Vanq

Palingenesia - A Modern Greek Gods Saga

Name:

Hera

Titles:

Queen of the Gods, Eileithyia

Appearance:

Text description, art, or both! For gods, feel free to include a physical divine indicator (markings, unusual/unnatural attributes, etc.)

Character Type:

Goddess

Divine Domain (Source of Magic):

Women, marriage, and childbirth

Powers:

Hera’s power was often seen as less on their own and instead, the power of being consort to the King. It is a misunderstanding rooted in misogyny, and one that even the Queen herself has fallen prey to, in fits of self-loathing. To be the goddess of women and marriage yet have a husband such as Zeus had always seemed a cruel joke. Even now, after Zeus's demise, Hera struggles to embrace and fulfill her purpose.

She shares the familiar powers of strength and vitality, as well as some capabilities with premonitions, but her other powers are subdued and subtle.

She can bring two together in marriage, beyond just the few trite words spoken as vows. Her mere existence, though, remains what binds the Olympians together, a power that she can exert as needed, particularly in moments of high animosity. On the other end of the spectrum, she can inflame emotions rather than soothe, even to drive gods to madness.

Hera’s most sought after power though is her ability to grant boons of power.

Assets:

The Palace at New Olympia, though in theory belonging to all the gods, is firmly under Hera’s control and ownership. It is a richly extravagant residence, though it has undergone renovations since the King’s death.

Her influence is spread through her temples where any mortals of wealth or importance must be granted her approval in their choice of spouse. For particularly high ranking mortal weddings, Hera herself will attend to provide a blessing. For the masses, they attend her temples and receive blessings and instruction from her priestesses.

Hera also has thousands of midwifery clinics throughout the world to aid women in their pregnancies and family-planning. Often, but not always, attached to the clinics are services to help women escape domestic abuse. The Queen rarely attends these herself, though there are rumors of her direct involvement from time to time.

Though not technically part of New Olympia, she also maintains a smaller residence in the countryside outside of the city proper. It contains a grove which is said to be where she brings those deemed worthy of her boon. It is heavily guarded and warded against intruders.

Primary Location/Areas of Influence:

New Olympia

Biography:

She was the first to stir, she was certain of it. The world has changed since she had last walked the mortal plane. Humanity had done much in their absence and yet they were still children, now playing with powers as if they were toys.

In ancient times, even at their most powerful, Hera had always been secondary. But now, her husband still slumbered in the divine realm, and the Queen of the Gods was free to do as she wished. The great kingdoms of the world bristled at war with each other, and in time, she grew tired of simply watching their flailing attempts at mastering the cosmos.

The pain her husband caused her had not abated with time. There was no healing, no growth. Old pains and jealousies rooted more deeply, unable to be excised. Memories of how he had betrayed her without second thought, even when she had always been faithful. Even when she had been loving and adoring before her spirit has been completely broken. The fates seemed to give her a new path now, one she would not ignore.

She went to Mount Elbrus, where it seemed that some humans also hunted her quarry. They were no match for a goddess, and it was Hera who found Prometheus, still bound to the mountain after all these centuries still. A deal was struck, his freedom and in exchange, he would once again teach humans that which they should not know - how to split the fabric of the cosmos. Zeus would awaken in time, and in that time, humanity would surely destroy itself. When the King of the Gods returned, Hera would be waiting, to revel in his dismay.

It had worked, though not entirely according to plan. Humanity had destroyed more than she thought them capable of, and in that extreme destruction, the gods found a way to put aside their differences and worked together for a time. Zeus was angry, but her enjoyment of it was nullified in the face of the rest of them again submitting themselves to the King of the Gods. Hera sulked, doing little to directly aid in the rebuilding period. When the alliances and collaboration ended and strife again rose up amongst the gods, she was ready.

It was ultimately Hera and her betrayal of her endlessly insufferable husband that led to his demise. She had stayed by his side, loyal as ever, until she could watch him break as the rebels stormed their hallowed halls. She poisoned him with one final kiss, a joy that she would never need to touch him again after this. It was said that Hera held his face in her hands as he slumped to his knees, so that he knew it was her. At long last, she had seen him overthrown.

The deals and sacrifices it had required to end a god’s life were no small feat. In the aftermath, The Accords were spearheaded by Hera, an attempt to install herself as King of the Gods. She achieved it, in title only; a fact that continues to be a thorn in her side. She is paid lip service by many, but the Accords required little more than that and few make any real effort to treat her with the same respect and fear that was given to Zeus.

She has spent the last hundred years trying to claim Thunder and the Skies as her domain to no success. The Queen of the Gods resides in New Olympia and oversees the daily functions of the Gods’ capital. She maintains, begrudgingly, her role as goddess of women, marriage, and childbirth. But there is no fulfillment in it for her. She craves what she believes to be true power, to take what should be rightfully hers.

Her last child with Zeus, conceived at the beginning of the war, Hebe, resides with her, cupbearer and a friendly face to visitors unlike her mother. Hera has called for a celebration in honor of Hebe’s birthday, a weeks long celebration in New Olympia. Though invitations were sent to all the gods, they should know to not consider their presence optional. Much as Hera may care for her youngest, the celebration is not without ulterior motives.

Palingenesia - A Modern Greek Gods Saga

Can I claim a god? If so, I want Discorida! Bring forth the chaos and anarchy!

@BunniesOfDoom

Claiming not necessary, feel free to create a sheet for Eris/Discordia. If you have any questions or want to spitball ideas, we'll be pretty active in the discord linked as well!

Palingenesia: A Modern Greek Gods Saga

roleplayerguild.com/topics/193282-pal…

OOC was longer than expected but we are ready to roll with this :)

Palingenesia: A Modern Greek Gods Saga

roleplayerguild.com/topics/193282-pal…

OOC was longer than expected but we are ready to roll with this :)

Palingenesia - A Modern Greek Gods Saga

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Palingenesia

A Modern Greek Gods Saga

Discord

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The Lore

The gods were dead. They had been dead for millenia, if they had ever existed at all. There were always those, true believers, through the eons. They clung to the old ideas even when they received only silence for their devotions. Humanity lived and died no matter their beliefs, the churn of time and progress that lead to one, singular, inevitable, end.

As humanity raced towards their ultimate achievement, the pinnacle of their evolution, the very foundations of life fought against it. Disease and famine plagued the world. Humanity fought back, but each victory brought only more to overcome. Whatever chance they once had of unifying fell apart to wars for dwindling resources. Hopelessness and despair filled them, but their end would not be that of a whimper; it was fire and brimstone.

In the aftermath, old things stirred.

The gods rose again, in fits and starts, to a world nearly destroyed. In a rare display of coordination and partnership, they pulled together to mend the earth. It took time, even for gods, to begin to right the wrongs that humanity had unleashed. As the earth recovered though, and humanity’s numbers rebounded from near annihilation, the gods returned to their old games.

It was not long before war again erupted. It was a brutal if short event. At the end of it all, Zeus was dead. With the king of the gods vanquished, the rest pulled together once again to write The Accords. It was an agreement to tend to their own domains with defined ways to resolve intra-pantheon disagreements. It has, for a time, ensured peace.

Peace is never guaranteed to last.

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OOC World-State Notes

While nuclear war had decimated major cities and military bases world-wide, the earth was already a world in decline. When the proverbial dust cleared, the world - while still recognizable - was irrevocably changed. Even with the gods' work to set the world right, not everything was returned to as it was.

Sea-levels had greatly risen, obliterating coastlines that had survived nuclear fallout and sweeping away major cities that had been thoroughly irradiated. There are no longer ice caps and the overall climate has stayed several degrees higher, though godly intervention has ensured it remains habitable for mortals - both human and beasts, though biodiversity is at an all-time low. Pockets of intense radiation still exist on land and sea. While immensely lethal to mortals, even the gods are not immune.

This has meant that as humanity and the gods rebuilt, they did so in planned and condensed cities, largely in the southern hemisphere which was targeted less in the mortal’s wars - South America, Africa, and Australia.

Through the Accords, the gods can exert local control of their domain within reason. Flippant disregard for humanity is tolerated, mass destruction and wonton killing is not. Humanity has coalesced into cultures and identities based on the gods they worship or serve, though due to the Accords this is still largely a geographically based identity. Nation-states may no longer exist, but strong cultural identities do. Some gods choose to run their demesne as a fiefdom, others as near-anarchy, few if any allow any actual power to reside in mortals’ hands.

Detailed Map

Basic Map

Locations of Note:

New Olympia

Located near what was once Cape Town, South Africa. It is the City of the Gods - a neutral location and collective seat of power for the gods, where they come together to maintain the Accords, settle disputes, or, on occasion, throw wildly opulent parties. Mortals who live and work here have been thoroughly vetted through the generations. Few just move to the city, and many can claim their ancestry back to the founding of the city.

Nearby is what was once called Table Mountain, now referred to as The Mount. It is considered a most divine place, and is a portal to the divine realm. Humans, other than oracles, are not welcome anywhere but at the base camp. Many seek to pilgrimage to the mountain but few are given permission.

Kato

What was once Australia has grown to be the only mortal-lead state on earth. The Misotheists have built up the eastern half of the island continent with a scattering of cities and outposts. They have been aided in their isolation and security by the stockpile of nukes they’ve amassed over two centuries. How they found them has remained a pressing mystery and thorn in the gods’ sides.

Phelgithos

Few humans ever have cause or desire to make the pilgrimage, born both of fear and practicality. Its entrance is found near the still smoldering remnants of an Icelandic volcano. Phelgithia houses the newest entrance to the Underworld and is Lord Hades’ seat of power on the mortal plane.

Aegeia

Located within the costal mangroves of what was once the Amazon rainforest, Aegeia is Poseidon’s bastion and domain, although many gods and beings of magic gather among its vine infested streets and carven canals. The god of the Sea tolerates only the most dedicated of mortals within his city and it is said one cannot even find it without the prior will of the Lord of Tides.

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OOC Character Powers and Limitations

Gods, Demi-gods, Mortals, and Daimons

The Olympian Gods are beings of great power, but they are not all knowing, all present or all powerful, their powers are tied to both their domain and the respect and worship of mortals. Some gods are more reliant on recognition from mortals than others, but none are immune, and those domains which are more closely tied to humanity and the act of prayer have more dizzying heights of power. The Gods of the Underworld, known as the Cthonic Gods, stand apart from this. Their power is held more in mysticism, in the bindings of pacts and the wording of spells. All must pass through their halls, believers or not, yet even at the primacy of their worship mortal attention was but a footnote for them, and humanity has ever dealt with them in fear and respect, never love. The greatest gods are beings that can remake the world around them, although all struggle with cleansing nuclear radiation, it is one of the few things not born of their own power that can harm them, even the greatest of gods, when encountered in significant amount.

Of great note to the Gods is that the domain of Thunder and Sky sits without a ruler, even as The Queen of the Gods claims the Mantle of Olympus.

Non-mortal beings such as dryads, nymphs, demigods and more, are imbued with a portion of a domain’s power. While they do not require mortal worship, they are often more vulnerable to damage to their domain than the truly divine are. A Dryad is tied to their home grove, and may simply perish if it is destroyed, for example. Demigods are imbued with great power from their lineage, yet a lack of respect for their divine forebears can strip them of their might with ease.

Humans and other more mythical, yet mortal, beings are traditionally the weakest of sentient beings, but that does not mean they cannot benefit from the return of the Gods divinity. As magic once more returns to the Earth, priests, acolytes and sorcerors once more find themselves capable of calling on aspects of this power. In most parts of the world, those that were tied to the return of the Gods hold more power and ability than their human counterparts, but that is more a reflection of familiarity than true potential. A Centaur hero is no more innately capable of wielding magic, be it Olympian of Cthonic, than a human.

The greatest threat to the current order of things is the rise of Typhon, the great monster born out of the nuclear fire of destruction. While knowledge on what this is, or means, is scarce, so far only humans have been capable of wielding this cursed Typhonic magic. Once taught, it is the easiest to grasp and the purest in power, but it must always consume the lifeforce of both body and soul, either by those who wield it or by those they sacrifice.

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GM reserved characters - Persephone, Hades, Hera

Character Sheet Template

[b][color=???]Name:[/color][/b]
[indent]Character Name[/indent]
[b][color=???]Titles:[/color][/b]
[indent]If applicable[/indent]
[b][color=???]Appearance:[/color][/b]
[indent]Text description, art, or both! For gods, feel free to include a physical divine indicator (markings, unusual/unnatural attributes, etc.)[/indent]
[b][color=???]Character Type:[/color][/b]
[indent]OC (human, daimon) or Myth-based (god, demi-god, mortal, daimon)[/indent]
[b][color=???]Divine Domain (Source of Magic):[/color][/b]
[indent]If applicable[/indent]
[b][color=???]Powers:[/color][/b]
[indent]If applicable[/indent]
[b][color=???]Assets:[/color][/b]
[indent]Wealth, non-divine training, influence, etc.[/indent]
[b][color=???]Primary Location/Areas of Influence:[/color][/b]
[indent]Main residence/home[/indent]
[b][color=???]Biography:[/color][/b]
[indent]Include any “myths” that are history, feel free to alter known myths to fit your version of a non-OC[/indent]

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

_{Collab with @Ezekiel}

Imprisonment had not been entirely unkind to her. But when dragon wings shook the city, it was a chaos she needed to grapple for some semblance of control. If Ceryse didn't, her actions, so impulsively set in motion, would see her dead. To think otherwise would be delusional.

“Flee this city, flee this continent.” She had told Hespaerys the moment word had reached them of dragons’ approach. If he had thought it a joke, the severity on her face quickly corrected him. It had been stupid, the small bit of comfort she had finally taken for herself. What was done was done. She could no more undo her transgression than Maegor could undo their marriage. Ceryse would remind him of that with every ounce of her being now that he was here, crowned and vindicated by the Seven.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had died.

Hate had not replaced love, if anything, it had replaced indifference with occasional smoldering desire. But even now, Ceryse knew it to her core that she had better luck with him alive than ashes.

Whether it was her letter or just anger at the faith that brought him to her family manse did not matter. With her lover’s departure and the city on edge of self-destruction - nevermind the dragons at their doorstep - the Queen took insidious control of things. None wanted to offend her now that Maegor had arrived. Lords and small folk alike suddenly paid her the deference she had deserved and been denied. She took that and turned it back against them.

Her maids and attendants were put under guard as allies to her traitorous brother and the Faith who had imprisoned her. They had committed treason and the sentence could be nothing less than death.

For two days as the men argued and fought over what to do, Ceryse found her own allies among them and gave her advice as the only one who had any insight to the King’s mind. She did not shed a tear when the decision was reached to kill the High Septon and welcome the King.

Within the manse she had his body laid out, not in the finery of his robes, but in sackcloth. The high seoton’s garments, bloodied and torn, were in a haphazard pile next to the dais his body rested on. He had not gone willingly, nor had all of his attendants. The dead Warrior’s Sons had been stripped of their armor and cloaks which were piled next to the dead man. Thankfully he had yet to begin to smell, though Ceryse had called on the Maesters to keep him perfumed to avoid that awful stench.

She looked at him now, a man destroyed by his own hubris but wondered at the deadened feeling in her heart. Was it hubris to do whatever it took to live?

There had not been time to ready a new gown, but Ceryse waited for Maegor dressed to remind him both that she was his Queen and his wife. In black and green, the neckline of the gown had her chest threatening to spill out. A simple gold chain trimmed with brilliant emeralds dripped down her neck before coming to rest in the valley of her cleavage. Each breath she took caused them to catch the light and reflect small sparkles back across the room.

It was not a great hall that she had commandeered for her display. The room, still large but not grand, had once been her father’s favorite study. Those memories and the faint feeling that she desecrated them, nearly stirred her to second guessing herself. Her father’s lingering presence remained, though, and steadied her. Signs of him were everywhere. He would not have approved, but, she thought, he would have understood.

She waited behind the high septon’s body, hands clasped before her, a small number of faithful knights behind her still. A small display of strength in the face of what she had endured. Ceryse had not known how quickly he would come to her once the gates had been opened. But to those who had greeted the king, she had given explicit instructions.

When he entered, a flash of annoyance lighted. Seven, had it really been years since she last saw him? Even from such a distance she could feel him. The men behind her stood firm, awaiting her response. Would she kneel? She had not decided that ahead of time. She should, he was her king. But something in her bristled against that, small fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Ceryse instead bent her neck in greeting. “Maegor, my husband, how I have missed you.” She spoke, loudly and steadily, her tone flat, indecipherable. Now she heard the uncertainty in small movements behind her. Men could be such cowards.

As Maegor entered the room he brought with him the smell of ash and blood. He had ridden through the city with only a paltry escort, not hiding from the chaos of the lower city as many might. His critics would call it cruelty, for few expected it was out of care for ceasing the destruction. Even still, it was more than the lords of the tower had done. That was the ash, the blood was even more recent. He walked with Blackfyre drawn, the valyrian steel slick and hot with a very recent death. The King had not paused to verify the claims of his first wife, and had begun the long list of punishments such treatment of his spouse had required.

When Ceryse spoke, Maegor did not reply initially, stepping to the side of the entryway, pausing to pull the length of Blackfyre through a set of curtains, whining the blade clean on the decorative fabric before he turned back to her, drawing closer and closer. The fleeting movements behind her grew more numerous as he did, especially as continued in silence. Two men who had accompanied him flanked the doorway but remained in place. There was a possibility they had been among those who had argued against the King in the past, but whoever their master had been had turned his cloak back to the throne early enough that such didn't matter. For now.

“My exile has treated you well enough.” He spoke when he was but a few steps from her, the blazing intensity of his gaze traveling up and down her glittering form without heed for the armoured men behind her. For someone such as Ceryse who had known the man and his fury for more of his life than most, the change would be clear. Whatever fire had burned in Maegor before his trial had become a cataclysm, barely contained by the deep violet of his eyes that still held some phantom beauty despite their violence. “But the pains you have felt on your skin and soul are the same as if your kin had taken their cruelty to me. For are we not one flesh in the Light of the Seven?” His words almost sounded mocking, but the fury in them creaked at the edges of humour like the storm battering on a ship's Hull.

“Give the word, my Queen, and I shall rip Old Town asunder, and build a new tower of their bones.”

The true queen stood resolute in Maegor’s approach, even if her stomach turned and she tasted acid. Her green eyes held his gaze, full of fire and anger. It felt familiar but altered. She couldn't place the feeling and did not want to linger on it. He had aged some since last seeing him, an unfortunate truth for she had as well.

Dangerously, perhaps, she disregarded his question and offer. Her eyes still matched to his, she spoke the men behind her and at the doorway. “Leave us.”

Her knights faltered in heeding the command. Ceryse bristled, her hands unclenched from in front of her and flexed to her side. “Now.” They moved, though she could hear the reluctance in each step they took. She wondered what they thought they would do if she had somehow needed them as protection against the king.

The queen let the men leave in silence, her eyes left his only long enough to look for signs of his jaw clenching or the vein in his neck pulsing. His men would not leave without his bidding, and she used the silence as a challenge, seeking his agreement to her command.

When he gave it, a small wave of relief washed over her. “We are as one by all holy teachings.” She finally offered in agreement once they were alone, barring her deceased uncle. “My time cast aside has been one long, unyielding wound.” There was no hiding the accusatory venom in her words. The trials she endured had not started with her imprisonment and he knew it. “You could destroy Old Town, I would not care.” She felt the lie as she spoke the words. “But what I want is restoration.”

Ceryse had goaded him and in response to it, she lifted her hands and placed them to his chest. The act did nothing to quell the acid in her throat, but neither was she entirely repulsed by the act. Blood and ash or not, a part of her felt relief to feel him beneath her skin again. It was not a smile that crossed her lips, nor a simpering wet eyed look. “I am your queen, I want what is mine.”

“Get out.” The King's command was even more forceful than Ceryse's, made without even turning away from the woman, and obeyed without the delay of concern. He did not push her away, but he did not respond in kind for the moment, the heat of him pulsing against her touch, but unmoving. “You were not cast aside.” His words were steadfast, but not enraged, even if his state of near conflagration seemed never to fade, it was far calmer than he had made the point in the past. “It was I who resided on foreign shores, who fought Khalassars for Pentoshi moneylenders while my brother's kingdom fell into disrepair, while you sat at the heart of the traitors’ court.” Then, at last, he moved, one hand reaching up to grasp her neck, not fiercely, but with enough barely held force to pull her towards him, to threaten the carefully maintained balance of her gown and jewelry. “Some might suggest your call for aid comes only as their ire has turned on you, and not out of the act itself.” He was close enough for her now for his breath to dance across her skin. The warmth of him an overpowering rush that felt as mythical as the dragon he rode.

“I was never not yours, Ceryse, much as you have never ceased to be mine, no matter how much I can taste the treason in the air.” His grip tightened, just slightly, still far from preventing her words or breathing, but such that fingers pressed into skin which reddened beneath them.

She raged inside at the allegations, no matter the grains of truth. Hints of it played across her expression, her eyes narrowed until he gripped her neck and she widened them again in surprise.

“Were you?” She asked with disbelief. “You've never been anyone's.” She gulped and felt her throat press into his palm with the slight effort. The rest of her body responded to the force on its own accord, a slight stumble her feet found themselves again, a desire to twist from the grip against another, for many reasons, that begged for his to do more.

“If you believe I am part of this treason, kill me now.” Her eyes flickered wet and red, an unwanted but uncontrollable reaction, towards Blackfyre. “I won't play a game of words about this. I am and have been yours.” Her hand wrapped around the one around her neck, her nails lightly dug into skin and muscle.

“What is yours and what you control are not one and the same.” The force of his grip on her changed but didn't lessen, turning her back around to face the body of the King's stricken foe, the displayed form of the man who had been High Septon before as, as the towering presence of the King filled the space behind her, the mail and leather of his clothing harsh against the soft silk of her own. “You have done good work since my arrival, but there must be more. More blood to punish those who would forsake their oaths, and harm their Queen.” His hand moved up from her neck to her chin, pulling her face down to hold the dead in her vision while his steady breathing cascaded across her neck and ear. “Point my blade, or do not, and I will take vengeance where I see fit, and I imagine I will see matters more broadly.” It was a simple offer, to become aligned in act, to mend a bridge between then, but it would no doubt break down another that might have been her escape from him.

His other hand finally moved from Blackfyre, the blade resting aside as the hand moved around her, clasping her tighter to him, the feel of his calloused hand barely muted by the texture of her gown.

“I have requested a celebration of unity between our houses once more, it seems likely my terms will be agreed to.” He continued to speak to her ear, as if now ignoring the grim sight before them. “We will show them that we are of union once more, after I shall have you again.”

She had thought for a moment he was going to take her there, with a dead man in the room. And when he hadn't, she felt the familiar pang of rejection. Her lips curled and twisted into displeasure before she could stop it. Her breath had become ragged, a fact he had certainly noticed. Her stomach tightened in response, a mix of fear and loathing, a touch of unwanted desire. She offered no resistance to his hold or force, her body rigid but acquiescent to his demands.

“There are some still who will pretend they always supported you and not the faith.” Ceryse’s voice was steady in its quietness, nearly sultry. She traced his arms around her with her own, the sleeves of her dress catching against the rough mail and leathers, something she had not done for so many years. “I will join you now, and in King’s Landing.” It has not been offered directly, but she would see herself restored and she would do what she should have done in the first place - make life the seven hells for the whore from Harrenhal.

One of her sleeves caught and tore against Maegor, a hole, small and annoying. Ceryse frowned. “This gown will no longer do.” She didn't expect him to care, but she pulled lightly at the fabric and felt the threads give way, the hole now a long tear from elbow to shoulder. Her father would have understood, she reminded herself again, as she twisted in his grip, not in resistance or to remove herself, but to find his face, to encourage a different sort of control.

“I've no trustworthy women remaining here to remove me from these rags. You may not be delicate enough for the job but it is already ruined.” She forced a sly grin across her lips, but her eyes lit up with a hunger all the same.

In the halls outside the study, Ceryse’s men shared a look before moving further down the corridor to await their queen's need of them once more.

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

How quickly things could change. The news had been delivered politely but firmly, there was no room for misinterpretation. Rhaena was relieved in part, though she had not provided anything other than a blank nod when the steward relayed House Lannister’s hope that she would not hold Loreon’s offense against the rest of the house. Nor were they keen to have a dragon remain for long on their lands. Already there had been some unhappy grumblings from farmers on the outskirts of losing livestock to the beast. The princess had scoffed at it but of course could not promise that Dreamfyre would not take a goat or sheep. She’d take what was hers, whether it was a wild or of a flock.

Things would be set right with Loreon’s absence, with her absence. It had been desperation that had driven her to it in the first place. Now she had an army - once she sorted through those details at last - and she had Dreamfyre. It had not taken her long to agree to Lyman Lannister’s terms, with no rebuttal. The Faith marched through the Reach, or that’s what rumors reached them.

Oldtown still beckoned to her though, no matter the growing feeling that it wouldn’t fix anything, that it wouldn’t fix her. She had to try though, and so finally, she called for Branwyn and Alyswyn to return to her. The solar she waited for them in was bright, it faced the coast and the bright morning sun poured into the room, casting everything in a golden hue.

“House Lannister does not require your services, but I can use your entire force.” She wasted no time in delivering the news once they were escorted in and settled with an offer of wine or ale. A few days prior and she had been done up for court, finery and jewels. Today she had opted for something more practical, a long black tunic embroidered along the edges but otherwise plain over an equally plain - but fine - black dress. The crown had been carefully packed as her servants prepared for her departure and she now wore no jewelry other than a ruby dragon broach.

She’d had to take care of the menagerie of creatures that had survived and made it with her to Casterly Rock. They could not go with her, no matter how it pained her to have to leave them. It had at least endeared her to some. One of the few remaining was the small dog that sat curled up on her lap. The princess would deliver the creature to its new home after this, for now, she ran her fingers through its long brown fur.

“Your company’s fees will be paid for by the crown, but it is me you will receive your orders from. Do you have any issues with that?” She looked from brother to sister with a soft pang in her heart. “And we’ll need to leave soon, so I hope we don't have to draw out these negotiations.” She attempted to speak sternly, but there was no hiding that this was not a typical activity, it was not something she was practiced at.

The Starks looked between each other slowly as Branwyn stepped forward. “You have our blades at your service... We hoped to strike a contract of... Mutual benefit. It can be discussed shortly however, as long as there is the promise of coin at the end the men and women of my company will fight and win on your behalf anywhere in the world.” He spoke bowing slightly as Alyswyn moved to stand next to her brother.

“Moreover I see you got your dragon back... We aren’t exactly going to be able to protect you ourselves soaring above us all on the clouds above.” The Stark warrior woman noted as she looked between the princess and her brother, confused as to what an army and dragon would be needed for so soon. Southerners couldn’t be preparing for a war already or maybe they already had one going? They never could sort out their problems without a bunch of young men dying for them.

“Dreamfyre has returned to me.” She spoke, the happiness it brought her impossible to hide from her face regardless of other worries. “She is formidable on her own against an army, but…She is young and untested.” Rhaena looked between the siblings and knew she spoke as much about herself as her dragon. She stood and the little dog slipped from her lap to the floor with a whine. The princess spared a pitying look to the creature before her attention returned to the Starks.

“You will have your coin.” She motioned for the kingsguard to step forward. “And while you may not be able to protect me directly from the ground, Dreamfyre can carry two. Ser Alyswyn,” Rhaena nodded towards the woman, uncertain if she would appreciate the address or not, “I would like you to be my shield while your brother manages the troops on the ground. Would you like to fly?” There was an undercurrent of giddiness to the question. Not eager for war, but for flying? In a heartbeat.

Ser Darklyn kept the grumble to himself but Rhaena knew he was unhappy with the arrangement she had informed him of. The kingsguard placed the bound scroll on the table in front of Rhaena. If, when, Alyswyn agreed, he knew he would be instructed to ride hard for King’s Landing. Rhaena wanted him to protect her mother, her siblings, but he served the king. Perhaps she was smart enough to want distance for that reason.

“...Flying sounds... New. Exciting even, the highest up I ever been is the wall... Our father took us when we were young... Hard to believe you’ve been higher than that.” She answered, stepping forward. “And it’s Alyswyn. Not Ser, we don’t serve the Seven, bunch of piss they are. Just Alyswyn, Ally if you're feeling informal or are kin I like.” She nudged her brother with a shoulder. “Aye, I’ll keep you safe... Just make sure we land safely?” She answered a bit nervously to leave the ground and place her life in the hands of a giant lizard outside her control.

“I'm glad you've agreed, Alyswyn.” The princess’s violet eyes lit up. “You might find taking to the sky more unnerving than the landing, or so I’ve been told.” There was laughter somewhere in the statement, an unspoken story.

She stood and slid the scroll forwards to Branwyn. “A promise of payment at what I'm told is a better rate than I should offer. The master of coin can argue with my uncle later about it.” She tried to speak with disinterest about business, but it was not a natural thing for her. Her eyes eagerly drifted back to Alyswyn.

“I never saw the Wall, it would be so nice to see it from Dreamfyre.” She smiled a small, almost sad smile. “You will need to meet her before we depart for the Reach. I know she'll like you.” She left unspoken what the beast would do if she didn't favor the wolf.

“Is there anything else, Lord Branwyn, the terms are favorable, hm?” Rhaena glanced back at the man, aware enough to not call him ‘ser’, her mind already racing for a bath and donning her leathers to go ride Dreamfyre before night fell.

“Actually yes... I’d be willing to reduce payment considerably... For a return of the crown to Winterfell... Not to say we would no longer be your subjects but... Unlike other nations under your rule we have never rebelled or risen up against you. Even religion causes you less trouble, perhaps elevating us to show what loyalty’s reward is will bring the more rebellious kingdoms to heel... Or if nothing else win you the loyalty and favor of the north in perpetuity.” Branwyn explained giving a bow, curious if she might accept these terms, it would also do well for the Kingdom to have another outside they could marry into with the ability to defend and hold itself. The neck was one of the best defensive points in Westeros, it could be held against forces three times the size of the defenders with little worry. Its icy coasts meant invasion outside of favorable seasons was near impossible.

Rhaena hesitated. Her eyes bounced between the Stark siblings and then to Darkrobin. The kingsguard made no overt movements or noise to give away what he was thinking. “Ser Darklyn, please go see if everything else has been prepared.” Her voice wavered with the shallow excuse to get him out of the room. He left, slowly, and the Princess allowed an awkward silence to continue for several beats before she finally answered.

“King Maegor,” she bit the words, “is not like my father was.” Her head dropped, unable to meet either of their eyes.

“He's not kind. Or understanding. Or peaceful.” That was fine, for the fire within her that still burned and craved a violence she didn't understand and scared her. “He will not see you as equals, if you want your crown back, he may give it in one hand and Balerion with the other.” She looked back up, from Alyswyn to Branwyn, and back to Ally. Her eyes lingered, hoping to see understanding that a man - an heir even - would not show. “Is it worth it?” She had asked herself that question countless times by now.

“Perhaps he is... But I don't do this out of pride but out of love. Of my ancestors, my father, my house. Stark’s won the north, we bowed our heads because we’d rather our people live. But the company... The men and women of the north I lead? They would rather die under foreign sky than live without a Stark king... And I want to take them home one day.” He explained quietly as Alsywyn nodded as well.

“My brother is right, it’s not that we have to have it for ourselves. It’s to bring the company of the Rose back permanently from Essos, to our father’s banner. If your brother is like you say... Wouldn’t you be better on the throne than him?” She asked, cutting like a knife to a point her brother was not even willing to ask about. “Would you see our house stand above the others who serve you? Are you a kind and understanding ruler princess?” Alyswyn spoke, as took a step forward, curious now what she might say.

“Out of love? When their choice would be exile or death if my uncle acts as I think he would…” She shook her head, but some part of her understood that need. “I am no queen, Alyswyn.” Recent memories of the priests burning, of her hand on the torch, of the smell of burnt flesh, roared to life. “Maybe I was meant to be.” Her lip pulled upward in a quiet sniffle. “But never to rule.” Aegon would have grown to it, she thought, though she would have rather seen the rest of their lands from dragon back rather than sit in stuffy meetings from Dragonstone or King’s Landing. Besides, even if she did want to, Balerion and Vhagar, Maegor and Visenya…it was not possible.

“I cannot guarantee anything. My uncle will not be swayed by words or pleas. Fight with us against the traitorous faith and I…” Rhaena paused again, a sinking feeling about the matter. “I will present your request myself.” After one failed alliance, perhaps it would be enough for them to understand she did what she must for her family.

—
—

The Stark woman’s virgin flight had been light and carefree. No matter the weight on the princess’s shoulders, taking to the skies was always a reprieve, a joy. There was a practicality to it regardless, to see how the wolf-lady would do when her feet were no longer sturdy on the ground. Dreamfyre was kind, sensing the newcomer on her back. Though the saddles and strappings had been put together hastily, the scaled beast had accepted both the unusual contraption as well as a second rider. Her eyes had met Rhaena’s and then the Stark woman’s, with only a soft snort and shake of her neck.

When Alyswyn proved to be of sound enough stomach for it, Rhaena had exuberantly - perhaps too much so - declared that perhaps she had a drop of dragon blood to her, before she urged Dreamfyre into a pitched climb and speedy descent. The princess hollered with glee at the feeling, even if that had finally been enough that she felt the warrior’s hands grip tightly around her.

The joyfulness of flight was followed by a brighter joy. Somehow, the gods had seen fit to deliver her her sister. The reunion of two princesses momentarily set the Casterly Rock alight with dragon calls and tears of joy. It was almost enough to overshadow the most recent events of priests burning, of a dead prince, of sabotage and subterfuge. It was a wild evening of celebration and a long night of heads put together planning. In the end, it was agreed, Melyssanthi and two thousand men would go north, back to Winterfell. Rhaena hated to ask it of her little sister, but she did it anyway - as protection for her - to make a match for herself and save herself from their uncle. The man had not stopped at two wives, and what better way to make his usurpation palatable than taking his brother’s child as wife? No, neither girl could stomach the thought of that. Rhaena would continue her journey south to the Reach, to burn the traitors who had killed their brother, to right that wrong and continue a dance of garnering favor with Maegor. Perhaps her sister cared less for that aspect of it, but the eldest would not be swayed.

They left, their own separate ways, just a few days later. With the Westerlands to their back, the fleeting moment of joy turned bitter in her stomach. She kept it hidden, easy enough with only the Stark woman at her back. Below them, somewhere, Branwyn led the mercenary army. A small price to pay for their loyalty, some coin and a promise she wasn’t sure how she would keep. That wasn’t what gnawed at her though, or at least, that was the least of her worries. Memories of flesh burning roiled in her mind the closer they flew to where the armies were reported to be. Each time they landed to allow their land forces time to catch up, Rhaena found it harder to take flight again.

She pushed through it, and edges of an army became apparent at last. Rhaena twisted and yelled wordlessly back to Alyswyn, leathered hand pointing out what she intended. She had heard stories of what it was like when her grandparents conquered these lands. She had listened to the telling of the burning of Harrenhal, of the Arryn’s fleet, of how kings and queens surrendered for fear of the flame. The stories of might and power had not prepared her for the reality of what it was to be faced with battle.

Rhaena couldn’t see anything when she drew closer, as close as she felt safe to do. If she had had Meraxes perhaps she would have been bolder, but her dragon felt tiny in comparison to what she knew of the creatures that caused the kingdoms to bend their knees. She stayed above the fray, unable to tell one side from the next, and a terrible panic crept up her throat. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, and the word dracarys stuck in her throat, and came out only as a whisper. Dreamfyre sensed it anyways, a trickle of fiery breath exploded from the beast’s maw but enveloped nothing but air and cloud. The princess’s body jolted in response, her hands unclenched and the reins slipped away. Her vision went blurred, distant, she couldn’t make sense of what happened.

Dreamfyre’s entire body rumbled in response to her rider’s distress. It was enough to snap Rhaena back to her senses, she yanked at the reins, pulling them all away from the battle. She needed to be away from any of the chaos below, away from death and destruction.

The dragon resisted at first, the scent of battle and blood strong even at their height. But eventually she turned. The princess’s face was wet with tears and snot, her throat raw with sobs she couldn’t hear herself having. She needed air, she needed it to be quiet. She needed the voice that was screaming within her, calling her weak, saying that she was not fire and blood, that she was nothing, she needed it to stop.

Dreaemfyre roared in frustration even as she followed her rider’s commands to fly faster, higher, further away. Eventually, the haze of it passed and Rhaena realized she was sitting so rigidly that everything hurt as her body finally relaxed, as her muscles unclenched.

“There was nothing that I could do.” She said it as an explanation to Alsywn, but more so to herself. “We’ll find one of your brother’s scouts and tell them that they should march to Oldtown instead.” She would prove that voice wrong, had to prove it wrong.

—
—

Oldtown provided little relief. Branwyn and his men were still some distance behind them. And ahead of them, her great aunt and uncle. Or at least, she could see both Vhagar and Balerion when she had urged hers to land. “Stay clear of them, my heart.” She had whispered the command, a gloved hand pressed against a blue-scaled neck. Rhaena had said little else outside of directions to Alyswyn or Branwyn. The princess had quickly excused herself when they were together on the ground for anything longer than necessary. That wouldn’t be possible now.

Any more than it was possible to avoid greeting Visenya. There was a pit in her stomach at the unhappy family reunion. Rhaena gave few-worded answers as to what had occurred in the Westerlands. She asked nothing of her father’s demise or of her mother and other siblings. She was however, expected now to be in attendance of the feast Maegor had announced in honor of his wife and queen, and of retaking Oldtown.

There was to be no good news for the princess it seemed. Too late to do anything here, other than offer herself up to the uncle she had done nothing but plan to avoid. There was comfort, little as it was, to know that she had her new guardian with her, and a mercenary army on their way. It would have to be comfort-enough, to face whatever awaited them behind Oldtown’s walls.

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Morning came early, the sun had barely broken against the horizon, but Shiathari awoke eagerly. The small room she had been allotted was a courtesy, one all to herself, though she expected it was more to do with the complaints from others regarding her animal infirmary. It didn’t seem to bother her guest, the man snored softly next to her, undisturbed at such an early hour or by her movements. She sighed, a mix of annoyance and playfulness, as she nudged him.

“You need to leave, before the others see you.”

Perhaps the fraternization of two wardens who had survived their joining together and had travelled for years together before returning to the fortress would be understood. Shiathari was certain their senior warden had known and turned a blind eye to it. Still, discretion was best. Her request was met with a slightly louder snore.

She nudged him harder, enough to lift his shoulder from the cot. “And I have to get dressed for the stables.” The elf slapped lightly at his chest as she threw one leg over him and then to the floor. “Honestly, how are you still so impossible?”

That earned one eye opening and glaring at her. “One day, you’ll let me sleep in.” His voice rumbled, crusted with the remnants of sleep.

She only responded with a quick shake of her head as she ran her hands through long locks of hair, braiding them quickly into something manageable. Shia turned from him and pulled herself together in a tunic and leggings, leather boots, and her satchel.

The man behind her stood at last and approached her from behind, his frame hulking over hers. “See you tonight?” Same as always, his tone was casual, but she knew the eagerness there.

“Edrick” She shrugged out of his embrace with a judgemental glance. “Playing with fire if we do that. But…I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” She didn’t wait a beat for his response. “Now, go.”

It was just a small collection of injured things in her room at the moment. She’d released a nest of fledglings the week before, just in time for the little kits to have opened their eyes and start being mischievous. She had moved them to the kennels, one of the mabari bitches had been convinced that the little ones were her own and was raising them after losing hers. She had little to take care of before she went to see to her actual duties now that her companion had left.

The stables were a fair hike from her room, but it was quiet still this time of the day. Noises of the fortress waking beyond the steady rhythm of the night watch only just began as she reached the stables that housed the famed griffons. She clucked to them as she passed their stalls, each their own personality and quirks. Some were still sleepily awaking, their beaked maws opened wide with grunting yawns. Others, much like Shia herself, were eagerly awake looking for their breakfast or rider. Other stable hands came in, not a lowly job the same as mucking out horse stalls, the griffins were majestic creatures, but dangerous, independent in who they chose to allow near them. Her and the others had been chosen for how well the griffons took to them, not the other way around, much the same as how riders were chosen.

She worked through the morning with a quick break to eat a hearty lunch. She joined a small group of the others, a mix of humans and elves. They chatted quietly, went over anything unusual or amusing that their charges had gotten into, and then separated back to their duties. Shiathari spent the rest of the afternoon with the youngest of the griffons. Only a couple feet long, their adult plumage not fully come in. Play was just as important as anything else and she enjoyed taking them out to the pens to get in a good round of play hunting and training. They were not large enough to carry a rider, but they would be soon and so they bore the small training saddles to get them used to the feeling, even before they could fully fly.

As the afternoon ended and she knew it’d be time to clean up for dinner and the address they had all been called in for, she chose one final griffon to bid farewell to for the day. He was her personal favorite, a griffon that she swore would be a sarcastic bastard if he could speak. He’d not yet picked a rider, and had turned his beak up to the many potentials he had met. That at least was the good outcome, more than one warden had received a hard nip or wing slap.

Shia approached his stall, she’d heard him stamping about impatiently before she could even see the doors. “Tsk, tsk, little Quill.” He made a sound that she was certain was full of profanities for how late it was. “Don’t worry that big dumb head of yours, I have your favorite.” She pulled a freshly dressed hare out from behind her back and swung it lightly in front of him. “Be good for it now.”

Quill stomped a bit more, his head swinging from side to side. A shrieking huff carried down the stables but Shia held firm. “This is why no one likes you…except for me, little bastard.” His feathers ruffled up with another huff, but he cocked his head at her, an intelligent eye holding her firm in its gaze. The griffon’s feathers smoothed and he politely sat, with just one final annoyed rumble from its throat. “That’s a good boy.”

The elf opened his stall door and entered. She ran her fingers through the feathers at the side of his head and felt his head press into her. She murmured a few more words before backing far enough away to toss the hare into the air. Quill barely needed to move to snatch it with one crunch. “Only had the one today, my friend.” He nudged his head into her abdomen, hard enough that she lost her footing for just a moment. “Still only had the one.” She chided him softly with a chuckle. “And now I have to go see what the first warden has in store for us.”

Shia gave the creature a final half hug as it nuzzled into her. She locked the stall and headed to the baths to rinse away the dust and grime. She hadn't put on the regalia in some time, not since her last official outing months ago. She'd freshly polished the metal, treated the leather, and brushed the cloth out til it looked near enough to new. It wasn't her favorite duty, and though she was far off from being a senior warden, she still felt the weight of wanting to prove herself. Even if it had been ages since someone called her girl and told her to fetch some trivial thing. With the fortress grown more crowded from visiting dignitaries and their staff, she did not want to take the chance.

She was ready, she thought, for whatever the First Warden needed of her.

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Shiathari

The Snake of Ansburg

| {Full Name} |

Shiathari

| {Age} |

32

| {Species} |

Elf

| {Gender} |

Female

| {Class/subclass} |

Rogue | Ranger

---

| {Appearance} |

Like most of her kind, Shia is short next to a human and tall next to a dwarf. She is slim and lithe, but with a surprising layer of firm muscle from years of manual labor and then hard training. She’s scarred, less than many, more than some. The healed wounds were inevitable even before joining the Wardens. While it’s not the most practical, she has been resistant to cutting her long, dark brown hair. A sentimentality to it that she can’t explain, but she opts to braid and twist into flat buns to fit beneath a helmet.

There is a harshness to her, even when she smiles. Some mistake it for haughtiness and even at rest, a gaze from her light brown eyes feels full of judgement. Shia carries herself with a lightness in her movements, nearly a dance, and her footsteps quiet as a mouse. She has jump-scared more than one hulking warrior in her time with the Wardens.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |

• Warden Light Armor: Standard Warden scouting kit - Similar to this, minus the unnecessary cape and shoulder ornamentation
• 2 obsidian daggers
• Spiked Longbow + arrows
• Mother’s journal: Shia’s mother kept a journal, largely of recipes for potions and tonics, also notes of people’s ailments, what worked/didn’t, etc.

| {Skills} |

• Sneaking: Adept at getting in and out of places unseen, better suited for it in natural environments or forests than urban
• Trap-making: Can make and deploy simple traps - for battle or for survival
• Animal Companion: Can tame wild animals with ease, good at reading animal behaviors even with previously unmet creatures; currently has a small wolf that seeks her out when she leaves the fortress
• Foraging

| {Talents} |

• Archery: Primary and default option for fighting, Shia prefers to attack from a distance where she can control the ground
• Dual-wield: When necessary, she’ll fight up close
• Evade: Her preference though is to get away, whether to circle back and flank the enemy who’d found her, get help, or just live to fight another day

| {Spells} |

N/A

| {Home/Family} |

Shia’s family originally hails from Tevinter, her mother an escaped slave that made it to Hasmal with her three young children. Their father was never spoken of, but Shia assumes he remained in Tevinter for reasons either sad or enraging. Her mother was a mage of weak talent, not useful to her masters beyond menial tasks. In Hasmal, it became apparent that the eldest child, Shia’s brother, was a mage and so he was sent to the Kirkwall Circle. After that, Shia, her mother, and her sister, made their way east before finally settling in the backwaters of Ansburg. Shia’s mother passed away a few years later, and the sister ran away to “find her people.” Shia has not heard from sister nor brother in many, many years.

| {Flaws and limits} |

• Shallow: Shia prefers the obvious, without a deep or philosophical approach to life or the greater mysteries of the world. This extends to her interactions with others, while she can be friendly and does not hide away from others, her relationships tend to be surface level.
• Prejudice: Shia distrusts Tevinters and anyone who she considers a zealot (for her, defined as a devout believer in their religion)

---

| {Personality} |

Shia has never felt at home anywhere, a fact that her extended time at Weisshaupt has not completely inverted. Still, her restlessness and lack of anchor to any one place has not made her resentful of company, comradery, or companionship. Once others see past the harshness and occasional indifference, they find a woman who does know how to laugh and enjoy the fleeting good times.

While she does not distrust all humans as a whole, her views on any Tevinters is heavily jaded. The Dalish confound her more than anything else, and other “city” elves often had a much harder life than her. Magic does worry her, even though she left Tevinter with barely any memories of it, what she does remember was awful. Her time in the Free Marches only seemed to show her what a lack of overt magic could offer, and certainly for her, that was a better life, for the most part. While she often feels like she doesn’t quite fit in to any group, she has found something nearing family with the Wardens - warts and all, if the stories she had heard had any hint of truth to them.

The one thing that she cannot tolerate for any length of time is a religious zealot. Shia loudly, and sometimes obnoxiously, is vehemently an unbeliever in any god or gods. The Maker? Pah. Andraste? She seemed like a good woman, a shame the religion grew and flourished as it did. The Dalish pantheon of gods? Clearly useless. The old gods? Humans would invent anything to justify their atrocities. Ancestor worship and holy stone? Shia finds it less outrageous but will still roll her eyes at a dwarf going on about it. The Blight, darkspawn, and archdemons? Well, Shia knows the darkspawn are real and that they’re lead by something, but that doesn’t mean it’s an old god waking to wreak destruction. Some things are just evil without any greater meaning behind it.

The elven rogue retains a soft spot for animals of almost any kind. It has not been uncommon for her commander to find her asleep in her griffin’s stall. She’s been known to capture and relocate creepy crawlies from tents, and tends a small menagerie of injured critters in her room.

| {Background} |

Shia was born in Tevinter, her mother a slave to a minor magister of Perivantium. She was the youngest of three children, and has few memories of what life was like in Tevinter other than stories from her mother and older siblings. Shia’s mother fled with them to when Shia was barely six years old. They arrived in Hasmal, a common destination for escaped slaves and refugees, in 9:25 DA. But their time there was not easy or peaceful.

Shia’s mother had been gifted with a weak ability for magic. Small enough that she was able to easily hide it and did not miss using it beyond small acts as a village healer. Her only son, Shia’s eldest sibling, though, began to show signs less than a year after arriving in Hasmal. He was quickly found out and Templars removed him swiftly to take to the Kirkwall Circle. The family, now Shia, her mother, and elder sister, chose to move on from Hasmal lest they draw more attention to themselves.

Eventually they settled in Ansburg, the backwater Free City that few had reason to linger in or seek out, a bustling city for agricultural trade but little else. Eleven years old now, her sister fourteen, the girls helped their mother as she settled into the role of village healer and potion-maker. Shia would spend her days in the wilderness outside of the city, collecting herbs, foraging, and hunting. Sometimes she’d spend her nights out there too, to enjoy a life away from the crowds and smells of a city, even one like Ansburg.

They remained largely unbothered, outside of the expected prejudices and treatment. The semi-peaceful life ended when Shia’s mother unexpectedly died a few years later in 9:33. She grew ill, and no matter that she had helped so many, the aid was not returned. She wasted away in a painful death. A few days after she was laid to rest, Shia’s sister ran away. She had left a note explaining that living among the shemlen would kill them all, that she had gone to find their “real” people. Shia knew a Dalish clan had gone by recently, her sister had begged that they join them together but Shia had refused. What were they to these nomads?

She was alone now though, only fifteen. Her time spent in the forests had trained her for something she had never thought would be useful. She signed on with a small group that offered trade caravans protection into and out of the city. She was decent with a bow, better with setting traps, and unafraid of having to get in close. Shia also proved to have a way with animals. She tamed a large wolf to accompany her on her longer journeys and would stay with her in the forests around Ansburg.

Eventually she had made a bit of a name for herself within the city. In some ways this was literal, when the name “the snake” stuck, for her ability to get in and out of places nearly unseen and unheard. She had an uncanny ability of being able to ambush her ambushers as well. With notoriety came its own set of problems. Not everyone cared for an elf making such strides for herself. And the elves of the city did not care for her lack of interest in furthering their own causes.

Still, it all gave her an opportunity to grow a good safety net of coin for herself. As that net grew, she formed plans for going somewhere else. And then the damn world fell apart, again.

When news had originally arrived of the troubles in Kirkwall, Shia had wanted to go there, to find her brother. But she hadn’t heard from him since their mother died. A letter had arrived very delayed, a few small sentiments scrawled in shaky handwriting. Her return letters had gone unanswered, she assumed he died in the chaos. News from the south never seemed to bring anything good with it.

In 9:40, as she was again preparing to leave Ansburg due to some unfortunate disagreements with local guild leaders. She had been coming back to her city after completing an escort to Wycome and was nearly home when sounds of a scuffle caught her attention. Though she nearly convinced herself it wasn’t her problem, she instead snuck towards the sound. Though she had never seen one in person, she immediately recognized a small group of Grey Wardens facing off against one of the gangs that plagued Ansburg. In smaller numbers, she was certain the Wardens would not have needed aid. But one was already down and the remaining two seemed to have been at it for some time. Shia joined their fight from the outskirts, setting their cart ablaze and then picking one off with her bow before charging in with daggers. The distraction was enough that the Wardens were able to recover and dispatch the remaining attackers.

She had not planned to join them beyond traveling with them back to Ansburg for supplies. As she traveled the last two days with them though, the leader of the group asked if she would consider it. Shia was caught off guard, but though she had made something for herself in her corner of the Free Marches, there were no guarantees. When the trio were done restocking in Ansburg, Shia was waiting for them, her meager belongings tied in a pack, a wild dog at her side.

Her joining did not take place for nearly a year as they traveled west, back to Hasmal, to the border of Tevinter. The wardens had found three other recruits along the way, another elf, and two humans. The four of them went through the ritual together. Shia survived it as well as one of the humans. It was 9:41 and the news that the group of now five Grey Wardens received in their travels gave them pause. They had originally intended to go south but instead set off through Nevarra and towards the Anderfels.

It was not a direct path, there was no reason for them to return to Weisshaupt directly, and it provided ample training for the two new recruits. But it still was not an easy time. One of the senior recruits disappeared one night, only leaving behind a note that it was her time. The other eventually broke away to head south with reasons left unexplained to the new wardens, but it was clear to Shia that the remaining senior warden was uneasy about it.

The trio carried on, though the refugees they encountered along the way carried with them horrific and mostly unbelievable stories from elsewhere. They avoided direct involvement, busying themselves with small excursions along the borders of Nevarra, Orlais, and Tevinter. When word finally reached them towards the end of 9:45 to return to Weisshaupt, Shia was more than ready to see what the Warden fortress was like with her own eyes - even if the stories about what the Orlesian Wardens had done gave her pause.

Her natural talent for animals made her an immediate choice to work with the griffins, though her designation as a scout has meant she has not formally bonded one herself. She helps the warriors who have been bonded and is a keeper for hatchlings and young ones until they can be bonded. She’s also participated in smaller excursions outside of Weisshaupt from time to time. Until recently, when she was selected to accompany the expedition into the deep roads.

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Shiathari

The Snake of Ansburg

| {Full Name} |

Shiathari

| {Age} |

32

| {Species} |

Elf

| {Gender} |

Female

| {Class/subclass} |

Rogue | Ranger

---

| {Appearance} |

Like most of her kind, Shia is short next to a human and tall next to a dwarf. She is slim and lithe, but with a surprising layer of firm muscle from years of manual labor and then hard training. She’s scarred, less than many, more than some. The healed wounds were inevitable even before joining the Wardens. While it’s not the most practical, she has been resistant to cutting her long, dark brown hair. A sentimentality to it that she can’t explain, but she opts to braid and twist into flat buns to fit beneath a helmet.

There is a harshness to her, even when she smiles. Some mistake it for haughtiness and even at rest, a gaze from her light brown eyes feels full of judgement. Shia carries herself with a lightness in her movements, nearly a dance, and her footsteps quiet as a mouse. She has jump-scared more than one hulking warrior in her time with the Wardens.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |

• Warden Light Armor: Standard Warden scouting kit - Similar to this, minus the unnecessary cape and shoulder ornamentation
• 2 obsidian daggers
• Spiked Longbow + arrows
• Mother’s journal: Shia’s mother kept a journal, largely of recipes for potions and tonics, also notes of people’s ailments, what worked/didn’t, etc.

| {Skills} |

• Sneaking: Adept at getting in and out of places unseen, better suited for it in natural environments or forests than urban
• Trap-making: Can make and deploy simple traps - for battle or for survival
• Animal Companion: Can tame wild animals with ease, good at reading animal behaviors even with previously unmet creatures; currently has a small wolf that seeks her out when she leaves the fortress
• Foraging

| {Talents} |

• Archery: Primary and default option for fighting, Shia prefers to attack from a distance where she can control the ground
• Dual-wield: When necessary, she’ll fight up close
• Evade: Her preference though is to get away, whether to circle back and flank the enemy who’d found her, get help, or just live to fight another day

| {Spells} |

N/A

| {Home/Family} |

Shia’s family originally hails from Tevinter, her mother an escaped slave that made it to Hasmal with her three young children. Their father was never spoken of, but Shia assumes he remained in Tevinter for reasons either sad or enraging. Her mother was a mage of weak talent, not useful to her masters beyond menial tasks. In Hasmal, it became apparent that the eldest child, Shia’s brother, was a mage and so he was sent to the Kirkwall Circle. After that, Shia, her mother, and her sister, made their way east before finally settling in the backwaters of Ansburg. Shia’s mother passed away a few years later, and the sister ran away to “find her people.” Shia has not heard from sister nor brother in many, many years.

| {Flaws and limits} |

• Shallow: Shia prefers the obvious, without a deep or philosophical approach to life or the greater mysteries of the world. This extends to her interactions with others, while she can be friendly and does not hide away from others, her relationships tend to be surface level.
• Prejudice: Shia distrusts Tevinters and anyone who she considers a zealot (for her, defined as a devout believer in their religion)

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| {Personality} |

Shia has never felt at home anywhere, a fact that her extended time at Weisshaupt has not completely inverted. Still, her restlessness and lack of anchor to any one place has not made her resentful of company, comradery, or companionship. Once others see past the harshness and occasional indifference, they find a woman who does know how to laugh and enjoy the fleeting good times.

While she does not distrust all humans as a whole, her views on any Tevinters is heavily jaded. The Dalish confound her more than anything else, and other “city” elves often had a much harder life than her. Magic does worry her, even though she left Tevinter with barely any memories of it, what she does remember was awful. Her time in the Free Marches only seemed to show her what a lack of overt magic could offer, and certainly for her, that was a better life, for the most part. While she often feels like she doesn’t quite fit in to any group, she has found something nearing family with the Wardens - warts and all, if the stories she had heard had any hint of truth to them.

The one thing that she cannot tolerate for any length of time is a religious zealot. Shia loudly, and sometimes obnoxiously, is vehemently an unbeliever in any god or gods. The Maker? Pah. Andraste? She seemed like a good woman, a shame the religion grew and flourished as it did. The Dalish pantheon of gods? Clearly useless. The old gods? Humans would invent anything to justify their atrocities. Ancestor worship and holy stone? Shia finds it less outrageous but will still roll her eyes at a dwarf going on about it. The Blight, darkspawn, and archdemons? Well, Shia knows the darkspawn are real and that they’re lead by something, but that doesn’t mean it’s an old god waking to wreak destruction. Some things are just evil without any greater meaning behind it.

The elven rogue retains a soft spot for animals of almost any kind. It has not been uncommon for her commander to find her asleep in her griffin’s stall. She’s been known to capture and relocate creepy crawlies from tents, and tends a small menagerie of injured critters in her room.

| {Background} |

Shia was born in Tevinter, her mother a slave to a minor magister of Perivantium. She was the youngest of three children, and has few memories of what life was like in Tevinter other than stories from her mother and older siblings. Shia’s mother fled with them to when Shia was barely six years old. They arrived in Hasmal, a common destination for escaped slaves and refugees, in 9:25 DA. But their time there was not easy or peaceful.

Shia’s mother had been gifted with a weak ability for magic. Small enough that she was able to easily hide it and did not miss using it beyond small acts as a village healer. Her only son, Shia’s eldest sibling, though, began to show signs less than a year after arriving in Hasmal. He was quickly found out and Templars removed him swiftly to take to the Kirkwall Circle. The family, now Shia, her mother, and elder sister, chose to move on from Hasmal lest they draw more attention to themselves.

Eventually they settled in Ansburg, the backwater Free City that few had reason to linger in or seek out, a bustling city for agricultural trade but little else. Eleven years old now, her sister fourteen, the girls helped their mother as she settled into the role of village healer and potion-maker. Shia would spend her days in the wilderness outside of the city, collecting herbs, foraging, and hunting. Sometimes she’d spend her nights out there too, to enjoy a life away from the crowds and smells of a city, even one like Ansburg.

They remained largely unbothered, outside of the expected prejudices and treatment. The semi-peaceful life ended when Shia’s mother unexpectedly died a few years later in 9:33. She grew ill, and no matter that she had helped so many, the aid was not returned. She wasted away in a painful death. A few days after she was laid to rest, Shia’s sister ran away. She had left a note explaining that living among the shemlen would kill them all, that she had gone to find their “real” people. Shia knew a Dalish clan had gone by recently, her sister had begged that they join them together but Shia had refused. What were they to these nomads?

She was alone now though, only fifteen. Her time spent in the forests had trained her for something she had never thought would be useful. She signed on with a small group that offered trade caravans protection into and out of the city. She was decent with a bow, better with setting traps, and unafraid of having to get in close. Shia also proved to have a way with animals. She tamed a large wolf to accompany her on her longer journeys and would stay with her in the forests around Ansburg.

Eventually she had made a bit of a name for herself within the city. In some ways this was literal, when the name “the snake” stuck, for her ability to get in and out of places nearly unseen and unheard. She had an uncanny ability of being able to ambush her ambushers as well. With notoriety came its own set of problems. Not everyone cared for an elf making such strides for herself. And the elves of the city did not care for her lack of interest in furthering their own causes.

Still, it all gave her an opportunity to grow a good safety net of coin for herself. As that net grew, she formed plans for going somewhere else. And then the damn world fell apart, again.

When news had originally arrived of the troubles in Kirkwall, Shia had wanted to go there, to find her brother. But she hadn’t heard from him since their mother died. A letter had arrived very delayed, a few small sentiments scrawled in shaky handwriting. Her return letters had gone unanswered, she assumed he died in the chaos. News from the south never seemed to bring anything good with it.

In 9:40, as she was again preparing to leave Ansburg due to some unfortunate disagreements with local guild leaders. She had been coming back to her city after completing an escort to Wycome and was nearly home when sounds of a scuffle caught her attention. Though she nearly convinced herself it wasn’t her problem, she instead snuck towards the sound. Though she had never seen one in person, she immediately recognized a small group of Grey Wardens facing off against one of the gangs that plagued Ansburg. In smaller numbers, she was certain the Wardens would not have needed aid. But one was already down and the remaining two seemed to have been at it for some time. Shia joined their fight from the outskirts, setting their cart ablaze and then picking one off with her bow before charging in with daggers. The distraction was enough that the Wardens were able to recover and dispatch the remaining attackers.

She had not planned to join them beyond traveling with them back to Ansburg for supplies. As she traveled the last two days with them though, the leader of the group asked if she would consider it. Shia was caught off guard, but though she had made something for herself in her corner of the Free Marches, there were no guarantees. When the trio were done restocking in Ansburg, Shia was waiting for them, her meager belongings tied in a pack, a wild dog at her side.

Her joining did not take place for nearly a year as they traveled west, back to Hasmal, to the border of Tevinter. The wardens had found three other recruits along the way, another elf, and two humans. The four of them went through the ritual together. Shia survived it as well as one of the humans. It was 9:41 and the news that the group of now five Grey Wardens received in their travels gave them pause. They had originally intended to go south but instead set off through Nevarra and towards the Anderfels.

It was not a direct path, there was no reason for them to return to Weisshaupt directly, and it provided ample training for the two new recruits. But it still was not an easy time. One of the senior recruits disappeared one night, only leaving behind a note that it was her time. The other eventually broke away to head south with reasons left unexplained to the new wardens, but it was clear to Shia that the remaining senior warden was uneasy about it.

The trio carried on, though the refugees they encountered along the way carried with them horrific and mostly unbelievable stories from elsewhere. They avoided direct involvement, busying themselves with small excursions along the borders of Nevarra, Orlais, and Tevinter. When word finally reached them towards the end of 9:45 to return to Weisshaupt, Shia was more than ready to see what the Warden fortress was like with her own eyes - even if the stories about what the Orlesian Wardens had done gave her pause.

Her natural talent for animals made her an immediate choice to work with the griffins, though her designation as a scout has meant she has not formally bonded one herself. She helps the warriors who have been bonded and is a keeper for hatchlings and young ones until they can be bonded. She’s also participated in smaller excursions outside of Weisshaupt from time to time. Until recently, when she was selected to accompany the expedition into the deep roads.