[IC] Not Everything is Lost

[Genkai]

Anticipation mingled with anxiety was the four travelers continued to make their way through the Korcari Wilds. The senior Grey Warden, Ingvar Hjortursen O Stone-Bearhold, had been leading the three recruits for the past several hours. During that time, they killed the few Darkspwan which crossed their path. After each slaying, they extracted vials of blood and by now, they had gotten plenty. Their secondary mission still required completion however, and for that, Mela Accon was happy to be of service. She had yet to divulge her connection to Flemeth but now she was sure it would be necessary to get the Treaties which she knew her mother had kept when the seal had broken.

As the three others looked at where the Treaties were supposed to be, she raised her staff in order to speak up and be heard. "I know where we might want to look." Mela told them. So far, she had been sticking back, away from the action in order to be a trusty healer. Still, she had stepped closer to the fray on occasion in order to not be a total leech to those fighting. Her attacks weren't as potent as her healing spells but she did her best and now she was hoping to redeem herself in their tired but hopefully, non-judgmental eyes. "Only Duncan knows this but I suppose I need to tell you if you're going to follow my lead..." She bit her lower lip and glanced over her shoulder.

To Mela, the Korcari Wilds weren't anything new.

They didn't frighten nor confuse her.

Of course of things did such as proper social skills and the puzzling complexities of royal blood and heirs.

"I was raised here by a witch named Flemeth." She told the others. "Many years ago, when I was little, she took the Treaties back to our hut because she said they were no longer safe." Mela explained. "I can show you the way and see if my mother will accept parting with them." Her mother was a little picky, as well as cryptic. Additionally, her mother didn't know she had just volunteered to become a Grey Warden, which was why her pace was now slower than before. Deep down, the elf was certain her mother knew. Her mother always knew. Her powers made her cunning and dangerously observant and it wouldn't surprise the woman to know that Flemeth was watching her long before the group had been tasked to venture into the Wilds.

Hanging back, she told the other two recruits where to go and looked to Ingvar. She felt a little guilty for not telling him of her advantage prior to their task and decided to say something about it, hoping to not make enemies with her possible future companions. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner." She told him with a flat smile. When the group was losing its way in the Wilds, she had kept her mouth shut, not wanting to be too obvious with her directions and guidance. Of course if they were nearing a dangerous area, she would have said something with ample force but thankfully, the group had eventually found its way. "If it was going to take us too long, or if we were heading into danger, I would have spoken up." She told him.

They were on good pace to make it back right before the sun set, so to her, things were going as well as they could without her bossing them around. It wasn't her place, she knew that. Up ahead, the hut was coming into view and a thick smell of stew was also beginning to fill the air. Mela looked from the man to their path ahead, the other two now stopping ahead, clearly rather unsettled by the hut, even with its inviting scents. Her ears picked up on them whispering about it being a trap and how elves were rather tricky folk. Mela shook her head and spoke up, "My mother won't try to eat you, unless you're rude!" She shouted to the other two.

[El Taco Taco]

In all his years, Ingvar had never found a forrest he hadn’t loved. He had spent his whole childhood in the shadow of the Frostbacks, scrambling down mountain pathways to sprint into the tree-line after his brothers. They had made a game of it, chasing each other through the woods, from the shadowed forrest floor to the towering canopy. The woods were lush and ancient, trees rising to dizzying height and old ruins humming in the depths of the wood. When he had left with the Wardens, darkspawn blood fresh on his lips, he had resolved never to let the cities poison his love of the woods.

And then he had come to the Korcari Wilds, and found a place that even he could not love.

The swamp was less like a living thing, but a hollow corpse—there were trees, but they did not sing. There were animals, but they smelled of taint and terror, consumed by the Blight. The air was heavy and sour, and where there should have been wind there was only stillness. An ever-present mist curled around their ankles, cutting through armor and clothing to chill his very bones. He could taste the metallic whisper of a curse lingering in these wilds, and Ingvar would have love nothing more than to do as the wilds asked and leave.

Soon, he tried to assure the spirits of the wilds, We will not tarry much longer.
The wilds did not answer.

His recruits were a ragtag bunch—the rogue offered biting wit and he was a decent shot with a bow. He seemed promising. Ser Jory was obviously well-versed with blade and shield, but there was something in his watery eyes that Ingvar wondered about. The man spoke too fondly, too frequently of home, of his yearning for his pretty wife. The third was a quiet elf, blessed with magic, and that alone made Ingvar trust her. Spirits touched the best of people, and those who healed were blessed among his people.

And when she revealed that she knew the local Witch of the Wilds, Ingvar could not say he was entirely surprised. The girl had subtly guided their movements, and as a tracker himself, he couldn’t help but notice how she moved just a touch too confidently, without making so much as a sound. The other recruits seemed wary—Daveth in particular seemed to know the local legend, and the way he paled told Ingvar that the stories were not good.

Of course, Ingvar knew that people feared that which was most natural and wondrous for the most foolish of reasons.

The elf—Mela—apologized to him, looking like a child expecting a lecture. He merely nodded, accepting her explanation without complaint.

“We all have secrets,” he had said simply, the timbre of his voice rolling like the thunder he had been named for.

They traveled in near silence for the better part of an hour. The exhaustion of the day was clearly creeping into their bones. Ingvar let the elf girl guide them, pale eyes tracing the wilds, searching for signs of birds or deer. He found nothing but deep gouges in trees and the taste of decay. The taint hummed in his veins as they moved, as it had done from the very moment he had arrived in Ostagar. He had gone months without sensing the taint before—now he could not escape it.

A small hut began to emerge from the mist. For a moment, he was back in Stone-Bearhold, returned from a hunting expedition to a home-cooked meal and a chance to kick up his feet. The illusion faded at the renewed whispers curling around their party. The elf turned on the other recruits sharply. As Ser Jory opened his mouth to make another comment, Ingvar cut him off.

“Enough,” the word punched through the air, and Ingvar looked to his wards. “If you are to be a Warden,” he looked firmly at the guilty looking men, “Then you are to be cordial.” His gaze shifted to Mela and he arched a heavy brow, “And patient.”

It was the most he had spoken in hours. Among the Wardens, he had forged a reputation as, rather fittingly, a grumpy bear. Taller than most Wardens by at least a head, with a bushy beard and a lifetime of hard living etched into his features, Ingvar was well aware of the fear he often inspired in younger Wardens. Add in his purportedly heretical beliefs, and it was no surprise that many avoided him. And that was what made him the perfect recruiter, really—if a recruit couldn’t overcome that fear, they’d be worth precisely nothing in their ranks.

“Lead the way,” he nodded to Mela, hands resting on the buckle of his leather belt. “We would be honoured to make her acquaintance.”

[Genkai]

Expecting Ingvar to be cross or at the least, uncomfortable with her confession, Mela was taken aback by his curt but considerate reply in regard to her apology. Him not being upset made her feel better, that her deception hadn't entirely tarnished her chances of becoming a Warden. Even if she didn't know people very well, she knew lies, no matter your race or gender, were like poison. Mela wished not to start off on the wrong foot but it seemed Ser Jory and Daveth were still unconvinced of her alliance to her new comrades. She didn't blame them but she wished to prove she could be an ally and in order to do that, they needed to trust her. It was a tricky situation but not by any means, an impossible one.

Ingvar spoke up when the others voiced their doubts.

She could already tell he was someone who didn't speak up much but in this instance, she was grateful for the gesture. The other two recruits looked at her and then at each other. Ingvar then said to lead the way and she gave him a nod before turning back around toward the hut. She lead them further into the area and before they could close the gap, the door opened to reveal a frail looking woman. "Everyone, this is the woman who has raised me." She said and stepped aside so introductions could be made. "Flemeth." She said. The other two gave their names with apparent nervousness. Ingvar was the final one to make his presence known.

"You bring strangers back with you. This isn't one of your usual jaunts is it girl?" Flemeth surveyed the group, already knowing why they had come, as well as of her daughter's attempts at freedom. "What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?"

Mela knew she was being made to say it. Now was the time for true bravery and boldness. No longer would she hide behind herself or anyone else. She had to declare her own independence. At the same time, she did not wish to insult the woman she had come to rely on and care for. "I've decided to join the Grey Wardens, mother." Her voice whispered the final word of her statement but Mela soon became more like herself. "You and I are well aware of the impending doom this land faces. Their numbers are few and they need someone like me to help them in any way." Mela told the old woman. "As soon as we get the Treaties and make our way back to Ostagar, I will fully commit myself to their cause." The elf said firmly.

"Do I appear as if I'm going to stop you?" Flemeth held her arms out. "You resisted my lessons for too long, now it's time for you to find someone else to ignore." She gave a shrug and retreated back into the hut. A minute passed and silence fell over the group as Mela glanced to the others, wondering what would happen next. Would Flemeth attack them or return with bowls for the stew which had been teasing their senses since they arrived. When the grey haired witch came out, she had a wooden box and inside, were the prized papers they had been tasked to retrieve. "Here." She strode past her charge and stood in front of Ingvar. "We've seen visions of what's to come, I do not see these helping you in any way..." She stepped back and folded her arms.

"You best believe, things are only going to get worse. One more Warden isn't going to change that." She then looked to Mela and then to the other men. She already knew neither of them would make it through The Joining. Flemeth gave a knowing smirk to them and then glanced to her pot. She would be keeping an eye on Mela and Ingvar. Mela was a key to her survival. Mela was putting herself in danger but Flemeth knew the Blight was something was also needed to be stopped, for her sake. "Help yourself to something to eat before you return, otherwise hurry along." She told them and went back inside without another word.

They had what they came for and yet Mela was left with an empty feeling.

She couldn't explain it or. Or maybe she didn't want to.

"It'll take a while to get back and it's growing dark, we don't have time to delay any longer." Of course if any of them wanted some stew, she would understand. As tempted as she was to have some of her mother's cooking one final time, she knew it was best if she didn't. Better to cut off ties than take her time.

[El Taco Taco]

Flemeth was a slip of a woman, with weathered skin and a cackle in her voice that was meant to sound mad. Ingvar pounded his hand against his chest and bowed at the waist in greeting. There was a wildness to the woman, not of addled thoughts, but of magic and woods. Her golden eyes seemed to see beyond, like she could see past his learned manners to his younger days, to hunting with his people, to his love for the Lady of the Skies.

“We are honored,” he spoke for his frozen recruits when introduced, and he settled in to watch. Mela seemed to gather herself, to challenge her mother. Her voice wavered until she found her stride. If she survived the Joining, he mused, she’d make a fine Warden. She was a believer; Lady know they needed more believers in their ranks.

Flemeth gave not quite a blessing, but more than permission. When she returned with their treaties, Ingvar bowed his head in gratitude. He accepted the ancient, wooden chest, relieved that it had not come to blows. Somehow he suspected that he would not fare well against Flemeth. Opening the chest, he scanned the first treaty, calling the Dwarves to join and fight. It was authentic.

“Without them, our chances are worse,” Ingvar spoke diplomatically. “Thank you for protecting them.”

Flemeth left them abruptly, and Ingvar turned to his recruits. Daveth swore beneath his breath, relief plain across his and Ser Jory’s faces. Mela called attention to the late hour and Ingvar nodded, hoisting the chest onto one shoulder.

“We will go,” he decided. There was no point in tarrying; he did not wish to be in the Korcari Wilds at night with a darkspawn army gathering.

The journey back to Ostagar took several hours, and the sun had long since set by the time they reached the gate. He released his recruits for the hour, bringing the treaties to the Warden Commander. Ingvar stopped to bring the wilds flower to the Kennel Master, resting his heavy hand on the sickened beast for a long moment. It was a spot of warmth in what was to be a grim night. The Joining would begin on the hour.

He’d prepared the ritual a dozen times before, and it never ceased to amaze and unsettle him. Warden Commander Duncan stood beside him in silence, his gaze resolute. Ingvar breathed deep and turned his face to the moon. The Lady breathed through the woods, between the Mountain Father’s fingers, and whispers of her breath brushed against Ingvar’s face. Spirits willing, at least one of their recruits would survive.