? Bruce thought. He could see that one of the figures at the fire was of the Circle of Magi, his robes gave him away and his face told Bruce that it was a human, while the other figure was certainly not a human, it had pointy ears, blonde hair and was rather small. Her clothes were ragged and bloody, A blood mage?! Bruce thought, and quickly found his hand at the hilt of his sword as he regarded the two figures; he wasn't prepared to battle mages, however he didn't know if they were of the Circle of the Magi either, no wait...The human was, but was the elf?

"I am ser Bruce Le-Guy, Templar of the Chantry...Who are you? What are you doing outside the Tower of Mages?" Bruce asked. He had obviously missed all introductions as he could see that the elf was sitting and drinking tea while the human must have been listening to her. "Listen here," Bruce then added, "I mean no harm...You do not look like apostates, nor have ever seen your faces on a wanted poster. May I share your fire in this dreadful weather? I shall share my wine with you in return for the flame's heat."

Bruce felt uncomfortable with the entire presence of the mage(s?) however he didn't wish to be hit with fever and a cold, that would be both unheroic and idiotic to have such illnesses while hunting for bandits.

Antius listened attentively to the girl's tale, frowning in thought. So the rumors were true. Teyrn Loghain had returned from a disastrous loss at Ostagar with claims that the king was dead and the Grey Wardens were all traitors. He had put it aside as hearsay, the tales of drunkards at taverns, but the girl, Asmara, had just confirmed it. Ferelden was in grave danger. He sighed. Perphas Knight-Commander Gregoir would allow the Circle to free the country. The man was stern and a bit of a blowhard, but he was reasonable. Fanatical, but reasonable.

"For the record, I believe you over the Teyrn. The Grey Wardens would never play politics in the middle of a Blight, especially through the murder of a king that was enamored with them, or so the rumors say. But the truth is just as unbelievable. Loghain is a patriot beyond anything else. Killing the king and leaving Ferelden to face the Blight without Wardens is madness.... This is why I never studied politics. Magic is much more predictable and wondrous than the human heart. Even blood magic could, in theory, be turned to good use if it was focused on healing rather than destroying... But that's sacrilegious and would get me hung," Antius mused, shaking himself out of his lecture with a slight self-depreciating grin, "Sorry about that. Anyway-."

What he was about to say was interrupted by a loud greeting. Antius turned around and saw a warrior hailing the. No. He narrowed his eyes to look at the sword emblazoned upon his breastplate. Not just any warrior. A Templar. He tensed a bit, glancing at Asmara before nodding at the Templar. He'd have to think fast.

"Greetings. Feel free to join us by the fire. We are neither apostate, maleficarum, or abominations to fear you, Ser Templar," Antius told him, quickly shifting through his bag to produce two more cups, one for himself, and one for the Templar. He gestured at his side and poured the tea, his face not betraying the nervousness he felt. Not for himself, but for his friend. He couldn't tell him she was a Grey Warden, lest he believed Loghain and sought to kill or capture her. Nor could he say she was an Apostate for the same reason. Instead, he continued, "I am Antius Amell and this is Asmara. We're studying the old Imperial Highway. I found an old Tevinter tablet detailing some spells used to repair and maintain it."

He gestured at the said tablet and easily fell back in his earnest-scholar personality, "I think that, with this deciphered and a couple more years of study, we can unlock the secrets of using magic to construct roads or maybe even buildings. It will require much Lyrium, but I think the Chantry can spare it for a good cause, don't you?"

Chantry oversight was considered a nuisance at best by Antius. Really, having to wait permission to enact new and more innovative use for his talents grated on his nerves. The College of Magi invariably approved, but the Chantry was rather slow at distinguishing any new idea from blood magic in disguise. Personally, he believed the Chantry was trying to make a point about changing the status quo or something.

When Ryuu heard he had spooked her, he smiled feeling like he had accomplished what he sat out for. Though her brother put a spur in his smile as he scowled at the smaller elven male. "Yeah well, at least I have a ride, and don't have to ride with someone else." He retorted, and then watched as he hid behind his sister. This caused him to laugh quite loudly. He found almost enjoyable to see such a person, if not humorous. He watched Blysse as she glanced off into the shadows once more, looking for their missing Magi, and once she began to move closer to his brother-wolf; he shook his head to see him become almost puppish as the hand was licked carefully and the large head leaning into the hand for that all wonderful scratch behind the ears.

Ryuu scowled alittle and looked to the side "Aye, he is quite the gentleman, always giving me a bath in muck when it's unneeded" He said this in a mumbled tone, not wanting to risk another tackle into the ground. He could feel the eyes of the other elf burning a hole through him, returning the glare with a smirk and then a playfully wink to tease the male. Then onced Cash had busied himself with toeing the mud he returned his glance to the male's sister, with her question put to words he rose a hand waving it off. "I'm quite fine, and I'm not bothered by your brother's hostility. I've grown accustom to it, being above average height for our race, makes me stand out for blame and anger at all times." He said this with a soft smile, as if to show he was quite alright with the attack, as well as the present hatred from her brother. He grew up hating himself, it was only natural for most other; if not all elves to fear, or hate him due to his increased stature. The rain thinning, and the smell of the fresh water amongst the underbrush in the forest was always a wonderful smell; well one that he personally enjoyed. He stretched out and inhaled deeply as he let it out in an excited exhale. "I love the rain, one of natures blessings, and a wonderful time to hunt, and or assassinate.." He said this while turning his head towards Cash, if not to tease the male alittle more. He truly ment no harm by it, he only wished to show the male he wasn't all bad, and that the height was only a weird mutation, and it didn't effect anything else about him, more so he wanted to prove that he was still of elven kind, and to prove that he felt no hostility in return for the kind Cash shown him.

Bruce sighed, relieved that they weren't apostates or anything of the like. That was good, and since he was a Templar he could, theoretically, have the upper hand over these two, though he didn't see the need to exploit his social rank. As the mage was introducing them to him, Bruce took the formality of opening the wine and offering it to the two mages; mages or not, even they could use something to cheer them up in such a distasteful condition such as this one.

Magic to built roads and buildings? Interesting yet...Why do such a thing? What about the honest men who earn their coins for such things? Who break their backs just for the better of the nation. Typical mages, always looking for an easier way to do things, there's nothing honest about them, Bruce thought as he listened to Antius, however he hadn't been prepared to share his opinion concerning the matter.

"Well...Its...Its an idea, at least, however I do hope that such spells won't be available till this Blight is over, and order has been restored. The Maker knows we need order now...With both good men being dragged out of their homes to fight against the Darkspawn, now the Templars has to also maintain order in the realm. I could see that such spells would be. Useful, in the short run, just to rebuilt what was lost during this war, however once order is back and everything is as it ought to be...I'd say that such magic would be nothing more but wasteful."

Bruce was trying is best to sound and look as neutral as possible, last thing he wanted was an unneeded debate of what was right and wrong with a mage, As if they would ever see things my way anyways, Bruce thought. "It's nothing personal, I'm just thinking in a more...economical sense, after all the Chantry doesn't have an abundance of lyrium, nor do I think that the labour workers would be particularly happy with your magic. They wouldn't earn their coins from their profession anymore."
With that said, Bruce went silent and turned away, he didn't really wish to discuss with the mages, though something bothered him, If they are out here to study the Old Imperial Highway, then why is this Asmara be bloody and so ragged with her clothes? Come to think of it...Why are they here when there is a Blight going on?
Bruce's natural suspicion and paranoia over for mages were scratching his mind. He found himself eyeing the two every now and then, and in particular Asmara. Peaceful study, eh? Explain the blood then.

"Do you know anything about the recent news concerning the lyrium trade between the dwarfs and the Chantry?" Bruce asked, his voice was now cold and inquiring, as his eyes shifted from Antius to Asmara, Are you reading my mind mage? Or are you another good liar? I know you have something to do with it. You always do. Bruce thought as he studied the faces of the two mages.

Cash inhaled, expanding his ribs to puff out his chest at Ryuu. "I'd much prefer riding with my sister on her charming halla instead of having a smelly equine or drooling warg!" he barks at the other elf spitefully before being quieted by his older sibling. Blysse fawned over the warg for a time. "I believe this warg is rather handsome and sweet." she gives her brother a withering glance. Abashed the young elf frowns with heated cheeks before noticing Ryuu sneering and winking at him. Scoundrel! His glare only intensifies before he makes it a point not to look at the elongated rogue any further. Blysse rubs her nape somewhat, sighing. This wayward group is so mismatched...she only hopes they'll continue to pull together and cooperate for their common goal of. Well. Saving Ferelden or something like that.

A low whistle forces both of the siblings to perk up and turn their heads in a feline manner. It makes them smile. Nature in general tends to do that for the Dalish. Blysse smiles at Ryuu and nods, lifting her eyes to the clouds and stretching her arms up to them. "Rain is...soothing. It's like a bunch of little kisses from the clouds." she chimes happily. Even with this dark time hanging over them she finds no room to brood or mope. Cash tenses at Ryuu's words; assassinate? Why is the giant elf looking specifically at him when he says that? The bard's eyes widen and he sinks further behind the safety of his archer sister's shoulder. Blysse seems to remain oblivious to her brother's unadulterated fear and lingering contempt.

It is not that the ranger is without worry. With a final glance around she sighs, still no sign of Arvin. Hopefully he will appear soon to return to camp. "...do...do either of you think the darkspawn will find us?" the elf looks between Cash to Ryuu. Before a week ago when she and her brother met the Grey Wardens, she'd never seen a darkspawn before. Atrocious, anguished monsters that they are, they instilled fear within her and illicit nothing but haunted dreams. With a light shudder the elf clutches the borrowed cloak around her shoulders. "Please. Let's head back to camp now. I suddenly wish to be with Dareth and Arvin is surely finding herbs for potions." isn't that what a mage does in their spare time?

Asmara slumped in relief when her companion professed to believe her, and managed a wan smile despite the misery she was currently in. For the moment at least, this little camp was an oasis in the desert, and its sole occupant a friendly face where she had not expected to find one.

Which was why she was hardly surprised when a Templar of all things stumbled into their camp. What was that proverb? No rest for the wicked? Asmara did not know if she was wicked, but other people tended to think so; maybe there was some validity to that. It would certainly go a long way to explaining how she managed to get into situations like this.

She did not speak to the Templar, nor again to the man, whose name she gathered to be Antius from his introduction to the Chantry's soldier. She could practically feel the suspicion radiating off him; she was not certain how long Antius's story would hold, if it ever had. She did not look like a Circle mage, between her green Tevinter robes and the bloodstains and smears of dirt that adorned them. The swamp had done her more damage than she would have initially suspected, truth be told, and she probably looked quite a fright. Not so bad normally, maybe, but when you had someone within sword's blow from you who had every reason to assume the worst about you, well... the situation was not looking too good.

The discussion shifted to a tense one about road-building as Antius tried to diffuse some of the obvious tension, bless his heart. It didn't seem to help much, and the Templar chose his words carefully. She did not think him one of those Loghain might command, but then there was more than one way to die, wasn't there? Despite herself, Asmara was somewhat interested in the conversation. The laborers... those are mostly elves, doing that kind of work, or prisoners, and they'd be lucky to see the kind of coin you seem to think, Ser Templar. We'd be lightening their burden, not their purses. This was something she had come to understand only recently, the subjugation of her species, and it just made her sad to think about.

And still, he was suspicious. A weighty gaze fixed itself on her, and Asmara held it from her folded position on the log. Sighing softly, she glanced at Antius. "I thank you for trying to protect me, but I do not think such a guise holds under the observation of Ser Templar." Shifting dark green eyes back to the man with the all-too-familiar crest, Asmara removed her pendant, as clear a mark of the Wardens as any she was able to provide, and tossed it to him. "I know not what position the Chantry takes on the Grey Wardens, but this is what I am. I ask only that if you decide I am to die, that you leave him out of it. He was only being kind to a wayward soul." Asmara was far from suicidal, but she knew there was no hope of resistance in her present condition, and the more forthright she was about what was actually going on, the better chance she stood of gaining some small mercy, or perhaps agreement to her request that Antius be allowed to continue whatever knowledge-quest he was on in peace.

She knew not what the man would do; his actions were his own to decide. She was far too weak to resist anything at the moment, and her one hope was that the Chantry was neutral on such matters as politics and kingslayers. "I know nothing of Lyrium trade, and if that is truly your business, I'm afraid your information will have to be found elsewhere." For all her knowledge of her chances, Asmara could not bring herself to show or even feel any fear, particularly. Aside from the fact that she was simply tired of running away, she still liked to hold out the belief that people, even the Templars who had been hunting her since the day her parents refused to send her to a Circle.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the people of at the fire. Bruce was sure that it would only mean that they were either about to do something radical, or someone was going to confess. His muscles tensed and he was prepared to cleanse the area, preventing any form of magic from being cast so it would come down to skills of arms, one that he would surely win, however the events didn't turn out as he had planned.

When Asmara said that there was no point in hiding anymore, Bruce, in his head, leaped with joy and was preparing to attack the two, but when Asmara continued and gave him the sign of the Grey Wardens, he was stunned. The Grey Wardens, the killers of kings and the betrayers of Ferelden, one of them was right here, before him, right for the taking. Bruce held the sign in his hand and and stared at his hard, he hadn't been trained in politics, and he had been strictly instructed to not interfere with such things, that was for the work of the higher ranked members of the Chantry of the Knight-Commanders, not the likes of Bruce. He returned the sign to Asmara and allowed her to continue talking.

Bruce let out a heavy sigh and then removed his helmet and the chain mail hood that he wore, then he looked at the two, "Don't fear me then. I am Bruce Le-Guy, a Templar, not a judge or a bounty hunter, I am not to judge you for what has happened in the past. Oh and as for the lyrium...I've been told that bandits have been harassing the route between the dwarfs and the Chantry. Thus I've been directed to this road to ensure the safety of any future caravans," Bruce said explaining his presence.

Bruce had seen close friends being send to the front lines at Ostagar, only to return as names on a long list. Bruce had done his best not to show any personal grievances, but it had been hard. Instead he had spend many nights praying for each and every soul who had been lost at Ostagar and that the Maker and Adraste's protection from the Blight.
The Chantry didn't send any further orders concerning the Blight, so he had then been ordered to return to his normal duties in the Circle of Magi, though there didn't go long before some of the less brave mages made attempts to escape the Tower, which meant that Bruce was send out to hunt them down as quickly as possible.

"Well," Bruce said, breaking the silence, "Mr. Amell, since you are not here to study the Imperial Highway, I shall asume that you are on business for the Magi, no need for any documents. Ms. Asmara, it is neither my duty nor goal to bring justice to anyone else but apostates and abominations. But...Do enlighten me, what truly did happen at Ostagar? Why did you falter? Wasn't the strength of the combined arms of Ferelden enough to stop the Blight?"

Bruce saw this as an option to gain some valuable information concerning the battle of Ostagar. He wanted answers, and since neither of these mages were apostates there was no need to play the role of the Inquisitor anymore.

(( I apologies for the wall 'o' text, but trying to set up the character when most of you had already started was rather difficult. For those of you who aren't at all interested in what happened to Raelnor before it starts to effect other characters, skip to part 5. ))

The sun beat down from the clear skies above and the wind blew gently across the road as Raelnor sat atop his armored war-horse Victory. They had been riding for a good portion of the day and now the small town of Lothering was in sight. He glanced over to his companion, an older Templar named André, who was, for all intents and purposes, his superior. Raelnor didn’t particularly care for the man, as he seemed to lax and loose with the Chantry’s teachings and his duties as a Templar.

“We’re nearing our destination.”

André, who had removed his helmet of which Raelnor didn’t approve, ran gloved fingers through his graying hair and nodded. He took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled bright.

“Do try to sound a bit more excited about it, Brother!”

Raelnor grunted. They were here to perform the duty they had been assigned not enjoy the sights. The sooner they could retrieve the suspected mage-child, the better. André laughed and shook his head. Raelnor was starting to dislike this man.

-------------------

As the two Templar’s rode close to the town a guard came forth with a wave of greeting. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties or so, and had a well trimmed beard hanging just below his Adam’s apple. The man stepped forth and addressed André directly.

“Greetings Ser Templar!”

André smiled back and nodded.

“Good day to you, fine Ser! This is the town of Lothering is it not?”

“Aye, ‘tis. What brings you to our humble town?”

Raelnor cut in abruptly with a stern tone.

“Chantry business.”

André sighed and looked at his helmeted companion with disapproval. He turn back to the guard and in a polite tone continued,

“We are here to investigate rumors of a gifted child living in the town. Do you know of such a youth?”

Raelnor tightened his jaw as André conversed with the Guard. Their business was private, and was supposed to remain so. André’s constant lack for procedure was beyond imagining. He seemed to deliberately disobey Templar regulations at every turn! Raelnor was amazed he hadn’t been executed or at the very least disbarred from the Templar order.

“No, don’t believe I ‘ave, Ser Templar. Might want to check in with the Chantry though, it’s just over the bridge through the center of town.”

The guard pointed to a stone bridge. André nodded his thanks and urged his steed forwards.

“You’ll get a lot farther in life if you’d be a little more… sociable, Raelnor.”

Raelnor snorted from behind his helmet.

“I do my duty, as it is requested of me, as should you.”

André looked back at the younger Templar.

“Sometimes doing our duty means going outside of certain rules. You’ll learn that with time.”

I highly doubt that. Thought Raelnor.

-------------------

The Chantry stood higher then any other building in Lothering, except for maybe the tavern. Andrés had made a joke about that, one that Raelnor had found very distasteful. The two Templar dismounted in front of the Chanter’s Bored and tied their. Raelnor gave Victory, his horse, a firm pat on the haunch to which the steed responded by shaking it’s head from side-to-side.

“I know it’s hot. I’ll get you some water after we talk to the Revered Mother.”

A Templar stood by the door and nodded greetings at the two as they entered the Chantry. Both were immediately greeted by the sound of preaching and the faithful. A man was knelt at an alter immediately to their right and Raelnor couldn’t help but overhear his call for help to the Maker. Raelnor scoffed. Everyone knows the Maker has abounded us, to pray for his intervention… A waste. The man would be better served doing the Maker’s will, not asking him for help.

It wasn’t long before the two men found the Revered Mother in her private quarters. She was sat in a chair next to an alter and when she saw the two knights proply rose in greeting.

“Greetings Holy servants of the Maker. I take it you are here for the child?”

André nodded.

“Yes, Revered Mother.”

“Good. This is a quiet town, and the last thing it needs is a mage. The child is named Elise Roth. She is the youngest daughter of Arthur Roth, a farmer who lives in town and owns the field just outside of town. You probably saw it as you rode in. More to the point, however, strange events started to occur about a week ago, things like frozen glasses of water and wagons suddenly catching on fire…”

“Revered Mother, we will judge the child to be a mage by ourselves, please instruct us on where to locate the girl.”

Andrés glared at Raelnor.

“I apologies for my companion. He takes his duties very seriously and isn’t one for social graces… Please continue.”

The Revered Mother, who had looked confused and a little offended by Raelnor’s interjection, continued.

“Well, anyway, strange things, yes. Then, two days ago, when Elise was playing with some of the other children, she fell down sprung her ankle. A few of the townsfolk went to help her, only to find all the ground around her scorched as though it had been caught ablaze. That’s when we contacted the Circle and requested Templar come acquisition the child.”

“Location…”

Raelnor muttered.

“Oh yes! Right! She lives in the small house across the bridge and directly to the left.”

“Then our duty is clear. Thank you, Revered Mother.”

With that Raelnor turned on his heels and headed towards the exit, saying a prayer to the Maker as he left. André stayed a few moments longer, presumably to apologies further for Raelnor’s actions. Fool.

-------------------

Inside the house both men now stood in the kitchen, looking at Elise Roth, while her father sat at the table along with her mother who they had learned was named Martha and who was also busy drying her eyes with a handkerchief. André leaned was on his knees at eye-height with the child and had been speaking to her for the past hour. Raelnor had stood in the doorway, unmoving and blatantly refusing André’s request to remove his helmet.

“What kind of strange things?”

The child looked down at her feet in what Raelnor thought was shame.

“Well… sometimes, I catch things on fire when I don’t have any fire on me. And sometimes I can make water turn hard and cold really fast.”

Well that’s a definitive answer. Thought Raelnor. Thankfully André appeared to agree with that and pushed himself up off his knees and looked back at Raelnor, giving a nod. Finally. André looked back at the little girl.

“Your going to come with us, Elise. We’re going to go visit a great big tower so you can get help with these strange things.”

Martha, Elise’s mother, could not contain herself any longer and burst into tears, quickly excusing herself from the room. Elise’s father simply sat, covering his face with the palms of his hands.

“Say goodbye to you mother and father, little girl. You won’t see them again for a long time.”

A long time? More like never. Another hour past as André discussed things with both parents and convinced them to let their daughter go. Not that they had much choice, since if they didn’t agree both Templar would simply take the child anyway. Elise was distraught but after being comforted by her mother and father, agreed to leave with the two men.

-------------------

They had spent a long time indoors and now the sky had darkened and rain came forth in torrents. The men had only just got onto the highway after leaving town when it started and André pulled back on the reins of his horse.

“Why are we stopping?”

Raelnor asked impatiently.

“What? It’s raining, or can’t you see that from inside your helmet?”

He glared from in-between the dark slits of that very same helmet.

“I can see it. But it’s just rain!”

“Elise might catch a cold!”

Raelnor was stunned and thoroughly irritated.

“What do I care if the mage catches ill!? Let her use a spell to keep warm!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Raelnor!”

“BAH! You're sypathies for this pathetical excuse for life is beyond me! It's a mage, André, a mage!”

Elise was riding on André’s horse and sat in front of him, bundled up in a heavy cloak and held securely by the elder Templar. Both the men were so busy arguing with each other that neither of them noticed the bandits approaching from behind until it was too late. Raelnor caught the sight of them just as one drew back on a longbow aimed for André.

“André, move!”

He cried in warning, reaching for his sword while trying to trun his steed around for a charge, but it was too late. André only had time to turn his head before the bandit released the arrow, which impacted in the Templar, punching through the thinner armor of his lower back. André’s didn’t scream, but simply toppled from his horse like a rag doll, bringing Elise down with him.

Raelnor was about to roar in defiance when one of the bandits jumped up and yanked him off Victory before he could draw his sword. He hit the stone ground with a crunch and felt the wind pushed out of his lungs with the impact. The bandit wasted no time and jumped onto of the fallen knight, jabbing at him with a dagger, trying to find exposed flesh. Raelnor didn’t have time to recover from the fall and thrashed out with fists. He caught the man’s hand, the one with the dagger, and pulled it aside, smashing his other first into the bandit’s jaw. He felt it snap under the impact and the man flopped off of him, dropping his dagger and rolling on the ground in pain. Raelnor rolled over onto his stomach and started to crawled away, trying to catch his breath so that he could enter the fight in earnest.

Another of the bandits, presumably the leader, shouted over the storm.

“Leave him! We’ve got the girl! Lets get out of here!”

With that the bandits dashed off, Elise under the arm of the bandit leader. Raelnor pushed himself up and drew his sword, only in time to note that the group was headed into the Wilds. The man with the broken jaw still struggled on the ground, abandoned by his comrades. Raelnor walked over to the man and kicked him onto his back so that he could see the man’s face. He didn’t remember seeing the man before, but he wasn’t very good with faces anyway.

“P-Please! Don’t kill me!”

“Maker have mercy on you.”

Raelnor sunk his Templar blade deep into the man’s throat, immediately silencing any protests or pleas for mercy as the bandit struggled to breath, coughing up blood that washed down his face with the rain. He died slowly, and in what Raelnor hoped was great pain.

André! He dashed over to his fallen brother and pulled the arrow out of his back before turning him over to see if the man still yet lived. Raelnor wasn’t shocked to find him dead and guessed that the arrow had severed his spine, which was why he made no cry of pain when he fell from the horse. He had disliked the man passionately even in the short time they had been together, but Raelnor would never wish death on one of his Templar brothers.

But he still had a duty to perform. He had to get the child named Elise back from the bandits, and if he got lucky he could kill her captures while he did so. Raelnor pushed himself up, rain still pattering on his helmet and running down his armor, and whistled sharply for his steed, who had apparently fled after it’s rider had been dismounted.

Victory soon trotted up, the Clydesdale’s heavy hooves clopping loudly on the wet stone. Raelnor sheathed his sword and jumped up onto the armored war steed and slammed his heels into it’s haunches.

“YAH!”

He bellowed, and Victory galloped off in pursuit of the bandits.

-------------------

A few hours had passed since then. Raelnor was no tracker and had lost the bandits trail some time ago. He doubted they would have stayed on the road, but now regretted leaving it as he rode at walking pace through the dark and eerie wilds. The rain had not let up, and he desperately needed to find shelter.

As the thought for shelter entered his mind, Raelnor spied a cave through an aggregate of trees. He quickly turned Victory in that direction and rode closer.

Soon, though, he noticed a dim flickering light emitting from somewhere inside the cave, most likely from a fire. Could it be the bandits? It must be. Thought Raelnor. He said a prayer to the Maker for his good fortunes and dismounted Victory.

He marched forwards through the trees, not noticing the man perched up in one of them covered with a heavy cloak, and drew both his sword and shield in the same smooth motion. Raelnor thought about announcing himself first, about demanding that any and all occupants of the cave come out immediately and face him, but he didn’t know how many bandits there might be and was hesitant to give up the element of surprise. Surly they wouldn’t be expecting a Templar to simply charge in, sword drawn? He could probably kill at least three before any of the others could get to their arms. Letting out a cry of fury, Raelnor rushed forwards into the cave, shield and sword raised at the ready! Little did he know this was not the nest of any bandits, but of something potentially far more deadly.

Surveying the dismal realm she turns away from it as the water comes to a boil. Severia kneels down and opens a dried satchel of cinnamon and dried apple slices, dropping it in the let it marinade. Something is wrong. Kujo sits up abruptly, hackles erecting along his spine as his ears go back and his tail stiffens. The buff hound begins to growl lowly, enticing the warrioress to stand and arm herself accordingly. With her shield still attached to her backside she holds her sword as she turns to face the din entering the cave. To inosculate with Kujo's bared teeth she grits her own at the threatening...Templar.

Severia has not had much of a chance to cross paths with Templars (such quixotic beings) nor the Chantry itself. Any time her family would go to visit the communal Chantry the young warrioress would oddly come up missing. That was then and this is now; right now this man could somehow know what she is and seek her head, he could be influenced by the Fade somehow or even a Blood Mage. Either way he has chosen to barrel in armed to the teeth and the young woman will not allow harm to befall herself, Kujo nor the piled belongings of her party members. She's been left to guard the castle and she'll do all in her power to preserve it. Any in her way be damned.

Emitting a violent cry she draws her shield up with a running start at the man. He's taller and obviously thicker in bulk but this does little to deter a Cousland. Accelerating past her the mabari lunges at the man and if his maw is successful he will clamp it around the Templar's sword arm. Severia drives her shield against the man's abdomen, trying to knock him back out in the rain to have an environmental advantage on her part. She'll need to keep this supposed enemy out of the party's territory and hope to the Maker that said party can arrive soon for reinforcement. For all Severia knows this is a wolf in sheep's clothing, a madman having slain a Templar and taken his armor. For what Templar would plunder so aggressively towards a woman and her dog?

Ryuu shook his head, "I really doubt it, besides I'd be able to sense them, as would Severia" He crossed his arms bowing his head, though the sharp war-crys from both a man, and a woman. He was gone in a flash, even his Warg hadn't even had enough time to react to the reflexes that he displayed. Through the years of time as a crow it had sharpened his reaction time, even Lenwë wasn't even ready to move either. Ryuu gripped the bow that he kept upon his person, and brushing the cloak away he reached around the small of his back to the quiver that had been hidden gripping the arrow and readying it.

He came upon the cave quite quickly, Lenwë quick in tow, coming upon the battle Severia; and the warrior in question; a templar by appearance. He called out to Severia. "Severia; here to help, Blysse and her brother should be here soon." He kept the bow lined with the Templar, not ready to release the arrow and put his friends at risk; though Lenwë charged in much like Severia's mabari, aimed for his right leg meaning to bring him down to his knees for an easier victory against the warrior.

(was never good at long posts for battle sorry T~T)

Jasper abruptly snapped out of his doze when the Templar came into range of his senses. Judging from the rather awkward way he was moving about, he had a classic case of warrior-trying-to-stealth on his hands. Too bad for you, Chantry man, because the lass has a Mabari. Still, the young Bryland wondered exactly why a Templar would be attempting to sneak up to a camp belonging to Grey Wardens and their allies. Sorry, boys, you'll have to sail without me. This just got interesting.

Rather than using his limited advantage to set traps or do something similarly intelligent, the Templar did what all the good warriors did best: yelled and charged straight in. Jasper suppressed an amused chuckle as the gesture was returned in kind by his opponent. This should be good. The Mabari got to him first, though, and pretty soon, one of the elves, the one with the quickest reflexes, was upon the scene as well, bow drawn.

Though the pirate in the tree doubted very much that his assistance would be required, he watched with an eye for that anyway. Apparently, this was the kind of group that drew the ire of random strangers for one reason or another. This incident was likely either a mistake or an instance of Darkspawn corruption. Jasper didn't know a great deal more then the average person about Darkspawn, but somehow the Templar didn't scream 'corrupted' to him, which indicated mistaken identity. The savvy (like Jasper liked to think himself to be) knew that this only heralded future instances of the same, especially given the rumors flying about Grey Wardens. Which could prove to be very much fun indeed, and hopefully not tedious.

So what do you do, Wardens? Try to talk him down? Capture him? Or kill him and be done with it? He was interested to see.

Antius scowled as the Templar shot down his idea with typical Chantry adversity. Really, people did not make much coin as laborers. It was only the skilled craftsmen that made real coin and they would still be needed for construction. The laborers would be better off receiving an education. They could at least be taught how to read. Everyone deserved the chance to better themselves, Antius decided, not just work until their back gave out.

He tensed, however, as the Templar became suspicious, asking questions. One hand was on his staff and the other was on his sword. If the Templar sought to kill them, then he'd do what he can to at least keep Asmara alive. She was a Grey Warden and therefore more important than him with the Blight coming to ravage the land. He blinked in surprise, however, as she confessed that she was a Grey Warden and sought to spare him of any punishment. He smiled slightly. He knew he had a good feeling about her.

Antius had to admit that Bruce didn't immediately attack her or try to capture her. Instead, he simply asked what happened at Ostagar. Strange. Most Templars he met preferred the simplest solution. They rarely sought more than the minimum amount of knowledge. This Templar had impressed him slightly.

"She's already told me the tale," Antius told him, trying to ease her of the burden of reliving Ostagar again, "Teyrn Loghain was supposed to flank the Darkspawn when the Grey Wardens lit a beacon. He didn't, the King and his army were killed, and now the Teyrn's blaming the Wardens. That's about it, isn't it, Asmara?"

Asmara was somewhat surprised, and more than a little relieved, when her pendant was passed back to her and her life was not demanded in exchange for some imagined crime. With a brief grimace, she loosened her deathgrip on herself, and shifted so she was sitting back on her calves, hands folded in her lap. "I thank you for that," she murmured, quietly enough that one or the two of them might not have heard it, though in truth it was meant for both, and perhaps the spirits as well.

She was opening her mouth to once again explain Ostagar when Antius appeared to save her the trouble, and she sank into silence again with gratitude. On an ordinary day, Asmara was a cheerful person, almost painfully naive in her desire to see the best in everything the world threw at her. But no amount of optimism or gentleness could hide what had happened at Ostagar, and the whole incident was challenging everything she had ever held true about, well... mostly anything.

When Antius finished, she shot him a look half thanks, half melancholy. "I imagine that you must have lost friends that day, Ser Le-Guy, and for that I am truly sorry. I am a healer by trade, and when the battle goes so badly that you have to turn away the injured to prevent your own death... there is nothing worse. I watched many of your brethren fall, as well as my own. I cannot attempt to justify what I saw the Teyrn do, because I can think of no reason for it. All I know is what I witnessed, and though the beacon lit, the reinforcements never came. I have spent the weeks since trying to figure it out, but..." she shook her head. What else could possibly be added to that sentence? The results of her search were clear in her present condition.

"What is more, men wearing guilty faces and the crest of the Teyrn try to kill me on sight." It was only ever those that had not been at Ostagar that called her traitor with hate in their eyes. The others knew too well what had actually occurred to stain their tongues with it.