Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Author's Note: I'm super excited about this piece! These will be short glimpses into the encounters of one Cremisius Aclassi and one Scout Lace Harding. Other characters will guest star and it will generally follow the path of the game. There will be a much larger amount of fluff than I'm used to writing, but true to my form, there will also be some good ol' fashioned angst. Because I don't believe in 'easy'. Basically, welcome to a variety of snippets, of who knows what length because I haven't finished writing them. That being said, who knows how long this story will go, but I thank you for making the journey with me. :) Also, rating may change in the future, not sure yet. Please tell me what you think.
Cover Image: I must thank "FOLEY: Artist. Writer. Hardworking Dame." for the awesome cover image for this piece. I cannot get over this picture. But she also has other friggin' awesome Krem/Harding artwork on her tumblr. Link is in my profile because ffnet is being a jerk and not letting me post it on here.
You totally need to go see her stuff. I mean seriously. What are you still doing here? Go.
Interlocking
Chapter One: Small Things
"He catches his first sight of her standing on the other side of one of the Fallow Mire's bog lakes, dark and rain-soaked and pulling an arrow from the eye socket of one of the recently animated corpses she had just put down." – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
Krem likes small things.
The spare buttons that would roll, lost and forgotten, to the creaking wood floor of his father's tailor shop, only for him to gather them and hoard them away like some prized treasure when he was younger.
The smooth rock of obsidian he found on his first outing with the Chargers, the only stone he uses to sharpen his blade, gleaming and weighted and just right in his palm.
The short, slick blade tucked just under the latch of his shoulder guard, where he can grab even with his teeth, because no man will ever hold him down again and not bleed for it.
The tiny nook of bench lining the wall of the Haven tavern behind the stairs, closed off on one side by supporting beams, at the edge of the table where the Chargers gathered for drinks and stories.
The shred of parchment he keeps as a bookmark, torn from what used to be a letter from his mother where now only the words "regret" and "never" and "shamed" are barely legible anymore.
And Scout Harding.
He catches his first sight of her standing on the other side of one of the Fallow Mire's bog lakes, dark and rain-soaked and pulling an arrow from the eye socket of one of the recently animated corpses she had just put down. She slides the arrow into the quiver on her back and turns to the other scouts and Chargers across the water, wiping a hand over her eyes to clear her vision in the downpour. "Alright, you slackers, set camp. I want a fire and an open keg by the time the Inquisitor arrives."
Krem likes small things.
Often, once Harding and her scout compliment survey a new area for the Inquisitor, Bull's Chargers are one of the first regiments to clear the area of enemies. They had volunteered in fact. Bull would lead them sometimes but more often than not Krem would command the advance, seeing as his hulking Qunari commander was spending more and more time as part of the Inquisitor's intimate party. He hardly blamed him. It was the best position for him to execute his orders from the Qun and gather information for his Ben-Hassrath reports. And the Qunari trusted his company of men to Krem in his own absence. It was unspoken and unquestioned.
"Krem. Lieutenant," he adds. "These louts are the Chargers," he grins proudly before Scout Harding at their first meeting in the Fallow Mire.
The dwarf lifts a brow at him while she smirks, her hands moving to her hips. "You're our advance guard?"
Krem winks at her. "Good lookin' bunch, eh?"
She releases a short, amused laugh. "Dead bunch if you don't get moving." She nods her head back toward the next rounding bend of the jutting rock lining the edge of the lake they stood before. "Expect undead. And the occasional demon. And oddly enough, a stray rabid goat or two."
Krem raises his brows at the last bit and snorts in laughter.
"Don't ask," she answers, her hands waving through the air.
Krem hoists his sword to rest flat-side against his shoulder and he is all business. "Alright, we'll clear a path. Have your scouts flank the west side. There's too much rock there obscuring our view. Don't want to fly in blind."
She nods, smirk rising. "You got it, Lieutenant. Good hunting."
Krem calls for the Chargers to move out.
"Harding, by the way."
Krem looks back down to the rogue in front of him when she speaks.
"My name," she clarifies, pulling her bow from its rest over her shoulder. "Scout Harding."
Krem smiles. "Pleasure working with you." He nods in acknowledgment and heads south with the rest of his gang.
Harding watches from a distance, her bow trained on any stray ambling corpses, as the Chargers cut a path through the nearest rain-soaked expanse of plain, clearing the abandoned cabins on their way. She motions for two of her scouts to advance over the rock ledge with her and they flatten out onto the stone with their bows ready and watching, raised higher where they can see the advance of the Chargers better. There is little need for their assistance.
The one she heard Krem call "Dalish" sends a fireball bursting into the cluster of walking corpses they were aiming for. The undead crumpled, burning, into the water and flames rippled and flickered across the shimmering surface. Across the lake, one of the rundown cabins explodes in a deafening boom, the previously howling corpses shuffling past it shattering into gory, sticky bits that splatter across the wet fields. Harding can hear a dwarf laughing at the rear of their company, his bow releasing arrows into the flurry of oncoming enemies.
More corpses rise from the water. One of the Chargers, a man she thinks is named Stitches, is positioned slightly ahead of the dwarf manning the explosives and shooting arrows, his dagger swiping through the rotting flesh gracefully. He stops momentarily at the barely-heard grunt of a blond man facing the bulk of the oncoming dead horde. The dark rogue grabs a bottle from his belt and tosses it toward the blond warrior, who guzzles it quickly between cutting down demons and dead.
There is a flurry of movement in the main concentration of corpses and Harding can barely make out the image of a lithe, swift elven woman with dark hair. Her hoarse shouts and growls and bouts of dark laughter puncture every lash of her dual blades. And in the midst of this is Krem, his swift and purposeful swings felling multiple corpses with minimal blows. He twists sharply to call out to the elven mage at their flank and she responds immediately, several bright orange glyphs marking the ground before the Chargers. Corpses stagger unknowingly across the branded ground, blazing in howling shambles moments later, and at Krem's call, the dwarf with the bow lets loose a flurry of arrows. Krem advances in the chaos, flanked by the silent blond warrior, his shield raised, and the limber elf with blood and laughter splashed along her blades.
Harding watches in fascination and admiration at the slow battle waged before them. This ruthless and focused Krem is hard to reconcile with the laid-back, engaging man she spoke to moments before. She finds both intriguing.
"Hey, Skinner, what's the count?" Krem calls from his position on the rotting half-sunken bog bridge, his blade pulling free of the decomposing body hanging from its length. The corpse drops to the ground unceremoniously, splashing foul-smelling water over his greaves.
Skinner sheaths her daggers along her back holster and runs her hand through her dark hair, revealing the splatters of blood and dirt marring her cheeks. Her smile is wide and eyes gleaming. "I count thirty one, Krem," she says proudly, her thick Orlesian accent curling around her words..
"Thirty four," Rocky corrects, the dwarf emerging from the nearby cabin with a decomposing arm held in his hand, waving at them. "Got three with my trap-detonations in here."
Stitches groans and rolls his eyes. "For the love of all that is holy, put that limb down!"
Rocky chuckles and tosses the severed arm behind him, back into the cabin, as he exits the building.
Krem turns back to catch sight of Harding and her scouts moving into the recently cleared field. "Hear that, Harding?" he calls jovially. "Thirty four." He sheaths his sword and smiles at her as she surveys the damage.
Harding shakes her head at the proud admission and laughs. "Thirty four that were already dead. I declare a handicap."
Krem tuts. "No pleasing you, huh?"
She looks around, plants her hands on her hips. "Well, you cleared another decent camp sight. So points there." She flicks her gaze to Krem and smirks. "It's a start."
Krem shakes his head, but he's laughing. Beside him, the blond warrior steps up and hoists his shield over his shoulder. Krem cranes his head back to glance at it. "Oy, Grim. I think you got some spleen on your shield there."