Dragon Age: Far and Beyond

Kat

ॐ brave & powerful
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Passive-Aggressive
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Fantasy, Sci-Fi Fantasy, Romance, Horror Elements
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Soft Sci-Fi, Hard Sci-Fi, Furry, Yaoi
The Center of Sarona
Sarona had not been the same since the unfettered darkspawn incursion that took many lives over a month ago. Husbands, wives, and children were lost without much explanation as to why the invasion had happened nor how. Saramas, the magistrate for Sarona, was not even certain what the creatures were or why they had been here, preying on the lives of innocents. The magistrate made an effort to guide the people through their grief and loss, executing preventive measures immediately. After news of devastation had been delivered to Perendale, Nevarran Grey Wardens were sent to keep an eye on the village and the area surrounding it. Claudia, a Senior Warden, was sent specifically to the village for the purpose of investigating Sarona.

Since the attack, numerous statements have included livestock passing from mysterious illness, plants withering quickly, and more recently, villagers calling out to wispy figures during misted nights. Claudia, Cahir, and Rahmas— who'd recently joined the Grey Wardens under Right of Conscription— stood inside Saramas' home with a translator for the latest sightings and observations of Sarona and the strange disappearances. The situation was especially hard for a small village family who'd spent the last decade spreading community and peace, only to lose their only son and daughter.

"Aleya Briandon, a young child, and Callum Briandon, an apprentice swordsmith of Sarona, have barely made it to their grown years. Their parents asked around for anything that could lead them to where their children may have gone, no one has been able to pinpoint where they may have gone and what they might’ve done. Aleya and Callum were last seen near the edge of the forest to the south east, a few miles out, picking wild berries near the river. They didn’t come home before evening supper and a search party was sent out immediately. Given how strange these occurrences are, I thought it necessary to bring in more unconventional perspectives.”

The translator stood beside Saramas, signing the sentences verbatim for Cahir to understand.

“Unconventional perspectives?” Claudia’s nose wrinkled in suspicion.

There were a few knocks at the door and Saramas nodded, “Yes. Excuse me, we have guests.”

Sarams rose from the position at his desk and filed over to the “foyer” of his house where a handwoven door mat was located and some other pairs of shoes. He opened the door to find the person he was looking for — the mercenary he’d kept in contact with over the last few months or so. A new face entered the crowd and Claudia was not intrigued, to say the least. The woman certainly didn’t look like she’d typically play a part in investigations such as this and in fact, she looked more criminal than anything else with her red and black attire, as well as that strong air of confidence she could’ve easily mistaken for arrogance. She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Claudia, Rahmas, and Cahir… I’d like to introduce you to Lysandra,” Saramas introduced the mercenary with a friendly smile.

Lysandra acknowledged everyone with eye contact and a brief nod of her head, “Hello.”

Claudia raised a brow and turned to Saramas, “You want her to join us? A woman who looks every bit of criminal would scare the townspeople away? They’d crawl under their beds before a mercenary ever decided to help them. Mercenaries are out for themselves, Saramas. They kill for coin and that’s all their mind is set on. She is a hypocrite. What makes you think we can trust her?”

Saramas shook his head and Lysandra took this as an opportunity to introduce herself more formally and state her reason for coming.

“Some of you may know who I am, others may not. Hardly anyone speaks highly of me, though I let the dogs chew that out. I am Lysandra Ybanez, expert mercenary and smuggler, at your service. Saramas and I have been exchanging letters for a few months now. I’m well acquainted with what has happened for quite some time now, sadly and I came because a certain Nevarran has promised my companions and I great coin, should we find the source of these mysterious occurrences and stop whatever it is, immediately. He told me of Saramas and since then, Saramas and I have formed an alliance. My companions are mercenaries and smugglers like I am. We want to help and offer our services, as well as provide a fresh perspective on the ever changing situation in Sarona and perhaps outside of the village as well. We have eyes where you may not and will be more useful than not, I assure you,” Lysandra eyed Claudia with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

Claudia’s lips thinned, “Who would this “certain Nevarran” be?”

“Why, your king, of course,” Lysandra mused and scratched the bottom of her chin. “Authority gets desperate sometimes.”

“His Majesty is doing what he can to prevent further disappearances. I wouldn’t call it desperate. He’s taking the measures he deems appropriate,” Claudia responded haughtily. “I suppose we can’t dismiss you and your mercenary friends though, wherever they may be. You, especially since you’re under contract from the king. I pray that our nights are short and swift as the investigations are. We can’t have anyone wasting time aimlessly after we have much ground to cover.”



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VengefulPeanut

Awkward Joke Dispenser
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A little of column A and a little of column B. It depends on the RP.
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Yaoi, furry.
George Townsend
Somewhere amidst the buildings of Sarona Village


Trundling along down the battered, barely-cobbled path towards the village, the repetitive pitter-patter of his own footsteps had snowballed into enough of a monotonous din that George had begun contemplating chopping them off. It wasn't long back that the sound of birdsong reverberated from within the nestled brush of the trees, or the sound of other fauna rummaging about behind the leafy green curtains of Nevarra's countryside. Now, there was nothing. It was eerie at first, the void of noise other than his own breaths and footsteps. Now, it was simply annoying. George was hardly an expert on nature and the wild, however it was often a foreboding sign when every other living creature deemed it necessary to scarper from someplace. That fact alone begged the question: why was he headed further into the silence, meandering the battered road with a travel pack on his bag? The simple answer? He had nothing better to do. He had too long been a wanderer, ever since his escape from Ferelden. The cities were dangerous, the cities could have harboured enemies, which when viewed through that lens then the silence didn't seem too bad. However, the more complicated answer was he had been summoned by a recent acquaintance, the mercenary Lysandra, for some form of profitable endeavour. The money interested him but why she had decided to reach out to him interested him even more. She was a queer girl; confident and sly but with something not quite right about her. He couldn't place his finger on why she intrigued him the way she did but from their brief, prior encounter he hadn't been able to get the thought out of his mind that there was more to her than met the eye.

After a lengthy journey, George breathed a heavy sigh of relief before the ceaseless drumming of his own footsteps began dissolve amongst the ambience of the village. As he ventured further into the forest of farmer's abodes, the gut-wrenching feeling that something was off began to creep back in. People weren't going about their business as much as one would think, those who were looked solemn and glum. He could feel eyes falling upon him, suspicious, from all angles. Something terrible had happened in this village... what were the chances that he was about to find himself right in the middle of that trouble? Either way, he was here now. He was in the village. Alone. Unsure of why he was there and what he should be doing.

"Where in the name of Andraste's saggy tits would she be?" he muttered under his breath, allowing his travel pack to slump to the ground. Perhaps there was an inn in the village. If there was ever a place to find someone, inns were usually the place and they had the added benefit of offering ale as compensation for absent company. He just needed to find it. Looking about, he scanned his surroundings for someone, anyone, he could ask.
 

Verran

Illogical
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Nevarra, Sarona Village
Day 1



The man who could not fit in any world began signing in the Nevarran dialect. Flooding greetings, salutations, and self-introductions to the newcomer and welcoming her with a bright and cheery smile. His faceless helm hung at his side, a soft silver-grey with strange swirling designs around designed and chipped eye pieces. In fact, much of his armor was battered in some fashion, attesting to its years of war. Cahir asked he newcomer after her journey and expressed his hope that it was a pleasant one before sliding in a compliment about her appearance, something akin to saying that she had the most exquisite earrings and that she must tell Meysha, a friend, who did her tattoos.

Settling into business, he cocked his head ever so slightly. A stream of questions flew from his hands and body, inquiring Lysandra as to who her companions are and their current location as well as wondering why the events of the humble and delightful village of Sarona had attracted the attention of the Nevarran king. After all, considering the length of time that problems had been plaguing these border towns, it was strange for the king himself to take a sudden interest that was strong enough to hire foreign mercenaries. Surely, the local lord or lady would be far more akin to take action instead, yes? Still, he supposed a simple Grey Warden, such as himself, had little grasp to the minds it took to rule an entire nation.

Then, with little warning, he whirled to face his brusk companion. Switching to little known Grey Warden military hand signals, Cahir bluntly fired off, “stand down” and “keep with the mission” along with “stay focused.” Hoping that Claudia would pick up on the series of unsigned subtext that tried to get her to relax and let the king do as he willed so long as it didn’t interfere with the investigation. They were to confirm as to whether or not there was a Blight on the horizon and make certain word of it reached back to the Old Man. Not get overly aggressive at the hirelings of a king who could only legally remove them, the Grey Wardens, from the land. They’d still do their job regardless.

The young Fereldan man turned back to Lysandra and expressed, back in the Nevarran dialect, that he looked forward to working with her and hoped that they would be able to get to the bottom of this case.


Kat Kat VengefulPeanut VengefulPeanut The Dapper Mog The Dapper Mog Chile Chile Achilles Achilles Epiphany. Epiphany. Artorias Artorias Rook Rook TheDevil'sGame TheDevil'sGame
 

Achilles

his descent was like nightfall
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aggressive when I want to be, passive when I need to be.
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romance, historical, horror
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heavy sci-fi, overly fluffy slice of life
Eshalinev

Eshalinev liked Nevarra well enough. It was close to Tevinter -- geographically, anyways. And the climate was not terribly insufferable, either. Nev was quick to catch a chill, and he had learned the first time that he left his home country that the rest of Thedas was not as comfortable in that regard -- the sun felt stronger hovering over the lands of Tevinter, as if the magic that had flowed free there for generations had been lending its power, while the rest of the world kept their mages tamed. Nevarra was comfortable enough that the breeze did not feel like needles on the surface of Nev's skin, though, and so he was happy. No other place would ever warm him like home did, in any capacity, but he simply could not stand to be there now. A place like Nevarra, with its rich history and sophisticated culture, would be the best he could do for himself now. In comparison to places like Fereldan, it was heavenly, actually.

Most importantly, it seemed to be a region rich with opportunity for a young wandering scholar, second only to his beloved homeland. It was a strange and mysterious place to Nev, one where the mages were not kept quite as leashed as they were in other nations over the years. A country where mages were given the space to breathe felt the benefits of it, and there was much to learn about the ins and outs of magic in every corner and crevice of this land. He would make it to the major cities eventually, but Nev was starting with the countryside -- clans and rogue groups out in the wilderness, lonely farms, and little villages were full of knowledge that never reached civilization at large and were never recorded in books. On the contrary, there was nothing known to Nevarra City that was not known to his master's library back in Minrathous, as well. Here in Nevarra, Eshalinev did just what he did in every other location he'd explored since leaving home -- be a leaf, and let legends and rumors carry him like the wind.

That led him, eventually, to the area of Sarona. He wasn't even sure exactly what he was looking for -- which was often the case -- just that there was
something of interest to a man like him. So far, he had not been impressed, but he knew well enough at this point that that was meaningless. The most innocuous looking towns often had the most going on behind the scenes. Unsure of where to go first, Nev followed his number one rule of travel: when in doubt, ask an innkeeper or a merchant. He approached a rough looking lady selling miscellaneous bits and baubles out of a cart on the side of the road, offering a friendly wave of his hand.

"Greetings. I've heard there may be need of a...magic expert here." There needed to be a better title for what he was, Nev thought. "Would you know anything about that, by chance?" He'd learned to phrase his inquiries as offers of help, but it was never about that. He'd always help when he could, of course, but...that was always an afterthought. However, people were less likely to give him information if he admitted to that. Hello, show me all of your local secret magics just for the sake of my personal growth of knowledge didn't get him the best results, usually.

The woman snorted, looking him up and down. "Do you think it is wise to walk around dressed like this? Especially when you look like a malnourished child. You wouldn't stand a chance against a particularly strong gust of wind, let alone an armed thief."

Quintus used to joke that each of Nev's outfits cost him almost as much as the elf had himself, but that was the way he liked him to dress. He had never dropped the habit, despite the fact that travelling alone usually entailed making yourself less eye-catching. Physical strength aside, though, Nev knew he could hold his own against a common bandit. He tucked his jeweled hands in his cloak and ignored her. "Do you know anything or not?"

"How much for this? It's gold, yes?" The woman reached for the ring on a chain around his neck, and he quickly pulled his hand back out just to slap hers away.

"Do not touch. Do you know anything?" he repeated.

She seemed to grow annoyed, and started to wave him away. "No, no, I know nothing. If you aren't buying or selling, move on."

He sighed, rolling his eyes at her, but obeyed, turning away from her cart. The downside of asking merchants was that they were often just as stingy with their time as they were their money. He would just do this the harder way. Not wasting any time, he scanned the streets for another face, and immediately started towards the first person he set his eyes on. A human -- not especially helpful looking, as he seemed to be lost as well, but he would do. Nev approached him with an air of confidence, chin up and shoulders back (it helped counter his lack of height...or so he'd been told), and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hello. Do you know what's going on here? I'm here to help."




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Chile

Rate me Spicy
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The Road to Sarona
Paige and Moira


“Oi, my feet.”


As the dirt road through the forest begins to yield to a sporadic cobblestone path leading into a village just ahead, Moire paused next to a tree to rub a foot through her boot. Those golden eyes twinkled as she glanced up at her traveling companion. The greens and browns of her tunic and breeches blended in well with the woods but she stretched like someone who hasn’t spent much time on the road.


“You’re lovely company, Paige, truly. Wouldn’t trade you for a Royal Sovereign. But I literally can’t remember the last time I walked this much. Well...like this, anyway. Maybe next time I can talk you into letting me be a Halla and giving you a ride, if you’re fine with anyone we meet thinking you’re Dalish.”


Paige wrinkled her nose and paused on the road, giving a brief moment to consider the bottom of her feet. If it meant saving her soles, she wouldn’t mind being mistaken for a Dalish. She giggled. “Well I hope you take this as a compliment, but I wouldn’t trade you for anything less than three soveriegns.” She grinned at her road mate, her eyes gleaming devilishly.

“People wouldn’t think I’m Dalish.” She responded after some more consideration of her feet. “Wouldn’t I need the…,” she gestured at her face in a large circular sweep, “you know. Stuff. That you have on your face. Those markings?” Paige’s conception of the Dalish was very limited, but it involved face markings, shaming humans, and flying carts.



For her part, Moire preened at the coinage Paige suggested. Then she looked briefly confused at the other elf’s sweep of the hands before making the connection. “Oh, you mean the Vallaslin? You might be right.”


The Dalish Mage rubbed her chin thoughtfully, then chuckled to herself. “Assuming shemlen could even tell the difference. It’s hard to know sometimes what they don’t know. I would think a human would see an elf out in the woods on back of a Halla and think ‘Look at that, a Dalish’ just because you almost never see an elf out in the woods who doesn’t have the Vallaslin. But then, I’m not a human.” She paused. “At least, I haven’t been. I wonder if I could be? There’s a shape that might be fun to play around.”



Paige’s stomach tumbled unhappily at the thought of Moira changing into human shapes. That just seemed… wrong. It reminded her of tales of demons clawing their way into the world by assuming the shape of a human. She shuddered. When her companion wasn’t looking, she inspected Moira more closely. They had similar shapes, the same type of ears, the same ancestors. It occurred to Paige thought that while they shared some things, they were worlds apart. And then it also occured to Paige that she didn’t know what a Halla was.

“What’s a Halla?” She’d only heard stories of noble stags who were companion to the Dalish, but she’d never actually seen one before.



Moire peered back at Paige, evidently taking the other elf’s inspection as curiosity over the Halla. At last deciding that was it, the Dalish rose to her feet, stretched...and then a swirl of golden light surrounds her, the same liquid amber of Moire’s eyes. And a moment later, a Halla stood before Paige. Brilliantly white, elegant in stance, with graceful horns from her head, the Halla was a magnificent creature.


For all of a moment. Then the white coat gave way to sunlight and the Dalish elf stood before Paige once more. “They’re our friends, they are. The Halla. I’ll give you a ride next time. But speaking of friends,” Moire swept her hand towards the village and said “Sarona awaits. Hopefully.” She frowned briefly as she stared in the direction of the village. “I mean, of course Sarona awaits and of course that’s a village ahead and I think they’re one and the same but-”


She scratched the back of her head a bit sheepishly and shrugged. “It’s been a year or two since I last came here and I was a bird then. So!” Moire brought her hands in an excited clap. “Let’s look at the shops. Tariq ran a shop, I think. I wonder what she sells? Do you like shops? ...Did I remember to get any money?”


Patting her pockets, Moire heard a jingling sound and looked pleased before suddenly glancing back at Paige and looking sheepish. “Sorry, am I rambling? I do that sometimes.” All the time, actually, if the trip here was anything to judge by.


~


Her feet rested, Moire and Paige pressed on into the village proper. As communities in Nevarra went, it wasn’t particularly unusual. Wooden beams framed plaster-covered walls and braced overhangs made up of thatch like the rest of the roof. White rock polished smooth by aeons of wind and rain formed a foundation and further bracing for those walls. Cottages dotted the open field that comprised the village of Sarona, clustered in groups which were probably organized by units of extended family.


The rich smells of forest and fresh air were joined by ever-present smoke from fires meant for cooking and heating. A tannery’s unpleasant odors were thankfully on the other end of the village, kept downwind from the prevailing breezes by some wise planner decades ago. Amid the small forest of cottages, a central ‘business’ lane was evident judging by a line of somewhat larger buildings. A traveler’s inn overlooked the town’s main drinking hole. A mayor or magistrate’s residence stood nearby, followed by what looked like a spaciously built general store.


“Hasn’t changed much,” Moire observed, walking along the well-worn path into town, her staff more of a walking stick on a trek like this. “If Tariq’s Mortalitasi husband is out somewhere, he shouldn’t be hard to find. It’s not that big, after all. Well…” she paused and wrinkled her nose in thought. “At least not by shemlen standards.”


~


“Let’s go check out the store, see if she’s in!” As Moire led the way into town, though, they came across a well-formed blonde man looking a bit lost. The Dalish Mage cast a curious look at the warrior as they passed and ended up staring long enough to run into a wooden support beam for a nearby porch.


“Dirthara-ma!” Rubbing her nose, Moire turns and tries a bit uselessly to recapture her dignity. “Sorry,” she said in George’s direction, making an earnestly apologetic expression. “You’re pretty. Stop. I didn’t just say you were pretty, did I? ...Did I just say it again? This must be what my Keeper, Marethari, told me about. What did she call it?” Squinting her eyes shut, Moire suddenly brightened and said, “Right. No inner monologue.”


Paige palmed her face. Hard. So hard that she left a faint handprint that was blossoming pink from her cheek to her forehead. She was keenly aware that the distance between Moire’s thoughts and her mouth was razor thin, but now she realized that there was never any distance at all. It was more like a direct pipeline.

Paige cringed and tried to cling to any shadows she could, hoping her companion would forget about her until she could slip inside the store. But it was too late.



“Did I introduce myself?” she asked a second later, not giving George a chance to get a word in edgewise. “I’m Moire. Moire Sehari, if you know my family. Which, of course, you don’t. Why would you? They’re leagues away. I think. I mean, they were the last time I saw them but I suppose it’s poss-I’m rambling aren’t I? Sorry. This is--”


“Isseya,” she interrupted, stepping out of the shadows without missing a beat, casting a quick wink to her companion, “Isseya Revas, at your service ser.” Paige gave a curt bow that dipped just deep enough to be considered polite, as an elf should be when addressing a human. She hoped Moire would forgive her for lying about her name. Elves typically didn’t trust most humans. Paige didn’t really trust anyone. Except for Moire. It was hard not to have faith in someone so earnest.

Paige also desperately hoped that Moire would get the hint.

It was also at this moment that their small tangled mess for an introduction was just as abruptly, and simultaneously joined by another-- an elf. A Vint. Paige scowled mentally, but kept her passive, looking every bit the polite city elf she should be. He was pale and small, but wore gaudy dress. She was used to colorful characters, but something about him was off putting. She couldn’t describe it. Maybe it was just her imagination.

Or maybe Paige didn’t get this far by not trusting her gut.

Epiphany. Epiphany. VengefulPeanut VengefulPeanut Achilles Achilles
 

VengefulPeanut

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George Townsend
Somewhere amidst the buildings of Sarona Village

Interactions: Paige, Moire, Nev ( Achilles Achilles Epiphany. Epiphany. Chile Chile )

What was the saying in Ferelden? When waiting for a merchant caravan you'll wait for weeks and then all of them will come at once? It was something along those lines, anyway, or so George thought as one of the most sprightly elves imaginable seemed to manifest as if out of thin air, her companion in tow. Their complexions certainly contrasted the dour faces that dotted the village and the practically jovial attitude of the Dalish-marked girl seemed it might be enough to accommodate for even a thousand years of bad luck. That was before even mentioning the frankly adorable yet somewhat bizarre introduction to the scene she had.

As Moire rambled at him, George's mouth opened and closed several times, short bursts of sound escaping before being swiftly silenced by the continued flurry of sentences he was lambasted with. There was of course the occasional fully-formed word which found liberation in making it to the wide open world: the occasional "I'm" and the ever-rare "Are", all silenced before they could come to fruition as part of a larger sentence of any sort of meaning. Thankfully, it seemed the girl's lungs did indeed have a limit and introductions were finally made between the three. George wrestled to suppress a sigh of relief, choosing instead to take the time he had, while he had it, to actually offer a response.

"I'm George. A pleasure to meet you both," he said, a small smile licking up at the corner of his lips as 'Isseya' bowed before him. He offered a bow in return, ensuring to bow even deeper than she had. While she was an elf and he was a human, his past alone was evidence enough that he didn't put much stock in those power dynamics. Besides, as adorably flustered as the Dalish girl beside her seemed, there were plenty of rumours about the tenacity and ferocity of the Dalish elves. He didn't want to find out if they were true. At least not in any sort of violent manner.

He opened his mouth again to speak once more, intending to utter out his question in regard to the location of the inn, when yet another elf joined the fray. When it rains, it pours, George contemplated as he briefly eyed the newcomer. A rather feeble looking creature but with an air of some form of forced confidence and an interesting fashion-sense to boot. This job was certainly shaping up to be interesting... if not fatally so. At the man's...? Boy's...? At the elf's admission of wanting to assist, it seemed George might finally be getting somewhere in terms of figuring out what in Andraste's name was happening.

"Help?" George asked, raising a brow at Nev. "So, there is something going on after all. I've got to admit, you seem more clued-in on the goings on than I do." His eyes fell momentarily back to the girls as he picked up his travel pack. "Well, you all seem to have an abundance of more life than most other people in the village. How about a drink in the tavern? I'm sure someone there will be able to answer more." He flashed a wolfish grin towards Moire. "Besides, it would be remiss of me to not offer a pretty girl a drink and a compliment." He didn't need to flirt but something about her flustered behaviour made it seem like it would be fun... so long as he played it safe, at least. On the topic of the inn, however, while he likely didn't need the group, a human walking in to a Nevarran tavern with a trio of elves sounded like it could be the start of a grand story one day.
 

The Dapper Mog

Edgepeasant
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Rahmas Kedogheist

Rahmas' morning had been difficult. It wasn't long ago that the worst battle of this incursion has occurred, and his beloved had fallen ill. He had woken again to an empty bed. There was no smell of food from downstairs, no singing echoing throughout the house, no warmth to the house, and it all came down to a lack of a home. His eyes were sunken from a lack of sleep, gaze constantly faltering as if searching for something that just wasn't there. When his new companions brought him into the fold of the wardens, he couldn't say no. Even if he had wanted to, really, thanks to the rite of conscription. Now here he was, standing in a room with strangers, discussing something that could mean the end of the world. But, the truth was, he couldn't care less about the end of the world. Right now, his suffering was at the forefront, and his rage was boiling in his core. These creatures had come and ripped away his world, and he would see to it that they all suffer.

Ripped from his growing anger, Rahmas glanced over to the door, finally noticing not only the rapping upon the door, but the speaking around him. Rahmas cursed himself. Never before had he been one to lose himself in his head and not be aware of what was going on around him. Lately, however, he's been leaving his body behind metaphorically, trapping himself in his grief. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't push through his pain yet. He groaned inwardly as the door opened, and the woman entered and introduced herself.

Rahmas didn't have a problem with mercenaries. After all, even the messy jobs need to be done, being a person whom needs to tend to the dead, he understood that someone has to handle the bloodied aspects of daily life. And killing for coin was only a single aspect of their profession. Nonetheless, these views were common, and he could barely bring himself to speak.

"Times like this don't provide the luxury of choice, I'm afraid. And considering the madness I've seen of late, we can scarcely turn aside any offers of assistance. These...monsters must be put down. No matter the cost."

Rahmas' expression turned bitter, his face shifting into pained fury. It only lasted a moment before his expression softened back into his vacant stillness, his almost abnormal light blue eyes scanning the faces of the people around him. He cleared his throat.

"At any rate, I am ready and able to aid you how I can. As I am certain our mercenary comrades are. Motivations mean little."
 

Epiphany.

Behind Your Chair
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Moire Sehari

The name Paige gave the human wasn't the right name. It wasn't the right name, right? Or was Paige not the right name? Did she even know the real name of this streetwise, clever young elf girl? More importantly, was she saying this all out loud?

Evidently not, given neither her companion nor George or the newly arrived elf were giving her funny looks. ...Well, at least not any funnier than the way George had looked at her while stumbled through her introductions but some things couldn't be helped. Speaking of things that couldn't be helped, the newly arrived elf looked interesting! At least his costuming was. All elegant and fashionable, or at least she'd seen other people wear things like that and she thought the words others used were elegant and fashionable. For her part, all shemlen fashions looked a bit silly to her. And it was hard to imagine that outfit was anything but shemlen.

Then George made his offer. "A drink in the tavern? I suppose that's-" And then George's last statement registered and Moire found her mouth trying to form words and doing a pretty ineffectual job of it. "With me?" The Dalish Mage actually turned around to look behind her, to make sure she's who he meant. "Right. Well. No one's ever...well, I mean, not lately. A drink! We could have a drink. Together. Only we're looking for someone," she hastily added, her brain finally catching up with her mouth. "My friend and I, that's why we came here. But I suppose a tavern's as good a place as any to ask for directions."

Moire turned to Paige and silently lifted her eyebrows speculatively.
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When George bowed even deeper than she had anticipated, Paige's expression turned slightly quizzical. No human bowed to an elf like that unless they'd believed them equal, and no human believed they the equal to lowly elves unless they had come to know them somehow. Before the crown of his head was lifted back to a neutral position, her expression quickly faded. Paige was good at hiding her expressions, and now she was smiling the nervous smile of a new acquaintance, one that buzzed with excitement and prospect. Mentally her expression was still crooked. She was suspicious still--of this man--but curious as well.

Moire fumbled with her words and a nervous twitch shuddered down the length of Paige's arm and into her hand, a forced repression of a muscle spasm that would've caused Paige to palm her own face--again--with a force entirely not helpful for her complexion (especially now that the previous mark was beginning to fade). With her hand restrained Paige finally got around to looking at her new elven friend. Sure, she'd seen her before, but the gaze of the handsome blonde man cast her in a new light. Paige hadn't seen anyone look at Moire as if she was beautiful, so it didn't occur to Paige to look at her that way as well. But she was.

It was an easy beauty. Not the kind you find in the miller's daughter who is plain and pretty enough to wed to a merchant or a soldier. Nor is it the kind you find in the highborn courts of Orlais, to those who are expected to be full of grace and poise. It was the beauty of someone who was irresponsibly herself, and couldn't pretend to be otherwise. Which was a neat trick for a shape-shifter.

When Moire looked at Paige, she shrugged with that same smile she was only half-faking. "As long as he is paying." Paige said with a tilt of her head towards George. "Unfortunately I don't have the coin." A lie.

She cocked her head towards the scrawny elf in over sized robes, a slight grin playing about her lips. "There's a rule that I have that I won't drink with anyone who hasn't properly introduced themselves," the truth, but also a bit of fun, "Do you have a name? Or should I call you 'Here to help'?"

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Achilles

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Eshalinev

Nev had complicated feelings about humans. He'd loved and trusted one of them more than any elf he'd ever met, but he was also quite aware of their penchant for brutality and the power they held that allowed them to practice it against people like him almost with impunity. Quintus had always made sure he understood that -- to steer clear of humans when his master was not with him, and to keep up a certain level of suspicion when speaking to them. He'd also driven one particular fact into him time and time again -- how beautiful elves were, how desirable, how difficult it was for humans to resist them. Your beauty is your greatest strength as a race, Eshalinev. Do not let it be your weakness. It often came as a warning -- if they were to go out in public with less-than-desirable company, or if he was bringing around a particularly aggressive colleague. Just as often, it came as an apology for his own behavior. Either way, he understood what that meant. So when the human suggested a drink alongside an obvious flirtation aimed at one of the women, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man, now entirely determined to go wherever this group was going, though he did not say anything.

"I don't know much. Only rumors. But if you're looking for answers as well, then perhaps we can help each other." He turned to the women then, smiling ever-so-slightly in what he hoped was a friendly manner. Anyone could be a threat, of course, but he was slightly more comfortable in the company of other elves ever since he'd found himself on his own, despite the fact that one of them appeared to be Dalish. He did not feel like he had much in common with them, though he found them fascinating -- their unique use of magic, their language, and most of all, their refusal to submit to human rule.

"Ah, yes, I suppose. My name is Eshalinev." After a pause, he reluctantly added, "Nev, if it's easier. I know it's a bit much." The name Quintus had given him was beautiful, in his opinion, but some people had difficulty with it. And he had been told once that it was not even a real elven name, though he wasn't sure about that. "Humans in Tevinter have a thing for ridiculous exotic-sounding elven names, I'm afraid." He gave a small smile again, if only to indicate that it was a joke. Sort of. It was actually kind of the truth. He wasn't very good at jokes.

"A tavern sounds excellent. Usually a good source of information. I already tried the merchant lady over there. Nothing at all." With that, he briefly leaned in towards Moire, lowering his voice considerably. "Do not leave your drink unattended around him. And stay close to your friend." He gestured subtly towards George. He hoped he didn't alarm her, but one could never be too cautious around humans.



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George Townsend
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Interactions: Paige, Moire, Nev ( Achilles Achilles Epiphany. Epiphany. Chile Chile )

Moire's reaction was everything he was hoping it would be. His wolfish grin moulded into one of boyish delight as she flustered before him. Perhaps it was cruel, putting her in such a position but it was delightfully entertaining. Besides, she seemed to enjoy the compliment. Surely bringing some form of smile to the joy-forsaken village was something to be proud of. As she looked to her companion, so did George only the words that fell from the second girl's lips weren't quite as joyous to receive. He'd sized her up the moment she arrived onto the scene, of course. Young yet conservatively dressed, youthful yet bearing eyes well beyond her years... 'Isseya' was certainly not the naive little thing that one might assume. There was no doubt the folds of her clothes contained coin... and concealed weaponry. A girl of her stature wouldn't travel without either. Still, he wouldn't press the issue. That wouldn't get him what he wanted and a drink for information was a small price to pay.

"Right!" he announced, after Nev's agreement to the tavern idea. "Let's be off in search of the tavern then." Despite his loud announcement and his pivoting towards the opposite direction, George's eyes caught onto the skinny elf leaning in towards the Dalish. Periphery vision was a marvelous thing. It was most likely harmless but assumptions led to early demises and he was a still yet to find Lysandra. Slinging his pack over his back with one hand, his other hand fell to the pommel of the sword which hung from his hip. With a brief sigh, he began to walk in the opposite direction to that which he arrived from. Surely the tavern would have a sign hanging from it. It was usually in their interest to be easy to spot.
 

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Moire Sehari

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Moire appeared to remain entirely oblivious to Paige's reaction, which given their trip here wasn't surprising in the least. The whimsical shapechanger seemed to lack any ability to detect deception, although a few passing remarks about biting bandits in half suggested she had a lethal side as well. The open, inquisitive look Moire gave off now as she looked at her elven partner held curiosity and a bit of flustering that came from being flattered.

Paige's cautious acceptance resulted in a beaming smile. And although George had made the offer, Paige remained the one Moire walked close to. Loyalty, even as shallow as the length of a single journey, evidently meant something to her.

Achilles Achilles
Nev's smile was accepted for what it seemed to be. Moire brightened further at the mention of the Elven Mage's name. "I don't know that Eshalinev is ridiculous, exactly. Just uncommon. I've never met an Eshalinev before. It means..." She paused, frowned, and worked it out with her lips and her mind at the same time. "Let's see, esha’lin means child. Ev is trickier. Linev? Or possibly just Nev. Like evune? Esha'lin evune? Child of the moon perhaps?"

Moire's contemplative look faded and a shyer smile made its appearance. "If you're named for the moon, Nev, it's a fine name you can be proud of."

His final warning caused those golden eyes to open up wide. Then she nodded wordlessly.

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George still seemed friendly so Moire stepped up to take the lead, with a quick glance back at Paige to make sure the other elf girl was near. "Right. Last time I was in Sarona, we had...what was it, the Prancing Pony? I think that was the tavern I saw. If it's where I remember, we'll go-" at which point Moire noticed George already walking and she quickly caught up. "Oh, so you've been? I think this is the way there."
 
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Epiphany.

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It was not the Prancing Pony.

The Last Respite had been a cornerstone of the village of Sarona for most of a century, possibly longer. Local lore suggested it predated the community itself, or at least an older version had stood on older foundations. Whatever the truth, it did lie at the heart of Sarona along a road that'd become the main lane into town. Other businesses and homes spiraled out from it, making the Last Respite the one place no one had to walk far to get to.

Built for less traffic, the tavern and inn did booming business in recent years and meal-times could be at risk of standing-room only. As the travelers approached the Last Respite, though, there was no line in evidence for a change. Its walls were wood planks, a little seasoned with age but recently touched up with finish to seal it against Nevarra's inclement weather. An old stable reflects an older time when the tavern catered more to travelers and merchants passing by. Now, the village has done well enough that most of its customers are locals, the old stable's been turned into an extended beer garden and visitors from outside the village have their horses or carriages cared for in a neighboring stable that'd plainly been a home once before being bought out and converted.

Despite its cheery exterior, the inside is a bit less welcoming. It might be the mood of the crowd, though. Sarona is far enough off the beaten path that its furnishings are nothing particularly fancy. The stone-braced fireplace is well-built and provides ample heating for the room, though between the usual number of bodies and the attached kitchens, staying warm is rarely much of an issue.

Well built on the inside, from the walls to the roof and the sturdy fireplace, only the tables, benches and floor look rough. They also look new. Perhaps a local disaster recently, a fire or something rendered the existing furniture and flooring unsuitable for use, hence the hasty repair job? A little strange that the place didn't close entirely while being refurbished from whatever had done the damage. But then, it's possible the owners had settled for a quick 'good enough' job to get the tavern reopened for business, with the intent of waiting until the winter season when traffic's slower to do a more thorough repair.

This time of year, this place should be very busy. But there's surprisingly few villagers in evidence today. Those that are seem glum, worn-out or even depressed over their mugs of ale or a bowl of stew from the kitchens. Even the proprietor of the establishment seems a bit down in the mouth, seeing as he's an unsmiling stocky man clad in an apron over a leather vest whose bare arms show at least some of his rotund build is muscle. Balding and bearded, his eyes narrow at the unfamiliar faces before he beckoned them with a broad hand to one of the empty tables.

"Not many travelers lately," he commented idly as the human and three elves decided what they wanted to do. "If you're wanting rooms, it's a ten silver for the common loft. A sovereign for a private room, two if you want the suite. Another ten silver for stabling, includes grain, hay, grooming and safe storage for your tack. If you're wanting food, a silver gets you a bowl of stew, a half-loaf, cheese and a mug of our house beer. Two if you want the special; today it's roast beef, mushrooms, bread and a cook's pastry. Beer's ten copper a mug or forty if you want a flagon."
 
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A Need for Peace

The truth was spoken. These monsters needed to be put down and they couldn’t afford to turn down any offer to help. Saramas nodded in acknowledgement to Rahmas’ statement. The man had been through too much in so little time. At one point, the magistrate had realized that continuing to apologize and offer his condolences would not do the young man any good. Rahmas was filled with a need to seek vengeance for his wife and while Saramas would never understand what the man was truly going through, he understood grief was not to be taken lightly and that shone through his determination to follow through with becoming a grey warden.

“Yes, of course,” Claudia responded. “You are both right, Rahmas. Cahir. We cannot turn down any assistance if we want to destroy these monsters. We must stay focused on the task at hand.”

“I’m sorry I could not give you all more cohesive findings. We truly have no idea what’s going on… It is a hopeless situation to many,” Saramas sighed and scratched his bald head. “Here is a comprehensive list of those who were sent on the search party, the parents’ names, and the swordsmith that Callum apprenticed under. Perhaps someone out of this list will have more accomodating information than I can give out. Be cautious out there. We don’t know when another occurrence may happen.”

The senior warden gave a once over at the list handed to her, nodded in acknowledgement to Saramas’ conclusive message, and glanced over at Lysandra who’d been entertaining Cahir with information on her companions Argal and George, but not of the exact reason why the King himself sent a band of mercenaries to investigate their poor village near Perendale.

“As far as the king and his interest in this village,” Lysandra began as a heavy sigh left her lips. “He stated that he cared deeply for his people and would not wish any illness or death upon them, as tragic as it has been for Sarona. His tone sounded suspicious if you ask me, but my companions and I can never turn down a division of sovereigns, so they were invited to join me.”

Lysandra rested her hands on her hips and Claudia folded up the list from Saramas before tucking it away on her person.

“I say we discuss this while we investigate. There doesn’t seem to be much that we can follow, honestly. I can say, however, that there is always one or two people, perhaps even three, that haven’t shared their full story. People lie to get by and it’s the lies that bring us closer to where we’d like to be. It doesn’t matter if they’re frightened or simply content with what has happened. Truth is vital and there has to be something other than trying to follow a cold trail.”

“Please don’t torture the villagers, if that is your intention, mercenary,” Claudia’s voice was skeptical. Lysandra smiled at the woman; she had a way with being wary about her.

“It’s not my intention. That depends on whether or not we find what we’re looking for. As Rahmas said, motivations mean little. If you want to find out what happened, we must sometimes cross a gray line to get to that place of peace. I say we head over to the tavern first. Shady figures lurk in the corners of the booths in the back.”

“Not in this town,” Claudia responded gruffly and gestured for Rahmas and Cahir to follow her, but not without giving the mercenary in the room a verbal threat first, “Don’t touch the villagers or you’ll answer to me.”

“Cheeky, I like it. I think we’ll get along just fine,” Lysandra grinned at Claudia before glancing over at Rahmas, “You are justified in how you feel, I can tell you that. Losing someone… is not easy.”

The mercenary left her words at that, mysteriously so, and glanced over at Cahir as the three left the magistrates building in search of the first person on their list; the swordsmith that Callum apprenticed under; Declan Everfield.

“Declan is an avid drinker when he’s washing away his sorrows,” Claudia stated. “He had an extremely tight knit relationship with Callum. Tavern is certainly our best bet. Maybe we’ll find your other companions there as well.”

Lysandra nodded, “I do want to say that I wouldn’t call them companions necessarily. I barely know any of them. They’re just here for the coin, just as I am, I’m certain. How do we intend to interact with well… Cahir? Is that how you say his name?”

“Cah-Heer,” Claudia corrected as she set her eyes on the tavern just a couple blocks down or so. “And I will be translating for our journey to find out if this is the start of another Blight or not, as I have been. It helps to have someone who’s been around him long enough to know the language he speaks.”

Another blight…

The thought of another one sounded long winded to Lysandra, but then again, she had personally never experienced one. Surely, this situation was just another war stewing between nations? There was mass tension, but nothing prominent enough to send out forces fully fledged in armor. They would all learn in due time, of course, but for now, the tavern. Hopefully, Declan was as handsome as he sounded. She could talk to him, if it came down to needing a different approach.
 

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Paige cast wide glances over her shoulder as they entered the tavern, giving each stare from any local a glare in return, until all lingering eyes flitted away like scared barn animals. Then, as she sat next to Moira at their table, she spread her legs wide and put an elbow on the table, her other hand lingering at her side. She drummed her fingers on the hard wood as the proprietor of the establishment recited the menu. She drummed to the tune of a poop slinging folk song that she used to sing back in her stable days. The trainers and riders didn't like it when the elves sang, so she got used to drumming her fingers on the wooden shaft of her pitchfork. The habit stuck since.

Her drumming increased in tempo as Paige sighed impatiently. The owner took longer than she would have liked, and his delivery was that of an executioner felling his axe. "I'll have some whisky." She said, not caring whether it was on the menu or not. Every tap room in Thedas should have whisky, somewhere, whether hidden away in a bottle or behind the bar in a barrel. Whisky was everywhere. A lot like the Maker. "On him." She added with a nod at George, when the innkeeper's eyes lingered longer than what was comfortable.

As Paige took in the room she noticed a few things. She knew Nevarra. This place wasn't right. Her fingers stopped their drumming.

"Something bad's happened." Paige announced loudly while looking at the innkeeper. His eyes fixed back onto her like two heavy stones. He didn't respond. She raised an eyebrow and gestured at the taproom. "A late day like this, should at least be a group of old ladies somewhere talkin' hearsay, or a group of farmer's getting together for a story and a flagon of beer. There's not one other place of entertainment around for miles, but I don't see any wicked grace or dice. There isn't even music." The innkeeper's mouth pursed into a hard line, his jaw muscles moving ponderously underneath his skin.

"I'm right." She whispered. Her eyes softened as she leaned back in her seat. Then she shrugged, pulled out a dagger and began to pointedly clean her nails. "Just a whisky please. All on him,." She nodded at George again.

She was right. But she wished she wasn't. She wondered idly if Moire and her would ever find that Golden City.
 

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A frown lanced across the young man’s face at Rahmas’ words. Thoughts flashed across his mind, calmed with an unspoken whisper, urging him to focus upon the use of the words and deal with the shadows within them in time. In time. Time was, after all, against them for the moment and there would be little to gain by disputing the point at this moment in time; until the flow of time returned to their favor. Wondering for the umpteenth time where she got all this from, to which the same confusion percolated back. Honest as ever, though he doubt he could spot a lie within her. He wondered how much the same extended in return before simply signing his partial agreement with Rahmas and reinforcing his own statements. That, they couldn’t turn aside offers of assistance and, recovering his cheery face, concluding that Rahmas ought to certainly be ready to aide by now. That it had be, what, three weeks since he joined up. Best to step lively and get saving people.

Cahir rolled his eyes as the conversation turned to him. Namely in how to treat the mute man. Signing his perfect capability to getting into trouble without an escort as with, Cahir quietly expressed his displeasure at being treated as secondary baggage or as if both his eyes and ears were not working perfectly fine.

For over ten years he had been a Grey Warden. Summing up to twelve years of duty across both Fereldan and Nevarra along with jaunts into the Deep Roads had done little to nothing to convince people that he could get along within society just fine without being escorted by a translator. Not that he didn’t understand and could even sympathize. What did one do with someone who spoke in a manner that was hardly understood by most of the population? Especially when writing itself was known only to those who either had to learn it or could afford to. The answer was, to some degree, an escort. Someone had to be with him so that people could understand him, to some specific degree. Cahir understood that, yes, but it still annoyed him when it was compounded with the treatment.

It was with these last feelings that he strode ahead pushed open the tavern door and immediately guessed at potential other members of Lysandra’s party. They were, after all, the ones who absolutely clashed with their surrounding environment. Each dressed in ranges of practicality and outright ostentatious apparel, at least by Cahir’s standards, along with a scattering of visible arms and armor made the huddle of figures stick out as the few standing wheat stalks at the end of a harvest. He raised an amused eyebrow and turned back to his companions, holding the door, he bowed and used the action to gesture towards to almost bizarre collection individuals. The question was obvious, the answer, already guessed, was within his bright smile.
 
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George Townsend
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Interactions: Paige, Moire, Nev ( Achilles Achilles Epiphany. Epiphany. Chile Chile )

Delving into the candle-lit halls of Sarona's tavern was akin to diving head-first into a pool of shit: everyone would look at you funny and you'd get the impression that you were no longer welcome... that's without mentioning the uncomfortable smell. Most would also call you insane. In truth, George had expected such a reaction upon entering with his merry band of elves in tow but this was different. There was no jaunty music, no laughter and not even a local pervert leering at the busty barmaid. It was alive... yet somehow dead.

"Just like the rest of the village," he hummed to himself, lowly. A momentary frown gracing his brow, he took the opportunity to scan the room for any noticeable threats. When his eyes fell on the bartender, he joined his companions in heading for the indicated table and settled himself into the cold comfort of one of the chairs.

Paige seemed to offer her order first, responding to the gentleman and sniping George's initiative. No matter. Sometimes you could learn a lot more as a silent observer than you could prying for information yourself. He only had two priorities: find Lysandra and find out what was going on. Anything else could- did she just order a whisky? George's eyebrows raised at the young girl, part in shock and part in admiration. So much for information coming cheap. As the bartender's gaze fell upon him, however, he swiftly corrected his expression to one of cool confidence. He offered a deep nod and a warm smile, not wanting to break composure. It stung at the time, true. Fortunately, revenge could always be enacted at a later date, recompense for his lost silver.

George began to incline his head towards his other pointy-eared companions when Paige spoke again, drawing his attention back towards her. It seemed the girl might have earned her whisky after all. George's brow furrowed involuntarily as his gaze now fixated upon the bartender, eager to hear the man's answer to her grilling. Alas, just short of delivering the finishing blow, Paige returned to the topic of the whisky and, once more, George returned to his charade of idle pleasantness as the bartender's eyes fell in his direction.

"A flagon of ale. Your best," George spoke, looking briefly to Nev and then back to the innkeeper. "Two mugs with that, please, my good man. And..." The final figure on which his eyes would fall would be Moire. Indeed, he had promised her a drink but he'd swiftly learned his lesson. No room for allowing choice lest he wish to be robbed in broad daylight. Before he could proceed on with his order, however, a curious figure had presented himself in the entryway of the tavern. George didn't avert his gaze from Moire but eyed the man in his periphery. It seemed more people would enter the tavern, a sight he certainly wished to behold. Yet, he had been staring for too long. There was only so long one could profess to be admiring someone's beauty before it became creepy. Exhaling through his nose, his cocked his lips into a handsome smile which beamed at Moire before his sapphire eyes fell back upon the innkeep who had waited with an admirable patience. "A wine for the lady. Red. One as sweet as the angel who will drink it."

He nodded to innkeeper as if to dismiss the man before looking among his companions yet he remained eager to return his attentions to the newcomers.
 

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Saar Shokrakar
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Kat Kat , VengefulPeanut VengefulPeanut , Verran Verran , Chile Chile , Epiphany. Epiphany. , Achilles Achilles , The Dapper Mog The Dapper Mog


“What happened to the boy?”


The words rushed from her lips as they clashed with the man’s ears. Her eyes remained firm as she ignored his empty jug that lay empty upon the table. The smell of alcohol wafted from the container as she noticed his concentration beginning to flutter.


Her patience was growing thin.


A heavy cloak hung from her shoulders as her towering figure was enshrouded by the cloth. Her head was hooded but the formation of horns were hard to hide. Ash carefully covered her skin as it did little to hide her Vitaar. ‘Poison armor’ was what the Qun would call it. A mysterious poison that could make Tal-Vashoth's skin as hard as iron. Though, no races could do the same as it would kill any others outside of those that originated from the Qun.


“His family is beginning to blame me for his disappearance and this is something I cannot allow. If you are a weapon smith you are surely someone who can wield a sword, are you not? Do something about this event instead of wallowing in your pity.” Her voice was rough as she demanded an answer from the man before her. She could not run from this as it would only expose her more to those that wished to kill her. She needed to find a solution to this, and fast. If she had to fight the demons to do so, she would. She hardly expected them to be any worse than the 'demons' she encountered.


She eventually sighed as she tried to control her anger. Pulling herself away as she tried not to cause a scene. Noticing others eyes upon them as she shook her head. Finally returning her gaze towards Declan. “If you cannot do something about this then I certainly will. Your student deserves more than this.” She battered his empty mug as she awaited a response. But before Declan could answer her, the doors began to open. Saar’s eyes wandered to meet those that entered. Observing the trio that walked into the bar.


Two small women entered the bar. Their height was the immediate first thing she noticed as she looked upon the pair curiously. She couldn’t be frightened by such small things but as she noticed the reaction of others she chose to look away. Soft drumming began to fill the room as one of the pair began to order their drinks. This began to grate on her mind as suddenly one of the two began to speak up again.


"Something bad's happened. A late day like this, should at least be a group of old ladies somewhere talkin' hearsay, or a group of farmers getting together for a story and a flagon of beer. There's not one other place of entertainment around for miles, but I don't see any wicked grace or dice. There isn't even music."


She almost didn’t notice the man they were with as she was taken aback by this and worried that such a mistake could cost her as she began to look upon him. He appeared handsome and seemed at least sane despite the group he was with. He didn’t seem to be of any particular trouble. Though there was little doubt any of the four didn’t have concealed weapons. Even more so, she wondered what had brought such a strange menagerie of company to this one specific spot.


Declan ran his hand through his hair and looked the other way as the strange woman observed the newcomers. She seemed much more intent on staring at the travelers than talking, so he took another swig from his second flagon and ordered a third one from the comfort of his seat.


“You must be a monster, if Callum’s parents believe you to be so. We don’t see your kind around here that often, so it’s disturbing he’d pester you for whatever reasons he had to approach a stranger.”


The words stung as she listened to the man. Hearing such terms used against her brought a variety of memories back into her mind. It was something the Qun had spoken of and something she apparently was. She gripped the table as her fingers began to crack into the table before she noticed a beautifully fatal woman. She didn't need to look long as she could feel this person's desire to enter perilous situations. The next she spotted was a heavily armored man who wore a curious mask upon his face. She didn’t feel comfortable having another as armored as she was. Though the final person was the most extravagant of the group. Such an odd mixture of a ragtag group. They were certainly not here for merely a drink. She kept aware of them but decided to continue her conversation. She wouldn't believe they would be hunting her and if they were, she would assuredly take some of them with her.


“I am no monster, Declan. Though you may be in luck. They may be here to aid you. If so, speak to them but at least give me the information. I will do what I must to deal with this. You at least owe that to me.” She pulled her hands back within her cloak as she awaited the outcome. She chose not to remain hidden, as her stature would never allow for such things. Though, she decided to be the first among the bar to greet them. Besides the bartender, it seemed the rest cared little of these new people here. Declan returned to his drink quicker than a running horse.


“The lot of you, what's your business here?" Her voice commanded the room as she looked upon the group of Grey Wardens. Curious on what trouble the lot was going to bring themselves into. If it was to blame her for the issues that arise she would at least deal with the conflict now. As she grazed each of them were her ember eyes.

It was odd for an outsider to speak for the town but she was growing tired of their silence.
 
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Epiphany.

Behind Your Chair
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
One Post a Day
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Female
Genre You DON'T Like
Sandbox
Moire Sehari

If the tavern had a gloomy atmosphere, it suffered from Moire's absolute obliviousness to it.

From the moment she entered, the Dalish Mage's cheery humming became audible in the quiet common room and several heads turned her way. Humans and humans not terribly thrilled to have an elf in their tavern, judging by their glowers. Three elves, actually. Eyes glanced upwards at George in a surly reproach of his taste in company before turning back to their respective drinks.

For Moire's part, she was only too happy to take a seat on the rough wooden benches and let the others order.

Chile Chile
Pagie's pronouncement of doom upon the place resulted in Moire giving her traveling companion a wide-eyed look of wonder before glancing all around to confirm the elf's observations. Indeed, no old ladies or groups sharing a story, or talking at all for that matter. No games of chance. No evidence of a musician, not even a leftover lute lounging by the fireplace.

One of her hands rose and came to rest on the oak staff she carried, presently leaning at an angle along the bench seat and the table edge.

VengefulPeanut VengefulPeanut
As a result, Pagie's mistrust of George and George's reproachful response went right over her head. Although there was little evidence that she'd have noticed their mutual antipathy unless it was spelled out. Instead, she beamed when George ordered a wine for her. Hard to say if she liked wine, liked someone ordering for her, or if all of this was just a novel experience for her. The blush on her cheeks at least suggested the compliment had gone right to her head.

The inkeeper wiped his hands on his apron as he took in the orders. "Whiskey, two beers and a red, coming up." His eyes lingered on Paige a moment longer but the opening of the tavern door drew his attention once more.

Verran Verran The Dapper Mog The Dapper Mog Kat Kat
Of course, nothing made an entrance quite like the Grey Wardens. Four warriors, three in uniform. The fourth looked a bit like trouble but then trouble followed the Wardens anyway.

The bearded, bald innkeep crossed his arms, nodded Claudia towards an empty table (coincidentally next to the human and three elves) and stopped by the kitchens to get the first group's order in while the second group sat themselves. At which point he came up, nodded once and said "What'll you have?"

TheDevil'sGame TheDevil'sGame
But of course, the Grey Wardens and Lysandra had come for Declan. Who obviously had company in the form of a looming, obviously large Qunari. Her brusque address of the newest group drew looks from the other villagers eating or drinking here. One look at all the strangers and it looked like the locals were giving serious thought to moving out of here in case things escalated.

In that tense silence, a faint but very distinct 'Eeeeeeeee!' of pure excitement filled the air. Emanating from the obviously Dalish elf currently staring at the Grey Wardens with stars in her eyes.
Chile Chile VengefulPeanut VengefulPeanut
She promptly grabbed Paige's arm (thankfully between nail cleaning with the aforementioned dagger) and shook it vigorously. "Look!" Moire exclaimed before poking George in the shoulder and pointing past him. "Grey Wardens! Actual flesh and blood living Grey Wardens! Have you ever-I mean, I've never-look at those stripes, how do you think they do the white and blue and are they-" Moire's run-on train of a sentence abruptly derailed as she clasped both hands over her mouth.

"Do you think they're here to conscript us?" she hissed in a whisper that utterly failed to be discreet to anyone who had ears. "I don't want to be conscripted! Assuming conscripting means recruited. A conscript's a prisoner, isn't it? Or is it penmanship? No, that's script. Add con to writing and you're a prisoner? Why don't they just say recruit instead of conscript? You'd think they'd get a lot more volunteers...right, I'm rambling. Hello Grey Wardens!"

By this point, what little conversation had gone on at the different tables all came to an end as villagers stared at the elf. The Innkeep wiped his brow with a cloth, shook his head and said "Maker, no wonder they stay in the forests."
 

Achilles

his descent was like nightfall
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Transgender, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
aggressive when I want to be, passive when I need to be.
Favorite Genres
romance, historical, horror
Genre You DON'T Like
heavy sci-fi, overly fluffy slice of life
Eshalinev
Nev hated taverns. He had never been in one by his own personal choice. People always stared. He knew that was partially his own fault -- however, people seemed to feel especially comfortable leering in this particular setting. This time, at least, he wasn't the sole recipient of the glares. The group of them, as a whole, seemed to rattle the scattered group of patrons. He rolled his eyes, making a concerted effort not to make eye contact with any of them. He sat down gingerly at the table with the rest of the group, folding his hands in his lap. He did not feel particularly comfortable sitting down to drinks with a group of strangers, though he did quite like the Dalish girl. He had appreciated her translation of his name -- Quintus had never told him, and he almost doubted that he'd even known. It warmed his heart a bit, though his expression didn't quite show it.

He huffed out the tiniest chuckle at Paige's rather presumptuous order. He quite appreciated it, actually. George seemed to go along with it, which was a minor disappointment, and then proceeded to order for the rest of them, much to Nev's annoyance. "I don't --" He'd already ordered for him before he could finish, so he let it go with a shake of his head. He didn't drink ale; it was an acquired taste, and he'd never acquired it. Quintus had made him drink it once -- held it up to his lips and made him tilt his head back, only to break into hysterics when Nev spit it out. He was broken from this train of thought, however, when George ordered for Moire with a side of highly unnecessary flirtation...and that was far too much for him. He audibly tutted, wrinkling his nose in disgust. She didn't seem to mind, so part of Nev thought he shouldn't either, but that part was quickly overcome. Maybe she just hadn't had the same experiences that he had. "Would you like us to help you locate a brothel when we're done here, my dear?" He stared at him expectantly, straight-faced, hands still folded politely in his lap, but the moment didn't last long.

"Maker," he breathed in surprise at Moire's reaction to the Grey Wardens, and he turned his gaze to the current object of her attention. He had certainly never seen Grey Wardens himself, nor did he expect to here, so he understood her reaction...to an extent. Oh, so things were quite a bit more interesting here than perhaps he was prepared for. If there was ever a time to dip out, it was now.

Of course, he did not do that. Curiosity, as always, got the better of him.
"Yes, indeed. Hello, Grey Wardens," he repeated Moire's greeting with an air of subtle amusement. Upon a more careful glance around, he realized that the Grey Wardens weren't the only interesting patrons now in the tavern. He turned around fully in his seat, ready to observe whatever was about to happen.