Chapter 1: Rose
The scout struggled weakly against her blade, he knew his life was over and he met death with far more grace than she expected. Letting go of the clump of hair she watched his head slouch as the blood mixed with the damp earth of The Korcari Wilds. It reminded her how the crimson liquid looked staining her families castle in Highever.
"Remind me never to get injured in front of you." Alistair said, unable to hide the disgust in his voice.
"I told you we didn't have time." The recruit stated, continuing to clean her dagger while Jory attempted to keep his lunch down. The fact that this squeamish worm had made it into her fathers ranks didn't surprise her. Had he picked decent men maybe her family would still be alive. She paused at that thought, unable to let her hatred subside even as memories of a loving father danced before her.
Images of the birthday she had received Skadi, a truly fine war hound he had proved to be. Her first sword, much to her mothers dismay. Her first battle, spent close by her father and Fergus. She experienced very little action that day but she witnessed few casualties and the mark of a kind leader. Her hatred and the vivid images of Orens stiff corpse clouded these memories. She blamed her father for the slaughter of her family. He had trusted Howel, let the pig walk amongst them. She blamed Duncan, what hero of old allows innocents to be slaughtered under his very nose? Most of all she blamed herself, if she had been stronger...not distracted by elven maids she could have done something. Saved them.
She didn't save anyone, too eager to become a Grey Warden than stay and defend her family. She would make Howel pay, it was all she was living for. To sink her families blade deep into his gut and watch him beg for mercy. Sheathing her dagger she pressed deeper into the Wilds with the three men.
She understood why the Chasind called it home, thick forests gave way to flat planes and swamp. It was like something out of a tale Nan had told. Minus the impending Darkspawn invasion. The twisted creatures had knotted themselves between the trees. The four approached the first group of blighted creatures. They smelled them long before they caught their first glimpse. The smell of rotting flesh and dark magic wafted up from the underbrush and was carried on the wind like an unholy tune.
Their twisted flesh and sharp teeth was kin to the nightmares of a deranged man. She hesitated when the Hurlock charged, in truth all the recruits did. They had finally saw the blight up close in the rotting flesh of these creatures, these former men.
Alistair joined her charge, leaving Jory behind to his fears while Daveth covered them with arrows. Fear gripped her as hard as she was gripping her families sword and shield. Her blade clashed with the Hurlock, she was close enough to smell its putrid breath. The familiar dance of battle washed over her as she brought her shield high to block a blow. Even its weapons were twisted, this taint left nothing untouched.
With a curdled scream the Hurlock lifted its sword well above its head ready to break her block. Dodging to the left she sliced its back meeting only a large plate of armor. Cursing she recoiled, reading herself for the counter attack. It came in the form of an elbow to the face. Gushing, her vison blurred as she stumbled back. The Hurlock continued its assault crushing the hilt of its sword into her ribs. If she wasn't wearing chainmail the blow would have crushed her instead of knocking her on the ground. She stumbled, slipping on the damp ground. Still disoriented from the blow she had taken.
The Hurlock laughed, sure of an easy kill. It prepared for another strike lifting its sword well above its head. Exposing a crease between the thick plates of corroding metal. Without hesitating she drove her sword deep into the exposed section of flesh. Letting our a gurgled cry the Hurlock dropped its sword and slumped to his knees. Regaining her footing she pulled her sword from the mass of decaying flesh and aimed it at the space between the Hurlocks breast plate and helmet partially severing its head.
In between panting and spitting blood she managed to asses the battle ground. Alistair and Daveth had managed fine with the smaller dark spawn while Jory had been to useless to lend a hand. Alistair had congratulated her, she assumed, his words fell on ringing ears. Her head was still very much fuzzy from her encounter but there was no time for her to gather herself. They pressed deeper into the Wild.
She made sure to take caution before engaging in combat with another Hurlock. By the time they reached the tower she was bloody and bruised, unsure where her blood ended and the Darkspawns began. "The scrolls should be here somewhere." Alistair said while pick at a pile of rubble.
Somewhere was certainly a helpful direction. Spotting a broken chest behind overgrowth she decided that would be a fine place to start. Rifling through the splintered wood and debris from several Falls back she missed the approaching stranger, not noticing her until she spoke.
"Well, well, what have we here?" the woman asked, her voice silky and deep. Pleasing in the same sense that crackling bacon was. The mysterious woman continued to talk, the words jumbled in the recrutes head. She found it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything save the woman's eyes. Rich pools of amber burning like the soft coals of a fire.
"What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?" The woman asked.
"Neither." For a moment she hadn't realized she was speaking. The heavy haze from her blow was still lingering. "Grey Wardens once owned this tower."
"Tis a tower no longer." She stated, circling them a way an animal does while sizing up its prey. "I have watched your progress for some time. Where do the go I wondered, why are they here?" She paused ling enough to take them all in. "And now you touch ashes none have touched for so long, why is that?"
"Don't answer her, she looks Chasind. That means others may be nearby." Alistair cautioned the group.
" So you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" The woman said, the curves of her lips struggling to not pull into a smile.
"Yes, swooping is bad." Alistair said, growing more hostile.
"She's a Witch of The Wilds, she'll turn us into to toads she will." Daveth said, clearly shaken and sticking to his superstitions. The woman tried her best to hold back a laugh at the audacious claim.
"A Witch of The Wilds? Such idle fancies those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" The woman asked in a tone that reminded her very much of Nan.
"You there, girls do not frighten as easily as boys. Tell me your name and I will tell you mine." She looked wild, as wild as the flowers carving themselves into the cracks of the towers rubble. She was a reminder of far away places, places that were growing impatient by a stalled answer.
"You can call me Rose." The recruit answered, a name her father had picked for her. At birth it had represented the beauty her parents had witnessed. Now all that remained of her name were the twisted thorns of a Rose Bush that didn't know when to die. Rose petals wilted as the seasons changed the thorns stayed on, twisted and bitter.
A/N: I suffer from pretty severe Dyslexia, so I am deeply sorry for the shit ton of spelling issues you have encountered. I also apologize for the grammar, as you can see I am not an English major. Criticism is always welcome.