Dragon Age: The Sixth Blight

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Out of Chracter: CLOSED SIGNUPS - Dragon Age: The Sixth Blight (OOC)
Sign-Ups: CHARACTER INDEX - Dragon Age: The Sixth Blight (Sign-Ups)
[fieldbox=Arrahel the White, grey, solid, 8, book antiqua]
Nearly thirty years ago, the darkspawn- foul creatures from beneath the earth- revaged the southern continent of Thedas in a great Blight lead by the Archdemon Urthemiel. The Warden-Commander of Ferelden, a Grey Warden by the name of Duncan, along with the Warden Alistair, recruited the daughter of Teryn Bryce Cousland- Alessia- to combat the threat of the darkspawn. She would soon lead the Grey Wardens upon the deaths of King Cailan Theirin and Duncan, eventually avenging them after betrayal by Loghain Mac Tir, who was executed by Alistair- who, in reality, was the bastard son of Cailan's father Maric- before being named King of Ferelden. Eventually Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden married, Thedas began to move on.

And, as it had happened before, the people of Thedas forgot about the power of the Blight and failed to ignore the warnings of the Grey Wardens as the latter became forgotten.

Now, thirty years have passed.

Forgotten and receeding, the great nations of Thedas realize too late that the Grey Wardens have dissappeared, causing the Empire of Orlais to go so far and proclaim that the ancient order is dead. In time, only Nevarra, Ferelden, and the Qunari openly believe that Grey Wardens remain. As such, Queen Alexandria of Ferelden announces that a small party of volunteers to cross from Ferelden into Orlais, the Free Marches, and Nevarra before approaching the fortress of Weisshaupt in the Anderfels, the ancient headquarters of the Grey Wardens.

And so came all those across Thedas who were brave enough to answer the call, to seek the Grey Wardens at Weisshaupt in the Anderfells, but not before leaving to answer the rumors in the south that a living Grey Warden had been seen living amongst the Dalish elves, who had suppossedly joined up with some smaller tribes and kinsmen while rescuing some human villager along the way. If nothing else, they would need the help of these Dalish to combat the darkspawn in the future. But now, as they enter the Brecilian Forest, all is dark and quiet...

“Wake up, Arrahel. The Grey Wardens are needed all over Thedas, and your duty is only just beginning to reveal itself…”

It was to that voice that the elf known as Arrahel the White awoke, having slept for more than three years amidst the chaos of the rising Blight. The elf felt as if all of the life in his surroundings beckoned him to consciousness, their collective will amplified through the matronly voice that had resounded throughout his mind. But that mattered not immediately, as the Dalish healers ran forward to tend to the Grey Warden, ensuring he had suffered no permanent injury during his sleep.

It was during the days that followed that the Dalish clan informed the Grey Warden about everything that occurred in the past three years, including the loss of public faith in Orlais and of some of the northern countries. Furthermore, when Arrahel asked if any of the Dalish clans they had come into contact with had sighted any other Grey Wardens. Due to the extent of the information that the Dalish could provide, Arrahel learned that the previous Warden-Commander had been found dead near Redcliffe.

It was with this news that the elf had to rise and take upon himself the duty and rank of Warden-Commander of Ferelden. The burden felt like great millstones had fallen onto his shoulders from miles above, but he could not forsake it. To forsake this duty when he was the last Grey Warden he knew of would be to condemn Thedas to the darkness of the Blight, a place from which the continent may never rise again. His duty, at least, was clear; to unify the people of Thedas against the Sixth Blight and begin to rebuild the Grey Wardens.

It was a daunting prospect, to say it in the most minimal terms, but it had to be accomplished.
The first step, Arrahel would determine, would be to call upon the obligations written down in the treaties signed with the Grey Wardens. And with the expedition to Weisshaupt the Dalish had informed him of, Arrahel wouldn't have a better opportunity. Somehow he needed to catch up with them before they reached Guerin, which according to hearsay was their initial destination. Hopefully he could convince the Dalish to uphold the ancient treaties before he needed depart for the port city.

It would be soon that the healers allowed the Grey Warden to exit the healing tent after a few days, wherein the elf donned his garb and armor. His garb consisted of a white, long-sleeved tunic- under which he wore his Warden’s Oath pendant- and grey traveler’s pants and matching socks. His gloves were made of inscribed leather, and his vambraces were of a central layer of red steel that was covered with twin layers of inscribed leather. His cuirass encompassed the pauldrons, chestpiece, and a short tasset that also acted as a codpiece. Arrahel’s legwear, however, was simple and only consisted of red steel poleyns (knee-guards) and grey, roughspun adventuring boots that were equipped with red steel greaves.

However, Arrahel’s most valuable garment was his cloak. A parting gift from his parents before he left the Circle to join the Grey Wardens, the white, hooded cloak was woven and enchanted to mimic a dragon’s scales in the aspects that it could resist and protect the wearer from elemental magics, softening the blow and preventing the destruction of the cloak though not negating attacks completely and scarcely dirtying as a side-effect (this was much to the mother’s approval). On the back, the Grey Warden had modified the cloak (after taking upon himself the ways of the Arcane Warrior and learning how to weave the enchantment) to have two holsters through which he could loop a three-notch baldric and sling. The top-most and bottom-most were for his staff, and the middle holder supported the weight of his metal targe (which kept attached due to a clever system of hooks), upon which was the heraldry of the Grey Wardens. His sword could be switched with his staff on longer marches or worn on the portion of the baldric that girded his waist.

Aside from these garments, the elf wore two satchels beneath his cloak, both of which were kept on the opposite side of his sword and could be removed from their straps to be attached to his baldric. One carried lyrium, ingredients for potions and poultices, the instruments necessary for the aforementioned, and bandages while other carried copies of the Grey Wardens’ treaties, his personal accounts, items for correspondence (including sealing wax, the seal to which was a ring he wore on his right ring finger), what little correspondence he received from other Grey Wardens, and the equipment necessary to perform the Joining, save for vials of darkspawn blood.

He did have one more bag, a single-strap rucksack in which he kept clothing and personal effects, along with preserved food and drink. It was well used, but the fabric and rope held taut and firm even after the elf’s years-long slumber. With his bags packed equipment holstered, the Grey Warden pulled out his staff- which was carved predominantly from dark sylvanwood- and used it to ensure his legs were fully awake as he walked through the camp and speak to the healer, leaving his mage’s satchel and rucksack in his tent as he made his way to the Keeper.

The clan’s Keeper, an elderly elf named Thelralan, had the same angular racial features as Arrahel. But while Arrahel’s hair was white naturally, Thelralan’s hair was white due to age. But soon enough, the Grey Warden’s steel-blue eyes met the Keeper’s green ones, the former turning to speak on serious business with the latter. The Keeper, resting on his silverite staff, greeted the Warden-Commander as they stood under the shade of the aravel he shared with his family. The voice of the Keeper was a hardened, gruff bass while the Warden-Commander’s was a lower, more serious baritone.

“Aneth ara, Arrahel.”

“Aneth ara, Theralan. I’m glad to see you’re still living after my slumber, falon.”

“Mas serannas, falon. Likewise, it is good to see that we did not lose you to the Fade. Did you dream any while you were in your sleep?”

“Sometimes, sometimes. At times I was conscious of the living world, observing the affairs around me, and other times I was pulled in and out of the Fade, speaking with the spirits I passed as I had control over my limbs, despite it only being in dreams.”

“I understand, mithradan. But from what I understand, you Grey Wardens have different dreams than the rest of us, that it is your dreams that affirm whether or not Thedas is truly subject to a Blight.”

“Unfortunately, that is true, falon. My dreams while in that state have shown me that we are, indeed, subject to the Sixth Blight. Therefore, it is with some sadness that I must ask you to uphold your end of the ancient treaties and begin to prepare, likewise informing the other Dalish clans as to the fact they are to be called upon.”

“Mithradan, we cannot yet fulfill our end of the treaty. The People are scattered all across Thedas. We need time to rally the clans- and when that is done, the People will be with the Wardens again."

Then, spotting an unusual figure, the Grey Warden spoke once more.

"Falon, who is that human?"

"He is an Ash Warrior who found us about a month ago, from one of the villages in the south that have already been destroyed by the darkspawn. About three hundred humans from their villages survived and are travelling with us. With them are some Templars and warriors, but not enough to keep the humans safe without our help."

"Then it is true- the Blight truly does scare everyone into harmony and equality."

It would be then that one of the Dalish hunters who guarded the entrance to the camp, the young hunter speaking slightly worriedly to the Keeper.

“Keeper, news from the front watch! There is a group of travelers and another of refugees passing through, but a horde has emerged but is going to assault them!"

"Call the hunters and the warriors! We fight the Blight on this day!"

Gathering what warriors and hunters he could muster, the Grey Warden drank a vial of small vial lyrium (as, unlike Templars, mages do not suffer addicition and withdrawal to the substance) to give himself further strength and to awaken him enough to be of use in the battle. They formed up on the edges of the nearby clearing, where darkspawn began to crawl out of the earth. The elf first took his staff from his back, the gem humming with energy as he raised it to signal the archers to draw their bow. The tactic in question was simple- to ambush the darkspawn before either of the passing groups could be assault. And- with a conscious Warden in tow- getting the attention of the darkspawn would be all too easy.

Lowering his staff, Arrahel gritted his teeth and yelled out the command to release a volley of arrows as he cast a barrage of lightningbolts from his staff before putting it aside. Arrahel then cast the magic of the Arcane Warriors, drawing his sword and his shield as he immediately led the charge into the group of darkspawn. With the superhuman strength he derived from the taint and the powerful lightning magic at his disposal, the Grey Warden took his duty upon him as he cut through the horde in search of the leading alpha. For when the horde's alpha was killed, the darkspawn would retreat back to whence they came until a new alpha was bred to lead them by their broodmother. As the horde was rather large, it would be difficult to detect where the alpha was concealing itself. But no matter- Arrahel was doing a rather good job at carving his way through the darkspawn as the severed heads and limbs of genlocks and hurlocks laid at his feet as the battle raged on.
[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Septimus Avernus, green]While travelling to the Brecilian Forest Septimus kept to himself for the most part though he indulged in conversation with those willing and curious. He introduced himself as Septimus Maerie of house Avernus, though he understood it was mostly gibberish for anyone outside of the Imperium. Regardless he offered any information about himself that they wanted to know, he pretty much needed to in order to earn their trust. Outside of the Imperium, every mage is seen as if they were nothing but ticking time bombs and the 'Vints, in particular, were halfway there already in the eyes of the public. The group was a curious one consisting of all sort of folk from all over the place, it really was exciting to think he would be travelling with them.

He didn't bother hiding his Tevinter ancestry; if anything he flaunted it with the long black silken cloak and obvious Tevinter twin serpents heraldry. Underneath a set of padded robes with hard leather reinforcements typical of Tevinter magi. Though clearly of great quality the cloak, robes and most of his equipment had suffered significant wear and tear over the last years. Clanking at his belt were a few bottles of processed lyrium, ready for consumption as well as his final bit of coin left, a single gold piece.

"So as I was saying, it's not hard to see why the Dwarves are seen with such respect in the Imperium just based on lyrium alone." Septimus was busy conversing with a dwarf companion, a charming woman by the name of Gwinn. "That said, I agree with you, all those politics and schemes are just so bothersome and pointless, can't we--" In about a span of few seconds Sep analyzed the situation before him and while his own body was slower to move than that of trained fighters he too rushed to meet the darkspawn. At this time he didn't think of it as some sort of duty or the thing to do, he simply saw the refugees and decided that they wouldn't be quick to trust a Tevinter mage when he tried to guide them so with little doubt he charged on towards the horde.

Perhaps it was odd to see an unarmed man in robes charge the horde of bloodthirsty beasts said to come from the worst part of the world. Or perhaps it was downright insane to be doing that, either way, Sep knew what he had to do and that was to protect others. To do that he needed to first protect himself so long before the first contact was made he plucked the rocks from the earth with magic and fused them to his robes as improvised armour. Heavy and cumbersome, they made it harder to move but made him feel like a turtle, slow and steady, just what he wanted.

He felt their tremoring footsteps as the approached and as they did he kept shooting bolts of arcana at them barely affecting the bigger ones but tripping up or even hurting the smaller and weaker ones. Along with their feet, he felt their life, their very 'will' as they rushed towards him. It was a terrifying thing and had he not already covered himself in heavy stones he would have likely turned to run. He held his hands up and closing his eyes he mumbled a few phrases in Tevene and shot off a lightning that chained from one to the other taking a few of them out. By the time they were around him and banging their weapons against the stones he had started to sap them of their life force bit by bit. Individually they would barely feel it, but with how great their numbers were he was feeling an immense rush of power. He quaffed a potion ready to unleash a controlled explosion of primal energy. Simply freezing one or two of them would not be good enough instead he blasted forth a wave of permafrost freezing them solid and encasing them in ice.

He breathed out slowly after unleashing that, steam coming from his mouth in the mixture of cold and hot air. He raised his fist and more rocks shot forth from the ground forming a fist of sorts. With a nervous chuckle, he threw a weak punch and yet the massive rock fist flew forwards like a ballista projectile smashing through one of the frozen darkspawn killing it instantly. For a moment now he needed a breather and so he let others take over as he held back to catch his breath and calm his shaking knees. It wasn't easy fighting the blight he realised.[/fieldbox]
 
Miri Evenwood

The days of travel hadn't been exciting, honestly it had be rather calm for the most part. No life or death fights broke out, nothing of interest truly happened. There was just a singular focus on completing this mission and heading straight for the forest to not only find the Dalish elves, but with luck possibly the warden as well. The group that Miri was apart of was a decently sized one, but she didn't attempt to make much conversation with any of them, not yet at least. Rather she choose to stick with the only person she was familiar with for the entirety of the trip so far. Not because she wasn't friendly, rather she choose not to make conversation till at least after the first fight the group had been through. After all, experience has told her, friendships have a chance to bloom after you've been in combat with a few nasty creatures. It helps tell who can be relied on, who is nothing more than a coward, and if someone were to fall in combat on the first go, well at least she didn't know them enough to shed tears on their souls.

As they walked, Miri would from time to time pull out a book, and a writing pen (with a medium sized inkwell strapped to her hip), and would start to draw, or write. Ranging from taking a few notes of how the day went, to describing what she hate or just drawing a few flowers and such that they happened to pass by. She wasn't intending to take this time away from the circle and bands of templars to do nothing, rather she wanted to use it to just enjoy the small sense of freedom she has. And currently, it was rather lovely~Sure there was still a templar with something that could really ruin her day, but she knew far too well that he wouldn't use that solely because she was dragging behind as she drew a quick sketch of a frog that happened to be sitting on the trail.

This journey so far, wasn't bad, but she couldn't help but ask internal question of if they would succeeded in their job or if they would end up failing miserably. What would happen if the last warden was in fact dead? That would mean the secrets of their order would be gone, would they be sent on another quest to find any possible tome that could reveal these secrets? So the order could be reborn and the blight stopped? If so, where would they begin? Finding the bodies of dead Wardens? Heading to the areas where the wardens had on- Any thoughts she had came to a halt as she heard the crackling of lightning, something that was anything but natural. Taking her staff off her back she started to look around to find what could have caused such an explosion only to find that not far from them a fight was taking place. Darkspawn, refugees, Dalish, and so on were about to rush into combat, with a lightning bolt having streaked form the sky straight into the Darkspawn.

"By the Marker." Miri breathe out as she watched the Darkspawn rush forward with their loud battle cries. This wasn't her first encounter with such horrible creatures, but this was certainly one of the larger ones she had to come face to face with. Seeing so many in one area sent a chill down her spine, but she didn't step back. Not when she heard the screams of women and children not too far from them, her eyes catching Darkspawn rushing straight for those that had no way to fight back. "Letif!" Miris shouted as she rushed up to the Templar before pointing over to the group of refugees that had only a few people who were protecting the majority of the group. "I will help the refugees!" Now stopping by his side she gave him a nod, a serious look on her face as she gripped her staff tightly in her hand. "Take care in this fight, don't let the bile touch you, and may the Maker be on your side." She said as she touched his shoulder. As soon as she did so, she let the end of her staff tap on the ground and with that Letif, would feel a magical energy rush into his body. Something he likely would have felt before as Miri just casted a spell that would enhance his strikes. "Make them fear coming out of the Deep Roads."

With that she left him go and immediately rushed over straight to the refugees. As she did so she send out occasional basic spiritual magic at them. While not enough to kill, she was trying to wound what she could without getting too close. For she knew well what happened to those that strayed too close to these creatures, and she had no intention of that happening to her. Sticking to the trees, and ducking behind them when she had a chance, she kept firing small but hopefully effective shots into the field where the darkspawn where.
@Shitsuji-Carty
 

[bg=black]Well, look at that.

A complete and utter clusterfuck is brewing up ahead.

Not quite what the great and good of Ferelden sent us off to search for, but it's a damn sight better than another day with nothing to do but stare at trees. That's the trouble with travelling about as a small armed posse. No bandit group is going to be mad enough to attack you. They're all about easy pickings and we represent pickings about as easy as a massive porcupine with spines forged from nightmares and dragonbone. Why bother trying to rob a group that has a great big fucking Qunari with them when you can just wait for some unfortunate refugees to come crawling along?

Darkspawn, though? Whole different story there. Those freaks of nature really just don't give a shit. Be you terrified band of starving refugees or terrifying group of heavily armed goons, they're more than happy to have a crack at ripping you limb from limb and eating your innards. It's almost charmingly earnest, if you really stretch the meanings of those words to breaking point. Which might explain why I'm actually feeling a slight rush at the sight of the mob of them we seem to have stumbled across at the edge of the Brecilian Forest, right as they're preparing to fall upon a group of stragglers fleeing the Blight.

Maybe this job isn't going to be the boring slog I wrote it off as previously.

Our motley band are already taking to the field, the eager little beavers. To my surprise it's the 'Vint who goes balls to the walls and rushes the darkspawn mob first, lending us a nice demonstration on why magic scares the bollocks off me as he starts literally taking our opposition apart. The stoic little mage girl who's basically just been keeping company with no-one but the Templar seems to have some grit to her as well, going by the way she sets off to defend the refugees. Never seen such eager spellslingers in my life, and I'm not about to let them pinch all the action.
“Right then, lads and ladies!” I call to the rest of the party as I start towards the field, “let's be playing at being big damn heroes, shall we? We need to get those refugees moving and those darkspawn bleeding! Let's be fuckin' having it!”

With that I'm off and moving, plunging through the treeline towards the refugees. They're not hard to spot, after all, just have to follow the screaming. And who can blame the unfortunate bastards? When I ran afoul of my first darkspawn hunting party I nearly shit my britches, and there's a hell of a lot more than a hunting party coming at them now. Up ahead Miri is busy hurling spells at the darkspawn as she makes her way towards the refugees' position, using the treeline as defence as she goes. I sprint past her as she casts, my misspent youth having given me plenty of practice ducking and moving amidst trees, turning to flash her a grin as I go.
“Last one there's an ugly nug, lass!” I shout, trying to make my voice heard over the din of the battle that's already brewing.

The refugees have, to their credit, managed to form a line against the approaching mass of darkspawn. Desperate farmers with little more than padded jerkins and pointed sticks to hold back the tide, but they're making the attempt all the same. Desperation is quite the motivator. Close enough to the refugees to risk breaking from the cover of the treeline, I jump over an outcrop of brambles once I'm within shouting distance of the people we're aiming to rescue.

Not that I get the chance to, you know, shout.

The snarls heralding their arrival, I snap my head to the left just in time to see a gaggle of the ugly bastards we've decided to pick a fight with coming right at me: seems I've managed to intercept a pincer movement by the darkspawn. Lucky me. Sliding to a halt, I reach up to the scarves about my neck to pull one over my mouth. Things are about to get messy, and I've seen firsthand what ingesting these things' blood can do to a man: doubt an elf's odds are much better. Rushing ahead of his ilk is one of the taller darkspawn bastards, screaming bloody murder as he charges. His weapon's little more than a chunk of sharpened steel, more cudgel than blade, but I still don't fancy being on the business end of it. My own weapon hangs from my side, the curved blade catching the glint of the sun through the trees as I draw it clear of its sheath and let it rest across my right shoulder.

It's an invitation. A trained fighter would spot such a trap almost immediately, but this big bald fuck lunging towards me isn't anything of the sort: he's nothing but a mutated ball of anger and rage hellbent on throwing himself at the first challenger he sees. His nasty looking blade comes swinging down at me as he launches himself into an attack, ready to cave my face in with a single blow. Were I trying to meet such an attack head-on, I'd be on the ground and seeing stars almost immediately.

But fighting's never been a game of strength for me.

My sabre arcs away from my shoulder with little more than a stretch of my arm and a twist of my wrist, clashing against the darkspawn's blade as I dart to the side. My wrist pivots again, a moulinet that swings my weapon under the creature's guard before bringing it up once more. Blade meets flesh, the sabre hacking open the darkspawn's throat as his momentum carries him past me and into the ground. The thud of a heavy body crashing into the earth, the gurgling death rattle of a neck hewn open tells me that's one kill for me so far today.

Now to deal with the rest of the gaggle rushing me.

Swinging the blade and bringing it back to rest on my shoulder, I stare down the darkspawn closing in on me and hope that some of my new companions feel like showing up soon.

Taking on half a dozen of these hideous fucks by myself isn't the most appealing of prospects, after all.
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It was a good day for music. The sun shone bright above, a gentle warmth filtering in through the trees of the Brecilian Forest. Oskar continued to play a soothing tune as they followed the old paths, reveling in the familiar strum of his lute's strings, and the even sway of the dagger at his him. Although their trek had been uneventful, insofar as a trek through a forest as renowned as the Brecilian could be, Oskar was far from optimistic. It would be just their luck if they ran into something near the end of their journey. As such, Oskar continued to play in the hopes that it would ward off their persistent bad luck just long enough for them to leave the damn place.

But of course, not even a lute could keep evil at bay for long.

The refugees were doing a fine enough job of fighting back, if flailing about with sharpened sticks and cloth for armor could be considered good. They were alive. That had to count for something.

Initially, Oskar danced between them with a grace reminiscent of a dancer rather than a fighter, plunging his dagger into throats and sternums until the blade had become coated in the thick black blood of the darkspawn. He was agile, but not agile enough to avoid the spurting blood, and soon enough it coated his clothing, too. The odor was something terrible, not too unlike that of rot and burning flesh. Oskar sniffed in disgust.

Once he could move about more freely without meeting the end of a genlock's axe, Oskar cut a bloody path back toward his companions. The telltale buzz of fade magic was sweet in the air. A mage was nearby. Good.

"Y'need a hand there, Saal?" Oskar chirped, sidling up to the rogue's side. "A lovely little ditty to brighten you day or nah?"
 
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Letif Connors


The journey ahead would likely be a long and tough one, meaning Letif needed to prepare as much as he could for the coming battles and whatever else may lie ahead. He would don his usual clothes as well as a layer of chainmail underneath his templar armor, a sturdy but worn redsteel armor that covered the man’s chest, shoulders, and forearms. He would wear some matching gauntlets and boots but of course attached to the bottom of his armor was a red skirt with the symbol of the chantry. Lastly he would have his longsword and templar shield for when he would engage in battle, and his personal lyrium kit to help deal with his addiction and use of his powers. Once he was ready, he would receive the Miri’s phylactery and the two would set off to find the Grey Warden’s following the only lead they had of one living among the dalish in the Brecilian woods.


As the pair traveled to their destination, along the way their group would seem to grow, bringing in all sorts of characters including a Qunari. While Miri would stick close by Letif’s side, he would have to keep watch over her to make sure she didn’t get left behind while taking her notes of the outside world. For the most part the group had a quiet Journey, a few people chatting here and there but it didn’t seem like they would get any action on their way there. Letif would sigh as he was curious about the skills of the others, but would have to wait to see them in action until later. While they were on the road Letif would often occupy himself with some whittling, picking up random pieces of wood and craving it down to random shapes, his favorite being Chantry symbols and Andraste’s statue.


As the group neared the forest though, they soon heard the sounds of screams and battle, followed by a flash of lightning. The party would hurry closer only to find a large group of darkspawn chasing down and attacking a group of refugees. The sheer numbers were enough to make most people stop and take a look before joining in on the fight. Letif would draw his sword and shield as Miri called out to him and pointed to the refugees, saying she was going to help them first. The two would exchange a pair of serious nods before Miri would give him some words of encouragement “ With the protection of the Maker we will make it through this.” the man would say confidently before feeling his companion's hand touch his shoulder before a surge of energy would hit his body. Miri would give him a few last words before dashing off into the nearby woods to use her magic to support the others as well as attack some of the darkspawn.


Letif was now ready to join the fray, seeing as some of the group had already started battling some of the creatures he thought it best to help them and then they all could keep pushing towards the refugees. It seemed one of the mages had carved out his own little spot as he used him magic to freeze and then crush some of the monsters, on the refugee’s flank a group of darkspawn had gathered and was about to push forward, only to be stopped by two of the parties rogues. One using a sabre would end a Hurlock by slicing its neck while the other seemed to dance around with a dagger inflicting smaller damage on more opponents. The two still had about half a dozen more genlock to deal with, but since Saal and Oskar had their attention it would be easier for Letif to surprise them.


Charging in with his shield locked in place in front of him, he would ram three of them, knocking them onto their backs. Letif would plunge his sword through the genlocks chest before looking to the two rogues “quickly, the final blow” he would say to them hopeing they were quick enough to end the other darkspawns lives before they got back to their feet. Should they manage that Letif would take on another genlock that was racing towards him, the creature would attempt to strike the man down with a crudely made axe. Letif was prepared though as he used his shield to deflect the blow, then bash the genlock, as the creature was reeling from the hit, Letif would use his longsword to slash the creatures face and chest ending its miserable life. The templar would then check on the two rogues once more before trying to speak to them over the screams and other noise of the battle. “ I need your help to push further to the refugees. I want to get inbetween them and the darkspawn, hopefully than I can get whatever militia they have to form up on me and hold the line more effectively.” He would say to them despite the fact that two genlock remained in their way, nonetheless Letif was determined to help the innocent people who were suffering. Letif hoped that once the people would see a templar fighting for them, they would believe the maker had not forsaken them and give them new hope to keep fighting on.
 
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Karasten was not a Qunari prone to misgiving or complaint, yet often surmised that the ardor of travel was the wickedest force in the known world. The transitory line between the material, like a shoddy wooden bridge and a horror’s gaping maw beneath it. The greatest of Arishoks and Orlesian cavalier-generals sweat blood from their brows to combat ‘travel’, all the horrific logistics of it - of beasts, of the frigid elements, the terrifying notion that a single, slight miscalculation could result in the demise of legions through food shortage. Worst of all were the droll moments, where every step became a void and consumed the traveller entirely. The journey itself, after all, yielded dividend only to those whose senses bore some small capacity for poetry.

Qunari warriors were not particularly renowned for their poetical nature. And so, Karasten had been bored.

Their group was one of eclectic composition, ostensibly adventurers, mages and warriors of skillset esoteric. Such descriptors only indicated difference, and Karasten was not one for whom difference equated interest. So his company had been, generously speaking, sullen. The sizable Qunari had taken to the front of their procession, the lack of travellers that could turn to face him ensuring a quiet solitude.

Ensuring, also, that he’d be among the first to partake in one of the scant few succulent delights travel could offer; ambush.

The strike of thunder signalled the booming end of the stale doldrums, and Karasten had taken that moment to suppress a rare laugh with a roar that buzzed with the vibrato from the polyps of his vocal cords, birthed by years of harsh usage. He roared not for bravado, but to get his blood up. The warrior’s face contorted to heinous proportions; his left-jaw jutted out from a brutal half-grin, and an eye lolled and rolled about the back of his head. His vitaar, ghostly white, seemed to even strain from the physical changes of battle-fury.

He belied the torrent of rage with a careful stride forward, much of his face and torso concealed by the roundedness of a steel shield, with an iron sword behind. Karasten sneered as he surveyed the mass of hurlocks and genlocks, already being laid to waste by ice and frost, the rapid dervish of daggers, sabers, and a man in white. Eyes held wide open spotted the genlocks that held the gap between three of his party, and the line of refugees. He picked his spot, and charged with a long-legged stride as fluid as it was explosive, clearing the distance he had given as if it were nothing at all.

The leftmost genlock chose to meet him in stride. It's terrible hooked axe swung down from an apex, bearing the full weight of the darkspawn’s motion. Karasten obliged its snarling challenge, preparing his shield to divert the brunt of the blow, while prancing diagonally in the final motions of his charge. He relished in the soreness of his arm as the axe came off it, the Qunari expertly sliding his shield across to avoid the trap of the genlock’s hook. He basked in satisfaction, as the second genlock’s blow fell just inches short of tearing him asunder across the groin. The Qunari had been thoroughly vindicated in his decision to angle himself away from his secondary opponent.

Karasten did battle fluently, if not artistically. He adhered to patterns and formulae, and his onslaughts were treatises, neither prose nor poetry. His mother had told him she did battle like the flame. Karasten did battle like the pot of mud that contributed to the wall.

With the genlock committed to his engagement, his allies were free to do as they pleased.
 
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The road to the elven wood had been a long one, particularly given the speed with which the rather haphazardly thrown together group had been moving. It would have been a fair sight worse if the company had been boring, however, and for that, she counted herself lucky. The entire gathering had seemed initially suspicious of one another for reasons pertaining to race or profession but a few pockets of conversation had formed along the way.

Enough had reached Gwinn's ears in her time on the surface to know that mages were given suspicious treatment but if it weren't for the clear disparity in weaponry, she'd likely have been ignorant to which in the party the mages were. The woman of two seemed intertwined with one of the men while the man seemed to make even the woman nervous. Perhaps it was the snakes, Gwinn had decided. They were impressive and a little foreboding. The conversation that they'd struck up while walking had been greatly enjoyable, though and Gwinn was pleasantly surprised to hear him speak so well of dwarves.

In fact, Gwinn had been so absorbed in the conversation that the sudden flurry of action ahead caught her off-guard. Before she could even heft the battleaxe from its comfortable position against her back, other members of the group - including the mage who'd sprung into action far faster than she - were already engaging the Darkspawn. Unfortunately for them, the daintier looking members of the team also seemed to have been the fastest to the draw and Gwinn watched in dismay as the rogues made it first into the fight.

Darkspawn were an old enemy for the dwarves but had only appeared on land to terrorize surfacers during a Blight. Ignorance could be worse than deadly when it came to the darkspawn. If they weren't careful about the blood, or about their wounds...

"If you can avoid it, don't let the bastards bleed on you. An' trust me, you want to avoid it." It wasn't much of a battle cry for a grand entrance but she couldn't live with herself if they didn't know better. Nearing the refugees, she had finally caught up to where the rest were slaying genlock, a bloody path forward to offer assistance. A worthy cause and the opportunity to bash some skulls in.

"About time we came across something and they don't even want to play with us," Gwinn spat. The Qunari took the attention of the genlock standing between them and the refugees on the left side, leaving the one on the right to try to flank the Qunari. It would be a shame to miss the chance to bash in the heads of the genlock and this one had become a prime target. Before it could make another attempt to score a strike on the other warrior, Gwinn moved for it. As she advanced, she slid her hands along the handle of the axe, changing grip to use the length to her advantage and ramming the eye into the genlock's stomach with the energy of her forward movement.

Staggered but not badly injured from the blow, the genlock straightened again to attack but was met with the axe's blade. The sharp edge and the power behind it sliced through the armor that the genlock was wearing, embedding deep into the flesh. Gwinn's nose tweaked in disgust as the wound spilled onto the grass, little more than a drop in the bucket of darkspawn blood already spilled underfoot. Much more and the grass would be an additional factor in the fight, slick to walk on and treacherous to combatants.

Gwinn pulled the axe free, her grip moving higher up the handle. The darkspawn heaved forward, wounded and enraged. Her choke on the axe let her use the blade to deflect the attack and she pushed the bleeding brute back. Another blow from the axe forced the genlock to the ground in a pool of blood. It did not stand again.
 
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Kahra made sure she was always one step ahead of her new comrades, not that she considered them that right now. She moved fairly quickly the whole time within the Brecilian Forest, urgency in her steps. Kahra could not stop until she knew Arrahel was alive, she would not stop until she saw him eye to eye. Some may have thought her a mad woman, others may have not bothered to consider why she moved with such expression, perhaps even desperation. Her time with the strangers were short and sweet, only ever exchanging real words at the beginning of their travel before focusing on the task at hand; Find Arrahel.

The luxury of traveling fast on two feet didn’t last long. Neither did the possibility that they’d found Arrahel, the last Grey Warden. She felt her heart beat twice as fast as each of her, well, not hers; strangers was more like it as every single one dove head on into the fray. It’d been a while since she’d tasted the fresh blood of true battle and motivation. Kahra armed herself with her daggers, crouched down and ran in silence along the outer edges of where the storm was brewing. The darkspawn were riled up and seemed to crowd around one particular area, though the constant stream of shadows and blood made it difficult to see.

A perfect opportunity presented itself in that moment; Kahra lunged forward just as the genlock turned its head away to face the enormous crowd building in the middle and hacked into the creature’s neck from the front and back. A satisfying tear rippling through Kahra’s ears as the body fell to the ground, head no longer intact. She took her time planning every clear cut precision and movement. Her confidence did not falter once and neither did her sheer determination to rid this world of these disgusting darkspawn. It’d been true, no doubt. Kahra regretted for a split second that she’d denied Arrahel the first time; she had not expected it to feel so terribly wonderful and also overwhelming that these creatures still lurked.

“Out of the way!”

Kahra abruptly appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, perhaps at least to the templar, and landed her dagger hard and deep into one of the genlock’s chests. A gurgling sound was heard for a brief moment before the creature went silent. Kahra did not pay attention to the templar’s spiel at all, her heart set on the kill more so than strategizing or talking out loud in the midst of battle. A hurlock came her way and swung a huge broadsword towards her head. She ducked and rolled out of the way to come up beside the creature and stab the disgusting thing deep in the ribs. Arrahel was somewhere; nearby or far, she didn’t know what the gut feeling in her stomach was, but she could feel he was here, and alive.


tag @Shitsuji-Carty @Childish Grumpino @Dipper
 
[fieldbox=Arrahel the White, grey, solid, 8, book antiqua]With these adventurerers as well as the various refugees and Dalish aiding in thinning the darkspawn warband, Arrahel found he had an easier time sensing the alpha. Stowing his shield away, the Grey Warden made a motion with his hand for the archers nearby to release a concentrated volley in the direction of the alpha, giving him more room to work with. This technique, which he had learned from his old mentor, mainly proved useful since there were no ogres in the band and very few of those annoying shrieks.

After the volly of arrows, Arrahel charged directly forward with two of the human ash warriors who had joined the fray, the latter pair being far faster than the elf as their axes and greatswords cleaved through some of the genlocks and hurlocks. With a hearty swing of his longsword, the Grey Warden stopped briefly in order to decapitate a hurlock emissary and prevent it from hurling any more of its tainted magic while electrocuting a few shrieks. In the end, it was no easy thing to carve one's way to the dominant darkspawn, with the elven man working through various darkspawn who seemed to be guarding their leader.

Still, Arrahel would prevail at meeting the hurlock alpha who commanded the band doing so beneath its horned helmet with its greataxe in its hand, jaundiced skin nestled beneath strong armor of corrupted metals. As soon as Arrahel got close, it would turn around and roar. Arrahel, fueled by adrenaline, roared back as he raised his right hand and shot a small lightningbolt from it to stun the beast before swinging deftly with the longsword in his left hand, but he was not fast enough. The hurlock endured the pain as it cleaved mightily downwards with its greataxe, attempting to literally disarm the Warden-Commander who only evaded the injury by side-stepping the blow. Grabbing the hilt of his longsword with both hands, his knuckles turning pale beneath his armored gloves, Arrahel stabbed upwards, piercing with a determined strength through the soft of the jaw and upwards through the beast's skull before pulling down with a slash to ensure it was finished. After multiple encounters with the darkspawn, he had learned that their helmets often didn't protect the underside of the jaw and the neck very well, and gambled on a quick strike to end the duel. Hopefully this luck would extend to a game of Wicked Grace later in the day.

With the alpha dead, some of the darkspawn seemed to panic while others fought more furiously. It would be a while until all the darkspawn that didn't escape were completely routed, but it was a necessary endeavor.

As the battle came to a close, the Grey Warden sheathed his weapon after cleaning the tainted blood from it and drew his hood, calling the able-bodied men and giving them instructions in order to prevent the spread of the taint. Those who had been exposed to tainted blood but hadn't injested any were given a potion made by the Keeper and their First to consume, and were then directed to burn their clothing and thoroughly clean their possessions. Those who had the chance of survival from being infected in the extremities had their limbs quickly amputated and cauterized before receiving any other instructions, and those too far gone already were made to rest with their ancestors (this was done by giving them tonics and tinctures to ease the pain before they either zuccumbed to their wounds or were killed out of mercy). Those who suffered injuries unrelated to the taint were given a lower priority than those who were, as the primary focus was to prevent exposure and the appearance of ghouls. Arrahel, being the only individual with a resistance to the taint, helped gather and burn all the tainted bodies as well as administer treatment. There were some Dalish who protested the cremation, but in the end no one disobeyed the Warden-Commander's instruction.

Those members of the Dalish who hadn't participated in the battle had been packing up their aravels in order to begin making their way towards the relative safety of Orlais, where there was to be a gathering of the many keepers. Arrahel had already convinced Theralan to uphold the treaties, so he could act as an envoy of the Wardens. Likewise, he would also need to charge some of the Dalish as well as some of the human and dwarvish refugees to act as messengers and spread the word that the order was not dead, and that it wouldn't be in its death throes until the Maker said so.

For now, though, Arrahel stood in the ruins of the battlefield, his arms crossed as he exhaled sharply. He slowly began forming a few plans in the back of his head, remaining open should any more of the Dalish or the refugees need anything of him, whether it be a single question or a plethora of work.[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Letif Connors, crimson, solid, 10, bookman old style]
As the battle raged on, Letif would watch as his new group of companions seemed more than able to help deal with the darkspawn threat, the Qunari soon joining them and slicing the arm off of a genlock clean and elegantly. With that one engaged there was only one Genlock standing in their path to the refugees now, but even that one was soon on the receiving end of a nasty attack from the parties dwarf. It was a short battle as she butchered the genlock and opened the path for them to the refugees that wanted to save. Meanwhile amidst the large group of darkspawn was one elf who seemed to be commanding some of the others.


Nevertheless Letif continued to push forward until he was standing right in between the refugees and darkspawn. “With the Maker’s blessing we will end these Beasts!” He would shout out loud to the nearby fighting refugees, holding his sword into the air it would glow lightly before the light would begin to spread to those around him. Letif had used his templar ability of blessed blades to rally those still fighting to push back with renewed strength.


Of course he would have to deal with some more genlock himself but none would seem able to crack the templars defence as he held his own in the close quarters fight. At some point during the fight, Letif started to notice a change in the darkspawn’s actions. The Hurlock that seemed to be commanding the front line soon ditched its position to charge its way into the refugees. The taller creature was wielding a greatsword it must have pilfered off of someone as it looked relatively clean compared to the other weapons most of them used. Letif would see the creature and Taunt it into coming after him instead of the other less equipped men. The Hurlock would let out a terrifying roar before attempting to bring down his sword on the man, Letif would use his shield to block the assault before carefully and quickly using his sword to slice at the creatures ankles. The Hurlock would then fall to its knees before Letif would get his payback, putting all his strength behind his next swing to cleave the creatures head from its body. The hurlock’s lifeless torso would then fall to the ground as the remaining genlock that didn’t flee were put to the sword.


When the fighting finally ended, Letif would attempt to clean himself and his equipment of the blood they had gathered during the battle. When he was finished he would notice a Elf with a hood on, commanding others to do things sheathing his weapons he would approach Arrahel and speak to him. As he got closer he would notice the design on the man’s armor and soon realise just whom it was, a Grey Warden, most likely the one they were looking for. Once he was within earshot of the warden he would speak “ You are the Grey Warden correct? The last one in Ferelden…. My name is Letif Connors, knight Corporal, part of the party that was sent in search of the wardens. If you have need of me I will be performing last rites on the refugees that will let me.” he said figuring it would not be a welcome thing for him to try with the dalish as they had their own religious followings. If Arrahel had no questions or comments for him the man would simply walk back towards the refugees as he prepared himself to administer the rite in the chantry’s place. At the moment Letif's duty to help the people took a precedent over the quest they were charged with for now. [/fieldbox]
 
Kahra executed her last finish with precision and the battle was over. Many rushed over to the refugees to help tend to their wounds, but Kahra did not. She glanced around and took a deep breath, the stench from the Darkspawn strong and wavering in her senses. That was a difficult fight, no doubt, but it hadn’t been anything she couldn’t handle. It felt like a long battle, a sore on her mind and soul that she would feel for days. Kahra cleaned her daggers promptly and sheathed them before searching for Arrahel. She wasn’t quite sure what he would think of her newest decision to help him stop the blight; perhaps he would be grateful. He seemed like that kind of man; one who was generous and appreciative of whatever aid he could receive.

She walked over to an ill party and watched in silence as a number of people left for the maker, and others barely lived. It was troubling to see so many go, her kin, especially, but it was not something she concerned herself with. When Arrahel finished burning the bodies and administering treatment, she made a move to approach him after Letif. It had been a few years since she’d last seen the Grey Warden; perhaps now was the time to speak and say something. Kahra could feel dead air blowing through her lips.

What could she say? His name?

“It’s been a while, longer than I would imagine before I got to see your face again,” she said. “I was wrong back then. I want to help you stop the blight, Arrahel. My decision may seem rash to you, but I know it is the right one after seeing those creatures take away the livelihood of this forest.”
 
[fieldbox=Miri Evenwood, #43c6db] The fight was a relatively swift one, with her party fighting the spawn as well as others from both the Dalish and the refugees, the vile beings truly didn't stand much of a chance. Luckily for those that had a soul, these monsters didn't have many powerful creatures among them, like an ogre or several emissaries. That and it was fortunate that the people she had been traveling with, along with the Dalsih knew how to fight and were capable of handling the monsters. While Miri herself didn't directly engage in combat, for she knew what could happen should the blood or blade pierce her flesh, she did what she could to help those that fought. Be it by healing those injured, giving others a surge of power or by hexing the enemy with misfortunate, she made she to do her part in this fight so as few as possible fell during this.

She watched the battle field from her vantage point by the refugees, a spot that allowed her to survey a decent portion of what was occurring before her. She watched as one of the fighters stood out from the rest, she knew well that person wasn't one of her group, rather whoever it was seemed to be leading the charge on the Dalish side and he fought with such vigor and strength, it was impressive. She watched as this person carved their way through the darkspawn, seemingly with on mission in mind as they made their way deeper into the group. As she watched this, she sadly didn't get a chance to see what this person's target was, for a scream nearby caught her eyes.

Barely reacting in time Miri slammed her staff down and pressed two fingers to her head only for a telekinetic blast to leave her body. This blast knocked back a few genlock that were rushing over to come slay several defenselessly people that she was protecting. With them knocked to the ground other people that had weapons had the chance to rush over and slay the creatures before they could regain their footing. Now realizing she shouldn't let her attention wander, Miri remained focused on this fight as she did what she could.

Eventually, the Darkspawn ran, their numbers having dwindled to the point even the beasts understood they were screwed. Letting out a sigh of relief at this Miri lowered her weapon, now just using her staff as something to lean against. Taking a moment she knew that just because the battle was over, didn't mean her job was done. For now she had to go and heal those she could and make it easier for those that even she couldn't save. She made sure to give each person the time and attention they needed before moving on to the next and the next.

"I bet the Maker is proud to have such a strong little one under his care." Miri hummed as she graced a kind smile to a little boy who was sniffing up a storm as he cradled his injured leg. Lucky something that was hurt due to the commotion and not the blade of the darkspawn. "Don't worry, I can make you as good as knew, just like I did with others~" After saying these soft words to the boy her hand gave off a gentle glow as she rested it upon his wound. After a moment or two, the boy stopped sniffing and looked down at his leg, only to find that the once body limb was now perfectly pristine, well almost. There was a small scar remaining in the spot where the wound had been, but it was nothing bad. "There we go, all better yes? Though it does seem you have a battle scar remaining."

At this the child couldn't help but look at Miri with awe as she magically healed his wound. First surprised and then delighted, he immediately stood up and thanked her before rushing off to show his parents what had just occurred. Giving the boy a small wave, Miri stood up and took the time to figure out where the rest of her party was located at. It took her only a moment to find Letif, and once she did she started to make her way over to him as she watched him approach the person of whom had caught her eyes during the fighting earlier. When she saw this, she stopped where she was at, and kept a distance from them, after all she didn't want to crowd them out. Though she did stay close enough to hear what they were speaking of.

Upon hearing the templar declare that the person was the warden they were looking for, a smile went on her face. For this took care a large portion of her earlier worries, assuming this was true of course. After Letif said what he had to say, she watched as another person approached the warden, one that seemed far more familiar with the man. Which was a welcoming sight, for it only added to the earlier confirmation that the man, was their target. Letting out a sigh of relief as she rested a hand over her heart she turned her back to the Warden as there was no point in bothering him for the time being. Rather she choose to go and see if there was anything else she could do to help. "If anyone needs healing, even if it's just minor! Please let me know, I will be able to assist you!" She called out, to no on in particular. Merely letting anyone who was injured with something as simple as a paper cut be aware of her services. @Anyone [/fieldbox]
 
[bg=black]Short and brutal, a concise eruption of extreme violence and skill. Saal's rather relieved to know that a battle against the darkspawn ends just as fast and bloody as the conflicts he's experienced throughout his career. And that the bastards die just as easily as anyone else. By the time the armour-clad templar has moved to rally the refugee lines the rest of their motley band has pressed into the fight, making quick work of the darkspawn coming at them. Meanwhile whoever's bringing the hurt from the other side of the clearing has been putting in the work as well, cutting through the darkspawn lines like some metaphorical reaper standing above the battlefield with his scythe swinging to and fro.
“Looks like you can save your jaunty little ditty for now, friend Oskar,” Saal remarks, flashing a grin at the bard as he begins to saunter after the rest of their group, “seems our compatriots have this in the bag.”

No sense risking his neck if his new allies are more than happy to, at the end of the day. The great and good of Ferelden paid him to help find a warden, not get skewered by darkspawn.

The din of combat has subsided into the low rumble of a battle's aftermath, screams and shouts giving way to the moans of the wounded and the tense voices of those combing through the battlefield in search of them. The mage girl is already setting to work tending to those who managed to find themselves on the receiving end of the darkspawn's wrath, using her magic to mend wounds and staunch the flow of blood. Hell of a useful talent, Saal has to admit, even if the sight of magic still disturbs him on an instinctive level. Plenty of times he and his comrades over in Antiva could have used abilities such as the ones on display.

The other side's wounded aren't in so fortunate a position, however: no mercy to spare on monsters. He spies one of the smaller, stunted little bastards crawling it's way through the carcasses and churned up earth of the battlefield with several arrows protruding from it's back. Still balancing the sabre on his shoulder, Saal makes his way over to the snarling, dying creature before bringing the blade swinging down at it's neck. It stops crawling after that, quite suddenly. Staring down at the dead little horror, Saal has the chance to examine the arrows sticking out from him.

As he takes in the wood used, the fletching, he feels his eyes narrow. He feels a cold chill creeping down his spine.

He knows that craftsmanship all too well.

“Pig-shite...” Saal hisses under his breath, turning his head up from the dead creature and towards the opposite side of the battlefield.

Sure enough there they stand, not far behind the figure who was properly bringing the ruckus in that battle. Their clothes, their weapons, their stance, all of it screams Dalish. The only people Saal wants to be running into less than the darkspawn, and fate decides to throw him the double gut-punch in a single afternoon. Sighing, he tugs a length of coarse cloth from about his waist to clean of his weapon as he moves towards the elf his compatriots are starting to gather around. A quick scan of the fellow tells him exactly why they're finding him so interesting, and Saal finds himself chuckling darkly. This is like the start of a bad joke he'd tell his fellow sellswords back up north.

A dalish elf, a darkspawn and a Grey Warden walk into a bar, or something to that tune.

He's an unassuming looking fellow, for the object of their search. But then looks are most certainly deceiving, given the merry hell this elf just raised amongst the darkspawn. Coming to a stop next to Kahra, Saal rests his hand on the guard of his now sheathed sabre and continues looking the Grey Warden over.
“So you're Bobby Big Bollocks, are you? Wasn't expecting another elf.” His pensive look splits into a grin. “I tell you, the Ferelden nobility are gonna shit themselves with fury when we present you as their great saviour, friend. Racist old bastards won't know what to fucking do with themselves.”
[/bg]
 
Just like that, things had returned to something almost normal. Every moment in between battles was precious for these refugees and they seemed to know it, refusing to dwell overlong on the battle that had just transpired, especially since they suffered almost none at all for it. The laughter of a little boy who came breezing past her with parents in tow was followed by the almost alarmingly cheerful healer. It was hard not to wonder if the screams and the blood had been a nightmare and her eyes sought her sullied boots as proof to herself.

Darkspawn blood needed to be cleaned as fast as possible. Taking care to hold the axe close to her chest, Gwinn set off in a search for a clean and calm spot where she could hunker down. It was lucky for her that the boots were metal at the toe and nigh on waterproof, she could wipe away the blood and not have to burn them. The axe had taken on a sickening purple sheen at the blade and gave off the faint sweetness of decay, it too would need cleaning.

In her hunt for the right spot, Gwinn passed the pair of elves and was amused at the contrast she saw. They both looked as though their greatest dreams had come true but where Kahra's might have involved fireworks and slow dancing, it seemed that the dream of Saal's that had come true was the one where you forget your pants in the morning. A snippet of their conversation reached her ears and she laughed.

"You're fooling yourself if you don't think that any statues they make for us will be suspiciously tall with hair over the ears," she said, breaking into a smile. She'd seen enough of Kirkwall to know that half their lot at least would be lucky to earn a passing mention. Was the warrior with the healer a human? They'd probably write the whole story with him as the hero. She snorted to herself thinking it and knelt down to begin cleaning her boots.
 
[fieldbox=Arrahel the White, grey, solid, 8, book antiqua]The elf was pleasantly surprised to see a few of the travelers approach him, although the templar had thrown him off by a small degree due to his residual, old fears and nervousness regarding the Chantry's soldiers that he still had some difficultly letting go of, despite the progress he had made in such before falling comatose. He simply gave the templar the permission to do his duty and issued a warning to be careful around the bodies regardless of whether or not they had been tainted while taking a deep breath as silently as possible afterwards.

Seeing the first elf approach, one whose face he recognized almost immediately despite the fact the name had to pulled out of the murky recesses of his recently conscious mind, he let his arms fall to his sides to seem a bit more approachable. Perhaps he looked a bit too approachable given what the second elf said, but as he readied himself to reply Arrahel soundly found himself listening to the dwarvish woman, although it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After listening respectfully to what the dwarf said, the Grey Warden spoke up, clearing his throat briefly.

"For the two of you who I haven't met before, I am Arrahel the White, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. And- if what I have been told is correct- the Grey Wardens have all but disappeared. So I say this now, to all of you, that for what you've done in this fight alone to save the refugees you are good candidates to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens, you three and the rest of your companions. I would implore you, then, to join the order and pledge yourself further to ending this Blight. Much has changed, but I need help and while the Dalish can quickly bring some of my messages to Orlais, I still need to go enforce the treaties where I can. The Circle, the Chantry, the various nations. For clarity's sake I will say this- I have been unconscious for three years due to some unknown magic, but it may be why I survived. I will need much help, and I need to ensure that the Wardens do not die here. I will take no conscripts in this moment, only volunteers. What say you?"

Arrahel kept a hint of pride in his voice, almost tempted to draw his sword from his hip to accentuate his little soliloquy. He spoke loud enough that many of the people surrounding him could hear, his words serving to embolden the Dalish and the refugees to a rather high degree. He had an air of command about him in that moment, and it was noticeable. And while he doubted he would get recruits from the Dalish or the refugees, he sternly believed the best potential recruits just might be these adventurers who were willing to do good and seek him out because it was the right thing to do.
[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Septimus Avernus, green]Bodies of darkspawn frozen around him, at least for the moment and rest of his companions rushing off towards the refugees Septimus started to back off step by step while making sure to keep an eye out for any more oncoming enemies. They were coming, a few rushing around the frozen statues other pushing past and one even shattering one of his supposed allies in order to get to Sep just a bit faster. With more of them streaming towards him the only thing he could do for the time being was keep freezing them and to do so he shot off a stream of ice and frost from his palms adding to his quickly growing ice sculpture collection. It was a temporary solution, eventually, the magic would wink out and they would return to a more animate state. Before that were to happen he needed to either get the hell out of there or figure out a way take them out.

It was a shame they were in a forest and a pretty one at that. He could have set fire to them and easily melt through half of their numbers, at least one ones assaulting him that is. Instead, he was a bit more limited and the only thing he could do was throw rocks at them or alternatively as he eventually did, make the earth shake until they were all down and dead. Seeing that the numbers chasing him were dwindling and that he had plenty of space he plunged his rock covered hands into the earth and tapped into the Fade exerting his will upon the physical world causing the earth to tremble and rise violently. Darkspawn icicles started to fall and shatter and what few didn't break off and die he started pelting with arcane bolts and lightning strikes until he was certain there were no more breathing darkspawn around him. He breathed a sigh of relief and dropped to one knee still clad in rock and stones in place of armour. With a smile and a chuckle, the earth fell from his body piling around him.

Feeling like he just lost half of his weight he stood up straight only to confirm what he already knew based on sound, the battle was over. He breathed deeply as he moved away from this area of shattered ice and body pieces. Soon enough it would melt away and turn to vile flesh again, he didn't want to be around for it. For the time being, he moved off to the side so he wouldn't be in the way of people needing help. Taking a seat on a piece of gnarled root protruding from the ground he rolled his shoulders and started inspecting himself for injuries. His clothing was untouched, no puncture wounds and yet he felt like a squeezed tomato. All those rocks had to send the force of impact somewhere. Unfortunately, what little poultice he had he wanted to preserve for serious injuries. Instead, he searched for some sort of a Dalish herbalist, he was certain they could brew him some sort of tea to help the pain or at the very least lend him some elfroot to gnaw on. Instead, he saw one of his companions, the other mage in the group going around healing people. As soon as she asked if someone else needed it he raised his hand high and shouted loud enough to get her attention. "Over here! I'm all bruised up and tired."

All those rocks were quite a load on his simple body, he wasn't as physically trained as other folks in their group but then again he never needed to be. Most of his spare time was spent studying magical theory, practice, research and so on. It was hardly as simple as mages made it out to be, the process of tapping into the world of dreams and using its own very energy to alter the physical world. Healing, in particular, was an admirable skill, the knowledge it takes to bring people's bodies back to how they used to be was hard to come by let alone learn to use. What seemed like a wave of a hand to others Septimus knew to be far more complex work and so he appreciated it all the more when Miri came over to heal his bruises. "Sorry to bother you for such simple things, but hey you said anything, even a paper cut." He smiled at her from his tree root seat and let her do her work while he looked on towards the quickly growing group around what seemed like a fairly important elf.

Listening to the man's speech Sep smirked and nodded understandingly. "Well, what do you know, we found one already. Perhaps the others are still alive as well, just hidden away. Long lost to where no path goes, you know?" He chuckled at the thought of a bunch of Wardens hidden away in remote corners while a Blight was taking over the world. "So what about you? Do you plan on joining? There's no shame in saying no, you can still fight the Blight as a regular mage, you know? One of your skill can help anyone, anywhere." He gazed towards the man almost wistfully. "Some speech, right? Makes me almost want to jump in and sign up right away. Then again, I was going to do so anyway. Spent a better part of my childhood reading about them, the heroes that slay not just the Dragons and the Blight but the Corrupted Old Gods we used to worship. There is pride in that heritage, oddly enough most of them don't last longer than a few decades at best, dangerous work even without a Blight." He smirked and looked towards the ginger mage. "Scary stuff, the Blight. How are you holding up? Frankly, between the two of us, I'm terrified." He seemed genuine enough about it, or rather the smile he tried to use to cover it up as a joke wasn't all that reassuring.[/fieldbox]
 
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The ritualistic cleansing of darkspawn matter served to cool Karasten's boiling blood. Already, those around him moved with the practiced deftness of community; leaders, champions and healers availing themselves to those in need, the lost cleansed with the efficiency of a warrior's breath, and interlopers received with calm diplomacy. They operated similarly, if with less discipline, to the Qunari, their lulls in productivity a matter of the haggard wounded, or perhaps the laissez-faire of their kind.

He found little motivation to partake in the niceties of his party. Karasten was not one for jests, boasts or small-talk; in past excursions with the bas, he had taken to avoiding them entirely in the moments after an engagement. In the end, his efforts had been moot; he was tall, unfit for the cowering, and few seemed to bother seeking him out in any case. A rare lot of ever-grateful refugees, compelled by some ill-conceived moral compunction to approach him in thanks, were deflected off like gnats darting into a shield-wall.

Still, he was content. The Warden was here, and he had made his presence obvious.

The White had taken to speeches, the solitary one that he had come to expect from the readings, rumor and hearsay that surrounded his order; the fabled recruitment drivel. Arrahel spoke well, Karasten allowed. Less of the booming gravitas of the Triumvir, but infused with an earthly sort of pride that disseminated like pollen over even the lowly weak. Karasten felt precious little -- inundated by years of the Qun -- but had chosen to remain stock-still. The Warden had established himself as the camp's champion, and Karasten would not seek to undermine him by fidgeting.

When at last he was finished, the Qunari approached, eyes furrowed beneath the whites of his Vitaar. Measuring.

"As you are Arrahel, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I am Karasten, servant of the Qun."

His intonations were blunt, and his refusal to address him as 'the White' a matter of principle.

"Your continued existence is a beneficial resource in the conflicts to come. These words will be brief: The mandate imposed by the Arishok is to assist the Thedan effort; to ascertain the state of... the resource, and to assist in its leveraging. To that end, I will follow you where you go. I cannot, however, join with your Order. There are forces which supersede such a request."

He thought then, not of the Arishok, but of his mother.
 
As the battle came to a close, Oskar cleaned the darkspawn blood from his blades with a handkerchief, balling it up when he was done and using the clean side to wipe the sweat from his face. For now, these refugees were safe from the darkspawn threat, and Oskar felt accomplished for that fact. For once in his life, at least, he’d done something worthwhile.

Oskar made his way toward where the group had begun to gather around a mage-- what Oskar assumed was a mage. He didn’t hold himself like one, and the way he spoke was in no way reminiscent of the submissive tones of a circle mage.

“Grey Warden?” Oskar sauntered up to the elf, head cocked to one side in curiosity. “Aha! Sign me up, Warden. I will join you.”

The others would surely follow. It was an honorable calling, as much as a calling could be in these times. That was the way of things; a mob effort in seeking safety and purpose, and once one of them offered their hand in support of the Wardens, the others would be compelled to do the same. As if rejoicing, Oskar brought his fingers to his lute's strings and began to play. It was enthusiastic, celebratory, and the smile on his face was one of content.

It was only then that he truly took the time to see his companions for what they were. Not aimless adventurers seeking glory, but men and women seeking purpose. They were a promising bunch. Joining them, then, had been the best choice he'd made in a decade.

"So, Warden. How do we begin?"
 
[fieldbox=Miri Evenwood, #43c6db] As Miri glided around with a light tune leaving her lips (a hymn, from a song she utterly adored, and could never help but sing to herself at times). "Shadows fall and hope has fled, steel your hearts fo-" Alas, before she could really get far into the beautiful music that always left a smile on her face, her attention was brought to a man as she was called for healing. With her hands behind her back, she turned on her attention to the one that requested her before making her way over to him. "No worries, I don't mind healing small wounds like that, if it makes my companions feel better and allows them to relax after a fight like that then I am happy~" She assured as she came to a stop right in front of him.

"Let's see what we have here~" Brushing one of her fiery locks behind her she gave the man a good once over. "Ah, you were the one that rushed head first into the fight, haha, for a moment I thought you were a hardened warrior rather than a mage with how you rushed in." A soft giggle left her at this as he hand gave off a soft glow and she held it there, though it didn't seem like it she was focusing on healing his wounds even as her attention was starting to be taken by the Warden as he gave all around a rather good speech if she said so herself. A simple soft smile was on her features by the end of it, though she made no comment for the most part as she moved her hands to let more of her magical healing care for the man's wounds.

While she worked and as his small wounds started to shut, her eyes were brought to the man's face as he spoke once again to her. She listened intently to his words, and even once she was finished healing him, she remained in her spot as he spoke. That smile of hers didn't leave for a moment, and once he was done talking she gave a shake of her head. "You certainly have a lot to say." She mused as she rested a finger up against her cheek. "As for me joining? No, I have no intention of doing so. I am happy to offer my services in the name of the Maker to the order. However, I do not wish to be bound to another group that may halt me from achieving a few things I hope to achieve."

Now moving her hands behind her back after adjusting her robes she hummed a bit. "When it comes to knowledge of the wardens, I admit I'm not that versed in it. I spent my time in the circle learning of healing magic, spirits, the fade and other things of that. I never dreamed that I would be one that would have to help out the wardens. Haha, alas, even with all my magic, foretelling the future is not something I am capable of. That being said, if you have knowledge of them and don't mind sharing it, I would be grateful to learn during any free time if you are okay with it. Be it during those rather dull at times walks or when we camp~"

After saying this she thought about his last question for a moment as her eyes looked around the field. "Me? I am fine, I stayed back during the battle and received no injury. This isn't the first time I've faced these beings before, and I assume it won't be the last. You see that templar over there? He and I fought a group before when we were heading to a village for me to help out. That was my first time encountering the beasts, and haha, I think I almost peed on myself...annnnd had about three heartattacks, and maybe vomited when none of them were looking." As she said this a dusty blush went over her cheeks, one of which was easy to spot due to her decently pale complexion. "Um...do...don't tell him that okay? When he asked me if I was fine the first time around, I was able to fake it...so he didn't have to worry. No...No need to bring it up that I was anything but fine at that point in time." Letting out a light laugh she looked back at the man and laughed softly as she rubbed the back of her head a bit.

"Oh, we probably introduced ourselves before, but, to be honest. I didn't actually try to remember your name because I wasn't certain as to what you were made of, or if you would even survived the fight. So, um...if you don't mind. Can we do introductions again? My name is Miri Evenwood, Circle mage, who specializes in healing and magics meant to amp or hex my targets. A pleasure to meet you for real. It was impressive to see you in battle, at least it was for the two seconds I saw you~" [/fieldbox]
@Snowflake
 
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