Isador pulled the bucket from the well he had found to wash the blood from his face and armor. He may not care if his foes blood is on him but guards may not feel the same way. With an ungloved hand he splashed his face and took an old rag to his armor. As he was cleaning his boots he heard two voices from around the corner. Some talk of a healing job that didn't interest him and so he continued cleaning his armor as they moved on. Just as they were about to pass from sight Isador glance over his shoulder and saw a pair of elves that seemed....familiar somehow.

He took a second glance back after they were gone, trying to place those faces. Despite his best efforts Isador couldn't seem to recall where he had seen them before. He did however notice that those two were heading to the same tavern he had just left. A place that two young elves wouldn't usually be seen frequenting. Something in his gut told Strauss that something wasn't what it seemed....and he had learn to trust that feeling.

After cleaning off the rest of the blood and tossing the bucket back in the well he dried off his face and made his way back to the tavern. He walked in with the same calm yet dangerous demeanor as he did before, the few other patrons looked at him uneasily but said nothing. Isador looked about the room and saw that the two elves weren't to be seen but saw the entrance to the stormcellar. He looked to see the bartender busy with a drunk patron and saw his opportunity. Isador entered the stormcellar and made his way down the staircase to as the din of the crowd grew louder. As he came to the cavernous fighting arena he saw a dwarf and a man wearing a kilt fighting in the pit. Might want to place a bet or two...later though... Such a match wasn't seen everyday which made Isador watch the fight as he walked around the room looking for what gave him that gut feeling of trouble brewing.

Leaving Orzammar - Mountain path to Redcliffe

Commotion bustled in the streets of Orzammar as the dwarves and their few allowed guests conducted their business and lived their lives in the great stone walls of the city. It had been some time since the elf had awoken in the infirmary of a dwaven clinic. He was lucky to have been given a clean bill of health free of the taint, despite the spilling of some much blood from wardens and darkspawn alike. He didn't fully recall the entirety of the ordeal, but the wardens he travelled into the city with had since moved on, returning to Vigil's Keep most likely. He spent his days of recovery enjoying dwarven ale and mead in the local taverns, but after having blown through all but his last few sovereigns he felt it about the time to return home. In many ways he envied the dwarves. They carried such a rich and recorded history, still had remnants of their once vast empire. Their traditions still continued to this day. Sure they shared the depths with darkspawn and most never saw the sky but they never knew the bitter hand of subjigation. The loss of an entire civilization and their way of life.

Zasalim looked over the contents of his satchel and figured he had enough supplies to survive any battles on the journey back. He could always forage and hunt along the way, but spent a couple dozen silvers on nug jerky and crackers to snack on. He had offers for work, but was unwilling to get mixed up in the internal politics of the city, the carta, or the Deep Roads expiditions. He was starting to forget what it was like on the surface under those huge ceilings, and had no clue what time of day it was. His time in the taverns wasn't wasted though. He heard all kinds of news from the drunken patrons. Most bore little significance to anyone outside of Orzammar but every so often he heard news of situations brewing on the surface. Some where common phenomenon and other things were most troubling.

The Circle tower and it's templars were on the way back, but avoidable. He didn't feel like getting involved in affairs that didn't involve him and what apostate willingly helps templars anyway? The town of Redcliffe was also on the way and a welcome rest stop he planned to take on his journey to the Revas'Thala. The division and fighting between the Quel'Elhen and the Dalish had to be settled soon before the Brecilian forest erupted in civil war and they risked the Veil being torn asunder and chaos haunt the region again. That was a consequence neither side seemed to fathom, but history had a way of repeating itself to those who didn't learn from it. Once he was back on the surface Zasalim took a deep breath of the fresh air and took in the view for a few moments. Once he was satisfied, the high elf mage started his trek south towards Redcliffe and home.

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My Poetry and More!

John coolly raised his hand and gave Bill the finger, his own feet crossing over each other as he stepped around, keeping his distance from Bill. It was one thing to give up his pride, that was cheap, but to willingly take a kick in the balls. Nah. His eyes glanced up as the coat billowed in the air towards him, and his hand reflexively opened for it. His mind ticked away though. It was pretty obvious what was about to happen here, which left a few choices. On one hand, it really was a good coat, and if he took the hit, he could probably just stay down and walk out with nothing less than a sore jaw. On the other hand, his eyes looked down, seeing under the coat. To most, it wouldn't matter, but as far as thieves went. he'd never hear the end of it if he let a ploy like this sucker him, and of course they wouldn't act like they believed him no matter what. Firstly, thieves lied, secondly, they liked to dig each other no matter what, thirdly, it was a cut-throat business. The worse he looked, the better everyone else did...But, he wasn't going to win this fight. Not without his tools. If he just let this draw out, he'd eventually get smacked out, and it'd be boring too. Nothing special, just a dull little mark against him that'd be impossible to rub out. So.

John caught the coat and felt everything flash out a moment later. After that he found himself on the ground with the coat in his hand and an aching jaw. He stayed down. Looking up at the roof grumpily as he rotated his jaw.

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

Arriving in Denerim, then the Underground Arena

Vovin stepped past the large gates that marked the entrance to Denerim, his eyes attempting to scan over everything and everyone. While the Order was not lacking in numbers, the sheer size and population of Denerim easily dwarfed his home's. People bustling by, merchants shouting their wares, all of this fascinated Vovin. It was so much...more...than the texts and his teachers had described it as. Despite his wonder, he tried to focus. The trip down from the mountain had been a tiring one, despite the Order providing him with a horse and ample supplies. He was leading said horse, laden with supplies, towards a nearby Inn. After tying up his horse, Vovin pushed open the door to the Inn and stepped inside. As the spirit warrior navigated the crowded tavern, he noticed the stormcellar and the number of people that seemed to be frequenting it. After paying for a room, Vovin made his way towards the cellar, his black draconic armor proving useful in intimidating the more rambunctious patrons out of his way. Vovin fell in step behind another armored warrior. Something about this particular person unnerved Vovin, but he quickly forgot the feeling when he saw the arena set up. His eyes widened and a grin broke out across his face. "Oh wow." was all he said as he watched the two combatants duke it out. He leaned against the railing and gave a cheer for the dwarf, the obvious underdog. "Come on, get him! Duck, weave, you can do- awwwww." Vovin yelled, reflecting the sentiments of several other members of the crowd as the dwarf hit the floor. Despite this, Vovin was still excited. He had forgotten his weariness, and was now full of energy. Maybe he would have a go in the ring if the dwarf didn't get up.

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Mountain path to Redcliffe

As the elf came walking down the mountain side he came upon a peculiar stand off of sorts. He couldn't hear a word of it, but the tension was palpable. Just on the other side of Lake Calenhad he knew he had to be careful of showing his magical talents, but was willing to do whatever necessary if all else failed. Under further inspection he could make out an armored Quel'Elhen, a Qunari warrior, and a weird looking Darkspawn.... and they were talking?

He couldn't believe his eyes, but by instinct or PTSD he was already enchanting. His first two spells were defensive. These spells he owed his very life to. As he finished his casting a small portion of his mana pool was reserved. His skin began to harden, gaining a rough finish despite remaining as flexible as his skin ever was. He also began to emanate Arcane energy. This energy formed a protective bubble around him, only made visible by the air distortion at the edge of the barrier.

He wasn't sure whether or not he should interfere, but proceeded with caution anyway. As he got closer he noticed two downed people and firmed up the grip on his staff. Attack strategies popped into his head, but most of them too destructive for the number of people in the blast zone. It all didn't quite add up though. There was no fighting, but two of them had been disabled already. Rather than destroy a target, Zasalim figured detainment a better choice and a force field was just the tool for the job. He need only get close enough to use it on the darkspawn.

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My Poetry and More!

Valmyria Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe


Val flinched inside at Devan's response. It hurt her more then she thought it would. It wasn't the words, but the lack of trust in her; the doubt, the ignorance. Dammit, that's just how all of the other Warden's will act too. Filthy human, she thought to herself. Since when did I give such a fu- ohh, yeah... Warden Commander. He wasn't the sort of person that cared about honor. At least from what she could tell. The Qunari... would find it odd, but knew the value of a sword and of honor. The mage, she didn't know what his reaction would be. Possibly the same as the human's, if not harsher for their race's differences and tensions. Even being a Grey Warden didn't curb it that much. She'd be surprised if he supported he actions, or at least, didn't care.

The former Ranger, now Commander of the Grey, lowered her weapons completely, and sheathed the Oathkeeper. It was the only one that had its scabbard on her. The Sword of the Warden's scabbard was still strapped to Clippers. She hadn't quite figured out how she was going to carry all of her weapons at once where they wouldn't be cumbersome or restrictive to her movement, but that was petty detail that could be taken care of latter. "Devan," she said in a warning tone. "Trust me."

She felt something again. For a moment, she thought it was darkspawn, but quickly realized that it was a different "sense" that was going off. her Ranger skills and sense weren't as rusty as some people thought. It was something else. Like they were being watched. Valmyria slowly turned around, away from Zha'Ghren. While she did still have a sword in hand, should it choose to attack, she knew she would be lucky to get it up in time. But she had to use the time she had right now to attempt to defuse the situation and avoid conflict. An idea suddenly popped in her head. She remember a lesson one of her Master-Ranger's had given her. People and creatures attacked sometimes out of fear, and sometimes because they didn't know who they were attacking. It was these incidents that had gotten a lot of people killed. "Make sure you know who you are attacking," he said "And sometimes, its a good idea to let you're attacker know who they are dealing with." She planned just on that.

She put her hand on her hip and rolled her shoulders back, drawing herself to her full height as she slowly turned in a circle. The wind gentle blew her hair back, and whipped her cloak around. The action did a little bit more then just that. It also pulled her blue cloak back, showing the unique emblem that symbolizes her status as a High Elven Warden Commander. That should tell her stalker who they were dealing with. Pretending to observe the rest of her companions, she was actually looking into the woods beyond with her bright blue eyes, searching for danger.

She was getting tired of this day, and little did she know. It had barely started to get interesting.

_________________
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 Side path to Redcliffe

Zasalim had done his best to make his approach as stealthily as he could, but to the survival instincts of a former Ranger he must have seemed all but completely obvious. His stare was far too intense to go unnoticed as he tried to dissect the situation before him. The closer he got the more he felt entranced by the beauty exhibited by this fine specimen of his race's female gender before him. Valmyria was tall and slim, yet had curves in all the right places.

When she turned away from the darkspawn he got the feeling that he had been made and sure enough the young beauty began to posture up and gave him a bit of a show as she pivoted in a full circle. He admired her cloak and the stylized armor of their people but couldn't quite remember exactly where he'd seen this before. It didn't dawn upon him until he caught a glimpse of her unique emblem denoting her as the a Quel'Elhen Warden-Commander, the first to be exact. Portions of his recent ordeal began to comeback as well as his time in Revas'Thala before setting out with a company of Wardens.

"Valmyria Windstrider" he said loud enough to be heard by her and the group with her as he walked out into the open along the path. He drew closer as he spoke, his guard seemingly down, but remaining alert and vigilant to his surroundings. He didn't know what the spawn was capable of or why it didn't attack in a seemingly mindless fury as it's brethren most commonly did. "Glad to see the first of us made into a Warrior of the Grey has survived the Deeps to fight another day...." he paused, his movement along with his speech. "I am Zasalim, an ally to you and your Order." He looked a bit puzzled as he glanced at the strange darkspawn for a moment before focusing back upon the High elf battle maiden.

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My Poetry and More!

Marcus Hammerstrike - Denerim; Above the underground blood pits. (Arena)



In a dark corner of a bar nobody really knew about sat a man whos age was well past his prime. The lighting was dark but there was clearly a small light at the mans mouth, a lit pipe and plenty of smoke to boot. A sip, a puff, a sip, a puff. On and on it went as he eyed the 'meal' infront of him. He'd asked for a steak but that clearly wasn't what was on his plate. For starters, it wasn't even beef.
He really didn't care, truth be told, but it was the principal of the matter that offended him.

The pipes ember grew redder and faded just as quickly as Marcus took a deep inhale of the rich tobacco, more than one set of eyes had noticed that it wasn't cheap crap stuffed into his pipe. Likely a few had even thought about mugging him for it then and there. Who brought that kind of premium to a shithole like this they must have all thought. Why not just take it from the elderly man? His long grey beard certainly told them enough about his age to guess just how old.

Nobody would try it, and he knew it. The poor idiot who'd tried no more than 10 minutes ago was still stuck in the broken tavern wall like a wet noodle, a clear indication that there would be no tolerance for that sort of behavior. If that wasn't enough to deter most assailants already, two silver hammers gleamed ever so faintly below the folds of his long cloak. Most didn't notice it when you looked at what rested on the bench he sat. It was a mace that was nearly 4 feet long, with a thick and well kept solid steel brick resting on the end of it.


"Oi, Barkeep." The man at the bar didn't flinch despite himself, but seemed to have a grudging respect for the older gentleman. "What the hell do you want now?" The barkeep practically wheezed.

SLAM The plate all but exploded when it hit the wall opposite the barkeep, splattering questionable meat and vegetables everywhere.

"I want. A steak. Made that clear when I came in, aye? 15 silver pieces not enough for you these days?" His tone was deathly serious, but it was clearly an empty threat. The barkeep didn't have to know that. With a tiny whimper, he whistled and called something to the back. A few minutes, and two apologies, went by and the desired food product sat comfortably on his plate. Probably had the idiot in the back run off into the market and fetch him one!

Hopefully some idiot didn't decide to interrupt his meal, or his mood.



Zha'Gren - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe


The elf. Intruder. Sneaky assailant. Magic. THREAT. Despite the newfound follower to her little group, Val would quickly find that sneaking up on Zha'Gren was never a good idea. He knew the mage was coming, had known it some time ago in fact and probably passed him while getting to the ranger in the first place, still.. Instincts in the jungle were the threaded line between a blade in your chest or a blade in theirs.
Zha still had his blade.

A simple greeting was his entrance? After displaying hostility? Seemed similar to himself in that same way but for different circumstances... The mage on the ground was a mistake of circumstance and misunderstanding. This one would be different! He might harm the woman in some way and deny Zha'Gren his rightful honor at the front of the warpack! That would not go over well.


The elfs eyes slipped from Zha'Gren to the woman for the briefest of seconds, likely he was observing her in a less than formal way.. Typical for his kind.
There was a brief blur of motion followed by the sound of choking, too quick for anyone to have reacted properly to it.

In Zha'Grens hand was the elven mage, the strong hand clamping hard on the fools throat enough to prevent casting. Magically enhanced skin and protection didn't work with Zha'Gren around, not this close atleast. The magic could turn a blade or stop an arrow, maybe even take a bit of the sting from a hammer swing, but it was still flexible. That meant you could be choked to death like an animal. That was the intention here apparently. Zha'Gren held his choke hold and gave out a blood chilling roar.

If he wanted the threat dead it could have done so by now, but it didn't... It was waiting for Val to give it the ok. Zasalim would likely realize what it was doing here. Protecting Val.

_________________
"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

Mountain path to Redcliffe

He'd been careless, distracted by fantasies of carnal pleasures and common courtesies enough to be fall his current situation. Having survived the Deep Roads to be choked into the Creator's embrace by a darkspawn hunter. Surely this spawn had some knowledge about him, aiming for the neck, restricting speech and air. Many novice and apprentice mages needed to speak enchantments to get acquainted with the art of spellcasting. He was no novice and didn't need such conventions to do his magic. All it took was the thought of it, even the slightest move of hand to cast. He was Quel'Elhen, magic flowed in his very veins.

The experienced mage remained calm in this predicament, even as Zha'Ghren released a blood curdling roar. He resorted to holding his breath even as his airflow was severely diminished. Appearing to be succumbing to this style of attack he subsequently allowed his staff to slip for a moment hitting the runed pommel upon the ground. He simultaneously launched a mind blast to give him some separation from the darkspawn while in his place a pair of stone spikes sprang from the earth, each gunning for the darkspawn's neck in a pincer attack. He took a moment to catch his breath as he crouched into staff wielding stance with his Stone Clever in ready position. He might have been taken off guard once, but he wouldn't allow it again.

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My Poetry and More!

Amir, admittedly, once he was done sterilizing bandages for Laila had ended up draped over the railing to watch the fight with interest. It wasn’t as if he’d be much use to the process of curing the injured, his bedside manner was absolute shit and he had none of the talent for healing that she possessed in spades. While she tended to the head wound of her current patient he stayed quiet so as to not interrupt Laila’s concentration on the task at hand. The man in the kilt and the dwarf were both decent fighters as far as he could tell, though neither was playing fair entirely. Not that you could expect such things when you were hanging about underground pit fights.

When Laila spoke up he looked back at her and shrugged. “They’re doing the usual thing, trash talk and circling around one another. The dwarf tried to punch the human in the balls but either he’s a woman in disguise or he’d got something protecting him down there. Then he stole the dwarf’s coat. Maybe he thinks it’ll go with his skirt?” He said with a wicked grin. A sudden burst of noise in the crowd drew his attention back to the ring just in time to see the dwarf go down.

“The dwarf’s down.” Amir got up from his position by the railing and sat down next to Laila. “…If he comes up, I’ll buy you that book on the history of the Tevinter Imperium you were eying in the bookshop if you ask if dwarven women have beards.”

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Zha'Gren - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe


He'd give the man credit where it was due, most people lose their focus when getting their neck throttled like this but the man was either very experienced or had something ready beforehand. Probably both. The mind blast was powerful but it wasn't effective, force of will and sheer determination won those fights. He didn't even stagger as the spell went over him.

The first spell was a warning that the throat crushing wasn't effective, if it could cast one spell it could do so with another. It wouldn't give it the chance for a next one. As the staff hit the ground the beast exploded into motion again, though he released his grip on the mage, he spun in a complete circuit to grab his scimitar before lunging back in at the mage. A primitive barking noise escaped from below the bone mask and one of the various skulls on Zha'Gren flared to life for the briefest of seconds.

Again the clever darkspawn had the mages throat but it wasn't as tight this time. Instead, the scimitars sharp blade tip pricked just over it's thumb. A single drop of blood wetting it's edge.
The skull was a totem that weakened magic's efficiency when activated, the strange shield on Zasalims skin. One little push.

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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

Valmyria Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe

It was comforting to see a fellow Qule'Elhen, but there was something sickly about his appearance. He seemed familiar. She might have seen him somewhere before but...

Then he said his name. Zasalim. She had heard it before, even seen him a few times as she was training as a Ranger. He was something of a legend, a roguish man who declined acceptance into the Rangers and the Wardens. He lived life on his own free will, learning the skills of magic and battling forces of evil wherever they laid. An idol to young boys from Revas'Thala, a dashing figure to women, and a tale of adventure for travelers. He'd turned down what she had become. She snorted slightly at as the idea, no more of a discovery or a realization of fact. Somewhere deep down inside of her, it hurt. Pained with... betrayal? Or feeling like someone thinks they were too good for her lifestyle, and just... just. Let it go Val, stop taking everything so damn personally.

She noted him checking her out. Yes, she knew she was a fine specimen of the female High Elves, and often used it as an advantage to the weaker beings. But before she could comment back to him, or do anything, the darkspawn hunter flew past her and straight at the mage. Soon they were in a brawl. Valmyria couldn't believe this. Is this going to happened wherever they went? She stepped forward to the fight, The Warden-blade held tightly in her hand. Those hot springs were sounding better, and better with every passing moment.

"Zha'Gren!" she shouted. "ENOUGH! Dropped the mage. I know him , he isn't here to cause trouble." She turned her attention to Zasalim, sword extended towards him. "I know of you Zasalim, and it seems you know me as well. What brings you here?" she asked of him with some kindness in her voice at an attempt to mask her irritation at the events that had been unfolding.

_________________
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, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe


With a low snarl, Zha reluctantly dropped the mage and did a small hop backwards but kept the long scimitar in it's right hand firmly infront of it and clearly a little anxious to make use of it. The single drop of blood was slowly running down the blades edge. Flipping the mask upwards to reveal his face, the long and hideous tongues slithered through the long crooked teeth on his jaw before it opened and let them out fully towards the blade where they slithered lightly along the edge where the mage had his blood on.

Oh how it wanted a little more of a taste. How he hated mages.

Still.. Valmyria had given it an order not to attack so Zha had to respect her wishes. She wouldn't be around all the time though. Honor could be gained still from killing a strong and worthy opponent. Maybe the Qun? No.. Had to be the mage. Mages were disgusting, refusing to wield even a simple knife against a swarm of assailants. Poor reflexes and low stamina made them easy prey aslong as you avoided the magic part.

Better to wait.


Marcus Hammerstrike - Denerim; Above the underground blood pits. (Arena)



Quiet wasn't the word you'd use in a place like this, even above it you could hear the roar of the crowd and the rumbling of the rafters. Private was one of the words you could use, however vaguely. Enjoying his 'quiet' meal turned out to be kind of a waste of time apparently. ALWAYS some idiot comin' in to places like these looking for a fight and always one of them thought it prudent to bother the smoking old man in the corner with the grey beard and the hood.

The idiot in the wall had his buddies come get him, Marcus assumed these were the result of a weak man with weak friends. A crowd. His steak only half done and his pipe still lit, the group sauntered in with blades at their sides. Two axes, three swords, and a dagger? Insulting..

"Hey old man, you got a lot of balls roughing up our buddy here!" The taller one in the front all but shouted. Still a bit inaudible what with the fighting below and the shouting, but atleast he'd heard it. Not a very strong looking man, in his late 20's with spindly appendages and a short haircut. The others with him had the same kind of 'style' to them.
"You hear me old man? I said," The mans axe bit into the table and through Marcus' steak. "HEY OLD MAN." The group had a short laugh, trying their best to look intimidating. Wasn't working.

"You're paying for that steak, kid." Marcus stated calmly, eyeing the axe with disinterest. "I doubt you could afford it though."
"You got a deathwish old man?" One of the others chimed in, drawing his sword. The others followed suite.
"Lets teach this old bastard what it means to have a little RESPECT!" The one with the axe shouted, raising it from the table for an overhead chop, his friends sweeping in to block off any defensive routes Marcus could make. They failed to respect two simple things that should have been very obvious.

The bartender was ducking. Marcus wasn't.

With a growl that turned into a roar as he stood, Marcus shoved the bolted table right from the floor and into the attackers infront of him and sent them to the floor in a tangled mess. Out came Marcus' silver warhammer with a WHOOSH of retreating air as it sailed through the air into an attackers sides. He didn't hit the fellow with the hammer or spike head, but with the silver handed just below it, not fatal but still devastating. A crash and the sound of breaking glass accompanied the idiot with the daggers flight through the kitchen door.

Marcus put his opposite hand on an axe wielders face and pushed, him and some other idiot stumbled into each other before tripping to the floor in a heap of confusion. Right hook to the jaw and a few loose teeth, another assailant hit the floor and didn't get up.

Now the idiots with the table had gotten up and were angrier than before. Clearly they though numbers would win. Not the brightest fellows. Marcus thought to himself, dropping his silver hammer back into it's loop on his belt in a quick and well practiced motion.

Both hands balled into stocky fists, Marcus went to work in a brutal display of sheer force. Every hit was met with a solid grunt of pain and the rush of air leaving lungs. Two attacks found themselves out a nearby wall into the street or through a window, one crashed into a group of chairs and patrons before scurrying out the door barking out curses.

One more left, the punk who'd started the whole thing earlier. Shaking like a frightened girl.
Out came both warhammers to rest in Marcus' hands, and with a deafening CRASH they thumped into each other with such force that they made the man stumble, fall down, and run racing to the door and into the street. A little wet trail on the floor was all that showed where he'd fallen.


Resting the warhammers again, Marcus looked over the carnage he'd just caused. "All of this for a bit of pipe tobacco... Desperate times..." Marcus sighed, more from the exhaustion of age than of body weariness.


(If that don't get guards up in here, nothing will.)

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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

Mountain path, Orzammar to Redcliffe

Once again he found himself in the clutches of the estranged darkspawn. He wasn't in any particular state to be fighting, still fresh from licking his wounds and half drunk from last nights bar hopping. He still had some skill about him, but was clearly bested here. Once he was released from the choking neck embrace, Zasalim glared hard at the darkspawn, there was a seething hatred shared between them. Each disgusted at the others very existence. He looked even harder at the blood upon its blade. Oh the power he could wield with that life sustaining essence, but the curse of being demonized by all who witness such a feat. It was his own burden and their battle was far from over. On hiatus perhaps, but a small victory the spawn could revel in none the less.

Zasalim stood to his feet and healed his minor flesh wound lest a single blood droplet dare trickle onto his armor. Small or Returning his staff to a fully vertical position, he bowed to the darkspawn then turned his gaze back to Valmyria. "Yes, well, I had travelled to Orzammar accompanied by members of your order. Our party ahead of your own. We were essentially bait, drawing out an arm of the hoard as it where. Many fell to the darkspawn, few of us survived, but I lingered for a bit. I was just heading back to Revas'Thala. I've been meditating on it for sometime now, and something must be done before an all out civil war occurs in the Brecilian wood. I'm sure you have your own matters to attend to Warden-Commander Windstrider, but I wish to accompany you as far as Redcliffe at least. Dangerous roads for a lonely elf such as myself." He explained.

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My Poetry and More!

Denerim: Underground Fight

Laila let out a chime of laughter. "I would have asked anyway, but a bit of incentive never hurts. No going back on your word, now," she teased, scooting over slightly on the rickety wooden bench they sat on and resting her head on Amir's shoulder with the corners of her lips curved in a contented smile. "It's nice, isn't it? Being able to sit down for once."

The curve of her mouth arced downward when her gaze noted the commotion on the far side of the tavern, in a dark corner by the wall adjacent to the entrance where the bar sat. "Maker, some imbecile with a hammer is going stark raving mad down there. Looks like I spoke too soon." She stood up and rushed back to where she had set up her alchemy equipment, hurriedly packing her things. Laila was accustomed to leaving in short notice by now, what with being on the run from templars. Her deft hands shoved a mortar and pestle and various vials of remedies into the pouches of her satchel with the speed of experience. "We ought to take a temporary leave of absence before the guards arrive. I saw a ladder to the roof on the balcony over there by where we came in. We can hop over to the next building until things calm down."

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-- Sketch Blog -- My Art Thread -- DeviantArt --

Denerim: The Bar above the Underground Fights

Almost as if on cue from the ruckus that had just occurred, a large group of soldiers came marching in through the front doors of the tavern. Several of the men were armored with strange looking chest plates and helms with rocky looking exteriors, while the rest only had leather and chainmail to protect them. It quickly became obvious that these twenty some odd troops were not from the Denerim guard and were not there to quell the discord that the recent scuffle may have caused. A few of the soldiers may have given the hammer wielding man a weary look of disgust, however as they trudged along past him they quickly paid no mind to the elder. The man who stood out in front was much better armed and armored than the rest, having a red and white feather sticking out from the top of his rocky helm to signify some kind of leadership position. The man pointed to the basement door and the rest of the soldiers began to file into the poorly hidden entrance.

“No one is to enter. We’re here to collect a bounty and would rather not cause more trouble than needed.” He said out loud, obviously making himself heard so that the patrons of the bar didn’t get any ideas about attempting to get in their way. The man snapped his fingers at two of the soldiers, men who stood guard at the entrance of the basement as he walked through the doors.
…

Denerim: Underground Fights
Bill’s smile had faded somewhat substantially as he watched the Dwarf lay upon the ground waiting for the ten count to be over with. He couldn’t help but shake the feeling that John could have dodged that last attack, or at the very least that he was tough enough to have taken that hit and stood up afterwards. But either way it looked as if the fight was now over, regardless of the reasons why the Dwarf felt it fit to lose at that point. Bill walked over to where the Dwarf lay upon the ground, towering over him for a moment before the smile crept back onto his face.

“Not an honorable victory… but at least now ya know why most fighters don’t wear their fancy coats down here.” He said in his usual cocky manner, though as he said this he held out his arm for the Dwarf to help himself up onto.

“Tell ya what, I’ll go and buy you a drink anyw-“ before Bill could finish there was a soft ‘thrum’ that came out from the side of the ring and before either of the men knew what was happening a quarrel had struck Bill in the shoulder right beneath the collar bone. The suddenness of the attack was enough to drive Bill down onto a knee as he stumbled backwards, growling slightly without so much as even grimacing from the pain. His eyes shot up in the direction of the attacker, widening slightly as he saw several soldiers climbing over the side of the ring, one of whom was now reloading a bolt into his crossbow. He bore his teeth as he stood up from one knee, anger quickly spreading across his face as he saw the armor that these men were wearing.

“New recruits, eh? Kevann!? They don’t even know how to fire a bloody crossbow!?” Bill said from behind clenched teeth, watching as five or six of the soldiers entered the ring with him, one of whom he recognized immediately as they all approached. The rest of the soldiers had started to position themselves throughout the crowd, pushing their way through as they set up in spots to control the crowd. Some even climbed up onto the ledges where the bets were being taken, shoving patrons out of their way as they readied their short spears or crossbows for attack. The man named Kevann walked towards the center of the ring, his two feathers dancing and bobbing with each step he took. His eyes were cold as he watched the wounded fighter bark at him, an even colder smile crept onto his lips before he spoke.

“We’re rebuilding the Stone Knights and the first order of business is to take care of the rebel leader William O’Dim… Men, only rough him up a bit… Commander Marcoh wants him taken alive until he can get his own hands on the bastard... Everyone! Don’t mind us! We’re only here to collect a bounty! We’ll be out of this place shortly, so please do not get in our way!” He said, a cocky grin that matched the one Bill had up until he was shot was strewn across his face as he gave the soldiers their orders. Bill’s eyes twitched slightly as the armored man spoke to him, but this time he wasn’t given a chance to retort. Several soldiers were now closing in on him, between that and the anger he felt towards this Kevann person he had forgotten about the man with the crossbow near the edge of the ring. He was distracted just long enough for the man to finish reloading and take aim once again.

The soft ‘thrum’ of the crossbow being fired filled the ring once again, even if Bill saw it coming he didn’t have enough time to dodge. Bill moved his hand between the bolt and his leg, allowing the quarrel to strike through his hand rather than into his thigh. He was going to need a lot of mobility if he was going to survive this attack. He didn’t waste much time going on the move, rushing headlong into the soldiers that were coming towards him. This sudden charge took many of the soldiers by surprise, not expecting the man to go on the attack after being hit with two crossbow bolts. Some of the soldiers regained their composure quickly enough to attempt a thrust from their short spears, however Bill was surprisingly fast despite his size. He ducked and twisted his way through the soldiers, dodging spears, punching, and shoving the men out of his way as he headed for his target, the man who was still in progress of reloading his crossbow. The man only noticed Bill at the last moment, instinctively reaching down for his shortsword and dropping the bow in order to defend himself. It was a second too late as the back of Bill’s impaled hand came crashing into the man’s throat, splintering off the bolt deep into his jugular and sending the archer reeling backwards in a pool of his own blood. Bill turned to face the other men, grinning wildly as the blood from the archer dripped down his face.

(please at least leave Kevann for Bill to deal with, other than that… Ding ding ding lllleeettttss get readdyyy to RUUUMMBBLLLEEE!!!)
(( Also, just as an aside... these guys are a bit tougher than your rank and file nameless NPC fodder))

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John pulled himself up with the fighters help. Didn't help, but Bill didn't seem the type to drop him halfway, and it was courteous, plus it made things nicer between them and probably would help rather than hinder John's plan to drop a smoke bomb, strip Bill down and rob everyone he could before fleeing. That should make up for the fight thing. But plans changed. John decided that the moment the arrow went into Bill. He simply watched, nodding with respect as the fighter took on the guards. Easy to see what his profession was, but...squad of guards on a wounded man, didn't seem fairt, and since John wasn't fighting with the people outnumbering the other side 10 to 1, he felt he should do something about it. He turned and after two steps leaped out of the ring, diving into the crowd. A pellet flew through the air towards the guards. "Like hell they're just gonna stop with Bill." A gruff voice said loudly amongst the crowd. "Oh lord, another bunch of fricking do-gooders with more brawn than brains. Like we need more of those." A crazed foot just missed the pellet. "Look like a right bunch of bastards if you ask me. Just barging in here like. Even the proper police got the decency to piss off round here. Can't even take a damned drink in peace no more.

John was busy inciting the crowd, taking care to pilfer wallets, spill drinks and push patrons as he did so. And.... The pellet was stepped on and exploded into a foul acrid smoke that stunk worse than anything else. Unless you knew which fruit juice to wash your clothes in, you may as well burn them unless you liked wearing clothes that smelled permanently of slightly off dog and potatoes. That'll do it. muttered John as he weaved towards his friends' table. Eliver was already gone. Probably having taken a few pouches of gold on his way. He made his way to the back exit and a minute later, he'd gotten to the balcony, climbed the ladder and was whistling whilst snacking on the peanuts he'd taken from a table and waiting to see if anything interesting happened. Like if anyone looking slightly weighed down with valuables but not with weapons fleeing from the ruckus.

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

Denerim: Underground Arena


As the fight came to a bit of an anticlimactic end Isador finally saw the two elves he came down to find on a bench. Before he could make his way over a group of armed men pushed past him towards the center of the ring, one firing a bolt at the human fighter. The man was tough, having taken two shots and still holding his own as a putrid smoke began to fill the room but it couldnt get rid of the smell of blood....and that was all it took to set off the Black Axe. With a sly grin Isador hefted his Axe from over his shoulder and made his way into the arena behind one of the armed men and brought his Axe down to the mans shoulder, hacking almost all the way through his chest. A spray of blood shot out as Isador wrenched his weapon out.

Quickly he took a knife from the mans belt and threw it at one of the men on the ledges, getting him in the eye and sending him to the floor with a thud. Isador let out a hysterical laugh but was cut short as a short spear caught him in his side. "You crazy git! Those were good men!" The spearmen shouted as he twisted the spear in Isador's side to make the pain worse. Isador still smiled wickedly and stared at the spearmen. "You like inflicting pain eh? Lets see how you handle it." He said as he activated his Aura of Pain. Everyone within a small area around the ring would feel as though they had a spear in their side twisting around.

Marcus Hammerstrike - Denerim; Above the underground blood pits. (Arena)


The guard was here already? What were they outside waiting for a gods damned signed that it was a good time to solve a problem he didn't need help solving.. Wait a second, these guys don't look like any guards I've seen in town. The armor was all wrong. First off it was craggy, looked like rock. Now where do I know that from.. As he pondered, it came to him the moment the captain called his name. "Bill!"

Marcus didn't know the man personally or all that well beyond the nickname 'Boulder Bill' but a few years ago he and Marcus had crossed paths and a few bits of armor, along with more than a few drinks, were traded with each other. What had that Boulder brain gotten himself into now. Betrayal? Treason? Did it really matter? These guys weren't here to play fair.

"Back to your seat, Old man, I'd hate to have to take that nice pipe from your corpse." One of the guards at the door mentioned. That decided the course here. Nobody threatened the pipe.

With a shrug, Marcus went back to his destroyed table. Not for his food though! Grabbing the massive hammer from beside the hole in the wall in his right hand, he spun and let fly with the silver forgehammer, a silver projectile that was more than just shiny. It was HEAVY!
CRAAACK
The helmet of a guard caved inwards and the man dropped, the hammer falling beside him to the floor to crack the floorboards. To his credit, the other guard was more than prepared for a sudden rush like this when chasing after whatever it was they were here for and brought up his shield, the sword in his opposite hand starting to leave the sheathe.

"Heave," Marcus breathed as he brought the massive hammer behind his head and gave a tremendous swing as he exhaled. "Ho!" Shields were meant to take a hit, they were never designed to stop a house from falling on you. That's probably what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his great two-hander. It didn't help much that in the years of traveling he'd learned how to be more than just a hammer wielding smoke machine, he'd learned how to use a bit of offensive magic. The one he enjoyed most let his attacks pass right through armor such as this.

The door behind the guard exploded as the limp fellow all but shot through it, his unconscious body rolling down the steps in a loud clatter of armor and grunts, probably knocked out a few guards on the way down.. Sucks to be them. Retrieving the silver hammer to his belt loop, Marcus advanced down the stairs.

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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 UNDERGROUND FIGHTS.

"Well mate, this is certainly interesting," replied the large man as he lifted his ale to drink. The two still remained in their corner, watching the brawl unravel with mild interest. "I sure as hell ain't paying you that bet now, deal's off."

"Ohh come on," whined the smaller man. "The dwarf clearly was going down for the count!"

"I said no."

"Well... damn. Guess we have to watching this now too, ehh?"

"The boss needs a champion. Don't forget that. One of these guys could defiently pull it off... assuming no one is killed."

"True... Do ya think this will interfere with me getting my steak?"


Valmyria Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe

She couldn't believe it. Should she ever, or more like when she decides to go increase recruitment rates in the Grey Wardens, she should just come up here and open up a booth. By the Gods, she left Orzammar how long ago and had now five companions with her? At this rate, she'd have an army built up before she even gets to Redcliffe.

"Yes, I knew of the 'bait' party, but I wasn't informed anyone had survived it," replied Valmyria. The Commander lowered her weapon. The bait party was used to recon purposes, diversionary tactics, and also completely secondary objectives or even the primary should the first team fail. In this case, there were to draw off the primary arm of the horde and allow her group to strike at the very heart, dealing maximum damage. Whatever had happened to them, they nearly failed their mission as Val barely made it out alive and was chased all the way back to the safe zone. "I myself had to.. recover in Orzammar. It seemed as if the arm was coming back to the rest of the horde a lot fast then we had anticipated... It's strange that you weren't mention to me." She had some suspicions about the circumstances, but it didn't matter. It was getting crowded making her uneasy. Hell, would one more really hurt? "You are welcome to come with us. Redcliffe was our destination in the first place. The Arl has called for help in reuniting the lands. I intend to see him, aid him if I can, and then possibly be off somewhere else."

"As for Revas'Thala... well." she turned away from him and walked back to her pony. As a Grey Warden, technically she wasn't suppose to get involved in political matters unless it was dire. A Warden's responsibility was primarily the darkspawn. But this was also her homeland. Her people... who also gave her up to the Wardens. The Brecilian Forest was a dangerous place, surly if a tear happened there, then a Blight would be the least of their problems. "Zasalim... I want to help our people. I really do, but I am a Warden, the Commander of the Wardens. We can't get involved in politics unless we really must. Our focus is the darkspawn, and..." She stopped and bit her lip. She was hesitant to share this information. Very, very few of the Wardens knew about this. And it was the one thing that killed her the most about her new life. "The Dalish... have called for Grey Warden support. They are invoking the treaty that was renewed during the end of the Fifth Blight... their specific treaty allowed them to call upon the Wardens for aid. I am bound to honor the treaty unless I can find a different solution..." she trailed off as she place the Warden Sword back into its scabbard. It hurt her to think that she might end up at the head of an army to march forth and destroy her own homeland. "The Arl might be able to lend his aid, or at least counsel."

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Snafu's Mercypostle.

Underground Arena

Vovin fell silent as the dwarf stayed down. The young Spirit Warrior had a hunch that the dwarf had not truly lost and was merely done with the fight. Regardless, Vovin felt like taking a turn in the ring. As he made his way towards the ring, he took notice of a commotion upstairs. He paused for a moment and turned to look at the entrance to the cellar when the sound of the scuffle fell silent. This moment allowed him to observe the entrance of the group of guards. He cocked his head at the appearance of so formal a group in a place like this. Then he saw one readying a crossbow. "What the..." he muttered before a bolt was fired, zipping overhead to lodge itself in the shoulder of the man in the arena. Vovin clenched a fist. He saw no indication that this man deserved that kind of treatment, and the injustice of such a large amount of people versus one infuriated him, and on top of that he was unarmed while they had crossbows and spears. In short, this would not fly! Vovin's normally gentle green eyes became sharp and fierce. He figured that using his full strength in a place like this would draw unwanted attention. Maybe he could get away with it if he only channeled the dragon's spirit a small amount, just enough to give him an edge. It remained to be seen. Striding up to the nearest armed guard, Vovin tapped him on the shoulder. That's a bit unfair, don't you think?" he asked as the guard turned around. Before the man could respond, Vovin delivered a punch to the man's gut, his armored fist only serving to increase the pain the man would feel. Quickly smashing the crossbow away with his other hand, Vovin then proceeded to grip the stunned man, lift him up, and slam him head first into the ground headfirst. The guard did not stand up. His actions, while impressive, had also drawn the attention of three other guards.

Vovin simply charged at them with a battle cry. One of the soldiers readied a spear, intending to impale Vovin. Deciding that he would have to use some of his power, Vovin let the spirit of the dragon lend him its power. A faint, wispy, orange glow began to emanate from Vovin, and his eyes gained a similarly colored translucent glow. Said aura was only really noticeable up close, as the Dragon Knight was keeping the spirit suppressed. However, it was enough to allow Vovin to slip past the guard's spear, and deliver a bone crunching punch to his face. The other two came at Vovin, although with some hesitation. The combination of the glow, the black armor, and Vovin's fierce eyes served to strike fear into his foe's hearts. It was around then that some sort of smoke bomb went off behind the guards Vovin was fighting. The unfortunate pair were distracted long enough for Vovin to close the distance between them. The one on the right received an armored foot to the knee, said knee collapsing quickly as the man let out a wail of pain. The other found his spear torn from his hands and the blunt end used to antagonize his face. With both enemies down, Vovin tossed the spear aside. Suddenly through the noise he heard a vicious exchange of words.



"What does he mean by...ARGH" was all Vovin managed to murmur to himself before he felt a spear in his side. But when he darted aside and checked the "wounded" area, he found no puncture or spear. Thoroughly confused, Vovin stepped back to where he had been a moment before. The pain returned with a start. Grimacing, the Dragon Knight stepped back,and the pain vanished. Locating the man who had threatened to "share" the pain, Vovin yelled "Hey cut that out, some of us are trying help here!" As soon as he finished his sentence, another guard lunged at him. With the aid of the Spirit Veil, Vovin merely twisted his torso to avoid the attack, grabbed the spear, and thrust the blunt end back into his attacker's stomach. The fight wasn't over yet.

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Denerim: Shit getting real

It was no surprise to Bill that things spiraled out of control the way that they did, in fact he was expecting things to only get worse from this point onwards. Perhaps that is what caused the man’s smile to form back onto his face, that cocky and confident smile that seemed to know more than everyone else. The crowd immediately began to retaliate against the intruding soldiers, after all most of these people weren’t about to lose their money or their favorite fighter to a bunch of low life mercenaries. Bill had John to thank for some of the discord, he could faintly hear his shouts coming from amongst the crowd, inciting the chaos even further. That certainly made things easier for Bill in the short run, but it would complicate things once the guards arrived.

He didn’t have any time to worry about that part though, he had to worry about the thugs that were right in front of him rather than the ones who could arrive at any moment. His smirk didn’t seem to bother Kevann though, nor did the putrid smell or chaos that erupted around him. Like Bill, Kevann was trained the original stone knight way, a bit of pain or disgusting smells wouldn’t do much to bother. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the knights, but they most certainly were not letting themselves fall apart. They only showed a mild discomfort at the pain and smell, but otherwise they seemed completely able. Bill’s eye twitched slightly as he glanced over at one of the patrons that were fighting, the man who had activated his aura of pain once a spearman nearly gutted him. It was certainly an irritating feeling to be sure, and Bill spat into the dirt once just to bolster his fortitude.

“I should have been better prepared to fight you Bill, I wasn’t expecting an all out brawl like this… but no matter…” Kevann said as he drew out his sword, raising it high into the air as he shouted something of a war chant.
This made Bill dive into action, he quickly ripped the arrow from his shoulder with a spurt of blood and flung it with an incredible force. Bill’s aim was true, striking the man who was stabbing Isador in the head and killing him instantly, just moments before a shockwave echoed throughout the arena. Those who weren’t tough enough would have easily been knocked off their feet and everyone still standing would have noticed that the soldiers now had a faint glowing aura around them.

“Ah, now this should help…” Kevann said as he looked back down, seeing the spearman drop dead before his buff could reach him.
“Tch… Bill, you and that damned ring of yours…” the man said, his eyes narrowing back at the fighter.
Bill simply smiled and said.
“What ring?”

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Mountain path, Orzammar to Redcliffe

He could almost feel the hands of fate at work. It was an epic feeling as though the things happening now would be told of for generations. The situation was dire throughout the land of Ferelden. New conflicts were at hand and needed solving. Problems having brewed upon the smoldering embers of old grudges and new arguments. The fate of the crown and nobility in utter turmoil, an Arling in dire straits, a broken race divided and drifting apart , A Circle of Magi facing complete annihilation, and darkspawn on the rise. They stood at the precipice of a vibrant melting pot of issues, a potent powder keg ready to blow.

"Such as things are..., it would seem that we each have a path to walk before us. Some walk it willingly, owning their lot in life while others are dragged into greatness kicking and screaming." he smirked "I could only imagine how it feels, divided between duty and country. I couldn't fathom the decisions you'll be facing, but you may prove to be the one capable of uniting us and the Dalish elves.

"We are simply the next chapter in the history of our race, labeled heretics over religious differences. We all share the same ancestry. Each group simply a record of the history of our race. And in different ways each is keeping our language, our customs, and our people alive for generations to come. We are your allies, something you may need if the shemlin ever forget why we need Grey Wardens again. Rest assured though, should Revas’Thala be torn asunder Quel’Elhen will endure. I can only pray it never comes to that."

Zasalim then cleared his throat, "We can speak further on these matters later, I only wish extend my thanks for allowing me to travel with you and to be of service for the time being. To Redcliffe, by your lead of course" he said with a bow.

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My Poetry and More!

Marcus Hammerstrike - underground fighting arena



Chaos is such a splendid word in some circumstances, others it was a description of the situation as a whole; this was one such time. Everywhere had brawlers repelling the stone stooges while some seemed unphased by the brutality and violence around them almost entirely. Marcus wasn't there for the brawl or the bets, he was here to make sure his beast of burden was still able to carry what Marcus needed to have carried. Bill was in the ring and unarmored, worse he had no weapon against some tougher customers than a mere brawler.


"Yet again do I find myself drawn into a fight that shouldn't be happening." The old man moaned to himself at the idiocy of it all. No other choice was open, fight or abandon bill. That big oaf owed Marcus some drinks still. Fight it was. With a roar, Marcus stumbled a knight caught unaware with a strong fist to the head, freeing a line of sight. Another growl and a wordless battle cry Marcus threw his great hammer end over end into the arena. Directly into bills reach.

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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

Well...The roars of the meatheads and the cries of those unfortunate souls who were born with a brain instead of pure bone were still being heard. John reached for his pockets and wondered whether to bother using a tinderbox, matches or the rare, but useful lighter. Matches were decided, being faster than the tinder, and cheaper than the lighter. A few hard kicks from steel-capped boots broke through a layer of the roof. John peered in to look around. Thatch. Perfect. he muttered, he put the matches head to his chin, scratched it down and dropped it in the hole. He stared at it, making sure it was catching alight before moving on. He repeated the process a few more times, adding in more holes to increase ventilation before walking over to the edge of the roof, the smoke was billowing out merrily now. Only a matter of time before someone from outside noticed and the people inside cottoned on somehow and left. He dropped off into an alleyway, and then walked round to the front of the tavern. He pulled up his mask, stood at the entrance for a moment, then rushed in. FIRE! THE ROOFS ON FIRE! GET EVERYBODY OUT! GET OUT! FIRE! he yelled in panic, and then walked back out to watch the ants scurry out of the burning hive.

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