Disclaimer: I do not own any of the contents of Dragon Age, nor do I claim to. I own only mine own ideas
(edit: it appears in transferring from docs to , i lost my formatting. i'll be keeping my docs on FF from now on, so that shouldn't be a problem. I apologize if there was confusion)
He awoke with a start, as one does when startled from a dream. As he looked around, he noted nothing that would give him reason to be alarmed at first glance. Still, his brows involuntarily furrowed as he observed his surroundings.
Trees of varying heights surrounded him, all with leaves the dark shade of green and bark only a shade lighter than mud. He realized he was currently sitting against one of these trees, as if he had decided to have a lie down and accidentally fallen asleep. Looking down, he sighed in relief upon the realization he wasn't naked. The clothes he had intended to wear still clung to him, which also meant he probably wasn't robbed. He reached a hand out and felt his pack, also packed full of his supplies.
He supposed that he had no way of knowing what would really happen upon entering the portal. It was fortunate he was still alive, even. That would've been ironic, he mused; curiosity killed the thousand year old immortal, as it were. For all the good that immortality had done him. He stood up, placing a gloved hand on the tree trunk to assist him, and heaved a deep breath.
'Well,' He spoke out loud, thinking that it was strange to hear his own voice shattering the silence, 'time to get moving, I... suppose.' Talking to himself too, nice.
Time to take stock of things he thought to himself, grabbing his pack. He took a quick peek inside, satisfied to find his rations and miscellaneous supplies all accounted for. Attached to the backpack was a quiver of arrows. Twenty-something. Twenty-six. He counted, affirming it with a nod to himself. He slung it over his long cloak, and reached for the bow resting against the trunk of the tree, also throwing it over his shoulder.
'Ah, a bow,' He stated needlessly as he picked it up, 'I should have a sword, shouldn't I?' He looked down, noticing no sheath attached to either hip on his belt. He reached for the back of his belt, turning in a circle as he did so, before grabbing the hilt, and smiling at the reassurance. Had he been sleeping on it? He'd probably feel it later.
He unsheathed the blade, inspecting it (though probably without cause) for any blemishes or imperfections. The sword was one-edged, and curved slightly. It had no guard of any kind; not a traditional sword. The hilt was familiar, having been crafted for him, to the length of a hand-and-a-half. Letters were etched into the base of the blade on either side in a runic language, and he translated them mentally; Bane of All Things. In a word, Albitr. A fittingly menacing name for a sword, but it meant more to him. This sword was the bane of his enemies, but it could destroy more than that; it destroyed lives, loves, hopes, dreams, futures, pasts. A bit grim, but some things needed to be, to ensure that weren't forgotten.
He patted his chest, finding four pouches, two of which held small throwing knives. The other two were empty. He frowned. Nothing he could do about it now.
'Well,' He again spoke, turning to look around, having decided he was fully prepared. 'Where the shit am I?'
He had traveled along the road he had fallen asleep next to for two days now. This was the first time he had stopped for proper rest, because his legs hurt. He wouldn't need to sleep for another... two or three days. He had yet to encounter anyone, which he had not yet decided was a good or a bad thing.
On the one hand, he still had no idea what world he was actually in. A world not so different to his own, for the scenery was quite similar, but most definitely not his world. Were he to find someone, he had no idea what he'd tell them. Oh, probably something like 'I'm a traveler, from a far off place,' but he couldn't ask them for directions because he didn't know where he could go. They could very well be hostile; bandits and the like. All in all, it was a confusing situation.
On the other hand, what if he had found himself in an empty world? He had caught glimpses of four legged creatures, and had heard and seen birds, but he couldn't very well talk to them, could he? He could, but that was the start of a trip to becoming a madman. He was already having conversations with himself. As of yet, he had no way to get back to his own world. The portal had done its purpose, but it seemed was not in a fixed location that connected both worlds. He could very well be trapped, the only sentient on a planet yet to develop more intelligent life. For an immortal, that was much worse than a death sentence. He could kill himself, for he wasn't invulnerable, he just didn't age, but that was a rather morbid thought.
'Hmph,' He grunted to himself and took another bite of his bread. He paused mid-chew when he thought he heard a faint rumbling down the road. He accelerated his chewing, stuffing his half-eaten bread in his pack, and threw the pack around his shoulders, as well as his bow. His sword was still around his waist, and he hadn't had anything else out. He ran into the treeline (which he was right next to) and hid behind a tree.
A perfectly reasonable reaction when hearing a strange rumbling sound in the wildneress, he thought. The rumbling did steadily get louder, and he thought it sounded like that of a wagon on the road - or perhaps that was just what he hoped he heard. He peered around the edge of the trunk. The road was straight, so it wasn't that difficult to at least catch of a glimpse of the source.
It was indeed a cart, steadily trudging along at a moderate pace. It appeared to just be a single wagon, and he could only see a single driver with two horses. Doesn't mean there's not guards hidden around. Ah, there was his paranoia. No, he continued to reason with himself, who would hide guards for a single wagon? You keep them in view, to deter bandits. Sound logic.
He prepared himself to step out into view before he realized that he could very well be seen as a bandit himself. He was wearing light armour, a long cloak with his hood up, and a mask. Not to mention the bow slung over his chest and the sword at the back of his waist. He pulled down the mask and the hood, running a hand through his now messy hair.
Yes, he thought sarcastically to himself, I look much friendlier now. Not to mention the lack of shaving, and I still have the weapons. Well, it wasn't like there was much he could do. He stepped out from behind the tree.
'Hello!' He greeted, smiling and waving and hoping he actually did seem friendly. Then a frown came across his face. Do we speak the same language? What if waving is construed as being hostile? Did I just challenge this man to a duel?
His worries were interrupted by the wagon coming to a halt a few dozen feet from him. He remembered to smile, and also to drop his hand in case it was a declaration of war.
Now that it was closer, he observed that the driver of the wagon looked much like him. Or, rather, much like his species. He wore the clothes of a commoner, and to him, looked like a working man. He was older, his hair as white as snow. He wore a bushy moustache, the most groomed part of him it seemed, and seemed to purse his lips while looking at him across the distance.
'Hello.' He spoke in a gravelly voice, and he managed not to audibly sigh in relief.
'I, ah, am a traveler. Not a bandit, I promise.' He beamed, using his hands to articulate his point. Yes, because stating 'I'm not a bandit' is most definitely trustworthy.'
'Huh.' The man grunted, but seemed to take him at his word. At the least, he didn't start his horses to gallop past him.
'I've been traveling for a few days now,' He continued, not stepping closer for fear of upsetting what may very well be his one chance at getting to civilization. Without walking, anyway. 'Where are you headed?'
The man observed him for several moments, raising a brow. He managed not to fidget under the scrutiny, then mentally berated himself; here he was over a thousand years old, uncomfortable because someone from another world, less than a fraction of his age, was staring at him. It was a bit of an odd situation, though.
'Markham.' He finally spoke. 'You're pretty well armed.' He noted, distrust sneaking into his voice.
He cursed his weapons mentally before speaking, 'Well, I'm in unfamiliar territory. Don't know the land you see, being a traveler and all. Forgive me for asking, for I know that you don't know me, but might I travel with you to Markham?'
The man, despite his steely disposition, seemed to actually be generous enough. 'Before you do, just know that all I'm carrying are books and stuff for academics. Nothing you can rob me for, not for any real money.' Still distrustful though, which was perfectly reasonable given their situation. Out on a road in the middle of the forest, one of them alone with a cart full of supplies, the other heavily armed.
'Perfectly fine. I mean, I don't actually want to rob you, I just don't like walking.' That was true enough. Now he approached the wagon, intending to get on it. 'Ah, what's your name?'
The man was still eyeing him with something now closer to curiosity, but answered nonetheless, 'Markas. Markas Dunshire.'
'A pleasure to meet you, Markas. My name is Atlas.'
Markas was not a conversational fellow. Oh, he seemed perfectly nice, but was still content for most of the rest of the ride (which was only a few hours, they arrived in Markham by sundown) to stay silent. Atlas was quite uncomfortable for the beginning of it, until he decided he should really stop caring.
They arrived at the city gates, where a paytoll was required. Atlas was momentarily filled with alarm before Markas, without prompting, offered Atlas as his 'protection', paying for his way inside, surprising him greatly.
'Thank you, Markas,' Atlas said quietly but genuinely once inside the gates. 'I er, don't have any money to pay you back. Far away land, you see. I hope that you don't mind that. I am unsure of how to repay your generosity.' Best to be polite about it.
Markas was silent for several moments as he directed the cart through the city, before bringing the horses to a halt. 'You're welcome. Now get off my wagon.' Classic Markas.
He opened his mouth to respond, before nodding once, and getting off. It's not like he could ask him for anything else.
He at least had achieved the first part of his goal; civilization. Now to figure out what his second goal should be and where it was.
People scuttled to and fro, each with their own purpose, blissfully (and likely purposefully) ignorant of each other's daily lives. Each seemed more or less of the same class, one's clothing seeming no more extravagant than someone else's. The middle class, then. He seemed to be a bit of an outlier, with his admittedly somewhat ornate light armour and cloak. At least he wasn't wearing his hood, or the mask.
The architecture was more refined than he had expected. He could see what was probably the higher class part of town, tall buildings of white stone, flags with an unfamiliar symbol flown down the sides of some of them. Off to the side, he could see the tops of large golden statues of armoured figures carrying some sort of staff, which seemed to denote entry to an important location of some kind. Perhaps the central Keep of the city.
'Excuse me,' He stopped the nearest person, a middle aged man with long brown hair and the makings of a beard. Said man turned to him, a wary expression on his face as his eyes flicked across Atlas' choice of wardrobe. 'Could you direct me to the nearest library?'
This seemed to confuse him even more. Mysterious, heavily armed, cloaked figures were supposed to ask for the nearest bar, not the library, after all. Nonetheless, he seemed to look past his confusion. Atlas flashed a friendly smile to help him along.
'Aye,' The man nodded. He pointed to a nearby staircase leading further into the city. 'If you wanted to, you could try and get into the Markham University. One of the biggest in Thedas, I'm sure you know. They hardly let anyone in unless you're some noble, but I happen to know of a man called Lethiel,' At this, he turned one-hundred-eighty degrees to point at another staircase, leading downward. 'He's a nice fellow, if a bit odd. Head down straight, there'll be a sign pointing left, follow it. There ye go.'
'Thank you, kind ser.' Atlas inclined his head, and the man seemed to carry the trace of a smile as he nodded, looked Atlas up and down again, then turned to continue his business.
People seem to be quite helpful. Perhaps it's because of my dashing good looks. Or perhaps I found a much nicer world than mine. These people seem happy enough.
He had no idea how wrong he was.
'Oh. Hello.' An owlish man peeked up from behind the cover of a book, glasses perched on his nose. He was a short man, possibly a full head shorter than Atlas (though Atlas was quite tall himself). Short cropped brown hair and a clean shaven face peered at him, brows furrowed and mouth pursed, an expression Atlas thought he might make a lot, judging by the lines of his face. He didn't seem too old, perhaps forty years, if his species' normal standards were anything to go by. He sat behind the counter, which also had a number of other books placed around.
'Hello,' Atlas answered back evenly, 'Are you Lethiel?'
'I am, yes. What can I do for you?' Lethiel looked at his book for a few seconds, before closing it and setting it on the counter in front of him, standing and placing both hands on the counter.
Atlas stepped into the shop proper, closing the door behind him and looking around. It was a library, all right; bookcases went far back into the shop, farther than it had looked from the outside. Each one was filled edge to edge with books of varying sizes, not seeming to be catalogued in any specific order, though he couldn't be sure. The odd table with a seat or two was also placed about, parchment, scrolls, and more books stacked atop them. The smell of old parchment, paper, and ink was familiar to him, and clung to the room like a coat. In this unfamiliar place, it brought him a small amount of comfort.
'I'd like some books.' He stated, eyes settling on Lethiel.
'Most do.' He nodded once before continuing, 'What kind?' Lethiel didn't seem to take notice of his apparel, as most did, instead preferring to keep his owlish gaze on his face.
'History,' He elaborated, 'Any history you have. Er, early history, modern history. Perhaps a general summary of the past, you know.' Again Atlas began speaking with his hands, making indistinct gestures as he spoke.
'History,' Lethiel pursed his lips once more and looked to the side, thinking to himself. 'I have a few things.' He turned and walked into the large stacks of books, 'Take a seat!' Lethiel called back.
'Well. An amicable fellow.' Atlas said quietly to himself, then walked over to the nearest table, taking a few minutes to disarm himself and set his things beside the table.
Lethiel returned, carrying a stack of books so high he almost couldn't see over them to walk back to the table. With a grunt, he set them all down. 'On the very bottom there is the History of the Chantry, four chapters, bit of propaganda, above it is the Tale of the First Blight,' Sounds ominous, he interrupted mentally, 'then you have the Reign of the Tevinter Imperium,' Also ominous, he thought, 'five chapters, including the most recent one. Oh, and there's also The Game of Orlais on the top. That should get you started. I'll be back at the counter if you need anything.'
Well, he was thorough. 'get started'? This should last him for a while.
'It's what I never get about the gods of so many religions,' Atlas continued his rant, Lethiel sat across from him, attention focused on his own book, but also listening. 'They give their creations free will, and then get angry whenever they don't do what they want. I mean, if the Maker is all powerful, then he could undo whatever it is these Old Gods have done - he could undo the Old Gods in the first place, actually. Why did he allow them to exist, if he got so angry at what they did. Then he got so angry he put them to sleep for eternity. Except it wasn't eternity,' At this, he put down the History of the Chantry, Chapter 1, and picked up Tale of the First Blight, opening it and pointing to something random on the random page he had turned to, 'and this Old God awoke, because the Kingdom of the Maker, in heaven, was broken into. Isn't heaven meant to be impenetrable? And so, the Blight was unleashed. And there've been four since, one not too long ago,' He neglected to mention that he had never heard of a Blight until a few hours ago, and was personally glad. He had heard of - and once, seen something like it, and wouldn't have looked forward to coming into this world on the dawn of a Blight.
For all his complaining, still he was fascinated by this new history. It was almost exactly like reading a story. Someone could probably make quite a few novels of this. Perhaps even event something completely new, using this as a baseline.
'Yeah, well, historians and members of the Chantry alike have debated the history of... well, the Chantry for hundreds of years, and they'll debate it for hundreds more.' Lethiel responded, not looking up from his book.
'Do you believe in the Maker?'
'Do I practice the Chant? No.'
'Ah, but that's not what I asked. Do you believe in the Maker?'
Lethiel sighed, but after a moment responded, 'Not as he's depicted in those books.'
Atlas pursed his lips, then nodded. 'Fair enough.'
'Do you?' Lethiel looked up as he asked the question.
'Oh, er, no. Not the Maker.' Atlas took a moment to realize what Lethiel was asking of him.
Lethiel's brow furrowed. 'The Elven gods, then? Like the Dalish. You don't have the ears for it. You must believe in something.'
Now it was Atlas' turn to furrow his brow in confusion. 'The Dalish? Who are they?'
'You don't know who the Dalish are? Where have you been traveling?' The Dalish, it seemed were common knowledge. Bit of an odd name, he thought.
'Well, if you must know, I come from across the seas. A large island. This is all new territory for me - it's why I asked for the history books.'
At this, Lethiel leaned forward, even setting his book down. 'Really? That's amazing. I've never heard of any islands to the sea. What is the name of your... territory?' He seemed genuinely interested. It made sense, since he owned a large and extensive bookshop for him to be curious on things such as this.
Atlas, however, had only just come up with this idea; from what little he knew of their geography, Thedas was the main landmass and a native was a Thedosian. There were around ten countries (or at least ten things that could be considered one). Currently, he was in the Free Marches, a confederation of city states in the East. As such, he had to come up with a convinceable lie, and the best way to do that was to start with the truth.
'Erithan. The Erithan Isles.' Erithan was the name of his birth country. It was by no standards an island, however.
'Interesting - wait, you say you've never been here before? How do you speak the Common tongue? I can't imagine it's common on the Erithan Isles.'
'Oh, well, we do trade with... with Rivain, and Antiva.' A lie, but it also meant he had some idea of where these Erithan Isles should be, even if it was because he had accidentally said so. 'Requires a common language. Thus, Common. I don't know when we first learned the language, however.'
Lethiel made a 'hm' noise equivalent to 'Interesting,' and pulled a face, then nodded.
'You'll have to tell me more sometime.'
'I think I'll get the chance. I'll probably be staying in Markham for a while.'
'Oh, how long?'
'I have no idea. Do you have any idea somewhere I could sleep?'
Time passed slowly, which was saying something for an immortal. He had indeed stayed in Kirkwall for several months, nearing a year. Lethiel had allowed him to stay at the library in exchange for protecting it, having noticed the weapons he carried. It was a trivial task, considering that a library was one of the last places people ever considered to rob, and Markham was also a more cultured place, not prone to things such as gangs or any sort of organized crime. At least, not at high levels.
Atlas had devoured much of the contents of the library, spending most, if not all of his days, reading. For someone who needed to sleep less than half as often as these humans did, it was no wonder that, towards the end of his long stay, he had begun to run out of entertaining material. Oh, sure, he was interested in learning the history and culture of the people here, but it was so hard to find an author who could write those things without seemingly incredibly droll.
He had expressed outrage on the occasion he learned about the Dalish and their predicament, as well as the City Elves. He also continued to nitpick at the Chantry and their tendencies, especially when it came to mages.
At first, he was both surprised and happy when he found out magic existed. That was until he found that, in recent times, mages had been shackled and ostracized. 'Circles' they called them. It was a travesty.
He couldn't use most of his magic. His people were naturally magical, not so dissimilar from Elves in the past of Thedas (the thought of them and the Chantry's continued prejudice against them also plucked a chord of more than annoyance) and, as one of their immortals, that had passed to him. He had tested his abilities on more than one occasion, but found that most of his offensive magic (fire, lightning, telekinesis) didn't work.
He had a hypothesis on why this was so, though he had no way of testing it, so it was really just a theory. He knew when he had found and studied the portal in his world that it lead to an entire different universe, the existence of which scientists of his species had speculated about for some time. Since he was indeed a being of another universe, then it stood to reason that he was never actually meant to enter this universe, and that the magic he used was native to his own, and only his own. It brought up more questions about the existence of the portal, ones he hadn't taken the time to try and even ask, let alone answer before taking the leap.
He could, however, affect himself. So far he had been able to teleport short distances, render himself invisible, and heal very minor injuries (he lived in a library at the moment, so papercuts were the largest of his worries, but it'd probably work on larger injuries. Hopefully he wouldn't have to test it). All of them tired him out much quicker than any other activity, likely because he was the source of his own magic. It was fortunate that he had never been just a mage, or he'd be mostly defenseless.
He knew there was a Circle in Markham, and upon learning this he had almost marched up there himself, although Lethiel had managed to talk him out of it. There wasn't much that could be done anyway, for recently, Mage-Templar relations had plummeted. There was talk of rebellion; the Battle of White Spite was the key example, and a group called the Seekers had ended the Nevarran Accord, a treatise signed hundreds of years ago which meant the Templars, Seekers, and the Circles were no longer under Chantry jurisdiction.
The Chantry was crumbling. He almost thought it a good thing, but he knew from all he had read that without the Chantry unifying all of Thedas, chaos would erupt, not to mention the Mages and Templars warring it out. And so the Divine, the leader of the Chantry (Bit of a pompous title, he thought) had called a peace summit, at a place called the Temple of Sacred Ashes. This particular Divine, it seemed, was rational.
And so Atlas found himself at his usual table that now belonged to him in all but name, looking at a map of the Frostback Mountains with the Temple marked on it, and was slowly convincing himself that traveling there would be a good idea. There were a few problems with this idea.
The extent of traveling he had actually done in Thedas was a two day trip on a road, only to be picked up by a kind man named Markas (he had unfortunately not seen Markas since he had been dropped off in this district) so he had, to put it bluntly, not a lot of experience. His only guide would be the maps.
Second, was Lethiel. In his time in Markham, and the library, Lethiel had become a good friend, matching his odd habits and tendencies tit for tat, and tolerating (if not actively encouraging) his line of questions, which to any other, would be nothing more than bizarre, even to a far traveler. For the average Thedosian, Thedas was the entire world. They didn't consider the possibility of another landmass across the sea, no matter how small. He had so far been quite lucky in his company. Lethiel had grown accustomed to his presence, and vice versa. Then again, it was just a peace summit, which meant the outcome was intended to be peace, so he'd likely return. There was also no guarantee he'd even gain access inside, and while he was certain he could sneak inside, it might not perhaps be the best idea unless he could accurately... masquerade as someone, say, a third party meant to guard and overlook the negotiations. The perfect cover! Unless he was the only one there - except that wouldn't make any sense, to rely on the Mages and Templars to keep the peace based on their honor. According to his studies, the two wouldn't know peace if it hit them in the face with a hundred page treaty. Which, really, didn't bode well for the peace talks, but only time would tell.
'Leafy!' He called across the library. "Leafy" was a nickname he had adopted because of how similar "Lethiel" sounded to "Leaf".
'Stop calling me that,' Leafy hadn't liked it very much. Classic Leafy.
'I'm going out.' With this, he stood up.
'Oh? Where to?'
Atlas looked back down to the map to make sure he had the name, 'Er, the Temple of Sacred Ashes,'
Lethiel stopped what he was doing (sorting books, from the looks of it) to look at Atlas, pursed his lips, nodded once, went back to his books, before frowning and looking back to Atlas. 'Why?'
'To see the peace summit, of course.' Atlas passed it off as a perfectly normal decision, going through two countries to reach the peace summit of opposing organizations for no reason other than curiosity. He had never been able to resist inserting himself into events, after all.
Lethiel nodded again, continuing to frown. 'How long will you be gone, then?'
'I haven't the faintest idea,' He looked back down to his notes, 'The summit is supposed to begin soon, though I'm not when exactly. But I must leave soon, if I'm to make it on time.'
'Why is that you're wanting to go?'
'Oh, curiosity. It'll be an absolute blast.' Lethiel's frown deepened, but Atlas decided not to elaborate.
'Well I... I suppose I can't stop you. You'll come back, though?'
'Fear not, my good Leafy. I'll return before long.' Atlas beamed and nodded as if in reassurance.
In retrospect, it had, unfortunately, been 'an absolute blast'.
It had started off well. He had gone to find a boat that would take him across the Waking Sea, only to find people didn't like to do those things for free. As a result, he snuck aboard one, hiding below decks for the few days the trip took (he hadn't even needed to use his magic, though it's not like he could've simply gone invisible for days on end).
Once he had gotten aboard land, he consulted the maps to make the trip proper into the Frostback mountains.
To make a long, boring trip short, nothing happened, really. He arrived off of the main road, having avoided groups of Templars and Mages traveling, which meant he was more or less on time. He was kneeling, taking a quick breather ontop of a small hill, looking at the Temple of Sacred Ashes from afar, his first view of it.
It was quite grand, situated atop a small plateau. Large statues, similar to those found in Markham, were at the end of the small valley through which the main bulk of the Templars and Mages were walking - or marching, in the Templar's case. He knew nothing of Thedosian architecture, so he didn't know what to make of the stonework, only that he knew it was old. Ancient, even.
He had just begun to stand up to survey the area and find a way in, when a fireball erupted from the center of the Temple. The fireball grew into an inferno, rising hundreds of feet into the area, and a pulse of green emerald energy followed it, rushing outward in all directions. He was barely able to react before the pulse reached him, throwing him into the air and several feet backward. He landed with a grunt, an expression of absolute confusion on his face as he attempted to process what just happened.
'Ah, liis,' He muttured a curse word in his own language, before heaving himself upward, rolling his shoulders. It seemed he had landed on his pack, smushing most things inside. He'd worry about that later.
He continued onward down the slope of the hill, still a bit dazed. He noticed, towards the valley, the bodies of several Templars and Mages, strewn about, and he had no idea whether they were alive or not. He debated helping them before he looked forward again and noticed the result of the explosion.
A cascading stream of energy, a similar colour as the pulse which had thrown him off his feet earlier, ascended into the sky, peaking in a massive... wound in the sky. Bolts of radiant, erratic green lightning flashed, thunder accompanying them. Rocks, bits of land, floated around the apex of the wound, and storm clouds surrounded it, circling it as though preparing to develop into a hurricane. He watched with a mix of morbid curiosity and fascinated awe. It possessed a dark beauty. He then remembered that it was born of an explosion, an explosion which destroyed an entire temple, which was in turn filled with people.
'Liis.' He cursed again and ran sprinted forward. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do at this point, but he'd decide that when he got there.
His journey forward was interrupted by an object enveloped in green glow crashed downward, apparently from the wound in the sky, towards him. It carried with it a high pitched whistling, and Atlas quickly diverted his current route forward, diving to the side before it crushed him.
The object destroyed some of the land, kicking about dirt and snow, and when Atlas looked at where it should have been, he found no actual object, but a pair of ghastly figures, not green, but red like lava. They seemed connected to the grown like a slug, but then leaned forward, towards him, sliding across the ground. Then he noticed they had claws, and their eyes, white spots on the top of their figure, were looking directly at him. Parts of them pulsed and glowed orange.
Atlas stood up quickly, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow with practiced ease, aiming at the creature on the right and firing. The arrow hit it directly in its face, fortunately, but all it did was hiss and screech into the air, which was not so fortunate. As a result, he threw his bow to the ground and unhooked his quiver, putting it beside the bow so as to not hinder him. He drew his sword from its sheath, a quiet hiss accompanying it.
'I don't suppose you can be reasoned with?' He tried talking to it, holding his blade in front of him. The only response was an even louder screech, and Atlas nodded to himself, 'Thought not.'
A good offense was the best defense, as they say, and so Atlas rushed forward, leading with a jumping slash across what he could only assume was the creature's chest. He followed through, bringing the blade back around to decapitate it. The creature wheezed and turned into ash.
He had no time to mull over this as the next one was upon him. He stepped back, being much faster than this odd slug-like creature, and then thrust his sword into its chest. Again it shrieked and dissipated into nothing.
He was about to begin talking to himself about what a weird situation he was in when he was hit in the chest by... something, taking his breath away and forcing him to stretch his arms out wildly to find his balance. He was hit again, this time throwing him to the ground. A quick glance to his chest told him that it wasn't arrows, and as he looked up he spotted a small sphere of green energy heading towards him, and he rolled to the side.
Toward the trees were two spectral, ethereal, floating creatures, unlike the ones he had just fought. They seemed to possess a torso, heads, arms, and hands, but no legs, instead replaced by a smoky substance which clung to every part of it. They hurled another 'bolt' at him, and he scurried to his feet to avoid it.
Another screech heralded the arrival of more malevolent creature, these similar in form to the first ones he had fought, but a sickly grey and wearing some sort of brown harnesses. They too possessed claws with which to try and gut him.
He'd try and run, but there wasn't exactly a place to go, and after several straight days of walking (he'd not rested, in order to ensure he got to the Conclave on time) he was tired. And yet, he had little choice.
The creatures were sluggish and not very intelligent, opting to try and fight him head on instead of employing any kind of tactics. He fought, and they died quickly, and more came. He continued moving as he fought towards the Temple, in an attempt to find a moment of refuge, but the injuries he sustained by fighting so many, minor as they were, combined with his near exhaustion had beun to take their toll.
It was only after he had decapitated another grey-skinned creature that someone else showed up. An arrow flew and found its mark in one of the floating ethereal beings that were throwing things at him. Surprised, he looked to find its owner and saw several lightly armoured individuals, armed and at the ready, descending upon his area. Unfortunately, this distraction allowed another floating creature to get revenge for its... comrade? Do they have those? He felt pain blossom across the right side of his face and lost his balance before finally closing his eyes and falling to the ground.
So! There'll be a long note incoming.
Firstly, no, Atlas is not dead. Secondly, yes, you will find out more about him, and questions like why he's immortal, where he comes from, why he came to this land, is he hot (i'll tell you now, it's yes), and will he find love (also yes) will be answered.
Atlas is, as you may have guessed, an OC, and an idea of using him for Dragon Age: Inquisition, one of my favorite games next to of course the others in the series, has been in my head for a while. He is /not/ the Inquisitor. This isn't my attempt to put an OC as /the/ main character of the game. The Inquisitor will be a female Trevelyan, and she'll be introduced in the next chapter.
I highly doubt the dialogue, except for some essential parts (e.g. companion quests, main story points, etc.) will remain the same. In fact, I don't plan for it to, for the most part. Aside from the fact that I'm introducing another main character with no prewritten dialogue, I don't want to have to take the time to meticulously research every line of dialogue for every scene, as I'll probably lose my passion for it and get bored, and we don't want that.
Perhaps most importantly: as of writing this note, I don't know if I'll ever publish this or not. I hope I do, because right now, it's fun and I want to see it to its end, but I have an unfortunate habit of leaving projects unfinished, because I lose my drive for the subject, and move on to another. I don't do it intentionally, it really just happens. Long term writing and planning have never been my strong suit. This is largely therapeutic for me, and a way to... well, you know how it goes when you write fanfiction. Whatever you want to happen, can happen.
I hope, if you read this, you enjoy it. I really do. If you have criticism, tell me/leave a review. If you have suggestions or ideas, leave a review or PM me if you like. If you have general complaints or conversely, compliments, tell me! I'd love to discuss things with any one of you, and hear your opinion about how I write things, good or bad. Unless you're just doing it to be a twat. Then you can go be a twat somewhere else.
I don't have any sort of education in English, aside from the general kind everyone has to get. So, throw parallel structure out the window, for one, because I can never remember to enforce it upon myself. This is all, as I mentioned, a therapeutic experience, and a bit of an exercise to see how well I can write dialogue, combat, stories in general, emotions, characters, and later, romance (wink wink).
If I've forgotten anything, I'll add it in later. Now we get onto some slightly different stuff.
I'm a very visual person, and even if I know what I want things to look like in my head, I always like to try and find an actual reference image. As such, I've chosen a few faceclaims for certain characters.
Lethiel is Martin Freeman/Bilbo. There was never any question of who I wanted Lethiel to be/act like when I thought of him, and I should also mention that Lethiel will return later down the line, he's not just a one and done character because I like him too much.
Fem Trevelyan's faceclaim is Allison Scagliotti, kind of how she appears in Warehouse 13 but with longer hair. (side note: Warehouse 13 is an absolutely fantastic show, you should go watch it)
Atlas doesn't have an actual person as a faceclaim, rather someone I've created in another program. I can't link images here, so if you want to see what he looks like, PM me.
Atlas' sword is very similar to the Mirkwood infantry sword. Google that if you don't know what it looks like.
I imagine Atlas' armour to be the same as the Rogue/Thief in the ESO cinematic trailers. The one with the mask, bow, and cloak, and such.
I think that's all for now. Sorry for the long note, just needed to explain some things!
Sincerely,
Exci
