Darrian Tabris: "The day an elf can legally wield a blade is the day I earn an honest wage."
Darrian Tabris leaned against the corner of a building while he waited for his collaborator, his hood was down, his dark, mossy green eyes regarded the activity around him and his short burgundy curls blew in the breeze off of the ocean from the docks just a few blocks away.
"Hey Darrian, how's it goin'" Falar, the elven youth Darrian had been waiting for, walked up from the behind him alley holding a helmet that had been colored black, his prized possession, "Heard you got a matchmaker."
"My Father did. I'm not getting married." Darrian glared toward the docks and mumbled, "Not yet, not to some girl I've never met."
"...I don't know, I mean that's how it's done." Falar was making adjustments to his blackened helmet, "I hear you can get a good one with a matchmaker anyway."
Darrian scowled but remained silent. He had tried to convince his father to put off the search for a wife for him until he had a regular job, something to show a potential matches family, a reason to for him stay in Denerim. But his father wouldn't hear waiting any longer, Darrian was good looking, physically sound and bright. But he was getting older, another year and people would wonder what was wrong with him. His father thought that if Darrian would just give up a bit of his pride, and keep his mouth shut, he'd keep a job. The sad part was Darrian did have talents. His mother had taught him more than how to sneak thief, she had taught him how to fight with a sword. But as an elf there was no legal way for him to make money with his skills.
"Come on," Darrian straightening up, shaking off the heavy thoughts of responsibility and memories of his long dead mother, "let's get a drink." he turned and headed toward The Laid Low Tavern to wait for nightfall.
-X-
It had long been dark when two elven youths ran through the streets of the noble quarter of Denerim. Dressed dark, heads covered, they darted from one shadow to the next, expertly avoiding the patrolling city guards. When they reached the estate that was their destination, the hooded one signaled the one in a blackened helmet to stop just shy of the gate.
Darrian Tabris, the hooded one, crouched in the shadows, focusing with all his senses on the mansion before him. The house was dark and silent. The family was supposed to be out of town for the season, but you never knew. The servants had been sent home and they had left a few guards behind. Darrian was counting on the tendency of people to slack off when the boss was away, coupled with the fact that their employer was known to be cheap to keep the guards uninterested. He signaled Falar to follow as he ran up the shadowed path around to the back of the castle-like home. The gardens were broad and relatively bright in the moonlight. The guards would most likely remain on the first floor, hanging out in the kitchen or sleeping in their quarters. The safest route would be to enter through a second story window. Luckily, a smaller garden wall cornered up to a promising entrance.
Darrian smiled at Falar and indicated the window. Falar nodded nervously. Darrian ran up the corner, stepping from one rough stone surface to the next until he swung himself up to kneel on the small wall, then hopped to the open window. Falar followed, with less grace, and Darrian grabbed him to prevent his falling back to the ground. He pulled Falar through the window and paused to listen and let his eyes adjust. The bright moonlight aided their progress, and it was fortunate that the nobles bedrooms were usually on the second floor and at the back of the house. As silently as possible, Darrian opened one promising door. Moonlight filtered in past the drapes revealing a neat but sparse room, likely a guest room then. Still, there would often be something of value stashed away in the vanity. He moved silently over the plush rug grabbing any small shiny thing he came across and stuffing them into a purse on his belt. There wasn't much here.
A sudden commotion drew his attention to the door where Falar stood, a dead guard at his feet. He was looking around the corner, down the hall, "Tabris! Guards!"
Darrian swore under his breath and ran to stand beside Falar, three more humans, not armored but well armed were rounding a corner, ready to fight.
"Out!" Darrian shot toward the window he had entered through, and jumped on the ledge, hopped to the wall, and down on the ground he ran for the shadows at the edge of the garden. Falar was right behind him as he managed to slip out of the gates of the estate just before the off-duty guards burst from the front door to raise the alarm.
Two elven youths ran through the streets of the noble quarter of Denerim. Dressed dark, heads covered, they darted from one corner to the next, desperately seeking ever deeper shadows until they nearly ran into the wall that marked the alienage, the home of the elves within the city's, the gates were long since closed, but they weren't trying to get home yet. With the grace of the long practiced they found the rough join in the wall, clung to the stonework and climbed, squirrel-like, and cat-like, slunk low across the top, following its path to drop in the alleys of another neighborhood, clear of the city guards now scouring the wide streets of the rich part of town. They now had more shadows, closer alleys, narrower streets in which to hide.
Silent in their movements, they continued their hyper-vigilant stealth until they dodged into a run-down old house in an alley off the docks.
Darrian ripped his hood from his head, panting, and glared at his companion, "Killing a guard is a bad idea. It's a terrible idea to kill one in front of more guards," he seethed, and nearly yelled the rest, "And shouting my name is just stupid!"
Falar looked sheepish under his blackened helmet, "I didn't see the others, I had to warn you."
"You-" Darrian snarled, but was interrupted.
"Now boys," Derrick's voice was deep and gravelly, like a man who'd been hung once already, he walked into the small living area of the hovel carrying a candle, he was dark and disheveled, rough complected and unshaven, a human fence and a steadying presence to those skirting the law, "Ya took 'im on Darrian, ya knew how he is."
"He's not the one they'll look for!" Darrian pointed behind him to Falar, who still wore his helmet and stood in silent shame.
"It's done," Derrick put the candle on the table in the middle of the room, "Did ya get anythin'?"
Darrian ran his hand through his hair to calm his irritation, moved to the table and displayed the trinkets he'd managed to grab.
Derrick whistled, "You got right fucked with this one." he looked him in the eye, "Might be 'nough to get ya to 'nother town, if yer careful."
Darrian shook his head, "I can't leave my family-"
"Ya'll do that anyhow, when they catch ya." Derrick took out his purse and put down a couple silvers, "I'm bein' generous, since I may not see ya for a while. Go to Agar, he'll get ya out, take most a what I gave ya, but he won't turn ya in."
Darrian took the money, he didn't see how the payment was especially generous, but he didn't have time to argue and he didn't have the luxury of haggling. "Fine, good, thanks."
"Don't worry about Sula, Darrian, I'll-" Falar pipped up.
Darrian turned on him, pointing aggressively, "You'll stay away from her. I'm serious if I hear-"
"I just-" Falar put his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Just don't." Darrian pushed past Falar on his way out the door, put up his hood and set out alone for Agars Outfitters and the unknown.
-X-
AN; The second character. Not every origin will be represented, just the ones where my choices if I could have made them would have prevented me from meeting Duncan.