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theimpossiblegirlrps:
Aria was prepared for many things- it was part of what made her such an effective warrior- but Link’s reaction was something she had not been prepared for. Didn’t he bear the triforce of courage? And yet here he was surrendering? That made no sense, he’d always been known to be a fighter. Could his surrender be a sign that he was not here under hostile circumstances?
It was enough of a reaction that Aria raised her palm in the air for a moment, and the gerudo stayed their weapons. The archers lowered their bows and the warriors sheathed their blades, though they kept their hands near the hilts. The general’s emerald gaze flickered between Sheik and Link. Neither of them seemed to particularly like surrendering but they’d made a choice. And now it was Aria’s turn to choose- should she have them arrested immediately or hear them out?
As her mind was quickly weighing the risks of each decision, another of the images that had been plaguing her lately flashed in her head- it was of a chilling place filled with trickery and vicious traps. Shadows and blood seemed to paint its walls. And yet the image did not frighten her as it should have, in fact it felt somehow familiar - but she was certain she’d never been to such a place. As quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. What was happening?
Though it had only lasted a moment, her gaze had glazed over to the distance briefly, and she now had to refocus on the two intruders before her. “You say your destination is the temple. While I have little interest in fighting or arresting you unless you cause trouble, I would like to know exactly what your motivations are for visiting said temple. If you can convince me they are not sinister, I may let you go- though I of course will have to escort you.”
The two travelers turned slightly to eye one another, seemingly able to pass the question off without voicing it aloud. They’d be fairly easy to read even from an outsiders viewpoint, with the questioning stare from Link, the bland one from Sheik, before it shifted. Link tipped his head a bit, like an animal become curious, to be answered by a small sigh and a shrug from Sheik, as well as a go-ahead wave of his hand. Link gave a sharp nod, bringing his attention on the Gerudo woman before him.
“An escort might be nice really. You’d know a faster path.” Link admitted with a slightly appreciative smile, though that changed when Shiek cleared his throat. A soft 'oh' from Link and he started again. “We're trying to awaken the Sages, use their power in order stop Zelda from taking over everywhere.” Link had gone from the surrender position he had held to one more relaxed, though it was clear he was still bouncing on the balls of his feet out of nervous tension. “We've already started the process of doing so, and your temple is next on our path.” “We were hoping to get to it without causing any problems, since, you know, you've already got some on the way.” Link's gesture next indicated the way that they had come, towards the kingom of the Hylians. They were not far from it, the green fields within a day of their position, fading into the desert that they were now standing in. “Don't now how I can convince you I'm not sinister, but... I promise, I'm not here to hurt you or your people. I'm here to help, in any way I can.” His arms went out, as if offering them a better shot if they so chose to take it. He stood, no fear on his angled features, his blue eyes blazing towards the other. She had to use her own judgment, as he was at her whim.
Nocturne of the Valley
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They had been on the road for a while, though their brief stop in the Tower of Steel had broken up the monotony a little bit. It had also given them a chance to work out the issues remaining from the Water Temple, thus putting Sheik and Link back in fairly friendly terms with one another. They really couldn't afford to be at odds with one another, not when Zelda seemed to be winning in her push against the other peoples of Hyrule. The defeat of the Zora, the water people trapped within their domain, was a sobering thought, and what made it worse was that the Zora priestess, Aeryu, was lost to them for now. They had awakened her as a Sage right after she had fallen into enemy hands. That just made the entire matter more complicated.
It had been determined that they were better served trying to continue to wake the other sages while they planned how they were going to find a way to release her. Sheik had someone on it, his mentor in the Sheikah willing to take a closer look at everything going on, but even Kieren wasn't free of suspicion. The shadow walker would have to tred carefully around Queen Zelda.
Finally the desert lay before the two young travelers, and they made their way tiredly across some of the heated sand, into what had been long called the Gerudo Valley. They knew that visitors were disallowed, but they needed to pass through to get to the northern Colossus, where the Spirit Temple was housed. There was no expectation that they would pass anywhere near the fortress, nor the Gerudo people, and that was for the best. They would likely be hostile, and that would sap at any time they had.
Unfortunately it seemed as if luck was not on their side, for not long after they had slipped into the valley proper they were already graced with a rather hostile welcome. Link's rich blue eyes, almost sky blue in color landed on the one who spoke first, his blond hair rustling with the constant wind. A second set of eyes landed on the outspoken Gerudo, red ones from the smaller individual with Link, and these were much more cold and guarded. At least, until Link threw up his hands in a clear sign of surrender. Then they closed in exasperation, disappearing behind the hand that came to rub at his forehead.
"I give up." Link said decisively, looking around at all the arrows pointed at the two of them. They were not here to fight after all, and he figured that this was the best way of handling it. Otherwise there was just going to be a great deal of argument, suspicion and manipulation, if not conflict. "I am not here to fight you. We just want to get to the temple." With every word Link uttered aloud, it seemed as if it was physically paining the Sheikah with him, as the smaller man groaned aloud in misery. It was clear that they were not in agreement about how to handle the situation, but it was very much out of Sheik's hands now.
Nocturne of the Valley
{ hirudemonstrife }
The valley was not as it had once been- though King Savos and his loyal Gerudo still had control over it, none of them were very secure in saying how long that would last. The temple was safe, protected by creatures and a poe that only led the chosen to its doors. None of those things, however, could ease the Gerudo general’s mind. Though Savos tried quite hard to make his people feel secure, they all knew there were dangers.
After Princess Zelda had taken the throne and done her number on the Zora, the Gerudo had become far more cautious. Zelda’s forces had yet to take the Gorons, the Kokiri, or her people, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. This of course, kept everyone living on the edge of fear, wondering if one day they’d have to bow down to the new bearer of the triforce of wisdom.
Aria had been on high alert for quite some time now- she hardly even slept, no matter how safe things seemed. Her time was spent training or endlessly checking in with scouts for any signs of anything amiss. That of course was why news of their two visitors had reached her so quickly. And it wasn’t just any visitors, oh no- it was the bearer of the triforce of courage and the Sheikah who had gotten far too close to her king. She didn’t even need to hear Savos’s orders to know what needed to be done.
Immediately upon hearing of the pair’s approach, Aria had mounted her horse and made her way to entrance of their kingdom. A platoon stood at her back with their blades at the ready and several more gerudo were posted along the cliff face on either side, bows drawn with arrows at the ready. When the two guests walked up, they would be greeted by quite a sight.
And so she waited, lips drawn in a solemn line, green eyes piercing through the horizon as she saw their figures begin to take form through the sand. Once they reached her, they would be greeted with a simple command. “State your business, or state your last worst.”
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wildredeemer:
“We wouldn’t want to get yelled at our first day back,” Mercer agreed, though he was more amused than anything. Jay seemed more worried about being properly groomed than he did about offending anyone. Not that the smaller man blamed him. He wasn’t bothered by the slight shagginess of his hair, but the stubble he’d been growing was not appreciated. He’d never liked being rough, preferring to be clean shaven, even if he was always slightly shadowed by the end of the day. Still, they were getting the chance to get it taken care of, so he made no comment.
Oddly pleased that Jay was in agreement with his idea, he followed the larger male out of the room and down the hall. Jay seemed to have a better grasp on where he was going now that he was no longer mostly asleep, leading the way without seeming to have any difficulty.
“Camping can be fun,” he argued, “but I suppose it does lose it’s luster after a while. Not sure I’ll be doing much of it after these last couple of weeks.”
He hadn’t gone camping often as a child, but he’d usually enjoyed it when he’d done so. Of course, back then, he hadn’t cared so much about being covered in dirt and other things. He’d even gone out of his way on occasion to get as dirty as possible, just to annoy his mother. It had gotten her to stop fretting about his biotics for a while as she scolded him for getting so filthy, so it had been worth it.
“I would love to have access to a bath right now, but sadly we’ll just have to deal with communal showers. Anything is better than nothing right now though,” he added.
Reaching the room in question, he looked around a noticed another room off to the side that proved to be a changing room. There were benches and small cubicles for them to put their clothes in, as well as stacks of towels provided for their use. It was a pretty nice set up, and he was more than happy to strip down and stash his things in one of the free spaces.
He and Jay were the only ones in the room at the current moment, and he was oddly comfortable around the other, so he had no issue wandering around starkers in his presence. After a bit more poking around, he made a triumphant little noise as he located the bathing supplies. Soap, shampoo, razors, shaving cream, everything had been provided. He didn’t even care that it was all the generic brand crap the military always used.
“How weird is it that I’m excited about soap?”
“ You’ll hear no arguments from me.“ Jay assured the smaller man as they came into the bathing area. He was able to get a good look around since they were the only two individuals there. It was a good set up, far superior to anything on a space worthy vessel. In this space, the six foot five soldier could stretch out and really not worry about knocking into anything, which was a good change. Short people often complained that the world was designed around the tall, but it was not all that true. It was designed around an average, and suited to none. Jay often felt too big, unless stationed next to a turian or a Krogan. Then he felt small. Mercer was already stripped and padding around barren when Jay finally moved into that space. Excitedly he vocalized his joy at the space, and chuckled at the predatory way that Mercer slinked around as he searched. He also found himself amused when Mercer expressed his question about soap excitement. "Perhaps, but I’m excited too. We’ll be weird together.” Snatching his own set from the storage, he quickly made his way back to the showers and turned the blast onto full. It was wonderful to be able to change the temperature to what he wanted, and instantly he set about to scrubbing off the numerous layers of accumulated dirt from his skin. Humming all the while as he did so. After finally rinsing the last batch of shampoo from his head, Jay flicked off the nozzle and moved his way to the sinks, where he could work on the next part of his cleansing ritual. The beard had to go. It had been a while since he had to deal with so much growth, not since he could first grow a full beard without patchiness. Still, it was with practiced strokes and attentiveness that he was able to get himself cleaned up enough for the moment. Teeth were next up, and once done with that, he did one more quick rinse, mouthwash, and done. The difference was nice, and that gave him a burst of energy that had him stretching out and sighing in pleasure. Next came the getting dressed, and that was something Jay just kind of didn’t want to do at the moment. Now that he felt clean of all the wear, tear and grime he had been through in the past three weeks, it felt like donning the uniform would just throw him right back into the middle of it. The only reason he started getting the clothes on instead of just sitting there in a towel was the reaction from his stomach. There was no denying that beast. “You ready, my friend? We can strike the world dead with our stunning good looks. Ready to make the ladies fawn and the men second guess their sexuality?”
ICT-N1
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celevonarcher:
He listens, patiently, though remains cynical of this one’s true credibility. Lips draw into a thin line, and Faeron stands perfectly still, statuesque beneath the dim lighting; it is a long moment that passes before he so much as takes a breath. He considers the Knight-Lieutenant’s words deeply and thoughtfully – was it truly worth it to give up the identities of these mage-elves? Certainly quite a few had fled from the recently disbanded Circle, and Faeron would have had to been blind not to notice that an equally shocking amount of them whom he’d met and assisted suffered terrible lacerations or varying injuries presumably derived from their departure. The thought that they had suffered harm troubled him greatly, though he had treated each and every single one of them with the absolute fullest attention they deserved after such a brutal ordeal. Again, the question surfaces: was it truly worth it to give up their identities? Had they not suffered enough? Of course the Templars sought out these rogue mages; a war was ongoing! Any magic-wielder caught was either put to death or treated just so that they might long for its sweet kiss. The blond’s stomach turns – he is truly in a predicament, then. He was not borne of magic himself, and could not wield the power as most of the other elves could, and thus he is hesitant to protect them despite his lack of knowledge of what their abilities actually entailed. That countenance pales, and he shifts slightly – nervously – on his feet, though his expression remains stoic and controlled. “I am afraid I cannot help you in these matters,” he confesses, voice low: “even if I did know of their locations. They do not deserve whichever fate you or your displaced order decides to bring. Whichever ‘other parties’ are involved in this hunting of them, as you say, they will get the same response from me if they do seek me out.”
Blue visionaries meet matches flecked with yellow, and he holds that stare, a deer caught in the bright light of a curious onlooker. Should he flee? Certainly there were places nearby of which he could run. The alleyway nearby possessed a generous stack of empty crate which Faeron could leap on top of with ease, only to disappear into the night by hopping from one roof to the next until the Knight-Lieutenant Aden was far, far out of sight. In truth, he did not know how this other would react, and if he’d sooner swing that greatsword instead of attempting in a futile effort to convince the healer that his cause was just. Not even with all the curiosity that the blond possessed would he inquire as to which other parties were the hunters, nor even the names of the elves, or what they did. The entire war seemed vile to him. “… I, ah… I am terribly sorry to disappoint.”
This was the part he despised about field work. The young Trevelyan was able to watch the progression on the face of the other, the narrowed lips, the long moments without breath. Even the nervous shifting from foot to foot. The elf was not appreciating his position, and as pale as he had become even compared to his original tone under the light, it was clear there was more than discomfort. Aden himself was not as meticulously still. No, the lyrium stirred in his blood, the suspicious whispers speaking their piece.
He lies. He is lying to you. He’s keeping them from you and will warn them. They have manipulated him into defying you… Force him!
The paranoia ever burned at him, and hearing such a thing always made him edgy. This came out in small cues, a flicking of his fingers against one another, the working of the muscles on his jaw, the small back and forth motion of his torso at an irregular tempo. He could hold the stare of the other for some time, but his body ached for action, desperate for something. Aden wanted to reach out and shake the elf, demanding answers and insisting he was different. The desire to demand the truth was pushing him to be belligerent, and the only reasons he moderated himself was years of experience controlling his natural temper, and the memory if his younger brother, insisting the elf did not deserve such treatment. Aden could thank the Maker for giving him someone like his brother, despite his own brother’s belief in reverse about the Maker.
Taking a deep breath, he broke the eye contact that was so critical at the moment. He pulled his threat away from Faeron, similar to how one would break a dogs eye contact to delay the impending fight for dominance. It was sacrificing the advantage, lessening the effect of the ever present stare, but did the healer deserve such treatment? No. His actions were protecting others, for there was no doubt in his mind that Faeron knew where these elves were. His words did not scream a lack of knowledge, but a lack of willingness to share what knowledge was available. The healer was preforming his duties, even beyond the physical hurt, and doing what he must to give them a chance. Admirable, if dangerous.
Now lay the problem of how to convince Faeron otherwise of his ill advised action. Hands resting on his hips as he paced a step back and forth before him, he tried to think. A bribe would likely not go anywhere, not of coin anyway. Buying truth often got one into trouble, and did nothing to earn credibility. Offering a favor? A dalish would likely spit on such an offer from a shem. He truly needed to push the gravity of the situation. How much it rested on a knife’s edge, likely doomed to violence if there was no interference on his end.
His issue was that he was not temperate, a reason he had been banned from ever attending the theatre by his great aunt, or welcomed to the soirées of the nobles. His ire often came out in bold action and broken noses. His time with the Templar order had helped him gain discipline, but it was ever a battle he had to fight, and it often came out in blunt words instead.
“You’re right.” He started, his voice terse as he tried to figure out how he was going to put it. Threats wouldn’t make him friends. “They do not deserve the fate they’ve been forced to deal with. They don’t deserve to be cut down like they were infected with Blight.” He paused in his pacing, giving a silent prayer to the skies for the Maker to hear, before his blue orbs returned to Faeron. “Their gift is dangerous, but the Maker would not see them condemned for a chance of birth.”
“But madness has taken the Order, and pushed it from it’s rightful path. Do you think I will be the only one to look for you?” He watched the elf carefully, twisting to be sure both of his hands were visible to Faeron. Aden wanted to keep the other aware of his mood, and aware of his position. He’d be able to see Aden go for the weapon at his side and the shield at his back, and would be able to respond. The templar had control of himself, but he had to be aware even as he spoke of violence. “Do you think I will be the only one who finds you?” His voice was urgent, pushing for understanding. “And do you think they will be kind?”
“They will not care if you will not speak of them. They will not take a sorry for an answer.” Aden’s right hand came up, his fingers massaging at his brow. It was late, and he was due a dose soon. The headache was impending, added to by the stress of the situation. “Please, if there is anything you might offer, I’d like to avoid more bloodshed.” He was aware the last could be taken as a threat, but he had to try to get the point through.
Hunting Parties
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//When you have to talk about what to do when a school bus is shot at during a safety/orientation meeting. Seriously? Why, in a world of apparent civilization do we have to worry about being shot at? The US needs to get with the program.
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Halla’s Tarot
Initial Card: Queen of Wands 2nd Card: Five of Cups Final Card: The Moon
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Aden’s Tarot
Initial card : Ace of Swords After Therinfal Redoubt: Ten of Swords Final Card: The Chariot
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goldenmarked Val Royeaux. It was a beautiful city, a true gem of the world, but like anything Orlesian, it was remarkably garish. Statues lining the main paths to the central bazaar, bits of bright cloth leading from the buildings to the centerpiece, and of course bits of gold platting everywhere one turned. The only thing Aden Trevelyan could truly admit to appreciating were the figures of lions roaring their giant maws towards any whom approached the bazaar. Tributes to remembered heroes.
They were not there to observe the decor though. No, the advisers of the fledgling Inquisition had finally agreed that the best course of action was to send their Herald to see about persuading some of the Chantry sisters away from their dismissals of the Inquisition. Support from the Andrastian Chantry would greatly help bolster the resources of the Inquisition, and if they didn't manage that, at least the resistance against them might be weakened. Maxwell Trevelyan, the man whom had fallen out of the fade and been dubbed the Herald of Andraste, had already expressed his doubts as to the success of the mission, but he was willing to try. He was willing to at least make his appearance, if nothing more to gain more information about the next step they would need to take against the Breach.
It seemed things were a lot more complicated than initially perceived though. The Templars, most of whom had gone off when the Nevvaran Accord was nullified, were also making an appearance. Whispers were that the Templars were rejoining the Chantry in order to fight off this rebellious Inquisition. Aden couldn't help but have some small hope that perhaps that was true, because that would mean they'd have a chance to persuade them as well. Perhaps the Maker was giving them a chance to unify against the true threat. On the other hand, Aden also worried for his brother, worried for the Herald of Andraste, because if he was considered a heretic, that very well meant that they might be forced into conflict. Fighting against his former Order was not something Aden wanted to do, but he would do so in order to defend his family.
Hopefully it didn't come to that. Following the youngest Trevelyan into the bazaar, Aden gave a quiet prayer to the Maker for his brother's safety, even as he walked forward with Cassandra, Solas and Varric to guard his back. The sounds of a gathering could be heard ahead, voices raised in fear and rage. Maxwell's steps faltered, his bright hawk eyes gazing over the group uneasily. Running his hand through his bright silver hair, he turned to look at his brother, a sardonic curve touching his lips.
"So, what do you say? Straight into the fire?" His tone was playful, a fact that Aden simply shook his head about. Leave it to the younger to make light of a tense situation.
"I don't see why not, so long as we're careful." Aden replied, his own yellow touched blue eyes flicking about to keep aware for danger. He saw no signs of the templars in question, not yet. Where were they? He kept looking even as Maxwell took a deep breath, turned back towards the horde, and made to step forward again, his shoulders set.
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//Casually stomps on a tiny gnome house because I want to see my templar in a flower crown. // Boing... Boing. //Tell me what you need, little gnome...
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ofdxlish “Do you ever get that feeling that somewhere, someplace, there’s a dagger being brandished at you?”
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isometricperspective:
Rush of Sighs
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If you lost me in a crowd, what "offensive" thing could you yell that'd be GUARANTEED to track me down?
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❝ I’ve seen the way you look at Josie , okay ? You’re not foolin’ me big brother .❞
There was a self conscious little chuckle, even as he glanced away from the other. “Who said I was trying to fool anyone?” He asked carefully, his tone playful but wary. “She’s an admirable woman.”
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celevonarcher:
Ser Aden of Ostwick. The name certainly sounded familiar in a way, and Faeron wonders if perhaps he’d heard it before uttered upon the lips of one of the nobles during a splendid evening at a ball, dressed as a servant. Though he supposed, in truth, he’d heard many, many names spoken breathlessly by the nobles; whether or not such names were praised or slandered was an entirely different matter, and one he’d rather not linger on within his thoughts. They continue walking – the quicker they got out of the alienage and into the streets of the human poorer classes, perhaps they may relax a little bit. The elves would anger at the glimpse of a lone templar in their midst, no doubt, and would in all likelihood ambush the pair if provided the chance to thieve. “My name is Faeron Aryonar,” he responds after a moment, pointedly. “The name means little to you. There is no advantage.” Bitterness does not become the elf, though he cannot help the matter. This whole business with the templars and mages vexed him to no end, and oft the healer found himself busy tending those caught in the crossfire of such hatred. They continue, as aforementioned, and eventually the crumbling, lop-sided homes of the city elves are past them, and the bumpy cobblestone street becomes less littered with waste, and more even under their feet. Lamps overhead offer little light during this time of the evening, but it is enough; Faeron turns to face the Knight-Lieutenant under one of such illuminators of this street.
“What do you mean by ‘repair work’?” He asks, brows furrowed and lips drawn in a thin line. The kohl lining his eyes and dragged down his face makes that visage look gaunt under such dull lightning, and perhaps a little less jovial than he was usually perceived. “Tell me now, Knight-Lieutenant, why you have sought me out this evening. I am no mage. I have no connection to the Fade, and have not spoken with mages from the disbanded Circles.”
Despite his best efforts to be polite there seemed to be little to no benefit to it. Bitterness still trumped in this exchange, casting it's taint over their interactions. Years of feeling it could either make one hypersensitive to the presence, or numb to it, and Aden chose to allow himself to be numb so that his own temper might not further complicate the matter. Faeron provided his name, as Aden asked, and that had to be enough. The templar did not try to deny that the name meant little to him as such a protest would fall on deaf ears and undermine his position. No, let the elf believe what he will. Dalish pride apologized to none.
Aden was quick to note their movement from the decrepit part of the city towards the human occupied territory, and allowed himself to wonder at the motive for that. Would an elf not feel safer amidst his own people? Why would he lead the templar to a more neutral location, one less beneficial to himself? This part still could not be counted among the fine parts of the city, but the difference was still plain.
Faeron turned to him once under one of the infrequent lamps. Bringing light to the situation. Such an action might make some feel as if they were being accused of immoral actions. Thieves, smugglers, or demons; they would all evade the light, as if it were the eyes of the Maker upon them. Aden had no such fear of the light, and boldly made sure he was well within the circle of illumination, the angle reflecting off of the metal of his helm and chestplate. The contrast between them was stark. Gaunt and pale, the very aspect of bitterness in this moment, juxtaposed against the harsh cold steel tempered by fire. The blazing emblem of the Order flickering it's red lacquer back towards the wick. This wasn't the sort of impression Aden wanted to make. This was the start of misgivings and hostility, especially between their people, and if nothing else, Aden wanted to avoid further bloodshed.
His hands came up, not to square bladed ax at his side, but to the aforementioned tin can of a helmet, where they loosened the leather strap that held it on his chin, and pulled it free of his head. His was a cropped style, brown hair kept meticulously short to not be a hassle under the winged helm. His round human ears were easily seen, as was his roughened chin. Each marked him as clearly human, not likely a surprise, but definitely a explanation to a question unuttered.
"My purpose is simple, and I hope the last part of your statement untrue." Aden replied even as he tucked his discarded armor under his arm. "I seek a group of mages, elven in blood, whom might have had need to seek out someone of your talents." Brilliant blue eyes, the pupil ringed by a hawk yellow, lowered in shame for a moment, before blinking back to match kohl lined ones. "What I mean by 'repair work' is that I am here to correct the mistake of the rogue faction of my Order." In all technicality, Aden and the others of the Ostwick Circle were the actual rogues, going against the edict of the Lord Seeker and remaining as guardians of the Circle of Magi, but Aden saw it as the other way around. They were the ones bleeding the innocent and screaming maleficar at the shadows. They were the ones who were no longer following the Maker's will.
"I ask if you have treated any elves foreign to these parts recently. Certainly you would recognize what might mark them as unusual. Jumpy, secretive, wary of pursuit. Perhaps even marked by injury partially or recently healed?" Aden spoke his questions, but he had little hope of them being answered honestly or without open hostility. "It is imperative that I find them quickly. More than one party hunts these people."
Hunting Parties
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kcresoteira:
the wolf among us || starters
❝ Is that a threat ? ❞ ❝ These lips are sealed . ❞ ❝ It is better to be feared than loved .❞ ❝ I’ve seen the way you look at ___ , okay ? You’re not foolin’ me .❞ ❝ You’re not as bad as everyone says you are . ❞ ❝ Anyone ever tell you you got a big fuckin’ mouth ? ❞ ❝ Whatever . I’m too out of it to get into it . ❞ ❝ We all have our parts to play . ❞ ❝ You can’t change the past . ❞ ❝ ____ , I’m gonna break your fucking face . ❞ ❝ I’ve heard stories about you . ❞ ❝ In some tiny little bottled up way , deep inside … you kind of enjoy it when things go wrong . ( Because it gives you an excuse to just … stop pretending ) . ❞ ❝ Life is easier with friends . ❞ ❝ Well I’d appreciate it if you’d fuck off . ❞ ❝ But no , hate’s the wrong word . They fear you more than anything . ❞ ❝ I know you like this whole ’ lone wolf ’ thing you got going for yourself . ❞ ❝ I wish I could have seen it. ❞ ❝ I’ll see you around . ❞ ❝ You almost looked peaceful . Except you’re lying in a dirty alley . ❞ ❝ Just … try not to be like ( yourself ) … ❞ ❝ Pardon the intrusion . I wasn’t aware this was a munchkin’s house .❞ ❝ I didn’t realize you were the bitch of the bitch . ❞ ❝ Hey , what are your plans now ? ❞ ❝ I’m not yours to lose ! ❞ ❝ Blah blah … blah blah blah . ❞ ❝ Are you saying you need a friend right now ? You can trust me . ❞ ❝ People are scared of you . I mean , look at your hands . ❞ ❝ You looked like when you take an action figure and bend it’s limbs the wrong way . ❞ ❝ But at the end of the day I’m still the bad guy . ❞ ❝ Everything used to be so simple … we had a beginning , a middle , & an end . ❞ ❝ When we suffer , we do it in silence . ❞ ❝ You should worry about your own fucking situation . ❞ ❝ I’ve made mistakes . ❞ ❝ You do what you want … you always do what you want . ❞ ❝ People like us get forgotten all the time.❞ ❝ I’m glad you’re not dead . ❞ ❝ We need to do things the right way ! ❞ ❝ You’ll pray to any god who’ll listen that your mother never shit you into this fucking world .❞ ❝ Wait a minute … someone’s watching . ❞ ❝ I know it’s dangerous , but I’m not helpless . I can take care of myself . ❞ ❝ Not now , not now , shhhh , the grown ups are talking. . ❞ ❝ Out of my way ! I’ll show you how it’s done ! ❞ ❝ Do you want the Big Bad Wolf to take you away ? ❞ ❝ That was about 8 on the asshole scale … ❞ ❝ Cut the bullshit & quit wasting my time . ❞ ❝ This was really the wrong day to try & pull this shit ! ❞ ❝Nobody cares about us. Not really.❞ ❝ You’re a monster ! A fucking monster ! ❞ ❝ You understand wanting to protect what you care about , don’t you ? You’d do anything . ❞
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celevonarcher:
‘I was directed here more for you.’
Faeron frowns, troubled greatly by this notion. He did not much enjoy being sought after, lest of all by a Knight-Lieutenant in the middle of the night. Whoever had disclosed his location much have been truly desperate for coin, just as this area was desperate for someone with his skills regarding healing. Certainly this templar knew that! Why else would he seek him out? He had not sided with any yet during this mage-templar war, and his involvement with Orlesian politics remained solely private – details had not been discussed with anyone. Therefore, there remained only one possibility. He was to be a pawn. Oh! how he loathed to be such a thing, a disposable creature moved about for purposes surely he would not wish to support. In the background, he hears the unmistakable first cries of grief, the primary stage of initial denial of the moment having finally passed. His ears twitch, his shoulders tense. Tapping his fingers in agitation against the frame of the door, he pauses a moment as he considers, then motions for the templar to wait outside. Turning on his heel, the silver-blonde elf returns inside to assist the family, and offer his condolences. Perhaps ten minutes passes before he comes back and shuts the door behind him, stepping wholly outside and brushing past the templar. “And who are you, if you come to seek who I am?” He inquires rather pointedly as they walk – for surely now the Knight-Lieutenant follows, armour boots clacking noisily on the cobblestone street as they move forward. Let the streets hear! Permit the distrustful ears to listen, and then to observe the pair depart! He is bitter he has been found. Faeron allows his cloak to flow freely and his hood to remain down, his face visible with Dalish markings and all. “Please – do not simply say you are a templar. That, I know. If you have a name, that would be wonderful to know. That way I know I am not simply speaking to a faceless follower behind a tin mask.”
Aden’s words brought nothing but silence, one deep enough that the sounds of sorrow from the house reached the ears of the pair standing on either side of the threshold. The elf before him had his expression drop from the frustration of earlier into a clear distaste and further signs of agitation began to peak. Tapping fingers, stiff movements, all which were stopped as his mind processed his next step. Aden left him to it, choosing to give the other the peace he needed to make a decision. There was only one real conclusion, cooperation, despite the misgivings and hostility. The other options often led to further sorrow, and this dalish had no knowledge if Aden was reasonable or just like the madmen who had taken the bit between their teeth and gone galloping off. The gesture came, a request to wait, and Aden inclined his head, enough to allow the helm to shift with his movement. There was the passing suspicion, that this elf would try to escape through another exit, slipping out the back, leaving him the fool, but Aden suppressed the sensation; it was noted and set on the wayside, to be attended only if the minutes began to stretch. Such was the trial of a templar. They learned to ignore and endure, directing the worst of it into something productive and just. He simply had to wait, let the gears turn and believe the Maker would give him what he needed. It was a long peaceful ten minutes as Aden was not harassed in that time. Fully armed and armored, the Trevelyan was not an easy target despite his isolation. He also did not stand as a fool, with his back to the street. Instead he paced and shifted about to keep his eyes moving and his muscles active. One never knew when an engagement would occur, not in the field. He couldn’t allow himself to lock up. Thankfully he did not have to go charging off at high speed after a runner, as the fair healer came back out of the house, briskly bushing by the young noble on his way. The templar took the hint to followed and did so, his lips twitching upward behind the safety of his helmet. It was a bitter smile, one full of knowing.
The ten minutes had allowed it to sink in and the walls to be formed. Getting anything from the elf would come at great cost, for Aden would have to gain at least the respect of the other. He couldn’t assume to ever earn the trust of the other, especially here in Orlais. Insults, disparaging comments, defensive reactions, all were things he was used to dealing with, so the bitter words of the dalish cut no deeper than a blunted butter knife. They did, however, elicit a response.
“Ser Aden of Ostwick.” Ever mindful of his position and location, he intentionally left his family name private. They might be in elven alienage, and he in a foreign nation, but the walls had ears even here. One had to be aware of the Game. If word got back to the courts of a Trevelyan being seen running about with elves, despite his holy calling, the story would swiftly be twisted and used against his family. His father did not need that headache. It was already bad enough that he admitted to which city he hailed from, for a diligent enough gossip could easily find him, if they cared to. A cost he had to be willing to pay. Truth was what would earn him answers, or so he hoped. “Now that you have the advantage of me,” the Marcher continued, “care to give me yours? I’d rather avoid insult. There’s enough repair work to be done already.”
Hunting Parties
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