[IC] DRAGON AGE : Lost Convictions

[Shu]

L O S T C O N V I C T I O N S

@Salsa Verde & @Shu

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A C T O N E

The Qunari huntress shielded her eyes as she squinted west. The sun, veiled by a thin sheet of clouds, still shined brightly amid its’ slow descent over the distant Sundermount. The craggy hills and cliffs of the Wounded Coast casted shadows down upon the white sands of the beach, and the scattered cries of seabirds nesting for the coming night could be heard all around. There was perhaps two hours of daylight left and the huntress decided it best to set camp for the night. She could perhaps make her way back to Kirkwall, but it had been a long hard day and even as fit as she was the woman knew she would not make it back to the city before night fell. The coasts and the surrounding wilds were dangerous after sunset and while not a coward the Qunari woman had no interest in trying her abilities against a band of highwaymen or slavers skulking about the roads after dark.

She hopped down from the perch she had made atop a small outcropping of rock, her heavy form thudding against the soft ground. She extended both legs in short stretches and with a twist of her head gave her neck a satisfying crack before surveying the surrounding area. There were no groves or thickets to hide her camp in and even then the traces of moisture and salt on the surrounding rock faces made it clear this spot was too close to the waterline. With a short exhale through her nose the Qunari woman departed the area. As she ascended a nearby dune she remembered a small cave that she had explored that afternoon, little more than a nook really but uninhabited and it even had a small freshwater spring within as she recalled. It was not far - just through a nearby overgrown field it could be found at the foot of a small cliff. She could camp there for the night and then return to Kirkwall the following morning. As she plodded on and mentally backtracked the Qunari woman found her mind swirling.

Today had proven a fruitless day much to the aggravation of the huntress. Since first leaving from Kirkwall that morning she had taken to the wilderness to track her quarry with no relent, stopping only once to eat. At days end she had nothing to show for her effort as her prey had evaded her tailing. A whole wasted day alone was enough to annoy her but the elusiveness of her prey was what truly needled deep, especially given the nature of what she was hunting - or who rather. One never expected mages of all things to be so cunning in the wilderness, not when mages were little more than academics and shut-ins - just ones that threw fire and could summon storms. She imagined their desperation to escape from the likes of Kirkwall had made them more efficient in their efforts but even then no amount of willpower could turn a bookworm into a woodsman. Of course not all “credit” could be bestowed upon the mages. The areas outside of Kirkwall were rife with dwellers and vagabonds and one could easily cross trails or lose their pursuit at an intersecting road or bridge. While the huntress had encountered no one else throughout the day she had more than once “lost scent” of the group of mages she was hunting, and even now she found herself wandering how much time she had spent following signs that were not even left by the mages she hunted. She did not look forward to returning to Kirkwall with failure on her lips but it was folly to go chasing escaped mages across the breadth of the surrounding territories. Odds were they would be accosted by road patrols or slaughtered by a band of Templar Knights searching for their like.
For now all she needed to do was reach the cave and throw camp for the night. She would worry about what to do - and say - tomorrow when the sun came and she arrived back in Kirkwall.

[CaliforniaState]

The night set upon them quick. Nothing but naked branches from a season so bitter they had to shed unless they were evergreen. The gaps in the canopy allowed for pure moonlight to bleed through them and illuminate the forest floor. Leaf litter scattered everywhere, making it somewhat impossible to sneak around with the amount of noise generated from the crunch of metal on dying plant matter. The orb of immaculate light was unobscured by cloud or any other embellishment in the sky. The stars commanded much less respect having been smaller in comparison. They might as well have not been there at all. The cool chill sank into the ridges of barks, seeping into the soil making the dirt compact, and past the metal of their armor, sapping their strength.

Condensation was apparent in the clouds of hot air coming from their haggard breath and steam rising from the nape of the neck and dome of the head. The small squadron of templar soldiers, led by none other than Roderick, had been hot on the heels of a troupe of apostates. Normally apostates were a one to two templar mission depending on rank. However, the troupe of unlikely mages was under the head of a maleficar. There were talks or rather hushed whispers that they were using mind control to dominate the will of these other apostates. Their morals loosely brought them together and the Maleficar was the glue to bring them into one being. A unity of sorts, one without consent or decision.

The flickers of fire and the cracking of wood splintered as the wood burned through the chemical processes within. The flames were strong enough to show the faces of the Templars sitting on logs with helmet set neatly next to them. There were 5 in total, including Roderick, all chatting and huddled by the fire to warm their bones. Roderick was not seated nor near the open fire, instead he stood by the edge of their camp and looked out to the thicket and the moon that loomed over head.

“Why not fancy yourself a seat Captain?”

“Knowing a Maleficar is still out there, is enough to warm my blood.”

“But we been searching for a fortnight nonstop. We’re almost out of the Brecilian Forest and it ain’t even dawn yet.”

“Any longer and they will be in the safety of the walls of Kirkwall. We can’t let that happen”

“Aye sir, at least eat something before we continue.”

“I will Rhett, thank you for your vigilance”

Except this was a lie. Roderick had not eaten for he wanted to be on an empty stomach, at any moments notice the mages could appear and an empty stomach would allow lyrium to enter his body almost instantaneously. While his men warmed themselves and steeled their nerves, he started on the lyrium veins beneath the soil once more. The tracks had ended here and started nowhere else. It was a sickly feeling that was pressing on the front of his chest. It was too convenient for them to have vanished. They must have known they were only a few steps behind.

Roderick's concentration was broken by the gurgling of liquid frothing from a soldier’s mouth behind him. The long sword of Rhett had pierced their brother’s chest, tears welled up in Rhett’s eyes as if he had not meant to commit such a grave sin. The flame extinguished in both the eyes of the Templar impaled on the sword as well as the pit that kept them warm. Mages sprung from the shadows of the trees surrounding the area. It was an ambush; they had been there the whole time. They were just biding their time for the perfect opportunity. A cloud blocked the light of the moon, pulling a shade of darkness over the camp. Nothing but the whites of eyes and teeth could be seen. Roderick only able to see his sword directly in front of him realized what he must do.

Lyrium filled his body in what felt like cold swirls, traveling from the passages in his throat down to the base of his gut. What happened next was a blur.

Roderick jeered awake from a log he had been perched on. Cold sweat left the inside of his clothes soaked with moisture. Besides the sweat was the sickly smell of iron that clung to not just his clothes but stained his skin. His fingers mapped out his skin, ensuring none of the blood was his. The stars and moon had gone and now the warm rays of the sun began to announce their presence. Only on the rise of the sun did the dark curtains rise to show what had happened. Bodies were splayed everywhere like mannequins carefully prepped to showcase leather worked wares. Templars and apostates alike, devoid of life and any purposeful meaning.

A sadness sunk to the bottom of Roderick’s chest. Knowing he couldn’t falter and lower the mask he created for himself, he grit his teeth and stood up. Aided by the weight of his sword that had been planted in the ground. The next few minutes were used to assess the damage, retrieve his crews’ personal items, and get a head count of who had fallen. All the mages perished save for one, the Maleficar.

“Kirkwall” a muffled confession escaping his lips.

The tired knight had made his way to the Free marches and eventually to the outskirts of Kirkwall. A hot meal, a drink, and the comfort of a bed were his priorities. Finding information would come later. He had no issues entering the city, just as anyone who was seeking refuge or trade. The day set with him. The following morning, he looked for answers and anything anyone might have seen, but it all summed to nothing. He followed the lyrium best he could, leading him back to the outskirts near a cave. His sword drawn he took a careful canter towards the cave. It was too late again; he could feel his mind losing autonomy over his body. His body twisting and contorting so he spun around and saw the Maleficar.

“I was hoping you weren’t as foolish as you looked. Falling for my trap, not once but twice? How the chantry must have fallen.”

“You’re right I was the last of the good ones” his words left him with exasperation.

“Well, if you’re one of the last good ones, let’s see how you get out of this one.”

In truth, Roderick didn’t have too much. An arrow slithered out from the darkness of the cave behind him and shot cleanly through the neck of the maleficar. His body went limp, allowing Roderick to move his. Heaving in air, Roderick fell to his knees whilst messaging his throat before looking up. A large Qunari stood only looking down at him. “Who are you?”

[Shu]

The huntress slipped another arrow from her quiver and strung it, however she made no move to raise her bow keeping it waist high. She looked down at the fallen human over whom she towered - a templar, and a young-looking one at that. The huntress knew much of the templars, zealous guardians of the Andrastian religion and enforcers of its’ power and influence. They were a powerful faction in Kirkwall and had made no discretions in showing their distaste for the arrival and presence of the Qunari - or even for their distaste of the mere existence of the Qunari people and their ways.

The huntress suppressed a wry smirk as she looked down at the helpless templar whom she had just saved. He had asked her who she was. By her appearance it was quite clear that she was Qunari, so she assumed the human was asking for her self identity - a name, allegiance, and such. The huntress responded with her practiced retort for such a question.

”Asaara.”

The Qun did not allow for names as it was considered a symbol of individualism which in itself bred vanity and in time a selfish disposition of self serving. Qunari would bestow upon their comrades nicknames. “Asaara” was the name given to the huntress by those of her now former karataam, or “unit”, and to this day she still used it - though usually only when asked for a name.

Asaara considered helping the templar up but then decided not to. For all she knew he would attack her at any given moment. The Chantry did not care for those deemed as “heretics” after all and by extension neither did the Templar Order. Asaara felt it best to add more behind the name she had just given the human. “I am Tal-Vashoth.” Asaara imagined that the templars were somewhat familiar with the Tal-Vashoth, at least enough not to consider her a threat. While Asaara could easily kill the templar who still lay on the ground before her she had no interest in doing so, nor did she feel it necessary to the task at hand. Besides that it would just be more trouble later if it was discovered that she had murdered a downed templar knight. She waited for the man to either reply or stand up, her strung bow still half-raised.

[CaliforniaState]

Roderick knew not of whether this had been ordained by the maker or if it was just a coincidence. Is faith not all but coincidence? Whatever the makers wishes were it was quite befuddling that he would have delivered unto him a savior with horns. Roderick had very little in the way of experience with the Qunari. He had known of their existence, their rich history, and the state in which many of them lived to this date. They were another victim of circumstance in their world, one that he hoped he’d never have to encounter. Yet, fate had another way of pulling the strings to the marionette of his faith. Now, as helpless as when he was a pup, at the mercy of the Qun before him with no foresight in what she would do to him.

The overwhelming sense of heat that washed over him and forced sweat to the outcropping of his pores, slowly washed away. One solid grunt, almost barbarian an uncouth in nature, set his breathing free from the constraints of hostage air. Slowly enough he was working his way back to steady condition, not that any of that mattered to the Qun before him. ”Asaara” it was often queer for a member of their race to have a name of their own. Often time they simply had monikers they assigned themselves for feats of strength or obvious…characteristics. Her gift with the bow and arrow led him to believe that it was won by her ability and not so vain as to grant it herself.

“Pretty name for a pretty gal, wouldn’t you say?” a brittle almost bordering hoarse laugh. The knight rose to his knees and then to his feet, stumbling like a newborn foal finding its legs. The curtains of silk like blond hair, weaved back into the backs of his skull after running a hand through his precarious locks. “Ah, now that’s better now that I can actually talk. Ah blood magic, quite the nasty bugger, isn’t it? You never quite get used to it” a crack from each side of his neck, each one giving birth to a sigh of relief, “never quite forget your first either.” It was clear she was simply humoring his presence and spoke little in the way of superfluous language, a trait he failed to pick up.

His ears perked at the utterance of her betrayal or rather the cognizance to self-govern. “You know I’m going to ask the obvious question then” patting the last remaining dust off his armor and silks. The manicuring process resembled that of a cat that was just licking and combing until sufficient. Luckily for the mercenary, he did not splay his foot up to clean, down there. “Why shift your allegiance? And what brought you here? Couldn’t have been in the market to help a Templar out, although I do appreciate it. Looks like I owe you one, unless you aim to finish me off to” Roderick jerked forward with a feign and laughed as if he were getting ready to defend himself. A rat bastard he was through and through.

[Shu]

Asaara smirked as she dropped her readied bow a little lower, the knocked arrow now pointing straight down to the sand. “Never have I encountered a templar that makes as much noise as a mocking bird.” Asaara found herself rather amused, the human had so quickly gone from asking her name to complimenting her appearance to a sudden question as to why she was Tal-Vashoth. If she had to take a bunch she would say he was merely venting nervousness given his current circumstance.

Asaara slipped the arrow from where it was perched on her bow and giving it a short twirl returned the missile to her quiver as she relaxed her bow arm. “I have no interested in killing a templar knight,” she stated, “the wrath of your comrades is something I would rather not stir.”

The Qunari woman stepped casually to one side as she looked down upon the lifeless body of the mage she had shot. True enough she had “saved” this young knight from what was guaranteed to be a painful, agonizing death. Saarebas - or mages - were a dangerous thing by nature and a rogue saarebas driven by blind desperate instinct was a whole other threat. That was one thing that Asaara would definitely defend about the Qun, the method of handing the threat of magic users. Many would call the Qunari method cruel but any Qunari would simply attest that it was better than the cruelties a single mage could inflict on all those around him. It was as simple as that.

Asaara took three broad strides toward the corpse and with a wet snapping yanked the blood-stained arrow from the fallen human. ”Saving you was mere coincidence, you understand,” Asaara said as she used a small dingy cloth to clean the blood from her arrow, “killing this saarebas was necessary, you see. That it saved you was merely circumstantial. But you are welcome all the same, human.” The horned giantess have a twisted half smile as she returned the now clean arrow to her quiver with the rest.

“Why were you here alone and facing a magic user?” Asaara asked, ignoring the muddle of questions first thrown at her. It was dark by now and she could not hope to gauge his facial expression, instead listening intently for his coming response.

[CaliforniaState]

Roderick wasn’t slow to notice the shift in the qun’s bow position. His eyes failed from her eyes for what was less than a second’s second. He was making progress and that was all that concerned him in terms of his own safety. He wasn’t daft enough to meet a Qunari in open combat after going on a speed date with the maker just before. An annoying smile transformed into a grin, blond curls that sank like fresh sap, fell over his face. He eyed her through the gaps in the curtains that hung over his face, before sweeping them up and laughing, pushing out his chest and looking at the sky. “A mockingbird? I prefer the song of a thrush, wouldn’t you? But if that makes me a passerine what does that make you my dear?” his porcelain white teeth and flair for the flamboyant made him seem more fox of cunning than bird of song.

His eyebrows perked up at the showmanship of her dexterity, she was clearly a skilled marksman, if she weren’t perhaps the arrow would have grazed the mage and sunk into him. “Nimble fingers, I’ll have to remember that” she seemed to be true in her words, which sent him scurrying towards her side with chainmail clinking with each upheaval. “That makes two of at least, I’m sure they would regale you if you were to silence me. The templars of now are just obsessed with politics and positions.”

Roderick followed her to the slowly petrifying body as she retrieved her bow. The squelching of flesh and blood wasn’t anything new to him, but still occupied the realm of unpleasant. “Coincidence or not, we had been hunting this apostate for many nights. He took down my entire party in the woods just outside of Ferelden. I was one of the few that survived, perhaps by will of the divine I do not know. I lay at the neck of a stream collecting water when I return to find my camp decimated and the sickly sweet scent of iron wafting through the air, mixed with smoke and flame” Roderick's gaze traveled past the mage despite his line of sight being planted on the mage. His demeanor became hollow and lost all perspicacity, reverting into what could be attributed to a hardened templar or a recount of Orlesian tragedy. “I tracked him down to Kirkwall and here I am. Shame I didn’t end it on my own terms.”

The jovial expression returned to his face, his body resurging with energy, “Well! He still met his justice and even brought me to you. Now I’m not too familiar with your language, but I think this will suffice” he cleared his throat, remembering a phrase taught to him by another Qun inside a bar, piss drunk. “Taarsidath-an halsaam, I think that means thank you” he said bowing before her. “So, what brought you here?” eager to know why their paths might have crossed.