Our own little Awakening. // Dream&Relix

Relix · Mar 26, 2010

Fereldan, East of the Brecilian Forest.

Strapping the greatsword, Ageless, to his back. The figure turned to exit the small hut, his head nearly touching the top of the hut on the inside. "Rage!" A voice yelled as he exited the hut where he and his younger sister, Cloud, lived for the past few years. "Nothing you do will make her better if you seek violence!" The voice called, an old man limping his way over to the hut in an attempt to protest the male's leaving. "I've sat around long enough." Rage replied, the burning passion to save his younger sister clear in his eyes. "I waited and waited for YOU and your simple prayers to help my ill sister." The male spoke, his burrow furying as he turned his attention to the old man. "It is clear that the Maker wishes to take my sister away from me. The only living thing I have left to remember my fa-.." "Rage! You think that it is not painful to see my niece il--" Rage grabbed the hilt resting over his shoulder, "She is not related to you, old man. Cloud is not your niece. Stop trying to be something to her and I! She may enjoy your company, but you disgust me." Gripping the hilt of his greatsword, "I'm sorry, Rage... you and her have been in this village's lives for a few years now. We all consider each other family." The old male replied, his tone of voice clear of shame. "You are not my family. My only family is laying in bed, dying... while I sit around and do nothing." Walking past the old man, "It is time for me to get off my ass and find someone capable of helping her, instead of waiting for some fake being to heal her."

The male got his name simply because of his temper, he had a name when his family was all together. He and his little sister, now referred to as Cloud, escaped barely from Denerim. Their father got mixed up with the wrong people, to make sure something like their father's fiasco never happened again. The Antivan Crows made an example out of him and his family, Rage and Cloud escaped their home that was set a blaze thanks to their mother. She burned to death in an attempt to save her children, it was a sad story. They were picked up by passing travelers, taken to Brecilian Forest as slaves. Rage was quite the escape artist.. he got him and his sister out that night. Escaping into the broader forest, finding shelter in the village that his sister laid dying in now. A unknown, unnamed village.

For weeks, the male didn't eat. His sister only said one word to anyone, even him. Cloud. She'd sit down on the ground, rocking back and forth staring up at the sky. Calling out every cloud that past, thus getting her name. Rage got his because anyone who came near risked broken bones or limbs being torn off. He eased up when his sister began to speak to him more. She was only five, he needed to look after her being that he was seventeen. It has been two years since that time, Cloud getting sick crushed him. All the waiting around, waiting for the Maker to help her. Clearly.. it worked.

The walk to Lothering took five days, four hours and thirty-seven minutes. Rage kept track, he needed to know how long he had been gone from his sister. If she was to pass while he was away, he wanted to know when and know if he should've been faster. Running his hands over his short dark-black hair, the male let out a small sigh. The talks of apostate mages being able to cure the sick were every where, the possibility of a new Blight wanted to make sure everyone who was sick could be helped if they needed to be moved.. or if they were to just sit there and die. Stretching out his right shoulder, the male winced slightly. On the way, he ran into a few stray wolves, one managed to get their claw underneath his leather armor giving him a somewhat deep wound on his shoulder. "Fuck.." The male spoke, taking in a deep breath. He was just a few hours, if that, to Korcari Wilds. Where rumors have said a 'Witch' with incredible powers lies, she is the one Rage needs to find.

"Hey! Hey!" A voice called, "You looking for some goods? I got a bunch of legal goods for your browsing services." A male spoke, clearly hiding from the Templars. "No thanks, scum." Rage replied, quickly turning his back to him. "You are probably too cheap to buy from me anyways." The trader spoke with a small huff, quickly drawing his sword from his back. The male held it out with one arm, "You wish to meet my blade more personally?" Rage replied softly, "You and it would surely make great friends, you fuck." Fury developing quickly in his eyebrows. "Whoa, whoa.. I'm sorry, n-no need to kill me." The merchant spoke, wobbly at the knees. Rage dropped his sword, some. Taking a step toward the male, watching him flinch. "Ah!" the merchant yelled, falling onto his behind. Turning back, the male smirked as he slowly headed back to the road that led to the Wilds.

Rage could instantly feel as if he was being watched when he stepped into the ever-so decreasing foliage in the Wilds. "Witch of the Wilds... fits the environment." The male huffed, his hands clenching up then unclenching. He needed to be ready for anything, for this wasn't a place he knew awfully well. It was someone else's playground.. he was trespassing, and the feel he got from the woods was that they knew it and were not pleased with his presence. Placing his right hand on the hilt, the male needed to be ready, anything could jump out at him. Shaking the nerves from his body as he continued to trek deeper into the Wilds.

"I come in search of someone who can help me." The male's deep voice echoing through the wilderness, speaking to nothing yet something at the same time. "If its sovereign's you need to help me.. or even show yourself, I come baring enough I've saved this past few years." His voice continuing to bounce off trees, back toward him. A deep sigh passed his lips, was there no one who could possibly help him in his dilemma?

Osheaga · Mar 26, 2010

- - - - Each of the woman's two skilled hands were soaked in a thick, sticky, red fluid. Before her was a creature, not that of a man, but that of a wolf. The creature cried out for his brother whom had gingerly knelt aside him. "Mage! Mage, you are hurting him!" he bellowed, though his garbled voice came out in a marred, low whimper. He watched with golden eyes of pure terror as the dark-haired woman's hands plunged into the bucket of fresh rain water aside her, then as she began to probe his brother's. She was taken aback by the stark frigidity the water held, so much so that it sent raw shivers through the nerves in her finger tips. Her two visitors had been werewolves, brothers that had been cursed by the Dalish guardian Zathrian. Six days ago the Dalish organized an assault on the werewolves within the Breccilian Forest. While they did not go far, they heavily wounded several of the werewolves. A handful of them heard word of a powerful apostate from the Dalish and decided to pursue the rumor while others remained skeptic, and holed themselves away in the bowels of the Breccilian ruins.
        
        "B-Brother ... please, calm yourself." The ailing werewolf's wheeze startled the other. The uninjured wolf watched with sullen eyes as this selfless mage treated his kin, without even any monetary incentive. It was this lack of avarice the winsome woman possessed that imbued him with confidence, and made him realize his brother would survive. With what little power the dying beast could muster, he reached out to his brother, begging for his presence. "I will not leave you, brother! This mage is powerful! She will save you!" he preached. Though long since a child of the wood that had taken on Zathrian's curse, they still retained some human essence. The werewolves cared for each other, watched over each other, fought as a collective unit. Even they - majestic beasts of the Wilds - felt a need to display emotion.
        
        The mage, simply referred to as Banshee, was overwhelmed with the blood gushing from the werewolf's wound. However, it were her eyes, which were a similar shade to ginger-ale, that reflected her nonchalance. She had taken a thread and needle and stitched her patient's wound, but it was the pain that was overwhelming him. She positioned her hands a few inches above the incision which left the wolf's brother bewildered. Suddenly, a low, cerulean light emitted from her bloody palms. The squirming wolf's body was brought to an abrupt halt. He rested, still, on the bloody sheets of the mage's cot, his body completely motionless. Still breathing fell from the grace of his maw. "Mage ... is he alright? Has he .. survived?" The dark-haired woman did all but nod. "I've ebbed his agony and postponed the pain to come. If he rests - undisturbed - then it's possible to completely avoid that trimester entirely. You both are welcome to stay here for a few days, until you are rested and capable of making the journey back north without hindrance."
        
        The werewolf breathed a sigh of relief. "I think you mage. Mark my words ... your temperance will not go unrewarded." The mage scoffed. "I've no need for material goods lest they be in the form of food, water or clothing. I only have one boon I think you may be able to grant." The softness in the woman's voice but the raging beast within him to rest. He peered guilelessly at her, cocking his head to the side as if to pose a question. "Yes, mage? Anything."
        
        "That you do not point the templars in my direction when you leave."
        
        Her chuckle was reassuring, though the werewolf was suddenly taken aback when he noticed the mage had been collecting things around her home. There were herbs she had placed neatly in a tiny satchel, then had hidden them in within her tunic. "Mage? Where are you going?" The werewolf inquired. When she did not answer he asked again but only received silence was a response. When she approached the door, the werewolf shot up from his perch and addressed her with a rather intimidating aura. "Mage! You're leaving!" She finally responded. "Two templars are on their way here now. Someone in Lothering pointed them in my direction. If they find this hovel, they'll slaughter you. But you have the upper hand. Do what you must for protection ... but if they find me there will be complications. I'm confident you'll emerge unscathed. Good luck to you, Sazheir."
        
        The night had been nipping at the mage's heals with a relentless severity. The crickets chirped and sang, singing a song of the darkness to come. The woman had been brought to an abrupt halt as she had heard a voice cry out from a copse of oak trees aside the marsh. She emerged from a collection of bushes, overwhelming the plants with her size and raw power. She brought with her silence, first observing her visitor. He seemed innocent enough, so she decided to entertain him. "Why would you come seeking the aid of a monster?"[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Mar 27, 2010

"Gah." The male spoke to himself, his angry slowly beginning to rise. His grip on his hilt turned his knuckles white, "Fucking old man.. not letting me come sooner." Rage grunted softly to himself, "If I left sooner, I would've found something.. a pile of bones, a indication that this 'Witch' lived in these Woods. God damn rumors..." The male muttered to himself, shaking his head. He was a fool to believe in them, for what are rumors if not just simple lies stretched to make someone believe in something false? Releasing his grip from his sword hilt, the male slowly but surely inhaled deeply. Exhaling simultaneously afterwords, repeating the process a few times. Bringing his left hand to cup over his right, rubbing quickly at the top of his knuckles. Waiting for the normal color to come back from the pale white. Shaking his hand softly, the male let out a sigh. Angered. Depressed. Any name for the emotion of being disappointed, upset, hurt. The world did not rest upon his shoulders, no. The fate of his little sister, his only blood relative did. The purest thing in the whole world, something that he'd fight for with his last dying breath. She was everything to him, yet, he was failing her at every turn. Crouching down, the male drew out a small cross in the dirt. Placing his palm over the indentation in the dirt, closing his eyes. "Maker preserve my baby sister... if not because I am asking, do so because she is the only thing I have remaining.." A prayer... as much as he knew his answer would be ignore, it was best to fill himself with false hope then no hope. At least he did so for his sister, knowing he had given up on faith for it did nothing for you in the time of need.

Standing up after a few seconds, the male exhaled deeply. Running his hand over the top of his head, dirt falling into his hair. His dark blue eyes peered out into the nothingness of the woods, where creatures hid from his eyes. The eyes of the male looked glazed over, as if he was simply but a shell of a man. Nothing more then fury and anger. Cocking his head to the side, the male attempted to crack his neck. Dipping his shoulders backwards in his leather tunic, stretching out the muscles as if he was preparing for a fight. His primal senses told him to get ready for something was about to happen... something bad. Placing his hand on his neck, the male had one of two visible tattoos. A simple tribal band going from his left side of his neck, curving around the back part of his neck, covering his spine before dipping down to stop at his right shoulder. The dark color of the tattoo clear worn in. His other was underneath his tunic, on his chest. The drawing had started over his heart, it was just a random scribble to everyone else. To him, it was the suffering he had been through.. slowly escalating into the painful suffering his sister dealt with now. The end of the scribble stopped at the left side of his ribcage. The color of his tattoo over his heart faded, the recent additions to the art were easily recognized.

The shouted question back jerked the male back to reality, sulking was meant for later. Was this the 'Witch of the Wild'? A voice who dare not show them self to a simple warrior? Bah, hardly worth the trouble it seems. "I am in need of help, for... my younger sister is sick. Word around Lothering and amongst merchant travelers is there are apostates capable of curing any illness." The male shouted back, "If this is possible, I am asking you to come with and help. If not, then I've wasted my time in seeking anyone out." Hearing the chattering of chainmail approach from behind him. Quickly, Rage pulled the sword off his back. "Hey! Crazy! There is no one but ghosts in the woods! Get out!" A templar shouted, replying to the male's urgent calls for help. Two Templars... hm. "He is just stupid, looking for an apostate to help him. How about this sonny?" The other, clearly the superior of the two, "You help us find this apostate that lives in here, we'll send the best healers from the chantry to help your precious little sister." The old male let out a laugh. Rage's anger built quickly, did they believe he was stupid? "You get the hell away from me. For your stupid ass Chantry and your 'oh-so' believable Maker, my sister still lays in the bed, ill." The male shot back. Both templars looking at one another, "You got some ner-..." The younger Templar spoke, stopping in mid-sentence. "AHhhhh!" He shouted, clutching at the now stub of a hand that he had, Rage sidestepped twice. Hitting the elder Templar with the blunt side of his sword. Bringing his foot up to kick the chainmail.

He was quicker then the two logs in the armor, "Such a shame, I expected a fight out of you two." Rage spoke, a devilish smirk appearing across his face. Rage enjoyed the pain the younger Templar suffered from with the missing hand of his, taking three steps toward the Templar who knelt on the ground, riveting in pain. The grunts and screams of the male sent shivers up the spine of the male, sick and twisted as it was. Rage had suffered enough to feel good in causing others pain. Tapping the Templar on the back of his helmet, "Hey, don't die on me just yet. I still have something in store for you." The male spoke, enjoying this. Turning his head to see if the elder one was getting up, he was still struggling to get up. Running his hand along side the helm of the kneeling Templar, the male ran his middle finger up the eye hole of the helm. Digging his middle finger into the eye of the Templar, blood trickling down the finger, dripping off at his wrist. "AHhhh! Ge-- S-stop!" The Templar screamed, "Fine, if you wish for me to stop.. I'll end your misery." Rage replied, pushing his head to the left, the male pulled his head to the right with force. Hearing the neck of the male begin to crack, turning his head to face behind him. Letting the limp body fall to the ground. "Ahahaha!" Rage laughed, his devilish laugh echoing through the wilderness.

Turning to face the elder Templar, Rage used the limped over body to sit down as he waited for the elder to get up. "I hope this was your son, it would be so much more satisfying to know that I killed your son before I killed you." His smirk quickly returning to his face, "You son of a bitch! I'm going to make sure you are hanged from the highest tree!" Ah, the anger from this man only fueled the intensity of Rage, so exciting! Hopping backward over the dead Templar. Clink. Clink. The angered swing of the one handed sword bouncing off the armor of the dead body. Heaving the greatsword over his head, the male swung down. Hitting nothing but ground, the large metal shield hitting his dead on in the side of his face. Staggering back two steps, the male shook the birdies now flying around in his head, away. Blinking twice, Rage sidestepped the following shield slam. Swinging the heavy sword at the Templar's legs, the male was getting tired. Lugging the heavy sword around in this wild fashion would only fatigue him faster. Clink. His swing struck true. The blunt side of his sword hitting the side of the knee, pushing it out of socket. "Argh!" The Templar yelled, his hand immediately going to his left knee. Bringing his sword up, Rage slammed it into the shoulder of the Templar. Piercing through the weak metal, stabbing straight into the ground.

Letting out a deep exhale, Rage moved over the Templar. Crouching down, the male removed the helm from his downed opponent. "That shot to the face, it was a good one. Too bad you weren't able to follow up with it." A small shrug followed after his statement, the weary face of the his opponent. Roughly as old as his now deceased father, "Look at it this way, you lived a long, healthy live.. following the Chantry." Smirking softly, "If you see the Maker.. let him know I say hello." His devilish grin only increasing as he moved his hands to the male's jaw. Quickly turning it right, back left the same way. Snapping the neck of the Templar.

Taking in a deep breath, the male removed his weapon from the shoulder armor. "Come now! You supposed Witch!" He shouted, "I am fatigued and in no shape to fight back. Please, come on out!" Rage shouted, he would provoke her or she'd come willingly. The male preferred either one of them.

Osheaga · Mar 27, 2010

- - The entire spectacle was observed by the nameless mage. She felt absolutely no reason or impulse to intervene during the warrior's battle. Even if he were overwhelmed by the two templars, she possibly would have rested within the dark shadow's cast by the oak trees, silent and unresponsive. Throughout the scrum she found herself logging every precise movement and mannerism the warrior exhibited - the cracking of the neck, eyes white with rage, merciless, sadistic mannerisms - all of it. It was a habit she developed over the years while being locked away within the Circle Tower of Rivain and had even allowed her to escape her captors. She found it extremely difficult to fathom that even now, templars from Dairsmuid sought after her head. But she heard word from allies in Nivarra that her power was something that could not be destroyed, so they had planned on retaining her gifts and personally escorting her back to the Rivain Circle Tower.
    
    When the battle had ended, the mage emerged from the copse of bushes and trees. She was left in a state of pure disgust by the mess left before her. Blood stained the dewy blades of marsh grass and tainted the already murky bayou water. She was respectful to the dead and avoided their battered corpse. She could not summon words at that precise moment. Her eyes - which were a generally light hue compared to the bronzed texture of her sandy colored flesh - were white, almost, with only the presence of her pupils gracing them. She examined the corpses from afar, combing through armor and apparel. The templars had no spoils she could claim. Well, nothing she could put to use. No flasks, elfroot, deathroot or poultices of any kind. Hell, they didn't even carry forms of food of drink. While the mage was known to travel sober, from time to time she felt the need to drown her monotony in a flagon of fine wine. After visiting Orlais and and sampling their fine, fruity wines, she never planned on putting her lips to stale Orzimmar ale again.
    
    "Perhaps I am not the only monster here," she whispered to herself, though the wind caught her breath and carried it far. Her tone was unworldly, something that was not often heard in Fereldan. Her voice was soft but strong and established. It held authority in it and the power to howl like no wolf could. It was also degrading, and capable of making even the most agnostic of men feel pity for his sins and vices. Though she was not in the chiding mood, she felt the need to make the warrior's faults apparent. "You entered this battle knowing you could easily overwhelm these men," she began, crouching aside one of the sundered corpses. She took note of the nicks and dents in the freshly crafted armor, all inflicted by the warriors broad bastard sword. Her long, shaggy lion's mane spilled over her shoulders, revealing tattoos - which she had called runes - trailing up and down the back of her neck and along her collarbone. "But you felt a need to sate your rage ... and murdered these men, simpletons if any. I don't think they deserved such a fate." Suddenly, the bushes began rattling. A creature emerged, a digitgrade, and flexed his flaxen muscles.
    
    "Mage! I smelled the stale scent of metal on the wind. I came searching for you, I feared the templars may have subdued you!" The werewolf caught view of the warrior and felt threatened. He bared his teeth and reared his claws, growling and grunting like the feral, cursed beast he was. "This ... this cur! He dare approach you as such! Brazen fool! I will rip the sinew from your very bone! How dare to threaten this mage! Her heart is purer then any gold, and you ... you come here to kill her!" As he lunged forward, the nameless mage intervened. With raw strength alone she subdued the lycan, wringing him down to the marshland ground. "Lady Mage! You would protect this monster?" He whimpered. "Sazheir. Like Swiftrunner, you're too quick to judge. Be more cognizant of your surroundings and evaluate. You would find yourself much less vehement." The beast slowly climbed to his feet and bowed his head to the mage in shame. "You are right, mage. I will do as you ask; you have wisdom past your years. I will return to care for my brother ... lest this warrior causes a problem, then I will valiantly fight at your side." He grunted, and as quickly as he had come, he left, leaving the mage to deal with her visitor.
    
    "You've chased a far-fetched rumor down here to the Wilds ... on what pretenses, I don't care. What do you want? For savagely murdering these men it had better be worth while, lest I feed your sullen corpse to the hungry mouths of the marsh."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Mar 27, 2010

Rage staggered back when the ... creature, came from the shadows. Baring its claws to attack the male, in defense of this woman mage. Before the male could even pick his sword up to defend himself, the female had whipped the creature over her shoulder, throwing it to the ground. Rage had only heard more rumors and murmurs about the creature who stood on two legs like a human, spoke the language of Fereldan yet covered from head to toe in mangy, dingy fur. Quickly as soon as the creature came from the shadows, it returned. Exhaling slowly in relief when the thing returned to the shadows, even in his weakened, fatigued state, Rage firmly believed he would be able to take on any and all things that occupy Fereldan. From dragons to Darkspawn, the male would fight to save his sister. For, if he died, she'd follow shortly after.

Listening to the mage intently, it was odd to hear an apostate speak about Templars if they would actually help the mage rather then rough them up then take her back to the Circle Tower. Placing his hand on the pouch tied to his belt, quickly fiddling with the string. Rage heaved the pouch filled with sovereigns to the mage's feet, "Like I said previously, my little sister is ill. Given that there is no Maker who is willing to help, I'm looking for anyone ... someone to cure her." Clearing his throat softly, "Given that I have no magics nor insight on how different mages are apart from one another, I felt finding an apostate who was deemed 'Witch of the Wilds' would be more then adequate in the terms of helping my sister." Heaving the greatsword over his head, feeling the heavy weight of his weapon hit against his back. Quickly strapping the hilt to his tunic, fixing the strap on his hip, holding the blade to his body. Taking a look at the Templars one more time, "Maybe I am mistaken, but.. these are Templars, no?" The male cooed softly, turning to the slumped over Templar. Placing his foot on its side, kicking the dead body onto its back.

"To me, I believe they are... they look exactly like the ones in Lothering. All cluttered by the Chantry building and what not." Shrugging his shoulders softly, "So, these mere simpletons would've caused you trouble at some time or another." Turning his attention back to the female mage, "Looks like I did you a favor, something that you would've had to deal with yourself or one of the ... creatures of the marsh." Grunting slightly, the male ran his fingers along his jawline. Opening his mouth, moving his bottom jaw to the left before rotating it to the right. Attempting to stretch out the muscle, it was a good shot. Definitely should've knocked sense into anyone else, not a male who is dead set on either helping, or avenging, his sister. This was nothing compared to what he'd do if she is to die, his poor little village would be his first of many.

Taking a step toward the mage, the male quickly halted. Eyes shifting to the right, shadows moved when he attempted to take a step toward her. Eerie, if not intriguing. Everything that inhabits the marsh is willing to give their life to the mage, for what purpose? That would be discussed at a later date, yet the male knew if he took even the slightest wrong step toward the girl, more then a hundred of the wilderness creatures would be down upon him. Feasting off the flesh of his bones after they dragged his corpse into the shadows.

Letting out a small huff of air, the male looked over his right shoulder. The shadows seemed to be growing uneasy with his presence near the mage, something that interested him a lot. "Well, mage." Rage spoke, pausing as he turned his attention to the female. "Are you interested in potentially saving my younger sister's life or are you still going to feed my sullen corpse to the marsh?" Clenching his hands in anticipation. "For if it is the latter ... I will assure you even in my fatigued state, I will not go down easily." His eye lid narrowing, if this is what she wished, he'd lunge at her. Making his best attempt to wound her, he'd be dead either way. Whether he waits for her minions to jump from the shadows and maul him, he'd get torn apart by the mage's magics. His best opportunity of doing any damage would be to strike directly at the head of this marsh's beast ... her.

Osheaga · Mar 28, 2010

- - "What you've done is caused me more grief." The woman pressed her full lips in a hard line while she gave the lifeless corpses one last once-over, then peered warily back towards her religious visitor. As she had seen it, the two templars would have eventually found her hovel. By that time Sazheir and his brother would have fled to the cover of the Wilds leaving no trace of their presence. The templars, unearthing no evidence, would return to Lothering empty handed and deem the Wilds apostate-free. Of course the laggard fools would say that they thoroughly combed through the entire forest area. Their superiors would believe the fib and continue searching elsewhere, leaving the mage to rest without the haunting thought of templars wringing her neck. But now that the templars were dead, the Lothering chantry would disperse a massive search party since they wouldn't be returning. This would undoubtedly result in her being discovered. The woman decided it was in her best interest not to waste her breath explaining her cause to the warrior.
    
    "Please spare me your tough-man talk, lest my heart leap from my chest in the horror of it all." After her sarcastic rebuttal, she reached to the back of her head, then, slipped a mask over her beautiful face. It was made from obsidian - or, as her people knew it, black pearls. It was a refined piece of architecture, virtually brand new. During her trip to the colorful streets of Nivarra she had the mask commissioned by a skilled artisan. It had been customized to fit each of her facial features, from her lips to her pert cheekbones. To allow her unhindered vision the eye portion was cut out, only to reveal the suddenly milky white texture of her demonic opticals. "So your sister ... she's ill. When did this illness appear? What are the symptoms? Is she bed-ridden, simply groggy or completely immobile?" As she began posing questions, she knelt down and collected the satchel of sovereigns the warrior had offered as compensation.
    
    While she trekked forward, she thrust the satchel into his chest, proclaiming, "I will accept no compensation until this problem is solved."
    
    Just as she passed a particularly lush tree, she plucked a fig from the branches and slipped her mask up only a fraction so she could feast on its somewhat questionable contents. "Eat something while you're here. We won't be reaching any weystations for a while." At times like this I wish I would have stolen a fucking horse.
    
    [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 5, 2010

Feeling the pouch being shoved into his chest, the mage's statement following. Rage had a small problem with that; he wanted it solved with payment not until after. "If you are giving it back for compensation after the problem is fixed, then, I will warn you ... if you fail, there won't be anything out of this pouch for you." Obviously, the male left out the part that there'd be hell to pay but 'most likely' wouldn't take it out on the mage. "I do urge you to keep in mind, if you do not help my little sister ... steer clear from my path. That village will be torn from the ground up then I'll be headed to Lothering. I will burn the Chantry down myself, even if that means giving my life to do so." The male spoke, tying the pouch firmly back to his waist. Pick-pockets were everywhere, he was lucky to not get it stolen in Lothering. Turning quickly, the male walked up beside the mage, her pace was quick. Good. The faster they got there, the faster they got this crap over with.

Five days, ten hours, sixteen minutes....

The male recalled the smell of smoke, wood burning, a day or so ago. It wouldn't be until he arrived that he'd found out exactly why he smelt what he did.

"Here we are, ma-" Rage spoke from behind the mage, eyes widening in disbelief. Loss of words clear. His village, most of the huts burnt to the ground. "Cloud!" The male shouted, breaking the small silence over him, pushing past the mage abruptly. Rage sprinted down the pathway leading into the small village, his goal wasn't to lead the mage to his sister. It was now to make sure she was still tucked away in her bed, safe and sound from all the disaster that took place upon his village. "Cloud!" The male continued to shout, his efforts futile. Even if she was still in her bed, she couldn't shout back to him ... she couldn't even call back.

Bodies of elder women laid where they had been slain, rotting underneath the rays of the sun. The raid on his village was days old by now. "Cloud!" The male yelled once more, approaching the small hut that housed his younger sister. Sliding to a halt as he entered the hut, nearly clipping the top of the doorway with his head. Dust flying up around him. Slamming his hand onto the bed where his sister laid, empty. "Damnit!" Rage spoke, slamming his hand down against the bed once more. "If I would've been sooner." A sigh passed through the lips of the male, clutching onto the side of the bed. "AH!" Quickly flipping the bed over onto its side, the hay mattress slumping down onto the floor.

Creek. Creek. Creek.

Rage whipped toward the sound, the tip of his greatsword slicing through the top of the roof as it came crashing down, breaking the wooden dresser. "Ah! Wait! Wait!" A voice called out from the corner, just a bit to the right of where the tip of his sword landed. "I d-don't mean any harm! I thought this place was deserted!" Out from the shadows came a elf, a male elf. Thief. Rogue. Whatever. "Obviously, it isn't." Rage growled back, grabbing the male by the collar of his shirt. "Where is Cloud!" He yelled, "Look, m-man! I don't know what are talking about!" He pleaded, violently shoving the male back. Watching him bump into the side of the hut, Rage brought his foot up. Thrusting it forward, kicking the male with his bottom foot, square in the chest. Watching him fly through the siding, sliding a few feet after he landed against the ground.

Rage stepped through the newly added door in the hut, bringing his greatsword up over his head once more. "If you don't know what happened here, you are of no use to me." Bringing his sword down a few moments after he spoke.

Osheaga · Apr 5, 2010

- - Halfway through their journey the mage took note of the odd cluster of smog hovering low on the horizon. Dust and smoke filled her nostrils and plagued her with the occasional sneeze here and there. Initially she thought it may have been a grand battle that had commenced somewhere in central Fereldan, but as their trek further continued, the irritating aroma had centered around a cluster of land ahead of them. She fought with herself, wondering as whether to mention it to the warrior. She came to the conclusion it wasn't important; that they would probably pass a ravaged caravan on the way to his village. She didn't realize how wrong she was until they arrived. Her eyes welled with tears at the smoke that wafted in her face. She wheezed and fanned the gas away in hopes she could clear her view, only to be welcomed by the image of a razed village.
    
    She removed her mask, slipping it behind her head to rest in her hood. She leered left and right, drinking in the savage destruction that surrounded her. Broken remnants of buildings lay littered left and right, bodies dressing the ground like ceremonial decorations. The mage never had seen such a scene of pure malice. Often she was subjected to the occasional squabble here and there but nothing like this. As Rage fled, crying aloud for his sibling, the mage rested and gauged the damage. As much as it pained her, they were low on supplies. Anything that was left she would have to scavenge for. She heaved a sigh and gingerly padded over to one of the broken buildings. From there she noted nothing of significance; nothing that could be used.
    
    The darkspawn undoubtedly coordinated this attack. Anything that may have been useful was either stolen by them, or retrieve by scavengers. By the look of the corpses this village was destroyed days ago.
    
    Suddenly, as if from seemingly no where, a body landed at her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest and directed her gaze downward where a battered elven man lay immobile. The moment he opened his eyes they went wise with pure terror. "D-D-Deacon!!!!" he cowered. The mage cursed silently under her breath. "How do you know my name?" she questioned, but before she could be answered, the warrior returned with pure murder plastered over his enraged visage. Immediately Deacon, the mage, summoned forth a shield forged from arcane forces to protect the elf from any physical harm that were to befall him. "Harm him and you've probably destroyed any lead to finding your sister. Stop thinking with your anger." She dispersed the shield and once again watched their prisoner with intrigued eyes. "That being said ... do you know what happened here? Lest my shield mysteriously happens to fail and my friend here drives you through with his blade."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 6, 2010

Quickly twisting the hilt, the male turned the sword longways. Shoving it straight down into the ground, Rage let go of the hilt. Thinking with anger was the only way he could make sense of anything, given that they hadn't exchanged formalities, she would understand simply by his name that that was all he did ... was all he was capable of doing. Rage. Empty sense of everything needs to die, then everything will be fine again. Though, in this case, she is correct. Maybe somehow this looter knew what happened. "Fine, Deacon ... we'll play by your rules, this time." The male spoke, angered. It was just easier to go off in a blind rage and kill something then track whatever beast or whatever, down later. "You heard the lady ... speak."

"U-uh ... I came t-through a few days ago. Da-darkspawn had already wiped everythi-" "Darkspawn!?" Rage asked, interrupting. "Which way did they go!" The male beckoned, "I d-don't know! I stayed hidden ... well long enough for them to just pass by! Please that is all I know!" Rage placed his hand on his hilt, he didn't believe the elf but he didn't disbelieve the elf. He knew he couldn't trust either of them; Deacon or her new found friend. "Okay, okay! They went West! They went West! Please, don't hurt me!" The male's gaze became a glare, a death glare at that. He was just lying to the male. Removing his sword from the ground, the male watched as the Elf fidgeted as he swung his sword around, hitting against his back before strapping the weapon down. An audible sigh of relief could be heard from the Elf, "Am .. am I free to go?" Rage turned his glare to the West ... staring off into the wilderness for a few moments.

"No." Rage answered, moving to the side of the elf. Grabbing his shirt by the shoulder, dragging him up to his feet. "You will show me where they went ... if they have my sister then every one who was there will be a walking carcass." Rage spoke to the elf, shoving him to walk forward, his grip still on the back of his shirt. Stopping after a few steps, "Are you coming? I'm not paying you one hundred sovereigns for you to stop at this part of the journey. You hadn't done what we agreed to." Formalilites between the three would be said later, Rage was days behind as is. The faster they got moving, the better. Though, it would be utterly useless ... they needed to go to the Deep Roads in Orzammar to even get close to Darkspawn. "Oh! Hundred Sovereigns! Count me in!" The Elf exclaimed, winced as he feel to one knee. The grip being applied to the male from Rage would pierce flesh soon.

The only thought on his mind was finding his sister. Those bastard darkspawn were at least two days ahead of them. "Do I get any reward if we find your sister?" The elf asked, Rage gritting his teeth. "No, shut up and start walking. If she decides to come, she'll catch up." The male replied, "The name's Zander and looting stuff is my game!" The elf spoke, a laugh passing his parted lips ... like what he said was funny. "I don't care."

Osheaga · Apr 7, 2010

- - Throughout the entire endeavor the mage, Deacon, was left to thoroughly examine the situation. An avaricious rogue, skilled at plundering, picking locks and thievery in general. Alarms went off in her head as she noted how easily he was bribed with the mere mention of material spoils. If he was cajoled by money, what if a bigger offer came a long sometime in the future? That would certainly prove to be troublesome but Deacon knew better not to worry herself with such trivial matters. Rather she trudged up behind the warrior - who was still nameless to her - watching the heels of the antsy rogue with her tart, vulpine eyes.
    
    "West, as in Orzammar?" Every time the word Orzimmar was mentioned, only one subject came to mind: politics. Deacon despised politics. They were difficult to follow and virtually unmanageable on her part. That wasn't to say she wasn't a political guru. Matters of the heart and mind always took top priority over which king got to take the throne for her. In a nutshell, she was the complete opposite to other humans, elves and even dwarves dwelling in Thedas. "I don't understand. Darkspawn come from Orzammar. Why would they be returning there?" The rogue chortled.
    
    "Think about it, Deacon!" She despised how he used her name so freely when she had never seen his face once in her life. "It's always been known that some darkspawn take slaves down into the Deeproads. The armada that came by the warrior's village were probably done pillaging and overflowin' with spoils, so they're probably goin' back home. Yup ... deep underground ... where it wreaks of sulfur, rotting darkspawn flesh and brimstone. Sounds like my idea of home, that's fersure." While the elf was optimistic about the dark situation, Deacon nor Rage were, even though Rage seemed to have more to lose then any of them.
    
    As the elf hobbled merrily along, Deacon broke the silence. She lunged forward, took the tiny elven man by the crown of his tunic and slammed his shaken corpse against the trunk of a nearby oak tree. "W-wh-what's your problem!" he choked, "I thought we were done with this violence! I thought ... t-thought you were the sane one!" Zander was frightened beyond compare. The sheer shadow of terror that ghosted over his dainty visage was unsettling enough. Such an elegant, flawless creature being demeaned. Quite obviously Deacon thought otherwise. She extended her index finger which began to hum with a low, dull light, but gradually grew brighter and brighter until it was electric blue.
    
    "Earlier I asked you a question, Zander." The calmness in her voice made his stomach churn like a wild hurricane. "How do you know my name?" Zander swallowed the knot in his throat and heaved a soundless sigh, shifty eyes darting left and right then to Rage for help, though clearly he wasn't to recieve any. "I ... I heard another mage mention your name before in Val Royeaux. "The Amazon with the mask carved from obsidian and beryl eyes bitter as stone." That's what I heard! As soon as I remember what he said and seen you ... I knew you were him! So lemme go!" Rather then be 'kind' like Rage, Deacon effortlessly tossed the elf's shaken body to the ground. The thud was sickening, but he recovered almost instantaneously.
    
    "Fuck, you two are the most violent pair I've ever seen!" [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 7, 2010

Twelve days, whoever knows how many hours and seconds later...

The trip to Orzammar wasn't the best ... nor the most productive. In the early beginning of the trip, the newly found companion to the warrior and the mage managed to get himself into trouble. It quickly grew to become troublesome for the pair. Zander managed to find a female in the middle of no where, seduce her into fornication. Well, turned out that female was a Blacksmith's - with seventeen years of combat training under his belt - daughter who was in-waiting for their landlord's son to become of age so they could give her up to him in hopes of getting a small levy on their taxes. Yes, that plan went south ... quickly. Turned out that that the sovereigns for the Mage to help his sister out were just enough for the Blacksmith to not decapitate the elven male. Rage said he'd settle to give him fifty sovereigns and would allow the Blacksmith to dismember ... his member. Alas, that didn't settle well with the Elf, even though it would've been a funny story for the male to tell people after he found his sister.

His sister ... that haunted him the whole trip. The hellish nightmares he endured the nights he tried sleeping, easily frightened the creatures around him. Only person that was able to sleep through his frantic screaming was the mage, surprisingly. Though, it seemed that she was full of surprises. Out of the two of them, the male figured he'd need to slow his pace down for the girl. Looks can be deceiving. Turned out that the oh-so quick, agile thief was the one to constantly bitch, moan and complain as the trekked their way to Orzammar. As if he didn't cause them enough trouble, the elf managed to whine about every little thing ... like the small little spider bite he received. He could've swore he was going to die, even made a dramatic scene over it. The mage stepped in between Rage before he could kill him.

Oh, and lets not forget about the few Darkspawn they encountered. Zander cowered in fear until it was two versus one. Then he'd sneak up behind the poor little darkspawn and stab him in the back, proclaiming himself the best rogue there ever was. Rage could only stare blankly at him, the mage simply ignored the male.

Loud huffs and weezes could be heard from the Elf, "G-guys ... we ... we need to." The male paused, gasping for breath. Rage pushed him for all the trouble got them in, simply because now the male was completely out of the sovereigns he planned to pay the mage. Who, if she wanted, could've let him to be stuck with the Elf who managed to fit himself into their group of two. "Take a .. fucking break. I am beat." The elf spoke, Rage wasn't even winded but they were already at Orzammar, so, he could take as long of a break as he needed. "You can stay here, you pansy ..." The male muttered to himself, "W-what was that, Rage?" The elf cooed back, yes, the male told him his name only to shut him up. That plan back fired, a lot. "Rest. We are here." Rage replied, turning his head to look over to the elf who was leaned over, hands on his knees, sucking in air as if he was held under the water for a mere minute. "How in the ... world can you keep going?" Zander questioned to himself, "Because I am not a prissy little elf." Rage replied as he headed toward the door.

"Ouch. That one ... hurt."

In reality, Rage's sister gave him all the strength he needed to keep going. Her life depended on Rage finding her ... if she wasn't already dead by now. "Don't think that, Rage. She is ... alive." A deep sigh passed through the lips of the male, he didn't know ... he didn't want to know what happened to her. She was already deathly sick, being taken only made it worse. Chances of her survival were slim, even if he did find her. Shaking his head lightly, Rage attempted to fight back any dark thoughts about his sister. So! Where is the best place to do something like that in Orzammar!? Obviously, the tavern!

Taking a seat at the booth, the male let out a small relaxed sigh. "What are 'ye havin'?" A dwarven barmaid asked after approaching the side of the booth. "Just give me a pint of ale." "Aye." The female spoke turning her back to the male, "I think she had a beard longer then that guy ..." Rage spoke to himself as his attention turned to the dwarf staring him down in the corner. Bringing up his hand, the male turned it to face palm out. Turning his palm back to face him, clenching then unclenching his fist. Smirking softly, Rage clenched his fist one more time. Raising up his middle finger, "Here 'ye go." A voice spoke, the male quickly stretching out his fingers like he had a small cramp in his hand. The dwarf in the corner grunting in disgust. Pulling the ale over to infront of him, the female long gone from his booth.

"I don't imagine not making enemies before I am gone." Smirking softly, it was a pleasing thought. Taking a swig from his mug, the male placed his mug back down on the table.

Osheaga · Apr 10, 2010

- - Here in Orzimmar, Deacon's face was not known well as if it all. She was just another visitor; a passerby who would come and go as many others had before her. Earlier on in their travels Deacon displayed her disfavor concerning Ozimmar and its politics, but that wasn't the only reason why she wasn't so fond of the underground city. The mage was ever so slightly claustrophobic, not enough to manifest into a genuine issue, but it was enough to cause her mild discomfort. The moment the group set foot through the dwarven city's grand doors she felt the heat waft against her bronze complexion and heighten her body temperature. No view of the sky, no sun, no moon, no stars ... just a clear view of cooking red clay that consumed the surface nearly one hundred meters above them.
    
    During their stay Deacon knew this would have to be a inequity she would need to overcome, especially if she were to venture into the Deep Roads with her caravan. Even then she began to think ... what if the darkspawn hadn't returned to Deep Roads? What if they had been somewhere else by now? Perhaps murdered? If they were, maybe some perverse warriors would have taken the girl? As horrifying as these thoughts were they, too, plagued Deacon. While she did not have a strong connection with Rage or her younger sister, she felt this was a mission she needed to see through. Amongst all of the calamity in Ferelden - the war, the genocide, the slavery and poverty - if a pair of siblings could be reunited only to die together, she would have felt that her existence meant something.
    
    While Rage and Zander seemed to have been enjoying their down time, the philosophical mage had launched herself deep in thought. Her mind was ailing, crying out for rest, but she was too selfish to allow it any. Left sore, with wounds and an empty stomach, she still could do nothing but think. Subjects of Rage's sister, the werewolves, dwarven politics, her home, the mercenaries sent to kill her, everything ... they plagued her. The music and merry cries resounding throughout the tavern were garbled to her. It took a sheer cry from Zander to snap her out of her thinking. He had slammed down a mug of ale right before Deacon, exclaiming, "Drink up, girl!" Deacon seen that there was no reason to celebrate. Their venture was not over, and a little girl was sick and dying.
    
    "You're thinking about the little girl, aren't you?" Zander's voice grew significantly smaller. He watch Deacon with rather sympathetic eyes. Over their journey, they all had grown quite close, and Zander particularly fond of Deacon. "It's been days ... if she's still alive, Deacon, she knows her brother is coming for her. The best thing we can do is recuperate to be at our best - which means bathing, eating and resting - so we can venture on and save her." Deacon was quiet, but, she realized Zander made sense. She raised her head and silently nodded, her light, coal colored waves bounced with her movements. This had inspired her, and given her quite a brilliant idea that she cursed herself for not realizing earlier. She decided she would mention it to Rage later, but for now, she would do as Zander had suggested.
    
    "Well, now, since I've cheered you up, can I ask you a favor?" Deacon was taken aback, but decided to play along. "That certainly depends. But do ask." She lifted her mug and took a sip of her ale - it was bitter, tart, but quite frothy and cold. It wasn't the most refined hops she had ever tasted but it was just what she needed to knock her on her ass and sleep like the dead that night. "Will you ... share a bed with me tonight? I promise ... I can keep you nice and warm. It'll be a night you won't remember, doll." Deacon pressed her lips in a hard line, parted her them and said, "... you're a little too small for me." [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 10, 2010

Rage's eyebrow cocked in frustration at the elf. His blatant ignorance for the fact that the male was sitting there was appalling. "I'm right here, you little mother-fu..." His statement being spoke into his mug as he quickly chugged the rest of it down. It was all he could do without wanting to reach over the table and slam the Elf's face into the table. Quickly, the male got the Barmaid's attention, watching her fill another mug and bring it over. Rage grabbed it haste-fully, making sure none of them - though they weren't even close to being done with their first mugs - had grabbed at it. He knew he'd need a lot to get through the night, for a few reasons. To fight off the thoughts of his sister being drug into the Deep Roads by darkspawn and the elf's blatant disrespect. 'I know I am going to end up hurting him ... I just know it.' Rage through to himself as the Elf proceeded to ask the girl for a favor. Bringing his mug up to his lips, parting to let the concoction flow into his mouth.

'Will you ... share a bed with me tonight?'

Rage quickly brought his drink down, the mixture of alcohol in his mouth spewing from his lips. A mixture of a laugh and a cough following, luckily, Zander wasn't in front of him. He'd be covered in alcohol mixed with saliva. Hearing the female's response only inspired Rage to laugh harder, "Ah ha ha ha ha!" Rage exclaimed, pounding his hand against the table. All the patrons quickly turning their head to see what was so damn funny. Though, they paid no mind after realizing it was two humans and a elf. Zander had muttered a few words before sulking down into his seat. Rage wiped a small tear from his eye before bringing his mug up to his lips. Finishing off the glass, waving down the barmaid.

"Rage, I think you should slow down."
"Nah, I'll be fine."

Twenty minutes later...

"Guyss...." Rage muttered, drunkenly. "Do's yous shee that dwarf .. ha ha.. dwaaa oorrffff .. ah ha ha ha ..." Rage paused to fight back a small laughing fit. "dat dwarf in the back thing over thur ... ?" He asked, pointing his finger wobbly at the empty corner. "Dey hab been eye bawling me all night ... 'Ey!" He yelled, "If you gots sumthin' to say .. say it den!" He yelled, picking up his mug to whip it at the empty corner.

Zander's eyes looked side to side, turning his head back to make sure he was seeing the empty corner. "Rage, there isn't anything back there ... " The elf whispered slowly to the drunken male.

"AH! A talkin' twee! Keel it!" Rage yelled, reaching over to swing at nothing beside Zander.

"Yep, I believe he is past drunken ... now, its just a stupor." The elf groaned, taking a small sip of his drink. His eyes rolling slowly. "He is in no way amusing ... I'm sorry you have to see this, Deacon. So pathetic."

"Dun you say dat a boot me mum! I will pay 'ye paid!" Rage shouted, his sentences full of slurs and stutters. Reaching over quickly, the male fell face first into the table. A small snore quickly beginning to be heard from the male. Drinking as much as he did on an empty stomach, surely bound for him to pass out after twenty dwarven ales. Muttering that the dwarf in the background was challenging him to out drink him, being the reason he had drank so much.

Osheaga · Apr 10, 2010

- - Surely it wasn't the wisest idea to be chugging down mug after mug of ale on an empty stomach. The only rations the group had left to call their own were dried plums from the Wilds and a few slivers of strained cow tendon. Aside from the virtual tastelessness of their food, they held virtually no nutritional value after sitting around in their rucksacks for days. Low on cash, low on food but high in spirits, they realized their journey might just be coming to an end sometime soon.
    
    While Zander found Rage's musings quite embarrassing, Deacon found them to be the exact opposite. Usually a man's drunken antics didn't amuse her but something about Rage's little scene was enough to send her into a pure giggle-fit, mind you, all she did was sit in her chair and feebly grin. "I find him rather entertaining." The softness and raw nonchalance in Deacon's voice sent Zander spiraling into a state of bliss. He swallowed the grand knot lodged in his throat and began to nod rather choppily. "I completely agree! He's absolutely hilarious! A comedic genius! Whoever would find this spectacle disheveling is a fool."
    
    The moment Rage's head hit the table, both Zander and Deacon jerked their heads in his direction. They were startled by the quite sicking thud, but bemused by the hilarity of the situation. There was Rage, passed out in tiny puddle of spilled ale. "Rage?" Deacon questioned silently. She placed her hand on the hind of his neck; his skin was slightly clammy and laden with a thin layer of sweat. Typical symptoms that had arisen after being in Orzimmar ... and traveling for nearly two straight weeks with no bath. "That's great. He's passed out ... how the hell are we gonna get him to an inn?" Zander question.
    
    Deacon did not reply, which irked the elf, but every moment she blinked, he felt his sanity slowly seeping away; he was entranced by her thick eyelashes that were, to him, dancing. "I... uh," he persisted, "We may have to carry him. There's an inn in the diamond quarter. It's a little expensive but I think it may be best that we sleep well tonight. That ... and I've managed to pick-pocket 20 sovereign off of some unsuspecting nobles on the way here."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 10, 2010

The short and stout barkeep walked over to the booth which contained Zander, the mage and the passed out warrior. "-'Ey." The dwarf spoke through missing front teeth, "-'E ought to be payin' fer dat there mug 'e threw against the wall 'fore 'e be leavin' 'ere." Zander quinced at the dwarven male's inability to pronounce the h on he. "He." Zander cooed in irritation, "will pay for that mug. I promise." Zander spoke, nodding his head. "Unless you feel like taking him out back to beat him rather then making him pay. If so, be our guest. He is a lousy host anyways." Zander spoke, giving the dwarf a sly smile. "I'll be back in twenty minutes. If dat dere mug isn't fixed or there ain't ten sovereigns on this table .. 'ye all be in trouble."

Ten minutes pass with Rage still passed out on the table. Words hadn't been exchanged since the dwarven male left. A sigh passed through the lips of the elven male, "Well, this is a predicament. I only had twenty sovereigns from the nobles. And it takes ten to pay for a single bedroom in Orzammar." Zander spoke, his eyes focusing on the female. "Heh heh heh." The elf murmured to himself, "Guess since we have to pay for Rage's ... rage. We'll have to share a bed, doll." Giving the mage a small wink.

Rage stirred slowly, tilting his head to the right. His neck cracking in the process, "No ..-" Rage spoke with a small yawn, "You will sleep somewhere in the slums." The male spoke as he pushed himself up right, another yawn passing through his lips. "Along with that, you'll give me that twenty sovereign you got. Which will knock twenty off what you owed me for your little .. happy time with that blacksmith's daughter .. and the mage nad I will sleep in a room tonight. Far from you." Turning his head to the female, "Sounds fair to me, don't you think?" The male asked rhetorically.

"B-but ..."
"No buts about it, Zander. This deal is final."
"This is unfair! Why do you get to sleep with the ebony goddess!?"

Rage shook his head in a slightly depressed manor, the elf simply didn't get it. "There is a difference between sleeping in the same bed as then sleeping with, Zander ... now, go to the slum before I remove your fingers from your hands." The male spoke as he stepped up the stairs, "Still unfair!" Zander shouted.

"Yeah, yeah." Rage replied softly as he pushed the key into the door's key hole. Twisting it to unlock it, the male pushed the door open. Pretty standard room; bed, pillows, blanket, table and a chair. Shrugging softly, the male walked to the chair, plopping down. He only called the room to spare the girl from Zander's constant perverted nature. Twisting in the chair, the male plopped his legs over the arm, a small sigh escaping his lips before a yawn. "Though, as much as I hope he'll be gone ... he'll be outside the door in the morning. So, watch your step." The male spoke to Deacon as he closed his eyes, "And as you can tell .. you get the bed to yourself."

Osheaga · Apr 10, 2010

- - "Ebony? Zander, I'm only a few shades darker then you," she retorted silently. Ever since they found that starstruck elven rogue at Rage's village, he displayed his lack of color-seeing ability. When Rage and Deacon seen a hue of blue, he had seen 'sea green'. When they seen yellow, he seen goldenrod. It wasn't very surprising that he had mistaken her sand-toned flesh for that of a Qunari. While she found it a little unjust to make him sleep in the slums with the branded commoners and beggars, but she was in no position to protest.
    
    While the elf scampered off, Deacon had need to comment on the hilarity of their situation. "You do realize he'll probably seduce some poor, unsuspecting dwarven girl and spend the night in her bed, right? Suddenly I'm beginning to envision the blacksmith situation all over again." She bowed her head and caressed her temples with her index finger and thumb, sighing, then glancing back once more in the direction where Zander fled off in.
    
    Shortly thereafter, the pair arrived at the inn. It was a neat little operation, spick-and-spand. While Deacon was particularly accustomed to the lack of windows, she knew that it suffice seeing as she'd be sleeping for the majority of her time there. Even from their room Deacon marveled at the dwarven architectural work. The intricacy was unfathomable; virtually everything carved from stone, earth and marble. The gentle glimmer of quartz on the walls were enough to lull the desert-dwelling mage off into a silent slumber.
    
    "Sleep where you wish," Deacon retorted silently. She removed her footwear and set it at the foot of the cot, then removed her gauntlets, cured leather pauldrons and lastly her chest piece. Her black cardigan was next to fall, leaving her leggings and tunic to shield her body from the elements. Underneath her armor she had a very soft, feminine shape. Her hips were wide and waist slim; she was host to strong, powerful legs which were slightly scarred from her magi training all those man years ago.
    
    She laid her clothing a top the smooth cotton blanket and approached the stone unit forged for the usage of bathing. Much to her merriment there had been two pails of piping hot water placed there shortly before their arrival, no doubt to be used by patrons. "You should bathe while we have the chance," she suggested, removing her hair tie then running her long, elegant fingers through her thick, unruly mane. "And clean your clothing and armor, too. It looks like it needs to be recommissioned." [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 10, 2010

Rage opened one of his eyes as she spoke of him getting in the bath to bathe. It seemed like a good idea, he could wash the sweat and the smell of being outside off of him. Along with the reek of alcohol from his clothing. Cocking his brow, the male inquired why she brought that up to him. Rage would've established his need to shower and rinse his clothing before they left tomorrow ... oh. Letting out a small chuckle, the male stood up from the seat. A few more laughs passing through his lips before shaking his head lightly. "I get it .. because I'm not completely sober, you-" Rage paused, a hiccup causing the interruption. "Excuse me. Ahem." The male spoke, clearing his throat. "Because I'm not sober, you want to take advantage of me and get me naked, huh?" Rage spoke, a small smirk appearing on his face. His footsteps gliding himself over to the female who had stripped down to her tunic and pants.

Standing in front of her, the male held his smirk. Quickly letting it fade, "If you would've asked, I maybe would have considered it but since you want to be all coy and shy about it. I will have to pass." Rage teased, stepping into the bathroom, shutting the door quickly. That would get him some dirty looks when he left the bathroom, but, meh. He wanted mainly to see her reaction about the subject. Unstrapping his tunic, the male removed it from his body. Tossing it to the side before inhaling deeply, running his hand to his left side. Wincing slightly as his index and middle finger pressed against the medium length slash wound. One of the darkspawn got him, lucky for him .. it wasn't fatal. A sigh passed his lips. Removing his pants from his body as he sat on the stone slab, it was a good foot or so in diameter before it went straight down for the water to fill.

His scars were plenty, but well hidden on his torso underneath his tunic. It was because of a few darkspawn attacks ... the scar over his abs was the most defiant one he had. It was from the tip of his own greatsword, the Hurloc that had it .. was a tough fight, definitely shouldn't have lived to see the end of it. Shaking his head softly, the male didn't want to think about that right now ... just slip into the water and relax.

Thirty-five minutes later...

The male had been done with his bath about fifteen minutes ago, he was just letting his armor soak up the water while he sat around in the towel. His hand ran back to the wound on his left side, wincing as he lightly even touched it. "Probably infected ... shouldn't mentioned this to them before ... " To them, meant Deacon ... she might have been able to prevent infection if he told her after the battle. Zander wouldn't have cared if he had been wounded, would've been for the better if Rage died. So he could stop 'cock' blocking.

"Hey mage ... " Rage spoke loudly, making sure his voice traveled through the door. "Mind coming in here? I need your ... opinion." Wasn't really her opinion, just wanted to know if his wound was in fact, infected. Though, she would probably assume he was talking about his ... size and be reluctant to come in. "I'm covered up .. I just need you to answer my question real fast."

Listening to the door open.

Rage brought his left arm up as he faced the door, his hand resting on his shoulder as his arm bent at his elbow ... elbow up near his ear.

"Infected?"

Osheaga · Apr 10, 2010

- - "That's precisely it. I haven't seen a nude man in years." Her voice was stale, but she decided to entertain the drunken man's foolishness while she estimated the damage done her to armor. While he bathed, she removed her leggings one pant leg at a time and examined them. There was a fist sized hole below her thigh which could have used some patching. She pulled her rucksack up from the side of the cot and rummaged through it, searching for her thread and thimble. There was just enough left to patch the hole; she stopped, drew in a breath, and thanked the Maker - something she had rarely done - for being able to find it.
    
    While she was weaving away at the stretchy material, sewing up the rip, she heard the warrior cry for her. Of course his not-so-polite-usage of "mage" made her blood boil, but she was too tired and too tipsy to even bother caring. She laid her leggings down and traveled to the room conjoined to the main chamber - which was fairly petite in itself - and swung open the door with little to no warning. "What?" she inquired, her voice both drab and fatigued. When she noticed the wound her sweet, jade eyes took on a different facade.
    
    She approached him silently and examined the gash with her eyes only at first. But she then used her fingers to probe the outer perimeters of the wound. "Is it tender?" she questioned. After evaluating the wound she concluded that it was indeed infect. "Fuck, Rage. You're quite the daft one. You should have told me the second you got this and I could have healed it. Now this is going to be even more troublesome to heal." That and she wouldn't be able to bathe immediately as she had first hoped.
    
    I don't even know if I have any of that anti-biotic ointment left. He'd better hope I do, or this is going to be one, painful night. "Be lucky you're drunk. Otherwise you'd be howling right now." She placed her palm flat and firm over the opening in his flesh. A low, white light began to emitting from her palm. He would be feeling a warm, balmy sensation at first but it would quickly transcribe into a sharp, jutting feeling. "It's probably been left for days to fester under your armor, you idiot. I can't heal this entirely, I'm going to need pharmaceuticals now. Go get my rucksack."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 11, 2010

Daft? No, no. He simply didn't care for his body the way he should have. Pain not endured is strength not gained to him. Even if he needed to hide wounds from her to endure a small bit of pain, its a small bit more strength entering the body. Ample more time for his body to gain a resistance to fight off newer wound infections. Which .. if he was going into the Deep Roads, he'd need a whole lot of it.

"I don't like being called a idiot." Rage spoke as he walked to her rucksack, his tone dull and bland. "For one, if I can't endure a small cut like this and not let my body fight the infection natural .. even for a few days .. before asking if it was infected, it doesn't make me a idiot." Moving to her rucksack, the male never asked to be healed, she assumed too much. "Secondly, if I can't handle a small wound like this and get over it myself, I shouldn't even attempt to go to the Deep Roads and find my sister." Sitting back down on the slab, his hand moving back to his towel to ensure it didn't fall down as he walked past her. "So, before you go flinging names out because of the choice of not saying anything to deal with the pain ... think about what that person may be preparing for. Do you think it'll be a walk through the woods when we go into the Deep Roads?"

Rage surely didn't, the wounds would be twice as worse if they are received and the chances of even being able to be healed would be limited because her stamina would be way more then dried from protecting herself. Shaking his head softly, for once .. he calmly spoke about his disagreement rather then smashing something against a wall, breaking something with his sword, or punching a hole through a wall.

"And if all this was caused by me calling you 'mage', well, then you tell me what I am to call you." Rage spoke, raising his arm up into the air. "Because, if I recall, you weren't to fond of Zander using your ... real name? I supposed you'd call it. Referring you by mage, I'll take the harsh tones rather then you attempting to murder me in my sleep for calling you by name."

Osheaga · Apr 11, 2010

- - "Save the shit, Rage. I'm twenty-three years old. I don't need to be chided like some child. The reason why I'm chastising you, however, is because an infection is no laughing matter. Unlike poison or venom, it's virtually impossible to grow an immunity to a large infection, especially something like this. While your attempt at learning to bare the pain is extremely admirable ... the act in hiding it itself was not so much." While she explained her caused, she gently slathered a greenish ointment over the man's large wound, being wary not to accidentally plunge her fingers entirely into the gash.
    
    As the large man attempted to justify his onslaught, Deacon withdrew her hand - which was busy trying to ebb and heal him - and placed it along her side. "Irresponsible use of my name, publicly, can cause an upbringing. I've done things in the past that makes me sought after by templars and mercenaries alike. Mage or no, I'm wanted by the Circle. If one person hears my name they'll point the templars in my direction, that's what I adopted an Alias. Behind closed doors such as this my name can be used freely, but, in any other situation I'd prefer if you didn't."
    
    She delicately sighed and climbed from her feet, keeping her back against the young warrior while her fingers played with the frayed string of her tunic. Without as much of a notice she removed her top and gently uttered to the man, "Best thing you can do now is sleep. And be comfortable. Take the bed. Sleeping awkwardly will irritate the infection."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 11, 2010

Rage shook his head no at her last statement, the female wouldn't simply hand him the bed because he had an infection. Irritation or not ... Rage had a hard time sleeping on a bed. Sleeping there would only make the night's nightmares worse, they'd focus around the night his mother was unjustifiably killed and their home burned to the ground. The male was fine with dealing with the nightmares about his sister, any violent rage that would ensue following those could be unleashed, in due time, on darkspawn. There was no one who could take his rage out on for his parent's death ... the male was already dead; his father. It was tough to not blame the man, the mess that he left his kids with because he had a small drinking problem. Would shoot off at the mouth whenever the fat man was even a bit tipsy.

Rage shook his head softly, distracted in his own thoughts when he should have got up and left. Turning his head up to the girl to say thanks, the male opened his mouth ... quickly looking away, his mouth shutting immediately. That was probably the worst time to look up, why must she get undressed in front of him? Closing his eyes tightly, fighting off any thoughts of the sexual nature before they arrived. Pulling the armor from the water, keeping his eyes fixated on the dripping water. Giving the pieces of armor a few shakes ... Rage would leave now. Let his armor dry while they slept that night, be all set in the morning to head out to get supplies and what not. Hooray for needing to do odd jobs around Orzammar for a few pieces of sovereign.

Standing up quickly, left hand holding the towel over his waist snugly as his right carried the leather armor he wore. Taking a few steps to the door, the male turned his head to the side a little only enough so he didn't see all of her body. "Thanks ... Deacon. Didn't need to apply whatever you did, but .. thanks."

Stepping out of the bathroom-esque room, Rage quickly tossed his things down to the floor. Shutting the door behind him, oh how he could for a nice, warm fire right now. Unfortunately, there wasn't any fire pits in the rooms of inns. Just in the main hub of the building. Rage wanted it only to dry his clothing enough to sleep in it ... well, his pants at least. Hated the sheer fact that the towel was barely long enough to cover anything up. Along with the fact that the male hated sitting around without some sort of cover on, was just bleh in his mind. Scars, cuts, nicks filled his torso, arms and legs. There wasn't anything worth showing off, so, he'd much rather hide everything.

Shuddering lightly, the male's head filled of images that he didn't wish to really share in the open. Catching a glimpse of the mage's body in the bath ... she was an attractive young woman underneath rugged exterior. Though, the male wasn't with her to get all snuggled up and homely with the girl. She was simply there to follow the male around until he found his sister ... if they ever did. "Get out of my head ... " The male mumbled to himself lightly, picking up his pants from the ground. Wet or not, it would be better to wear them then sit around openly with the chance of getting aroused. Wouldn't be so easy to hide with a towel, mind you. Quickly pulling his pants up his legs, the male felt a shiver jolt up his spine. "Cold .... by the maker, this is unpleasant." He mumbled to himself softly, it wasn't as warm as Rage would've liked it to been but better then him needing to ... relieve himself later on.

Plopping down in the chair, the male let out a small relaxed sigh. The soaked pants legs pressing down against the arm after flopping them over. Closing his eyes slowly.

"A night's rest ... at long last."

Osheaga · Apr 11, 2010

- - After shedding the carapace-like pieces of armor, her tunic and leggings, Deacon's bare body had been exposed to the cool frigidity that the stone walls around her had emanated. With the door to the chamber sealed shut she clambered into the stone bathing unit, wary not to spill any of the water. Her body immediately un-tensed, putting tumid and swollen muscles at ease. She marveled at the scars and bruises she had accumulated along their journey, each somehow intertwining with her intricate tattoos that rode up her forearm and along her shoulderblade.
    
    The water, to her chagrin, was luke-warm but suitable for bathing. After scrubbing every stain, speck of grime and smudge of mud from the face of her flesh, she slithered on her tunic, collected her belongings and returned to the main chamber where Rage had been resting. While the room wasn't what she'd call room temperature, it wasn't entirely gelid either. She placed her rucksack at the foot of the bed only to notice Rage dozing off curled up tight in the chair.
    
    To make matters significantly worse, he planned on sleeping in wet clothing. "Are you insane?" she questioned wryly, approaching the dormant man while clutching and yanking at the hemline of his trousers, "Sleeping in wet clothing can make you ill. You need to be warm. Take them off; I'll dry them for you." Being a mage, Deacon had control of natural elements such as earth or fire. Some she was better at wielding more then others, like the element of earth for example. Fire was the most difficult of the elements to wield but possibly the most powerful.
    
    The tall woman began snapping her fingers. At first it took a few odd seconds but she managed to ignite a flame. It danced playfully on her index finger, flickering, taunting the frigidity surrounding them. "See? Now, if we had a hearth I could light it ... but alas, we do not."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 11, 2010

The male had long been passed out after curling up in the chair, it was a tad bit uncomfortable and a slight awkward sleeping position but sleeping on something comfy was more worth the awkward sleeping position. Rage, Zander and Deacon had all sleep on dirt, gravel and slight grass the past few days. This chair was way more then enough for him to ease into a deep sleep.

When Deacon had grasp at the male's pants, her statements falling on deaf ears. The male blinked his eyes twice, attempting to acknowledge what she was saying. Watching the flame dance at her finger tips ... oh, his pants. 'Geez. Just let me sleep ...' Rage thought to himself as he picked up the towel from the floor, "I really don't want to give you my pants but .. you won't get off my back if I don't, so ..." Rage paused as he stood up, yanking his pants down to his ankles, the male wrapped the towel over his legs ... really didn't care if she saw anything. He wanted to fucking sleep. Kicking off his pants, the male let out a small yawn. "How long is it going to take ... I hate not sleeping in something." The male muttered to himself, running his hands over his face as he sat back down on the chair. Yawning into his palms, Rage watched as the female did whatever to dry his pants.

Rage had nodded off a few times during the female's drying process. A light snore being heard as his cheek pressed against his fist. Feeling the pants hit him in the face, Rage grunted lightly. That was a bit rude .. "Thank you, Deacon." The male spoke, nodding softly as he slipped on his leggings. Standing up to pull the rest up to his waist. Letting out a small yawn ... "Wake me up if I'm not up before you, but, I believe we both will be woke up by our perverted Elf companion. Bet you ten sovereign ... added to the hundred when we find my sister ... that he pissed off a dwarf and they want to kill him for Maker knows what reason." It was a bet neither of them would take, because, they both knew it was bound to happen.

Sitting down in the chair, the male let out a relaxed sigh. Shifting slightly to get back into his spot where he had passed out before the girl woke him up.

A deep sighed passed through the lips of the male. Saddening.

"Hey Deacon ... "
The male spoke, breaking a small silence.

"What is it like?"
He asked quietly.

"Being alone .. with no one to look out for. Is it bad?"

Rage didn't expect his sister to live .. given as bad as it was to think that, she was young .. sick and in the hands of Darkspawn. Creatures who knew nothing about illness or how their harsh conditions will effect a young girl such as Cloud. "I just wanna know for when ... " Rage spoke lightly, cutting himself off. He wouldn't finish his statement. Negativity wasn't what he needed.

Osheaga · Apr 11, 2010

- - The drying process was quite simple, really. Deacon placed his moist clothing over a sheet of metal - no doubt of a piece of his armor, she didn't really notice - and placed her hand on it. Within seconds the steel glowed ardent. A low hissing sound filled the dark-haired woman's ears as she watched the water little boil into steam. It took little to no time at all for virtually every little dollop of water to disintegrate, leaving the warrior's trousers balmy and warm. She climbed to her feet and launched the man's clothing in his direction then took perch upon the cot.
    
    Her fingers trembled at the smoothness of the comforter which was forged from some animal's hide, and the pillows which were overflowing with goose downs. The sensation drove her to lose her sanity which had ever so slowly slipped away as she closed her eyes. Each of her coal colored waves were spilled like a bucket of black serpents upon the pillow, clouding her vision as she slipping into obscurity. Just as she let the kind arms of slumber take her, she heard Rage's voice. It startled her, shook her from her sleep. The depth was overwhelming. She hadn't quite noticed it before.
    
    "Yes ...?" she questioned loftily, her voice laden with fatigue.
    
    Of course she wasn't quite prepared for his following inquiry. It had stricken her deep and strummed at her heart strings like a bard with his lute. "Sometimes ... sometimes it's lovely. Having no other to subject yourself too. No one to worry about, just yourself. But the nights can often be frigid and lonely. There were times where I had went months without speaking, not uttering even a cadence. I felt like my mind was withering away; overflowing with thoughts and emotions ... yet there's not a soul to share them with."
    
    She wrapped her arm around her pillow, pressing her skull further into its downy surface. "She's alive, Rage. She's thriving on your memory ... she knows you're searching for her. Don't worry yourself. It will only make the situation seem more bleak."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

Relix · Apr 11, 2010

Can't get much more bleak then it already it is. He knew of his sister's captors, but .. which darkspawn was it. That was what worried him, what if the darkspawn they encounter in the Deep Roads are none of the ones that took his sister? How can he know which even took her? How would he know if he was headed the right way? The wrong way? The situation couldn't look any better .. even if you tried to force it out better.

A soft sigh passed the lips of the male, a few seconds after the mage had stopped speaking. "I'm not worried .. afraid, actually." Rage finally spoke out in reply, his sister was the only family the boy had left. His last real connection to the world .. what exactly would he do when she does ... die? All sorts of possibilities, he guessed. The favored was to go to the Deep Roads, fight til he died. Killing as many darkspawn as he could until they finally overwhelmed him, all for his sister. Shaking his head softly, "Hard to not feel that I'm too blame." The male spoke, "I rushed off, cursing the Maker for not helping my sister ... I come back and the village is razed by darkspawn, captured by the same damn darkspawn who killed everything .. everyone I knew." A small grunt passed through his lips, "Thats one hell ova spite, huh?" The 'Maker' having sent a darkspawn to take away your sister just because you cursed him .. some would say he'd never do that, but, Rage always poses the question; Who created the Darkspawn?

Another sigh passed through his lips. Best not fret on it and lose sleep ... just close the eyes and drift away. "Sleep well, Deacon ... " Rage spoke lightly, closing his eyes before shifting in the chair. Yawning lightly, Rage drifted off into sleep. Hopefully a nightmareless one, something he hadn't had in forever.

Our own little Awakening. // Dream&Relix

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