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Marroseth

"I wonder...... about how far, Grey Warden, are you willing to go to end this Blight?"

0 · 212 views · located in Ferelden

a character in “Dragon Age: The Grey in Between”, as played by Raidose

Description


Marroseth.
"Innocent farmers... all butchered along with their wives and children by the darkspawn.... This day is fantastic!"


::Rob Zombie- Dragula ::Skillet- Falling In The Black
::Rob Zombie- Never Gonna Stop ::Skillet- Monster
::Rob Zombie- Meet the Creeper ::Marilyn Manson- Sweet Dreams



Image

Nickname: Marroseth, the Flesh Biter.
Marroseth, the Lost.
Marroseth, the Consumed.
Marroseth, the Demon Born.
Marroseth, the Blood Bathed.
Marroseth, the Son of Malice.

Gender: Male.

Age: 20

Sexuality: None, his mind simply does not work that way.

Race: Human, or at least he was. Now partial abomination.

Role: Sociopathic spellcaster, who enjoys ending lives with a sort of manic glee.

Status: Arcane Warrior/Blood Mage

Hair
- Color and Length: Unknown, mask is sealed to his head.

Eye
- Color and Shape: Pale white, leaving lyrium-blue ephemeral trails when excited. They have been known to turn dark yellow and even blood red. The later occurring only when under.... certain influence, and leave trails of inky red vapors giving him an aura of bloodshed.

Skin Tone: When not covered in gore? Pale as a corpse.

Height: 6'4".

Weight: About 170.

Overall Appearance: Description is difficult to give to someone who shows so little. A tall and rather lengthy individual, who tends to loam over most those around him. His appearance was forgotten in an instant the day his new found nature was discovered. Ruined and tattered apprentice robes poke out from under ancient Tevinter armor. The armor itself looks as though something truly wicked has corrupted it, as the white feathered trimming has begun to wilt and rot while the armor dulls and blackens. The fingertips of each gauntlet crack as long, curled claws arch their way out. The ebony mask with gold etchings he wears now serves as his new face, being enchanted to never be removed. Sharp, curving claws poke through Tevinter sandals, and a pair of once-magnificent shinguards protect his legs. In the few moments where his skin sees the outside world, it is deathly white with an unseen sort of taint to it. His eyes appear as though portals to the Fade itself.

Personality: Now this is the fun part. Marroseth has an interesting and constantly changing outlook on this mortal world. For the most part, he is manic and completely psychotic. The first person to ask why he can't kill something/someone in almost all situations. He truly does not understand why he should hold the lives of others in such high regard. Either this, or he simply does not care.

Surprisingly cheery, though the things that make him giddy would make most people cry. Or vomit. Maybe both. The thought of bloodshed excites him above all, and he cares little for who's blood gets spilled. Be it beautiful crimson or deep, inky black, so long as it spills upon the ground in vast quantity, it's a good day. And when he gets to be the spiller of that blood.... well, that is truly a wondrous thing.

But there is another, and much more chilling side to him. The moments of extended pause between the death often bear moments of clarity and self-realization for the being Marroseth. He knows all too well that he should never exist, but yet he does. How? Why? These are anyone's guess. He does not know, and feels he is truly never meant to. He is unnatural, even by Abomination standards. This world has no purpose for him, and thus no path has been laid at his feet.

The only things guiding him have been those with purpose. The whispers that seep into his ear. Into his soul. If he even has one. One tells him such wonderful things, but the other says that he should not listen. So quiet and rare that voice is, often drowned out by it's contender. Marroseth knows how easy he is to sway by those who hold dear what he lacks: purpose. If he has no purpose himself, then maybe he can share or steal that of another?

History: Marroseth's earliest memories are blurred beyond recognition. The exact point of coming into existence is a mystery to him, a blackened gap in time filled by the muffled screams of men, the copper-like tinge of blood on his tongue, and the feel of warm flesh in his teeth. This..... Thing had once been human, a young apprenticed mage. A mage who was to complete his Harrowing, his rite of passage as a mage. What entered the Fade was but a boy, what came back was now the subject of the day. The Templars cried to kill the damnable thing whilst the mages warned that if this was an abomination, then it was unlike any seen before and killing it may allow whatever is inside of him into our realm.

Whatever this being was, the arguments ended at a standstill. They could not let such an insult to the Maker plague our world, and yet they could not end the foul things life. Fortunately, the circle of Magi had a number of arcane relics stored within their tower. Surely one had to be useful, and one was selected. The Adjudicator's Ward. An ancient Tevinter armor created to purge the user of all impurities, when they still believed there may be hope of a second attempt to enter the Golden City. Once it was used to battle demons of sloth and desire, and now it would be used to purge the soul of this possessed body. Didn't go so well, as you can imagine.

Marroseth only remembers being restrained, as the armor was mystically bonded to him. Then all went black for the twisted creature. He awoke sometime later, the armor donned upon him as a shadow of it's former glory. Whatever resided within him was not only apparently strong enough not to be forcibly removed, but corrupted the armor. Though the metal was not the only thing no longer resembling it's old self, as Marroseth felt the changes to his own form. Elongated claws sprouted from his fingers, and his tongue glided over sharpened teeth.

Though it seemed he'd never have the pleasure of using them, as his clawed digits traced the edges of his new face. A face made of iron, bound by magic to never show his sinister grin. It was placed to supposedly forever seal in the demon within him. A foolish endeavor, for the demon did not wish to leave. Marroseth explored his new prison, a cage made with forgotten sigils to ban his use of magic. Cold bars gave view to withering stone ruins, towering trees swaying in a chilled breeze, and several freshly erected military tents and barracks. It appears that the threat of the blight has forced many mages and Templars to the ruins of Ostagar, and they were not keen on the idea of leaving him behind in the Circle's tower. So they dragged him along.

Maybe they intended to leave him to the darkspawn? Maybe the wished to catapult him into the middle of their hordes? Maybe they wanted to open the cage and run away? Then again, maybe they were just going to drown him in a lake?

"How exciting! Today is full of so many possibilities!"

Weapon: His claws and the ability to mystically enhance his physical attributes serve him well in melee combat as does whatever weapon he pries from some corpse's frozen grip, while a long list of the cruelest, most unethical, and morbid spells fills every other occasion. Is unable to use staves of any sort as magical catalysts, and has difficulty casting spells without using blood (not necessarily his) as a medium. Uses a combination of Death and Blood Magic to draw all blood from surrounding cadavers towards him, swirling about his figure as a whirling aura of bright red (or black, depending on what we're fighting). Marroseth can use this blood to power his spells.

Mount: None. Animals seem terrified of him. I wonder why?

Potential Interest:If Marroseth has an interest in someone, it's only because he wonders what that person's entrails would look like once carefully decorated all over that tree over there......

So begins...

Marroseth's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth
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#, as written by Raidose

Marroseth



Now who could have predicted this?

The stone ruins of Ostagar lay stained, more red than black. This was to the dismay of many. Oh, so beautiful it was, the arching crimson contrails that followed closely behind the wicked blades. Magi, Templar, Grey Wardens, and oh so many would-be knights of Ferelden now lay dying on the field of honorless battle. The great King, in his righteous charge, in all his gold and glory, now lay a motionless corpse among his fellows. The screams of men could be no where near as disheartening to the crippled moral of those who still lived to fight as the horns of retreat from their beloved saviors. The men whom so much faith and trust was placed in, and now they would leave all these fools to their appointed fates. The rain poured down an unforgiving tempest upon these doomed souls, as even now flies and maggots feasted eagerly upon the dead. It seams they too foresaw the outcome of this little skirmish. This day, this dark and cold day, was just so...... so.....

"........Perfect!" cried a gleeful voice through iron bars. His cheer ringing through the rain-drenched gloom sharper than the clang of weapons of war. "Quiet, You Damned Bastard! I'll hear no more from your mouth!" This was the spiteful reply of the only Templar charged with the cursed duty of protecting a being, which was without a doubt unworthy of such. "Oh Nordin, can't you see? Can't you taste it? Their is a bitter-sweet irony in the air!" Upon the successful parrying and dispatching of one of many a tainted horror, the bloodied Templar glared back in disbelief. "Firstly, it's 'Sir Nordin', Monster! And of what irony do you speak, Marroseth?" The monster grimaced underneath his cold mask. "Well, 'Sir Nordin', firstly I'd say duck..."

Nordin looked back with a confused expression, visible even through his helmet. "Duck? Gagh!" he cried, as a Darkspawn mace met the back of his plate armor. He landed hard upon the ground, but recovered with a swift role. Mace in hand and shield at the ready, Sir Nordin blocked his opponents followup blow and countered with a strike of his own to the side of the dark beasts knee. A second blow to the opposite knee fell the hurlock, while the Templar stabbed his mace down in a dagger-like fashion to it's face for the deathblow. Recomposing himself in a huff, he returned his attention to the cage of Marroseth. "You.... you knew I wouldn't listen to that, didn't you?" "That'd be telling.... But I believe I was saying something.... Ah, yes. The irony!" Marroseth took a moment to childishly giggle, like a young boy withholding a secret from another. "The irony lies within what your intentions with me were. I know you meant for me to die here, but now...." he stopped again, letting out a chuckle in a cold and dark tone. "Now freeing me is your only hope of living....."

"Like hell! I'd rather strip down to my nethers and invite the darkspawn to line dancing!" Sir Nordin paused a moment, before giving a slight tilt of his head. "Huh.... I use to be good at dancing..." he remarked, before nearly being beheaded by a genlock. Marroseth watched the fight from within his cage with wicked amusement. Between the swings and sways, Sir Nordin retorted. "In any case" he spoke, back-stepping out of the stubby creatures reach, "I would not suffer being bit on the arse by making bargains with a devil such as you!" Marroseth rested his hands upon the sill of his cages window, his clawed fingers draping over the edge with one pointing upwards to add emphasis to his upcoming point. "Ah! But do devils not always keep to their deals?" "True.." replied Nordin, giving an edged bash of his shield to the darkspawn's face, "but don't deals with devils always come with some horrible price, that eventually leads to the aforementioned arse-biting?" Marroseth leaned heavily against his little portal to the outside world, letting his arms drape through the bars. "Awww, I was hoping you'd forget that part..." he returned in a playfully pouting voice.

Nordin finally dispatched his midget of a foe, and returned to the conversation with Marroseth. "Yes, well... I didn't... so no." Nordin watched as the merciless eyes of the fell being lazily glanced upwards. "Knife." "What?" Nordin inquired, to which Marroseth added a pointing finger and a reply. "Knife!" he repeated, barely giving the knight enough time to react. The Templar barely ducked the jagged blade which clashed against the impenetrable stone of Marroseth's cage. The twisted visage of the hurlock's face was that of surprise, as a clawed arm shot out and swiftly locked unto it's arm. A second grasping onto it's head, with Marroseth's thumb piercing into the darkspawn's eye. In a moment, the hurlock backed away grasping at it's now missing jugular. Marroseth played merrily with the black gore between his fingers. "Now this! This is fascinating... Sir Nordin, you are a knight, yes? And I have just saved your life, yes?"

Nordin looked up cautiously, meeting those malevolent eyes of this demon-being. Eyes which now burned with a dark shade of red. ".....And there's that bad feeling. What of it?" Marroseth gave a deep throaty laugh, and spoke out in a voice that sent ice through Nordins veins. "Heh heh heh.... Then by your honor, Sir Knight, you now owe me a debt. A life for a life. Yours for mine. Let me out....." The Templar gazed towards the muddy Earth, weighing his choice in his mind. As a Templar, he was a knight. As a knight, he must uphold his honor. Had this demon really forced him into freeing this hellspawn? Then... a wicked idea crossed his mind. He brought the view of his helmet up to meet the gaze of Marroseth, as a matching grin crawled over his lips. Marroseth could... sense this. "No..." "You'd shame your honor?" Marroseth asked, crimson eyes narrowing. "No, I agree to a life for a life..... And with the aid of a horse, I can save your life. Which means I don't need to let you out. Get it?" Nordin replied, as he closed one of twin wooden doors over Marroseth's view. Doors Marroseth didn't know were there. Doors to a carriage.

The red in Marroseth's eyes faded to white, as his voice became that of manic surprise. "Wait, I'm in a wagon?!" Nordin just rolled his eyes. "No, we hauled an enormous ancient stone cage all the way from the Circle to Ostagar by hand..." he shot back with a mocking tone. "Waaaaiiit.... was that sarcasm?" To this, all the knight could do was groan as he closed and latched the second door to the carriage.

"Oh, do shut up...."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marroseth Character Portrait: Isolde Yana Bennett
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Isolde approached the small village of Lothering through a farm, she had heard about the darkspawn threat that was approaching and needed to head north as soon as possible, but she couldn't do that with her legs being so sore so she sat on the road way, overlooking Lothering, it was a mess, filled with refugees and panicking templars and injured soldiers. She looked over to the wind mill, in a cage just outside the city she could see a Qunari in a cage, if the Chantry did that to a man for killing someone, what would they do to her just for not being in the Circle. She brushed her hair back behind an ear and looked over her shoulder, a wagon was approaching.
Isolde turned around and stepped off the wall and squinted to get a better look at the driver, he was a templar. He won't be able to tell. Isolde thought silently to herself and waved him down. She looked back to the Qunari, I need to get out of here before anyone finds out. She looked back up to the Templar. "Please, Sir, please help me." She begged him, looking into his eyes. "I need to get away from here, I know what's coming. Lothering is too dangerous, place take me away." She cried. The only thing she had on her was her dagger and the clothes on her back. She could have sworn she heard movement in the back of the wagon but ignored it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kalenvan Nororimeliten Entorvan Character Portrait: Lyali Tyr'anea Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth
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Van cursed himself for the girl had passed out clearly drained of all her energy and knew no matter how hard he tried to wake her she would be out for a bit. Van knew there was only one way he could get her out of there with her, it would be costly but what else could he do. Page eight:Mana to might. Van chanted in his mind as called forth the spell as he felt strength empower his limbs but felt a shot of pain in his head as he felt the stress from the spell take hold. Van let go of his ribs the spell he cast increased his strength, stamina and stability of his body. Van grabbed the girl who was quite heavier then what she looked like, most likely do to her armor, and though her over his shoulders. The stress on his mind grew as he put more strain on the spell but that would not stop him.

Van began a steady pace away from what was left of the army. Van ran for about five minutes and it began to look like they would get away from the battle without too much trouble. Van saw something truly surprised him a Templar guarding a wagon with something odd in it but dismissed the fact for now he had a way out of here. Suddenly Van felt what felt like a bolder crash into him. Both him and the girl fell to the ground Van trying to keep the girl from getting to hurt. Van looked to see a nearly dead hurlock Alpha had rammed into him. The beast had only one hand and had over a dozen wounds covering its body but was still intent on fighting more Van pointed a finger at the Alpha Shocking shot. He thought as he fired a bold of electricity into the beasts head killing it. Van, no longer being able to maintain the Mana to might spell felt the last of his magic energy ran out. Van ran over to the girl who was still unconscious and grabbed her by the base of her arm and began to drag her towards the cart "Hay you Templar guy I need a hand here!" Van managed to say. This is one hell of a first day for a job

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kalenvan Nororimeliten Entorvan Character Portrait: Lyali Tyr'anea Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth
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#, as written by Raidose

Sir Nordin


Nordin could barely gain control over the crazed and fearful old mare, as it reared and bucked from panic. He was all but ready to let the terrified creatures jet away into the night, towing the two along for the ride, when he was beseeched by two elves for passage. One of them was completely unconscious, and the others strength looked like it was quickly fading. "I'm sorry but I can't... uhh...." he started, but couldn't finish. He found himself staring at the female, and watched as a strand of snow white hair moved aside from her face. "Uhhh........" She was wounded, helpless, and a fair bit on the attractive side. "....Oh, damn it. Fine, but do hurry! And for the love of the Maker, don't go near the back" he shouted, aiding the elf in hoisting the young woman unto the space next to himself. "Nordin, aren't you going to introduce me?" cooed a loathsome voice from the back. "Not the time!"

"Quickly, boy, they're almost upon us and I don't kn-" Nordin attempted to say, but was cut off by the pitter-patter of crossbow bolts pelting the sides of the cart. Two were reflexively blocked by Nordin's shield, piercing it's steel and nearly his arm. As for the horse, that was all she wrote. The frantic beast took off at a quickening pace, which caused the girl to slump over and across Nordin's lap. "Ahh! This... is gonna be awkward..." He quickly reached out his hand to the elf, as he dashed madly to catch up. With one leap and the blessing of some divine force, the two's hands lock onto each other. The elven fighter was pulled aboard the speeding wagon as it raced away from the war.

The horse had run rampant for some time before the first of several hazardous turns came up. Hazardous at fare speeds, impossible at their current one. Sir Nordin could swear he felt the girl begin to stir on his lap, when the wagon leaned heavily on two wheels before spilling it's occupants over the cliff and into the woods below. The carriage crashed neatly into the branches of a tree, while it's side burst open and expelled Marroseth's cage. The three tumbled through the brush and thankfully out of the path of the ancient stone box, which steamrolled a path through the shrubbery and every other godly thing in it's way. It's occupant cried "Yeeeeeeeeeheeeehehehaahahaaaaaahaaaaaaaa!" as it rolled to a crash.

The others finally stopped their tumble when they rolled upon level ground. Completely worn out, one armor-clad weary arm raised with index fingered extended. "Well..... I think this is a lovely place to set up camp for tonight. What say you lot?" the knight groggily slurred out, his arm collapsing upon completion.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kalenvan Nororimeliten Entorvan Character Portrait: Lyali Tyr'anea Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth
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She was dreaming. She had to have been dreaming. It was warm and she could smell the perfumes decorating the halls that she once lived in. Lyali shifted and felt herself slipping. She was running now. There was a figure off to the distance, standing in a doorway that was painted white. She felt a sense of familiarity, but couldn’t quite place it. She dragged herself, trying to get closer to the figure. But it seemed that every time she got closer, the figure would get further. As she closed in on the figure, it slowly began to turn and the outlines of a familiar face began to show. Before Lyali could react, she took a deep plunge, falling into a never ending abyss before a sharp pain caused her to snap open her blue eyes.

“Wha’?” she dragged out as she tried to regain her sight. She could taste dirt in her mouth and she quickly tried to move. She regretted it as quickly as she moved. She cried out in pain as she grabbed her shoulder. She tenderly pushed against the skin and felt the bone was out of place. Great, just what I need, a dislocated shoulder, she thought before her attention turned to that of a man. He had spoken something, something she didn’t quite catch, and immediately thrust her arm towards him.

“Push this arm back into place,” she quickly spoke. Although the tone she used was more of a demand. The quicker he put her arm back into place, the quicker she could leave. She didn’t recognize the place she was in and her memories flooded back to Ostagar. Just a few minutes ago, she was in a war killing darkspawn with the other Grey Wardens. Now, she was sitting on a dirt path with a man, who seemed to have had a prior duty than be a soldier, and a dislocated shoulder. If she was more alert, she would have noticed another figure off to the side. An elf who had helped her escape Ostagar, unbeknownst to her of course. Even more so, she would have noticed a peculiar cage with an even more so peculiar…item.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kalenvan Nororimeliten Entorvan Character Portrait: Lyali Tyr'anea Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth
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After the escape from Ostagar Van could not sleep. Van had used the time he had to give him some basic first aid, and using what little healing magic he knew did a patch job on his ribs but it would be smart for him to see a real healer. Van opened up his bag and looked though what he had. He had the treaties, The mysterious tome that he stole from the Circle before fleeing, a single sovereign with some silver and copper, some crushed food, a healers kit and a few healing salves and a map. Van did not speak to his savior he seemed preoccupied with retrieving his ....Friend from the bushes though van maid a mental note to thank him latter. What am I to do now van though to himself Everyone is dead, Duncan, the king, most of the wardens and the army how can I deal with the blight now? A flash when though his mind, the memory of Tarn Logane leading his legion if fresh troops away from the battlefield. Hes not going to be letting Wardens walking around after his betrayal of the king and he is definitely not going to be fulfilling his obligation to the treaties. The Dwarves and the elves would probably help out but without the humans, the dominate power in the land.

Van leaned back on a tree and observed there surroundings. The group had made camp on top of a hill in the middle of the flatland's about have a days march from Lothering. There were little trees but many bushes, the plaint life seemed to have gone without rain for some time. In the camp had no fire had been lit for risk of attracting darkspawn patrols, last thing this group needed was a fight. First there was the Templar who's job seemed to be keeping the second member at bay, who seemed to be one of the spirit of the fade would be Vans best guess but he could not tell what it really was. The third member of the group was the unconscious Elf girl whom he knew nothing of but Van...... sensed something from her, he did not know what, might have something to do with Van becoming a warden, maybe to sense something.....but what? It does not matter now The last member of the group was himself a mage who felt so tired it felt like his hole body had been turned into lead.

Van was about to begin to study his tome when he heard the girl begin to sire "Wha" the girl gasped as she suddenly sat upright but then garbed her shoulder which seemed to be dislocated.The girl muttered something to herself which Van did not catch. Van cringed as she poped it back into place. The girl looked around looking confused, trying to figure out what was going on. Van picked himself up and grabbed the healers kit and some of the crushed food. Van walked over to the girl.

Van threw The food and kit onto her lap. "Names Van. Your about half a days match from Lothering. You passed out in the battle, you almost died." he said "We can talk in a bit first eat something and patch yourself up, you need to regain your strength, if you need any help with the kit or have any questions let me know and ill do my best to help." Vat sat down across from the girl and gave her a tired smile.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kalenvan Nororimeliten Entorvan Character Portrait: Lyali Tyr'anea Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth Character Portrait: Isolde Yana Bennett
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Isolde was rejected by the templar and so she decided to head further south, she could probably hid from the horde in the Wilds and very little templars would attempt to hunt her down. She followed the road south for awhile before, avoiding it all together and walking through the trees and on a small mud track, she could still see refugees following the road from Ostagar, she noticed a small encampment up ahead and worried it was Darkspawn or bandits she started sneaking up to it, she hid behind a tree and observed the group. A human knight/templar, a female elven hybrid and a male elf, they also seemed to have a prisoner, he didn't seem so dangerous, they must have had a reason. Isolde whistled and put her hands in the air, her hair had become a mess and her clothes were slightly more scruffy and dirty than long before. "Hello?" She greeted cautiously, her dagger could be seen, Sure it looks pathetic but it's not the only weapon I have. She thought to herself.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kalenvan Nororimeliten Entorvan Character Portrait: Lyali Tyr'anea Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth Character Portrait: Isolde Yana Bennett
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#, as written by Raidose

Sir Nordin


Nordin sat straight up with a groan,, placing one hand on his back to try and relieve some of the aches. It didn't work. He glanced around to see everyone else was now moving, and at least not dead. He slowly clambered to his feet, attempting to stabilize his still-dazed mind with the added burden of his armor. First thing to cross his thoughts was to check his belongings. His mace was but a few feet away, his shield was still on his arm, and his satchel of provisions was..... hanging in that tree. Upside down. "Terrific...." he groaned as he moved to retrieve it.

After a bit of a struggle, the branch finally yielded and relinquished it's treasure. Al didn't even have to look inside, but did so anyway. "By the Maker..... even the cheese is gone." he let out with a heavy sigh. He strapped the small leather bag back to his side, and sought to aid his new acquaintances with any troubles they may be having. His first thought was to the elf-woman, who had just popped her arm into socket. He knelt down beside her and offered his only healing salve. "Are you alright? This is all I have, but you are welcomed to it if you so need. Ehmmmm.... you.... wouldn't happen to have remembered anything from the wagon would you?"

He was nervous about what her reply may be. It wasn't his finest moment, and having a conversation about it was not on his list of personal joys. Thankfully, a voice seamed to call out from the woods. A young girl dressed in rags of leather, with long black hair. She had an air about her that wasn't quite right. Years of Templar brainwashing kicked in, as Nordin's mind profiled her as either a witch, an apostate, a barbarian, or just a crazy girl. He quickly ruled out barbarian when he saw that her only weapon was a dagger, and surely the savage folk of the Korcari laugh at such a meager blade.

Nordin was a bit on edge, but he couldn't assume anything about this girl. He chose to address her just as she appeared: as some lost stranger wondering through the woods. "Hold there, stranger. None of us here are seeking trouble" Nordin spoke, using his carefully crafted intimidating Templar drone voice. "We can ill afford to take chances, so if you do seek our company I would ask that you lay down your dagger.... and... any other things you could use to stab us." His hand drifted over his mace, which hung loosely at his right side. Nordin didn't know what to expect, but hoped she would comply.

After all, there were enough blade-wielding strangers around him for one day.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Sir Nordin Character Portrait: Marroseth Character Portrait: Isolde Yana Bennett
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Isolde looked at the man who answered her. "I'm afraid I can't set my dagger down, for all I know you want to harm me and it is all I have to protect myself. Please understand." She pleaded and watched his hand reached for his mace. "Do you honestly think that I am going to attempt to fight you? I am outnumbered and to tired to fight." She assured him, hoping he would step down. She looked over to the cage. "Who's in that?" She asked pointing to it, if he could give her an honest answer she would trust him and if he lied, well, bandits are pretty terrible when it comes to dealing with an apostate.