Dragon Age: Origins

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Eternalfire61, Jan 31, 2013.

  1. [​IMG]



    Theme for the story:
    [video=youtube;oWFEVbfCcOY]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWFEVbfCcOY[/video]​




    <center style="color: rgb(213, 212, 212); font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21px;">"Men and women from every race; warriors and mages, barbarians and kings... the Grey Wardens sacrificed everything to stem the tide of darkness... and prevailed."</center><center>—Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden

    Within the dark coves in this world there are many who go without notice. All those who breathe may have the power to move mountains.
    This was a time of war, a true Blight, in over 400 years.
    The call has been sent out to those who believe they are worthy to fight the darkspawn.
    Many messengers have been sent out into Ferelden to seek these heroes.
    You are one of those heroes.
    Since you have accepted, for whatever reason you know that war approaches.
    You head to Ostager and find the man named Duncan, who will be leading your small group.
    Being the leader of the Grey Wardens he had two others with him.
    Alistar The Templar and Daveth the Rouge.

    As you approach the city of Ostager you see Duncan talking with
    King Cailan.
    Duncan beckons you forth as you see your other part members being to join you.




    OOC: http://www.iwakuroleplay.com/showthread.php?t=18832&p=496095#post496095





    </center>
     
  2. “Perhaps, my dear woman, it's not valued what may or may not be the truth of the matter, the matter that neither concerns nor opposes you and your research. Am I wrong?” The question came from an athletic fellow, tall with angular features and stretched-out fingers. The woman, his opposite in many attributes, sat in a rather worn-looking chair behind a large desk, ignoring the hand.

    “Beau.”

    The man sighed. The conversation wouldn’t just simply end. His compatriot was determined, if not downright stubborn, in hunting down these rumors; such rumors often held more sinister truths than could be realized. Truths too late discovered. Minute discoveries were then molded into legends. Legends led to rumors, so forth and so on…was it a noble pursuit or all politics? He didn’t know.

    “Beau, you do understand these are special circumstances? I cannot ignore what I’m being told by men far more knowledgeable on the subject than you. These men,” she paused to stand, staring absentmindedly behind him, “have seen these so-called doors to -- to other worlds! They understand the dangers but also the significance of being the one to conquer these invaluable riches. Beau, I --“

    “Then you're a fool, Charlotte Hensley.”

    She went rigid. Her eyes targeted on him.

    “Pray tell, little boy, why I hold the position of fool? You are the one lacking nerve, not I.”

    His façade fell, a red flush pressed into his cheeks. He began to speak but resigned himself to silence. Charlotte waited, her nails beating against the desk. Her stern glare didn’t warm but warned of ominous times if he continued his protest. He turned towards the office door, walking away. Just as he was ready to leave, he stopped to glance behind him at the ignorant woman.

    “You’ll regret it, Char.”

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

    It took 5 days to reach the location only known to be a wonder, a ruse for fright and intrigue: the precipice at world’s end. Ostagar, a place where heroes exist. Or so the tales say.

    A man stood at its ledge, staring out towards the ever-reaching trees. The cold air blew through the mountainous hills as the skies, drowned in pinks and oranges, was washed out against the brilliant sunshine rising. Beau hugged the piece of cloth closer to his body. It was beautiful, the view, but he couldn’t remember Ferelden being this cold. And dirty. And crowded with darkspawn.

    He didn’t know much about the cold or the dirt. His home was in Orlais, a country that long established its own plots of intrigue and stories…oh, the tales a bard could share! As for the darkspawn, he could feel them, those appalling creatures. It made his skin crawl, itch with a sort-of blackness, a stain on his inside he couldn’t scrub clean.

    It was permanent now. He signed an oath in blood, and the only way out was death.

    Beau lifted his feet and continued along the rolling hills. He could see smoke rising from, what he assumed, the camps and hurriedly moved towards them. Finally, a hot meal. And maybe a bath.
     
  3. Leaving Amaranthine was the hardest thing the young elf had ever attempted - both in the practical sense of the world, as well as the emotional. She had known the alienage, and the alienage only since she was born, and as a result, the rest of the city and the world at large was a mystery to the young woman. Leaving the world she knew and despised, as well as the people she loved as the family they were, was the hardest part of the whole foolish ordeal. There was no option of saying her farewells, and her grasp of the written word was rudimentary at best - not nearly enough to have compiled a coherent letter in the time left to her. As a result, the girl seemingly disappeared into the night, perhaps never to return.

    The thankfully lightly built girl managed to weasel her way into a cart of goods bound for the region of the war, something that surprised even her. How had she succeeded? Kara thought it best not to ponder the subject, for fear of jinxing herself with the doubt cast on her own luck. This was meant to be. It was her destiny to escape and fight, and so it would be. For several days the blonde remained hidden, curled up in a cramped position between crates of dried foodstuffs. Hunger pangs hit her almost as readily as the ruts in the dirt tracks caused the transport to jolt. However, she did not eat until the camps were silent. Even then the girl ate minimally, fearing that prolonged rustling of her meals would attract attention. Although brave, the girl was not quite a complete fool, and so she remained cautious throughout the journey.

    On the fifth day of travel, a particularly brutal shunt hit the cart, causing a crate to fall directly onto the stomach of the elf, a stifled cry escaping the girl before she could shush herself. No doubt, this was heard by the driver, who immediately ordered the caravan to halt. All was silent as they dwindled to a crawl, the stowaway screaming inwardly at herself, her heart beating at a dangerously rapid rate. This was where she would meet her death, she just knew it. They'd remove the canvas that strapped the cargo down, and there amongst it would be this unbidden traveller. They would execute her on the spot, it was what she deserved.

    The crunch of steps around the cart became steadily louder, finally stopping as the ropes were untied. Kara gripped her makeshift weapon, an extremely crude spear compiled from bits of scrap that even the elves could not seem to find a use for. The canvas was lifted. The elf exploded from her hiding place with a cry that might have sounded intimidating, though it was purely formed out of fear.

    There was a moment of confusion as the blur of dark tunic and wavy blonde hair burst from the cart. This worked in her favour, as the young woman stabbed at the thighs of the two men closest to her, missing one and impaling the other. She had no desire to kill them, for they were only doing their jobs. Although their feelings of animosity may have gone further than this, she had no proof of this, and so erred on the side of mercy. The half dozen men converged on the small woman, each with a weapon in hand as their quarry also moved in closer, aiming for the nearby copse of trees that would serve as her cover.

    Kara whirled in and out of reach, continuously striking (or attempting to) the men, bursts of blood spreading from wounds on legs and arms. They would heal, should they escape infection. The girl was feeling more confident now, which was most likely why the last of the men to face her sliced her well, striking her across the left hip. Pain did not blossom until several seconds after the fact, but Kara knew it had happened all the same. It only spurred her on to the trees, sprinting for all she was worth towards them. The girl did not stop until the last sounds of pursuit had faded.

    Ostagar was still days away, and Kara feared she would not ever see the place. However, her determination was such that she continued on despite the wound that continued to seep, although all that could be done to aid its healing had been done. Kara had packed very limited supplies, a skin of water and a days worth of food, as well as just one healing potion that had been bought well in advance, with all the coin she had scavenged together.

    On the evening of the tenth day, as the sun was setting, the bustling sounds of the vast camp became apparent. Kara almost fainted dead away, such was her relief. Her blue eyes surveyed the camp in the setting sunlight, her heart pounding with apprehension, as well as a small amount of weakness. She had been subsisting on this meagre diet, but hoped that by some miracle there would be a way in for her. It was unbelievably foolish to have come here, but perhaps someone would look kindly on her tenacity, if nothing else. Fighting off the fears of execution or simple banishment, Kara entered the camp, refusing to be intimidated, despite the fact that she had every reason to be so.
     
  4. Maybe there was call for regret for leaving, abandoning them. But she never made any promises. She had said she owed them for saving her life, but that dept was paid. Klein did enjoy her time with them; killing darkspawn and drinking ale, telling stories and finding new abominations every day. Oh yes, the blood was good, and the company was generally welcoming. Perhaps she could have stayed, but it was called the Legion of the Dead for a reason. No one in the group had a future, they had thrown it away to kill darkspawn, not always by choice. Well Klein wasn't ready to die, she was going to be something. She was going to let some goddamned brand ruin her life, so she split, and did not look back.

    Sneaking past the huge horde of darkspawn was tricky business, but she managed, and lived. A small group had spotted her though, and she silenced them all. And with luck, and skill, Klein lived and stumbled upon a large human camp, filled with fresh sacrifices for the hoard. 'Humans don't know anything about killing darkspawn,' Klein thought will a full dwarven attitude. 'They could use my expertise.' Funny thing; she would be doing the exact same thing with the Legion; killing darkspawn. Is this what you call irony, or redundant, maybe stupidity, or even pointless? But I think curious is the word.

    Klein found a way into the camp, attracting no attention to herself, not until she was in. As a short person, many an eye missed her passing, but as a dwarf, some did take note. Granted, there were some dwarves, and even some elves, so she wasn't that odd, just rare. She wandered around the camp for a time, mapping out the area and seeing all that she could. So many had gathered, and none seemed quite in high spirits. Humans were in abundance, scattered about, there were elves, mostly as slaves as messengers, dwarves as merchants and smiths. 'Surfacers," she huffed. They weren't well like under, but now she had become one herself. 'Oh...' They even had let mages come be part of the party. Even being from underneath, she knew a thing or two about magic, one of the dwarve's best customers was the Circle of Magi.

    She was sure she wanted to help, well maybe not wanted, but would. Her thoughts were unclear. Klein was just unsure what to do; how to get involved. She figured it would end up like it had when she joined the Legion; she would just happen to bump into the right person.
     

  5. The sun set above Ostager as the adventurers came together.
    Duncan turned to the horizon looking out at the land.
    Slowly, he breathed in the fresh air, which smelt of war.
    Duncan shifted to look at the companions coming and folded his arms.
    "I guess this will help."
    He made his way down until he reached the bottom of the steps.
    You could tell this man was of great importance.
    He looked like a general ready for a battle, yet he seemed calm and relaxed.
    Duncan looked at each member for a short time then nodded his head.
    "I'm Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."
    He folded his arms at the small group then looked behind them.
    "I'm either a fool for thinking there may be more, or idiotic enough
    to not realize what I have received."
    "Once we are settled in we will put you in some armor then train.
    Before that, state your name and where you are from.
    "

     
  6. “You'll be missed dearly Domitianus. You are sure you won't change your mind?” Inquired the fellow Magister. Domitianus raised his hand before giving his answer. “I have made up my mind. Ostagar is in need of help.”
    “What concern is it to you though? We have not cared about the King in so long, we are safe from all the Darkspawn. Why help them?” Though Domitianus knew why he was headed to Ostagar, he knew that the other Misters wouldn't understand. They didn't understand charity unless it benefited them in some way.
    “I'm doing it for my research. Imagine the fortune and funding I'll receive from the King? The amount of gold and jewels, slaves even!” Domitianus exclaimed with false cheer clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Either way, I should finish packing. My work needs to be packed.” Saying goodbye once more, he leads his colleague out the door and returns to his study to resume packing. Even if his slaves could do it for him, his wife, Allena had always told him that doing some hard work would benefit him. Even after she was gone, he preferred to a little hard work, and packing was one of them.
    “You were going to leave without saying goodbye to me?” A voice whispered softly and a hooded figure ghosted out from the darkest corner of the room. Long pale fingers pull back the hood to reveal a crooked smile and crimson red eyes. Domitianus shook his head before looking towards the intruder and smiling. “It's good to see you again Janer. I had not heard of your return.” The man named Janer shook his own head and walked towards Domitianus, hugging the taller man.
    “I returned only recently, but you are a sight for sore eyes dear brother. I believe you have not left this place since your wife and daughter joined the Old Gods. Many apologies and my eternal condolences since I was not here to attend their wake and burial.” Janer bowed his head and looked to his friend with apologetic eyes. Domitianus frowns at the mention of his deceased family and purses his lips before changing the subject.
    “Have tea with me. Let us talk.” Soon the two were seated in front of the study's fireplace, sipping tea in silence and even eating small cookies which the chef had made earlier that day. Both men sat in silence, neither talking and it was almost unbearable for Domitianus because even if the presence of an old friend was welcome, he was wary of the conversation that would follow. Janer was always close with him, always open and sharing. They had been close friends ever since Domitianus rise to Magister.
    “So why are you her Janer?” Domitianus asked.
    “Other than to ask the question that all other Magisters have asked before I; Why are you leaving?” Janer asks as he pours himself another fresh cup of tea.
    “And you will receive the answer that I have given each once of them; the funding, the research and the reward.” Domitianus counters easily. He would not give in so easily to the Magister he called friend.
    “Yet what you tell me is a lie. You have no need for rewards. No need for any of that. If anything, this is about Allena and you daughter Samantha.”
    “My wife-”
    “You're dead wife.” Janer interjects.
    “My wife, and daughter have nothing to do with me leaving. I needed funding for my research. You know about my studies for finding a way to get rid of the infection the Blight creates.”
    “Yes of course, the research I heard that you took up as soon as your family was ill, and then dedicated your life to once they passed on. You can't like to me Domitianus.” Janer stares at his friends with hard eyes, he was not going to let his friend off the hook that easily.
    “So you have come here to accuse me that I am leaving to forget my family?”
    “No, I am accusing you of choosing a dream that won't come true. I feel like you're going to end up dying out there, trying to fulfill something that won't happen.” Janer says wit concern in his voice. It was something Domitianus hadn't heard in years.
    It's then that Domitianus stops and thinks about who he is really doing this for. His family that is long gone and never to return? Or is he doing this for himself? To make up for the fact that he's hurt so many and now he can help them. His confusion can be read clearly by Janer, and he's about to speak when a slave interrupts him.
    “Master, we leave at dawn. We have only a few hours left. Might I suggest finishing packing?” Both Janer and Domitianus shoot glares across the way, causing the slave to retreat. It's then Domitianus stands and looks to his friend.
    “I suppose we must end our conversation old friend.”
    “Then I must wish you luck on your journey.” Janer stands, pulls his hood up before walking towards the exit of the study. He is only stopped by Domitianus words.
    “I do not know why, my brother, simply that I must.” It hands in the until Janer responds.
    “May the old Gods be with you then.”

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    After two weeks of travel. Domitianus was weary. He had not walked so far since his younger years and even so, he had not traveled as far as Ostagar. Sitting at the camp next to the fire, Domitianus pulled out his notebook and reread his notes. He’d been studying the effects of the Darkspawn blood on human blood, but now that he was traveling outside of the Imperium, he no longer had any slaves to study on, he was limited towards the single slave he had brought with him and the notes he know held in his hands.
    “Master, perhaps you should rest your eyes and fill your stomach. I have prepared the stew.” Merran inquired as he held a small bowl of food. He was the single slave that Domitianus had brought with him. Merran was a slave who was male, a human and had been Domitianus’ property since the young age of ten. Though he never bothered with learning the ages of his slaves, Merran had been there when Domitianus’ family had been stayed. Merran had helped him through the loss and worse. But it did not make them close in any way. Domitianus would not be kind to his slave just because it had done its job.
    “Thank you Merran. I’ll take it now.” Once handed the bowl, Merran grabbed his own bowl and sat on the other side of the fire. In silence they both ate only the sound of the crackling fire and sounds of wild life in the distance. The stew was nothing compared to the one his daughter used to cook and it seemed that Merran was thinking in the like.
    “Lady Samantha cooks better than I.”
    Cooked Merran. She cooked better than you. In fact she did a lot of things better than you Merran. She was a superior mage, a skilled alchemist and was a better cook than you ever will be.” Domitianus growled, “Make the mistake again and I promise I’ll use you as a blood sacrifice in battle.” It was an empty threat, if only because Domitianus needed his slave to help him with his work and studies. But Merran didn’t know that, he wasn’t intelligent enough to realize that.
    “I apologize Master.” The small apology floats in the air between them but Domitianus doesn't accept it. Instead, they eat in silence once more and rest for the days to come.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Domitianus had used his superiority as a Magister several times to get what he wanted, but after weeks of traveling and not getting anywhere near Ostagar, he now used his power to purchase several slaves, a cart which was already covered with fine silks and such. He promptly placed himself inside the cart and ordered the rest of the slaves to take him to Ostagar. Many would have considered this cruel, many would sneer and spew hate, but as a Magister, so was his right to do with his slaves as he wished. Not like he cared about what others thought, but it always amused him to see the reactions.
    Upon entering the camp he was greeted with several stares and even glares from other mages. In fact, he swore a sister of the Chantry even gave him a bad look. But he continued on until he found a comfortable spot. He ordered the larger, stronger slaves to guard the camp, whilst the smaller ones being bath water, start cooking and set up small shelters for the other slaves. As Domitianus settled in, he watched as a man who he could only assume was a fair trained warrior. That and from his dark skin, he could only assume was Rivaini. As he approached the man, staff in hand and robes pulled tight, he noticed the group of people who had gathered around. Frowning, he stood outside of the group, not wanting to interrupt anything in case it was important. The man addressed himself as Duncan of the Grey Wardens. The Grey Wardens, an organization of great warriors who fought the Darkspawn. So was that who these group of people were, Grey Wardens? They did not wear that garb that Grey Wardens wore at all. Domitianus simply frowned, and stood back, far enough that he would not be included, but close enough to wear the conversation could still be audible to him.
     
  7. Beau, talking to the guard at the main entrance, was pointed in the direction of the Warden Commander Duncan. He had heard of Duncan through his travels, the man who was tougher than steel only, tanked in wisdom, and had a talent for recruiting wild cards. It was this man he had traveled across many waters to find; it was him that he had to report to and deliver a note from the Empress.

    The Orlesian noticed the small group gathered around the Warden Commander. He grinned as he watched some of the more delicate recruits wither at Duncan’s words. He remembered his own induction into the Grey Wardens. Both excitement and nerves encased in a young man’s frame. He had come to them in rags, starved, and owning nothing but determination and experience in murder. Beau had come a long way since then, but the memory of long ago still stung. He sighed, pushing down those darker thoughts, and stepped up to greet the older man.

    “Beau, Senior Grey Warden from Orlais.”
     
  8. For a time, Klein wandered around the camp aimlessly. She saw all sorts of people and groups, all here for the same reason, or one would presume. Priestess from the Chantry had come to preach at the people about their blasted maker, and they were accompanied my Templar's guarding the mages that had come. Klein also ran into a group of men each with a hound companion They would boast about taking after some dwarven tradition or something. It was enough to grab her attention for a moment, but not much longer. Klein also made a pass by the sick bay to hear the deranged ranting of the inflicted.

    She kept on scouting till she found something interesting enough. There was a small group gathered, waiting eagerly for something to happen, and Klein wanted to know exactly what. She squeezed into the group and listed to the whispers till they were hushed by the approach of a gruff looking man. She listened to his brief introduction speech learning his name to be Duncan. 'A gray warden hum?' She considered going up and introducing herself first, but she wasn't even supposed to be there. And another had stepped up to the plate, a gray warden as well. 'Are the all gray warden...' she wondered. If so, then she really didn't belong. But she wasn't going to squander this opportunity, it was just what she was looking for. And if needed, she bet she could pass off for a gray warden; as a dwarf she knew more about darkspawn than the rest of them.

    "Klein Hammel, from the pit hole we call Orzammar," She introduced as she took the spot light and stood next to the announced Beau. She looked up at the man and gave him a smile and a wink.
     
  9. Whether it was by chance or fate, the young elf soon found herself mingling with a motley group of varying stripes. It was at least easy to fade into this group of misplaced individuals. Well, apart from the dwarf - hiding behind her would have been difficult to say the least. But, thankfully that wasn't necessary, as the lot of them were addressed by the somewhat awe inspiring figure that was Duncan. He wasn't what the elf girl would have expected of the grey wardens, although to be fair she had heard very few credible stories of them. The orlesian fit into her minds picture far less than even the majestic figure who had first spoken.

    It was the dwarf woman that spoke next. What on earth she was doing here, Kara had no idea, though she suspected it was for similar reasons of her own. Half the bodies here would probably claim as much. Escaping poverty or even just mediocrity for the chance at heroism was an all too common motivation. It was foolish beyond measure, but telling anyone that would only have strengthened their convictions. It was the way of things, unfortunate though that might be.

    Now, not entirely certain if she was part of the group or not, Kara spoke boldly but with some uncertainty. Her words were not brashly spoken, even if the girl herself might have been. "Kara. I travelled from Amaranthine." So long as no one bothered to ask her how the hell she had managed that, it would all be fine. Thankfully, there seemed to be little interest in anything but Duncan - that most definitely applied to her. He was one of those men that simply commanded the attention of all he was in contact with. Well, having said that, Kara did momentarily snatch a glance around, still taking in the place and its own pulse of fragile life.