Times Of War: Chapter One- The Witching Wood

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  1. Chapter One: The Witching Wood

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    "And so is the Golden City blackened
    With each step you take in my Hall.
    Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.
    You have brought Sin to Heaven
    And doom upon all the world."
    -Canticle of Threnodies 8:13

    The chantry teaches us that it is the ignorance of men that brought the Darkspawn into our world.
    The Mages sought to uncover the glories heaven, but instead; they destroyed it.
    They were cast out, twisted and cursed by their own corruption.
    Returning as monsters- the first of the Darkspawn.
    They became a blight upon the land, unstoppable and relentless.

    Since that time, Ostagar has become a booming camp for King Caillen's forces, keeping the nasty creatures at bay and waiting for the day that they will rise up with all they've got in an attempt to overcome them. New members, willing and not, are briefed on the current Darkspawn situation, as well as any required news in camp, before being assigned a group and sent out on their first missions. Today, of all days, was a blessing to the dwindling numbers at Ostagar, fresh blood is being brought in by the scouts. These members will be crucial in the Kings plans to extinguish the Darkspawn threat.

    Three large caravans brought both capable men and women to aid in the ever going battle. Among new supplies and weaponry, they were going to be the key in achieving the goals set by Caillen and his wide spread intelligence.

    Within one of the Caravans, was a member of the first group. A Dalish Elf named Neviha and her trusted hunting companion, Esessar.
    Neviha was born among the Dalish Elves, noble wanderers who refused to join the society of humans that subjugated their homeland so long ago. The Dalish struggle to maintain their half forgotten lore in a human land that fears and despises them. The elf is young, believing that her kinds outlook on the social progression of race is a bit archaic and closed minded. Though she has not been living long, she has proved her
    skill as a hunter, also expressing the sacred ability of befriending the wildlife surrounding the Dalish camps. It is rare to see such a connection to a Dale with nature now and must to her keepers dismay, she wishes to use her gift in any way she can in order to defeat the Darkspawn threat.

    Ostagar was most definitely not what she had thought. It's rotting pillars and decaying walls were not quite as regal as the idea of a famous camp. Of course, Neviha had done her research, understanding the vast historic importance of the place. Representing the furthest point of encroachment by the ancient Tevinter Imperium into the barbarian lands of the southeast, the fortress ofOstagar was once one of the most important defensive Imperial holdings south of the Waking Sea. Straddling a narrow pass in the hills, the fortress kept the Chasind from the fertile lowlands of the north, being exceedingly difficult to attack due to its naturally defensible position. Standing at the edge of the Korcari Wilds, its Tevinter garrisons watched for any signs of invasion by barbarians. Though most of the walls still stand, as does the Tower of Ishal, it does not seem as strong or threatening as before, especially now that the threat were Darkspawn and not Barbarians.

    Neviha sat with her legs crossed, under the nearest tree to watch the hustle and bustle of the camp. From what she knew so far, her group consisted of two men and one more woman; a warrior. The men seemed strong in their own way. A Templar and a Healer, though she had yet to see them face to face. The parchment she held in here hand told her everything she needed to know: what she was doing and whom she was doing it with; simple enough.
    The elf's hand moved to smooth through Esessar's coat, delighting in the natural calm her was able to give her despite the change. Soon enough, she would meet those who would be fighting by her side and she hoped they would be worthy.

    Esessar followed his Elf over to a tree where she sat down and crossed her legs. He trotted over and plopped his head into her lap and rested there as she ran her hand threw his fur. It was a delicate touch with even hand movements. Something you would expect from such a great archer. She did, however, have such a way with nonverbal creatures that seemed almost unexplainable to him. It was almost like a connection that everyone didn't have. That was the main reason he never left her side, she always had something about her determiner that really created such a feeling inside of him that would just make his tail wag, even now, just by the light strokes of her hand his tall was lazily beating the ground. It was a feeling that wasn't love, but held the great feeling that accompanied it. He really didn't know what it was but whatever it could have been his Elf had it.
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  2. Re: Times Of War

    Not far off, a round of laughter could be heard. The source seemed to be a handful of men just outside of the main encampment, most of whom appeared grizzled and dirty, not brigands but also not quite filling out the look of soldiers. The group formed a widely spaced circle, two other figures at the center. One of the two had the same rough and tough appearance as the other men, but the feel was dampened by the way he cried for mercy from his place in the dirt, bloody and bruised. The other figure that loomed over him didn't exactly fit with the group - A slight young thing with short blonde hair and clean, pale skin, donning a suit of armor far fancier than any of theirs, which for the most part was actually just reinforced leather. The soft face of a young woman was clearly visible, which may have explained why these men laughed.

    "I'm sorry! I take it back! You're just as good as any of us!", the man said in what sounded almost like a whimper, "Just please don't kill me!" The continued pleading caused the men's laugher to grow, and soon the girl joined in. "Get up! Show some dignity, you pitiful little man!", she spoke with a pronounced Orlesian (Or Frenchy) accent, sliding her blade back into its decorative black and silver sheath. The man quickly scrambled to his feet the moment the woman's hand left the sword's grip, bumping into one of the other men as he fled. "I thought that you Ferelden men backbones of steel, yet I've met pampered noble pups and barmaids with stronger resolve!", she laughed a bit more, crossing her arms, "Do not worry, you small children may cower behind me as the true fighting begins." One man's wild grin lessened into a sly little smirk, but he was cut off by the young woman before he could put his thought into words, "Say it, I dare you. I will have you running with your tail between your legs, just the same as your friend." The man went silent and stared at the girl for a moment, then turned to one of the other men and began to laugh again, "Who'n the 'ell was it what called 'er a 'Delicate Orlesian flower'? Ain't all of 'em pansies, looks like."
  3. Re: Times Of War

    Templars were not a common sight in Ostagar.

    Ser Morven Dayne, first of his name, first-born son of House Dayne, had only arrived a few days ago, riding a tall black horse, with his papers and commissions in his hands. When he had first arrived, the few present members of the Chantry had greeted him cautiously; lone templars did not wander, unless they were perusing an apostate. Morven had explained to them that he had come to retrieve missing me, and to aid against the blight -- as the prophet Andraste would have done, should she live. They dismissed him, but they stayed away, the idea of seeing their men home or bodies found was significantly less appealing with a Templar on the hunt. Morven did not care. They were irrelevant to his true purpose. He carried little for those who had disappeared into the Korcari Wilds, but the promise of defeating those who had despoiled the lands of the Maker had stuck with him.

    Morven was leading his horse by her bridle, taking her to the edges of the camp to tie her up to the posts. As he did so, Morven's lips moved silently; forever chanting the chant of Light that he had memorized when he was so young. But the White Tower was far away, now. He did not miss it. Now, he was a lone Templar in Ostagar, sticking out like a sore thumb in his armor; the only thing distinguishing him from any other was that the helmet made it too hard to see and breathe, and thus, one could see his face. The only defining feature of a Templar was their face; usually hidden by that damned helmet. He shook his head as his thoughts became disorganized. Focus, Morven. His hands shook slightly as he began tying the knots for his horse's bridle, he heard the shouts and the buzz of combat, the woman with the white hair and bested men around her.

    He blinked once. Morven had seen warrior women before. It wasn't uncommon for female military commanders to rise, every once in a while, and he had heard that the dwarves had fierce women equal to any man. Morven frowned deeply, dark brows meeting in the center of his face. He rested his hands against his sides, one hand brushing at the side of his sword - an idle action. He walked over to her, his greaves clicking as he did so, but muffled beneath his heavy chainmail skirts - red fabric belt and under-tunic flowing out from beneath his breastplate. He walked with the confidence of a Templar, though his movements were mechanical, stiff, each signifying that he had pre-planed every step. He cocked his head, like a bird inspecting some shiny object. And then, he spoke; his voice husky and deep in his throat; but calm, and quiet.

    "The Light shall lead her safely
    Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
    For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
    As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
    She should see fire and go towards Light."

    And then, he spoke more clearly:

    "Have you come to aid against the Blight?"
  4. Re: Times Of War

    All the laughter and chatter of the brutish mercenaries died down as the lone templar approached, looking to one another in silence. Maybe they thought something they'd done in the past was finally catching up to them, or that one was suspected to be a mage in secret. Either way, the looks on their faces said all that the man's presence was not a welcome one. Wonder why.

    The only one out of the lot that didn't appear nervous was the young woman, she actually smiled a little at the sight of the templar's uniform. She wasn't a fanatic follower of the maker, or quite as overly obsessed with the finer things like most Orlesians seemed to be, but there was just something about the holy order's armor that she loved in particular. Maybe it was because the templars represented order, or maybe it was just a specific look that she enjoyed. Regardless, she seemed to be much more at ease than the group she hung around at the time.

    "The recruiter was a bit vague on certain details..", she began, uncrossing her arms and taking a couple of steps closer to the man, "But if that is the name of your King Cailan's foe, then I am indeed here for that purpose." Instead of taking the time to examine Morven more closely, she turned her eyes to his respectfully. "And what is it that brings you here, Ser templar? Did your Chantry send you for some form of official business?", she asked, not wanting to come right out and ask if he was hunting an apostate. While the way they handled mages was something she didn't like about the Templars, she could understand the need to keep them in check.
  5. Re: Times Of War

    "I'm... I'm going to die, aren't I...?" "Hush now. You need to get some rest."

    Wheezing and gasping, the soldier was laid out on his back, his chest tightly wrapped with bloodied bandages. His skin was deathly pale and covered in blotches, his bloodshot yellow eyes firmly locked on the figure looming over him. Returning his look was a gray-haired healer, a warm, reassuring smile worn on his heavily scarred face. Crouched next to the injured warrior and leaning on a large gnarled staff for support, it was obvious the priest had been through a fair amount of pain himself, as he appeared to be blind in his left eye, and his left arm was apparently missing, the long sleeve of his robe hiding what remained of his limb. Setting his staff aside for a moment, he'd rest his hand on the poor man's chest, a blue-ish white aura appearing around said hand momentarily before wavering and fading. The soldier seemed to ease somewhat, the priest having worked his magic successfully. As the man faded into unconsciousness, Vale picked his staff back up off the ground, then stood, straightening his back.

    One of the other healers tending to the wounded walked up next to him, staring down at the now quietly sleeping soldier, looking concerned. "Is he going to make it?" She inquired, sounding reluctant to ask. Vale's face took on a solemn expression, turning to her and slowly shaking his head. "Unfortunately, he will not. He's stricken with the Taint... there's not much we can do but make him feel comfortable." She frowned, sighing. "That's the fourth one today..." Vale cast his gaze back down at his patient once more, noting, "It's a shame, surviving the battle only to be claimed by disease..."


    After seeing to the rest of the patients under his charge, Father Vale was casually making his way to the center of camp, taking a seat on a tree stump near a burned out campfire. Holding his staff under his arm momentarily, he retrieved a small scroll from the inside of his robe. Unraveling the piece of parchment, his one good eye quickly began to dart back and forth over the paper, reading over the objectives of the mission he'd been assigned to. "I do hope they're okay..." he muttered to himself, referring to the recon party he and three others had been tasked with finding. He hadn't met his party members yet, so he had no idea what to expect. Mercenaries don't generally tend to be a pleasant lot, but he would stay optimistic until proven otherwise.

    Glancing around the camp, he'd try to identify his fellow members from their descriptions, but his sight wasn't exactly perfect, to say the least. "Hm... Let's see... one of them is an elf, I believe...?"
  6. Re: Times Of War

    Morven looked back at her with his green-grey eyes. They were strangely flat and lifeless - they did not seem to reflect the same way. Though, perhaps, they were merely cast in shadow from his heavy brows and thick eyelashes. He turned his head mechanically towards the men that she had bested, scanning each of their faces with a frown. They were not apostates. His nose's nostrils twitches, as if he was attempting to sniff out the maleficarum amongst them. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw the blade. "Let all repeat the Chant of Light.Only the Word dispels the darkness upon us." His words are toneless, and edge on the dismissive. His eyes flicked back to the white haired woman.

    "I am Orelesian as well. King Calian is no more my king than yours." His eyes flicked over her, but he dipped his head, "My king is the Maker, my lady. I am here to do the work of my King." His lips twitched in the faintest alteration of his frown - becoming a lukewarm line ; more warmth than he had previously shown, however. "My Chantry opposes the Blight, as all must."

    Morven spoke again in his more haunted voice, huskier, deeper in his throat;
    "With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.
    It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep."

    He cleared his throat. "I am Ser Morven Dayne, my lady." He bows before her. "May I ask your name?"
  7. Re: Times Of War

    The young woman's smile faltered a bit as Morven uttered the chant. The content didn't bother her, but his tone did. It was just eerie. There were bound to be others with similar habits, but she hadn't really spent much time around templars. The girl took a quick, silent breath and replaced her little smile. "My name is Colette Lareau. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ser Dayne", she said, mimicking his gesture, "It is nice to not be alone in this place. I much prefer Ferelden's people to our own.. Or at least the types that I am familiar with.. But I must admit, I do feel somewhat out of place here." Her sentiment was only partially true, spoken more to be friendly. Despite being of the same nationality, this man somehow still felt foreign to her so far.

    She fell silent for a brief moment, thinking about his earlier statement, that the Chantry opposes the blight. She'd read, or maybe heard something before that didn't quite fit with that.. Maybe she remembered it incorrectly, but she still had to ask, "Does the chant not tell of this.. Blight being a punishment for the sins of man? Would not opposing them go against the Maker's plan?" As she asked, she began to feel like letting her curiosity get the better of her may have not been the best idea, and her smile shifted somewhat, giving her a slightly nervous appearance.
  8. Re: Times Of War

    Neviha was alert, like always, scanning and absorbing the sights and sounds around her. There was much to learn from the animals she was raised around and like an owl; she was always listening. So far, she had managed to pick out some interesting members of the camp. There was a woman with short blonde hair, who's confidence spoke great lengths about her skill and likewise. The elves softly pointed ears had not caught her name, but she did not need to know it to understand the woman's value. She had taken on those who taunted her gender, making Neviha instantly respect her.

    A Templar, whom rode in on what seemed to be his own private horse, had the stature of a Prince among peasants. The points of his shoulders and rigidness of his spine made the elf cringe, immediately absorbing his difficult nature as well as his high and mighty ideals. He was surely someone she was dissatisfied when she realized his name was jotted on her parchment, wrinkling her nose and gripping Esessar's fur that much tighter. Working with a Templar would be difficult, especially with their views on magic. The Dalish were naturally gifted as a race. Though she could not conjure elaborate spells, natural healing was common practice. He had approached the female warrior without much hesitation, which made the elf a bit curious.

    The booming voice of a Dwarf could be heard from around the corner of a broken wall, making Neviha smile as she noticed the brutes questioning glances. She wasn't going to help him, simply because he wasn't on her parchment, but the little guy seemed a bit lost. Dwarves always interested the young Elf, for a reason she couldn't quite explain. She had read many books about the underground and what the Dwarves had built, especially recently as the Darkspawn had begun attacking the tunnels and leading their way into the great Dwarven kingdom of Orzammar. Such hardy beings to come up against the blight first, and fail terribly without the help of topside mages. Despite their knowledge of crafting and lyrium, Dwarves were simply not enough.

    Finally, Neviha's luminescent grey eyes settled on the healer whom worked on a dying man. The scent of death loomed over the body of the aching soul, making the elf curious as to why the healer hadn't just stuck a dagger in the man's heart. Surely there wasn't anything else to do but put him out of his misery? Her parchment described a healer that fit his appearance and it was enough to make her move.

    "Better to get going than let the Darkspawn catch up, eh?" Neviha smiled down at Esessar once more before stretching her long nimble limbs, reaching out and popping her shoulders with relief. Her long brown hair had come un-tucked from the decorated braid fit with shimmering golden loops, which she fiddled with to reposition before finally making her way to the shem. If there was something she knew about humans, it was that they fancied elven woman. So much so that they regularly stole them away for mistresses and heartlessly discarded the half blood young.

    "You're a healing man, right?" She said bluntly, sitting herself down next to him and instantly captivating his one good eye in her own. "Names Neviha, I'm a Dale and we're on the same side. Problem?" Her eyes narrowed, used to the hostility of shems and their immediate judgement.

    Esessar felt her grip tighten on his fur and he looked around alert. He figure she had seen something dangerous but nothing caught his eye. He looked up at his Elf confused until he managed to follow her eyes to a Templar. He let out a low and lazy growl that wouldn't have scared anything but really his goal was to let her know of his discontent with the man before returning his head to her lap with a grunt. It almost seemed like it was slot of effort to look in a general direction and give a growl that couldn't even be considered half hearted. She spoke to him a second before he would have fallen asleep in her lap and he realized she was ready to start moving. He got up and followed her to a man with a single arm and a strange looking eye. As she started to talk to him he slipped his head under his had looking for a petting. If she was going to move just to talk he was going to show his discontent by having someone else pat him.
  9. Re: Times Of War

    The templar looked over her, eyes flitting across his face, heavy brows half-shadowing his eyes. His head remained bowed, his fingers intertwined loosely at the small of his back, near the base of his chest-piece. He studied her in silence for a moment, before Morven's fingers unfolded, to snap open a small pouch that hung on his sword-belt. Inside, was a scroll of paper, with a fine, spidery hand-writing covering it, dotted with wax seals -- one of Ostagar, another of the Chantry. He nodded once, before he replaced it back within the pouch, closing it with a snap. His voice came out in a soft breath.

    "Blessed are they who stand before
    The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
    Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

    Morven brushed a piece of unruly black hair from his face, before neatly folding his hands in front of him. "The Chant tells us, Lady Lareau, that we must keep the peace. That we must opposed the false and black." His eyes traveled upward - they seem to focus on a space a few inches above Colette's head, fixating on the empty space, before beginning their descent back down to meet her eyes. " The Tevinter Imperium brought the First Blight. Our Lady of Sorrow burned for their idolatry."

    Morven's mouth twitched. It looked like a stone statue is cracking, his mouth moving upwards in a half-smile. "Most do not want to discuss the Chant with a Templar. Your curiosity is a credit to you, Lady Lareau." He bowed his head once more, saying quietly. "We are to work together soon."
  10. Re: Times Of War

    Vale didn't immediately notice Neviha as she walked towards him, as she just happened to be approaching him from his blind spot. Only when she spoke did he look over, his eyes widening in brief surprise as his gaze met with the elf woman's, having not realized that someone had seated themselves next to him until now. His expression of slight shock quickly turned into a warm smile, betraying his grizzled appearance. "It's no problem at all, my friend," he responded, his tone welcoming rather than scornful as she might've been expecting.

    Resting his staff at his feet, he'd extend his one hand to her in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Neviha. I am called Father Vale, though just Vale will do. So you're on the rescue party as well? I don't suppose you've already met with... Uh.." he glanced down at the parchment resting on his knee, looking for the names of the others. "...Oh yes, Morven and... Colette, that was it! Have you met with the two of them?" He turned back to her, that friendly smile still spread across his face.

    Feeling fur brush against his hand, he looked down to see the wardog brushing against his hand. "Oh! Hello to you too! How did I not notice you either?" The amputee priest scratched Esessar behind the ears, chuckling lightly.
  11. Re: Times Of War

    For just a brief moment her eyes moved away from Morven's to glance at the parchment he retrieved, curious as to what they were. Her bright blues quickly returned to his grayish greens however, as he began to speak again. She remained silent until he was done talking, listening intently to his explanation of the Maker's holy writings.

    As well as silent, she was also almost entirely still up until he spoke his last few words, only then lifting a hand to brush back through her own hair - Probably just because he had pushed back his own. Contagious mannerism it seemed, like scratching or yawning. "I am afraid that I am not so well versed in the Maker's Chant, Ser. It is not that I actively avoid the Chantry's teachings, more that I was never quite so interested in staying put for long enough that much would really stay with me", she said with the slightest frown, explaining further, "I was always more drawn to adventure than religion and politics, you see?"

    The change in the templar's expression seemed to set her at ease a little. The way he spoke the chant still wore on her nerves slightly, but the little smile had been a welcome surprise. "I do have much respect for men of the Order, though I do not fear them quite so much as some appear to, Ser Morven", she said with a little smirk, glancing back at the men behind her very briefly, as though hinting. "Is this so then? It is nice that we have met before our assigned task, in that case. An acquaintance is better than a stranger in such a circumstance, no?", she asked, her little smirk reverting to the less playful smile she wore before her last comment, "I would like to have said that I knew when you told your name, but I must admit that I have lost my task paper shortly after receiving it.. I am not so good at keeping track of things like that, I'm afraid."
  12. Re: Times Of War

    Morven's eyes focused on her mouth, studying it for a moment. His own remained in a stony half-smile. The effort of shifting from frown, to line, to smile, seemed to have petrified his face; as if the effort of moving his facial muscles had been far too much for him. Morven switched his focus, staring over her shoulder to stare through the men behind Colette, eyeing each of them with his dark eyes. Each of them was given his strange half-smile, but it seemed to develop an edge that had not been there when he looked at her. Everything about his person screamed with rigidity.

    "Your respect is welcomed, Lady Lareau--" His mouth corners twitched, and he turned his head - as if on a swivel. His eyes scanned the encampment, looking for the sound. A dog's bark. A growl. His eyes flicked over men marching in armor, over a flock of mages preparing their spells - those, he eyed carefully - and then in the general direction of an elf and a dog - and a priest. He frowned.

    He looked back at Colette. "We are to accompany a ranger, a dog, and a mage." This last one, he says with a sharper tone, "We are to find another party who was sent to find the Darkspawn .I do not know what sort they are." Morven tilts his head to the side, birdlike and clinical. "We will see, soon enough."
  13. Re: Times Of War

    "It's no problem at all, my friend..."

    Friend? That was a bit of a stretch. The elf studied the mage's face, wondering if it was a courtesy or false sense of confidence that the healer inhibited. Whatever it was, Neviha was not used to it. The best name she had ever been called by a Shem was simply "Dale or Elf" which didn't say much. Regardless, she nodded her head and continued listening, watching as Esessar got closer and closer to the man.

    "It's a pleasure to meet you, Neviha. I am called Father Vale, though just Vale will do. So you're on the rescue party as well? I don't suppose you've already met with... Uh.."

    "Vale? I suppose that is not your natural born name?" The young woman smiled, knowing that as a mage, he must have gone through a proving at one point. It may have been many years ago, but still, his travels through the fade wouldn't have been easy. She had read that the proving was something ever mage dreaded, no matter their skill. Demons were tricky, and they would take advantage of weak hearted mages without a second thought.

    "Yes, Esessar and myself were hired for our tracking and hunting technique. Says a lot that we're not running kings mailing errands." She allowed herself a sly smile, looking away from the mage to watch her dog inch ever so close to the stranger.

    "...Oh yes, Morven and... Colette, that was it! Have you met with the two of them?"

    "I've watched them, but not met them. The Warrior woman and the tightly wound Templar. It should be very interesting..." She hadn't much else to say about their soon to be companions. She worried that if she said too much, it would end up being a problem to her. The most she knew was from books and scrolls, not real life experiances. Things her Keeper had tried so hard to turn her away from.

    "Oh! Hello to you too! How did I not notice you either?"
    The man interrupted her thinking by greeting Esessar, patting him behind the ears. The dog was always looking for attention, though, he was loyal and that was all that truely mattered.

    "I would assume that being warry of the Templar would be a good idea, considering their nature...do you feel the same?"
  14. Re: Times Of War

    Morven's half smile appeared a bit forced to her, but it was a smile no less, and it kept her from being too nervous. She smiled, "It is well deserved, Ser. The templars are keepers of peace and order. Perhaps they are a little extreme, but I can understand it.." Her plate covered fingers intertwined at her lap, her gaze averting to the ground for the first time while she spoke with templar.

    "I wonder what these people will be like..", she pointlessly pondered aloud, partially due to a slowly returning nervousness brought on by the clear change of tone with the mention of a mage. She knew that templars were supposed to hunt maleficarum and apostates, but knowing didn't mean it bothered her any less. She wouldn't raise the issue right now, but it might cause trouble later if Ser Morven aimed to slay their soon to be companion. "What are their names?", she asked, mostly just distract her own thought process.


    Esessar happily let the man scratch behind his ear and looked up at his Elf to make sure she was jealous... she wasn't but the man's hands were soothing enough to make it worth it anyways. He plopped his head down onto his lap and just enjoyed the soft scratch. Suddenly he felt someone watching him and he looked over to see the templar had looked in his direction. He wasn't sure about this man now. Why was he looking over at them? He must be a threat. That was why his Elf looked at him before. He would keep the man away but wouldn't attack until his elf said it was ok... unless he directly threatened his elf.
  15. Re: Times Of War

    Vale looked as though he hadn't really considered the fact that one of his fellow teammates was, in fact, a templar. Technically, he was an apostate, and the Templar order wasn't exactly known for its leniency when it came to wrangling in 'renegade' mages. He lifted his hand from Esessar's head momentarily, scratching his chin in contemplation. "Well... I'd hate to make any judgment about a person without really getting to know them first, but it's true that many of their order tend to be... dogmatic in their beliefs. That's not to say all of them are, but their reputation for zealousness is undeniable." The spirit healer sounded like he couldn't make up his mind on the matter.

    Vale shrugged, then resumed the petting of Esessar, who had apparently placed his head in the priest's lap at this point. He looked back at Neviha again, returning her sly smile with another warm smile of his own. "I suppose we'll just have to see how everything plays out. Hopefully he'll at least put the mission first, if only for the sake of those we're being sent to find," he said, a concerned look flashing across his face briefly. "Who knows? Perhaps he'll be a pleasant individual."

  16. Re: Times Of War

    The idea of the Templar being a fair individual made the lithe Elf snort, turning her head away from the healer with an embarrassed tint to her pale tanned cheeks. He must have been joking! Or purhaps old age was getting to him, either way, there was no truth to it.

    "LALA fallaner, You can't be serious?" Neviha pushed her shoulders back as she regained her composure, looking again over her shoulder at the Templar and the Warrior. Esessar didn't seem to pleased with the look of him, so she reached out and wrapped her nimble fingers around the dog's muzzle.

    "faarea..." She silenced the dog in Dalish, letting him know that his reaction was enough and uneeded. Like her touch, her voice was soft, entering the dog's ears with no tint of discipline. "This has been enough sitting around. Let us go get our introductions over with as soon as possible. I wish to finish my work without wasting too much time...auta, let's go now Priest..."
  17. Re: Times Of War

    Morven glanced through the crowd, turning his back on Colette. His eyes fixated on people, and then, passed over them. As he did so, the half-smile on his face faded to nothing more than a wan line. His hand went to his pouch agains, snapping it open from between two of his gauntleted fingers. He once more withdrew the sealed commission. He stared at the written words. It seemed that he was a slow reader - or a very careful one. In truth, he had no ability to read groups of words at a time - he read each of them individually, as he had been taught to, when he was to be a Chanter. Morven needed to know the meaning behind each word in the Chant. Names of his to-be-team were no different, albeit less important.

    Morven replaced the commission, snapping the pouch shut once more. There was a -clink- as he did, this time, as if there were other things in that pouch - something metallic sounding. His eyebrows shifted slightly upward as the -clink- sounded -- surprise, shock, or worry? All of his expressions were so minute that it might be difficult to tell. He spoke though, and spoke clearly - husky and deep, but not the same whisper he spoke in when he read the Chant.

    "There is a Neviha -- a Ranger. She has a war dog that responds to the name of Esessar." He turns to Colette once more, as he speaks, but his voice rings through the camp. He had been taught to speak like this. He had been taught to make the Chant resonate -- but it never did, when he spoke it. It was loud enough that those around him should be able to pick up on his voice. "A seasoned warrior, Colette Lareau." Morven dipped his head in Colette's direction. "A Father Vale -- a healer and mage." His voice was toneless, now. "And a commissioned Templar, Ser Morven Dayne."
  18. Re: Times Of War

    The scarred priest grinned at her, finding her reaction to be unexpectedly adorable. He couldn't help but chuckle a little himself. "Hey, you can't blame me for being optimistic, can you? I know the likelihood is slim, but people can surprise you sometimes."

    "Anyways... yes, I suppose time is of the essence." Vale nodded, giving the attention-loving Esessar one last pat on the head before getting to his feet, placing the mission document back in his robe in the meantime. "After you," he spoke, politely offering her a hand up. Whether she accepted his gesture or not, he'd grab his staff afterwards, shaking off a few flecks of dirt that had stuck to the side of it. Assumedly he'd follow her, since she seemed to have a better idea of where they were going than he did.
  19. Re: Times Of War

    "Optimism has led to many failures, has it not?" The elf smiled as she gracefully took his hand, easily being pulled by his single armed strength due to her small frame. "Though I suppose you will just tell me it had led to just as many victories?" The sweet laugh of the Dale accompanies her bright smile, revealing her youth through bright teeth that had not been aged by a lifetime of food or drink.

    "Your positive vibes are a good thing, alasse', no one will hear of you being eaten alive by beasts; they can sense that..." Her deep grey eyes playfull danced over his face, taking in the features that were at least double her own experianced age. Her body turned and with a snap of her fingers she called Esessar to her side, making sure his steps were in rythm with her own as they approached the two battle ready warriors.

    "Eithel re mellon...We are commrads it seems, I am Neviha and this is Esessar" She did not bow for the shems, and she never would.

    Esessar felt a hand go around his muzzle and his tail dropped. She was mad at him for something... "faarea..." His tail started to wag again. She didn't sound angry with him, just didn't want him to growl at the templar. Maybe she liked him? Was he helpful with something? Did she want to kill him when he wasn't looking? He gave a dog like "Hmmm" and put his head back down on his new friends lap. He returned to petting him and they talked again. He might have understood them if he tried to listen but he wasn't, unless she was giving him a command none of it would affect him. He looked up questionably when he heard 'Let us go' She was going to make them move again. He was angry with her again, she kept making him move in the middle of some much needed attention. His new friend didn't seem to understand either and just gave him a final pat before standing up. What were they thinking? Right when his Elf snapped her fingers telling him to come. He was half a pace behind her and she approached the Templar, he started to tense up before he noticed she was calm and casual. This made him a bit confused but he calmed down. Were they friends? He sat next to her and looked up at her waiting for another command. He hoped the next one would be rest. He wouldn't have to sit and be good if he got that command. The first thing he would do would be sniffing the templars hand to get his sent.
  20. Re: Times Of War

    As Morven turned to search the crowd, Colette's eyebrows raised a little. She watched him, silent but curious, she could not resist an attempt to peer over his shoulder. She wasn't so tiny, but still not quite tall enough.. Maybe if she stood on her toes, but greaves made that a little difficult.

    It didn't matter in this case though, as the templar began to announce the list of names. When he turned, she quickly returned to her default stance, hands at her sides. She looked as though she was about to say something directly to Morven, but her attention was drawn away by the approach of the two who, based on their looks, she assumed to be the rest of their group.

    "It is a pleasure to meet you all", Colette said with a little smile and bow, the same as the she'd shown Morven earlier. Her smile grew a little as she took a few steps closer to the new arrivals and lowered to her knees. "You most of all, beautiful", she said to the mabari, first offering her hand to the pup to show she meant no harm. The first time she'd met a warhound such as this one, she moved to suddenly and nearly had her face bitten. Luckily, its master had been quick enough to catch its collar. Despite the attack, she only grew to admire the creature as she watched it. It was faithful and protective of its master, as most seemed to be, and admittedly much warmer company than she was accustomed to with her family back in Orlais.

    Her smile shifted into a light frown for a moment, having the feeling that there would be tension between the two men. One would be a fool to think there wouldn't at least be glares, or some words. She looked up at the healer, offering her smile again, though her worry was written clearly on her face.