A/N: Yes, yes, not a very original (and rather lame) title, I know. But I seriously couldn't think of anything that sounded more accurate(?). Any IRL Varrics out there with a much more witty name in mind, please hit me with a PM.
OC submissions are very much welcome (via review, I'd rather leave PMs exclusive for questions/spoilers). Long-time readers would know that I'm not a fan of creating an ensemble by myself. Different characters by different people feel much more organically unique, and I do not have 2 Rs in my name (how George R. R. Martin and J. R. R. Tolkien can single-handedly write so many characters is a tell-tale sign they're aliens in disguise).
Details to include in your submission: name, class and specialisation, race, physical and personality description. If you wish for personalised armour, please include the colour and its corresponding material used.
Example: navy blue (silk brocade) sash with pinkish (dawnstone) armour plates.
UPDATE: If there is any aspect of your character you wish to see mentioned/focused/explored in future stories, such as sexuality/hometown/background/family/childhood, include all the relevant information in your submission. Feel free to submit it as a PM if you don't want to spoil potential plot points for other readers scrolling through the review section.
If you post without using an account and there is none of the above information, then I'll flesh out the unmentioned aspects of said character with my own spin as I have no way of consulting with you in private.
The archer's fingers pulled hard at the taut bowstring, arrow firmly nocked in place.
In, out. In, out, she chanted to herself, willing her diaphragm to settle into a slow but heavy rhythm.
A final deep breath, arrow head deadlocked on her target, and her armoured feet pushed against the earth beneath. Her eyes remained trained on her target, hands steady even as she felt her entire being propel into the air backwards.
Wait for it, she commanded, as her fingers itched to release their hold. Half a second, then the all-too-familiar and almost-silent whoop of hemp snapping in the air at the sudden release in tension. It was all too quick for her eyes to process, but the archer didn't have to see anything to know the results. The solid crunch and roaring cheers were all too telling as soon as she landed back on her feet.
"That's my girl!" Cabot yelled in pride as he picked the menacing apple off his head, arrow lodged firmly through. "You just gave Tethras a run for his sovereigns!"
The archer gleamed in pride. That particular feat had taken her a full two weeks to master. It had always been a half-baked trick, but a recent announcement from Lead Scout Harding of an upcoming archery competition had bolstered her resolve to finally master it.
"Flissa!" the dwarf hollered into The Singing Maiden, "a round of ale for everyone!"
The crowd around them cheered again, though this time for the free drinks more than anything else.
She was about to reply when another rough, gravelly voice cut through the noise. "Ferrand! We have orders!"
It was her partner, Cador. The elven assassin was tall and lithe, his slim-muscled limbs dextrous and forceful. The two wicked-looking blades on his back were slightly smudged brown - he'd been out in the woods again. Cador continued, "Sister Nightingale has work for us."
"They should just be slightly further ahead. Prepare yourself," was all Cador said.
The duo had been silent ever since leaving Haven. And on horseback as well - which was an omen, considering their precious limited steeds in the stables due to the lack of a horsemaster for proper supervision. Even Ambassador Montilyet had travelled on foot with everybody else during their journey from the Free Marches.
"I have a name, you know," his dwarven companion complained. "You'd think that three months of partnership would be enough to break the ice between us. No pun intended," she quickly added as they went around a patch of frozen rocks. "Cyra, or Scout Ferrand, if you want to go all formal."
Cador grunted. He was neither a man of small talk nor of unnecessary politeness. Why Sister Nightingale thought to place this chirpy dwarven archer under his tutelage, he would never understand. He would've preferred any one of those solemn templars that had joined Commander Cullen, or even a mabari as a partner. Both alternatives didn't talk, and had the ferocity of tigers. Ferrand had none of those qualities.
"Halt," he ordered. "Look at the ground."
Footprints, deeply imprinted in the thick snow, their outlines vaguely human with jagged edges. Only heavy armour-clad soldiers could have made such prints. Ferrand wordlessly got down from her horse and tied her steed to a nearby tree.
At least she's learning.
Cador followed suit. Weapons drawn, they silently trekked their way downhill, occasionally burying themselves among the thick bushes for cover.
"Look!" Ferrand whispered, free hand pointing at a massive green glow emanating from the entrances of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
Then everything came at once from within the temple: shouting, orders, yelling. The guards at the entrance were agitated - bodies turning and rushing head-first into the interior, great swords unsheathed and shields raised.
"Go!" he barked, legs sprinting like a gazelle's, a poisoned-coated dagger in each hand. Ferrand's heavy booted paces trailed him, her arrow-filled quiver shuffling and bouncing among themselves on her back. Whatever that was happening was very wrong.
They halfway down the slope when a BOOM quaked from within the temple. Greyish black tiles flew in the air as a bright greenish tint lit up the sky as if it was First Day in Val Royeaux... and began to rain down upon them as gravity resumed control of motion.
Cador forced his feet to stop, the sudden stop in momentum forcing him to slush down ankle-deep in the thick snow. Ferrand behind him did likewise, and began to climb back top. She'd discarded her bow, deciding instead to run on all four limbs for greater stability against the slippery ice.
The further they were away from the temple, the smaller chance of the bricks cracking their skulls. But the hill itself seemed bent on hindering their climb, suddenly feeling much more steep. Cador's hands and feet began to numb in the sharp cold, his weapons also abandoned - bare hands and exposed metal were not exactly ideal in the freezing wind while running away from raining debris.
"Hurry!" Ferrand shouted, panting. The archer turned back and stretched a hand. "Come on!"
Cador's arm reached to meet hers, but the dwarf's eyes grew wide, a half-finished curse, then she tumbled down face-first and slid down the snow.
Directly into him.
A/N: So how was the prologue? Let me know. Every review goes a long way for every writer out there.
And yes, I know, I win shittiest updater for Uploaded, but this damn game has got me seduced so bad.
PS. I know everyone wants their character to be unique but Fenris-style lyrium tattoos, Varric's chest hair, Cullen's uber-stylish hair and Isabela's libido combined in a single person is just too much. I speak from experience.