Welcome to the Dragon Age Divided Kingdom RPG. Its been three hundred years since the Hero of Fereldin, known to history as the Warden, united a Kingdom and the races against a common foe, the darkspawn. But you know the old saying "the more things change, the more things stay the same." War never before seen since the fifth Blight, threatens to break out once again as brothers are at each other's throats, nation pitted against nation, and new traditions threaten an ancient culture. You must go forth and unite the people once again as was done in ages pass, or else all will be lost in the face of a new evil that not even the darkspawn could ever hope to over come.

Completing quests will drive the story forward and earn rewards. BUT, you don't have to do them.
Main Quests

Dawn of the Grey: The Grey Wardens are weak and must be strengthened and returned to their former glory in order to fight the evil that is coming. The most pressing thing that can be done is to fix their current leadership. The Order is dividing on whither or not to support their new commander, Valmyria Windstrider. They must be rallied to her side, and she'll need help to gain their loyalty and support. The other alternative would be to replace her with a better commander. Most of her support is duty and they will support whoever is leading. Persuade her to stand down and allow Taylon Lothar's second, Sir Earl Godfrey to take over, or kill her.
(Find Valmyria or travel to Vigil's Keep to start this quest)
Reward: Conditional upon request.

Thy Brother's Keeper: Fereldin is collapsing and only the strength of he crown and pull it back together. King Therin is going to die and so a decision must be made between his twin son's, Prince Eomer Therin or Theodred Therin. Prince Eomer works as a reformist and to some a dreamer. He believes that Fereldin must make a new path and forge a new role in the new age. He is more liberal in policies and wants to see free trade with neighboring kingdoms, more rights to the lower class, and limit the size of the Fereldin armies. Often times he sneaks out of the palace and roams around Denerim with the common people. Prince Theordred is styled more as a traditionalist. He's more conservative at heart and believes that anything must be done to ensure Fereldin's status in the world. He is sympathetic to the elves in the Alienage, but not willing to do too much about it. Denerim will be having a tournament in the memory of the King. The Princes are both looking for champions to represent them, and the winner will be able to flex nobles to their side.
(Travel to Denerim and compete in the Tournament of Kings, OR kill one of them)
Reward:
Prince Eomer - The Armor of King Cailen, and a unit of footmen.
Prince Theodred - Maric's Blade, and a few heavily armored Knights.

A Templar's Woe: The Circle has gone silent. The Knight-Commander Tirion and a few knights escaped from the tower and set up base camp at the docks. It's believed that mages went rouge, but there is something Tirion is not telling the Chantry. He's requested the Right of Annulment. Travel there and see what has befallen of the Circle and its Templars.
(Travel to the Circle Tower and meet with the Commander)
Reward: A squad of templars or a few Mages.

War of Tradition: There are now two races of Elves in Fereldin. The Dalish elves come to represent the historical accurate elves, while the new elves, the Quel'Elhen or High Elves, are a new offspring, highly embedded with magic. The Dalish view the High Elves as a stain not only their way of life, but to the history and traditions of the elfish people and would like nothing better to see them wiped off the face of the world. Assan, once Keeper of the Sadre Clan, has now styled himself as the Grand Keeper of the Dalish Clans, ruling over all of the united Dalish tribes against the Quel'Elhen. Lady Arlina Winterfest is the High Elven Queen, and seeks to protect her people. While they do not seek to destroy their past, they don't care for it either which angers the Dalish. They instead seek to create a new way of life instead of try to find a lost one.
(Find the Great Keeper Assan, or Lady Arlina Winterfest. Diffuse the situation or side with one of the races)
Rewards: Dalish Archers or High Elven Rangers

Darkspawn Threat: The darksapwn are on the rise again. They seem to be amassing in the South and the North. Many believe a Blight could be happening again. the warden's are hesitant to believe that since they cannot find any evidence of a archdemon. The Kingdom is not ready and will not be able to hold back the darkspawn should they attack. Its believed that they will hit Ostagar first. While there is a small fore there, it is hardly be enough to stem the tide. Redcliffe is preparing a army to travel to Ostagar and support them, but it will take some time. Something isn't right about this so-called Blight. There is something unnatural that is driving the darkspawn. Something has them scarred.
(Travel to Ostagar and prepare for battle.)
Reward: Kick-ass fighting. Oh and whatever loot you find.

Minor Quests (WILL BE UPDATING)
An Arl's Favor: Gain the support of Drail Hailstrom, Arl of Redcliffe
Reward: A Unit of Redcliffe Knights.

Mark of the Crow: Speak to Casan in Denerim Markets. He is looking for some help with a target who may have an unfortunate accident.
Reward: A few Crow Assassins.

A Dwarf's request: Find Thorin Ashensheild, leader of the surface dwarven mercenary group, tthe Sons of Thunder, in Redcliffe. He needs someone to go into Orzammar and retrieve valuables that he left behind.
Reward: A squad of Dwarven War Mastesrs.



Players and their Characters:

*Asmodai as Caithe "The Grinning Dragon" (Approved)

BG07 as William O’Dim (aka Boulder Bill) (Approved)

*Deena as Laila (Approved)

Scrabbles as Isador Strauss AKA "The Black Axe" (Approved)
And as Teelo “The Forest Child”

Blood Lord (GM) as Valmyria Windstrider (Approved)
And as various NPCs.

Zelosse as Zha'Gren (Approved)
And Marcus Hammerstrike (Approved)


Draken30000 as Vovin Dranis (Approved)

Ro Wong as Arvashok (Approved)

*Berry-tan as Amir (Approved)

MQuinny as Johnus Johnson (Approved)

Glacier as Zasalim (Approved)

*Fellguarde as Khorin Stormborn (Approved. Last post of page eight.)

*QuickSilver as Varidius Castinus Hollander (Approved)

MadDoctor as leadoreas Strider (Approved)

Sigment Kurosai as Deacon Reinhardt (Approved)

_________________
Stufflikehearts - He is a Sith Lord. I love Blood Lord :3
Jeffffey - Blood, you look at the information someone says, look over what really happened, and reply in a way that makes them realize what they were really thinking.
Mythrrinthael - Blood Lord, our local expert in interpretation of The Grim Tales from Down Below!
Fievel - Numerous campaigns and conquests, countless bodies decaying after the abandonment of victorious battlefields. Such is the life of Blood Lord.
Dusk_Imp - Blood Lord is like a celebrity here. Everything he does is pure awesome. ALL HAIL BLOOD LORD
Doctress Who - Why couldn't there be a Blood Lord in every forum? It would make life so much easier.
Snafu's Mercypostle.

Denerim~

Vern Cousland merely laughed at the letter from his so-called brother. The Arl was nothing more then a bastard, although he did have some uses. Vern was a tall man with long blond hair and a finely trimmed goatee. Beneath his dark grey cloak, he wore large and powerful looking armor that had perhaps too many skulls on it. Hooked on his belt, as an ancient runeblade.

The templar who he had captured, sat tied in a chair - half beaten to death and stared at the teryn in horror. "H-h-how can you laugh at a time like this?"

"My dear friend, don't you see?" Said Vern, turning to the templar. He dropped the letter on the table and pulled out the sword. Frost seem to cling to it, and the eyes of the dragon-like skull seem to mourne. He plunged the blade through the templar's chest "This Kingdom will fall, and from the ashes will arise a new order that will shake the very foundations of the world."



Valymira Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe.

The cold mountain air whipped at Valmyira. She huddled tighter beneath her fir-lined cloak. Her horse, Clippers, troted down the side of the mountain. It snorted, ever so slightly, but the newly appointed Warden-Commander was lost in thought and didn't pay attention. Her hand found its way to the Sword strapped onto the saddle. It was the Sword of the Warden, the symbol of the office of the Fereldin Warden-Commander. She felt like she was being crushed just by thinking of her new responsibilities.

I never asked for this Clippers," she said to the horse. "I never asked for any of it."

The horse snorted in response and shook its head.

Val's thoughts returned to her duty. He first thing should be to return to Vigil's Keep and unite the Wardens under her banner. But she had heard that the Arl of Redcliffe requested aid. she thought she might as well head over there and see what is going on. Perhaps when she is done there she will stop at the Circle Tower on the way back to Vigil's Keep and see what the hell was going on there too. Perhaps when she got back she could send some Wardens to Ostagar to bolster defenses down there, and continue to investigate the possibility of creating a new Warden Outpost in Orzammar.

She sighted quietly to her self. She knew of some hot springs between here and Redcliffe, and was sorely tempted to go there...

_________________
Stufflikehearts - He is a Sith Lord. I love Blood Lord :3
Jeffffey - Blood, you look at the information someone says, look over what really happened, and reply in a way that makes them realize what they were really thinking.
Mythrrinthael - Blood Lord, our local expert in interpretation of The Grim Tales from Down Below!
Fievel - Numerous campaigns and conquests, countless bodies decaying after the abandonment of victorious battlefields. Such is the life of Blood Lord.
Dusk_Imp - Blood Lord is like a celebrity here. Everything he does is pure awesome. ALL HAIL BLOOD LORD
Doctress Who - Why couldn't there be a Blood Lord in every forum? It would make life so much easier.
Snafu's Mercypostle.

Zha'Gren - Mountain pass, following a trail from Orzammar to Redcliffe.


The cold wins of the mountain pass buffeted the lone figure stalking along the higher roads, less traveled and beaten roads that seemed ready to collapse at any moment. Not once did it slow the pace or the urgency of the traveler. It's armor was hidden from sight by a well used black cloak that billowed open every so often to show to corded muscles of his arms, the strange patterns on it's unusual skin, and the severed skulls that danged from it's belt.

Zha'Gren had lost something. Something it had worked very hard to earn from a fallen adversary of no small worth. Whatever had taken it had been swift in it's departure from his lair, even now it was making good progress through this mountain range to wherever the foolish thief wished to hide. Nowhere was safe from the hunter.


Stopping to smell the air, the slightest trace of a horse crossed his nose and sent him into a frenzy. So close to the prey! SO CLOSE! It all but screamed to itself, dodging boulders and scaling the mountain side easier than if there was a path. In the distance was a figure riding a horse in a calm trot. How easy it would be... Zha'Gren mused to itself, idly fingering one of his many throwing knives. No. It deserves a warriors death.

Ever so silently, Zha'Gren advanced from above. The rough mountain paths would shield it from the thieves eyes until the time was right to pounce.

_________________
"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

-Denerim: Underground Street Fight-

The cheers of the spectators often surmounted to nothing more than a silent rumble from outside of the tavern’s storm cellar. If someone were to walk close enough to the entrance they might have been able to distinctly pick out that the noise was coming from people cheering or chanting or screaming out bets at the top of their lungs, but few people ever came to this tavern to begin with. It was a dank hole-in-the-wall type of bar, having a select few rough looking regulars and came complete with an out of tune minstrel. The minstrel’s sole purpose seemed to be only to drown out the noises from the cellar even further, but because hardly anyone ever came into the bar without a specific reason it was all for naught. An old and bearded bartender was wiping down the counter as a nervous looking man walked through the front doors. He was skinny and had several nervous ticks, glancing around the room with wide eyes as everyone in the bar turned to look his way. The man fumbled around in his clothes for a bit before unveiling a small red piece of paper, holding it up in the air for the bartender to see clearly.

“I’m here to uh… w-well you know… make a few bets…” the man had a nervous stutter to him, twitching slightly as he said the words into the bartender’s stern expression.
The old and bearded bartender only stared at the ticket for a brief moment before gesturing his head toward the stormcellar without saying a single word. Two men who were sitting on either side of the cellar door grumbled a bit before unbarring the door and opening it up for the thin looking man. The sound of cheering was now louder, however it still seemed very far away. A smile came over the nervous man as he headed through the doors, a loud ‘clunk’ sounding behind him as the doors were promptly shut. The man paid no mind to it and quickly descended down the candle-lit spiral staircase.

It seemed like a good few minutes had passed since he began walking down the stairs, the sounds of voices becoming louder and louder as he went. He emerged into a large cavern of sorts, one crowded with people cheering and chanting as loud as they possibly could. They were waving about money as people took bets from the tops of ledges along the walls of the room. At the center of it all was a large circular clearing in the crowd, a dirt ring with two fighters standing inside of it. Amidst all of the confusion of waving hands and money flapping about, the thin man could not see much of what was happening in the ring. Slowly but surely the man weaseled his way forward, shouts and cheers of taller people erupted within the room as he finally found a spot where he could see a bit of what was happening.

Both fighters stood at the center of the ring, circling eachother slowly with their guards up. One had a red band tied around his bicep, while the other had a white band. The man in the red band was shirtless and wearing a kilt, while the other had loose fitting trousers on. Both men were burly and looked strong, each were tough in their own right. At the moment things looked about even, both men had bruises, cuts, and scrapes from the fighting, but they still didn’t look very tired from the fight. The man in the red had a small smirk upon his face, while the man in white had a very serious and determined expression to him. Not much was happening at the moment, despite all the shouts and cheers the two fighters only seemed to be feeling each other out. A jab here, a dip and dodge there, they were slowly testing out the other’s defense.

The man in the red dropped his guard for a moment, an intentional maneuver in an attempt to draw in an attack. He bit into it without hesitation, sending a fist flying right into the face of the other man. It sent the man in the red band staggering back a few steps, though he immediately drew his guard back up. The smile never left his face, even as blood trickled down his chin from his lips. He spat the blood out of his mouth onto the ground in front of him, smiling a bloody smile as he dropped his guard once again.

“You hit like a wench.” He said, provoking the other man into another attack.
This time, the man in the red band dodged the fist with ease, tilting his body slightly and sending his own fist right for the other man’s jaw. A resounding crack and thud filled the ring, followed by a loud cheer by everyone inside of the cellar. Some of the people were cursing out loud whilst others were cheering for joy as the man with the red band around his arm lifted up his hand in victory.
“Who’s next?”

_________________

-Denerim: Docks


The ship from the Free Marches came to a stop at the docks in Denerim and lowered the gangplank. Isador came up from below deck, having paid the Captain for his passage and walked off the ship and immediately down an alley. The folk in the street avoided looking at the tall, dangerous looking man with the wicked axe across his back. A young street urchin, thin from starvation however walked up to the Black Axe with desperation in his eyes and asked "Please sir, could you spare a few coins?" Isador looked down at the young boy silently, his icy blue eyes softening for merely a moment as he reached in to his coin pouch and placed a gold sovereign in the boys palm and continuing onward.

After a few twists and turns Isador found himself at a run down looking tavern and walked in without hesitation. The patrons looked over at the new arrival but only for a moment. Isador scanned the room to see one patron still looking at him, sitting in a corner with his back to the wall. The sounds of a muffled crowd was nearly completely covered up by an out of tune minstrel. Isador walked to the man in the corner and dropped a medium sized sack on the table with a gruesome "Splat", the contents smelled of rot...and blood. "The contract is completed...now wheres my gold?" he said emotionlessly. The man took one peak inside the bag and nodded. "The Black Axe does good work as always, he you are." The man said as he tossed a gold pouch on the table. Isador picked up the pouch and tied it to his belt.

"Theres more work here in Denerim if your interested, just go see Casan for the details." Said the man. Isador nodded and went to the bar, placing a sovereign in from of the bartender. "Ale and some food, something that hasnt gone bad." He said as he took a seat. The bartender nodded, took the money went about getting his patron what he ordered. Just as the bartender gave Isador his ale and man walked up behind Strauss. The faint sound of an unsheathing blade caught his ear, immediately he spun around and kicked the man in the chest, taking the wind from his lungs. While standing up Isador took his axe in hand and saw that the man was nothing more then a spindly lad who couldnt have been older then eighteen. Regardless, as the would be assassin tried to catch his breath Isador swung his axe in a wide arc, taking the boys head clean off.

The other patrons stood, hands on dagger hilts and looked at Strauss who put his axe back across his back and downed his ale before looking back at the bartender. "Forget the food, use the rest of that money to clean help clean this up." He said as he put his mug back on the bar and walked out towards the main street. The other patrons watched him leave, unnerved by the wicked grin on Isador's face.

Mountain Pass-- From Orzammar to Vigil's Keep

The young rogue straightened his stance, eyes gazing straight ahead as he ran to catch up to the horse-riding female. The wool around his collar and wrists flickering rapidly from the heavy movement before he skidded to a stop to Valmyria's left side. His leather armor wasn't much to speak of for warmth against the mountain air, but the wool and fur lining it in various places was enough to be comfortable. The human male pulled back his thick hood, showing his pale face and bright, red hair. "'Ello dere, mees. I," he paused a moment as his bright, blue eyes looked Valmyria over. "Oi, it's you!"

A mage in thick, hooded robes of fur called out from further back on the trail. "Devan, you lout!" He was using his tall, elegant staff as a walking stick and almost out of breath. "You can't be just running off like a halla as soon as you see someone with a horse!" He stopped a moment to draw back his own hood, revealing his pointed ears and face covered by intricate tattoos.

"Eh, ya gotta big ox backin' yur arse, Lio...Laeo..." Devan paused and his eyes went blank, glazing over as his mind suddenly lost its power to function in an effort to process the Dalish elf's name.

"Lainolen, you simpleton!" He harshly stomped the end of his staff into the dirt, glaring at his companion. "I've told you at least a hundred times since we left already, yet you still forget!" His emerald eyes stared daggers into the human, almost tempted to hex the man into a drooling pile on the road. He soon calmed though and traced his gloved fingers over his brow. "I don't think he would appreciate being called an ox, Devan."

Devan grinned at that. "Effen I thought he'd e'er catch me, I'd be a worryin'."

A whistle flew through the air as a pair of rocks tied together by rope sailed close by Lainolen's head and suddenly flung around Devan's legs. The young human was quickly on his face in the dirt, eyes wide with shock before closing and keeping a small pebble from poking his eye. The elf turned his head and blinked a few times with his own surprise as monument of a figure walked out from behind some trees nearby, heavy armor lightly clanking with each long stride. His gaze was obscured by the thick shadows his heavy brow draped over his eyes, but his head was turned to visibly acknowledge he was watching Devan.

"I didn't think you would actually do it..." The elf mumbled as the large Qunari stood beside him. His only response was a thick snort of defiance and the extension of a gloved hand, palm turned up. "Right, we did have a deal. Of course you'd keep up your end..." He rolled his eyes a bit, but still managed a smirk at Devan's current situation. He pulled out two silvers from his pockets and dropped them into the giant's hand.

The giant warrior wasted no time walking forward to the downed Devan, struggling with the sling and somehow managing to only worsen its grip around his ankles. The warrior reached down and opened his hand. "Compensation..." He deeply muttered as Devan seemed to catch the falling coins by nothing but instinct. He then reached back and under the large weapon that was sheathed horizontally at his back, pulling out a thin dagger and cutting the ropes, freeing the human. He then turned as he stood, looking at Valmyria.

He was silent and still a few seconds, the subtle shift of his brow the only clue that he was looking her and her horse over. "... Commander." He lowered his head a bit and stepped back a foot, nearly knocking Devan back down. Devan opened his mouth as if to protest before he was answered without needing a question. "The sword."

Devan and Lainolen both looked to Valmyria as the elf walked over. They quickly spotted what their horned comrade meant, both knowing the weapon very well. "Well..." Lainolen softly stated, staring at the sword. "I would not have expected it to be passed along so soon..." Devan was remaining silent, glaring at the sword, his fingers twitching on the pommels of his twin daggers at his waist.

_________________

Valymira Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe.

Val could feel it - him, she corrected herself. Grey warden's could feel the presence of darkspawn, but something was out of place with whatever was stalking her in the higher mountain roads. It felt like a darkspawn, but different at the same time. A darkspawn could not manage to get out this close to Orzammar. A hidden tunnel could be possible, but a single on wouldn't leave. It could be a Blight Wolf or gods forbid, a Bereskarn. A bear that had been corrupted by the taint of darkspawn. Such creatures though are seen during a Blight... "It could be a ghoul then, she thought to herself, not wanting to give away the fact that she knew she was being followed. Yes, that made more sense. Someone that was tainted could be following her, but why. Her eyes widened as her hand brushed the hilt of the Oathkeeper. That would explain it. So much for the hot springs... she thought to herself.

At about this time is when Devan rushed up to her. He startled her, being lost in thought and senses. "Andraste's ass," she cursed softly as she brought Clippers to a halt. The man seemed oddly familiar to her. She recognized his face from among the Grey Wardens, but admitted that she did not know his name or him very well. The same went with his companion, the mage named Lainolen. "I should have spent more time with the Order," she thought to herself. She was amused with the banter between the two, and shocked when Devan was dropped. Clippers reared up on her hind legs in surprise, but the Commander was able to settle the horse down again by the time the Qunari emerged.

She was again surprised by the massive Qunari, who was wearing Warden armor. It was a curiosity, perhaps a trophy kill, gift from a friend, or purchased somewhere. He greeted her with respect, and she realized that her mouth had been hanging open the entire time in amazement. She quickly closed it and cleared her throat. She reached up for her hood and pulled it back, her blond/brown hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. the action also pulled her cloak apart a bit, revealing her silverite armor. Eying the company before her she noted Devan's reaction, and resisted the instinct to grip her own weapons.

"Shanedan," said Valmyria, greeting the armored figure before her. " I am Valmyria Windstrider, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Fereldin. She looked over to the mage, a hint of saddness flashed across her face. "Yes. It has passed. Taylon has recieved his Calling, and fulfilled it a few nights ago. Tell me," she said, turning her attention to the entire party. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

_________________
Stufflikehearts - He is a Sith Lord. I love Blood Lord :3
Jeffffey - Blood, you look at the information someone says, look over what really happened, and reply in a way that makes them realize what they were really thinking.
Mythrrinthael - Blood Lord, our local expert in interpretation of The Grim Tales from Down Below!
Fievel - Numerous campaigns and conquests, countless bodies decaying after the abandonment of victorious battlefields. Such is the life of Blood Lord.
Dusk_Imp - Blood Lord is like a celebrity here. Everything he does is pure awesome. ALL HAIL BLOOD LORD
Doctress Who - Why couldn't there be a Blood Lord in every forum? It would make life so much easier.
Snafu's Mercypostle.

Zha'Gren - Mountain pass, following a trail from Orzammar to Redcliffe.


With careful and deliberately slow motion, the hunter removed a stopper lid from his vial chemical bottle. A simple poison that was common enough in the wilds but had a slight mixture of tainted blood from a mutant scorpion he'd cornered and killed in the Deserts years ago, if this stuff was anything like alcohol then the poison would likely only be better after time. It didn't matter if it was or not.

Drawing out 4 out of 5 of the light throwing knives kept at his belt, he started to gently apply the vile chemical to each blades edge. Barely enough to coat the blade yet still more than generous for the effect desired. It was a numbing poison secreted from a rare flower in the jungles down south, the scorpion venom had a history for being fast acting. Perfect.


Without so much as a scuffling of rocks, Zha'Gren pounced from his perch. As soon as he took flight a knife cut through the cold mountain air to plant firmly in the throat of the Elven mage, while a second cut a bright red line in Devens neck. Shallow, but that was the beauty of this toxin, a shallow slash was all it needed. Within a few short minutes the unfortunate idiot wouldn't be able to feel his own feet let alone cast a spell or swing a sword.
two more lives flung out from the hunters outstretched hand; One blade was aimed for the Qunari's revealed face and throat, while the other punched out to try and graze the thief from his lair.

Without so much as a thud, Zha'Gren landed on the rough mountain trail and already held the Scimitar and curved knife in what appeared to be a trained and well practiced fighting stance. Both blades were out wide but it was obvious they were light enough to cover any sudden distance quickly, the corded muscle on the strange mutant creature clearly revealing that it was no stranger to hardship or battle.


It's armor was a strange red-ish blue, dark and worn from years in harsh environments or the marks of some fool wizards spell aimed at the creature. The color of it's skin was more akin to the scales on a lizard, the armor was fashioned to be similar to it by overlapping every other piece. Rough patches of the scaled skin were shown as the armor clearly did not cover it's whole body like a heavy warrior but instead promoted high defense on certain parts of the body, likely to not hinder it's movements.

Even the simple fact that it was a Darkspawn of some sort did nothing to stifle the true grotesqueness of this killer.

Atop it's face and hung like trophies from it's belt and back were skulls. Skulls of humans and animals alike.
It's facial mask was bleached white and showed a few scorch marks along with the occasional slash mark, along with two beastial horns on the forehead with another pair along the lower jaw that curved away from Zha'Grens chest.
Trophies of its hunt and proof of its power. What the group likely didn't know was that each trophy did something more than prove his worth, they gave him something.



Flexing it's arms, it spoke in a very gutteral and ugly tone that sounded like flesh being torn from the bone. "RETURN.. SWORD.. OR EARN IT. MAKE CHOICE!"

_________________
"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Johnus Johnson - Denerim: Underground Street Fight

Johnus groaned as the white band got himself KO'ed. "Fifty silver you owe me now Johnus." Said Eliver, Johnus's companion for the evening. He cackled as they took away WB, and cackled again when he saw Johnus with his face in his hands. "Here's the difference between me and you, you and me Johnus." He said gleefully, ignoring Johnus's angry grumbling. "You think that because a guy keeps knocking out his opponents, one by one, that he'll eventually lose." He looked theatrically around at the cheering crowd for a moment, nodded, and looked back to Johnus. "I think that if a guy keeps winning without any signs of slowing down...that he'll probably keep winning." He patted Johnus on the shoulder and had his hand immediately shrugged off. "Pretty clear who has the more correct theory, aye?" He laughed again as the diminutive dwarf swore colourfully for a few moments. "Tell you what, you go up against the guy, we'll call it quits. Eh?" Eliver asked, smiling wickedly. Johnus just looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "It'll cost me more than fifty silver to fic me after he's done with me." He eventually said. "Probably, probably..." Eliver admitted, balancing the odds in the air. "But if you win, I'll give you 100 silver. How about that?" He asked. Johnus just stared as him again. "...You damned bastard." He growled as he stood up and walked off to the ring, Elivers glee ringing in the air behind him.

"Oi. Biggins." Yelled Johnus as he hopped nimbly into the ring. "Get over here so I can knock you down and kick you in the fork." He said. Cracking his knuckles, to displace the nerves. Yeah, dwarfs were tough wee buggers compared to most flimsy humans, by nature, but by nurture, Johnus hadn't been required to do that much heavy work, speed and dexterity being his chosen attributes, which...probably wouldn't be so useful here, since using knuckle dusters and throwing knives would be frowned upon, is he had to guess. He kept his clothes on though, glaring at one of the workers, as he snatched a white band off him, and tied it round his own arm. He turned to face his opponent, looked up, looked down, looked up, spat to the side and put up his fists, bouncing on his feet slightly.

_________________
“One day you wake up and realize the world can be conquered.”

Mountain Pass-- Orzammar to Vigil's Keep

The Qunari looked up to Valmyria's eyes as she greeted him. Appropriately, at that. There was a short twitch at the corner of his lips and a subtle shift of his brow as the statuesque being showed the hints of a smile at her use of the word. But they were gone in the briefest fractions of a second as his natural expression bounced back into place. He softly nodded. "We're here to escort the new recruit," Lainolen stated in reply, gesturing to the Qunari. "He's being placed into the ranks here in Ferelden. I'm Lainolen and he's Devan," the elf gestured between the human and himself, "as you likely heard. And this..."

Lainolen was cut off as the Qunari raised his hand. He looked up to Valmyria once more to introduce himself. "I am Arvashok, Commander." He stated with a proud stance as he gave his name and title. It was evidently a name he liked very much.

The conversation was then abruptly cut off just as Lainolen's throat was struck by a flying knife. Arvashok heard the failing attempts for breath and knew it well, turning toward the attacker directly and shifting his waist. Devan was still gawking at Lainolen foolishly when the next sailed just past his skin, flicking beads of blood into the air with slashed bits of fur the dagger cut from the edge of his collar. Arvashok stepped away from Valmyria as another pair were sent flying. He already had two ways of resolving his own defense, either by blocking the small blades or just knocking them away with the dagger still in his hand from cutting Devan loose. He shifted his shoulder, the heavy, plated pauldron on his left side easily covering his neck and face as the blades tinged and bounced off the thick metal. He was already putting away his knife and releasing the snap of his weapon's sheath, quickly sliding the large blades out.

Devan had already taken his time darting away while Arvashok was stepping forward from the others to attract attention, moving behind some trees to check himself and quickly test the small cut in the front of his neck. Arvashok blinked when the creature spoke out, demanding a sword. With the only sword among the group's arsenal clear in mind, he gave a deep snort. A Darkspawn, desiring a sword passed through the Grey Warden ranks. He stared the creature down, keeping his left side toward the beast while his right hand readied his Qunari battleaxe. This creature arrives, striking out against two of the group's members, then demands they hand over a treasured heirloom. All while daring to be nothing but a beast that mocks the tongue of me.

Arvashok growled at the creature, "Vashedan dathrasi! The bas saarebas died without ataash... Stay and receive the same!" He loudly declared, every inch of his body wanting to tear the beast apart with his bare hands. This creature didn't deserve the honor of Astaarit Meraad's blade. It didn't deserve to exist.

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Valymira Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe.

Warrior of the grey thought Valmyria. Before her, stood the first Qunari Grey Warden. She knew of the Qunlat language and of the Qunari due to her travels with her step-father, but only enough to understand it. She still struggled to speak it fluently. However, they were rudely interrupted before she could respond.

The mage was the first one down, followed by the human. Another pair of knives sailed towards Arvashok and herself. Time seem to slow itself down as Valmyria twisted in her saddle, bringing up the more armored parts of her body into defense. She didn't care who threw the knives, if a bolt launched from a crossbow couldn't make it through her armor, then neither would these knives. She raised her arm, batted the knife away with her vanbraces. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the knife that Arvashol had deflected with his armor. The Warden-Commander reached out and caught the blade by its handle. She brought it up and examined it. It looked like you standard throwing knife, except its metal had been darkened an- She saw it, the faintest trace. A clear liquid with a slight reddish hue. Poison.

She cursed herself loudly for her actions as she leaped off the horse and knelt at the mage's side. First, she had taken the sword despite warnings from her mentor and from their guides. Second, she had allowed herself to get distracted and failed to pay attention to her senses. And now men were dying because of her selfishness. She looked up at the creature, the darkspawn that had just assaulted them. The armor, the appearance of the creature matched that of the stories that had been told around campfires as a young girl and as a Ranger. A fearsome hunter, a predator of men. She heard the darkspawn and cursed herself again as she looked into Lainolen's eyes. There was panic as he gasped for air. She placed a hand on his chest, and another one on his forehead and begun to mutter the words of magic in her elven language. A soft blue glow emanated from her hands, she sped her chanting up and the light begun to pulse and the snow stirred around them. She moved her hand from his forehead and around the knife in his neck and yanked it out. Quickly she covered the hole with her hand and continued. The wound was severe, one of the worst that she had seen in a long time. She knew she didn't have the time to fully heal it, but she could at least seal the hole into his throat, allowing him to breath. She placed him finally in a deep sleep. When this is over she could pay more attention to his wounds, but for now she had to stabilize him. The mage might live.

Valmyria stood, and nearly stumbled over. It had taken a lot more out of her then she had thought. A lot more. Something wasn't right. The warden tore off her fur cloak and placed it over Lainolen. She now stood clad in her ranger/armor hybrid and her blue cloak, which was tucked under the shoulder pads of her armor. The emblem of her office was clearly visible. Valmyria stepped forward and placed her hand on Arvashok's shoulder. "Stand down. This is my problem. I and only I must atone for my actions," she said to him. Stepping forward, she pulled out the Sword of the Warden with her right hand, and kept the Oathkeeper in her left hand. She stood several paces away from the creature in a non-threatening stance. It was darkspawn. A sentient darkspawn that had gained its own will. She should kill it, wipe it off from the face of this world, but she also knew that she had committed an evil against it first.

"Creature... Predator," she yelled at the figure. "Let us speak as one hunter to another," She held up the Oathkeeper. "You have a fin taste in swords. This is a beautiful creation. No doubt a trophy from one of your hunts. It must mean a lot to you... Who are you?." Perhaps there was a way that they could all escape alive.

_________________
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Zha'Gren - Mountain pass, following a trail from Orzammar to Redcliffe.



It's eyes may not have been clearly visible behind that odd skull it wore but both Arvashok and Valymira knew from the moment that the blade was touched that Zha'Gren seemed ready to rush out and attack, but something held it back. Darkspawn were prone to murderous fits of bloodlust and anger and yet this one was content to wait... to listen.


The ranger had blocked his dagger, catching it with deft ease that spoke of her years in battle.. She clearly recognized the poison coating the blade, and still managed to aid the mage. Good. He was weak, his death only came at the cost of his interference. Filthy mages were a nuisance to honorable combat like this. Incapable of wielding even a dagger with a bit of skill.

Slowly he raised his head and sniffed the air a bit, though no sounds came from any of his movements, there was a soft thud and a grunt in the distance as the rogue who had fled finally had the poison take over. Non-lethal, but numbing. The same stuff pumping through the mage at this very moment.



Tensing up slightly, Zha'Gren turned sharply to stare at the ranger. Switching his gaze between the sword and the woman, casually glancing at the Qunari with a wary eye.

With a simple flick, Zha had his blades flipped upside down and sheathed. They'd be out in an instant to slash that wardens throat out if he made a move, but for now it seemed talking would get what he wanted.

Pounding his balled fist to his puffed chest twice in obvious pride and nearest they could tell, a form of respect for the others. There was a sickly cracking noise as Zha'gren moved slowly to remove the mask and revealing the grotesque Face below to the group. When speaking, his various tongues slipped in and out between the fangs coating the upper and lower jaw, yet his voice was crystal clear. "Zha'Gren. Spirit of hunts. Killer of unkillable. Last of great trackers. Sword mine, taken from human scavenger."

holding up an empty hand, "Return sword," Then raised the opposite hand in the same manner, "Make deal. Choice yours." Another hideous cracking noise as the bone mask was placed back on the creatures face, removing all his features but the empty black eyes. A hand already resting casually on it's sword hilt. Another sharp look at the Qunari and a low hiss from behind the mask.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Denerim; Marketplace and then the Underground Fighting Ring

Walking down one of the streets of Denerim, a tall elf with worn looking features scowled at the signs of the Chantry that were littered throughout. To some it wasn’t so overt, but for one who had spent a large portion of their life living under the Chantry’s thumb it was rather obvious. Amir crossed his arms and slouched down in an attempt to look less conspicuous to anyone who might be watching their progress. It was enough to make him want to scream, being in Denerim; yet another place that was hostile to elves. Keeping his voice low so no one might overhear, he complained to his much shorter companion. "Oh yes, lets wander into the fucking city with a platoon of templars hanging around. I'm sure they'll understand we're not evil. Maybe they’ll even be polite when they cut off my head."

The youthful elven girl beside him, having reached the last year of her teenage years and appearing to all as if she had only just breached them, rolled her eyes at her long time companion's rant. She was accustomed to Amir's snaps and snips. His temper was legendary when they still resided at The Circle, and Laila was typically the only one capable of sedating it. "Calm down. We got rid of our phylacteries, and they won't recognize our faces if we keep a low profile. The templars have the trouble at the circle keeping them busy. Besides, I have a sister here. She might be able to help us."

"I refuse to be calm.” He replied easily, gesturing vaguely as they started to pass through the marketplace. His tone was already less sharp than before, but he was on a roll and refused to be dissuaded from it just because Laila told him to. “I am claiming my maker given right to be a flighty shit from now until the final blight falls upon our heads."

"Be glad for the blight,” Laila chided. Her wide blue eyes darted about the area restlessly. Having lived in The Circle tower for so long, a crowded city with buildings and people and wide open skies was a jarring shift in scenery. “More folk focused on that means less focused on a mismatched pair of elves like us."

"Oh yes, lets be glad for –“ He paused as a merchant called out to them, waving some vegetables that looked well on their way to being overripe. Amir’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the man and then looked to Laila. “...Did that merchant really just call me a knife-ear?"

"They do that. Ignore them. It's not worth the trouble to pick a fight."

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, he could already feel a headache building behind his eyes. "Sweet Andraste, I forgot how much I fucking hated Denerim."

The young female elf turned her head away, a sadness sweeping across her expression that she masked with a blank, unreadable one. She was only five when she was stolen from her family, when her mother died through suicide or murder; Laila never could decide which it was. Either way, she spent little time in this city. Her home was with the man next to her, the man who had raised her and cared for her all her life. She decided to comment with a more vague response, however. Now was not the time for sentimentality. "Mm. I wasn't here long, so I wouldn't know if I missed it or not.” She peered about for the place the two were headed for, a scroll with a splotch of blue wax stamped with a unique seal, the symbol for The Mages' Collective, poking out of her satchel and a parchment with a crudely drawn map etched in charcoal clutched in her gloved hand.

"I was here long enough to learn to hate it.” Amir said quietly, his tone bitter as they kept up their walk through the crowded buildings. He had been eight years old when the Templars had taken him away to the Circle. Eight years old was old enough to remember the squalid conditions of the alienage. He could still remember that his mother died because she hadn’t been able to afford the medicine she needed to treat the coughing sickness that eventually took her life. The humans in Denerim didn’t care what happened to the elves, it wasn’t their problem. In some ways, the Circle was better than the Alienage, but it was just a different sort of cage.

Glancing briefly at her companion before looking away again, Laila took a moment to let his words seep into her. She knew his history well; in their years together locked away in the tower of mages, they had shared many secrets of their respective pasts. She linked a pinky with his, offering a tone of reassurance to him. ”...we won't stay long."

His tone softened as Laila linked their hands. It was impossible to maintain any sort of anger in the face of when she reached out to him like this. It was too nostalgic. "We'll stay as long as we need. And if we're very lucky no one will realize I'm the kid who burnt down the orphanage." He added in drily, lightening the tone of their conversation a bit.

"They won't recognize you,” Laila teased with a playful smirk. “You've grown too grumpy looking. Anyway, the collective's note said the place for the healer job is over there."

Amir scratched at his chin thoughtfully and then glanced down at her slyly, the shadow of a grin hiding in the corners of his lips. "You're right, they're much more likely to recognize you.” He drawled. “Since you're barely a foot taller than when you left."

The elven girl elbowed Amir roughly; she seemed offended, but her attack was hampered by her general lack of strength; regardless, she huffed and crossed her arms with stubborn indignation. “Hmpf."

He took the abuse with a smirk, barely holding back a laugh at the ineffectual assault. Laila was many things, but physically threatening was not one of them.

"I swear, I'll bite your ankles one day.” Her pink tongue pushed out between her lips to enhance her displeasure at his teasing momentarily before she took on a more serious expression. “The note said we should head in through the back entrance down the alleyway."

"Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked, frowning. “We could find work elsewhere."

"It's a quick and easy job, and I get to brush up on my healing. If I do well, we'll make some friends and perhaps even find a way to get safe passage into Quel'Elhen without bothering my sister."

"...So basically I should shut up the moment we walk in the door?" Amir knew the consequences of his tendency to mouth off. The crooked line of his nose was a testament to the situations his thoughtless words got him into.

"I wouldn't go that far, but it would help if you minded your manners. These people are probably not the most...er...civil sort. Not that they can't be civilized...maybe?” She tugged at the hood of her cloak as she frequently did when she felt uncertainty. Her nerves buzzed with worry; Amir was the confrontational sort, and Laila always felt as if she was cleaning up his messes, despite her being the younger of the two.

"Alright, so don't call them knuckle dragging round ears. Got it.” He quipped before opening the door for Laila. But before she could step through, Amir put a hand on her shoulder serious once more. This was no time for jokes. “I'll make sure nothing happens to us, I promise."

Laila's lips curled into a nervous pout. "I know. That's what I'm afraid of.” She meekly took hold of his robes, hiding behind her guardian and brother-figure as they made their way inside the building.

"Hey, none of that.” He chided, noticing that Laila was using him as a shield. “Act like you're scared and they'll eat you alive. I'm here as your crony, remember?” Amir nudged her forward so she was leading the way, relatively calm despite the sketchy location they were making their way through. One of Denerim’s many charms were its dilapidated buildings where all manner of illegal activity went on right beneath the laws nose.

Despite her agitation, she kept her distress under wraps and shuffled forward with all the meekness of a deer caught before a musket lodged in her gut. Standing before her, as they stepped away from the first door into the building and towards the second, was a hulking beast of a man covered from head to toe in a salt-and-pepper bush of hair. Where there wasn't a tangled and matted beard or clumps of body hair, there were scars and muscles and swirling tattoos marking names of loved ones, or perhaps names of victims. Laila gulped, the deep crevasses under her eyes darkening and making her large eyes even larger, exponentially magnifying her intimidated expression. “Um...h-hello,” she managed to squeak out in a miniscule voice a hair's breath above a whisper.

“Tch,” the beastly man tutted. “This ain't the place for children. Leave.”

Well this wasn’t going to work well. Amir frowned and stepped forward letting his normal rough tone take on a more appropriate rough edge for someone who was working within the underworld. “Is that any way to talk to the bloody healer your lot sent for?” He snapped, one hand dropping to rest on Laila’s shoulder to reassure her. “If you're saying you don't need someone to fix up your fighters then we'll take the fee we're owed and leave.” He gestured the way he came, as if he intended that they might leave. It wasn’t likely to happen, they needed the money that the Mage’s Collective was offering this job.

“Hmpf. We hired healers, not snot-nosed foul-mouthed brats,” the bouncer barked, turning his head to spit into a corner before wiping his large nose with an even larger finger.

Thanks to Amir's interjection , Laila had taken the time to gather the courage to speak up. “U-Um...here's the paperwork.” She held up the scroll given to them by the collective, with the wax seal as their proof of authenticity. “T-This should cover the two of us, yes?”

The hulk of a man squinted at the seal, examining it closely. Laila held herself from stepping back in terror. “It seems legitimate.” He grumbled and sighed. “Sending us baby knife-ears these days? What next, dwarven strippers?” Rolling his eyes, he opened the door and waved the two elves inside. “Fine, go in. Don't get mauled, little girl. This ain't the place for young things like you.”

Once they had been given the go ahead to head inside, Amir ushered Laila forward into the darker refuge. But then what the bouncer said sank in and he took a moment to tilt his head and process what he had heard. “...Dwarven strippers? That's a mental image I'm not sure I wanted.” He commented lightly, more than half serious. The image of a hair stout dwarf attempting to be provocative was just… difficult to comprehend without breaking into laughter.

The elven girl nodded to the bouncer gratefully and peeked up at Amir once they had entered the shady sanctuary for ruffians and outlaws. The corners of her lips turned upwards just barely at Amir's successful attempt at humor. He always did know how to cheer her up. “Heh...it is a bit unnerving. You know, I read somewhere that dwarven women have beards. Is that true?”

“I'm not sure, I've never met a dwarf before.” Amir said thoughtfully. It was actually bothering him a little now. “But if they do... how do you tell the men from the women?” Women weren’t supposed to have beards, surely dwarf women couldn’t be so… He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image.

Laila shrugged. “Maybe their axes are pink.”

“I'm going to end up thinking about this all night, damn you. I hope you're happy.”

The young elf chuckled, seeming a little more at ease about the situation thanks to Amir's joking. “You're welcome,” she chimed with a more sincere smile. “Ah...there's the ring. Maker, they're really going at it down there.” Peering down at the fighting ring as she pieced together the sections of her staff, Laila cocked a brow in intrigue at morbid and violent scene displayed below. She felt nervousness and curiosity combine in an unpleasant spiral within her, and winced as the two brutish men exchanged blows.

Amir could smell the ring before he saw it, the iron tang of blood had permeated the ground here. It was a little intoxicating, an assault on senses that hadn’t been so immersed in the smell of blood. There was energy in it, waiting to be used and it called out to the part of him that wanted to push the limits of his blood magic. There was that guilty whisper that it was blood freely given, surely there wouldn’t be any harm in making use of it. However he shut that line of thought down in time to catch what Laila had said. He ran a hand over his face, realizing this was going to be a long job if he couldn’t ignore the blood around him. “They certainly are...” He glanced at the makeshift bar in the corner. “I think I need a drink.”

“We can drink after we're done. Best to keep our wits about us in this place.” Once she had finished assembling her staff, she looped her hand around Amir's arm, looking wary of her surroundings. Her eyes caught the figure they were searching for, and she pointed discreetly in his direction. “Ah, there's our contact. The man in the green and gold hood.”

“Let’s get this taken care of then.” The sooner they finished the sooner they could get away from all the blood and violence around them. With his arm looped in with Laila’s, Amir led the way over the man who was their contact.

The elven girl nodded, feeling only a little more reassured because of Amir as he lead her over; when they reached the man in the green and gold hood, she held out the sealed scroll, who bowed his head politely and took hold of it. He was an older gentleman who seemed to have seen his fair share of adventures judging by the missing teeth and eyepatch. “Ah, so yer the hirelings. Didn't think we'd get a pair o'kids, you poor sods. Must be hard out there for you two. Well, enough o'the pity party, this'll be yer work area.” The man gestured to a couple of chairs, a bag of somewhat unhygienic looking supplies, a somewhat rusty well pipe for easy access to water, a couple wooden buckets, and some straw on the ground covered with blankets for makeshift beds.

“...I think I caught an infection just looking at this setup.” The state of everything was enough to stun Amir silent for a moment. How could this be considered acceptable for the treatment of anyone? It was a disaster waiting to happen. He didn’t want to know who had been in charge of treating wounds previously. Obviously they hadn’t been anywhere near as good as Laila.

With a sigh of acceptance, Laila immediately flicked back her cloak and stepped over to begin unpacking her potion-making equipment. This was her field, and she intended to be as professional as possible in proving her worth here. “Amir, you're in charge of sterilization. Put that fire to good use and boil me some water, clean some cloth, and maybe burn a bit of incense while you're at it. I'll start preparing anesthetics.” With that, she began a flurry of motions. She began arranging vials and flasks, soaking clean rags with tinctures, and hammering away at herbs wielding a mortar and pestle, all well-practiced actions that Laila had engraved into her very being. There was no doubt that she knew what she was doing, even if only judged by her body language.

The man in the green and gold hood seemed a smidge surprised that the little elf lass was clearly the one in charge, but he nodded regardless to the two and sidestepped out of their way. “I'll leave this to the two of ya, then. Maker watch yer backs.” With that, he stepped off to let the contenders know that the healers had arrived.

Amir nodded and followed Laila’s orders exactly. This was her field of specialty, when she gave orders he’d listen and obey.

_________________

Mountain Pass

Arvashok stood still for a few moments as Valmyria gave her order, his eyes fixed upon the creature before them. He slowly shifted and relaxed his stance, placing his weapon back into its sheathe to let her handle the problem. "Then the bas is yours."

He stepped back to calmly wait and listen, taking note of Lainolen's weak breathing. He shifted his eyes a moment as he heard something rustling behind the far trees. Devan was on his knees, barely visible through the trunks. He was staring forward with a blank expression, breathing nearly as poorly as Lainolen. The human then fell forward into the dirt, his arm extending and twitching before his hand fell upon a mass of odd weeds. Arvashok turned his gaze back forward to Valmyria and the darkspawn. He desired to battle the creature. And their shared taste for one another was evident as the beast hissed through its mask, earning a short snort from the Qunari. But Valmyria made this her conflict to resolve. A personal matter that he wouldn't be interfering with any further unless the creature sought to involve him.

Which just made him want to fight it all the more. Another day, then... He thought to himself and crossed his arms, lowering his eyelids. The actual act of closing his eyes was barely noticeable, save for the subtle loss of the color present in his iris'. He began to quietly chant to himself while the other two were settling their issues. "... Shok ebasit hissra... Marass shok...esaam Qun..." Small bits of his chanting were barely audible at times as he focused his thought to better wait and observe the situations around him all at once.

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Denerim: Underground Fight

After Bill’s declaration there was much shouting and cheering from the crowd. This was an open opportunity fighting ring, if you stepped into the ring that meant you could fight regardless of who or what you were. Often enough you would get someone who thought they could take the fighters on, amateurs mostly but at least it made the betting interesting. Bill’s eyes scanned the side of the ring, checking to see if anyone looked as if they wanted a shot at him. He was sure that someone would come forward, but on rare occasions they would have to bring in two new fighters or call it a night because of nobody being willing enough to take on whoever owned the ring at the moment. Movement caught the corner of his eyes and he turned to see a dwarf hopping his way into the ring.

It was at this moment that the man looked up towards one of the betting ledges, giving the person a short nod as a signal to start the betting. Bill smirked slightly at the dwarf’s words, if anything he didn’t seem intimidated by the size difference and was fairly sure of himself. This made Bill a bit happy, it was usually the cocky bastards that put up good fights, if only to preserve their image as being cocky bastards.
“Now aren’t those some BIG words?” he said as he began to walk to the side, circling around the dwarf with a grin plastered onto his face.

“I ain’t never seen ya here before, so here’s the rundown of how this works… No weapons, no powers, and ya win by a ten count or if your opponent yields… OH and if ya kill your opponent you don’t get a take in the winnings… that last one tends to keep the wild ones under control.” The man counted off on his fingers as he went, explaining the rules and buying time for people to get all their bets in.
“AH, and one more thing… try to keep things above the belt…” his smirk grew a bit larger as he finally put his guard up, straightening out his back and tensing the muscles in his shoulders. He took a sudden step forward, sending out a quick jab from his left hand right towards the dwarf’s face. There wasn’t much power behind the attempted blow, Bill kept his weight on his back foot and was prepared to jump back if he needed to dodge.

_________________

John scowled. Over 20 years he'd been here now, and he still found those size cracks annoying. Stupid humans. Keeping things above the belt seems slightly unfair, considering the context. He muttered, spitting out the last word as he jerked to the right to dodge the punch. He kept on going, a hand slapped onto the ground as he rolled over it, back onto his feet, and took a chunk out of the ground as he straightened up. He quickly flung the earth at the fighter, aiming for the bit between neck and chest. Horrible thing to use as a throwing weapon, air friction and all that, but at least it'd be accurate. He was pretty sure he'd be faster than this guy, even with himself wearing his clothes, and the fighter baring his chest. No hair. A race of giant ugly stretched-out babies. Anyway, he followed up the throw by running forward, ducking down also. Best to use the height difference to his advantage. Make the bugger reach down for him. He didn't bother doing any fancy moves, just ran right for his legs, kept one hand ready and the other one going...well, he had only said "try." John failed.

_________________
“One day you wake up and realize the world can be conquered.”

Zha'Gren was not deaf and nor was he ignorant of anything happening around him. Caution had always been his greatest asset and attentiveness to the little things was a prime teaching of and hunter or tracker, the Qun was doing something and that was more than a little bit of a warning to Zha'Grens hunter instincts. He was about to lash out and slit the fools throat before he could finish whatever magics he spoke but realized what the Qun was doing a split second before he intended to strike.

A simple chant..

As the Qun chanted, Zha'Gren lifted his mask enough to free his mouth and spoke, but it was not the commons he spoke but the language of the Qun. "Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun." Lowering the mask again over his twisted mouth the creature stared at the hill of a person. Such a worthy trophy his head would make, such a glorious tale the bloodshed would become, but how honorable was the man before him? Clearly enough not to disobey orders from a higher rank.. but what made him follow the woman? What was her symbol of rank to him, he'd clearly overheard they'd just met up before the ambush..

The sword.

It was worth something to them. Something more than just a trophy or a fine blade. It was status of some sort! proof of skill perhaps? No that couldn't be it.. An artifact? Likely, but there was nothing odd about the blade that he could see... Maybe it simple held greater meaning to their order in some way.
Maybe Zha'Gren wasn't the owner simply because he'd killed the thief looting corpses on a forgotten battlefield... I... I have made a mistake.

Reaching into his back pocket, Zha pulled out a metal container with a wax sealed lid and tossed it to the Qunari. "Rogue friend better in 10 minutes. Pour vial on mage. Heal quicker, clear poison."
What could only have been a nervous shift, He spoke again in that sickly voice, "Sorry.." The word was almost foul coming from it's mouth.

_________________
"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Denerim: Underground Fight

Bill could see the irritation in the dwarf’s face in response to his japes. He had met enough dwarves in his days to know exactly how to rub them the wrong way. Usually they were tough, brutal fighters that were quick to anger when provoked. It wasn’t that the man had anything against dwarves, but a pissed off dwarf made for a much more entertaining match. The same self satisfied smirk was upon his face as John dodged his attack, perhaps a bit too nimbly if the human berserker had to note. A quick and agile dwarf was not unheard of if only a bit uncommon, but that would completely change up the mentality Bill had going into this fight.

For a moment he thought that the dwarf may have wanted to have kept his speed under the radar at first, however it soon became clear that the person he was fighting was not your typical brawler. His eye twitched slightly as he saw the dirt clod sailing towards him. One of the first things he told the dwarf was not to use any weapons, though it shouldn’t have surprised him very much given the dwarf’s fighting style. Most nimble and quick fighters didn’t particularly excel at close quarter engagements, especially in head on fights like this one. Bill’s forearm took the blow from the dirt clod, the man raised his guard up slightly to block the projectile out from hitting his throat. It stung a bit at first, however it wasn’t even enough to make the man flinch.

Such tactics were common in these fights, the ‘rules’ were very loose and forgiving as long as the crowd kept betting. The dwarf came charging forward, keeping himself low to the ground as he came in for an attack. Given the previous attack and the dwarf’s fighting style, Bill had a fairly strong idea of just where he was planning to throw his punch. The human’s smile widened ever so slightly, never did he mention any restrictions about wearing armor… and Bill did try to warn John about attacking below the belt.

John’s fist was met with a resounding ‘KLUNK’, the sound of a bare fist hitting the plate metal girdle that Bill had beneath his kilt. Bill winced slightly at the pain that made it through, however that didn't stop his hands from reaching down for the dwarf’s clothing. Getting a hold on a quick opponent was all that he needed to end a fight like this.

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DENERIM: UNDERGROUND FIGHT The two men sat in the corner of the room, but could still see the ring. They were dressed in simple leather armor with tattered grey cloaks. One of the men, the bigger one had a geat big mustach and bald head. Behind him was a wonderfully large battle axe. The smaller, and younger looking had a set of knives on him, and a small crossbow.

"Oi, this ought ta be some entartainment," said the small one to the other.

"Yeah... I like the big guy, been in there for a while. That little boot stomper though, her's got himself a heart," remarked the other.

"Ya tink its what we need?"

"I so no bloody reason why not! But lets wait a moment. I want to see the result of the fight before we extend our little offerin."

"Did ya see them two who just entered?"

The man, the bigger of the two stood up and looked around. "What are ye talking about?"

"Sodding mother of An-, get your big arse down," snapped the smaller one, pulling him down. "The two that just entered, the looked elfish, entered into the back, where em healers work."

"Yer point?"

"Thems was blood mages. They match them descriptions dat old preistest was describing."

A wicked grin came across the bigger man's face. "Boy, I think we just found a way to make things... a bit more interesting."


Valymira Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe.

Val clenched the swords in her hands and looked down. She hated this. Hated the situation, the creature in front of her, the stupid decision of taking the damned thing in her hand, and... her life. She hated all of it. She wanted nothing more then to sink into her rage and depression and fight to the death. If she was lucky, then maybe the creature would kill her or they both would die. Seemed somewhat fitting, she thought. To be trapped and freezing at the roof of the world, with only death to sing the tale of her doom. But she couldn't do it. something held her back, perhaps it was that damned word she heard all of her life. Duty... and the others. It was possible that between the two, they could take out this creature "Zha'gen". But she would be needlessly endangering the lives of those under her for personal gain. Something that went against everything she was taught. A High Elf was to be noble in heart, a Ranger selfless in action, and a Grey Warden sacrificial... But if she killed this creature, end its reign of terror, she would be saving countless lives and, and...

Valmyria exhaled and looked back up at the creature. "Zha'Gren... I am sorry. But I cannot surrender this blade. I... cannot let it vanish again," she sadly replied. She looked at it. Yes, this had to be the sword. Years, and years ago, during the early days of the fifth Blight, there was a Warden-Commander named Duncan. He, King Calin, and a bulk of the Fereldin army met their end when Teryn Loghain pulled his forces out of Ostagard. His sword would latter be recovered by the Warden. From then, its a little hazy from whence the blade went next. But she knew that it ended up in the possession of her adopted father, and it was lost again when his caravan was attack. She had kept her eye out for it ever since. The problem was that the blade bore the exact same resemblance to swords that some templars were given as a reward. The difference was the color of the blade. Duncan's Sword was brighter. Better quality. She was sure this was it, and if it was then not only was it an important artifact for the Wardens, but it was also the only thing she would have of her father.

"This sword belonged to the great Warden, Duncan," she said. "It also belonged to my father... Its all that I have left of him."

She spun the blades around with grace and settled into a combat stance. "I cannot allow you to take it, nor do I have anything to trade for it... All Grey Wardens have is their duty to protect and stand as guardians."

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Stufflikehearts - He is a Sith Lord. I love Blood Lord :3
Jeffffey - Blood, you look at the information someone says, look over what really happened, and reply in a way that makes them realize what they were really thinking.
Mythrrinthael - Blood Lord, our local expert in interpretation of The Grim Tales from Down Below!
Fievel - Numerous campaigns and conquests, countless bodies decaying after the abandonment of victorious battlefields. Such is the life of Blood Lord.
Dusk_Imp - Blood Lord is like a celebrity here. Everything he does is pure awesome. ALL HAIL BLOOD LORD
Doctress Who - Why couldn't there be a Blood Lord in every forum? It would make life so much easier.
Snafu's Mercypostle.

Zha'Gren - Mountain pass, following a trail from Orzammar to Redcliffe.


Zha'Gren never so much as blinked while the Elf ranger told him about the blades mixed history of ownership, but it was clear that it belonged to someone of importance when it was finally passed on to a rightful successor. The blade on his own hip was so similar to that it seemed to sting. Would he have let his own blade slip to someone else? Better to break it and scatter the pieces than let that happen.

With a bit of a cough and the cracking noise of his mask coming undone, Zha's tongue moved the mask upwards to reveal the mouth and from there the three tongues twisted and flattened in his mouth to form a more human one. his Elven was rusty and a bit strange coming from his twisted features but it was clear he understood the language. "Your eyes tell me what you think. Monster. Fiend. Butcher..." Drawing the sword in his right arm, he held the blade to show off at the ranger. It was fanged and had many notches from various battles that he'd won, each scratch a story and every single one he could tell you by heart.

"Honor. Pride. Respect. Zha'Gren never kill innocents. No child bleed on sword. No pregnant mother slaughtered. Warlords, hunters, bandits, monsters. They bleed on cutter only." A flick and the sword landed between his feet, another flick of both his hands and the daggers were in his hands for an instant before landing near his sword. "No weapon touch those who can't defend. Only the strongest die to Zha'Gren! Only those WORTHY stain armor!" A fierce pound to his swelled up chest, fierce pride in his skills and his strange morals. "Trophys," Pointing to the skulls on his person, "From powerful wizard. Beasts. Cutthroats in the jungle."

"Take you sword. Worthless to Zha'Gren. Zha'Gren have no claim, no pride in taking blade. Worse, hide it. Kill to defend trophy. No honor in that. No better than THIEF." Taking steps forward to the Ranger, no hesitation or even nervous shifting in his movements, he came to stand no more than a foot from the Ranger. "Honor... Stained. Let Zha'Gren regain his honor! Zha'Gren fight for you, with you. Prove that he not mindless monster"

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Johnus blanched as his fist hit metal. "Bloody-" he started before immediately attempting to dart back. His eyes widened as he felt tension begin. The lug had caught something. He purposefully fell backwards, one hand touched against his neck and the coat came off. Johnus rolled as he hit the ground, his legs continued swing up into the air and he flipped backwards onto his feet, tiptoes brushed the ground as he darted back a few feet. He rubbed his neck slightly and glared at Bill. That's not fair. You're a big, fighting, hairless ape. You don't get to be crafty too. He wrung his hand in the air, to show his point. Careful with that by the way. You won't believe how hard it is to get specialist clothes like that for my size. he added, pointing at his coat for a moment before putting his fists back up. Dancing on his toes.

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“One day you wake up and realize the world can be conquered.”

Valmyria Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe.

Valmyria listened intently to Zha'Ghen's offer with curiosity. She raised her eye brow at his claim to restore his so-called "honor". What would a darkspawn know of honor? She didn't drop her stance at all while she was mulling this prospect over. The facts were this. She was a Grey Warden, and was bound to defend the lands from the darkspawn. The being before her was such a creature plus a freak of nature that had given it the ability to choose and think. Both deemed it necessary that it should die. She knew that people had fallen by its blades. Perhaps they had deserved it, perhaps not, she wasn't going to be the judge o0f right and wrongs. Gods knew she had made her own mistakes. But at the same time, it was a unique creature that posed as much threat to society as she did, well less then her if you talked to the Dalish or the Templars. It wanted to help and the Wardens did accept anyone... regardless of past history, race nationality. An alliance with this creature might cause some distress for the First Warden, and possibly loose more of her already diminishing rapport with her own Wardens.

Then there were emotions. Some of them screamed for her to lung forward, plant the Oathkeeper in its chest and then bring the Sword of the Warden across its neck. She wanted blood, the adrenalin of combat, the bloodlust of war called to her. The sweet beautiful music. Oh, how sweet it would be, she thought. I don't even care if the thing killed Me. My life had meant shit to me for so long... By the Gods, what the hell is wrong with me?

Then Val snapped out of it. She lowered her guard, and looked into the mask with determination. Why the hell not? "Zha'ghen. I will accept your offering of service. In it, may you find the... honor you are searching for. But mark my words," she said with steel in her voice, "Should you so much as attempt to betray us, my blade will be the last thing to ever go through your mind."

_________________
Stufflikehearts - He is a Sith Lord. I love Blood Lord :3
Jeffffey - Blood, you look at the information someone says, look over what really happened, and reply in a way that makes them realize what they were really thinking.
Mythrrinthael - Blood Lord, our local expert in interpretation of The Grim Tales from Down Below!
Fievel - Numerous campaigns and conquests, countless bodies decaying after the abandonment of victorious battlefields. Such is the life of Blood Lord.
Dusk_Imp - Blood Lord is like a celebrity here. Everything he does is pure awesome. ALL HAIL BLOOD LORD
Doctress Who - Why couldn't there be a Blood Lord in every forum? It would make life so much easier.
Snafu's Mercypostle.

Mountain Pass

Arvashok stopped his prayer as soon as the creature muttered the word meraad. This creature knew of the prayers for the dead? The simple fact it muttered an entire line with such clarity only furthered the surprise. He slowly lifted his head, elevating his brow so that his eyes were the most visible they could possibly be and gazed over Zha'Gren's form. His expression was hardly any different from his usual scowl, but a subtle glimmer in his eyes showed some level of respect for the darkspawn.

Arvashok approves (+10)

Arvashok quickly caught the vial and looked to Zha'Gren as he heard him mutter something under his breath. He didn't hear it clearly, but he knew what it likely was for the situation. He gave the hunter a simple nod of approval before turning to move toward the unconscious Lainolen. He spotted Devan stretching out against a tree while just sitting back and watching everything with that idiotic grin of his. The human was skilled at what he did, to be sure. But he still found ways to act like a fool every chance he could. Arvashok shook his head as he popped open the medicine and quickly began to administer it to the weakened elf, eyes darting to the side a moment when hearing Valmyria confront their assailant.

She seemed to regard him with more disdain than was deserving considering how willing it was to correct mistakes. But she was Commander, and it was her choice to make in how to handle their own matters concerning the sword. Arvashok stood up and returned to quietly observing once he finished aiding Lainolen. He raised one brow when they agreed to let Zha'Gren join them, an act very bold and odd to the Qunari. But he would simply wait to see how it plays out.

Devan, on the other hand. "Oi, sure, jus let da blightah that tried te gank me an ol' Lanny o'er dere come alung... What harm culd he do, eh? 'Cept sharpenin' his blades on ur bones in ur sleep, you nuttin' idiot!" He clearly did not like the new addition to the party.

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Denerim: Underground Fight

The dwarf was a tough and quick little bugger that much was for certain. Bill stood with the dwarf’s coat in his hand, the same smirk upon his face that had been there since the beginning of the match. He had to admire how quickly John was able to sneak out of his little predicament, though eventually the dwarf would run out of coats to untie. Bill laughed a bit at the dwarf’s words, finding it funny that he could come up with something so quickly like that.

“Haha, I guess ya have a point there.” Bill said with a wide grin on his face.
“I like you Dwarf, most of the people I run into down here lack… personality. I’m Bill by the way and I’ll be honest I’m not so sure I want to mash ya bloody anymore.” The man slowly started to walk around the dwarf in a circle, still clutching the cloak tightly in his fingers.

“How about this… you yield the fight, I take you out back to kick you in the nuts, then I’ll buy ya a drink and we call it a day?” Bill cocked his head slightly, his tone half joking as he said this. It was rather obvious that the man was trying to provoke the dwarf into an attack, but that being said he did have a bit of respect for John. Although he was being cocky and trying to play head games, he did mean what he had said about not wanting to rough up someone that he could respect. But even if Bill had found a bit of respect, he wasn’t planning on loosing the fight.

“Oh, here’s your coat back mate.” The man said politely, tossing the coat into the air right towards where John stood. For a moment it would have seemed like a kind gesture from a fellow brawler. But as the coat sailed into the air it spread out wide and started to block John’s view of the man. It may have only been for an instant, but it should have spread out wide enough to obscure Bill’s movements, and the left hook that was now flying towards the base of John’s jaw. For such a big guy, Bill was rather quick at closing the distance.

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Denerim: Underground Fight

Laila carefully smeared the contents of one of her poultices on the bruises of the last contender to fall in the ring, the man with the white band tied about his arm that the kilted man still fighting knocked out earlier, and just as carefully dressed the wounds with clean strips of cloth that Amir had prepared. She had healed him of his concussion, fixing his jaw and mending the various cuts scattered across his skin, and he sat upright with the obligatory stiff grimace of a sore loser. "All done," Laila told the man as she offered him a hand up from the makeshift bedding. "Take it easy for a while, though. Let a healer know if you get a headache in the next three days. A concussion can be a dangerous thing if you're not careful." Her first patient nodded and left the area grumbling over blasted men in skirts.

The young elven mage peered over at Amir once the man had left. "Well that wasn't so bad, was it? I told you this would be an easy job." She stepped over to balcony overlooking the ring, her long ears twitching with curiosity, not noticing the two men stepping towards them. "How's the fight going? Is the handsome one in the skirt winning? Or the jumpy dwarf?"

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