The hunter stalks her prey, her footsteps silent. Her excellent posture and form are evident; she's a master. The hunter—No, the majestic hunter expertly pulls the bowstring taut, her eyes—did I mention they're gorgeous, sky-blue orbs of magnificence—trained on the wolf.
Oh yeah. You're going down, little wolf.
Fiahrel cracked a smile, her inner monologue giving her an unneeded confidence boost. She waited for the wolf to turn, hoping to stick the arrow right through its skull. Nobody outside the Alienage will eat wolf meat anyway. The pelt will sell for good coin, though. Yep. That's a nice pelt. Now turn your damn head.
After a moment, the wolf turned, and Fiahrel loosed the arrow.
And missed.
"Shit." Fiahrel notched another arrow and fired quickly, catching the startled wolf in the hindquarters. Still, it ran after her. Deftly, Fiahrel shrugged the bow over her shoulder and pulled herself into one of the trees, scrambling up a few limbs.
Once she was sure she was safe, she grabbed her bow and an arrow – noticing with a groan how empty her quiver was becoming – and shot the wolf again. It hit the beast straight in its chest, and the wolf fell dead.
"No pelt for Fiah," she grumbled, sliding off the tree limb and landing softly on the ground. She pulled the two arrows out of the animal, grimacing at the sound. Wiping the tips on the wolf, she shoved the arrows back in her quiver. "No point going back for the other one. You, little wolf, are coming with me."
With a grunt, Fiah lifted the wolf onto her shoulder, slinging blood around her. Now, I'll have to spend all the coin from this wolf on new clothes. Ugh. This isn't worth it.
For a moment, a familiar thought entered Fiah's mind—she could leave Denerim and join the Dalish. There, she could hunt all day and always return home to food.
But she shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. Too risky. Too dirty. Nope, I'm going back to my nice, warm bed. Acceptable, not-quite-cold, straw-filled, scratchy mattress covered with a blanket made from old, sweat-stained trousers, she amended with a frown.
Maker, I hate the Alienage.
Sighing, Fiah focused on making her way through the forest. It wasn't too long before she reached Denerim, her shoulders and back aching from carrying the wolf. Under the cover of night, she would – hopefully – go unnoticed by the guards. An armed elf was a dead elf, her father used to say.
As she approached the entrance to the Alienage, she groaned as she saw the normal guard wasn't there. His replacement, a burly man twice Fiah's size, grunted a warning as she came closer.
"What are you doing out after dark? And what's that you've got?"
"It's a wolf, ser," Fiah offered, making her voice timid and shaky. "I found it on the way to the city. It's the only food my family will have. Please, ser."
"Fine. Just get in there before somebody else sees you." He waved her in, rolling his eyes.
Fiah half-jogged past him so he wouldn't catch sight of her bow or makeshift quiver. "Idiot," she mumbled under her breath once she was safely in the Alienage. "Oh, my poor family," she quipped in falsetto. "Too bad they're dead." Fiah chuckled grimly. Everyone always assumes you're part of a poor, hungry family. No one ever guesses that, besides the crappy house, I live a wonderful life of solitude and meat.
The magnificent, glorious, triumphant hunter returns home. Watch her quick, silent steps and fear her. She's deadly. She's beautiful. She's Fiahrel.
And she's going to be rich in the morning.
"Surprise!"
Fiah shot out of bed, sputtering as wine dripped into her mouth, nose and eyes. "Dammit. What'd I tell you about waking me up by splashing stuff in my face?" she scolded, wiping the wine away with the hem of her shirt. When she could see again, she glared at the elf in front of her. "You're already drunk, aren't you, Faelid?"
"No," he snorted, laughing. "A little." Grinning, he grabbed Fiah's wrist and pulled her out of bed. "C'mon, the wedding's going to start and we won't be there and that means no more wine."
Rolling her eyes, Fiah groaned, "The wedding. I forgot all about it. That means I can't trade in the Alienage today." She inspected the clothes she was wearing and found them mostly clean, so instead of changing, she grabbed the wolf from the night before. She had cut and cleaned the meat, and done her best to preserve as much of the pelt as possible. Lots of coin, Fiah, her mind cheered.
Faelid shrugged, inspecting the goblet he was carrying. "I'm supposed to go find Soris," he grumbled suddenly. "Should I tell Kielle to wait on you?"
Fiah's eyes widened in alarm. "Maker, no! I'm not dealing with that woman right now. I'll try to be at the wedding. For Soris," she clarified. "Not Kielle." Grabbing the crate of wolf meat, Fiah shoved Faelid out of her house, letting the crooked door swing shut behind them.
To her surprise, the Alienage wasn't full of drunken elves and other various party-goers; the mood was rather grim. Fiah caught sight of a few humans near the entrance, rushing out. So close, she lamented silently. I'll bet the wedding was almost canceled.
Big events were rare in the Alienage, and Fiah preferred it that way. She liked the quiet, disease-ridden lifestyle that the city slums offered; excitement wasn't for her. Her daily trip to the market was more than enough excitement for her, and she only did that for the money it brought.
She sighed, not looking forward to spending today's market trip surrounded by humans; the elves were bad enough. Even so, the humans would undoubtedly pay more. Fiah knew the wolf supply in the Denerim market was woefully tiny.
Why, Fiah, what an excellent specimen you've brought. Such a lovely wolf is worth at least twelve sovereigns!
Ah, yes. Twelve will do, I suppose, though I was hoping for closer to fifteen.
You're quiet right, Fiah! You're such a mighty, wonderful, stunning hunter! I'll give you twenty sovereigns, just because you're so amazing!
Yes, Fiah thought, tipping her face to the sun as she entered into the market, sing my praises, little market-men.
She plopped the crate down on the stall she sometimes sold to. "Wolf meat," she began, opening the crate. "I'm looking for two sovereigns. I'll throw in the pelt for an extra three."
"Five sovereigns?" The merchant looked at Fiah like she was insane. "I'll give you a sovereign for the meat, and fifty silver for the pelt."
"Make it two sovereigns," Fiah crooned, "and I'll let you keep the crate."
The merchant gave a little "hmph" and inspected the crate. "Fine. Two sovereigns."
"Nice doing business with you," Fiah smiled, plucking the gold coins from his hands. Hiding her disappointment, she sauntered back to the Alienage. As much as she hated excitement, she owed it to Soris to be at his wedding.
Not far from the Alienage entrance, Soris waved Fiah over to where he was standing with three other elves. Two, Fiah didn't recognize. The other was her least favorite person.
Kielle Tabris.
Armed with her signature sneer and bad attitude, Kielle looked ready to punch her betrothed—at least, that's who Fiah assumed the strange man was—right in the face, simply for existing. She fidgeted in her wedding clothes as Fiah approached.
"Hello, Soris." She pointedly avoided Kielle.
"You made it," he breathed with relief. "I saw you go to the market and wasn't sure you'd make it in time." Quickly, he added, "These are our betrothed, Nelaros and—"
"They're going to start without us," Kielle interrupted, her green eyes piercing. Without waiting for an answer, she marched towards the dais where the wedding would be held.
Fiah turned to the elf to her right. "Sorry, man. You're in for a rough life."
"I'm sure she's—"
"Nope," Fiah interjected. "She's a bitch."
Nelaros gave her a wide-eyed stare, full of disbelief and confusion. "Maybe we should follow her, and you can stay here," Soris suggested, giving Fiah a harsh, scolding look.
She nodded. "I'll be watching." Grumbling to herself about crowds and excitement, Fiah found a place to stand near the dais that was relatively empty of elves. She leaned up against a building whose roof had caved in, hoping the wall didn't decide to crumble as well.
Once both couples had gathered, there were speeches and praises to the Maker and other things that made Fiah sleepy. She had nearly nodded off when the clanking of armor and a few screams caught her attention.
A human—What's his name? Van? Vaughn? Vincent, maybe?—marched onto the dais, followed by a small troupe of heavily armed guards. Sensing trouble, Fiah slipped past the flustered crowd and into her house, digging out her hidden bow and quiver. She counted her arrows, cursing.
Twelve. Blast. I'll have to be careful.
She carefully notched one, heading back into the sunlight and aiming straight at one of the guards. From where she was standing, it looked like he was holding an elf in front of him, but she couldn't be sure. Either way, Fiah knew she couldn't miss.
C'mon, Fiah. You can do this.
Taking one last deep breath, Fiah let the arrow fly. It lodged into the guard's armor, hitting him square in the back. He stumbled forward, and Fiah saw Kielle's blond ponytail as she ducked out of the way. Before the guards could react, Fiah had already shot another arrow. This one landed in the shoulder of another guard.
By now, two of the guards were running for Fiah. Using the skills she had acquired after years of hunting, she slipped her bow on her shoulder and jumped, grabbing the edge of the roof of her house and pulling herself onto the roof. Quickly notching another arrow, she shot at one of the guards following her; it pierced the center of his forehead, but Fiah couldn't allow herself even a second to celebrate. The other guard was trying to follow her onto the roof, struggling to pull himself up.
The stupid roof won't hold, Fiah realized with panic. Groaning, she sprinted across her rooftop and leapt onto the adjoining building, hoping she didn't fall through into someone's house. She was quick to right herself, carefully tiptoeing along the edge of the roof until she reached the end.
Already regretting her choice, Fiah jumped for the dais. She slammed into Kielle, who was busy wresting a sword from one of the guards. "Get off!" she yelled, pushing Fiah roughly.
There was a sharp crack as Fiah rolled off the dais and onto the hard dirt of the Alienage. Momentarily stunned in disbelief, Fiah held up the remains of her bow. Now I'm completely useless. Guess I'll have to wait for Kielle to kill all the guards. Either that, or we're all dead.
Her heart sunk as Kielle flew off the dais as well, blood spattering her face. Crimson was beginning to blossom on the sleeve of her wedding dress, but she just stood and called out another challenge to the guard who'd thrown her down.
"I do like a little spirit," a voice mocked, "but this is ridiculous." The human—Vaughn sounds right. The bastard.—appeared on the edge of the dais, grinning. He had an elf thrown over his shoulder. It looked like Shianni, but Fiah couldn't be certain. It didn't matter, though; she wasn't about to let any one of the humans take any elf from the Alienage.
Great idea, but you're weaponless. And look at those arms—totally pathetic. You should work out more often, in case something like this ever happens again.
Fiah sighed, feeling helpless. Kielle glared at her for a moment before turning back to the guards.
The marvelous hunter has been defeated. Her companion, an angry, thick-skulled wants-to-be-a-hunter, growls in an attempt to frighten the predators. Too late, she just looks stupid. The marvelous hunter, however, looks beaten.
Marvelous, but beaten.
Fiah gasped as a guard came up behind her and threw her over his shoulder. "Let me down!" she protested, trying to push away from him. In answer, he threw her onto the ground and quickly tied her hands and feet together before roughly gagging her.
Damn. Now the marvelous hunter looks as stupid as her companion.
Grunting in protest, Fiah did everything she could to fight against her capture, which wasn't much. She wasn't sure what the rest of Denerim would think about three elves being dragged through the city, but she figured no one would care enough to do anything.
The marvelous hunter is paraded around like the wolves she kills. Her excellent poise and posture are no longer evident, hidden by her irritation.
The marvelous hunter hates excitement.