dragon age ⋮⋮ ◜ohm and rivine◞
- Thread starter Shoegaze
- Start date
Rivine
Supernova
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2011
Cathan knelt down beside a track, frowning a bit. The footprint in question wasn't much, just an imprint in some dust and dirt really. The Dark Roads did not provide the best terrain for tracking, being that they were just passages carved in the stone in ancient times. But Cathan could tell something for were about whoever had made the track; they were not Darkspawn. Whoever had made the track had been wearing a leather soled boot. That rather quickly ruled out the owner of said boot being a Darkspawn. The Deep Roads and other environs that the Darkspawn frequented were not exactly teeming with materials that could be made into leather. So that left one logical answer; whoever had made the print had not been a Darkspawn.
The captain sighed as he slowly rose to his feet, murmuring softly to himself, "It would seem that we might have company."
"What was that sir?" a younger man in his early twenties asked Cathan.
The mercenary turned a bit to his left, fixing the youngster with his gaze and explaining softly, "The boot that the person was wearing is made of leather. Therefore we have something, or rather someone, other then Darkspawn down here."
The youngster blinked a bit, clearly not understanding all the implications, then said simply, "Oh."
Cathan rolled his eyes a bit and scowled as he averted his gaze from the lad, eyes looking off down the hall that the tracks led. The youngster, Ronan, was good in a fight, but there were rocks smarter then he was.
Refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand, Cathan began to move slowly down the hallway. His steps were silent, his soft soled boots not betraying him. He'd have to remember to thank the Crow he had took them off of when they met in the afterlife, for the boots were quite nice made of fine Antivan leather which had been dyed a rusty colored red, or at least Cathan told himself they had been dyed. As he continued down the hall he kept his right hand at his side, his fingers gripping the halla horn handle of his favored weapon, a throwing axe that he had found in an elvhen ruin about a dozen years before. The weapon had been beautifully decorated, it's ironbark head blending into the handle with veins of the dark wood running down and into half of the shaft as well. The carvings on the weapon seemed to be of trees, flowers and the like on the piece of halla horn, but where there was ironbark the carvings changed to depictions of flame and magic. The weapon was Cathan's dearest possession and, in his mind, one of his most able allies, as odd as that might have sounded to others.
Soon enough, as the captain rounded some rubble, he was surprised to find what looked like remnants of a fire. He looked around once more, but there really wasn't anywhere for someone to be hiding in wait. Slowly he moved over to the remnants of the fire, kneeling by it and then holding his hand out over it. "Still warm," he murmured to himself. He stood then and motioned back to his compatriots, the other three me who were joining him in the reconnaissance, beckoning for them to come and join him.
They arrived in moments and Ronan opened his mouth to speak, but one of the other mercenaries, a man of short stature with a weather-worn face and hair as black as a raven's wing, slapped the young man's chest and grumbled, "Let the captain speak." Ronan blushed in response to the rebuke and Cathan could not help but smile. Gurne had known Ronan since he was a boy and had spoiled him up until the lad had joined the company, but not he got the same surely treatment from the old mercenary as all the others did.
Cathan was silent for a moment after the rebuke, then said softly, "It seems that another expedition or, at least, other surfacers have come down here. I am rather sure that they are not dwarven merchants, otherwise there would likely have been far more tracks for their porters. So that means we must continue following them and find out if they are a threat to the expedition. Questions?" None f the three men said a word, but the one who had yet to speak moved off, his hood still up and covering his head and hanging over his face despite the heat and limited light in this section of the Deeproads. Deval rarely let people see his face in the light though, for much of his face was scarred by burns and acid, the results of a fight with a blood mage years before. Cathan could probably out track Deval, but the scarred man was by far the quietest and stealthiest of them all. Cathan let Deval get a good head start, then set off after him. They'd find whoever was down there, whether they were dead or alive.
The captain sighed as he slowly rose to his feet, murmuring softly to himself, "It would seem that we might have company."
"What was that sir?" a younger man in his early twenties asked Cathan.
The mercenary turned a bit to his left, fixing the youngster with his gaze and explaining softly, "The boot that the person was wearing is made of leather. Therefore we have something, or rather someone, other then Darkspawn down here."
The youngster blinked a bit, clearly not understanding all the implications, then said simply, "Oh."
Cathan rolled his eyes a bit and scowled as he averted his gaze from the lad, eyes looking off down the hall that the tracks led. The youngster, Ronan, was good in a fight, but there were rocks smarter then he was.
Refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand, Cathan began to move slowly down the hallway. His steps were silent, his soft soled boots not betraying him. He'd have to remember to thank the Crow he had took them off of when they met in the afterlife, for the boots were quite nice made of fine Antivan leather which had been dyed a rusty colored red, or at least Cathan told himself they had been dyed. As he continued down the hall he kept his right hand at his side, his fingers gripping the halla horn handle of his favored weapon, a throwing axe that he had found in an elvhen ruin about a dozen years before. The weapon had been beautifully decorated, it's ironbark head blending into the handle with veins of the dark wood running down and into half of the shaft as well. The carvings on the weapon seemed to be of trees, flowers and the like on the piece of halla horn, but where there was ironbark the carvings changed to depictions of flame and magic. The weapon was Cathan's dearest possession and, in his mind, one of his most able allies, as odd as that might have sounded to others.
Soon enough, as the captain rounded some rubble, he was surprised to find what looked like remnants of a fire. He looked around once more, but there really wasn't anywhere for someone to be hiding in wait. Slowly he moved over to the remnants of the fire, kneeling by it and then holding his hand out over it. "Still warm," he murmured to himself. He stood then and motioned back to his compatriots, the other three me who were joining him in the reconnaissance, beckoning for them to come and join him.
They arrived in moments and Ronan opened his mouth to speak, but one of the other mercenaries, a man of short stature with a weather-worn face and hair as black as a raven's wing, slapped the young man's chest and grumbled, "Let the captain speak." Ronan blushed in response to the rebuke and Cathan could not help but smile. Gurne had known Ronan since he was a boy and had spoiled him up until the lad had joined the company, but not he got the same surely treatment from the old mercenary as all the others did.
Cathan was silent for a moment after the rebuke, then said softly, "It seems that another expedition or, at least, other surfacers have come down here. I am rather sure that they are not dwarven merchants, otherwise there would likely have been far more tracks for their porters. So that means we must continue following them and find out if they are a threat to the expedition. Questions?" None f the three men said a word, but the one who had yet to speak moved off, his hood still up and covering his head and hanging over his face despite the heat and limited light in this section of the Deeproads. Deval rarely let people see his face in the light though, for much of his face was scarred by burns and acid, the results of a fight with a blood mage years before. Cathan could probably out track Deval, but the scarred man was by far the quietest and stealthiest of them all. Cathan let Deval get a good head start, then set off after him. They'd find whoever was down there, whether they were dead or alive.
OP
OP
Shoegaze
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jun 30, 2012
Their time spent in the Deep Roads was beclouded by the stench of sulfur and charred rock. The odor cloyed Meraad's nostrils; on occasion she had to plot an alternate route through caverns to avoid danger, much to her party's chagrin. Half of the kossith were seasoned ashaad equipped with excavation skills, others were a healthy assortment of karasaad - qunari warriors - and scholars enlisted under Arigena at her behest. Ariqun abhorred the notion, but Arigena made it apparent that it may be an impassible opportunity to study dwarves.
That, however, was where Arigena's jurisdiction ended. Although Meraad was dispatched to retrieve dwarven technology, it was not for study - it was for use; to protect the Qun, the qunari and their beliefs. Arigena was hesitant at first, but Ariqun's case proved to be convincing, thus she dispatched her human emissary Meraad to lead a small party into the Deep Roads. Their quest lead them well into the earth's bowels where heat was relentless and plant life virtually nonexistent.
It was unusual seeing a human let alone a female lead, but because they were devoted to the Qun, the group of kossith said nothing, even if she was a sarebaas.
"We must be close," noted one of the scholars, "Veins are thickest near thaigs." He raised his taper against a wall, chasing the shadows back to their respective corners. The wall was hundreds of feet high; shadows swallowed the ceiling, but as far as the scholar could tell, the stonework was intricate and laced with traces of niello. "Forward." Meraad stopped him; she raised her arm as a gesture to halt then sniffed.
"Taint," she observed. The karasaad brandished their broadswords and advanced. Meraad was well aware of the tracks, but the scant light made them difficult to decipher - human or darkspawn, they would be prepared. With footfalls as silent as feathers she traipsed into the darkness, entirely consumed - the karasaad held a defensive position, eagerly awaiting Meraad's next command. She, however, returned with her lips pressed in a hard line. Her party knew what to do.
The karasaad held their weapons. She gestured, again, for them to advance, flexing her fingers - each was branded in queer ritual tattoos reminiscent of her past. Balls of azureous light sprouted from her finger tips and grew to a redolent size like that of a small plum or fig. The light pulsated as she flexed, casting its purity several meters ahead, revealing stones, boulders, stalactites, nugs, and lastly, darkspawn. They were huddled in an adjacent grotto feasting on what was once an expedition of dwarfs. Meraad's light simply disturbed their banquet.
Startled, a genlock shrieked. Its teeth glistened with the lifeblood of its prey, claws stained and its breastplate - likely stolen from its victim - dented and smeared in gore. Meraad spread her fingers and waved her arm. Lightening emerged in a wave - it rippled, spread, then drummed against the genlock which screamed and fell into a burned heap, inspiring others to jump to their own defenses. "Nehraa Qun!" a bandy-armed qunari cried, meeting a darkspawn mid-swing. "Kill the archers!"
Meraad retreated to her party's flank where she could effectively cast her spells. From there she was able to warn her party members when she conjured a spell with an area of effect. "Karasaad, strafe right!" she cried. Her voice was heavy from battle, strained but powerful. The karasaad did as they were bid - Meraad, having been concentrating immensely, summoned a lightening storm with such ferocity that it lit the cavern from top to bottom with a nearly blinding white light. Her party members engaged in battle felt the stray bolts of lightening lick their hardened skin, singing it, but they endured. Three genlocks struggled against the storm and collapsed shortly after; a hurlock, frenzied from the pain, fell into a stalactite and impaled itself.
Despite their efforts, the commotion only alerted more darkspawn. To worsen their position, two ogres emerged from nearby grottos, sodden and smeared in gore. One of the qunari fell in a volley of arrows as he gawked at the ogres, another was taken by a hurlock's blade. After Meraad's storm ended she retreated to an adjacent boulder to recover her mana. The ogres would end their expedition, she knew - with no Arishok, her karasaad and ashaad were untrained and their quest would be fruitless.
Rivine
Supernova
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2011
The scouting party moved forward with only the slightest sounds to give away their passage; a creak of leather, the shifting of chain, a soft footstep. The sounds were fleeting, barely audible, but to Cathan they might as well have been a ruckus created by a tavern brawl. He knew full well that it would be impossible for them to be utterly silent... well, for all of them besides Deval. The slight Orlesian moved silently, making no sound that Cathan could hear. It had always amazed him that the man could be so quiet, but no matter how much he tried to bring it up Deval had been mute on the subject. Cathan decied that if Deval kept them alive he really did not care how the smaller man was so silent. After all, one should not look a gift horse in the mouth.
As they continued to moved down the hall the mercenary's mind began to wander a bit, reflecting back on the footprint they had found. Why would there have been another expedition or party down here? The footprint had been right in the middle of a hall, which was not where he would have had his men walking, but then again his men were swords for hire and not amateurs. He could not help it as a suspicion wormed it's way into his thoughts; what if the print had just been a set up? Something to draw them into an ambush? The thought swirled around in his mind for a moment before he dismissed it. That would be ridiculous, beyond ridiculous really. Why would surfacers down here set up to ambush other groups or expeditions? There was enough trouble already in the Deep Roads and it would be idiotic to go looking for more. What with the darkspawn and other creatures it was already hard enough to survive in the depths.
Cathan was torn away from his contemplations though as a scream echoed through the halls. He stilled, listening, and soon enough there was a cacophony of sound for him to hear. The clash of steel and metal echoed through the stone passages, rebounding off the walls to make it fairly hard to distinguish where it was coming from, but Cathan was fairly certain it was from ahead of them. Deval had stilled completely and was looking back at Cathan, awaiting instructions. The mercenary captain motioned for the scout to move forward and Deval nodded, quickly padding ahead. Cathan and the others began to move again, going quicker then before, the sound of their passage drowned out by the clamor of battle.
They ran on like that for quite sometime before they emerged onto a ledge which overlooked a scene of utter chaos. The mercenaries moved behind rocks along the ledge, concealing themselves as their captain took in the battle below. Cathan watched for a and the appearance of the warriors fighting the darkspawn. Kossith, the race that many called the qunari, formed the entirety of the force that was fighting the darkspawn from what he could see. He waited, listening to their battle cries, and was even more surprised. He would not have expected kossith down here, but for them to be actual Qunari and not mercenaries was even more unexpected.
A spell of some kind that had had bolts of lighting streaking down amongst the darkspawn (one would think that you'd have to be outside for that to work, but magic did strange things) came to an end just as two ogres burst into the cavern. Cathan considered all of this quickly, formulating a strategy quickly. He made some quick motions to his companions, communicating with them silently. He instructed Gurne and Deval to cover he and Ronan with bows as they went for one of the ogres, then told them to work on taking out the darkspawn archers. His attention then turned to Ronan and he signed slower, instructing the young man to stay with him and to avoid a real fight until they reached the ogre. Ronan's eyes were big, but he nodded and slowly drew his bastard sword.
Cathan flashed the younger man a hard smile, then drew out his falcata, holding it in his left hand as he rolled his shoulders a bit, waiting for an ogre to pass them. Once it did he moved quickly, going to the edge of the ledge and dropping down. As soon as he hit the floor and went into a roll he heard the twang of bows from above. He came out of the roll right between to genlocks who had slumped, one with an arrow through it's throat, the other with one through it's head. As he rose to his feet he heard Ronan land behind him and knew that it was far from graceful, but he did not turn to look. Instead he began to run towards the ogre as there were more twangs behind him and a hurlock ahead of him staggered with two arrows in it's chest before Cathan eviscerated it, the creatures putrid viscera spilling onto the cavern floor. But he was already moving on, oriented upon the ogre and sparing only the briefest of moments to finish a foe before he moved on.
Soon enough he reached his intended target just as it smashed the first kossith. Cathan struck quickly, the blade in left hand slicing into the creature's right knee from behind. As the blade slid through flesh he could feel it severing tendons and ligaments, man of them snapping and retracting up into the ogre's body further. The creature stumbled and howled in pain, but he did not let up. As it slumped down onto it's knees he struck with the small axe in his right hand, burying it into the ogre's back and hauled himself up onto the ogre's back. Once on it's back he began to ram his sword down into the ogre's back, mostly to either side of it's spine, undoubtedly destroying intestines, kidneys and liver as he struck over and over. Cathan was ruthless, cold, as he lay into the creature, and why shouldn't he be? Darkspawn slew people without care, so why should he care about slaying them? The ogre tried to reach back to knock him away, but he easily dodged the creature's hand and continued his assault. It did not take log at all before the ogre slumped to the ground and stilled completely.
He glanced around once that was done, seeing Ronan felling a hurlock as Deval and Gurne shot down more of the darkspawn. His eyes then fell upon the other ogre which was just being dispatched by the qunari warriors, but he could not help but notice scorch marks along the creature's chest and face. As the last of the darkspawn were cut down he stood upon the ogre's corpse, eying the kossith for a bit, but did not speak. Cathan waited, wanted to seeing how the quinari would react to their presence.
As they continued to moved down the hall the mercenary's mind began to wander a bit, reflecting back on the footprint they had found. Why would there have been another expedition or party down here? The footprint had been right in the middle of a hall, which was not where he would have had his men walking, but then again his men were swords for hire and not amateurs. He could not help it as a suspicion wormed it's way into his thoughts; what if the print had just been a set up? Something to draw them into an ambush? The thought swirled around in his mind for a moment before he dismissed it. That would be ridiculous, beyond ridiculous really. Why would surfacers down here set up to ambush other groups or expeditions? There was enough trouble already in the Deep Roads and it would be idiotic to go looking for more. What with the darkspawn and other creatures it was already hard enough to survive in the depths.
Cathan was torn away from his contemplations though as a scream echoed through the halls. He stilled, listening, and soon enough there was a cacophony of sound for him to hear. The clash of steel and metal echoed through the stone passages, rebounding off the walls to make it fairly hard to distinguish where it was coming from, but Cathan was fairly certain it was from ahead of them. Deval had stilled completely and was looking back at Cathan, awaiting instructions. The mercenary captain motioned for the scout to move forward and Deval nodded, quickly padding ahead. Cathan and the others began to move again, going quicker then before, the sound of their passage drowned out by the clamor of battle.
They ran on like that for quite sometime before they emerged onto a ledge which overlooked a scene of utter chaos. The mercenaries moved behind rocks along the ledge, concealing themselves as their captain took in the battle below. Cathan watched for a and the appearance of the warriors fighting the darkspawn. Kossith, the race that many called the qunari, formed the entirety of the force that was fighting the darkspawn from what he could see. He waited, listening to their battle cries, and was even more surprised. He would not have expected kossith down here, but for them to be actual Qunari and not mercenaries was even more unexpected.
A spell of some kind that had had bolts of lighting streaking down amongst the darkspawn (one would think that you'd have to be outside for that to work, but magic did strange things) came to an end just as two ogres burst into the cavern. Cathan considered all of this quickly, formulating a strategy quickly. He made some quick motions to his companions, communicating with them silently. He instructed Gurne and Deval to cover he and Ronan with bows as they went for one of the ogres, then told them to work on taking out the darkspawn archers. His attention then turned to Ronan and he signed slower, instructing the young man to stay with him and to avoid a real fight until they reached the ogre. Ronan's eyes were big, but he nodded and slowly drew his bastard sword.
Cathan flashed the younger man a hard smile, then drew out his falcata, holding it in his left hand as he rolled his shoulders a bit, waiting for an ogre to pass them. Once it did he moved quickly, going to the edge of the ledge and dropping down. As soon as he hit the floor and went into a roll he heard the twang of bows from above. He came out of the roll right between to genlocks who had slumped, one with an arrow through it's throat, the other with one through it's head. As he rose to his feet he heard Ronan land behind him and knew that it was far from graceful, but he did not turn to look. Instead he began to run towards the ogre as there were more twangs behind him and a hurlock ahead of him staggered with two arrows in it's chest before Cathan eviscerated it, the creatures putrid viscera spilling onto the cavern floor. But he was already moving on, oriented upon the ogre and sparing only the briefest of moments to finish a foe before he moved on.
Soon enough he reached his intended target just as it smashed the first kossith. Cathan struck quickly, the blade in left hand slicing into the creature's right knee from behind. As the blade slid through flesh he could feel it severing tendons and ligaments, man of them snapping and retracting up into the ogre's body further. The creature stumbled and howled in pain, but he did not let up. As it slumped down onto it's knees he struck with the small axe in his right hand, burying it into the ogre's back and hauled himself up onto the ogre's back. Once on it's back he began to ram his sword down into the ogre's back, mostly to either side of it's spine, undoubtedly destroying intestines, kidneys and liver as he struck over and over. Cathan was ruthless, cold, as he lay into the creature, and why shouldn't he be? Darkspawn slew people without care, so why should he care about slaying them? The ogre tried to reach back to knock him away, but he easily dodged the creature's hand and continued his assault. It did not take log at all before the ogre slumped to the ground and stilled completely.
He glanced around once that was done, seeing Ronan felling a hurlock as Deval and Gurne shot down more of the darkspawn. His eyes then fell upon the other ogre which was just being dispatched by the qunari warriors, but he could not help but notice scorch marks along the creature's chest and face. As the last of the darkspawn were cut down he stood upon the ogre's corpse, eying the kossith for a bit, but did not speak. Cathan waited, wanted to seeing how the quinari would react to their presence.
OP
OP
Shoegaze
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jun 30, 2012
From her haunt Meraad observed the battle through her trained eyes. She knew of ogres and their makings - they were the children of tainted kossith that were abducted and made broodmothers by the darkspawn. Though she was human, she lamented; the female kossith had her sympathy: she was about to slaughter their children.
One of the beasts lumbered forward with several arrows distended from its chest cavity, clutching an avaraad as if he were a weightless sack of flour. The orge sniffed him then howled, casting spittle and saliva all over the soldier. The stench from their exhale cloyed the entire grotto. It was a foul, intrusive odor reminiscent of fetid, rotting flesh, sulfur and shit. It was the qunari's last whiff before the orge crushed him with one fell clutch of a fist. Meraad could hear his sternum and ribs crack like a heel to a twig. The ogre threw him; his corpse hit the stone with a sickening thud and rolled off of an escarpment into the unexplored depths below. "Meraad, we are not equipped to fell these beasts," put in one of the soldiers, "We should retreat." Meraad, suddenly enraged, jabbed the butt of her staff into his abdomen which subsequentially whisked him off his feat and onto the ground. Despite the turmoil around her, Meraad was given an objective.
"We were sent to meet a demand of the Qun," she said flatly, "The demand will be met." It was customary for the qunari to slay their own then and there, however, Meraad did not want to further jeopardize their mission. Just as she was finished admonishment, the ogre called out in agony. A human appeared and felled the beast - rather than be relieved, Meraad was infuriated. The qunari in her party were beaten and bloody with numbers falling to less than Meraad could count on both hands, but she would not be encumbered by a concourse of arrant mercenaries.
As the remaining qunari composed themselves, Meraad rifled through the dead for signs of life. One soldier with a sword through his shoulder was salvagable, but the others were simply corpses now. She knelt into the dust and wrapped her fingers around the blade. "Breathe," she said calmly. The qunari did as he was bid; though he resembled stone, unwavering and nonchalant, she could sense his fear when she clutched the bastard sword's hilt. In one clean pull the weapon was on the ground and her hands, now soiled in the soldier's blood, were clamped over the wound. He gnashed his teeth quietly behind his lips as a mean to cope with the agony while Meraad reached the satchel strapped on her backside and produced a material for a poultice.
"You are unwelcome here," snarled a soldier to the human. "Leave."
Meanwhile, Meraad prepared her cataplasm with a small mortar. She was not a healer nor had she ever had any intention to be and Ariqun's priests were unavailable to venture into the Deep Road's with them. "Sit up." Again, the qunari complied. She poured a mouthful of water from her waterskin into the mortar and ground the flax until it was porous enough to be applied like an ointment. Though he winced during application, the qunari was altogether tractable. As she began to unroll a spool of linen, she commanded the soldier in Qunlat. He understood her interdiction and retreated to the battlefield where he collected useful items from the dead.
"Take your party and find another path to travel," she called out to the ogre-slayer, "We have claimed this." The earth beneath her began to rumble. It was curt, nothing unusual for the Deep Roads, so she neglected the notion. Another short rumble followed. Again, she paid it no mind. When her patient was strong enough to stand, Meraad did so also. She grasped her staff and planted it firmly in the earth; arrant sparks danced from it, warning those nearby that it was a powerful conductor for destructive magic spells. "I will not give you a second warning. Panahedan."