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A Defiant Age (Post DA2 - Cevl n' Myself)

Defiant.Anjeru

Defiant.Anjeru

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Joined
Dec 13, 2011
Location
Pacific Northwest
Much had changed since the days when she had associated herself with The Wardens, in company with the Hero of Fereldan in his humble days, whom she had thought - through everything - had been her friend. That night, when she had offered him a way out, to avoid an unnecessary death, he had quite flatly denied her. How could she blame such simple minded men? He had claimed to want Loghain, the traitor that had left them all to die at Ostagar, to kill the Archdemon for his crimes against Fereldan. And he had, that fool general had taken the final blow and had perished along with the demon. Morrigan had watched, outside the city in one of her bestial forms, as the Wardens and his companions had saved the land. In a way, she couldn't have helped feeling betrayed; she had come to trust him, and had hoped that he would do the same.

She had left Fereldan after three or four years of being an apostate mage wandering the wilds of the continent. The mage had assumed that, when the Warden had slain her mother, it had been for good; rumor had it that a young man, from Lothering, had delivered one of her mother's trinkets to the Dalish Elves in the Free Marches. It would seem her mother was more clever than she had given her credit for; she wasn't about to let the old crone think she was afraid. Just what was that bitter old woman up to?

Traveling to the Free Marches was decided to be the best move against her mother, but she waited another two to three years before she made her way to Gwaren, where she took ship; best to be inconspicuous when the war against magic was just brewing beneath the surface, threatening to boil over and scar the land. The Dalish - they had given her little to no information, which was what she had expected. The next two to three years were spent indulging her mother, searching the Free Marches and even to Tevinter for the crone, before she returned to the wilds of the Free Marches just in time to see Kirkwall descent into madness. A mage, one she had heard had served the Wardens against the Brood Mother and The Architect, was rumored to have lost his mind, blowing up the chantry of Kirkwall.

He had escaped capture somehow, and the refugee, The Champion she had heard of - this Hawke - had sided with the mages in the dispute, protecting them from the tyrannical rule and unjust Right of Annulment. Morrigan had heard everything, as she always did, whether in her bodily form, or that of an animal. News was fast spreading, she had learned since leaving the sheltered life she had led with her mother in the Kocari Wilds. It was best to leave the Free Marches with the war in Kirkwall threatening to spill out over the land; Hawke had angered the Prince of Starkhaven so there was to be some form of retribution, she knew. Somehow. Some way.

With that in mind, she headed north. A day into her travels she had come face to face with a band of thieves; a smirk had curled her lips when they threatened to overwhelm her, and a glint had made her yellow eyes almost predatory. The magic came to her as easily as it always did, striking down thief after thief; when she became bored, she rushed forward and leaped, shifting into a giant spider before she proceeded to tear apart the remaining men who were now running for their lives and trying desperately to escape her. Ah, what irony - the land still had much to learn of her.
 
RE: A Defiant Age (Cevl n' Myself)

Meanwhile, since he had helped the Warden with the architect and Brood mother, much had changed for Anders as well. He had hoped for it to be for the best, but it couldn't be. In the beginning, sure. He and Hawke had become friends, close ones, even, and he had thought one of the other people of the companions might had taken a liking to him, but in the end, it had all been for naught. Hawke hated him, or at least close to it, Sebastian had swore a blood revenge on him, and, well, he still didn't know if that one woman liked him or not, but she probably hated him now too.

He had found himself somewhere in the country, where sometimes he, and sometimes Justice, was in control. He would fight everyone who opposed him, even against lethal odds, probably trying to find death, though he didn't know, or wouldn't admit. Even though he knew that what he had done was the only thing he could and should have done, he still hated himself over it, nearly as much as, he knew, all the others did. It was probably just because of justice he hadn't killed himself, but without Justice he probably wouldn't have done it in the first place.

He had found himself in several places all over the world he knew, and some places he didn't. He had been around Ferelden, the Circle, had been to Orzammar, thinking maybe he could find someone there he couldn't beat as he had less power with magic there, but the only thing he had done was increase his skill with melee staff fighting. He had learned that, though dwarves weren't as vulnerable to magic, the end of a staff going through their eye still killed them. And afterwards he had even rid the Deep Roads of some more Darkspawn, though it could also be because he was found out, and needed a way to flee.

He then heard the clicking of spiders legs on stone, and the louder noise of mail, sounding like running. He then looked around, and saw what happened. In his view, he saw a magical spider (not knowing it was a shapeshifter, but seeing a big trace of magic around her) running after some men. He decided he could deal with the man, then see if the spider was a worthy opponent. One strike of lightning, channeling through the air, was enough to kill them all, and one last blast hit the spider, hoping to gain it's attention.
 
RE: A Defiant Age (Cevl n' Myself)

The spider hissed as the lightning took out her prey and Morrigan twisted the grotesque body to avoid taking a similar blast; it went sailing over the spider into the rock, the spider's hair all standing on edge. It turned toward the mage, exposing it's hellish fangs. When it seemed as if she would make a move against him, the magical aura changed, swirling around in mass amounts, before the spider disappeared and allowed the dark haired woman to step forth in it's place. Her yellow eyes flared with her temper, though she strained to keep it in check.

"So you swoop in over my prey," she murmured, leaning herself against her large mage staff that was fashioned out of ancient bark the Dalish had offered in giving the Warden and their companions new weapons, after they had helped eradicating the elves' werewolf problem.

"You dare attack me?" Soft, almost bitter sounding, laughter followed her words. "Tsk tsk, you should look twice before striking; you never know what fly you are catching." She clucked her tongue. "So what say you? Have you reason for attacking me?"
 
The only reaction that came to the mage when he saw the Spider turning into a woman was a slight raising of his eyebrows. Though most people would at least flinch at seeing a shapeshifter, which was to say the least a rare sight, he had seen enough odd things in life that this wasn't even that special.

"I wasn't 'swooping' over your prey, I was merely granting them a quicker death then you would have given them." He said, his voice weary, not having been used much, but still showing signs of the compassion he once knew, and the things he had done. "I didn't know there was a person behind the spider, so if you would have been a real spider, you should just have been supposed to be happy with a quicker meal, and roasted for that. It was only a mistake that the blast hit you, as it was designed to hit humans." Of course, all of this was one lie, swirled together in a net. But she wouldn't know. He had had enough experience, he thought, a little sad, with lying to people, that one more wouldn't know it was lying.

Even while he was talking he was already busy preparing a spell that would use the traps and explosives the bandits had with them, to use against her. It was much less hard to do then throw fireballs at her which would do the same damage.
 
A smirk crawled its way over her lips, a skeptical expression across her dark features, those yellow eyes looking at him from beneath tendrils of loose raven hair that had escaped its confines. "You think to lie to me?" She tossed her head back with a mirthless laugh. "You obviously don't know with whom you are dealing with. I'm no mere mage. No, not at all. I know when a spell is intentional and when its not. That bolt was meant for me, human or otherwise." Morrigan was the crafty sort, she knew the sort of webs in took to draw in your prey to believe your lies, the lines you had to feed to earn trust. She'd fallen prey to it, with The Warden. She'd thought to save him, but he'd cruelly turned his back on her, saying her magic was evil and unnatural.

Maybe it was. Yet it had never failed her, not once. Save when it came to mother dearest. The witch always seemed to be one step ahead of her. "You, even now, are scheming to use your magic against me. Do you think I cannot feel it? The mana answering your call from the Fade, swirling about and preparing your simple spells." She sighed almost dramatically. "What do you care for those bandits and thieves? Slow death or not, they are certain to have caused more harm then good. Murderers, rapists, bullies unnecessary when we have Templars running amok. Why not save your magic for better uses?"
 
The man had another slight raising off his eyebrows when she tore through his web of lies like a knife, making it her second today, with many more to come, probably. Not many were capable of going through lies in the way she did. Maybe he had gotten more rusty in it then he thought, or this woman was the worthy opponent he had been searching for. Maybe she'd even be able to beat him, or even kill him, though he doubted that. Not even this woman would be able to put him down. If his magic didn't work he would just have to come close and bash her face in, as she wouldn't expect that from a mage. "Maybe it was meant for you, but what's the shame in a lie to keep off a fight?: he asked her, placing his staff on the ground and leaning on it.

"And what is wrong about having a spell prepared in self defence? It isn't like you wouldn't have a spell handy when you would be me." He said, "And when you have enough magic at your hand to be able to stay standing after a full day of fighting, why would you need to save one spell?" While he was talking, the woman's body was fairly distracting, and her temperful yellow eyes were the only things that kept his own eyes interested enough to keep himself from trailing down with them. He was still a man, of course, and barely any straight man would be capable of keeping his interest up at her eyes.
 
"Perhaps, perhaps not. I don't waste my time on speculations," She sighed and waved a hand, the action causing her barely contained breasts to jiggle in their slight confines. His concentration on his magic seemed to have dwindled some. "You remind me of someone I knew," the comment was sort of off hand, not really her intention to be saying it. She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "If you mean to fight me, I will give you fair warning; I'm not easy prey, even for a mage inhabiting a spirit with malicious intent - oh, you didn't think I couldn't sense that? I am a threat somehow, I am unsure as to why. I am merely passing through, as I am sure you are in your...escape from the destruction you've left behind."

She tapped her staff on the ground a few times, seeming to contemplate every inch of his black robed form with her almost feline eyes. "What is your intent then, mage? Do we battle to the death? Ah, you and the wardens; such a tendency to be melodramatic." A soft chuckle followed her words and she took a few steps toward him, though that was it.
 
"What do you waste your time on then? Murdering people?" Anders asked, his voice gaining a bit of sharpness that wasn't there before. He had a feeling who that person who he reminded her off might be, as she was someone he had heard stories about from that person. "If I meant to fight you, why would I be standing here, talking to you? Giving you time to prepare spells of your own, while you can study my own moves for all the while? Of course, it could also be a charade, waiting until you drop your guard, at which moment in time I would snap my fingers, like this." he snapped his fingers. "Or do some other movement, with which I summoned a force to attack you behind your back, preferably far away enough to not let it get noticed by your senses."

Behind her, about ten meters away, probably more, something like that indeed happened. One of the thieves from before stood up, an empty look in his eyes. He drew his bow back and shot it at the back of the woman. He wanted to know if she would take his previous statement seriously, as, without eyes in her back, she had no way of knowing that he had actually done something. and when the Twang of the arrow shooting from the bow sounded, there was barely time to do anything.
 
Of course she would take his statement seriously. If Morrigan had learned one thing, it was never to trust, especially your enemies' words. They'd lie, try to make you believe anything they could that would help them achieve their goals. As soon as he snapped his fingers and stopped speaking, she turned her head just in time to see that one of the corpses had risen, and was now stringing a bolt in his bow. The twang of the string snapping released the arrow, straight at her and twirled her staff, the arrow flying off it uselessly. Her stave pointed to the corpse and a bolt snapped forth, frying to mangled body and causing it to fall back toward the ground. She turned then, back to Anders and narrowed her yellow eyes.

"You try to intellectually manipulate me with your words, yet your actions clearly show that you mean to fight me. Let us be done with this then," she called her mana forth, establishing her connection to the Fade to strength her magic.
 
Anders smiled when she made a mistake, one of the first he had seen her make. She had turned her head from her enemy without thinking he might have another spell or weapon ready. But instead of using it to attack, he simply stepped a few steps forward. "Who said I wasn't just trying you out? With all the things you've shown so far, I was just wondering how you'd deal with it." He said, a sly smile on his face. This was exactly what he had been looking for. His staff of Parthalan was quickly in hand in a combat stance, and he released the rest of his prepared spell. The poisons and bombs the thieves had with them suddenly flew at her, while from her front he sent a blast of fire at her, both harming her, and, if she was hit, setting several of the components of several poisons on fire. If she wanted to see him fight, she could get it.
 
What Anders didn't realize was that Morrigan was never one to turn her back without having safeguards in place. She wasn't a fool. Even as she went about disposing of the animated corpse, she could hear his every step and movement. Being in the form of an animal for most her life gave her heightened senses, ones he wouldn't realize she had. The staff wasn't unexpected, neither was his attack; she'd felt the mana gathering in the thieves assorted poisons and bombs, magic weaving to prepare being thrown at her. The caster summoned a cloud of leeching entropic energy that deals continuous spirit damage to all who enter, the Death Cloud, as everything flew at her. As the fire hit it, she was already gone, having used the smoke to shape shift, now running out behind him as a wolf. She jumped on his back and knocked him into his own spells, before shifting back and standing back.

"If I recall correctly," she started, easing up the Death Cloud until it dissipated, leaving him unharmed for the most part, "you fired at me first."
 
What the woman didn't know, however, was that though skilled in the arts of magic, there were multiple things he were good at. Like playing dead. When he was thrown in the death clowd he actually grinned, rolling over head and quickly standing up. hidden in the darkness, where, because of the mana of her own spell, there was no way of her seeing or sensing what he was doing. He had counted the second until the cloud was over, asking for justices help to give him strength from the fade. Once the sky around him cleared he suddenly lunged at her, his staff turned so the blade pointed forward. It was pointed in a way that, even if she moved, probably to his left, her right, as he saw that that was her main arm, it wouldn't make a non-fatal wound. He might cut through more of her robe, making it even less hiding then it was already.

If he managed to hit her well he would stand back and say "Maybe I started with firing something at you, but you must always beware. Though a basilisks gaze is deathly, so are his fangs. If the blade had been poisoned, you'd be dead."
If she deflected it somehow he would still stand back, but in a combat stance, while the former was more relaxed. "I have to admit you're skilled. Though I still wonder who would win, how about we call it a truce for now. I would hate to rid the world of another great mage. The Templars took enough."
 
Morrigan intentionally let the blade hit her. His blade sliced through the pale flesh of her arm, blood flowing down toward the finger tips that held her staff. She didn't wince, she didn't cry out. She merely smirked, drawing up her mana to drain the corpses of their remaining life force, healing the wound without so much as a thought. She switched her staff to the other hand and licked a drop of blood off her finger, before she let her yellow eyes find him. "Poisoned or not, believe me, I would not be dead," she chuckled. "But this fighting is pointless, dear mage. Do you wish to pit the remaining of our kind against each other? I do believe the Templar Order is already dwindling our numbers without us doing it to each other."

"My name is Morrigan, I am the daughter" - she didn't elaborate on that - "of Flemeth. Whom, given the fact you've traveled with Hawke who delivered my mother...here, I am sure you know of whom I speak. I know little of you, other than the tales and rumors spreading like wildfire through the Wilds..."
 
Anders was certain that if he had aimed it slightly different he would have pierced her heart, and with the proper poison he would have killed her too. But if she believed he would not, she could certainly believe that. But she was right about the Templars dwindling their numbers. He nodded and said "That's one of the reasons why the blade wasn't poisoned, and the stab wasn't lethal. Those fools on the ground wouldn't have had the same luck."

He smiled when he heard who she was, and said "Well, I am certain that stories of the witch of the wilds have run further. I have heard stories about you, some of them from the warden, He always spoke quite highly about your abilities at the rare times one could get him to talk about you. others from the King himself when he came to his old group. He was a bit less nice about you, most of the time." His words were true, and he hadn't known about the way the Warden and her had went apart. "And your mother, there was no way one could forget about her after you saw her. Now you say so, I do see some resemblance."
 
Morrigan couldn't resist the smirk that came to her lips at the mage's somewhat misled notion that she resembled her mother - if that was who Flemeth really was. There was so much unknown about that old crone. "Ah yes, the driveling buffoon - Alistair was his name, was it not?" She chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. "They might as well as have had that blasted mutt be king; Ferelden wouldn't have noticed a difference." Ah, making fun of the ex-templar. What fun that had been. "No doubt he only had nice things to say. As for the Warden; he and I were friends - of a sort." She set her staff upon her back, fairly certain the fighting was done for the present moment. "I was not aware you were a companion of his. Seems we are more interlocked that we would care to admit, wouldn't it?" She didn't really care whether or not the blade had poisoned; there were secrets to her that even the Warden didn't have the privilege of knowing. Morrigan was unbeatable, but she would be a challenge to even the most experienced, seasoned fighters, mage, warrior, and rogue alike.
 
The man shrugged "So far he's been doing a good job. He has at least taken our side in the conflict, even though he's an ex-templar. I don't think that a mutt could have done the same." He said, "And he had nicer things to say about you then the dwarf, Oghren, had." When she set the staff on her back he kept his in his hand. Always be prepared, no matter how safe things might seem. "Well, I haven't done anything with him as special as defeating an arch-demon, I've only helped him defeat a brood-mother." he continued. He looked around a bit, then asked "So, where will you be heading now? Maybe I'm heading the same way." He actually wasn't heading anywhere, just though it interesting to travel with her.
 
Morrigan decided to let it slide, not wishing to bicker anymore about the buffoon. The only reason people followed the man, was he was the bastard prince of King Maric; an interesting twist to things, she'd thought. No doubt had the Warden been a girl, he'd be swooning. The witch had never had much interaction with people, given she'd been raised in the Wilds, but even Alistair had been a bit much for her too deal with. Now, Oghren she could at least respect. He never whined about responsibility and he didn't expect the Warden to do everything. "Yes, well, we've all had some interaction with him it seems," she looked around her briefly. "I wasn't heading in any particular direction. It seems Flemeth fooled the Warden and myself. I am simply following her to finish what's been started."
 
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