Mountain Pass -- Road to Redcliffe

Arvashok slowly lifted the downed mage Lainolen over his shoulder, watching as yet another mage was making his way down the road. A non-warden, at that. This was something else he and Zha'Gren could agree on: Mages were dangerous and lacking any real honor. He was somewhat fine with Lainolen as he had proven his worth by Joining, earning honor in Arvashok's eyes. But this new one, Zasalim... His corrupt tongue wagged far too much. Who could ever tell how many curses and demons had slipped into their ears because of this mouthy fool?

Devon slowly walked his way over, eyeing the Qunari while putting an arm around Zasalim. "Oi, you might wanna shut up... The big fella don't like mages much -- upbrungin' an' all. So alls yur jabberin' has him on edge... 'E might e'en cut your tongue off." He gestured to Arvashok as the large fellow was staring straight at Zasalim. "Just keep it ta whispers, and no where near 'em, an' I's wager he'll ignore you exist at all." He slipped his arm off the new arrival, nearly stumbling over a moment before catching his balance and walking over to check on Lainolen.

Arvashok stood still beside Valmyria's horse, almost completely motionless. You would think he was a statue were it not for Lainolen's body rising a bit each time the Qunari breathed. The angle of his head was directed right toward Zasalim, showing he had the large warrior's complete attention.

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Burning Underground Arena

Vovin, quickly seeing that the man responsible for the aura of pain had no intention of turning it off, opted instead to simply maneuver his way out of the circle's effect. Utilizing his Spirit Veil, Vovin managed to make the act of ducking and weaving past attacking guards and patron's alike seem effortless. Another guard rushed towards him, a short sword raised above his head, readying to try and cleave Vovin's exposed head. Still not wanting to draw the great-sword on his back for fear of collateral damage, Vovin simply crossed his arms and raised them in front of him. The sword impacted his arms, but could not cut through the thick armor. With a quick snarl Vovin turned up the power on his veil, intensifying the aura effect. The guard's eyes widened with surprise and fear, the combination of Vovin's draconic black armor and orange-red aura was a truly intimidating sight. Suddenly, however, the guard's fear disappeared as he gained an aura of his own. With a roar he began to push hard on Vovin's arms with his sword. Vovin gritted his teeth and uncrossed his arms with a sudden burst of force, effectively disarming the guard. A veil-enhanced flurry of punches quickly followed, and the guard fell like a sack of bricks.

It was then that Vovin heard a shout and noticed the smell of smoke. He looked up and saw flames licking around the edges of the door that people were scrambling out of. "A brawl, a horrid smell, and now fire...yeah i'm done here." Vovin mused to himself. Alternating between slipping past and outright shoving people, Vovin managed to get out of the arena. However, the tavern itself proved more difficult to escape, as the throng of people scrambling to get out made leaving the tavern through the door incredibly difficult. Vovin whipped his head around, trying to locate an alternate escape route. He spotted a nearby window that was not quite large enough to accommodate him, but would suffice. Breaking into as best a run that he could manage with the crowd, Vovin leaped at the window, letting out a loud roar and activating his Dragon Surge. A shockwave of orange-red energy exploded out from Vovin's body as he impacted the window, shattering a hole large enough for Vovin to pass through, but also simultaneously blasting a few unfortunate patrons off of their feet. Mid flight he noticed that a a couple of them did not get up, and his expression darkened with regret. However he did not dwell on this long, and he soon found himself landing on one knee outside, his veil still radiating around him. Vovin rapidly righted himself and deactivated the cloak before he attracted any unwanted attention. This was somewhat futile, as his grand entrance was rather extravagant. Not paying any heed to onlookers, Vovin turned and yelled back inside. "You can escape this way!!"

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Denerim-Underground Arena

With the new buff given to them by their leader the stone armored soldiers began to fight harder and that was exactly what Isador wanted from them, a good fight before he killed them all. Two of the soldiers attacked him at the same time, one going high and the other low. With a quick back step Isador dodged the low strike but was not able to move his head back fast enough to completely dodge the blow, earning him a large gash upon his forehead from the man’s sword. The blood made it hard for him to see out of his right eye but Isador just laughed hysterically. “THAT’S IT! FIGHT FOR YOUR LIVES! IM ABOUT TO TAKE THEM!” he shouted with an almost inhuman ferocity.

Bringing his axe above his head Isador attempted to split the head of the soldier who struck him but was deflected by the man’s shield. However this was a feint and with the momentum of his strike he spun around, bringing his axe at the man with a fast arc and taking off his head. Before the soldier’s corpse could crumple to the ground Isador kicked it at his other opponent, sending him to the ground. Triumphantly Isador put his boot on the man’s sword hand and brought his axe over his head to bury in the soldier’s chest.

As he was about to bring down his weapon Isador spotted the two elves he followed in and a flash of memory froze him where he stood. The memory of the night he slaughtered his superiors and fled the tower of the circle covered in their blood. He was able to remain unseen during his escape….until he ran in to a young elven girl, terrified by the sight of a templar covered in blood. The girl was frozen in fear but did not scream, Isador merely put his finger to his lips “Shhhhh… ” He gestured before running to the door towards his bloody destiny.

“I….remember you…” He said softly as the soldier on the ground reached for his knife with his free hand and plunged it deep in to Isadors thigh, bringing him down to one knee. He tried to cut Isador’s throat during his moment of hesitation but the Black Axe does not stay distracted long. He grabbed the man’s wrist and forced the soldiers hand towards his own throat and slowly made him slice it open. “Close one….” He said as he laughed trying to get back on to his feet.

His pain was great and so was that of everyone around him, but he could tell he was losing too much blood and began to Devour the essence from the slain to heal his wounds but only slightly, the bleeding from his forehead stopped and it slowed from his thigh but it was hard to stand on the leg. After taking a moment to recover he looked about the arena to see the brawl and several patrons looking at him in horror, a common occurrance but noticed smoke beginning to come down from the staircase. “Well that’s just perfect.”

Denerim: Shit got real-er

The bloodied and impaled hand of Boulder Bill reached into a pocket on the inside of his kilt, revealing a simple silver ring. His smirk widened a slight bit as he noticed the expressions on the soldiers start to change, even Kevann’s eyes started to show a hint of worry as Bill made it obvious that he had not been wearing his ring this whole time. It was in this moment of doubt that Kevann realized just how much the chaos was playing against him and his soldiers. He glanced around for a moment, noticing just how many of his troops had fallen victim to members of the crowd. But in a stroke of luck, someone in the crowd started yelling that there was a fire, fanning the flames of the chaos but in the process clearing out the majority of the crowd. Now the only ones who remained were the ones who had been fighting or had somehow been caught up in all this mess.

Dozens of victims lay upon the ground, injured or dead. This didn’t seem to phase Kevann, though as the smoke started to billow down into the cavern of the fighting arena his smile seemed to widen. All of the able bodied soldiers had stayed behind despite the fire starting to wreak havoc, they all still had a mission left to accomplish.

“It seems like you’ve lost most of your support… and in your condition, even with your ring… you don’t stand a chance.” Kevann said in a cool tone, his face showing slight discomfort now at all of the recent happenings.

“Begging for your life won’t do you any good Kevann.” Bill said in a growl, sliding the ring onto his finger and taking a deep breath. His eye twitched slightly as he glanced over to the wounded Isador. ‘Bastard… had to go and get his leg stabbed…turn off that bloody aura already…’ Bill knew that without weapons and armor his mobility was the only thing he had going, but then again he couldn’t exactly complain about someone who had helped kill half a dozen soldiers already.

One of the soldiers came charging towards Bill, even with the pain he seemed quite mobile. Bill was much faster now that he had the ring on, dodging the spear with ease as the soldier attempted to skewer him. The buff that Kevann had used made the solider quite agile as well, despite Bill’s efforts he wasn’t able to land any blows. After a thrust nearly missed clipping Bill in the leg, the man sent his fist through the spear like a knife through hot butter, splintering the shaft and sending his bare hand straight into the man’s front chest plate. The concrete on the chest plate shattered and the metal armor caved in so far that it crushed every last one of the man’s ribs. Bill lifted his hand into the air suddenly, his eyes darting to the side as a second soldier came at him from his blindside. Suddenly what remained of the second solider’s head came flying off of his body in a mangled tussle of mush, hair and armor. Bill now held the massive hammer that Marcus had flung in his direction, he had swung the hammer with such speed and force that it looked like a blur.

Bill glared towards Kevann who had finally taken action, his blade carving upwards as the bodies of his two soldiers fell to the ground beside Bill. Despite Bill’s increased speed, Kevann’s blade managed to swipe a large gash up the man’s chest as he dodged backwards. Bill’s new weapon nearly missed crushing Kevann’s legs, coming so close that it actually chipped a large chunk of concrete from the armor. The two men were in full form now, going at each other with all their might. It quickly became obvious that Kevann was the quicker of the two, much more skilled than any of the other soldiers that had accompanied him to the tavern. He ducked and weaved his way around the massive hammer’s strikes, receiving only glancing blows that chipped and cracked the concrete upon his armor. All the while he was able to land such blows onto his opponent, however Bill had no armor to deflect the slashes.

They were evenly matched, however the lack of armor and the previous injuries were starting to make a negative difference for Bill. He knew that he wasn’t going to win in his condition, even with the help of his ring he needed to do something drastic. The hammer went flying from Bill’s hand towards Kevann, suddenly roaring its way towards the man with a sudden toss from the fighter. It caught Kevann off guard only for a moment, however the soldier managed to dodge the massive hammer enough to avoid any serious damage. One of his shoulder plates was ripped right off of his suit of armor from the blow but Kevann had escaped otherwise completely unharmed as he thrust his sword out towards Bill’s face for a counter attack. The sword suddenly stopped midflight, breaking in half as Bill’s teeth bloodily clenched the tip of the blade. Kevann’s eyes went wide as Bill’s hand grabbed onto the front of his chest plate, tearing it from welds and straps with a sudden pull. As the chest plate went clattering across the floor Bill’s free hand collided with the bare stomach of Kevann, striking it so hard that it forced a large dent into the armor on the man’s back.
Bill spit out the remains of Kevann’s sword, while Kevann spit out blood.

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Amir waited for Laila to get her things packed up and kept a watch on the chaos blooming in the main room while she secured their possessions. This was bad, this was impressive levels of bad that kept getting worse the longer they stood there. Knights on the hunt for the bounty off the kilted man in the ring and suddenly everyone lost their ability to fucking impulse control. “Laila, you might want to hurry up, everything has gone to a particularly ugly Blighted Hell-“ He cut off as he heard her suggestion for where to go and stared at what was between them and then ladder on the balcony.

“Andraste’s tits! Are you trying to get us stabbed by some madman with a sword? If you didn’t notice there are plenty of them out there right now!” The blood mage gripped his staff tighter and tried to calm down, though the clash of steel and the smell of blood in the air didn’t help with that very much. He took a deep breath and steeled himself against the call of the blood in the air. It was energy he could put to use, but he knew the different between could be put to use and should be put to use. Revealing himself as a blood mage in the midst of this madness would only make things worse for the two of them and put Laila in unnecessary danger, and considering she’d escaped the Circle because of him he wasn’t about to make things even harder on them.

Once Laila was ready, all their things packed for yet another quick getaway (sweet Maker was he getting sick of quick getaways) Amir held out his hand to her, the other brandishing his staff like he intended to use it as a blunt weapon. “So, shall we get the fuck out of here before we’re either murdered horribly by the nice men with swords or burnt horribly in the fire?” He asked with forced cheer. Fuck Denerim, there was a reason he hated this place. Nothing good ever happened when he was there.

_________________

Laila rolled her eyes; Amir tended to forget important facts when panic overtook him. "I'm not worried about fire. Not after tutoring you in fire magic."

Just as she reached to take his hand, her eyes wandered amongst the chaos to lock onto a familiar soldier, one she recognized as a former templar. One that she recalled had abandoned the order after she had witnessed the massacre of his sect, a massacre that he had caused. She knew little of him at the time, as he was always sent on retrieval missions rather than given guard duty, but the last she saw of him, he was covered in blood and had an insane look to him that she wanted little to associate with. She remembered that night well; she had been plagued by nightmares brought on by a templar that had assaulted her merely days before, and was headed for the First Enchanter's chambers to discuss the matter. Nightmares were dangerous for a mage, after all, as they compromised one's mental stability. Her mental stability, however, was not aided in the least by the blood covered templar that quietly shushed her before she could utter a squeak of terror as he passed.

Laila told no one of the meeting, besides Amir, and they had agreed to keep it a secret from the rest of the world for fear of being the mad ex-templar's next target. His name was well known by the gossiping mages of the Circle, and Laila heard rumors of his mostly exaggerated exploits often. Many mages thought well of him, viewing him as a vigilante hero, but all Laila saw in him was madness. She knew not the circumstances in which he decided to murder all his brothers in arms, but taking matters into his own hands like that was not the act of a sane individual. At the moment, she would rather not wait around to find out if this man was an ally or an enemy, at least not when he was brandishing intimidating weaponry and even more intimidating skills.

"Shoot! It's the Black Axe! I think he saw me! We need to go while he's distracted!" She grabbed his hand and brandished her staff with her free hand just as he did. "I'll use my ice magic to put out the fires. We'll still go with the original plan!" With that, she rushed off hand in hand with Amir towards the balcony, pushing through the brawling crowd. They soon reached the ladder where she tested the rungs for stability and climbed, holding her skirt and staff with one hand and ascending as fast as her small limbs would allow. Laila coughed as a stray wind brought smoke her way, and waved her wand once she reached the top to send a frigid breeze of cold air over the roaring flames to quell their fury somewhat. "Hurry! Before the roof becomes unstable!" She mumbled a spell and focused the tendrils of magic within her through her gloved fingers and into the cool metal of her staff. The closest rooftop was merely a few feet away. The mage waved her staff at its edge. Sharp crackling chimes of ice magic summoned a thick bridge of ice connecting the two rooftops. The bridge was indented in the center, making it more of a slide than a bridge; a useful feature, as the adjoining rooftop was about a foot lower than the one they stood on. Still, despite the bridge being study, it was rather high up, and peering over the edge made Laila dizzy with vertigo. "Y-You first, Amir."

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

Denerim~

He swirled the last bits of his drink in the fine crystal glass. His armor, large, powerful and intimidating, hung on a rack inside a closet behind him. For now, he wore the simple yet elegant cloths of Teryn. His rune blade sat in its own pedestal. If one was quite enough, they would almost be able to hear voices, faintly. He knew that they came from the blade, forged in the mythical realm of the Fade and thrust into this world by the power of archdemons. But that didn't matter, not yet.

Vern emptied the last of his drink and continued to watch the glowing blaze of a fire as it now began to spread into the buildings around it. Gently stoking his goatee, he considered the events of tonight and how they will affect his plans. The city guard was mobilizing to stop the flame, and his own agents worked quickly to obtain the individuals he wanted. William O’Dim aka Boulder Bill, Laila and Amir, Isador Strauss, Marcus Hammerstrike, Vovin Dranis, and Johnus Johnson. Yes. Fate had picked them out.

A knock at the door got his attention. "Yes. Come in," he replied, still starring out into the city. A man walked in, wearing light armor of a scout.

"My Lord Cousland," he said with a bow. "We found the Warden Commander."

"Good. I assume everything is going according to plan?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Send word for the operation to commence."

"At once, my Lord."

_________________
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.

Marcus Hammerstrike - Sick of the fighting


Marcus watched the fighting in a surreal way, almost like he saw it through someone else's eyes, but decided that the whole thing was just needless. The irony of his fight earlier over a steak and his tobacco would hit him later in a silent manner as it always did. Now was the time to get the big man in the ring out of this place and into somewhere.. Safer. For now. He doubted the rock-head would sit still for more than an hour, 2 if Marcus put him down by force, but that was the least of his worries.

The crowd was thinned out considerably but there was still a few soldiers left milling about, the strange glow seemed to be giving them a boost to armor and a bit of speed, so it made the escape process a little riskier. Looking into the ring, Marcus watched with what he assumed was pride and a tad bit of anger as boulder bill all but snapped a blade with his teeth and layed the attack(s) low with his own warhammer. It was gonna take hours to get all the blood and teeth off the damn thing.. Another grunt and he was off to work.

two soldiers had seen their commander fall in the arena and even now were rushing to, what Marcus assumed was, either see if the officer was still breathing and dispose of the weakened fighter who'd killed him. Laughable as that may be, Bill seemed a tad bit weak from the ordeal and without weapon readily available. Marcus was neither. Up and over he went, landing with a heavy thud behind the two soldiers who turned with a startle but made quick use of their blades.
One blade stabbed him straight in the chest and the other slashed at his stomach. Neither found any purchase behind the light leather coat, finding only hard steel.
With a quick prayer under his breath, Marcus began to shimmer with arcane energy as it took on a fiery red appearance. Beyond the veil. He was stronger now, more resilient, more of a wrecking ball than ever.

"Out of the way, you snot-nosed waste of space." The response he got was not too impressive. Both blades swung out in an arc from different directions at his neck, but they'd never get close. Both of his arms came out straight as he flung himself forward to closeline both attackers, knocking each one senseless with the sheer force of the strike. He looked like a demon, alight with angry red energy and a dark smoke flowing out of his long obscuring hood. The smoke was just his pipe.

"Get up, kid. Places to be that aren't here are all but singing for us to show. We'd best be gone before the city guard wants answers to corpses." A great stream of smoke erupted from his nose to trail gingerly to the ceiling as Bill was hoisted over Marcus' broad shoulder and dragged out of the arena. Now where did the idiot leave his gear..

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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: Battle’s End

For a moment both men stood silently in the center of the ring leaning on each other, both were out of breath and completely exhausted from their fight. Kevann’s mouth continued to drip blood as he silently gasped for air, trying his best to catch one final wind. However the damage Bill had dealt was fatal, in a matter of moments Kevann knew he would be laying on the floor as a corpse.

“Where is Marcoh…” Bill growled through clenched teeth, his eyes hotter than the fires above them as he peered directly into the dying man’s eyes. This only made Kevann smile one last time before he uttered his final words.

“Don’t worry, he’ll find you… you bastard…” and with that final response Kevann’s body slowly slumped forwards, rolling off of Bill’s body and facedown into the dirt of the ring. Bill was silent for a few seconds, staring down at the dead man with a look of frustration and anger upon his face. Kevann may have been dead, but surely some of the other soldiers may have lived through all that mess, at least for long enough for Bill to wring his hands around them. The bloodied man took a step away from the corpse, immediately feeling his consciousness slip away from him with the sudden movement. Kevann’s blade had done a number on Bill, several cuts and gashes were deeper than what he had first thought. Bill’s vision blurred and before he knew what happened next, he too fell flat onto the floor.

…

The man’s next conscious thought was when Bill found himself being carried on the shoulder of someone else. Bill had a feeling he knew who it was, given the fact that a massive hammer had appeared so suddenly to help him fight in the ring.

“I ain’t dead yet you bloody old geezer, put me down.” The man said, struggling a bit to get out of the large man’s hold. Bill once again found himself on the ground after a good bit of resistance. He still felt a bit lightheaded from the bloodloss, however now that he was able to finally catch his breath he was able to relax somewhat.
“I’ll have to thank you later for lending me your hammer, but for now I can’t leave… there’s too many wounded people still down here, I’m not gonna let ‘em burn alive.” Bill stood up from the ground, steadying himself slowly as he looked over towards Marcus.
“Help me carry some of these poor sods out of here and I’ll buy you a whole goddamn bar’s worth of ale.” Bill said with a smirk as he knelt down and lifted up a few unconscious bystanders onto his shoulders.

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Marcus Hammerstrike - Denerim






"Keep the coin, you might need it when the guard gets here. Fire and a flock of Mercs? Coincidences just don't occur this way." With a shrug and a heavy sigh filled with deep smoke from his pipe, Marcus went around from person to person and hoisted them over to the exit, his pace wasn't slowed much by the people he carried, he might be old but he wasn't weak. The forge made more than just steel weapons and armor. It made weapons of the men who worked them.

Heading back down the stairs, Marcus retrieved his hammer and secured it in the back strap. "Bill, get your gear and we'll get out of here. People are waking up and the guards on the front door. Might be able to pass you off as an apprentice to escape any... Disciplinary actions. Keep that armor hidden up a bit. I'd rather have no questions as to why you're carrying armor of the local trouble makers tonight." The inside of his hood was a bright red for a moment, revealing the long grey beard and those cold iron eyes of his.

"Fought good, Kid. Reckless, but good. When we're out, I'd like to have a word about all this." With a grunt and a slump, Marcus hoisted another man in his early 30s over his shoulder.

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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 Arena

With a deep breath Isador turned off his Aura and began to calm down from his bloodlust. The soldiers put up more of a fight then he had anticipated but he was the one standing and that was all that mattered. He put his hand on his side-the wound from the spear had torn open again during his fight with the pair of corpses at his feet. The smell of smoke was getting heavier by the minute-Strauss needed to leave. He saw the man who was fighting the dwarf with an old geezer getting people out but Isador didn’t care about the scum who frequent such places.

He had seen to two elves escape to the roof but in his condition it would be foolish to go hopping along rooftops. After the two men left he climbed the stairs to the tavern and saw that most of the people had fled from the flames. The smoke was heavy but luckily someone had created a rather large hole in the wall. Noticing that the bartender had fled Isador grabbed a bottle of the finest liquor in the house and headed outside. He placed the bottle in his rucksack and noticed a few poor souls who lay dead just outside the building. With a sigh of relief Isador used his Devour ability on the dead to close the wound in his side to make sure he didn’t bleed out.

Just as he finished healing Isador saw a few guards coming down the street and decided it was time to be elsewhere. Ducking down an alley he looked down to see that there was even more blood on his armor then before. “And I just cleaned this too…” As weariness from his wounds began to wash over him Isador took another turn down another alley and sat down against the wall of a building, setting his axe beside him and leaned his head back and began to go over the fight-reliving each swing of his axe and each killing blow he landed. “First day back in Fereldan….not a bad body count.” He said as he took out the bottle he stole and took a swig.

Valmyria Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe

The Warden-Commander simply bowed her head to Zasalim in agreement. A showdown might eventually happen between the two sides, and when that does she will have a difficult choice to make. But perhaps there is still time for them to work things out. She turned from him and glanced up into the sky, her blue cloak fluttering in the chilly mountain air. "We need to move... its getting late. There is a hot spring and a inn about half way to Redcliffe. We can make it all the way if we move fast, but we'll rest at the inn if the situation calls for it.'

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear," she said, addressing to the entire party after Devon's comment. "If you travel with me, you will ignore each others backgrounds and pay heed only to your duty... I'm too tired to deal with infighting." It was hard to hear, but there was a slight quiver to the former Ranger's voice. The trek into the Dark Roads is something that she still hadn't fully recovered. She reached her horse and the three wardens standing there. Gently, she placed a gloved hand on Lainolen's forehead... and sighed in relief. The mage would make it, and that was a good thing too. Grey Warden Mages were hard to get and she didn't want to lose one in such a way. Still he might need more tending too. She picked her fur-lined cloak and wrapped her body in it again. "Arvashok. Put Lainolen on my horse. He can ride until he regains enough of his strengh," she said, jesting to the horse. "I don't want you to be burdened in case we get attacked... or spooked again."

Pulling her cloak tightly around her to ward off the savage cold, Valmyria turned and started down the path without another word.

DENERIM INVOLVEMENT: LAILA AND AMIR
The windows across from them, next to where the ice bridge had ended had suddenly burst open, revealing a man and an elf. Closer inspection revealed the Elf to be of Dalish origin, dressed and armed in that fashion. The Man wore the robes/armor of the Mage's Collective.

"Quickly!" he yelled at the two, waving them on. "Come this way before its too late!"

DENERIM INVOLVEMENT: MARCUS AND BILL
While the two men were helping getting people out, the city guard had finally arrived and begun to organize themselves to take care of the now spreading fire. Their concern was the fire, not so much as the people around them. This is how the two other men, a dwarf and a human, were able to walk in without a problem. They had no trouble finding Marcus and Bill helping people. The two newcomers wore armor with markings of the Blackstone Irregulars; the man had a broad shield and sword, while the dwarf had a large battle axe.

"Marcus and Bill?" asked the man, is body language was nonthreatening and tone respectful. "We would like it if you came with us. Our employer has an offer you may not want to refuse."

DENERIM INVOLVEMENT: ISADOR
While the large and armored man was enjoying his stolen drink, four figures came out of the dark shadows. they were covered in black, and the cloaks they wore covered any indication of weapons or armor. The lead one, female by the looks of her tight fitting outfit, pulled down her hood. She was a Dalish elf, cute face, long brown hair, and some kind of tattoo the ran up the right side of her face.

"Ser Isador?" she spoke with a Antivian accent, possibly a Crow... defiantly a Crow as the order's emblem showed on the front of her black armor. "Ser, I am... sorry to disturb you in your moment of victory. But we have been told to seek you out, and bring you to our employer. No, it isn't about killing you or anything, and he said it would be worth your time..."

_________________
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.

Marcus Hammerstrike


Marcus eyed the dwarf and the human with a lazy set of eyes, weapons and armor were well made and well kept, blades rested within easy reach and neither was tense nor nervous at the rather imposing sight of the bloodied blacksmith and his weapons nor the bloodied brawler standing comfortably behind him. The crest had a deep meaning to it and all but leapt to his eye. Mercenary group, well founded but took on somewhat shadier dealings last Marcus had heard. Probably sold them a batch of weapons once in the past or repaired a traveling soldiers wares.

With a crooked brow the old man turned to look at his traveling companion and then back to the other two. "We'll go, but not until my friend here gets some of that fighting spirit back in 'em. Nothin' against you two lads but it's a tough world we live in. Can't be to..." Idly drawing the silver hammer to his right a small bit before replacing it to his belt again. "Cautious. If you catch my meaning. Bit too much funny business lately for my peculiar tastes."

Reaching into his back pocket, Marcus flipped a healing salve to the burly fighter. "Slap some of that on them wounds punk and we'll be off. Unless you've got a better route ahead."

_________________
"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

Vovin was about to leave. His legs were in the middle of taking the steps that would lead him away from the burning inn. But as his foot touched the ground the image of the bar patrons that had not roused themselves when his Dragon Surge had ripped a hole in the wall of the inn flashed into his mind. Guilt coursed through him and he shut his eyes against the image. He didn't have to help those people, they will be fine, someone else will help them....the crackling flames devouring the building lingered far too long in his mind. "Damnit..." he muttered to himself, whipping around and running back through the hole he had just made. Navigating the rapidly collapsing inn, Vovin hoisted two men onto each of his shoulders, managing to avoid impaling them on the sharp protrusions on his armor. Jogging outside to lay the two unconscious men on the ground, Vovin was quick to dash back inside to retrieve two more. After carrying the two patrons to safety, Vovin noticed that guards were approaching. Vovin merely stood around, knowing full well that if the guards started arresting people, he would not be getting away. Fortunately, they seemed to take more of an interest in the burning inn rather than the people escaping it. Vovin decided to simply watch for the time being.

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[ Denerim ]

Denerim, it seemed, was determined to humiliate him.

The position of a tutor was supposed to be one of relative quiet, of discernment, and if not reverence then at least basic respect. But the wealthy children of Denerim’s nobility had little interest in quiet, little discernment for the arts or the natural philosophies, and no respect for an elvish tutor from Revas’Thala, no matter how many languages he spoke. They were far more interested in dingy taverns, and mead, and the illicit mockeries of proper pugilism that were ever so popular amongst the criminal filth of the city.

Khorin’s charge had all those interests and more, and when the boiling of the boy’s blood became such that he couldn’t help but indulge them, it was his job to drag him back onto a course more fitting of a member of civilized society.

Coming upon the sight of the youth’s favoured tavern in flames would almost have been liberating had the fates been fairer, but in the rising smoke loomed the threat of unemployment – and, worse, of ill-repute. If his charge’s moral infractions (infractions that Khorin was there to advise him against) cost the boy his life, that would be the end of his career. He’d have to resort to scribing, or something even more menial (he couldn’t imagine what, but he was sure that the world had nearly infinite devices with which to punish him, and something as relatively mild as a previously unknown depth of boredom couldn’t have been the hardest one to come by).

There were silhouettes stumbling out through the blaze now, most of them attempting to do so at a formidable gait – quickened, no doubt, by the clamour of the approaching city guard. Khorin skulked at the edge of the scene like an awkward grey shadow, till finally a shape he recognized flittered by into one of the adjoining alleys, and he took pursuit.

Jaeric Kalleran wasn’t a bad boy, exactly. Like virtually all human nobility, he was pompous and self-centred to the extreme, and he had a bad case of youth. He was a wiry wilting thing with a pasty complexion and darting eyes, and a brain in his head that seemed to defy any permanent attempts at instilling humility. He crumpled to the ground with a single satisfying wheeze when the tip of Khorin’s staff blindsided its way into his stomach.

Khorin waited patiently while the boy swore his way back to his senses. It was only when the young man’s dazed eyes found something recognizable in the face staring down at him that he heaved him up, brushing a few traces of Denerim’s filth from the boy’s cloak with a business-like flick. The child was furious, of course. And appropriately terrified.

“You… you can’t do that, you bloody kni”–

He didn’t finish the doomed sentence, because the back of Khorin’s hand intercepted in mid-vocalization. The boy reeled back and clutched at his cheek, staring in disbelieving silence at his tutor.

“I have instructed you to call me sir. And this is the second time this month you’ve ended up here. Perhaps you’d like to explain yourself?”

“When my mother hears about this you’ll be back on the streets, you know!” Fear was hurled aside by unreasoning adolescent rage. Khorin couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You owe her so damn mu”–

Once again, the back of Khorin’s hand made short work of the sentence. Jaeric hissed out a muffled cry of pain through gritted teeth. He at least had the good sense not to make an undignified show of his idiocy, it seemed. Perhaps a few of his tavern-trawling cronies were still nearby.

“And you owe her far more. Your inheritance, your noble blood, your good education. Your life. Yet you insist on repaying her with broken promises and” – he waved vaguely in the direction of the rapidly-disintegrating tavern– “bloody-minded foolishness! I can only hope that that damned inferno is in no way your fault.”

“It wasn’t” replied the boy, his tone as bitter as the blood on his teeth. “I promise. It was some… mercenary bloke, I suppose. And there were a pair of blood mages, too. I heard two of the regulars talking about them. Whole thing was probably their fault…”

Beneath his hood, Khorin’s ears perked up. Normally he’d have determined the accusation of dark spellery mere fancy and delivered another medicinal smack across the boy’s face, but there had been wanted notices up concerning such a pair for weeks. Two elves, if he recalled correctly – young escapees from the Circle and its despotic Templar overseers.

“And… they got away, did they?”

The boy stood in muddled silence for a moment. He hadn’t expected any lasting interest on his tutor’s part. And this was the first response he’d gotten since their conversation began that hadn’t gone hand in hand with a strike to the face.

“I… suppose… so…” He offered cautiously. “I think I might’ve seen them on my way out. Looked like they were goin' for the window.”

“Going.” Khorin corrected.

He regarded Jaeric for a moment, trying to pick any possible sign of falsehood from the youth’s eyes, before finally making up his mind.

“Run along, boy. It seems I have other business to attend to.”

_________________

Valmyria Windstrider - Mountain pass, traveling from Orzammar to Redcliffe

When Val passed the darkspawn hunter, she barely glanced at him, and gave him only a few select words. "Scout on ahead and eliminate any potiental threats. There was a bandit camp somewhere nearby. When you are finished, find us." The Warden-Commander continued her walk down the snowy mountain pass.

_________________
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Snafu's Mercypostle.

Not even a whisper escaped Zha'Grens lips as the Commander gave her orders. His first test, his first task on the chains of his new master. It was enough to make him giddy, having been so long on his own it felt good to have orders again. To let go of his thoughts and embrace the savage loyalty he had displayed for his former master, unwavering and infinitely cruel depending on his task. A nest of bandits wouldn't even cause him to break a sweat.

Zha'Gren would demolish them and scatter the ashes on the trail for Val to walk on. A symbol of her power. A low growl escaped his lips as the savage hunter took off in a full sprint, the rough and rocky path leading up the cliff-side was little more than a walkway to the beast as it deftly navigated the terrain and crossed over the edge without a noise or scuff of rocks falling. Death would forever envy his complete silence it seemed.
Death would also envy his effectiveness to come.


Zha'Grens pace was likely quick as a horse, his training and the raw savagery of his race made the hunter nearly untirable. His muscles pumped harder and harder down the road till he was likely an hour or so ahead by horse. The bandit camp was clearly not a camp anymore. Likely months of activity had turned what was a simple campfire into a small fortress. Wooden logs made up walls and a cavern was cleared out to be used as a foundation for the bulk of the thugs who used this area as a toll bridge. One road and a lot of travelers had to come and go, extorted by the crafty thieves.


A few glances showed lowly thugs wielding crude weapons and shields with weak armor roaming around the great fence, two more blocked the cave entrance with spears, a handful labored in the yard of the little fort, one man was waiting for a traveler to pass by and stop to give him the 'toll' for his goods and life. Who was the leader here?
The answer came a few seconds later.

A scout was riding a rather worn out horse up the path, apparently having seen someone along the road heading upwards from a great distance away as an advanced warning. Clever. The only ones Zha had seen on the road was Val and the others under her. Not so clever. A big warrior in tough iron and leather armor stepped out of the cave and had the two spearmen follow in his trail, the scout giving the report caused the man to alert the rest. Maybe he expected a fight and was preparing? Didn't matter to Zha'Gren. He had orders. The leader would be his trophy.


Creeping up on a camp in broad daylight was tough, creeping up on a camp in broad daylight on the side of a mountain was harder. The sentries moved lazily around the edges, never caring to look over and see if something was hiding in the relative shadow that lay beneath. One was pulled over the wall with a slit throat before the other ever noticed. The skull on Zha'Grens back completely removed sound in his area, anything he touched lost it to. Such beautiful tribal magic.
Up and over went the hunter, slashing the surprised guards throat before a small yelp could escape the mans lips.
Out went two daggers, two laborers fell shrieking from the knives in an eye or throat. On came the spearman, both were clearly former mercinaries as they moved with precision to try and corner the darkspawn threat, more laborers picked up swords to run in.

Backing off wasn't an option now. Zha'Gren unsheathed his scimitar and took up the curved knife in his opposite hand. With a snarl the beast went to work. A small 'click' and a scream accompanied the bolt that took a man in the throat, momentarily distracted the merc with his spear turned to his companion and signal an attack. He'd thought Zha'Gren a wild beast. Spear knocked wide and eyes bulging, the scimitar ate through armor and bone to stab through flesh and muscle and tear the heart.
He hadn't even collapsed when Zha slashed out again with the great blade to sever the other spear coming at his back while the curved dagger cleaved through the neck to splatter red gore on the rough rocks.

Shouts and cries for help echoed throughout the small camp and into the tunnels, the boss of the operation had retreated for help but apparently noticed his odds becoming less than satisfactory. Two more laborers fell to the curved onslaught of the beast, eyes forever closed and throats left open to the world.

On horseback the thief boss came from the tunnel, hoping to put some distance between the darkspawn threat and find help from a nearby town or atleast give warning. A broken spearhead took his horse in the legs, flipping him over into the hard dirt.
Coughing from the dust and ache in his back, he began to rise. The blood on the rocks near his attacker clearly not belonging to it. "All... All of my work... My men... MY FORTRESS! RUINED!" He screamed, unsure if the creature could understand. Hoping it would feel his rage and dissapointment. Nowhere left to run. Death by steel it was to be, then.

"I will not let you take me so easily, creature." From the downed horse he retrieved his weapon and went into an easy spin, familiarity evident on his stance and swing. The blades edge had a soft blue glow to it, barely visible in the daylight but all to noticeable for the darkspawn trophy collector. A magic weapon was always a pleasant find.

Out went the spear in a long sweep, the bandit leader backstepped a swipe of Zha's blade and stepped in for a jab of his own. With it's long range it made the threat of the darkspawn getting in close all to problematic, thankfully he kept it at a distance. Dodge and parry, back it forth it went, between the darkspawn menace and the bandit boss.
He'd failed to realize Zha'Gren killed him almost 10 minutes ago. Gradually his swings got slower, less accurate, while the darkspawn thing seemed to grow disinterested in the fight. Sweat pouring down the bandits face made it hard to see, his breath ragged and hard to come by. Poison... The foul creature.
The ground all but leaped up at the poisoned bandit. The spear falling uselessly out of his reach, all he could do was watch as the hunter went to a laborer to retrieve an axe.
"N-No... no... STO-" Steel sliced through the neck to completely sever the head.
With a roar of satisfaction, Zha'Gren placed the bloodied head atop a broken spear and displayed it to the heavens. Not the finest of kills but a kill none the less! Val would be pleased! As for his trophy? The spear would do nicely.

In Zha'Grens hands the spear rested comfortably. It was light, very light, delicate even, but clearly it had some sort of enchantment that kept it sturdy but as for the rest it wasn't clear. Didn't matter.
His task done, and the heads of the other bandits placed atop the wooden spikes of their wall, the hunter made his way back as ordered. Blood did not splatter his clothing, his weapons were not heavy with flesh and bones, but the spear shone on his back as he made his way silently to Val.

The spear thumped harmlessly a few feet infront of Val. From atop a ledge sat the darkspawn hunter Zha'Gren, the savage mask gleaming in what little sunlight remained of the day. "Your... Trophy..." It hissed.


(A writer I am not. Impatient I am. Sloppy this was. Thanks for the fun though."

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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

Bill hefted out a heavy sigh as he tossed a batch of injured patrons onto the ground just outside of the burning tavern. With all of the soot, smoke, and blood it was hard to tell whether or not Bill was just another one of the victims that he had been carrying out of the blaze. He felt exhausted, mainly from the blood loss and running in and out of a burning building to rescue stragglers. The man spit out onto the ground, took in a deep breath and looked over towards Marcus and the two mercenaries.

“I ain’t exactly in the kind of shape to be standin’ right now, let alone to go and see your boss.” The man wiped a bit of blood and dirt away from his cheek, though it was hard to tell whether or not the blood was his own at this point. Bill caught the salve with the hand that didn’t have half an arrow sticking out from it. The man looked down at the medicine for a few moments before he opened the container and began to apply it onto some of his more severe wounds. It wasn’t going to help much, but at least for now it was better than nothing.

“This should stop me from bleeding all over the damn place for a bit, but I’m gonna need to see a healer soon enough… some of these wounds are pretty deep and I wouldn’t put it beneath Kevann to have used poison on that blade of his…” Bill put his fingers into his mouth, his teeth felt a bit loose from his little stunt but nothing that wouldn’t have been fine after a few good night’s rest and some healing potions.
“Take us to a healer and to where my supplies are, then we’ll talk.”

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Denerim-Alley

Isador looked the she elf straight in the eye as he took another swig from the bottle. This employer of theirs must have a serious amount of money to afford sending Crows as fetchlings. He thought as he corked the bottle and tucked it away. He stood slowly and calmly, giving off the suggestion that he didn’t feel threatened by them at all. Isador looked up towards the rooftops, wondering for a moment if the two elves had made it out of the fire. A passing thought, nothing that Isador cared about either way. He hefted his axe over his shoulder and looked back to the elf. “Take me to this employer….I will decide if it is worth my time…” He said before following the group of Crows down the alley.
As they proceeded to their destination Isador looked at his entourage. “This isn’t the first time a group of Crows escorted me to a potential employer….there were six that time.” He said looking straight ahead with a matter-of-fact tone. “They took me to an abandoned house and tried to jump me…first one came at me with a knife. Young pup got me in the arm….he was the lucky one-didn’t take my time with him.” There was no hint of pride in what he had done or any semblance of a threat to his tone. The Black Axe simply stated what the truth was. With that he continued to follow his escort silently down the alleyway.

Denerim; Rooftops

“Are you sure it was him?” Amir swore viciously at the thought of the Black Axe being nearby. He might have been a hero to some, but to Amir the nightmares he’d left Laila with were proof enough that he had nothing good left in him. Hand in hand with Laila he ran through the brawling crowd, occasionally using his staff to push a fighter out of their way before hurrying on to the ladder. Once he’d followed Laila up onto the roof, Amir took a moment to try and get a look at the streets below. The guards couldn’t be far behind when there was a slaughter and a fire going on simultaneously. People would be arrested and it was the worst possible situation for them to be caught in. He turned back to Laila as she made the bridge, swallowing thickly at the thought of falling.

“Oh sure… send me to fall to my death first.” He muttered, raising one arm to defend against the smoke that was threatening to choke him, and he knew if he was bad for him it would be worse for the smaller mage’s weak constitution. Stepping forward onto the slick surface, he did his best not to think about the distance between him and the ground and how the heat of the fire could weaken the ice bridge. Except it wasn’t really working. “Oh fuck it!” He squared his balance as best he could and slid across the ice bridge as carefully as he could.

Laila gulped and kept her staff at the ready in case the bridge gave out; she could quickly make a second bridge to catch Amir if it did. Once he was safely over, she began to tip-toe carefully over the transparent makeshift walkway, willing herself not to look over the edge. The smoke made her dizzy and the vertigo made her head spin; she could feel the heels of her boots sliding slightly as she walked over the swiftly melting ice path. Was that a crack she heard? She didn't realize she had held her breath the whole while until she was two-thirds over the bridge. Lungs gave way to a buzzing heart, and she took a breath, only to cough violently. The bridge began to crack further, visibly now. It would only take another few seconds to break completely.

Amir stayed perched as close to the edge of the bridge as he could without putting weight on it, the damn thing was so flimsy that he was surprised it had even taken his own weight. As Laila slowly made across, his throat was in his throat and Amir tried desperately to think of a way he might be able to catch her if she fell before she was within his reach. "Come on, Lala," He urged, using her nickname from when they were children. "Just a little further, you can make it." Amir kept one hand extended for her to grab the moment when she was within reach to do so.

Laila nodded to her companion, coughing the smoke out from her lungs while she slid across one step at a time. Her eyes darted to the two agents from the collective at the window just by Amir calling for them. Not letting them distract her too much, she took one last hop and grabbed Amir's outstretched arm just as the bridge gave way and the shattered shards of ice soared down into the abyss of the alleyway below. Laila tripped forward over the gutter of the roof and buried her face in her friend's chest. "That was almost a bad idea," she choked through remants of soot staining her throat. She glanced at the agents from the collective again, then looked up at Amir. "Should we go?"

The moment the bridge started to shatter beneath her Amir pulled Laila into his arms and held her tight for a moment to confirm that she was indeed unharmed other than the smoke had inhaled. The dalish elf and the mage's collective representative were secondary for the moment. Amir noted that they were going to have to be careful that Laila's cough didn't develop into a lung infection since that could end their run from the templars more effectively than anything else. "Almost? Almost a bad idea was working at an underground fighting ring. Using an ice bridge to escape fire is in a class of its own." He finally turned his attention to the agents from the collective and sighed. "Not like we've got anywhere else to go at the moment."

The young healer nodded, clearing her throat with another cough before stepping cautiously towards the window. She tightened her fingers around Amir's, their humming pulse apparent even through the thick gloves blanketing her palms. Stepping through the window, she gazed at the two collective agents with furrowed brows and her staff ready in her free hand. "How did you know we would be up here?"

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Denerim; Rooftops

Johnus rolled a cigarette butt in the dark, calmly listening to the conversation of the, now confirmed, mages. He'd suspected someone would escape onto the rooftops, probably someone more used to running than fighting too. Which was why he'd busted into the roof of the nearby building and hid amongst the thatch. He could see into the room below too, through a little peephole, but that had been by coincidence. He'd expected people coming over the roof really. Anyway, he'd see what was going on, if anyone in there was worth anything, and if not, he'd drop down a smokebomb, fall in, and break every attractive-looking bone within reach, so probably the legs and knees, and loot everyone. Female elf first. Male elf second. Should be easy. Looked brittle. The mage and then the girl. Throw in a few good kicks to be sure.

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

[ Denerim ]

The fire was roaring high now, making a bright mockery of all attempts to save the tavern. A good riddance, by Khorin’s measuring of things. The few times he’d periled the premises had shown him all he needed to know about the place – it was a den of thieves, prostitutes, and all manner of conniving dredges with a mind to take a man’s coin or his life. Skulking on the periphery of the scene, just within earshot, seemed to confirm that the tavern’s end was mostly the fault of its patrons and their inebriated passions. Denerim was better off without the wretched hole, a drop in the ocean though it may have been. Those wretches and purse-cutters that the evening didn’t find behind bars would slink their way into a new pit to drink and curse their misdeeds away, but the sight of the place up in flames said to Khorin that the Creator would never be cheated out of what She was due, and like the flame itself, she was ever snapping at their heels.

Their fate, however, was of less interest to him than that of the two magi purportedly stewing around in the place. The city guard were clustered about the disintegrating wreck like armoured locusts now, and approaching without raising suspicions would be impossible, but assuming that Jaeric’s word was trustworthy, there were few places the foolish little escapees could have gone. The windows lead to two places – down into the streets below, which were now crawling with authorities, or across to the adjacent dwelling.

It was unwise of these children to be in Denerim, but Khorin doubted they were stupid enough to drop themselves straight back into captivity. Besides, there’d have been more of a scrabble had a pair of blood mages been encountered by the authorities. Assuming they even were practitioners of the bloody arts at all – humans seemed to very much enjoy branding any magi not under the shadow of their hypocritical church as daemon-rutting infernalists.

He muttered a string of verdant words, the bleary murk of the Fade sweeping over him like a second cloak, transforming his figure into a vague silhouette. In the chaos of the dispersing crowd he became little more than an indecipherable blur, passing through it like a stray breeze. Paths through the wyrding way between the Fade and the material were often fickle and dangerous, but Denerim, bleak and facile as it was, was empty of all but a few risks (though, he’d noted, it did feel a little sluggish). He could walk the Strange Ways with relative freedom here.

A few steps from the house he simply pushed off, rising weightlessly through the air, his feet coaxing no sound from the thatched rooftop as he drifted back down atop it. A quick glance across the thatching confirmed that he couldn’t be atop whatever room the nearest window to the blaze led into (unless, of course, there was but one room blow. In which case he was in for an awkward encounter indeed).

He closed his eyes and let himself fall deeper into the void. The thatched rooftop whirled away from him into darkness, the sky above lengthening with colours strange and crisp, before drawing back like a set of curtains. For half an instant he knew nothing but utter, impenetrable silence. And then he was in the room below, crouched close to the floor.

He was alone, but there were people talking in the room opposite. His free hand groped for the hilt of his sword, but he stayed it before the vicious thing was drawn. These were no laymen he was hearing, they were mages. Steel for steel and spell for spell; anything otherwise would have been an insult.

Edging up against the wall to hear better, he pulled himself fully from the ebb of the void. He didn’t need to be half-submerged in the Fade to be quiet – Khorin may not have been with the Rangers anymore, but the hunt was still in him.

_________________

How had he not seen him before? In the chaos of the fire it would have been reasonable to have missed a familiar face, but to have not noticed the figure he had just caught sight of when he had first entered the tavern...Vovin cursed his lack of perceptiveness. Nonetheless, Vovin strode with barely contained excitement towards a man he had not seen in far too long. He looked much the same as when they had last met. The imposing stance, silver hammers and long grey beard were all easily recognized. But it was his eyes that Vovin remembered the best, the piercing gaze that some of the elders joked had been mimicked by Vovin when he was in combat. There was some truth to this rumor, Vovin had indeed copied the fierce gaze of Marcus Hammerstrike when he had been younger, but it was only ever noticeable when he was fighting. Nonetheless, Vovin was extremely pleased to find that the man who mentored him at various stages of his youth had appeared in Denerim before him.

When Marcus had first stumbled upon the Order, Vovin had not even been born yet. In exchange for being freed, Marcus shared some of the secrets of his smithing and spirit warrior knowledge with the Order. From then on out, Vovin's father, Dravis, and Marcus were close friends, and Marcus was always welcome in the Order. When Vovin was but a child, Marcus had helped train him in swordsmanship, taught him spirit taming, and shared stories with him of the outside world. Although Marcus was not around all of the time, Vovin had always greeted him with great enthusiasm whenever he decided to visit the Order. Ultimately it was the knowledge that Marcus had imparted to Vovin that allowed him to control the draconic spirit that he formed a pact with, and had it not been for that Vovin would never have become the Spirit Warrior he is today. Marcus had been an uncle figure to the young warrior, and Vovin valued him as such.

"Marcus? Marcus! Hey!" Vovin all but shouted as he approached the old blacksmith, a large smile on his face. The smile sank a little as he noticed that Marcus was not alone. Vovin hoped he had not interrupted anything important. He recognized the man that had been in the arena, the one the stone armored knights had attacked. Briefly forgetting about Marcus, Vovin exclaimed "Oh its you, are you alright?" The young warrior's voice was genuinely concerned, but upon hearing an answer, Vovin turned back to Marcus, smiling again. "How are you, you old coot?"Vovin teased with a laugh. "What brings you here? And why haven't you visited recently? You missed the ceremony that everyone held for me!" Vovin said with mock scorn, but unable to keep the smile off his face. He truly was glad to see Marcus, and he was already planning to ask if he could tag along with whatever it was Marcus was doing, seeing as he had no real plans himself.

_________________

-Marcus Hammerstrike-


A slight tickle at the hairs on the back of his neck was usually the first sign of trouble to Marcus. Othertimes it was the proximity of something very close to him. Usually it was a matter of time and patience until whatever it was either revealed itself or Marcus realized what it was. This was nearly instantaneous. A former pupil, a strong student and gifted warrior who had in all luck simply been tossed into Marcus' life. Not a son, not a relative, not even an apprentice. So much more than that. The one behind him was a warrior he'd accidentally stumbled into one day many many years ago.

A wolfish grin filled with sharp white teeth spread across Marcus' face, illuminated only by the puff of his pipe for a very short time. His back was to Vovin so the only person who got to see such a rare and ominous look atop the features of the Blacksmith was Bill. There was a usual way of greeting young Vovin back in his years of tutelage in the order, a greeting the boys father had never enjoyed but had accepted upon realization of its purpose. "Vovin my boy! Been a long time." Another puff of his pipe did not reveal any grin, but instead a fierce look of determination usually reserved for battle. "I'm fine, sorry about the ceremony.." A dry and humorless laugh escaped his lips briefly. "Lets see how you are."

A blinding flash seemed to all but erupt around Marcus as he activated the fade blessing. Normally it created a slight red hue to his body, but now it was as if a raging fire had enveloped the elderly forge master. Both silver hammers were swinging in a perfect arc above each other, aiming at the head and chest of Vovin. The speed of his turn and his swings was breathtaking to say the least.

To anyone looking from a distance it would look like an ancient fire elemental had all but sprung to life from nothingness.

Marcus didn't bother to see if his initial strike had struck home and fell into a violent storm of swipes and swings of his great silver hammers, end over end in endless arcs they went. The armor worn by Marcus did nothing to slow down each swing, and his age seemed to have no effect on the ferocity of his swings.
In a final flourish of his mite, Marcus threw both silver hammers into the air and spun. Drawing out his great warhammer in a clean stroke, he swung the great hammer in an overhead arc with enough power to split the hard stone into hundreds of tiny pieces that kicked up dust and debree everywhere.

_________________
"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
The warden raised an eyebrow at the darkspawn and pulled out the spear. It was indeed a beautiful weapon, light, elegant... enchanted. It felt familiar to her somehow. Yes, it was the work of her people, at least the enchantment. She spun the spear with expertise, despite the full load she already bore. Yes, this was a fine weapon indeed.

"Good work," she said to the darkspawn. "How far out were they?"

DENERIM INVOLVEMENTS

Bill
The human nodded in agreement to Bill's remark. "No," he replied. "You don't look very good at all. Our employer has several healers waiting, just in preparation if you or any one of the others were injured. We can grab your supplies"

The dwarf looked a little impatient at the situation, but clearly attempted to control it as he spoke. "Captain," he protested. "We don't have time for this right now. We can replace whatever it is or send someone to get it."

The human shook his head in disagreement. "A man's possessions can mean a lot to him, Melden. For a man on the road, its his family. However, I believe the choice is yours, Bill. We have a healer at our employer's place, he can tend for you there and the sooner you see him the better. While I don't like the idea of making a stop, we can or I can send Melden to grab your items and have them brought to the estate."

Isador
The elf smiled pleasantly at him and her associates seemed a little relived that he had decided to come so willingly. "As you wish," she said. the Crows formed a loose unit around them,, two of the assassins moved on ahead, scouting the area for potential dangers the group might walk into.

The young woman smiled at his remarks. "Yes, Ser Isador, your name is well known amongst the Crow's as a frequent target. After a while we started sending our... lesser favorable Crows to play cat and mouse with you. Tonight you need not fear us. Tomorrow, ehh we'll see."

Amir and Laila
The representative, clearly the leader of the two, looked sheepishly to his companion before looking back at the young healer. "Well, to be honest. Our employer had it set up clear from the beginning." He pointed over to the bar, where the flames were almost under control. "That was his fine establishment. He arranged it all; the job, getting you two into Denerim... keeping the Templars away, and a few others. We were part of the party that was suppose to approach you, however we had to go for plan B. We knew you would be leaving, I just guess that Kalin's sense of a hunter was better then I thought."

The elf glared at him. "Guessed?"

"Well, love, you certainly seem to have your days."

Khorin
It was a subtle gesture, barely noticeable, but it was there. Something from the Fade reached out and touched him. It spoke of comfort, of guidenace. He needed to follow these people.

Marcus and Vovin

"Bloody hell," replied the dwarf as he watched Marcus attack the man. "Is this going to take long?" he shouted at the two.

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