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Daylen Amell

"Ah, look what we have here. I remember you; Irving's star pupil." -Senior Enchanter Uldred

0 · 1,241 views · located in Thedas | Ferelden

a character in “Dragon Age: The Dragon's Ballad”, as played by almostinsane

Description

❝Daylen Amell❞
❝I do not believe the Maker abandoned us. Rather, he left it to us to put to right the ills of this word. The Maker smiles on those who do good!❞
Yasunaru Takanashi and Yaiba | Decision



Image
| Name |
Daylen Amell

| Nickname |
Day, Len,

| Gender |
Male

| Age |
25

| Sexuality |
Straight

| Race |
Human

| Status |
Mage

| Eye Color |
Blue

| Hair Color |
Black

| Height |
6"1

| Weight |
175 pounds

| Skin Tone |
Pale

| Distinct Markings |
Like many mages, Daylen retains some scarring at his hands, mostly along his fingertips and the palm of his hand, because of an ill-fated first attempt at a spell he was not yet ready for. At the time, he was an apprentice around 15 and he was attempting to conjure an Inferno of flame, despite his master's warnings and it soon spiraled out of control. Luckily, a couple of Templars and his master arrived in time to dispel it, but not before his hands were badly burned. Luckily, thanks to magic and poultices, he retained the use of his hands and did not have as bad of scarring as he normally would have, but his scars still serve as a reminder about caution with his magic.

In addition to this, Daylen's back is quite scarred with imprints of what might be a whip or belt, though Daylen is silent about this.

| Physical Description |
Surprisingly enough for a Mage, Daylen cuts a lean and fit figure without much if any fat on him. This could be because Daylen has been outside of the Tower multiple times or because he has attempted to remain fit under his robes. Whatever the reason, Daylen is more robust than the average Mage. He also is quite good-looking, though he is more or less oblivious to the the fact. He is clean-shaven and has long black hair he keeps neatly in a ponytail. His most striking figure, however, is his eyes. They are intense and often convey his emotions more strongly than his facial expressions or his body language. They seem to shine with purpose whenever he is speaking about a subject that is important to him or when he is using magic. Most often, they convey a tranquil or gentle sense of humor, but when he is angry, one can almost swear they glow like lyrium.

| Weapon(s) |
Staff of Peace
A staff crafted of silverite, the staff is adapted to Daylen's particular type of magic which is mostly a mixture of Primal and healing spells. Upon its head, is a crystal of refined lyrium to help focus his spells. Recently, to help defend himself, he attached a blade to the bottom.

| Potential Interest |
None at the moment

| Family |
Father: Cedric Amell | 55 | Deceased
Mother: Daisy Amell | Age 54 | Deceased
Siblings: Tristan Amell | 31 | Alive

| Personality |
Daylen is a thoughtful and idealistic individual. He tends to maintain a calm, good-humored nature in most circumstances, though that does not mean he isn't often sarcastic or without a temper. When pushed, he can and will display magical power all the while he tells someone how and why hey are wrong or their current station in life is pathetic. Nonetheless, this is rare. Most of the time, he tends to favor compromise and understanding when a problem presents itself rather than allow it to escalate.

Daylen is also remarkably non-judgmental, even towards the Chantry and Templars, unlike many other Mages. Rather, he believes in the good in everyone, even those he is forced to fight. Daylen is also very religious, but doesn't hold the Chantry as infallible. Rather, he sees it not as an infallible voice-piece of Andraste and the Maker or his captor, but as fundamentally human with everything that word implies, the good and the bad. He has memorized many parts of the Chant of Light and generally reveres the Maker and Andraste. However, Daylen is no Loyalist. He will say what is wrong with the Circle and the Chantry without hesitation and, like many Mages, he dreams of the day that Mages are free. Also, like any Thedasian, he has a hatred for Darkspawn.

Daylen is fundamentally disturbed with the hatred and fear engulfing Thedas. Within the Circle, he has seen Mages and Templars regard each other with fear and suspicion and outside the Tower, he has seen the treatment of elves, and he has seen the cruelties of the world. One day, he hopes to put an end to the hatred and intolerance of others, but he does not yet know how.

| History |
Daylen was born in a moderately well-to-do Freeholder (commoner who owns their own land) family. His father was a successful farmer and his wife was a beautiful, gentle woman who had already given birth to Daylen's older brother, Tristan. Unfortunately for the family, Daisy Amell died giving birth to Daylen, having time only to name him before she returned to the Maker. His father, Cedric Amell, was never the same sense. He began to be withdrawn and angry all the time. He could not bare to look at either of his children, Daylen most of all. He turned to drinking and in drunken rages would beat him, sometimes with his belt and at other times, with a whip he used for the farm animals. It got so bad that, when Daylen was 5, he cried out in fear and pain as lightning shot out of his fingers, electrocuting his father and killing him. Not soon after, the Templars arrived and though his brother first resisted, he had no choice but to allow them to take Daylen to the Circle of Magi on Lake Calenhad.

Daylen missed his brother at first, but in time he grew to like the Circle. He was given a good education as a cornerstone to his Mage training, learning to read and write, there was always enough to eat, and warm baths every week. Daylen soon proved to be a prodigy, grasping magic quicker than any of his fellow apprentices. It was inevitable that he would attract the attention of both First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Gregoir, the latter of whom believed that Daylen was a danger without proper training. Irving was forced to agree. Thus it was that Daylen became the apprentice to the First Enchanter.

Because of this special position, however, Daylen became somewhat isolated from his fellow Mages. He was familiar with both Irving and the Knight-Commander and some thought he was given special treatment, though this was far from the truth. Irving worked Daylen hard to master his powers and he was soon expected to be the best in his classes, adding to his isolating. He also adopted many of Irving's views and advocated Templars and Mages working together as he grew up, being branded a Loyalist and yet, his criticism of the Chantry isolated him from the Loyalists as well. Nonetheless, Daylen had a few friends and thrived in his training. His Harrowing was the fastest one in generations. After becoming a full Mage, he managed to obtain permission to study ruins such as Ostagar or the elven ones in the Brecillian Forest. He even was allowed to visit Denerim a couple of times.

Eventually, Daylen was among the Magi sent to Ostagar at King Cailan's call. After the disastrous battle, Daylen barely survived. The other Mages and their Templar escort were killed and now, Daylen seeks the Wardens, unable to return to the Circle after what he has seen.


So begins...

Daylen Amell's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare
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Daylen Amell


"When people thin of darkspawn, they imagine hulking, marauding monsters and they are right. What they don't imagine is the smell, the very presence, as if they are twisting Nature itself. Few wars have a concrete right side. The War Against the Darkspawn is the exception."


Ostagar. Daylen was familiar with the ruined fortress. It marked the greatest extent of the old Tevinter Imperium, built as an outpost to keep watch over the Chasind barbarians. He had studied these ruins many times, searching for what secrets they may hold, under the watchful eye of the Templars he was obliged to take with him, fearing that he may unearth something dangerous or forbidden. Somehow, it was fitting that these ruins should now be overrun by the most dangerous, abominable legacy the Imperium left behind: darkspawn.

An arrow whooshed by his ear, missing him by the Maker's grace. Reluctantly, he expanded precious mana to form a shield around him even as he shot out a fireball into the ranks of genlock crossbowen, the explosion cleansing the world of those creatures. As a group of Hurlocks swarmed him, he unleashed a torrent of lightning to keep their deadly swords and even deadlier taint away from him. Scores of bodies littered the ground before him, but there were still too many. Senior Enchanter Galen and Knight-Captain Tristan lay dead somewhere amidst the darkspawn along with the rest of the mages and templars in his unit. He could not stay here. His gaze searched the sky for the Tower of Ishal and for a moment, his heart flooded with relief. The beacon was lit.

Then a horn sounded and Daylen's heart sank. It wasn't the triumphant, rallying sound of a horn signaling a charge into battle. It was a mournful, resigned sound signaling the retreat. He knew the difference. Everyone in Ostagar were taught the difference, even mages. So distracted by his despair, he almost didn't see the sword slashing towards him. Panicked, he leaped aside, staring into the souless face of yet another hurlock, wielding a tainted longsword. Quickly, he unleashed a cone of ice and frost, freezing the monster and several others before him before, at last, he took up into a run.

He ran through the forest, towards where he knew the bulk of the mages and templars were stationed. Frantically, he swerved and dodged hordes of marauding darkspawn, casting spells as they came too close. At last, he saw a face he recognized about fifty feet from him, Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare. Normally, he wasn't pleased to see him or a group of battle-ready templars. No mage did, but, as they wont to do, darkspawn changed things and it just so happened a large group of them separated him from safety, led by three emissaries no less.

"Human," said one.

"Mage," said the other.

"Kill, infect, enslave," the last finished, displaying the limited intelligence only darkspawn mages appeared to possess. At once, the horde charged and Daylen felt the last of his mana withering away as he cast his last spell.

"Ignite. Perussi totus." he announced in old Arcanum as he thrust his staff up, calling in a pillar of flame as the beasts howled in agony and defiance. When it was gone, Daylen knelt from exhaustion, relief flooding him. The emissaries were too slow. They.

He groaned in pain as a sickly green spell hit broke through his shield and hit his chest. One emissary remained, staff glowing sickly green. Daylen held out his own, but barely a spark fluttered up. His eyes reached the camp. Were there any near enough to help. His eyes caught Alan's, but they showed no fear. Just tiredness and curiosity. Would he put aside his prejudices to try to save him? Or would he leave him to die like this? Or maybe his hatred for magic and darkspawn would compel him to slay the emissary, no thought crossing his mind about him whatsoever.

He knew what would happen if he died. Men would talk as they often did and rumors would fly of how the templar as good as murdered him. Hatred would boil over on both sides and conflict would ensue, contributing to the neverending cycle of rebellion and suppression, binding the two sides in a bond of hatred and suspicion even as the Blight consumed these lands.

The emissary raised his staff over his chest, a crooked spike attached to the bottom. The emissary was indeed intelligent for a darkspawn, forgoing magic in order to kill him up close and personal, a malicious joy in its eyes. This one knew what was it was doing and was savoring it.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare
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Drool flinging teeth were inches away from the Captain's face, with not a second to spare, he shoved the jewel encrusted scabbard of his blade in between the beast's jaws. Both of them fell to the ground, Alan falling on his back, the hurlock flying over him. From his position on the blood soaked earth, he could make out the inverted image of the Darkspawn, now free from his unscheduled meal, walking towards him, hammer in hand.

It cocked the massive steel weapon back, and with all of the might that lied within that muck covered, bumby being, he readied his strike and...

The ground beneath the Darkspawn had been engulfed in a tall circle of white flames. In the center was Alan, free of any harm. The beast and his weapon dropped down, and were engulfed in the flames of the captain’s Righteous Fire.

That was awhile ago. The hilltop had since become the new defacto camp for Alan’s templars. The troops were being gathered, and the retreat was now imminent. Word had it that Irving’s boys from the Circle were doing the same, preparing in another area for retreat.

β€œLeave the dead! We don’t have time to worry about mutilated corpses. Take their emblems if you must, but don’t spend anymore time than you need! Where the hell is Tristan and his men?” War was a fucking mess, nothing taught him that more than Ostagar did. At this rate, dying here would be a favor if it meant he’d never have to go through such grievances yet again.

Grievances. To Alan, that’s all hundreds of dead soldiers were to him.

β€œI said, where the hell is Captain Trist--”

A Mage came darting through the forest to the east, a trail of Darkspawn at his back. They were on his ass as if they held him accountable for some kind of vendetta. But that was impossible. Darkspawn lacked the capacity for emotions of that level. No, all they wanted from this mage was his flesh.

Alan watched, amused as the man conjured up a powerful burst of hellfire, torching the things to a vile little mess of crisps. He nodded, impressed, then turned his back. The man would no doubt seek shelter with his men, he didn’t have to stick around to greet him though.

β€œIf Tristan’s unit is nowhere to be found then we’ll have to count him among the dead. That makes for all of the Templars that came here. Let the men know, we leave on my word.” A young man, the same from before was at his side, and nodded at the order.

β€œYes sir!” He ran off.
β€œCaptain!” Another soldier called. β€œThe Mage needs help! Permission to assist!” Alan spared a glance at the mage yet again. He was on the ground now, an emissary inching ever closer. He would be dead in moments without intervention.

β€œWhy do you care what happens to this man soldier?” He noticed that this was the same young man from Myles’ unit as before. Alan’s words appeared to confuse the boy, who looked at him with puzzled brown eyes.

β€œWith all due respect captain, he’s a human being. I can’t just let him die!”

The fire was back in the boy’s eyes. It was even stronger than before. Alan looked back at the struggling Mage--he didn’t realize it until now. That man was Daylen Amell. Irving’s prodigy.

β€œCaptain, please!”

β€œState your name soldier.”

β€œA man is dying captain!”

β€œState your name.” Alan’s voice was cold and absolute. The young Templar saluted.

β€œEthan Potts sir!”

β€œPermission to assist Potts. Better hurry.”


β€œThank you Captain!” The boy gripped his blade and ran to Daylen’s defense. Alan watched as the boy grabbed the emissary’s staff with his glowing white palm. White flames gathered at the top of the staff, and traveled all through it. The emissary fell back in fear, and Ethan shoved his blade through it’s heart.

β€œYou’d best thank him Amell!” Alan hollered in a smug voice he was certain the mage had heard. Smiling wide, the captain turned on his heel and faced the surviving mass of his army. A few dozen, a pitiful number when one considered the huge number that this battle had started with. "See that our new friend the boy's bringing back get's a few doses of the good stuff. Put him to work, and keep an eye on him." Daylen Amell was a good mage. A very good mage. Even Alan could admit that. The road back to allied soil would be no easy path, sometimes one doesn't have the luxury of choosing their weapons.

β€œTemplars, let’s move! I need a bath and a glass of wine once we get back! Somebody see to it!”

The group of soldiers let out a rallying cry underneath their captain's call.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Kithic watched the battle between the darkspawn and the templars from the shadows. Her hair was tied up and off her back, and she held her bag close to her, ready to run casting spells if the monsters should find her. The one in charge terrified her, he looked as if he ate mages her size for breakfast. Everyone was fighting and moving as quick as they could but even still, it looked as if they lost alot of men. 'I could help...' she thought 'But what if they try to put me in the circle after that?' A small part of her mind told her that with the blight going on, someone like her would most likely be over looked.

Awakening from her thoughts she saw man running from a horde of darkspawn. He cast a spell of fire and it impressed her greatly. Kithic gave a small smile before she saw one of them come toawrds him while he was on the ground. This one looked like it was a higher rank than the others, well as much as one could while being twisted and rotten. She made a note of it and how it seemed to be a bit smarter than the others. A young soldier killed it while she was musing and she scolded herself for not paying more attention. The commander seemed to have a snide remark towards the mage, though she couldn't make out anything. His face looked cold and she shuddered, shrinking back into the bushes.

She was covered in darkspawn blood. A reminder from being stuck in the middle of the battle at the start and watching the king die. She had killed a few of the smaller ones, the bigger ones had either ripped humans apart or been ripped apart by one of the ogres while she ran and she had been drenched in the various showers of blood as she passed. All Kithic had wanted to do was find the Grey Wardens and join them. But it looked as if they were all dead now. Her throat tightened. So much death and blood. She was literally caked in it, it matted in her hair and dried on her cheeks, neck and chin. Her green eyes were free of them but there was a small smudge of blood on the tip of her nose. She could feel it on her exposed hands, underneath her fingertips, inside her sleeves. Everywhere. Returning to watch the templars she made another note to have a thorough cleanse once she was somewhere safe. 'Is anywhere safe anymore?'

Wait....why was there a nasily breathing behind her? Why was there a snort and a grumble heard from the sides? She turned very slowly to see three large things looking hungrily at her and more eyes behind them. Uh-oh. She shook her head from side to side "Not good not good not good!" Kithic stumbled backwards quickly, just barely being missed by a crude and blood covered sword. Swallowed thickly and tripped she fell back on her back and blinked in fear. She was oing to get eaten! Slowly! She thrust her palm forward making her arm straight and breathed out slowly, concentrating on the want to see the three in front covered in ice. Magic shot out of her palm and just as she pictured the three of them became encased in clear thick ice. No time to sigh in relief she jumped to turn and ran towards the group of people. Safety in numbers, she could just run if they tried to lock her up later. On her way to the group she would turn around to cast some more ice on the ground, causing a few of them to trip. This gave her a bit of distance.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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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. Many a horse had lost a rider this day and not even Alan could complain about his taking one. As he climbed on, he saw a couple templars with a strange woman. They were binding her with cuffs and he groaned.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"An apostate. She was fleeing the horde," one told him. Daylen frowned.

"We have no time for this. We need her able to ride or she's done for!" he runed to Alan. He only had one chance at this, "Unbound, she can prove a valuable ally."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Inquisition

Alan was seeing the first of the troops riding off when he heard a troubled Daylen protesting.

"We have no time for this. We need her able to ride or she's done for!" he runed to Alan. He only had one chance at this, "Unbound, she can prove a valuable ally." The capable spell slinger had ran to meet the swordsman as he approached the scene. The annoyance had wrought sheer havoc on Alan's countenance, he had feared a lifetime of wrinkles had made their home on his face today.

Maker give me strength, An exhausted Alan pleaded internally. "Apostate, face me." He groaned. At once, the mage, a young woman with long black hair, and melancholy green eyes turned to face him. At the instant her eyes met his, a wide smirk stretched across his dome, from ear to ear. "Kithic Desdemona, good has come of Ostagar yet!" Still smirking, he licked his lips, as the cool steel of his gauntlet covered hand wrapped around her chin, "You're not very good at this. Alas, mon demoiselle hath flown straight into mine arms. I've been looking for you for a long time." Every word Alan spoke was like a snake taunting it's captured pray with it's forked tongue.

"Turn around, i'm taking your bindings off, but you'll remain with us, under my jurisdiction," Her powerful steel bindings dropped to the ground with a loud thud. Alan made one final bit of eye contact, to show her the weight of his words, and then he shifted to address Daylen, "See that she's made useful." Daylen wouldn't let her go, he wasn't foolish enough to pull something like that, the captain was certain. "Drink up apostate, it's a long way to civilization." Alan tossed Kithic a glowing blue vial of lyrium, he kept a healthy supply of them on hand at all times.

Maybe now they could finally get out of the forsaken pit.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Selena Morgross Witchcraft


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Rose returned from her flight transforming back to the old elf she looked at Selena. "Go girl. Fine the Grey Wardens. Help them." Was the only thing she said. Selena seemed both shocked and furious. Instantly they began to fight and as fate would have it Selena packed her things and walked away annoyed with her mother and unsure of what to do or where to go. She slipped through the woods with almost to much ease her golden eyes narrowed and her curly black hair tossed over one shoulder and cascading down her back in waves. She herself held no knowledge of where she should go or what she should do. She saw many a rare sights in her travels but never had she dared engage another being. This would a first. She walked silently and gracefully through the area seeing the mages of the circle, she eyed then with distaste. Listening to them but seeing no need to engage the ones who willingly allowed themselves to be the Templer's slaves. She decided it better to watch them in silence. Study them. Perhaps they will be of use to her yet. Perhaps she can learn something. Though she doubted it. It was at least something to think about and decide. She hid in the shadows near them listening to the words. The male seemed to be talking to a female. His movements reminded her of a lion stalking it's prey. His eyes were that of a snake. She pitied the poor lass this was certainly someone who had fled the circle. Someone she should help. Correct? But then again she let her guard down. She allowed them to capture her. Survival of the fittest. She debated with herself deciding either to help the female or just leave the situation be.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Kithic rubbed her wrists and stared at the man as she drank the lyrium. Her chin felt like it had scalding water thrown at it where he had grabbed it. She wanted nothing to do with people, they confused her greatly. Why had this man known her name? Why did he say he'd been looking for her?

"You shouldn't know my name..." She closed her mouth, not wanting to make things worse for herself. She was greatful that the other mage had raised concern when they had bound her.

When one of the soldiers tried to give her a staff, she laughed at him and kept walking, trying to keep up with the mage and the man in charge. She had never needed a staff, she could channel magic just fine without one. They were big and bulky and slowed her down.

"Why..." the soldier looked confused and she blinked at him with blank green eyes.

"They are only useful for beating someone's head in."

He clearly decided to not comment on it anymore and walked back to stand a ways behind her. Kithic noticed she was surrounded by men bigger than her, they kept an eye on her and a hand on their swords. Interesting. It didn't matter, as soon as she was far enough away from the Darkspawn horde she would leave. Coming here was a waste, the Grey Wardens were dead so now the only thing left to do was to get as far away as possible. She kept walking at the pace set and never took her eyes of the frightening commander.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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(Posted with permission of Pyramids.)

The Templars ran right into a trap, a large group of Darkspawn hit them not far from Ostegar. What was worse, the Darkspawn hunting party was being lead by multiple mages of their kind. Flinging a multiple of spells to try to cripple the retreating forces and pin them for a large group of warriors, Hurlock and Genlock to finish of.

The battle drew something else too...

It wasn't long before a loud screech was heard and a Darkspawn Mage standing on a rock to get a vantage point was dropping to his knees. Blood rushing from the creature's eyes and mouth as if it had been torn inside out. A green mist fell over some of the Darkspawn and Templars who were quickly swept up in a bloody frenzy attack both friend and foe with abandon. Only the most willful Templars who where hit by the mist retained their sanity. Atop the rock in the Darkspawn Emissary's place was now a mage drapped in red and black, a hateful gleam in tainted red eyes as he flung ropes of what seemed to be blood across the battlefield, which soon turned to be acidic, burning through armor and flesh without mercy or distinguishing friend from foe.

Templars and Darkspawn alike he charged the Blood Mage were met by bolts of flame or more tendrils of controlled blood, pools of it ran across the ground and up the rock to fuel the mage's mana. It was simple to see he was a master of blood magic, for he drew all the blood the darkspawn and Templars drew against each other and used it to fuel his own attacks.

The mage's eyes quickly set upon Alan and he grinned, egging the Knight-Captain to challenge him. But more and more Darkspawn were arriving, drawn for miles by the screeches and joyous sounds of battle of their kind. The Templars were slowly become outnumbered and even the new arrival was becoming overrun, having to throw cast another Frenzy spell across the field, trying to turn to their numbers against each other. In the fray he lept from his perch and began wading for the battlefield, his prize, his prey, the Knight-Captain. Oh! What a glorious scene as his two greatest foes tore themselves apart. But the joy was fleeting... Garhandor realized he needed help to escape now... Their were far to many creatures for him to fend off. So instead he switched his tactic.

A Templar, a Young Boy was pulled off his horse and was about to be executed. But Garhandor smashed the creature away with spike of ice, the monster screaming as Garhandor finished it with another, pulling the boy up and protecting him until he arrived at the Captain's postion. He then grinned as he grabbed the soldier he just saved and held a dagger to his neck, obviously unbothered by the fray about them. "I think you know me Captain... And I think you need my help now... And furthermore, you want this boy alive?" A Darkspawn tried attacking from behind, only to be caught in a web of blood forming behind Garhandor. "So what do you say... The enemy of my enemy is my friend, aye?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Kithic had been shocked at the large number of creatures coming to attack them, she thought that maybe they would be focusing on the army farther down from them, where the kings dead body lay. Then again...perhaps they were finished with that. Wiping some blood off of her face she pushed her magic forward, shoving several creatures back and throwing a few of the smaller ones. She ran to the edg of the templars, trying to see if there was a way away from all this...but it looked as if they were outnumbered and surrounded. Distracted and backed into a small group with swords Kithic watched as a mage wove blood around the battlefield as easily as others used magic. She knew that magic, it was in her book. It was supposed to be terribly strong and highly addictive. Dangerous stuff yet oh so intriguing. 'Study him later Kithic, right now focus on getting the hell out of here' she thought with a small grin.

A bird landed bext to them and shifted into a woman. A mage? Her clothing was strange, and she looked to be quite annoyed with the whole thing. Kithic put up a small shield of magic just in time to block the crashing body of one of the darkspawn and a few arrows. She couldn't hold it for long and switching to another spell quickly she sent flames in the direction of the attacks, burning a few armourclad templars and some darkspawn. It wasn't much, and now the smell of burning flesh would attract even more. Her arms dropped to her sides, she was starting to feel a little dizzy.

"Any help you can offer would be much appreciated. I think if we can simply open a gap in the horde we might be able to push through to safety. Maybe. Then again, we could also just be eaten here like all the Grey Wardens. I don't know about you but that doesn't sound too appealing to me." She was rambling, and starting to hyperventilate. 'Breath' she would not let fear stop her now.

Another sheet of fire was shot from her outstretched arm to cover some more creatures in flames. Maybe she could just cook the lot of thm and the horde would be distracted by the flesh and eat their own kind. She chuckled at the thought but was stopped short when a stabbing pain hit her shoulder. An arrow had made it past the flames and into her left shoulder, and it hurt. She stopped casting her spell and grabbed the arrow, yelling at the pain. A tempting thought crossed her mind, she could use the same magic as that other mage, after all she didn't need to cut herself now. She shook her head and before she could think anything else Kitchic broke the arrow off so it was stopping her from bleed too heavily but only slightly sticking out of her shoulder. It still hurt too much and she didn't want to move her arm but she had no choice until she could get to safety.

A soldier next to her was getting his limbs yanked and dragged by a creature and she stared in a haze without really focusing. With a rip and pop his arm was taken from his body by it and he screamed, but the sound was slowly fading. Kithic watched in morbid fascination as the man was ripped apart by more of them. She must have moved away from the group while she was casting spells because her and the man were closer to the horde than everyone else. A snuffling was heard and she turned, her reaction time slowed as she groggily sent out some more ice. Her desperation bled into the force of her magic, creating a wave of sorts that curled up and blocked off about thirty of the things, a couple were caught in the ice including the soldier who was next to her and she scrambled back, too tired to do anymore spells. Watching some of them go around the ice wall and some beat against it in fury she kept walking backwards before turning and limping to the rest of the group. When had she hurt her leg? Looking down she saw a part of her pants leg was burnt away and her leg was red and bleeding. "Huh. Interesting." her voice was slurring and she leaned on a random soldier for a moment to shake her head. She hoped they would get out of this place soon.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Selena Morgross Witchcraft


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Selena watched the young mage driven by the smoke to act insanely. Selena chuckled. She herself was lucky to have enough willpower to withstand the green smoke though her head was spinning and the green smoke was making her feel ill. She still could focus and she seemed almost amused at the site. Watching for a few moments as almost the entire army of the Templers was consumed in the smoke's wrath turning them insane and making them pierce eachother and the darkspawn alike. It was amusing and pitiful. This was the army that was supposed to control the circle mages? She didn't know which was more pathetic, The Circle Magi for not having over ran the Templers whom seem to more then weak or the Templers themselves for being so weak. It was truly something to think about later. Now was the time to fight. She wondered what she could do to rid the land of this annoying green smoke. It was gas, which meant it was in the air. If she had a large enough wingspan she could blow the smoke away. Could she not? She was not powerful enough to change into a dragon. Not even the largest bird could rid the entire area of smoke. She began to try and come up with a plan as she fought against the Darkspawn. The smoke continuing to make her feel ill. Shooting arcane bolts was the most easiest of spells seeing as it required little mana and she had spent enough of that and she still needed to be able to shift into another animal when the time was right. So this was what she stuck with. Arcane bolts and thinking. Maker this smoke was sickening. Focus. She finally figured out of a bird that was just in her mana reach that would still have a large enough wingspan to ensure she could work on clearing the smoke. It was known as the Wandering Albatross which typically ranged from 8 ft 3 in to 11 ft 6 in, with a mean span 10 ft 2 in. "I'll clear this smoke for you, stay in this group and don't wander off. Fight them make a path and I'll clear the air and see you on the other side." She smirked. She truly didn't care for the others input so she changed and began quickly flapping her wings to rid the land of the infernal green smoke first. She rose high into the air and took in as much of the clean oxygen into her lungs as she could before doing so. She was correct it only allowed her minimal amount and as the girl walked away further from the group she could not make the gust of air large enough to actually clear her head. Foolish girl. Stop, Focus. She continued to flap her wings creating the gust of wind that would slowly but surely clear the air around them. It of corse didn't rid the smoke from the air around them completely. But it hopefully would do. Selene had wasted more then enough of her Mana that would allow her to fight. For now she was stuck as a bird flapping its large wings to clear as much smoke as she could for the group as they fought. Truthfully she somewhat liked this outcome.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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As the night (or was it morning now?) wore on, Daylen found that the templars and the mages were making good time. If the Maker smiled on them, they could make it to friendly territory before day broke. There, maybe he could find some information on the Wardens. There had to at least be one surviving. As he thought this, however, heard a roar. Darkspawn, but that wasn't the worst of it.

Templars and darkspawn alike were ripped into pieces before him, a reddish haze surrounding them as the blood coalesced. His horse whinnied from both the attack and the unnatural magic before him. It was all Daylen could do to tumble off the horse lest he was throne off. Falling to the ground, he grunted, but that did not stop him from standing up and uttering a counter-spell. He spoke firmly, his eyes shining.

"In nomen of Andraste quod Plasmator, permissum totus malum alica quod phasmatis subsisto. Reverto ut Fade quod Oblivio ut specto vos."

A blue glow enveloped him before surging past him, engulfing templar, mage, and darkspawn alike. It was a spell from the Litany of Adrila, written in old Arcanum. It was meant to counter and dispel blood magic as well as demons while keeping any mage from within its bounds from casting blood magic. From the sounds the darkspawn made, it harmed them as well, which gave credence to the theory that a most vile kind of dark magic bound them together. Daylen would have to write or tell First Enchanter Irving of his finding.

At last, it seemed that the fight reached lull and Daylen heard the words of the blood mage as well as a strange apostate that appeared to join them. The blood mage, however, seemed to be the greater threat, however.

"Why should we work with you?" he asked the blood mage, his voice full of contempt, "Just as soon as it is convenient for you, you'd feed on our life force to feed your own power."

Taking a closer look, Daylen could not tell what race the blood mage was. His robes hid him, but he felt great corruption coming off the man it waves, though not to the extent of the darkspawn. His face softened.

"You have dabbled in blood magic for a long time. You can be healed, however. There are spells and rituals to restore you to the man you once were and the monster that was once a blood mage would be dead. I believe that there is a regulation against killing the truly repentant," Daylen stated. He glanced at Alan as a reminder. Truthfully, Daylen did not hold much hope that the blood mage would take his offer, but it was worth a try and he knew that if he did, he'd be confined to his room, under guard. But it was better than living like this. Alone, blood magic and the Rite of Tranquility held the dangerous position of destroying a person's being while the former destroyed and corrupted the soul in addition.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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It was a trap. Who knew that creatures such as these could manage such a feat?

Alan, his men, and the two...accessories they were fleeing with had suddenly found themselves surrounded by a mob of Darkspawn. Emissaries were the first to strike. Massive fireballs hurled over their heads, slamming against the ground and exploding, covering the forces in flames. The second wave of their surprise attack was met with much more opposition, Alan readied his troops, "Douse it boys!" Roars from the soldiers resounded along the field, and at the captain's words an invisible dome formed around the entirety of the army. Once in range, the flames were completely negated, disappearing into just a few stray embers. Ones the initial strikes ceased, the Templars moved forward, many of them still hand their hands held up high, generating the magic dispelling field.

"Everyone who isn't holding the barrier, move outside and cut down any hostiles, Amell, Apostate lay down covering fire around our squad, break up clusters and keep the ones holding the barrier safe! " Alan barked out orders like a true commander. For all he knew, Gregoir could be as cold and lifeless as the King--then he would be the Knight-Commander. Somewhere inside the thought invigorated the captain. "Potts, you're on me!" Ethan was right behind him, along with the two mages--or so he thought. "Potts!" Alan looked around--there was no sign of the boy.

"Captain! There's someone--ack!" He looked on in awe as the body of the Templar speaking was completely drained of his blood. Deflated and wrinkled, the empty skin of the man just lied stretched on the ground. The horrific sight brought back memories in his mind. Like lightning, the images of the past replayed themselves, every emotion, every fit of rage, every hopeless cry, every ounce of hate had arisen from had resurfaced and stung like brand new. The wounds on Alan's back felt as if they were stinging now. He looked upwards, towards the direction of the blood flow, there a ghastly man stood, shrouded in dark clothing. To the captain's horror, the wicked man had Ethan Potts in his clutches.

"I think you know me Captain... And I think you need my help now... And furthermore, you want this boy alive?" A Darkspawn tried attacking from behind, only to be caught in a web of blood forming behind Garhandor. "So what do you say... The enemy of my enemy is my friend, aye?"

Alan blinked his eyes a few times--for a moment he felt as if he were staring directly at Rorik, his old slavemaster from Tevinter. But no, Rorik wouldn't make bargains, and the Magister could only dream of becoming as powerful as this man that stood before him.

"Garhandor Lyridius." The captain snarled. The Maker was serving up every single thing he'd wish for right now. His first instinct was to draw his blade, unlike Desdemona, Lyridius was a man that the Circle could not contain. He was a murderer, a twisted, evil being that time had forgotten--that time had let slip into the shadows.

But Alan wasn't time. And he wouldn't let Garhandor get away. Ostagar could be burning beneath his very feet, but this man would not get away. And then Daylen chimed in.

"You have dabbled in blood magic for a long time. You can be healed, however. There are spells and rituals to restore you to the man you once were and the monster that was once a blood mage would be dead. I believe that there is a regulation against killing the truly repentant," Daylen gave Alan a look of instruction.

"Repentant? Restore? There's nothing redeeming left inside of him Amell! Look at him!" Alan turned his head back to face the malevolent force. It was then that he locked eyes with Ethan. The young recruit. This boy was a soul untainted by magic's corruption. He knew nothing of the cycle of pain and malice that it creates. Those brown eyes of his, once so full of fire when he stood up to him to protect Daylen--a mage, were now weak, and almost entirely devoid of what was once there. Alan then looked at the Darkspawn, and the barrier that was being bombarded by flames. It was weakening, and soon it would fall.

Alan clinched his free fist tight. He looked down to his greaves, covered in mud and blood. His hand, reached behind his belt, gripping his blade's hilt fell limp beside his hip. "Dammit!" Alan's voice must have traveled half way to Lothering it was so loud. It was a roar full of agony and anger. "Lyridius, I'll take your offer, but if you show any signs of breaking your word, I won't hesitate to shove my weapon through that gaunt little throat of yours." Every word he spoke carried a large weight. He had never felt such a loathing towards anyone since Rorik. "Drop Potts. Now."

At the word, the barrier around them shattered, and a bird, glowing bright with magic, floated down. Once it touched against the earth, the bird had taken shape of a woman. Alan was tired of Mages, but this one was much more easy on the eyes. She spoke some nonsense about her mother killing them, right now though, his mind was too clouded to analyze it. All he knew was that he had one more arm between him and the Darkspawn, and now that he was traveling with a certified blood mage, there was no way he'd die here.

Alan looked upon the casualties from the surprise Darkspawn attack, and Lyridius's assault. There was no need to heal anyone, it wouldn't help anyway.

"We'll be under heavy fire from the enemies spell casters, Mages, keep those fireballs away from us! Templars, carve a path! Lothering isn't far once we past the Wilds!"

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Kithic could barely hear the man shouting orders, her energy was low and despite the giant bird claering most of the gas, she didn't feel any clearer. Perhapps she had just exhausted too much mana and it wasn't the gas causing her to stumble along. Then again the arrow in her shoulder and her burnt leg could also be factors in this .... off feeling. She watched as those around her started to make a little progress through the horde, pushing and fighting and defending from the monsters quickly and tightly.

Out of nowhere a fireball came soaring through the air at the group and acting on impulse Kithic put up a small barrier over the top of where it should have landed. It bounced (who knew these things bounced?) off the magic barrier and flew right to a cluster of darkspawn, their shrieks filling the air as more and more of them were fried. Her head was a little clearer with the smell of burning flesh but her spells were getting weaker, she could see it.

Not having a clue where they were going to end up she simply walked as close to the mage, the commander and the random mage that appeared with his blood magic. She cast as many patches of ice behind the group, slowing down as many as she could and when a fireball came she switched between sending fire at it with enough force to push it away and putting up a barrier. If she didn't stop soon she would pass out on the ground and most likely be eaten before she ever even saw a Dragon.

"Oh how these things turn out," she had never even intended on joining in the stupid fight and now here she was, fighting by a bunch of templars.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Selena Morgross Witchcraft


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Selena continued flapping her large wings blowing as much of the green vapors away as she could as the group moved so did she. She continued this act seeing as even if the vapors weren't poisoning them the vapors clung to the air in a thick fog like manner. And deeper into the path it would block there vision keeping many a enemy hidden from behind the veil of vapors. So she worked on clearing the fog so they could also better see. She had spent to much mana to return to her form and be of any use to the fighting. once she returned she knew she would have no hopes of being able to caste any spell. She only hoped she didn't end up falling to her knees before that of templers and circle magi. She'd rather take her chances with the fellow apostate and blood mage then that.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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"We'll be under heavy fire from the enemies spell casters, Mages, keep those fireballs away from us! Templars, carve a path! Lothering isn't far once we past the Wilds!"

"Easier said than done!" Daylen cried, twirl his staff. Fireballs were not easy to dispel, considering that they flared into existence for one moment in a fiery explosion. All he could do was put up shields and barriers around the others while firing back some of his own, making sure to aim for the emissaries or any mobs of darkspawn that got too close.

As it was, the darkspawn's numbers were thinning, but that did not stop them from attacking their group without any regard for their own lives. They probably had none. Not with the Archdemon leading them. Daylen frowned and called upon a chain of lightning to go from one of them to the other until it dissipated, killing about five of them in quick succession.

Despite the battle, however, Daylen could not help but glance at the other mages. He had never met so many apostates. He was curious. The women seemed to be normal. The one that was with them, Kithic, was powerful if inexperienced. The other one, though... He had never heard of transforming by magic like she did. What concerned him, however, was the blood mage. There was something dark about him. Something twisted.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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The murky greens and browns of the Korcari Wilds stretched in front of them. The men and women darted through the enormous trees, attempting to put as much space between them and the horde as humanly [or elfly] possible. Alan and his men, blades in hand, cut through whatever bulky vines that lie in their way, and though stray spawn were strewn about, it finally seemed as if the horrors of Ostagar were behind the group. Coming to a small clearing beside swampy waters the large group stopped to catch their breath. Alan instructed his men to take a break, many of them were injured, and the few of them that weren't were wrought with intense amounts of fatigue.

Into The Wilds

The fog of the area had grown deeper the further they went. Alan tried to find a break in it above, but it seemed to touch even the top of the tallest trees. The wretched stuff blanketed their path, making any travel forward a journey in itself. Being so close to a real bed and food, and to be barred now infuriated the captain.

"Anyone who's well enough to defend themselves, spread out and search the area! I want landmarks, supplies, survivors, anything that might help us get out of here! Stay in pairs, and don't try and be a hero, come back it anything happens. I'm not wasting anymore soldiers on this mission." Only six soldiers rose to the task. The rest were too beaten to go out--Alan nodded, and the six men broke into pairs, and began to wade through the fog. The Wilds were expansive, and any map that they may have had of the lands were long gone now.

Alan took a moment to observe the company he was currently in. A league of robes, he'd never traveled with so many that weren't in chains.

Daylen Amell. A proud mage. Capable, and as reliable as a one of their kind could be.

Kithic Desdemona. She was a young one. Her frost magic was something worthy of note, especially to have been so newly awakened. Still though, she was untrained, wild. He'd see to it that she's immediately admitted to the Circle after all of this was over.

And then, Lyridius. The monster. Out of them all, what brought him the most unrest was this man. Even now, Alan felt as if he were betraying himself being with him. Even now he wanted to draw his blade, and stab him through the heart. But he was a man of his word, and Alan would still himself until they were completely free from the Darkspawn. Still, the captain kept close watch of him, and he doubt the blood mage didn't notice this.

Finally, there was this newcomer. He didn't even know her name. A shape that stirred him, and eyes that intrigued him. Alan approached, calmly, with clear intent, like a lion inching towards his prey. Inches away from her he stopped, this time though, he was interested in what clothes she did have on, rather than what she did not. They were cloths native to the Chasind barbarians that dwelled in the forest. With his hand that was free of steel, he ran a finger through a lock of the woman's hair.

"Those are...interesting robes. You're from here, aren't you?" His blue eyes were starring deep into hers. The captain's sights were locked, his blue orbs full of desire. "You can help us get out of here."

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Kithic sighed as she lay on the ground. Her shoulderand leg hurt and she was exhausted. It was a good thing they were resting for a bit, she hadn't thought she would be capable of casting so many spells almost all at once. She hadn't gotten a chance to study any of the darkspawn, or the mages. And this man, the one in charge, he frightened her. He knew her name so that brought on the question of how much more he knew.

There were so many templars, it made her feel uneasy. she stood and stretched, examining her injuries and thinking quickly. She could probably still get away once they got close to a town. Then she could hide in a wagon or storage shed until they stopped looking. She had been evadjng the circle for years now, she wasn't going to give up now.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Garhandor Lyrdius Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Selena Morgross Witchcraft


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When they had made it to the Kokari Wilds, Selene was already sitting on anearby rock waiting for them. She had changed back to her true form and trying to regain her strength and mana. "Ahh, fresh air. 'Twas difficult to breathe with all that self-righteousness crowding the air." She said out loud aiming for the other to hear her. At this point a random male Templer appeared and ran a finger through her hair and spoke to her about her clothes he was looking at her his blue eyes caked with desire. She looked at him in disgust as he spoke. She debating killing him right then and there. How dare he lay a finger on her. Insufferable Male! I shall have the last laugh! "You can help us get out of here." He said to her which only disgusted her more. She grabbed his hand as he touched her and narrowed her golden eyes in annoyance and disgust as she looked at him. "Ah, the social strata quickly makes itself evident no matter where one goes." She says with malice in her voice not even bothering to answer his question or statement. She was here wasn't she? She did not leave them. She was here. Did that not strike him as this meaning she was to lead them the way out. Or was he truly this blinded by his own ego...perhaps he was as ignorant and weak as she first thought.

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare Character Portrait: Kithic Desdemona
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Daylen watched Alan with barely contained disgust. Really, had the man been away from women so long that he could not contain himself? He made his way over to the Knight-Captain and the apostate, delivering a smart thack to the back of the man's head, just enough to convey the man's displeasure. Before he could respond with a threat or a smite, Antius glowered at him.

"Really, Gregoir would do worse if he saw what I saw. Perhaps it would be proper to ask the good woman how she intends to help us and, more importantly, why?" he stated before turning his gaze towards the Chasind, "I highly doubt the Circle or the Templars have done anything to earn good overtures, so do you really intend to help us? And, if so, why?"

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Character Portrait: Selena Morgross Witchcraft Character Portrait: Daylen Amell Character Portrait: Knight-Captain Alan Darkmare
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Daylen frowned as he listened to the discussion between the Wtitch and the Knight-Captain. Truly, something was bothering him. Elves did not live among the Chasind. They were a human tribe. Even if elves did live among them, they'd die out via interbreeding. No. This woman was different. And just who was her mother? He thought for a moment, recalling the old tales of the Witches of the Wilds. Most dismissed these tales as idle fancy, but all tales had a basis in truth.

He frowned as Selena mocked mages and elves, but chose not to rise to her bait. Instead, he thought of the Wardens' whereabouts. The other apostate spoke up about the Wardens and he nodded in agreement. There might be something to be done after all. It depended upon Alan's cooperation.

"First Enchanter Irving allowed me to study the information the Circle has obtained upon the Wardens. It is possible to track down a surviving Warden. It would work best with a complete Joining potion, but it can be done without all the ingredients. If I am given a vial of darkspawn blood and lyrium, I can create a phylactery. It may be enough to track a Warden. For to be flawless, however, I would require the blood of an Archdemon or a High Dragon," he stated before looking over at Selena. He eyed her curiously.

"If I recall correctly, the Witches of the Wilds have ample supply of dragon blood. It can be used in many rituals. Did your mother pack you any?"

He smiled slightly at Alan, "Don't worry. The Chantry permits Mages to create a Joining potion. The Wardens signed a treaty with them in the Divine Age, upon the ascension of the first Divine. Apparently, a threat of a Blight gave them leeway. Not to mention the Wardens have proved themselves. Don't worry. I would not need to cut myself or murmur an incantation. It is not blood magic. If it was, the phylacteries would be too, wouldn't it?"