The Blight - IC

[Aydan Tenaebra]

Chezaeri rested her head in her palm briefly. The girl that had come in to the camp seemed less and less threatening by the moment. She seemed rather lost and unprepared for apparently traveling alone. Of course, the alone part was an assumption, but the Dalish-born Elf didn't sense any one else near by. Never the less, she would rather be safe than sorry. Patiently and quietly, she sat and waited for Morrigan to finish talking to the newcomer, studying the mage's reactions carefully.

"If you'll excuse my assumption, isn't it dangerous to be traveling alone and unprepared?" Cheza asked, unfolding from her knees-to-chest position on her rock and rising. "As for refuge... It seems, doesn't it, that you're heading in the entirely wrong direction for such a thing? What is it you are traveling for, exactly?" Her head tilted slightly to the side, somewhat akin to a curious cat, blue eyes gleaming. Her tone was gentle enough, but her questions were direct. She had suspicions as much as the witch. Hers just happened to focus more on not wishing to see a foolish human getting herself killed trying to be a hero while unprepared, or an unprepared human going of a whim or some nonsense to strike out on her own. Those were just two among many possibilities she could think of. Either way, she didn't have much faith in this woman at the moment. Perhaps she would seem a little more stable once she was more accustomed to the people she now found herself surrounded by.

[David Starsky]

"Oh, o-o-oh... no. I am no fool... I know that I could not take the Darkspawn myself without the help of the Grey Wardens. I am... merely wandering, actually, it's complicated." She rambled, choosing to evade any explanation of her quest for signifigance. The young mage's skin shimmered wet from the water in the stream she drank from earlier. From behind her back, she pulled out an old oak staff, used to practice her skills in magic. "I am really quite tired from the journey from Denerim... perhaps if I were to help gather some fish from the stream, I could rest here for an hour or two in order to set my destination straight?" Scarlet asked. She was quite skilled in creating a storm in literal terms. This would suffice her well in electrocuting some of the fish to make things easier for her. It wasn't her intention to impose her services in an effort to join in on their quest, but a favor in return for a favor is usually how she came about her buisness. It would also do well to turn back any mistrust they had for the stranger that stumbled in to their camping grounds.

It would also do well to observe the group to see what potential harm they may impose. As far as she could tell, a Quanari, a wicked-looking mage, a Dalish Elf, and two humans walked into a tavern and... oh, that was just the beginning to a godawful joke. The Quanari and the Elf is whom interested her the most, seeing as the shopkeepers who took her in were a bit... judgemental of other races. Needless to say, she was advised to stay with people of her own race, but she had her own mindset. And the witch? Well, the witch just creeped her out. She cleared her throat and her train of thought and gave a weak smile as she twiddled her fingers, waiting for their response.

[TaintedKiss]

Lydia

Lydia listened quietly to the conversation around her, watching her companions as they asked their questions and took their opinion of the young mage that had approached them. Morrigan seemed, as always, suspicious of the newcomer, but Lydia wasn't sure that she could be much harm. Especially when faced with so many others. Besides, the more people they could gain as allies for the task at hand, the better in her eyes.

"If you're looking for the Grey Wardens, you've found them. Possibly the last two, in fact," Lydia told her, already growing tired of having to inform people who they were. She imagined that she would have to get used to it and that she would have far more explaining to do once they approached those in a position of power to really aid them. Still, wasn't there a badge of something that they could wear so that people could simply know by looking at them? It would make things so much easier.

The rogue tensed a little when the mage reached for her staff, her own hands itching to defend herself with the blade at her waist or the bow on her back. She didn't like to be caught off guard and it wouldn't do for her to have trusted the girl only for her to attack them. Especially when it seemed that the others were looking towards her to take the lead on what to do here. The girl simply mentioned that she was tired and used the staff to rest on while she continued to speak and Lydia allowed herself to relax a little.

"You're welcome to rest here the night," she told her after a moment. They would have to take sleeping shifts, regardless, to keep an eye out for bandits or darkspawn. Besides, could she really trust any of those in the group? She barely knew Alistair and Morrigan and they had been with her the longest. Hopefully her instincts wouldn't betray her now.
"We could use the fish," she agreed, hoping that the others would see food as reason enough to allow the girl to stay with them for the evening. "We haven't had a chance to hunt yet and it would save us some time."

Did she mention she was starving? She was sure her stomach was chewing itself up.

[Atri]

The rest of the evening proceeded, surprisingly enough, without further incidents or sudden visitors. Morrigan finally relaxed a bit. None of the non-Wardens seemed to have ill intent towards her charges and so she was willing to tolerate their presence. The other female mages seemed agreeable enough in their actions, though the dwarf - the one who had fought - was presumptuous to warm himself at her fire without permission or even a polite greeting. It vexed her only slightly before she stamped that emotion into the ground; after all, she was a powerful mage, who could and would kill him without problems should it come to that. His ignorance of common courtesy would only ensure that she would not make any extra effort in defending him, if such a time came.

At least he does not annoy me with insipid chatter, Morrigan thought and took that as the dwarf’s only favorable trait.

Dinner that night was a soup made from Fereldan tench and it was adequate, though not nearly as tasty as her cooking. It seemed that she would need to do some of it in the future, if she wanted to eat well.

“I shall take the first watch,” she told her companions, transformed into an owl and took up her post in a tree from where she could see the whole camp. One time, she swept down onto an unsuspecting hare - a good breakfast for tomorrow. As her companions turned in for the night, she kept a vigilant eye on the Fool. He had seemed very quiet to her - a nice contrast to his constant blathering - but it made her concerned for the future. She needed him alive and well - and he seemed to be neither. Still, nothing looked amiss to her and the healer had said that he was on the way of recovery.

Several hours later, she transformed again, woke up the one responsible for the next watch shift, went to bed and let the Fade take her. Her sleep was restless, as it had been since the darkspawn threat had shown itself in the south, and there were many more demons willing to test their mettle against her power. Normally, they left her alone, either fearing her personal power or knowing her as a daughter of Flemeth, which was a power of its own.

She woke up the next morning irritable. Her gaze sought the forms of her companions and when it fell on the Fool, she knew instantly that something was wrong. Jumping up from her bedroll, she walked with quickened steps to the only male Warden in Ferelden and looked down at him. Her movements grew still and her shoulders relaxed. Behind her, she heard the others, but gave them no mind.

Alistair Theirin, bastard of King Maric, and the last male Grey Warden in Ferelden lay on his bedroll, his features soft and pale, his short blond hair ruffled in the morning breeze - the only part of him that was moving - and his body motionless. Without a doubt, were she to touch his skin, she would find it as cold as ice.

“He’s dead,” she stated for anyone to hear, her voice unnaturally neutral, then turned around and walked back to her camp. There, she began to prepare breakfast. The hare needed to be skinned and cleaned, but she did so with practiced motions. A bit of seasoning and then roasting on the fire, and this would indeed be a good morning meal.

Meanwhile, her mind whirled, contingencies examined and discarded. Without Alistair in the picture, her plans were more difficult to accomplish, but they were by no means impossible to do. This minor setback was unfortunate, but it would not stop her. Her eyes briefly turned to the healer of their group, wondering whether she had something to do with this. It was not impossible, but it seemed unlikely.

No matter. She needed to decide on a plan and continue.

[TaintedKiss]

Lydia

It had been a restless night.

Lydia had been plagued by nightmares most of the night; of screeching dragons and an overwhelming darkness. She'd found it difficult to get any dreamless sleep and it had been a relief when it was her turn to keep watch. It was only when dawn was creeping over the horizon that she fell into a deep sleep. Of course, she couldn't sleep long. They would need to get moving again soon to put more ground between them and the horde. Morrigan was moving about the camp when she closed her eyes, still tired, and forced herself to sit up. Her next words made her blood run cold and she was scrambling to her feet in a rush.

"No! He can't be. He was fine!" Lydia insisted, moving past Morrigan so that she could see Alistair for herself. His face was pale, lifeless, and his chest still where it should have risen and fell with his breath. She didn't need to touch him to know that it was true. She could no longer hear the taint thrumming in his veins the way she could before. All that called out to her was the small vial around his throat, filled with darkspawn blood. Still, she dropped to the ground next to him, her fingers pressing desperately against his throat in an attempt to find a pulse that she knew wasn't there.

Grief started to choke her, followed closely by panic. Everyone around her was dying and she wasn't sure it was going to stop. She gasped for breath, pushing herself to her feet and backing away from him a step or two. She'd needed Alistair. She'd needed a friend in all of this madness. She'd needed him to teach her all of the things he knew about being a Grey Warden so that they could end this Blight and now he was gone and she was the only one left. Still gasping, Lydia pushed her hands into her hair, clutching her head as she stared down at his lifeless form. How had they not noticed that he wad dying? Why now, when he'd seemed well the night before?

"Can't you do anything?" she spun on Morrigan, staring fiercely at her. "Surely there's something...some spell..." She knew she was asking the impossible but she didn't want to accept that this was it. She wished she had watched him more closely through the night but she'd simply thought he was sleeping and with her own bad dreams, she didn't want to wake him while he was peaceful. She knew she needed to get a hold of herself. The others were watching and she couldn't break down when they were looking to her to lead them.

She swore darkly, closing her eyes for a moment to try and calm herself down. She knew too little about what she was supposed to do. How could she lead a band of people around Ferelden now? It had been a comfort to have Alistair by her side, knowing that he had answers to the questions she needed to ask. Now he was gone. Dead. She wasn't sure she could take another person dying on her.

[TimeMasterX]

Duran's eyes snapped open.

Opting to forego the relative comfort of the bedroll in his tent, the Dwarven prince had instead chosen to sit and stare into the warm glow of the campfire. Looking into the flames, Duran had been reminded of some of the tales that he had heard the Shapers tell when he was young.

'Fire is an important part of our civilisation.' The shaper had intoned, 'Our mastery of it led to everything that you see around you today.' The elder had gestured to the city around them. 'Fire is the catalyst that our smiths need to forge their great works and crafts. Fire is the prime weapon of war, sword and axe can fail but fire can win a war.' Duran, it had to be said, had not been paying much attention at this point but the shaper had bravely continued, 'Fire is what runs beneath our great city and so will even claim the stone we are buried in. It is part of us and so is a window to the soul.' Duran had finally scoffed at this, causing the elder to lean in. 'I challenge you, my Prince,' he had said, 'to read your soul in the flames.'

Years later, as he stared into the dull glow of the campfire, Duran recalled the words of the old man. His gaze fixed on the gouts of flame that rose and crackled in the cool night air. The Dwarf furrowed his brow as he seemed to see images rising up. His brother, his dead brother Trian regarded him coldly from within the flames, a gushing would in his chest from where the knife had emerged that slew him.
Duran shook his head to dispel the image and the feelings that it brought. Trian did indeed fade, to be replaced by the face of a human. Duran closed his eyes in concentration, he recognised this one, the one in armour who travelled with the group that he was in, the Warden. Alastair!

Duran's eyes snapped open. He turned towards the centre of the camp. Seeing the commotion that appeared to be going on, he shot away from the fire with a speed that defied his size.

'-He can't be. He was fine!' Duran heard Lydia exclaim before she turned to Morrigan and demanded a solution.

He took a breath. 'Your Warden's dead,' he said shortly, his heart going out to the girl but unwilling to offer false hope. 'All we can do is accept it and deliver him to the Stone.' He paused before continuing, 'I don't know what you humans do with your dead but the body will attract predators or Darkspawn.'

He did not know what would happen above ground but the Darkspawn sense of smell was deadly underground. He had lost far too many expeditionary men to ambush in the dark catacombs of the Deep Roads simply because someone had not seen to their injuries correctly. His own injury gnawed at his body and he had a suspicion that infection was setting in. Unfortunately there was nothing that he could do about that. He could however do his best to ensure that the group was not held up by a body.

[Atri]

The hare was roasting over the fire, a pleasant scent filling the air. Nodding with satisfaction, Morrigan turned back to Lydia. The Warden seemed beside herself, stricken with grief, even as she attempted to calm herself. She was breaking, Morrigan realized with dismay. No…that would not do at all.

“The dwarf is right. Alistair has been dead for many hours now. Perhaps, if he had still some life in him, we could have helped him, but now no magic known to me will bring him back. His spirit has passed on.” The witch tried to make her voice as soothing as possible - she doubted she could make it compassionate - but it would not do to tell Lydia what she truly thought of the Fool.

Taking some of her special tea from her satchel - a mixture of embrium, elfroot and some other herbs - she put it in a wooden cup and then poured hot water from the kettle she had put on earlier over it.

“Here,” she offered the drink to Lydia and then guided her over to the fire, “drink this and sit down. It will help. Mind the hare and do not let it burn.” Perhaps having something to do would help the Warden not break down? It was worth a try. “Meanwhile, we will prepare him for the pyre - he believed in your Maker, no?”

Morrigan turned back to Alistair’s body and began to strip it of the armor. It would get them a fair bit of coin from any merchant, but perhaps Bodahn would make them a good price for it. They had saved him, after all. The sword and shield and Alistair’s amulet with what seemed like darkspawn blood, Morrigan put aside for Lydia. Perhaps she would like something of his. It was, of course, pure sentimentality, but if the Warden would find strength in these things, then Morrigan would not begrudge her them.

Her way forward was clear. The Blight could not be left unchallenged. There were other Grey Wardens in Thedas. Either she would have to convince Lydia to call for help from foreign lands or she would need to find a way to make some other male a Grey Warden. Not everything was lost - that is, if she could ensure that Lydia came through this ordeal in a good condition.

[Aydan Tenaebra]

Chezaeri had taken her watch after Morrigan. She could not shift form as the other woman had, but she did watch from the vantage point of the tree she had settled her bed in. It was quiet and she had time to think. She still had not gotten to ask her questions of the Wardens and it was beginning to frustrate the Dalish born mage. Her intention had not been to travel a full day then camp with the strange group of two wardens and one of the most frightening fellow apostates she had ever met. Her eyes traveled to the male warden where he lay on his bed roll. His breathing seemed a touch slow and perhaps a tad shallow, but she thought little of it. He was sleeping and recovering from a terrible ordeal. It wasn't uncommon in her experience for such things to happen. Hopefully, her saving his life would work in her favor. Perhaps it would gain leverage to encourage straight answers to her curiosity. She hopped from her branch to wake the next for watch up with that thought, before returning to it and getting a few hours more sleep.

Two words awoke her the next morning. Two words that twisted in the pit of her stomach and made her mouth go dry. She tried to swallow back the knot that lodged itself in her throat as she sat up and let her brilliant sapphire gaze move to the form that those fatal words concerned. The Warden lay motionless, chalk white in his death. Alastair had, indeed, died in the night. The Elf felt sick. How could she not have noticed something was amiss? He had seemed fine the night before. Her thoughts returned to what she had noticed about his breathing the night before and her stomach twisted again. She had noticed something... and she had dismissed it without further thought, without investigating. Cheza's face paled as she came down from her tree. The conversation around her didn't register in her mind as she stared at the body, guilt rendering her mildly oblivious to her surroundings. Alistair was dead and it was her fault.

Cheza sank down on to the rock she had occupied the night before, at the fringes of where the fire was lit. She stared in the direction of where Morrigan had begun taking the male Warden's belongings, but her gaze seemed far away. She had failed in her duties as a healer, failed horribly, and it had cost the young man his life. Even the thoughts of her questions fled from her mind. She cursed softly and rested her face in her hands with a sigh.