#I know what they mean but I just always remember the codex entry on vashoth from dai when something like this happens

[proffbon]

That's cool and all but I'm not even technically Qunari.

[kaaras-adaar-a]

Kaaras + The Noble Life

// Okie dokie, because this is something that I feel is really important to how Kaaras has come to present himself, and because as a poor child, there’s just some things Kaaras never would have learned during a sheltered life--and these are the reasons why. 

If you’ve been following Kaaras long enough, you’d know some things. Kaaras was born in Starkhaven, but his mother was having NONE of being in the Marches, it was too close to Par Vollen for her, and she was terrified of being hunted. So even after giving birth, she and Anaan literally continued their journey the next day to Ferelden. This is why I say Kaaras is Fereldan, because he wasn’t even one years old, couldn’t even talk, was literally a newborn baby when they made the travel and crossed the sea to settle in the middle of nowhere (Southron Hills) in Ferelden.

Aban, Kaaras’ mum, is the person Kaaras has learned most mannerism from. Being a Tamassran under the Qun, and a teacher, she is VERY strict. Things like medicines, hygiene and general mannerism are absolutely thing Kaaras was brought up with because of her. As much as the South likes to think that Qunari and their ways of life are horrible, mean, and whatever else, there’s actually Codex entries that prove most Qunari lead REALLY peaceful and happy lives. Kaaras’ parents were no different (until Anaan lost his way and didn’t like re-educating people anymore, and then Aban fell pregnant and everything was a massive clusterfuck for them so they needed to leave). 

I’m going to go into tangent headcanonville there, so I’ll stop immediately with his childhood and Aban and Anaan’s story (WHICH I LOVE omg it’s so precious). BUT basics, Kaaras’ mum is very strict and she taught him ALWAYS to say thank you and please and manners from birth.

In saying that, I think it’s pretty obvious that Kaaras’ mannerism sometimes exceeds that, and that’s because Kaaras worked with nobles for a number of years. 

I want it to be known that for a Vashoth mercenary, life wouldn’t have been easy, but not everyone in Thedas is an ignorant, racist piece of crap towards them. And considering Kaaras was invited to the peace talks with the DIVINE, that’s something that says that “Damn, this guy was REALLY good at his job if he got invited” considering his roots and his race. This is the Conclave, The Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the CHANTRY. He’s a qunari, a Vashoth, really... a fucking nobody.

But that’s the thing, Kaaras WASN’T a nobody! And THAT’S why he got offered the job. 

When Kaaras left the Ralshokra (who already had a pretty good rep in the Marches), he moved to Starkhaven. He absolutely put that on his ‘resume’ because the name was well known, but Kaaras made a real living for himself in Starkhaven. It only takes ONE noble, one nice enough person, to give him a chance, and that really changed his life.

Kaaras’ work as a mercenary in Starkhaven was less “this dude hasn’t payed his taxes so rough him up” and more “we’re having a party at this estate and I want protection and for you to watch this person” etc. He and his men became more of a helpful cause than unethical like the Ralshokra did. 

Kaaras strived on making the Beres-taar better than the company he was previously in--considering the reasons he LEFT were very personal. Bad orders were made and followed, innocent people were injured and killed, including his trainer, Saarebas, who had been training him since he was around 5 years old. :/ So, no, he didn’t take to that lightly, and that’s also the reason why he and Kaariss broke up. 

But this did become a way of life for him. He dressed proper, he acted proper, he stood proper, and this is really where his personality started shining. Kaaras was always very ethical and polite, but living in Starkhaven around nobles and going from estate to estate, he made friends, he made impressions and he LEARNED. Kaaras wasn’t known as the Vashoth mercenary who was just some guard dog, he actually got on the really good side of the people there, being helpful. They didn’t expect him to act like an Orlesian noble, no, and he absolutely fumbles in Orlais BECAUSE it’s a different way of life there, but he learned a great deal, and that’s why Kaaras can really come off as overly proper sometimes. 

Leading his own company was a really happy time for Kaaras, because he started learning more about himself, getting the CHANCE to learn more about himself as a person, as a captain and as a LEADER. While Kaaras is a natural born leader, this was where that started to really shine in him, and that’s why, in the end, he was chosen to be Inquisitor. He already had the leading experience, and that showed. 

Kaaras has changed and grown a lot in his life. And this is why he always holds his roots very close to him. He’s lived a life of being around nobles, and it wasn’t a bad one either, it was very nice for him, but he’s also lived a life as a very poor individual with little to nothing but his family, and he was terribly picked on in Ferelden and made an outcast because of what he was. 

Kaaras is proud and stubborn at times, but also this is why he’s still so insecure and not always confident. He’s honestly a very big mess when it comes to his internal feelings. It’s why sometimes he reacts one way with a situation and then does a 180 in another. He’s lived this life of complete polar opposites and sometimes that gets all mixed up in the middle and he doesn’t know how to react. I mean, he’s always been on the moody and stubborn side (thank his mum for the stubbornness), that’s just who Kaaras is XD. It wasn’t a sudden daily change, Kaaras worked his ARSE off and got one step higher every year, but it’s understandable why it can sometimes clash and there’s habits that Kaaras has picked up over the years (aka bit of a glutton). 

I think Kaaras will always be a humble person deep down, and he’ll always remember where he’s come from, because that gives him a lot of strength. While he has a good eye for clothes and things, he knows that it’s not something he NEEDS and he could give it up if he had to. But there are days where he’s very happy that he’d made it so far and can help to encourage others. But this is also why Kaaras gets REALLY fed up with people who don’t actually try to better themselves and their situations, because he’s been there. He was nothing, and now he’s not. And that didn’t happen in a day, or a week, or a month... it happened over YEARS. 

I think it’s important to know that Kaaras didn’t get the job offer at the Conclave for no reason, he was well known, and recommended. And that in itself speaks volumes in my opinion. :)  

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 6 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: Bereavement, canon-typical injury and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Familiar Faces

"Hump a nug - who invited the Qunari?"

Rory glanced up at Varric's complaint, following his uneasy gaze to where a large group of Qunari had just walked up to the gate. Gods, they're even bigger than I thought they'd be. She knew vaguely who they were, of course, aware that two potential Inquisitors were among that group of massive mercenaries.

"I doubt they're here to spread the Qun, Varric," she offered to the dwarf, turning her attention back to the minor bandage she was securing on, of all things, a nug's paw. "There, all done."

The little girl who had begged her to sweetly to bind up her pet's boo-boo beamed at her. "Thank you, Mistress Rory."

"It's my pleasure, sweets," she told the child. "Just don't let Master Muttons here pick any more fights with foxes."

The little girl giggled. "I won't!" she promised faithfully, skipping off with her nug cuddled close in her arms.

"Since when do healers drop everything for a pet nug, anyway?" Varric asked her as she bent to pick up her basket of freshly-washed bandages.

The dwarven storyteller had taken to keeping her company when she wasn't in the clinic, at a loss for how to fill his time until the Divine arrived and was ready to hear the story Cassandra insisted on him sharing with her. And since he was so often right there, he often ended up doing things with and for Rory. Take now, for example. He'd outright refused to do any of the washing, but he was carrying her skiffle board for her.

"Since now," Rory informed him, kicking her skirt out of the way as they walked up the steps to the clinic. "Besides, that was helping her just as much as her nug."

"Strangest healer I ever met," he repeated his oft-declared assessment of her character for the umpteenth time. "They'd probably re-educate you in Par Vollen for acting out of type."

She laughed, setting her basket down to begin hanging the bandages on a line to dry in the sun. "Varric, seriously, the Qunari aren't here to go on a rampage," she promised him. "They're the Valo-Kas." At his blank look, she went on. "Tal-Vashoth merc band? They've been hired to keep the peace."

"How do you know all this stuff?" he asked, baffled by her informative response.

Because I've played it through and read all the codex entries. "Soldiers gossip like old women," she told him cheerfully. "I listen."

"So that means the Divine's almost here then, huh?" Varric frowned thoughtfully. "Makes sense, I guess. It takes a lot to bring down an ox-man."

"Varric." Rory paused in her work, eyeing him warningly. "You know how I feel about racial slurs."

He had the decency to look abashed. "Sorry, cupcake," he apologized. "Force of habit."

"Break the habit, then," she suggested. "You never know when you might need someone just like them to to care if you live or die."

"Wise words."

They both turned to find one of the Valo-Kas standing on the steps near where they were talking. He really was huge, curling horns somehow making him seem even bigger. Rory wasn't sure she blamed Varric for stepping backward, even if it did put her in the line of fire somewhat. It was tempting to do just that herself, especially when she noted the sharp blade on the enormous sword resting at the Qunari's back. His smile, though, was surprisingly charming, almost boyish, as he nodded to them.

"Didn't mean to frighten you," he apologized in a quiet tone.

"I'm not frightened," Rory countered honestly. Wary of the big man with horns who could possibly break my spine with a careless hug, yes; frightened, no.

"Speak for yourself," she heard Varric mutter none too quietly beside her.

"Neither's he, he's just shy," she added out of pure mischief, just to hear the dwarf bite down an argument with an audible snap of his jaws. "Can we help you?"

The Qunari's smile never faltered. "I hope so," he said easily. "Shokrakar said we were supposed to report to either a Lady Seeker Pentaghast, or a Commander Rutherford, but no one will tell us where to find them."

"Everyone's a little on edge, sorry," Rory apologized, knowing it was learned fear of the unknown that was keeping the people here from being polite. "As far as I know, the Lady Seeker is in the Chantry. If the commander isn't on the training ground, then I don't know where he is."

"Then I'll tell Ataas to try the Chantry," the Qunari said gratefully. "Thank you, Lady ...?"

"Rory," she offered, ignoring Varric's wary cough. "Just Rory. And you are ...?"

"Kaaras," the big mercenary told her with a teasing sparkle in his eyes. "Just Kaaras."

She laughed softly. "Pleasure to meet you, Just Kaaras." So he might be the Inquisitor?

"And you, Mistress Rory," Kaaras replied, inclining his horned head to them both as he took his leave, turning to step back down and report to the leader of his company what he had discovered from the only person in the village who wasn't trying to pretend he was both invisible and mute.

He was only just out of earshot when Varric exploded. "Are you insane?"

Rory rolled her eyes at him. "What?" she asked defensively. "It's not like anyone else was going to tell them where to go."

"They're Qunari!" Varric protested. "Do you remember what they did to Kirkwall?"

"Correction - they're Tal-Vashoth," she pointed out. "They have nothing to do with what the Qunari did in Kirkwall."

"That's worse," he insisted. "Tal-Vashoth are crazed killers."

Rory couldn't help being taken aback. It had never occurred to her that Varric might still be hung up on the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall. Yet it did make sense. Kirkwall was his home, and the Arishok's attack had been utterly, savagely meaningless.

"Varric ..." She turned to face him, leaning back onto the stone wall behind her to bring her closer to his eye level. "What the Qunari did in Kirkwall was terrible," she said gently. "But so was the Exalted March on the Dales. Do you really think the way to move on from it is to hold an entire race accountable for the actions of a few, the way most humans and elves do?"

He stared at her, conflict clouding his eyes. "Kirkwall is my home."

"And no one says that you can't be angry for what was done there," she assured him. "But blaming the Tal-Vashoth for the actions of the Qunari is like blaming every surface dwarf for the behavior of those in Orzammar. They weren't involved; they don't even consider themselves Qunari anymore. I know it isn't an exact analogy, but it's close."

Varric frowned, the expression heavy on his face. "I get what you're saying," he told her reluctantly. "It's just hard, you know? They killed friends of mine; innocent people who didn't deserve that bloodbath."

"And Hawke ended their threat," she reminded him, still trying to be gentle. "I'm not saying go out and make friends with the very next Qunari you see. Just ... try to keep an open mind, okay? Not every Qunari is a crazed killer or a blind adherent of the Qun. Just like not every surface dwarf is a liar or a thug."

He chuckled blandly. "Cupcake, every dwarf is a liar," he told her, but she could see she'd got through to him. "I'm not making any promises, but ... you're right. Not every human is an entitled ass."

She snorted, chuckling through a brief flare of indignation. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"What can I say?" Varric shrugged. "You bring out the charmer in me."

"How are you not fighting the ladies off with a stick, with lines like that?" she asked teasingly.

"Who needs a stick when I have Bianca?" he countered, good humor restored with just a little banter. "She's all I need."

"Liar." Rory laughed. At least the crossbow doesn't treat him like a shameful secret.

"Didn't I just say that?" he asked, letting her take the skiffle board from his hand as she turned toward the clinic door. "Don't work too hard, cupcake."

A vain hope, that one. The rest of her day was full - not only with the everyday ailments of the villagers of Haven and the pre-Inquisition, but also with increasing numbers of visitors from all over the southern kingdoms. It seemed as though everyone and their pet dog wanted to be able to say they were at the Conclave, and their representatives were beginning to arrive. No sign of templars or mages yet, but some important figures were already here. Chancellor Roderick, for example, had swept in that morning and taken charge of the Chantry in preparation for the Divine's arrival in a few days. The Valo-Kas were another example, as well as representatives from a few noble houses. In every group, there always seemed to be someone who needed a healer. The nobles, however, were particularly trying.

"How can I help you, my lady?"

The young woman opened her mouth. "I -"

"She has feminine weakness and hysteria," her companion boomed. "You will provide her with a sedative."

For a moment, Rory's jaw worked silently. She glanced between the pair sitting in front of her - one delicately beautiful human girl, staring fixedly at the floor; the other, a robust Valkyrie of a Chantry sister, glaring at Rory impatiently. She'd never had to deal with an overbearing parental figure before; in the hospital, that was usually left to the senior nurses. The problem was that, here, she was the senior, and she had an awful feeling she was about to offend someone important.

"I'm sorry, sister ... are you this lady's relative?" she asked politely. "A close family member?"

The sister drew herself up in her seat. "I am governess to the noble house of her birth," she declared proudly. Prime demon bait, this one.

"But not related by blood," Rory pointed out.

"I fail to see how that has any relevance," the imperious woman sniffed. "Give her the sedative, and we shall go."

"It has relevance because unless you are her mother or sister, or she specifically requests that you remain, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Rory said as firmly as she could. She didn't miss the sudden flash of hope that crossed the younger woman's down-turned face. In for a penny ... "Any consultation with my patient is private and confidential. I'm sure you understand, sister. The Chantry confessional operates in much the same manner."

"She can have nothing to say to you that she would not tell me," the sister insisted.

"And that is her decision to make," Rory said sternly. "However, here and now, you are wasting time better spent with my patient on stroking your ego for an audience that doesn't care. I have other patients to see, and no time to spend on your sense of self-importance. So, unless you would like me to call one of the soldiers in here to remove you, I suggest that you leave. Now."

The sister spluttered indignantly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

She met the woman's glare head on, refusing to back down. Honestly, what was wrong with some people? All right, so the Chantry had power, but not in this. Not in her clinic. Rory declined to be intimidated in her own space, especially by some jumped up busybody who thought her fancy robe entitled her to ignore the personal boundaries of someone who had been placed in her care. Evidently the look on Rory's face promised that she would follow through on her threat for, after a long moment of impotent glaring, the sister abruptly stood.

"I shall be making a complaint to your superior," she announced, flouncing toward the door with Rory at her heels.

"You do that," the healer said calmly. "I'm sure he'll enjoy it."

She shut the door firmly on the sister's seething face, drawing the bolt across to make sure the woman didn't try to come back in. Cullen wasn't going to thank her for that, but hopefully he'd grasp the situation well enough not to try and order her to allow such a blatant breach of her own stated code. Hearing a giggle behind her, she turned to find her patient crying with laughter into her sleeves.

"That was wonderful," the young woman crowed. "Can I keep you?"

"Only if you're prepared to stay here indefinitely, I'm afraid," Rory told her, smiling as she sat down. "Now, shall we start again? I'm Rory. How can I help you, Lady ...?"

"Trevelyan," the young woman said, hiccuping through the last of her laughter. "Evelyn Trevelyan."

Rory felt her heart sink. So this might be the love of Cullen's life. And why wouldn't he be drawn to her? Evelyn Trevelyan was young - younger than Rory, certainly - and devastatingly beautiful. In her own opinion, Rory could just about manage pretty in the right light. The delicate features of the girl in front of her were more than alluring, sensual promises made by the wide mouth and bold eyes. The inner fangirl hissed like a feral cat, taking an instant dislike to a canon P.C. she'd played multiple times in the past and enjoyed. It was like a slap to the face to suddenly realize that this might be the girl Cullen passed her over for. But Evelyn was here for help, and Rory wouldn't allow herself to be petty because of an imagined attraction.

"And what brings you to see me?" she asked, more reserved than before but hoping it would be taken for professionalism.

Evelyn blushed, fidgeting awkwardly. "Well, I ... it's my bleeding time," she offered uncertainly. "And ... the pains are ... quite bad?"

"Unusually bad?" Rory asked, startled and pleased with how quickly she had set aside her petty jealousy in favor of helping this woman with her problem.

"Oh, no worse than they are every month," Evelyn told her. "It's just ... it does make traveling rather uncomfortable, and we expect to be in the valley for several days. Sister Vada is ... less than forgiving of anything that delays us."

"Let me guess," Rory drawled, "she's the one who branded it feminine weakness and hysteria."

The young woman nodded. "The sea voyage was awful," she confided shyly. "I had pains and sea-sickness, and all she had to say was that I was complaining too much. She thinks if I'm sedated then I won't complain."

"Heaven forbid a woman should mention she's in pain," Rory muttered, angry to find this attitude reflected by another woman. This wasn't the first time she'd heard this, though. According to several of the women in Haven, human and elf, their menfolk thought period pains were a myth.

"She throws Andraste in my face when I do," Evelyn said in an unhappy tone.

"And I'm sure that really helps," was Rory's sarcastic response. She sighed, shaking her head. "Well, I can't guarantee the pain will go away completely, but I can give you something that should help." She twisted in her seat, leaning down to retrieve a small pouch from one of the chests by her desk, handing it to the young lady before her.

"What is it?"

"It's a tea," Rory explained, "made with willow-bark, spindleweed, elfroot, and fennel. One small pinch, steeped in hot water for three minutes. Do not drink more than two cups every three hours."

"Why?" Evelyn asked, sniffing the contents of the bag curiously.

"Because you'll throw up copiously and feel even worse," Rory told her without flinching. She knew that for a fact; that was what had happened to her when she'd overdosed by accident on the stuff. "Follow the instructions, and the pains should definitely lessen."

"I will." Young Lady Trevelyan tucked the little pouch away in a pocket of her cloak. "And thank you, Mistress Rory. Most healers I've seen just dismiss it as beneath them, or don't believe me."

"Most healers are men," Rory pointed out in amusement. "No womb, no opinion - that's my view." And I just misquoted Friends. What is wrong with me?

Evelyn giggled, rising to her feet to take the healer's hand. "One day, you'll have to come to Ostwick," she suggested warmly. "I'm sure my mother would love to meet you."

"That's a very kind offer, Lady Trevelyan," Rory answered, trying to banish a sudden wave of sadness. Because this warm young lady would never go home again. In a matter of days, she would either be dead, or marked for a thankless fight. It was a sobering thought. "It's been a pleasure to meet you."

"And you," the lady responded with a smile. "Thank you again."

They were met at the door by Sister Vada, who seized her charge by the arm and marched her away at speed. Rory watched them go, guilty to her core at a pang of petty jealousy over what might never be. What was better for that girl - to die suddenly in a massive explosion, or to live and be loved by a good man or woman? The same question could be asked for anyone here who had that maybe in front of them.

She felt, more than saw, her assistant moving to stand beside her.

"Shrivelled old bat, that one," Fabian commented mildly, nodding at the departing sister. "You all right, Ror?"

Rory's smile was bittersweet. No. No, I'm really not. "I'll live," she told him, turning to meet his gaze."Is there anyone waiting?"

He shook his head. "Not right now. Messenger came by with this for you, though." He handed her a small sealed missive.

"Thank you, Fabs." She smiled, taking the note from him as he chuckled at the nickname she'd pinned to him from day one. "Look, why don't you hold clinic for the rest of the afternoon? I'll be around if you need me, but I think you are more than capable of handling it."

He stared at her, stunned by the faith she put in him. "Really?"

She laughed at his incredulity. "Really," she promised.

"That's ... I won't let you down!" he declared. It was quite something, to see a forty-something-year-old man almost bouncing with excitement.

"I know you won't," she chuckled, patting his arm. "Go, rearrange the desk to suit you, Healer Fabian."

"Healer Fabian ..."

Turning away from the clinic cabin, she absently reached up to check how dry the bandages were. Dry enough to come down and be rolled, but before that ... She looked down at the folded paper in her hand, breaking the wax seal to open it up and read the short message written within.

Mistress Rory, Barring unforeseen circumstances, I will call upon you for that consultation an hour after the dinner bell is rung. Cullen Rutherford, Commander

As the words sank in, Rory felt the choking fog of foreknowledge lift just a little from her mind, a slow smile creeping over her face. Got him. Ramming the letter into her belt, she turned to take the dry bandages down, whistling tunelessly as she worked. Roll on dinnertime.