Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins or any character from the Dragon Age universe.
Author's Note: Ahhh...well I didn't plan on writing this, but it's about oh, maybe 60 pages and only on chapter 5.
Remember, you don't have to review but I'm not going to know if you like it or not unless you tell me. ;)
Edit 1/3/14 (because I'm up early and snowed in, joy - that was sarcasm btw): A reviewer brought something to my attention (thank you to said reviewer - that was not sarcasm, I was really happy someone reviewed after the crappy night I had).
Elyria is not a self insert. To be clear, Elyria was originally an auburn haired sassy, angry twin with Leukemia in a House story about seven years ago. It was actually pretty long then Kutner died and sigh, I was forced to rewrite a lot of the story. Which, of course, depressed me and made me not want to finish. I inserted Elyria into another original story, changed her hair color, eye color, level of sass and snark and thus this variation was born.
Believe me, if I was going to self insert I'd use my name, my body type and personality.
Chapter 1:
Honestly I have no conception of how I possibly could have ended up here. Thedas, to me as well as a great number of other people where I'm from, is a fictional world. The setting for two video games, some comics and a couple of books I think. Another video game was in the works from what I understood, but that is neither here nor there at the moment. Where I'm from there are stories, novels, and movies about people ending up in other worlds. Places where they're not supposed to be. They fuck up the story line, some big bad comes to the forefront and the protagonist gets a good dose of humility to temper their all knowing hubris. It happens all of the time in fiction.
Yes I watch, well watched as it is a lot of Doctor Who and Supernatural.
I used to watch Buffy and Angel too.
Sleepy Hollow.
Torchwood.
The list goes on…
Being here, getting here, arriving here, it didn't happen like it does in the stories. I wasn't walking, jogging, running, alone on a moonless night only to be accosted by a mugger or worse. I didn't fall asleep watching television. I didn't make a wish on a questionable, ancient looking oil lamp. There were no magical, twinkling fairies handing out wishes. No mischievous djinn twisting hopes and desires into horrifying realities. No witchcraft gone wrong or invocation gone sideways. I didn't fall down a proverbial rabbit hole. I didn't fall asleep listening to a story.
I didn't die.
I sat in the quad at school playing with an app on my phone, killing time between classes. The one pm economics lecture with my least favorite professor had been unceremoniously cancelled. No explanation. Not that I wanted to attend anyway. The only reason I even enrolled in the class was because my parents wanted to have some control over my course load. My mother feared me becoming a tomboy (and thus – with her 1950's values of womanhood – never getting married) and my father worried that my major wouldn't get me anywhere in life. Or serve to get me a better job than a checkout clerk at Macy's.
My next class at two thirty would have been History of Rock and Roll. We were supposed to watch the new Rock of Ages over the weekend as homework and come up with a dozen comments or questions about the movie. Afterward I would have gone to my favorite class of the day, Fencing 302, an upper level that only a handful of people got into due to requirements and prerequisites. The last class I would have attended was the class that made my father flip-out and demand I start taking my future seriously.
An upper level art class with professor Moonbeam Starfire. Yes, that is her real name. No, really. Her parents were commune hippies that opened a bed and breakfast later in life. She, according to her confessions, has a brother named Ash Currant and a younger sister named Willow Fawn. I kind of envied her.
I sat out on the lawn of the Dawkins building, listening distantly to the sound of the ducks in the pond while I killed zombies on my Android. I remember feet walking past my line of vision and the sounds of other people laughing or talking. Snippets of conversations out of context, forgotten a heartbeat after they passed. I saw people on phones, or talking on Bluetooth head sets. I remember distinctly seeing the red brick of the Mitchell building across the street from me for quite some time.
The last thing I recalled before realizing that I wasn't in Kansas anymore, I waved to my history professor as he went into the building. Doctor Dave with his studded diamond earring in one ear, ever present 5 o'clock shadow and rich Scottish brogue said he would see me in class in a bit. I remember standing up if only to shuck the weight of the plain beige Old Navy spring jacket I added to my dark blue Air Force hoodie before leaving for class this morning. April showers might bring May flowers, but they also brought temperamental rain storms and winds that whipped like Moffat's version of Irene Adler.
I left on my scarf too, beige, blue and green cashmere number I adored.
The sun had long since come out to shine and heat the air. I felt warm and sleepy with all the layers on, but unlike the people that lived this far north I knew better than to take them all off in favor of my t-shirt and jeans. A good arctic wind would break my immune system like an uncooked egg shell. Once the jacket was folded up and put away, I took off my headphones too. The steady drum beat of Sour Cherry shut off mid chorus.
Now I'm not like a lot of people I know that crank up the volume until it rivals the sound of a jet engine. I keep it low enough so that I can drown out the mundane but still pick my name up if said at a slightly higher than average volume. I think, in total, I may have been looking down for all of two to three minutes. Maybe.
When I looked up again, note book and Kindle in hand (because downloading my text book as I passed the library every day made was so much cheaper than actually buying it) I realized that Kansas was far away. Well, technically New York State, but it may well have been Kansas for all I knew. Instead of the sparsely spaced trees of the quad – a green field area formed by the Hudson, Dawkins and Heaver buildings that was home to a small pond at the center – I found myself standing in a marsh. Literally.
Trees, foliage and marshland as far as the eye could see.
The low sitting stone wall that surrounded the Hawkins building, the one I'd been waiting on not five minutes ago, no longer sat behind me. Nothing but a small clearing, no more than twenty paces in either direction stood at my back. The synapses in my brain misfired several times before I realized there was something rotten in the state of Denmark. Bewilderment gave way to uncertainty, uncertainty to denial, denial to indignation, indignation to dread, and finally dread to the sobering realization that my cozy little college town was not anywhere near by.
I think I may have skipped negotiation as a step, but basically I went through the stages of grief in a handful of seconds. The emotions of course would repeat, continuously, for quite a bit more time afterwards. Feeling like a fish out of water I grabbed in my bag for my phone. No signal. Despite the disheartening slash through the tiny white cell tower in the corner of the screen I tried GPS. When that failed I tried 911, because that usually goes through no matter what kind of cell tower is in the vicinity.
Nada. Nothing. Not even the irritating sound of an electronic call cannot connect message. What the fucking hell?
Which left one of two options, either I was somewhere without cell reception or I was somewhere there could not be any cell reception. Similar as the two seemed to be, they weren't in the slightest. The first implied that the area near and around where I ended up lacked reception but eventually I could walk my way into an area with reception. The latter stated simply that I would be, could be, in a place that didn't have any form of cell tower. An idea which brought on a minor panic attack as I stood there staring at the completely useless phone in my hand.
I used to watch a lot of Outer Limits, Stargate, Haven too. Although I knew without a doubt that I hadn't accidentally invoked the wrath of any ancient alien gods or locked in any star signs with my phone. No television set to mess with. No strange apps for my Kindle.
Hands shaking, I turned the phone off and put it away. If I couldn't GPS my way out of these woods then sure as hell no one could find me here even if they knew to look. Better to save the battery. I charged it that morning thankfully. My mild OCD refused to let me ignore charging anything for more than a twenty-four hour period, especially my phone. Realizing I needed to save the battery life on anything and everything I had with me, I set to shutting everything down. My Kindle, and my iPod.
I checked the pocket in my bag that I kept generic WalMart brand granola bars in, finding happily I did indeed stock it yesterday when I reminded myself to. The twenty ounce bottle of Poland Spring I stuck in my bag this morning sloshed a little as things moved around. My wallet, intact with my debit card, driver's license, student ID and sixty four dollars left over from my shopping at the grocery store yesterday morning. A Strawberry Lemonade lollipop, half a bag of sour gummies, a balsa wood plane they were handing out by my dorm this morning to advertise some new aviation model store opening in town, art supplies and my sketch book, binder, my keys, makeup clutch, hand cream, and my lucky stuffed owl; Herbert.
Jesus I had a lot of crap, no wonder my bag weighed so effing much.
I used this jumbo blue-green striped messenger bag I picked up at the Christmas fair back home over the winter break. The woman at the kiosk managed to talk me into a lot, like a pair of Claddagh rings for my boyfriend and I. Unfortunately said boyfriend chose the day after our return to school to end our relationship. I kept the rings on a necklace under my clothes on the same chain I kept the oval locket with my grandparent's wedding photo, and the wooden turtle charm my best friend used to wear around his wrist.
Thinking about my best friend made my throat tight. If he were here he'd know what to do.
The cold weather felt heavier here than it did back in New York. The damp seemed to settle into my sweatshirt quickly, sending a slick cool shiver down my back. I pulled out my jacket again, donning it. Something silver and worn caught the light before I could drop the flap back into place over my bag. I reached in for it and almost sighed in relief. I forgot about Cody's utility knife. His mom gave it to me after the funeral. She said she couldn't have his things in the house, his stepfather wouldn't have it. She gave me the totem the same day.
Throat constricted and sore I fought back tears.
Crying wouldn't do me any good, and it would waste valuable energy. It would also lead me to freaking out which I could absolutely not afford to do. I could freak out once I found somewhere safe for the night. Oh, I had hours and hours until evening and sunset, I could tell by the height of the sun overhead. At least time hadn't gone funny on me. It was still a little before, maybe a little after, two in the afternoon.
Taking several deep, slow breaths I looked for moss on the trees. All of my hiking trips in the Catskills alongside Cody left me with a handful of useful knowledge. Moss grew on the north side of a tree because it could only survive outside of direct sunlight. Using the utility knife to remove the bark of trees as I passed, I went north and somewhat east. Right handed people tended to walk more heavily toward their right, where left handed people walked heavily to their left. So north, and a little east. I hoped by ripping a patch of bark off trees as I passed it would keep me from walking in a completely useless circle.
The sun seemed to slide a little lower while I walked. Just as I began to fear not being able to find shelter for the night my eyes fell on something in the distance. Water, a flowing stream. Unlike the waterways back home, there weren't soap bubbles, discarded candy wrappers or decrepit looking water bottles lining the banks. No chemical run off at all from what I could tell. Still, I dipped one finger into the icy water then dripped a few drops on my tongue.
Clean. If it had been bitter I would have spit it out and moved on. Instead I filled up the space in my water bottle before following the flow of water in the opposite direction.
The stream flowed south, away from me. I figured that if I managed to get far enough north I might eventually run into people. Unless, of course, there were no people to be found. I shuddered at the idea and kept going. My stomach started to rumble in the first alert that I was missing dinner with my roommate and friends in the dining hall. I wondered if maybe Emma would try my cell when I didn't show. Or if she'd chalk it up to me pulling another all nighter in the library again.
A few handfuls of water from the stream quieted my stomach but I'd need food sooner or later. The package of granola bars I dumped in my bag yesterday only held six. I'd need to either forage or dredge up the vague-ish memory of how to make a trap for fish. I didn't recognize the vegetation and I'm not much for building fires. Not too bad at fishing with a fishing pole, my granddad taught me how.
The first ruin came into sight by the time the sky began to turn pinkish in color. I ran all the way to the leaning archway, solid white marble, smooth and just a little warm under my hand. If I had thought before that I might still be somewhere in America, the idea went out the window with the certainty of being on Earth as well. As I looked up at the vine covered broken down masses of white-grey stone jutting out of the ground I came to a horrifying realization.
"Toto," I murmured looking around and around until my brain and eyes began to hurt from vertigo, "we are so not in Kansas anymore."
I sat down by the ruins and downed a few pieces of the gummi sours. If I succumbed to shock there wouldn't be anyone to help me. Water, a handful of colorful red, blue and orange later, my hands stopped shaking. I licked the sugar from one hand then washed it in the waterway. It had begun to widen from a flowing stream to a babbling brook. Hopefully it would lead me toward a town or village of some kind. Where they spoke English. Or a semblance of English.
My head still spun a little from occasionally looking up to keep my way. I've always been prone to vertigo. Which is why I cannot play first person shooters for very long. I'm more of an RPG person. Skyrim addict or so says Emma's boyfriend. Though I recently had been spending a lot of time playing through Dragon Age Origins and Dragon Age Two again. If only to give myself a few more options by the time DA3 came out.
And that, as they say, was when it hit me.
After the requisite panic attack, the umpteenth roll through the stages of grief – I must be one odd duck for not hitting the negotiating stage, seriously – I threw up. It was good that I'd managed to find a decent enough water source because I just couldn't fight off a good old selfish 'why me' cry. The only thing I didn't do was scream my effing lungs out. Mostly because I was terrified I'd attract darkspawn.
Over and over in my head I kept coming up with reasons why I couldn't possibly be in a video game. First, shit like that didn't happen in the real world. Second it was a god damn video game. Not real. As in not part of existing reality. Third, fucking hell.
I scrubbed my face with the water from the brook. I went against my nature and sent up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, be it God, Jesus, The Maker or Andraste to please, please let me get out of this intact. I'm not much of a religious person, never have been, but I would take what I could get. Especially now.
I forced my legs to get me up and move. I breathed out and then in and out again to steady myself. If I were in Dragon Age then I probably started out in Origins. I looked up at the ruin as I passed it, my sneakers tracking against dewy grass. In the Kocari Wilds.
Meaning there could be hundreds of darkspawn a careless footstep away. I had to follow the river and hope it brought me north to Lothering. Or (Holy Christ I hope to hell not) Ostagar. An involuntary shudder went down my spine. If I did happen to be in Thedas, in Ferelden, I had no time frame for when I arrived. In the game I started back home I already recruited the Dwarves and put that asshole Beheln on the throne. I only did it for the achievement. Last play though I picked Harrowmont. Then again I'd been an Aeducan. I found getting Paragon status at the same time as sticking it to a scheming sociopath a bit of a kick.
Jesus.
Okay, I had to think. I had to figure this out.
I had two other open games that hadn't left Ostagar yet. The first Aedan Cousland rogue, an archer who only just picked up the quests before I quit. The other, also a rogue, female though Lyna, one of the Daelish dual wielding who went through the joining but hadn't spoken with Loghain, King Calin or Duncan yet at the war council.
Assuming night fall meant the battle would begin I needed to clear out soon. Before the shit hit the proverbial fan. No, more than that, I needed to find a high spot and…
Shortening the strap to the point my messenger bag didn't bounce off my hip anymore I grabbed hold of a sturdy looking branch above my head. I'll admit to not having climbed a tree since, oh say, junior high. But, just like riding a bike, you never forget how. Hand over hand, thank you fencing for upper body strength, my feet planted in the right places I managed to haul myself up a fairly tall Willow tree.
Trees, wetlands, pools of water and small hills toward the west. East of course held the brook that looked as if it ended in a pond about half a mile away. Beyond that stood the granite grayish-white stone of Ostagar. I knew it by the towering arches that seemed to breech the sky. No sounds of battle though. No sounds of troops moving or the raucous howling bay of a darkspawn horn into the night.
My heartbeat kicked up in my chest. I could get there, walk there in about a half hour if I hauled ass. My whole body gave a sigh of relief at finding some semblance of civilization. I almost forgot a handful of simple problems as I sat there straddling a heavy tree branch. Almost.
How would I explain myself to anyone who asked? Looking down at my clothing reminded me that I did not look like I belonged. Dark blue jeans, brand new from Old Navy paired with grey, pink and white sneakers. An Air Force hoodie, a spring jacket and under those a blue long sleeve Henley, a graphite grey t-shirt and a plain black ribbed tank. And my undies of course.
I'm from southern New York, where it is a little bit warmer year round okay?
Skin prickling with gooseflesh I eased my way down the tree until my feet touched grass.
"Maker's breath!" Someone cried from behind me.
I let loose a little scream of fright, jumping and turning and then flailing like a mad woman. Four men, all of them a lot taller than me. One balding guy with a hand on his sword – holy effing shit an actual broad sword – another guy with a skeever's face, dressed all in leather and…
The synapses in my brain misfired again.
People talk about seeing their creations brought to life from book to movie, but holy baby Jesus it is an entirely different story when you see your video game avatar in reality. It's an utterly singular experience.
When I created Aedan I spent a hell of a lot of time working on his face because the presets just out and out sucked monkey balls. Baboon balls at that. His angular cheek bones in real life were just as drool worth as I imagined and the hair I downloaded from the Nexus really did make him look a little wild and untamed. Which had been the plan. And those eyes, I actually liked the dark blue presets that came with the game, but Christ in heaven those eyes. I could drown happily in those twin pools of cool blue.
I feared salivating.
I thought about my make up and thanked whatever power in charge for my use of waterproof mascara this morning.
"One of the chasind," a distinctly familiar voice said.
I admit to being one of those girls whose skirts lift at the idea of romancing Alistair. I did it twice when I first got DA:O, one a female Cousland who of course became queen to his king. The other an Amell mage who sacrificed herself to kill the Arch Demon. I didn't realize the conversation Leliana had with my avatars about Alistair's athletic body type actually would suit him if he were real. Broad shoulders, warm skin, eyes that threatened to melt my panties off.
Though most of that went out the window when I realized he said I was one of the wilder folk. Bristling, "I am not chasind." The four sets of eyes on me made me think better of my anger once the words were out of my mouth. Their primarily six foot plus heights put them at a distinct advantage over my own five foot four. Holding tightly to the strap of my messenger bag, I stood my ground and tried at least to stare them down.
There were a lot of things I could have said. Should probably have said. What I did say though was:
"God damn it."
Language from a woman didn't seem to faze anyone except Alistair. Who had unceremoniously pulled Aedan off to the side and stood vehemently debating with him about little old me. What to do with me, or who I could be as it were. Ser Jory stood nearby with one hand on his broad sword, his eyes drifting over the landscape only to settle on me after each scan. Daveth on the other hand leaned nonchalantly against one tree and watched me with a growing, lecherous, leer.
A rogue, though not in the handsome devilish kind of way he reminded me quite a bit of a skeever. Which is to say an oversized, ornery rat.
I'm not the type of person who doesn't mind being stared at, so when his eyes had lingered on me upwards of three solid minutes I started to get annoyed with him. I could make the allowance that my clothes were strange and the plastic claw holding my hair back had sparkles melted into it. I've been told a number of times that I'm very pretty, with mint-green eyes and wavy pale blonde hair that Emma thinks looks like sunlight and moon light interwoven. My skin, from all the outdoor activities I've participated in over the years has this permanent tan, not dark but warm.
English/Sweedish/Native American heritage my grandfather said.
But I was tired of being watched.
"Is there something you wanted," I asked Daveth with a scowl, "or are you just going to keep looking at me like you're trying to get my clothes off with your eyes?" I don't like Daveth, though I do pity him. My dislike for his short lived character began when my very first NPC came across him accosting a female soldier with the old 'we could die tomorrow' line.
He seemed to take my ire in stride, his mouth moving upwards at one corner for a scoundrel's smirk. "Now how do you know what I am thinking or not? I could be wondering where you got them strange clothes you have on."
I could have gone through the small rant of how they weren't strange clothes where I'm from. In a crowd in my world I would have just been another person dressed like everyone else. Instead I called him out on his obvious lechery, "Then why do you keep staring at my chest?"
He shrugged, completely at home with his tactlessness.
I groaned audibly and shifted away. I could practically feel him staring at my ass. Waiting while Alistair and Aedan (try saying that three times fast) visibly argued over my presence. I couldn't be sure what they were trying to figure out whether to take me with them or take me back to Ostagar or leave me to the Wilds. They walked far enough away to void any eavesdropping I might have done. When they found me and Alistair asked me what I was doing out here if I wasn't one of the chasind, I hadn't been very forthcoming. I did try to stick to the truth though.
I gave them my name, explained I was lost and I wasn't quite sure where I was or how I got there. I'd been walking for at least an hour, maybe two. The things that wouldn't have Alistair's Templar sensibilities tingling with 'apostate' notions. Though…I really hadn't tried magic as of yet. Having watched a lot of Once Upon A Time, the idea of wielding primal spells with my fingertips left me all kinds of curious.
Mages here used a staff to conduct magical power, but they didn't need it for basic spells. I thought about forming a ball of magic with my left hand. It didn't work. I sighed. No magic for me then. Oh well.
"She could die out there!" Aedan's voice went up in an angry shout. He made a motion, one that said he was done arguing and walked away from a troubled looking Warden. I felt a little bad for Alistair. I chose Aedan's personality to be wise and his responses as cynical/comical.
Once he came within a few feet of me he gave me a short, quick bow, "My lady, I'm afraid we're too far into our tasks to turn back. If you wouldn't mind accompanying us the rest of the way, I promise we will help you once we are finished."
Knowing he was born into Teryn's family didn't stop me from being almost amazed that he called me 'my lady' and bowed to me. I felt my skin turning beet red, "You don't have to. I mean, thank you, I mean…" I flushed and hated myself for stuttering. God damn it. I opened my mouth to untie my tongue when the first clicks sounded.
Not too loud, but loud enough to echo in my ears.
I felt my eyes go wide of their own volition as thin threads of fear crept up my spine.
Genlock rogues.
And I didn't have any weapons.
Aedan took me by the arm, pushing me back toward the tree, "Climb." I didn't need to be told twice. I grabbed hold of the branch over my head just as the first one appeared. Battle cries went up and the clash, clash, bang of swords hitting armor and shields resounded. I watched blood so deep red it almost looked black spill from the severed limb of a genlock. My stomach roiled at the sight.
Fake blood on the movie screens, no problem. Darkspawn gore, yeah, problem.
Alistair's blade went through the neck of another one, one good jerk and half of the genlock's neck split open, blood spilling down its tarnished armor. Daveth and Ser Jory ended the existence of the last one, two blades to the back, broadsword through the stomach. In all, maybe they'd been fighting a handful of minutes.
I, on the other hand, had wrapped my legs and arms around the tree branch I'd settled on about ten feet up. When in doubt, blend into the scenery. I wasn't sure if the genlocks would have cared about me or not. Better safe than sorry considering my only weapon was Cody's utility knife. I waited until the four men were cleaning their blades of darkspawn blood before coming down.
Feeling like one of those young, frail things I read about in bad harlequin romance novels, I dropped out of the tree. I needed a weapon. Not just to assuage my mildly wounded pride, but to possibly keep me alive.
"Can you use a bow, my lady?" Alistair asked as he began pulling open his pack.
"Not very well," I admitted. I didn't fail archery necessarily. I dropped out of archery class before I could get a chance to flunk out last semester. Took the withdraw on my permanent record with a held up chin as it were. "I'm better with a blade." Though fencing, much like sex, didn't end up with anyone getting injured if you were doing it the right way. Unless, of course, that was your kink.
The Templar/Warden looked at me for a moment, seeming to study me.
To put the argument to rest, his eyes are a very dark green with strikes of topaz through the iris. Up close, his eyes are very, very pretty. Just saying.
He made a decision and pulled a weapon out of the tan and brown satchel. A weapon that probably should not have fit in his pack from the size of it. I always wondered if the backpacks in my Dragon Age game were enchanted. They had to be to store that much stuff and not have the wearer fall over from the weight of everything they might have been carrying. I know I used to carry maxed out stacks of Greater Lyrium potions and Major Health Poultices.
I didn't know what sort of sword it was, though I did know it was not a darkspawn blade. Those, as I'd recently seen, were ugly and permanently stained rust brown with blood and other unidentifiable fluids. Mine was an iron, maybe steel, long sword. Heavier than the saber I used while fencing. I wouldn't need two hands for it, but it would wear me out if I didn't use two hands. Inclining my head to him I said, "Thank you."
His ears turned a little pink at the tips, "We should, ah, go."
The men put me in the middle with, I suppose, noble notions of defending me and/or keeping me alive until they could go back to Ostagar. I didn't know what I would do if they took me back there. Flemeth's winged incarnation only had two claws, one for Aedan and one for Alistair. My stomach sank with the knowledge that unless I figured out something to do, somewhere to go, to run, I would undoubtedly die in this world.
Thankfully Ser Jory walked directly behind me. I don't think Daveth's face might have survived if I turned around to catch him watching my ass again.
The wilds looked much different than it did on screen. My graphics card is high end (thank you student loan refund checks) and my computer's processor was a 4g dual core so I play on ultra-high quality. Three dimensional reality still kicked it into oblivion. As much as I'd gone camping and hiking throughout my life, I still had never seen nature as wild as it was here. I felt like a tourist seeing Manhattan for the first time. The people I used to laugh at and dodge around while my friends and I shopped. The ones that went still on the pavement and stared up at the towering skyscrapers over head, metal and glass gleaming in the sunlight.
Only one thing stood out to me while we moved something that chilled me to the bone. There were no birds chirping. No frogs croaking from their lily pads in the marshy water. No squirrels chattering at each other over food. The sounds of the woods had gone much to quiet in response to the darkspawn invasion.
I felt like every footstep we made echoed even if I knew the grass muffled most of our movements.
So enraptured was I that almost missed the first signs of an imminent battle. These men had never come here before, but I had taken at least three of them through this before. I knew where we were. Sticking out of the ground in front of some grey-white marble ruins were stripped wooden logs covered in darkspawn 'art' or whatever it was actually called. The bottom dropped out of my stomach at the same time my adrenaline went into overdrive.
As if on cue, Alistair slowed in front of us his hands moving for his sword and shield, "Darkspawn."
Ser Jory took me by the shoulder, pulled me away and pushed me to the side. Very noble of him.
"Daveth," Aedan called back as he and Alistair moved forward into oncoming darkspawn, "protect the lady Elyria."
Who says chivalry is dead?
I could practically feel the dull pluck, pluck, pluck of Daveth firing off arrow after arrow in my bones. The other men took down the lower level hurlock and went after the emissary. The rule, at least in the video game world, is kill the casters first worry about melee later. Good to know it's a factor in real life – did I just refer to this world as real? Fuck my life… – as well.
That didn't stop the archer behind the barricade though. It let out that cackling, tick, tick of a sound as it fired toward Daveth and me. I sidestepped bringing up the blade in time to deflect. The arrow buried itself in the ground a foot and half behind me. I could feel my adrenaline racing and the cold sweat of fear down my back. All jokes aside, I wasn't ready to die.
And that is when I blacked out.
I am playing through a couple of other games on DA:O so I can have alternates for DA:2 and DA:3 when it comes out.
PM me if there are any issues please, I wrote this at work and edited it at home.