Happy New Year all my readers! First off, i am not dead despite Mother Nature and my boss's desire for me to be. A combination of work, sickness, the holidays, new gaming computer and a general case of; "I'm a fucking lazy bastard." delayed this but here ya go, a present for the new year!
Q&A:
MistaSilentKiller: The story will always carry on, either through my will or from the love you all give me- Oh it's canceled...Just kidding, so long as i am able, i will keep writing. When he transforms should be fairly obvious if you've played Origins, and it's not going to be this chapter. It could've been, but it won't.
Ultima-owner: Could be worse, could've chosen Amon's mortal enemy! Getting stuck in landscape glitches! DAMN YOU SKYRIM!
Abaddon953: Maybe i meant it that way to keep you in suspsense! Or maybe more likely i am an idiot and can't seem to remember what the hell i am doing. Let me clarify, when i first started writing this story it was going to be just plain Ebony Armor, then i thought about it and considered the Ebony Mail, then changed my mind again. Then decided to bugger all and just make it the Mail. Primarlly my concern is that the Mail lacks the pauldrons of the normal armor. So for the sake of settling this; Yes it is the Ebony mail, but it has the pauldrons. Armor is only as effective so long as it looks cool, right?
Wabbajack? Hmm, maybe. Sheogorath? I doubt it, but you never know what inspiration may hit me in the future. Mask of Hircine? Do you mean the Ring? Read and find out. The Skeleton Key will not since it is lost at the end of the questline, besides Amon has no need for it, he can pick most locks without trouble. In regards to DLC content, originally i owned Skyrim for the PS3 so i got shafted in regards to DLC and didn't play Dawnguard until after i had published two chapters. Perks, magic and anything else mystical can appear but anything physical like armor or weapons can't since it would mean Amon has access to his cache of equipment in Skyrim or somehow hid them on his person.
JakMartheDarkWarrior: Amon is capable of using most of the magic known in Skyrim, he may not be a master mage but he can cast them, if with difficulty. And yes his mystical ability will pique the Templar's curiousity.
SilverRed: It is not that i don't enjoy it, i do. It is just that at times i get stuck thinking of one word and it stalls me for days, and being stubborn as i am i cannot move past it without figuring it out so that genrally leads me to not finishing for a long time. If i didn't enjoy this, i wouldn't do it simple as that.
Blinded in a bolthole: I am well aware it is a term based primarly in the Free Marches but just as in reality, terms have a tendiciy to spread and be used by non-natives. More accurately, i didn't want to keep using Ser and such so i branched out.
SyQadelic: Skyrim will make an appearence later on. As for it's place, i haven't decided. Probably won't be a future/past thing.
G-54: ...Oh you~ I'm blushing...No wait, no i'm not! I'm a big strong toughie!
To everyone else, Thank you for the reviews and i hope you enjoy!
Chapter 4: Bindings and Unexpected Acquaintances.
"Pa! You're back! Did you bring me anything?" a young boy appears within his vision, clad in a simple red shirt and blue pants. A bright smile splits his face as he stares up at the towering armored figure that is his adoptive father. A gauntleted hand lands atop his head and ruffles his short brown hair, now embarrassed by the affectionate touch the young boy shakes the hand off and pouts as a light dusting of red appears upon his cheeks. Whining at how his father treated him like a child elicits a deep hearty chuckle from the man as he reaches into his waist-pouch, withdrawing a small wooden figurine lovingly shaped in the likeness of a wolf. A present crafted by a fellow beastblood and presented to him as a gift for his son. Aela simply adored her Harbinger's cubs and sought to spoil them at every chance she had whether with treats or toys she always beckoned him to bring them some form of present.
"Here Samuel, another present from Aela. Careful with it my son, this boon is fragile as crystal and should be cared for as such."
Nodding excitedly the young boy's grin deepens as he evades another of his father's pats and disappears into his room, no doubt to find a place amongst his other toys to set his newest treasure. At his side, a timid voice and a small tug on his arm capture his attention there, seemingly appearing from the shadows is his second child; a petite young lass, clothed in a bright yellow dress and a cherubic face framed in thick strands of hair fair as straw. Their eyes meet and in an instant her sapphire eyes dart to the floor, face alight with a flush hands nervously toying the hem of her dress. Paternal love warming his heart a serene smiles deepens upon his lips, kneeling he plants a soft kiss against her forehead. The squeak of shock serving only to further his amusement, with deft fingers he frees her gift from his pouch and slides it over her hair. The glint of polished silver reflecting in the candlelight, marble sized gleaming sapphire fastened securely draws the eye, lovingly crafted by hand and polished like a mirror. This was his gift to his youngest and only daughter Lucia, smiling deeper as her tiny fingers tentatively prod the strange new addition to her head.
Leading her to a full-length mirror in the corner, he brushes errant strands of her sandy hued hair allowing her an unobscured glimpse of her new present. Her round eyes brighten and her mouth quivers into a broad grin as an ear-piercing squeal erupts, in response her father winces softly. The enhanced senses of the lycan were both a blessing and a hindrance, in this case quite the hindrance as his daughter's youthful exuberance grates upon his hearing. Strong but small arms wrap around his armored chest as Lucia attempts to crush her petite form against his, chuckling warmly once again he gently returns the embrace before pulling away and patting her on the head, as he had Samuel.
"My darling child, perhaps Rayya would delight in seeing you with your newest treasure?"
Nodding furiously she embraces her father once more before running off to show the Housecarl and Steward of his Lakeview Manor. Watching her retreating form with a chuckle, he begins the tedious task of removing his bulky armor, the ashen white plates scared and stained with the blood of many foes. Releasing the latch underneath his armor Amon grunts in pleasure as the confining plate slackens, allowing the air to cool his chafed skin, setting the heavy bone armor on nearby table he sets to work removing the second one. As soon as the offending plate was free of his arm he couldn't resist the urge to growl happily, the armor of the Dov gifted him with superior protection but it was far from being a pleasure to wear daily. Rubbing his calloused hands against his red and sweat stained arms he allows himself to drown in the simply pleasure before moves on to remove the remaining armor.
A simple process he had done a thousand times and yet, still one buckle on his armor always designed to fight his ministrations. Growling dangerously at the offending buckle as if it would succumb to his anger he is started by a small gentle hand upon his arm, pulling it from the buckle the owner giggles at his aggravation and sets upon the strap. Much to his annoyance it gives way swiftly and the bulky chest piece slides off allowing him to bask in the cool air, slender fingers lazily tracing the lines of scars upon his bare chest breaking him from the simple relish of the winter air.
"After all these years that single strap still torments you, perhaps you should consider something finer to equip in this filthy bone armor stead my Tha- Ahem, my love."
It seemed he was not the only one who struggled; many seasons after being wed, she still slipped and addressed him by his former title despite his many chastisements. Their marriage was held several months after Alduin's demise attended by many of his friends and comrades, even an appearance by General Tullius, although he staunchly claimed it was merely for business. A content smile graces his face as he cups his love's cheek, soft supple skin draws closer to his hand as he closes his eyes and draws his wife closer to his chest.
Suddenly and strangely, the air around him became hotter; drawing a breath burned his lungs, the scent of smoke stinging his sensitive senses. His chest felt wet and sticky, as if someone had dripped honey upon his skin, another scent engulfed his acute wolfen nose, a smell that he knew well. Blood.
Opening his eyes he is greeted to a ghastly site, blanketed beneath a shroud of black smoke is the smoldering wreckage of his manor, butchered livestock and devastated rubble tell the tale of a ruined land attacked by an unknown force. Strewn across the land are several bodies; a dark-skinned female, twin headless bodies of two fair skinned men. His housecarl Rayya, Gunjar his driver and his minstrel Llewellyn.
Several metres away lay the bodies of two small children and a hound, blood caked upon their prone forms and puddled beneath them staining the earth. Clenched tightly in the young boy's tiny hand, lay a simple wooden sword that he had carved for his son months before. Drawing in a shuddering breath he casts his gaze down to the figure drawn to his chest, the source of the gluey liquid coating his chest, chocolate colored hair caked with blood, vibrant forest green eyes now staring lifelessly into the sky, skin once pink and supple with warmth now pale and clammy. His wife, his family, his comrades slain violently and without restraint.
The sudden and unexpected change numbing his response, he could only stare helplessly at their bodies, tears refused to shed as he drew his wife's body to his chest. He vowed silently to himself and to the gods as a roar echoed throughout lands rivaling the rage of the Dov, that his vengeance would be unequal to those who dared to slay his family. He would show them why he was deemed Ysmir, the Dragon of the Northern Lands, he would personally slay every party responsible for this atrocity neither God nor Daedra would stand in his way in his quest for vengeance.
His eyes snapped open as the horrible dream left him, his forehead coated in a thin sheen of sweat; bolting upright he held his head in his hands willing the sickly feeling in his stomach and heart to be banished. That was the past, he could do nothing to change it now, and immersing himself in such sorrow would only plunge him deeper into depression. Off to the side he could hear the subtle shuffle of feet as a figure drew closer, illuminated by the roaring fire and candles dotting the room. Wrapped in cloth of deep purple and deeper black, thin lithe womanly frame, striking golden eyes of a predator; it was the swamp witch that had led them to the malevolent creature she called a mother.
"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased."
"You are….the witch, Morrigan if I recall."
"You are correct. I have finished bandaging your wounds, and to answer you beforehand, you are back in the Wilds."
"I owe you a great debt then milady, not only for tending to me whilst I slumber but for my rescue."
"Was not I who saved you Warden, t'was my mother in fact. Does your memory fail you? You seemed quite competent before."
Subtly rolling his eyes at her barb he forces his aching body from the bed and onto his unsteady feet, the witch seems indifferent to his plight and his stark nudity, which he was unaware of until he removed the simple blanket. A bundle of clothes strikes him in the chest and lands in his open arms, the witch unfazed by his bare body eyes him for a moment before directing his attention to his piled gear. As he slipped the simple cloths on a memory of his mission returns, the battle, did it wage still or had the fool king claimed victory. If so, why was he here in the swamp and not in some field hospital?
"A question, if I may milady."
Quirking a delicate eyebrow up at his formal tone she waves it off, "Speak Warden, and cease such formality, Morrigan shall suffice."
Kneeling next to his gear, he spies his accessories bundled within his helm, necklace in the shape of a hammer and a ring of dark metal. The pendent of Talos, worn both in reverence to the hero-god and in defiant mockery of the Elven law, and the ring of dark steel adorned with wild markings and topped with a fearsome wolf head. The ring a gift from the prince of the hunt that helped to tame the beast blood within. Without it he could endure but even at his peak, it was almost unbearable to resist the call of the wild.
"As you wish, the battle, how does it fare?"
"The spawn emerged victorious, the man who was to respond to you signal quit the field. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend...he is not taking it well."
Friend? He had no comrades in this land, the only people he was acquainted with was the infuriating old man and his buffoonish ward. Since the spawn had claimed victory, it was infeasible that the senile fool was the target of her words that only left…
"Alistair? Bah, that fool is no more my friend than the spawn."
An eyebrow is raised when she lets out a chuckle at his words, wetting her lips she waves off his look before turning back towards a pot bubbling over the roaring fireplace. No more words were exchanged as he slipped the armor back upon his body; the black and navy mail rippled at his touch and clinging tightly to his flesh once strapped securely. Once all the pieces of his gear had been successfully returned to their proper place he tucked his ebony helm under arm. Noticing he had finished dressing Morrigan replaced the lid upon the pot turning on her heel, again her eyes lingered on his form a predatory grin appearing on her features.
"Finished are we? Good, Mother wished to speak to you once you had awoke. Perhaps you should also speak to your, "friend", he has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him of the outcome."Punctuating the comment of friend with her fingers, she directed him to the door, unconcerned with his questioning glance.
"Speak to me? Of what does she need to discuss with me?"
Lazily shrugging her shoulders, she examined the tips of her fingers, drawing a bit of the Nord's ire at her nonchalance. Despite her aloof attitude towards the whole ordeal, Amon still owed her a great debt; facing her, he bowed his head a low as his armor would begrudge him.
"Thank you once again Morrigan, if there is ever anything I can do to repay your kindness, do not hesitate to ask it."
Taken aback at his words Morrigan stares dumbly at him for a moment before collecting herself, "I... you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."
"I see, regardless I am in your debt."
Without another word he pushed open the wooden door and averted his eyes as the blistering sun blinded his vision momentarily. Did the foul orb have to shine so brightly? Two figures were the only varied objects that stood out in the seemingly endless expanse of damp swamp, the creature of malevolence and the oafish Warden the latter of whom seemed to beg a hole to wear into the soil at his constant pacing.
"Cease your pacing boy, see? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."
At her words Alistair stopped suddenly and without another word closed the short distance between them, a little too close for the Nord's liking.
"You...You're alive! I thought you were dead for sure."
"Bah, such feeble wounds at the hands of a Jotunn are nothing compared to what I have suffered in the past."
"This….doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."
Stepping closer to the two Warden's the old witch lays a withering look upon Alistair, "Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."
"I didn't mean...but what do we call you? You never told us your name." Taking a couple steps back, he puts a suitable distance between himself and the older witch.
"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."
Flemeth? Amon rolled that name around in his head, trying to see if that name appeared in any of the texts concerning Daedra or similar veins of evil, it had no meaning to him, but it seemed it did to Alistair upon hearing the name forged further distance from the old woman.
"The Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right - you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"
The corners of her mouth quirked up as the mirthful tone of her voice belied the dark feeling she exuded, "And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"
Amon was deeply confused, beings of such evil do not help others unless they desired a boon in return, and what could the old codger want from them? A darker thought courses through his mind forcing him to suppress the urge to shudder, how he prayed it not that.
"Why did you assist us? What do you hope to gain by allowing us to remain living?"
"Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with all these darkspawn."
That was not the reason, and Amon knew it, such a being had little to fear from a mindless horde such as these spawn. This creature desired something more, something she could not achieve on her own and needed to task others to do for her. He had tuned out the words the witch had said next, something about the Warden's uniting the lands to combat something called a blight, it mattered not to him. This was not his land and he held no sympathy for its inhabitants. Alistair on the other hand….
"But we were fighting the darkspawn! The king had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain do this?"
"Now that is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."
"Or perhaps, he is just a gutless coward that desired rule."
Again a slightly smile appears on her wrinkled face, "Perhaps…"
"The Arch-demon…"
"Bah! The rhyme or reason for either means little to me."
A shocked look appeared on Alistair's face as he turns to face his fellow Warden, how Amon could be so callous towards this, the whole world was at stake.
"How can you say that Amon? We are Grey Warden, it is our duty to find and stop the Arch-demon!"
Snarling at the younger man Amon swipes his hand through the air, gesturing wide at the expansive land, "This is not my home, this is not my fight boy. Whatever contract I held died on the field with the old fool. Now cease your whimpering and begone from my sight, I have other pressing matters to attend to and this foolish contest has wasted enough of my time."
Laying a hand on his shoulder the aged witch wrenches Alistair's imitation of a gasping fish from Amon's attention and to her own. "Be a dear and assist my young Morrigan would you? I will have a talk with your less-than…enthusiastic Warden."
Casting Amon a disapproving glance, which the Nord returned with a sneer, Alistair obeys and enters the hut leaving the Witch and Warden alone in the desolate swamp. The two, holding their gazes upon another for a brief moment before the Nord shatters the silence, "speak your words witch; see if you can persuade me to join your pathetic cause."
Her response was not what he had expected, she…smiled, but it did not feel joyful, it was dreadful and malicious it provoked intense fear deep within him and he wished for nothing more than to be away from it. On instinct, his hand darted towards the sword at his hip, but as if struck by lightning and frozen by ice his body refused to obey his command. The air around him chilled and all the warmth left his body, he felt naked in the wind and helpless like a newborn, what sorcery did this witch employ.
"Now now, such foolish actions are unneeded my dear Dovahkiin."
The spell she cast did not hinder his breath but the words she spoke hitched the air in his lungs, how could she know of his birthright, it was true since the war's onset that knowledge of his lineage had spread far throughout Tamriel but how could someone so isolated in a land so foreign to him know?
"H-how?"
"Shh, do not speak, just listen. I have an offer that you would delight in considering. I offer you a single boon, slay the arch-demon and in return. I shall send you back to your beloved Skyrim, back to your pointless war. What say you, hmm, oh great king?"
A thousand thoughts spiraled in his head, by the Nine what was this creature. Surely, he could not trust it no matter its offer, no good ever came from bargaining with foul beings, and they sought only their own benefit and cared little to adhere to their bargains. It disgusted him to even fathom the notion; even the gifts he received from the Daedric Princes came with a hefty price. They he knew of. This creature was unknown and thus far more of a liability to him, despite the bile growing in his throat what choice did he have? As the old Warden had said, he would be hunted by the spawn running blindly in a foreign land. He had no choice.
"I… accept. But why?"
Waving her hand he could feel the warmth returning to his body, the constricting force banished as if it was never there at all, a sudden welling of disgust forcing him to bite back bile forming in his mouth. Not since the Dragon Crisis had he been conned into so many bargains against his judgment, it was sorely becoming tiresome and he swore the next old person who begged his assistance would feel the full might of his Thu'um. The creature under the guise of Flemeth merely watched his suffering with amusement, growling he drew his hand across his mouth wiping the dribbled saliva and hints of bile from his lips. The moment he slew this, Arch-demon, the sooner he could go home but before he departed this land he would drive his sword through the old hag's gullet and let her bleed to death. Oh, how he would enjoy watching her die, probably far more than he should.
"Good, you are not as simple as your appearance would suggest you are my dear Dovahkiin. This task should be quite simple for such an accomplished dragon slayer, wouldn't you say?"
Her words came out as a purr; if she was not so wrinkled and menacing, he might have found it slightly seductive.
"I will complete your request woman but know this I have no trust of you, malice is not to be trusted and if you aim to betray me I will not hesitate to show you just how I slew so many Dov."
Another bout of humorless laughter gnaws on his ears as she gives him a maternal look; this disturbed him more than anything else she had done in there short meeting. Craning her head towards her hut she spies her daughter Morrigan and Alistair emerge from within and move to join them, an irate look on the Witch's daughter further cementing her amusement. His gaze lingered for a moment longer on the malicious woman, later when he had time to rest and collect his thoughts he would contemplate her possible motives and origin but for now…
"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear no thanks to that buffoon. Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?" Morrigan addressed her mother in a slightly irate tone, seemed that Alistair rendered the young witch no fruitful assistance in cooking if her tone and the sharp glare she sent the man was any indication.
Alistair himself looked slightly shameful for whatever had transpired in the hut however as soon as he caught sight of his larger Warden companion he frowned. Seemed his harsh words still soured the sardonic man's mood.
"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."
"Such a shame –What?"
"See boy, I told you I could convince your friend here to assist. Took a tiny bit of –"the old witch leveled a knowing look at him earning her a sneer in return, much to her furthered amusement. "—persuasion but I managed."
The delighted look on Alistair face served only to agitate Amon more; why in the name of Talos did he have to seem so happy. You'd think he'd just won a chest of septims in a duel.
"Mother!"
"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears! Ha ha."
"Have I no say in this?"
"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."
Amon could care less, so long as she was no burden in battle, if Flemeth was any indication of magical prowess than surely her daughter possessed similar abilities. Alistair seemed less enthusiastic about the idea.
"Not to...look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problem? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."
Apostate, another word filed away for research seemed more and more of this land was alien to his own.
"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower."
Deflated by her rebuttal Alistair toys with a loose piece of thread on his armor before shifting his attention to his Nordic companion, he was curious what the old witch had said to persuade him to assist them. Surely, it had to be something profound to convince someone to wage war against the Darkspawn, how was it that older people had such power to convince someone as inscrutable as Amon. Whenever he left him alone with someone, he would return to find Amon convinced, if only he could learn such powers…
"Mother...this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready—"
"You must be ready. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."
Still doubts plagued the young witch of the wilds; her mother surely had a reason for sending her off with these two Wardens. Despite her apprehension she was slightly excited at the prospect, now she could learn more about the larger Warden, to find out why he held such a tantalizing aura. "I…understand."
Smiling at her daughter's cooperation, she turned back to the two Wardens'; Amon still pouting at his unintended involvement and a myriad of emotions cross the other's face. All was going according to her plan…
"And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."
Snorting defiantly Amon unlaced his arms from his chest and grasped his helm, which had slipped from his fingers during their earlier, discussion. Slipping the sleek metal helm over his features her stared at the older witch through the eye slits, his one good eye boring a hole of hate through her. "Worry not for her safety hag, so long as you stay true to your word I will mine."
"I see…come along Morrigan dear; I shall help you prepare for your journey."
After the two witches had left Alistair finally considered interrogating the Nord, many questions littered his thoughts but one was paramount, "Amon what did Flemeth say to convince you to aid Ferelden?"
Amon did not answer the young man for a moment, lost in his own thoughts then without turning he finally spoke staring out into the never ending marshes. "She offered me something I need, and until I can secure an alternative means of acquiring it I am slaved to her whims. Know this Alistair, I feel no hatred for you or this land, I however have the safety and concerns of my own land."
Behind him, the sound of a door opening and the wet squelch of footsteps silenced any words his fellow Warden had planned and informed him that his newest companion had finished her packing. Turning in place, he spied Morrigan walking towards him a wooden staff mimicking a gnarled branch clutched in her hand as a walking stick. A simple pack stuffed with, if his nose was to be trusted, various herbs, and spell components slung across her free shoulder. So she indeed was a mage like her mother, Nine hope she was a powerful one. Tapping the tip of her staff against a rock she garnered the attention of both the Warden's, shifting the pack on her shoulder she dipped her head slightly either sincerely or to mock etiquette.
"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you find much you need there."
Narrowing her eyes at Alistair as his eyes rolled at her words, who upon seeing her look cleared his throat nosily and adjusted his armor. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."
"Speak your mind Morrigan; silence could cost us more than your barbs."
Leaning against the frame of the hut behind them, the old witch laughed loudly at his declaration eliciting a curious glance from Alistair and a snarl from Amon, at what point in his words warranted amusement.
"You will regret saying that."
"Dear, sweet mother, you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."
"Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards."
Rubbing the bridge of his nose Alistair cups his mouth and speaks to Amon in a low whisper, as if to shield his voice from the two witches, "Do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?"
"Cease your whining boy; we need all the help we can muster if we are to wage a war against the horde." Was Amon's less than chipper reply causing Alistair to sigh once again and mumble under his breath about hounds following its next conquest.
"If you worry I will summon a demon or transform into an abomination rest assured, I will wait until you are not looking."
"Great…" the junior Warden drawled starting his journey away from the hut, down the single beaten path into the marshes.
Turning away from the retreating Warden Morrigan once again regards her mother, a slight sad smile upon her features; "Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."
"Bah. 'Tis fare more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight."
Nonplused by the scornful remark Morrigan is unsure of how to respond, Flemeth however is not afflicted as such. "I know what you mean child, now be off." Shooing them away as if they were nothing but simple beasts the old witch retreats into her home. Sharing a look Amon and Morrigan turn from the swamp hut and adopt a swift pace to catch up to Alistair.
Nary was a sound uttered between the trios as they made their way towards the village Morrigan had directed them to. Amon leading the pack with the witch Morrigan slightly behind him, Alistair bringing up the rear staring dejectedly into the clouds, a wispy sigh escaping his lips every so often. He knew they had an important quest to save Ferelden but why did there have to be so much walking? Hopefully they could secure a cart or something from…from…
"Say Morrigan, what did you say the name of this village was?" The peaceful heavy silence that had hung between them was finally shattered by Alistair's question, much to the witch's displeasure.
"If you were listening earlier fool you would know, I explained this as we left the Wilds. Lothering, the township of Lothering."
"Oh….think they'll have-"
Cutting him off with a sharp look she continues to walk only to be stopped by Amon as he held up his hand and clenched it into a fist. To any seasoned adventurer it was the universal signal to halt, something in the brush had caught his attention, and fingering the hilt of his blade, he scanned the tree line. It wasn't the spawn, but it stunk of blood, it could just be a beast of the forest investigating the foreign presence in its home. Amon doubted that, for some strange reason it felt as if this beast was waiting for them, he thought he caught a glimpse of something dashing through the trees a while back but dismissed it as a vein of paranoia. Now he was certain something was stalking them.
"What is it Amon?" Alistair was curious, what had the Nordic Warden agitated…besides everything in the Ferelden.
"Do you not see it fool? We are being followed; something stalks us under cover of trees, opens your eyes, and see."
While Alistair scanned the trees, the beast within the forest watched the group, specifically the Nord, blood caking its fur, drool trickling from its open panting maw. Without warning, it lunged from its hiding spot towards the open road, darting swiftly for the armored Nord at the lead.
Snapping branches and rustling leaves alerted the group to their pursuer, a brown form appearing in the road and bolting towards them. Ripping his blade from his hip he raised his shield to meet the beast's charge but it confused and surprised when instead of attempting to tear his throat out the beast, now in the bright light of the sun identified as a hound, came to a halt at his feet. The tiny stub of a tail on its hindquarters wagging happily as it stares up at him with dark eyes, nary a shred of evil within his big round eyes as his tongue lulled from his mouth.
"A hound? This is what stalked us so persistently?"
Sheathing his sword, he hesitantly reached his hand out, and once he was certain the beast would not snap at him, patted his head scratching one of his ears, much to the hound's pleasure. Kneeling down he continued his scratching while the others watch confused.
"Why are you out here alone boy? Did you get lost from your master?"
"I think he was out there looking for you. He's...chosen you. Mabari are like that. They call it Imprinting." Alistair chimes in as he kneels down next to the hound and tentatively joins in the petting, to the Mabari's instant delight. The sole female member of their group however is not as delighted by the idea.
"Does this mean we're going to have this mangy beast following us now? Wonderful."
"He's not mangy! No you aren't!"
The hound barks happily, nuzzling into Alistair's scratches, however once Amon speaks the hound's eyes shoot open and stare into his. Seeming to await any command his new master would give him.
"I had a hound once, loyal and strong, fought with me for many a year before he fell. You remind me of him Mabari, his name was Bran. Do you wish to fight as he did and take his place at my side?"
Barking loudly the hound responds by bobbing his head and fiercely wagging his tail, which seemed to be an affirmative if he had ever seen one. Rising to his feet, Amon began walking once again towards their destination, rapping his armored fingers against his leg.
"Come along then Bran, we must not dally in the open."
Barking happily the newly named Mabari bounds after his master, settling comfortably at his right while the other two members of the group watch with different emotions, Morrigan's less than pleased sigh confuses Alistair as they catch up with their unofficial leader.
"We now have a dog and Alistair is still the dumbest one in the party."
Thinking for a moment Alistair ponders her words before realization dawns upon him, the indignity of such an accusation causing him to flush and shout at Morrigan for the insult much to her and to both their surprise, Amon's amusement.
Once again the group fell into silence, intermittingly broken by their latest companion Bran as every sight and sound of the forest seemed to excite the hound, only once Amon had called his name did the hound cease its howling. Slowing the dirt path widened and eventually replaced with cobbled stone as the group rounded a corner did the village come into view. In front of them, a large stone bridge running parallel to the township spanning a small river and extending further down the road. A merchant's row he assumed, the urging of his tired feet and growling stomach tempted Amon to quicken his pace to the village in hopes of a hot meal and further more a pint of mead. However, the sight of several men dressed in poorly maintained armor dashed the hope of a quick meal, bandits. Delightful.
Upon noticing their approach the brigands ceased looting several of the scattered bodies littering the highway and gathered at the mouth of the bridge to greet them, a man with short black hair and a stubbed beard stepping forward to greet them.
"Wake up, gentlemen! More travelers to attend to. I'd guess the big one is their leader." Beside him, a simpler looking man scratches his balding head, switching his gaze between the group and the leader.
"Err...they don't look like them others, you know. Uh...maybe we should just let these ones pass..."
Resisting the urge to slap some sense into his simpler cohort he smiles broadly, opening his arms as if to reassure the group of his peaceful intentions.
"Nonsense! Greetings, travelers! I welcome you to Lothering Crossways, maintained by me and my fine associates. For a measly ten silver you can pass through, merely for upkeep you understand."
Amon couldn't decide what agitated him the most; the man's flimsy story, his cheerful façade…or the fact he had a piece of meat wedged clearly in his teeth. He decided to assist the man with his problem with all three of his problems.
By removing his head.
Before any could react, Amon's blade flew from its holster and cleaved the bandit leader's head from his shoulders, clearly not expecting such a violent reaction the bandit group stands stunned as their leader's corpse stumbles on rubbery legs before collapsing in a spurting heap. Without needing a command Bran leapt forward, fangs bared, driving his pointed teeth into the subordinate's throat. Morrigan needing no further reason to delay unleashes a torrent of lightning broiling a hammer wielding bandit alive and paralyzing another with the arching magic.
Though stunned by Amon's brutality Alistair meets his sword with a bandit's own easily overpowering the sloppy slash and ending the brigand's career in theft. The fight, one Amon would hardly call a fight, was over before most of the bandit's could even draw their weapons. Clearly, they were only expecting frightened refugees to scam, not a group of experienced and armed fighters. Cleaning the blood from his blade, he kicks the corpse of his final kill as Bran plopped himself at his feet diligently licking the blood from his claws. Kneeling next to the leader's corpse, he patted down his pockets and to his delight found a large pouch containing many brown coins, some silver, and a large golden piece. Amon was unsure of the land's economy but if he had to venture a guess then this was a tidy sum they had pilfered, another time he would have returned such a bounty to those these men had stolen it form. His quest however was far more pressing and he doubted that the small sum of septims he had on his person held any worth in this land.
"Highwaymen. Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn...even if they were scum did they deserve such brutality?" Alistair's morose mood as he ran a small cloth over his sword seemed the boy had a conscience. A pity, such moral aptitude usually resulted in more suffering than good.
Morrigan however held no such morality; "They were fools to get in our way, they deserved such lessons."
"I suppose…"
Alistair had little time to mourn as he struggled to keep hold of the large pouch Amon had cast to him, curious he looked at the de facto leader of their group before peering inside the bag. Shocked at its contents he question Amon who merely shrugs and continues towards the village, did the larger Warden wish him to bear the groups money? Why? Pushing the question to the back of his mind he tied the pouch to his belt and followed the group into the village, and after inquiring directions to the inn they arrived at a large building dubbed "Dane's Refuge." According to the townsmen they had asked this was where the refugees swarming the small town rested, more than likely this was where they could rest, eat, and discuss their plan of action.
The creaking door announced their entrance and made them the focus of all within, many of the refugees stared confused or frightened at the armed group before turning back to their own business. The arrival of more soldiers meant little to them. Scanning the tavern Amon spots a free table by the fire, once they had made their way through the ocean of people he sat heavily upon the wooden chair, both he and the chair groaning as his full girth fell into it. Removing the black helmet from his head, he was glad to be free of its confines for a brief moment, setting it upon the worn wooden table and brushing aside a strand of errant hair from his eyes Amon once again scanned the room, setting his eyes upon a young woman serving drinks to a table of soldiers.
Summoning the barmaid he ordered a round of food and drinks for the group, instead of compiling however she merely stared at him, confused and irritated at her idling he let a growl slip through his lips. Was she daft or merely too simple to understand his order, the curse he formed was stalled when a man came to her rescue. His appearance unremarkable and his only noticeable feature being a sizeable mustache claiming the space above his lips.
"We don't have any more charity for refugees, so if you think to start trouble you best leave before I summon the Templars."
"Insolent cur! Do we share the look of these other peasants? We have the gold if that is what you seek."
Looking over the group the inn's proprietor realizes his mistake, bowing his head he shoos the barmaid away, lest she draw the ire of this man further. "By the Maker, I beg your pardon Ser I did not notice. What is it I can provide you with?"
Mumbling under his breath of spineless mongrels he beckons for Alistair to hand over the pouch he liberated from the bandits, extracting a single coin, one of the strange silver ones. Sliding the piece to the man, he tosses the pouch back to the confused Alistair.
"Food and drink for me and my comrades." At his side, Bran whines tilting his head to the side. "And a beef bone for my hound."
Greedily grabbing the silver coin the barkeep bows several more times before disappearing into the kitchen shouting orders to the cooks. Amon raises a brow at the behavior, "What an odd man, you'd think he's never seen coin before."
"That may be because you paid him a silver piece for meals that cost less than forty copper. You just gave him a giant tip." Alistair voices as he secures the pouch to his belt. Amon stares at the young Warden for a few moments before sighing; this land's currency was confusing; copper, silver and gold? Could they not just stick with one denomination of metal and not something so obtuse?
"I…see. Then since you seem to know far more of this land's economics, you shall be in charge of our expenses." Amon made no attempt to resist a smirk as Alistair flustered at the sudden responsibility. Resigning in defeat, he accepted his new duty with a groan, something was going to go wrong he just knew it, it always did. Alistair silently wondered if the Maker did these things to him just to be cruel.
"If you two are quite through, perhaps we should discuss our intended destination. Unless you prefer to wander aimlessly across all of Ferelden." Morrigan's displeased tone broke Alistair from his loathing, and despite his distrust of the apostate witch she was correct, they needed to have a plan of action.
"Right, well we have to gather all of those who pledged to support the Warden's cause, Amon you have the treaties?"
Nodding the Nordic Warden removed the bundle of papers from his hip satchel laying the worn parchments on the table he scanned the muted black ink fingers tracing the intricate seals at the bottom of each paper. Alistair also examined the documents with revered care, and after a few moments clears his thought calling the attention of both his fellow Warden and the Witch.
"These treaties dictate that those who promised must come to our aid in the event a Blight threatened the land, many Banns and Teyrns are included but there are three main groups we need to acquire. The Dalish Elves, the dwarves of Orzammar and the Circle of Magi. However I think our best bet is to head to Redcliffe first and contact Arl Eamon, he can provide us with anything we could need for this journey, and he'd most certainly pledge his troops to the cause."
More and more Amon finds himself lost in this foreign land, Dalish Elves? Which realm of Mer were these Dalish, hopefully not Altmer. He refused to beg the Thalmor for help. And what was this talk of Dwarves? Did the Dwemer still exist in this land, curious, he would certainly be interested in meeting the fabled deep elves.
"Sounds as reasonable as any plan, we shall meet this; Arl Eamon before we locate these other groups. But first, let us rest and eat." Amon gathered the treaties and stuffed them back into his satchel just as the Barkeep and his maid returned carrying trays of food and drink. They ate their food in silence for the most part, with only Bran's content growls sounding over the hushed talk of the other patrons.
The meal itself was nothing special, a simple stew of meat and vegetables with a hunk of stale bread to soak the broth, washed down with something that Amon refused to address as proper mead. Did these men truly believe this swill was true alcohol? When he returned to Skyrim he needed to persuade Brynjolf to open that bottle of Black-Briar Reserve 4E 175, a fine year if he did say so himself. After all, he was born that year, how could it not be a good mead. Finishing the swill he slammed the tankard heavily against the table, drawing the attention of his companions who had finished their meals just as he had. The loud uncivil burp that erupted from his mouth shocked Alistair enough to hide his face in embarrassment, cursing under his breath about his crude behavior. Alistair's humiliation amused the Nord a rare chuckle following the expulsion of gas, a bit of sadistic pleasure at the expense of his fellow Warden. However his amusement is short lived as a group of armed men stalked to their table; it seemed they had a purpose for as soon as they noticed them their own meal was forgotten.
"Well, look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed."
Alistair stared at the group for a moment before his jaw set clenched, making sure his voice could not be heard over the tavern's noise he whispered to his companions, "Loghain's men. This can't be good."
"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a man by this very description? And everyone said they hadn't seen him?" A second man turned to the lead, eyeing Amon warily. The reports did not exaggerate when they proclaimed the man's size.
"It seems we were lied to." Signaling his two other subordinates to circle the table, he had to take precautions, according the Lord Loghain the big one was extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly.
"Are you going to come quietly traitors? Or do I we have to involve these bystanders in a fight?"
Amon stared at the lead soldier for a moment before reaching across the table; an action which caused the soldiers to reach for their weapons only to relax slightly after he snatched Alistair's half empty tankard. Downing the contents with a grimace he tossed the empty cup over his shoulder, his hand resting near the serving tray left by the barmaid.
"A moment if you please, I have something I need to do beforehand."
The lead soldier was confused, do? What could he possibly have to do before being arrested, any reason the man could think of in the brief pause was swiftly replaced with the flat of the iron tray. After Amon slammed the bottom of it against his face.
Blood spewing from his nose the soldier as he staggered backwards landing heavily through a nearby table, its occupants fleeing as the armored man turned their dining table into kindling. Amon leisurely rising from his chair towers over the downed man a victorious smile splitting his features, "that'll be a hundred septims milk-drinker." The smile upon his lips only widens as the soldier's subordinate retaliates with a sloppy haymaker, the man's fist only manages to rustle a few stands of his beard. The ridged metal of his gauntlet biting deeply into the soldier's cheek as the force of his counter knocks him into the bar nursing the gash upon his cheek.
Beating his fist against his plated chest he stalked towards the disoriented soldier a feral grin on his face. As the soldier pushed himself from the bar he wildly swung at the advancing Nord, another sloppy hook shot to his unarmored head easily intercepted by his forearm. Slamming his armored fist twice more across the man's face he was about to deliver a final vicious strike when a sudden forceful impact jarred his vision and sent a shiver of pain throughout his neck and head. Pieces of wood scattering around him, littering his hair with splinters, his attacker starring at the jagged pieces of wood remaining in his hand as his target tosses his comrade aside shaking off the strike as if it were nothing.
Dread filled the soldier as the Nord turned to face him, a large grin showing off teeth, which the soldier swore he saw what reminded him of fangs, splitting his bearded face. "Now this! Is a good brawl!"
The large Warden roughly grabs the shoulders of the confused man, rearing his head back and driving it against the man's helmet. Relishing in the sudden pain brought by the sharp metal protrusion cutting his skin and drawing blood that trickled down his forehead, dropping the limp man to the floor Amon moved to the lead soldier who only now begins to rouse from the initial strike.
Alistair himself busying himself with the final soldier, a tentative bout of careful jabs and evasions, he was slowly wearing his opponent down with his precise strikes. Bit by bit Loghain's soldier was tiring, his punches moving slower, his defense weakening allowing Alistair strikes to slip by his guard and land.
Bran eager to join the fray rears back to leap at the nearest combatant, only to find himself held back, a slender feminine arm clad in purple holding his collar firmly. Despite his whining and pulling against her grip she refused to relent and with a huff he conceded his struggle perking slightly at the hand that held him back now patting his head.
While the two Warden's engaged in fisticuffs against Loghain's lackeys, the sole female and mage of their small group sat alone at the table calmly sipping her drink, eyes closed seemingly ignorant to the surrounding brawl. The only indication, a small frown on her lips and a muted muttering of brutish men and their pointless pride, Morrigan busied herself as the Wardens fought switching between drumming her fingers against the table or idly caressing the hounds head. The witch of the wilds preyed that this incident did not repeat itself every time they chanced a stay at an inn or tavern, 'twould be a tiring journey otherwise.
Inside her secluded section of the Chantry quarters a single sister knelt at her bed, hands clasped in traditional prayer form, lips silently mouthing words memorized from years prior. Her words finished she rose from the floor clutching the bow lain carefully atop the diligently made bed sheet. Her brothers and sisters mocked her dreams, dismissed them as foolish whims and tired dreams, even the Revered Mother refused to believe her. She knew her vision was not merely a dream, but a command from the Maker urging her towards her destiny, and with news of a band of strange warriors slaying the bandits outside of town she overheard from the local templars. Leliana knew the "Child of the North" the Maker commanded her to assist had arrived; she knew it in her heart it was time to leave the Chantry. Checking her armor once more, satisfied that it still fit her even after years of lying at the bottom of her chest, it was a simple set of studded leather armor with a bit of red adorned for flair. She simply adored the color red, especially if it matched her hair's particular shade.
Double-checking to make sure, she had gathered everything needed for her journey, satisfied that it was all in order, belongings and resolve firmly secured she finally set off for the tavern where, according to the Templar rumor she overheard, the group had stopped and not departed for the last hour. Ignoring the disapproving stares of her former cloistered family, she rested her hand on the large doors separating the outside world from the sanctuary of the Maker. Her fingers running across the carved symbols adorning the wood she forced the large doors open smiling, as the warm rays from the bright sun seemed to douse the dark feeling that had suddenly welled inside her. The sight of so many people in despair saddened her greatly but she reminded herself that she could do far more good following the Maker's decree than staying in Lothering tending to them. Her resolve set she quickly made her way towards the tavern confused at the small crowd of people gathered around the door, was something going on? Her answer came in the form of an armor-clad form flying from inside causing the spectators to scatter to avoid the man's rough landing. Something indeed was happening and Leliana had a peculiar feeling it was related to the group she was after, quickening her pace she ignoring the groaning soldier and brushed past the spectators.
The sight she came to witness as she entered the establishment was one she had seen many times before both in Orlais and even here in the sleepy hamlet of Lothering, men and women tired from work and stressed by daily life venting their collective stress in fights. However, this time it was not a simple fistfight between farmers but a brawl of armored warriors. Her eyes immediately landed upon the largest of the occupants as he knelt down to continue his assault, quickly closing the distance between them she nimbly slips her arms around his own as he reared it back to strike the dazed man. It took all her strength to hold him back, Maker what did this man eat to attain such power; her grasp seemed to catch his attention as he attempted to shake off her grip.
"Release me woman!"
"No, stop this insanity! We are in the middle of a trying time and such pointless altercations help no one but the spawn!"
Rising to his feet, he exercised his strength and shoved her back adopting a fighting stance, "Are you allied with these milk-drinkers?"
Marjolaine's training allowed her to catch herself before she stumbled over the various pieces of abandoned furniture, restraining the hand that instinctually darted towards one of various daggers hidden on her person. Calming her nerves, she met his gaze and was shocked as to what she not only saw within his eyes but the distinct aura he seemed to produce was unlike anything she had ever felt.
It held a distinct ancient grace surrounded by unbridled animalistic fury, warmth not unlike the blessings of the maker swirling and battling the frigid darkness of evil both battling for control and both unable to pierce the staunchly dominant essence emanating from within his heart. It was the same overwhelming feeling she felt when the Maker visited her dreams; it was him, the Child of the North that the Maker himself beckoned her to find; now she could complete the quest bequeathed upon her by god.
Amon was…confused to say the least, first this woman had stayed his fist and begged him to stop, now she stood rigid staring at him; first with scrutinizing eyes then the next with wide dazzling eyes. It was slightly off putting and frankly, her stares were worrying him.
"Did you want to fight alongside your fellows or…?"
Shaken from her own world by his voice she shook her head vigorously sending her short vibrant hair out like a spreading fire, "By the Maker no! Please let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was." She was pleased when he lowered his fists; he had nothing to fear from her.
"I am Amon Thorer of the Grey Wardens, Is there something you desperately needed from me to interrupt my recreation?"
"You are a Grey Warden? You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That's what Grey Warden's do?"
"If what the old fool preached to me holds true, yes."
"Then you will need all the help you can get. That's why I am coming along."
Silence came between them as he stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. Was this woman serious? Ignoring the apparent dangers of battling the horde, what could a priestess do in a fight? Pray at the spawn? Allowing that thought to mull in his mind a moment he forced himself back to reality, just now taking in her attire; Leather armor, a long bow slung across her back and, if his eyes weren't failing him, several hidden knives across her person. Strange attire for a supposed sister of a church, then again it wasn't any stranger than the armored robes Miraak's former cultists dressed in. At the very least she wasn't wearing those crab like masks.
"I'm sorry?"
"Yes please, The Maker ordained me to join your quest to defeat the Blight!"
"…the Maker?"
"I know that this sounds…absolutely insane-but it's true! I had a dream…a vision! Look at the people here. They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos...will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. He came to me in the dream, begged me to find you, the Child of the North tainted by many evils are destined by the gods to stop the darkness and usher in the light. He begged me to join your quest and render you assistance that you desperately need! I know I said I was just a lay sister but I wasn't always one, many of us in the order once lived colorful lives before we joined. My skills will certainly be useful to you on your quest, so if you can find it in your heart to accept me as one of your comrades I would be most…appreciative?"
Leliana had become distracted remembering the Maker's warmth and allowed herself to become distracted, and it seemed within those moments the Child of the North had slipped away along with his other companions.
"Hello? Amon Thorer?"
"You there, Miss."
"Who me?"
The owner of the establishment stalked up to her, his face set in a most displeased frown, what he could possibly want with her she certainly had no clue.
"Your friends left saying you'd foot the bill for the damages. If you would be so kind as to pay me now, a gold piece should cover everything."
"Huh!?" Was the former Lay sister's response as she frantically searched the refuge for her armored target.
Moments before.
She could not be serious, could she? This Maker, if what he remembered was true, was these people's god and he commanded her to join him? It wasn't that hard to believe considering his own involvement with gods but the way she carried on and on, it gave him the distinct impression she was daft in the head. While she seemed lost in her own ranting he seized the moment and slowly slinked away from her, comely or not he was not about to get involved with a zealot.
Motioning to Alistair and Morrigan he urged them out the door evading their questions, a curse slips from his lips when the barman stops them from leaving complaining about damages. Swiftly fibbing he directed the man to the bizarre sister. Satisfied with the excuse he leaves to extract his coin, seizing his chance Amon ushers his companions out the door, swiftly slamming it behind him.
Only once had they put a sizeable distance from the inn did Amon finally breathe a sigh of relief, followed shortly by an undignified snort. Pay for damages, it was not as if he had started the brawl, he only finished it.
"What was that about Amon? Who was that woman?"
"Some zealot ranting about a baker or something."
Alistair stared dumbfounded at the Nord, a baker? Why would anyone rant about a baker? He wondered if this baker crafted delicious pastries. His confusion only deepened when the same women bolts from the tavern doorway and swiftly closing the distance a most displeased look marring her features.
Amon stifling a curse scans his surroundings for a plausible escape route, maybe if he struck Alistair in the knees and took off it would distract the woman long enough for him to escape…It was the best he could think up.
"Now just a moment you!" Leliana, slightly out of breath, jabs an accusing finger at the Nord; "How dare you try to pass the bill for the damage you accrued off on me!"
While the women held a hand to her chest as a placating gesture to sooth her burning chest, Alistair locked eyes with Morrigan, who only shrugged her shoulders. It seemed she was just as lost as he was, which meant that the sole bearer of answers lay with their Nordic leader, who seemed to be inching his way away.
"Amon, what is she talking about?"
"Why in Mora's name would I know? She is daft."
"I am not crazy! The Maker truly did ordain me to join your quest, please reconsider, and allow me to accompany you."
"Her plea seems wholehearted and even though she seems to be a little...strange, she clearly has the skill to hold her own. I vote to let her come along."
Laying his hand upon the hilt of his sword Amon arches his brow at the younger Warden's sudden confidence in the odd woman. "Regardless of her skill boy, she's one Khajit short of a caravan."
"Yes, but she seems more... "Ooh, pretty colors!" than "Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill! And you said so yourself Amon, "we need all the help we can muster if we are to wage a war against the horde." Alistair was slightly confused by the context of the strange metaphor but understood his fellow Warden's meaning. They obviously needed all the assistance they could get and while he was quite concerned with her claim of the Maker they sourly could not reject the help.
Amon's trademark exasperated growl as his own words were turned against him compelled a slight grin to manifest upon Alistair lips, it truly was amusing to provoke the larger man in such a way, and he could see why Duncan prodded the man incessantly. His grin only widened when the man leveled him a spiteful glare. "Fine, you can come along, just keep your…Maker talk to yourself. I have dealt with enough zealots to last a Dov's lifetime."
"Truly? Thank the Maker and bless you! I won't let you down, I promise!"
Amon was not clearly not ready for the redhead's enthusiastic thank you a bewildered look appeared on his face as the young woman, grasping both his hands in her smaller ones, shook them with a force that belayed her tiny frame. Prying the offending hands from his he took several steps back hoping to avoid whatever other odd ways of thanking him she had planned; it was slightly off putting to see someone so exuberant at the prospect of joining a crusade against evil. The sound of Alistair's amusement served only to sour his mood further, reaching over he grabbed the younger man's collar and pulled him up so their eyes met.
"Know this boy; if I awaken naked strapped to a stone table awaiting some morbid sacrifice to this Maker of yours then I shall haunt you for the rest of your miserable days."
The laughter faltered only for a moment at the threat before erupting back in full force causing him to flee the impending wraith of the thoroughly agitated Nord. After a short introduction and a few choice barbs from none-other than Morrigan herself the group finally set off for Redcliffe and hopefully a swift end to the Blight.
Jötunn- Beings in Norse Mythology, simply put, Giants. Amon doesn't know that they call the huge Darkspawn orge's and they aren't present in Skyrim as they are in Cyrodiil so he thinks that it is just another Giant.
Bran-War hound in Dawnguard, I preferred Bran and Sceolang over any of the other hounds offered in Skyrim. Huskies are so much cooler than Irish wolfhounds especially when decked out in Dawnguard armor. Sadly my Bran did die battling a Dragon, RIP Bran! Originally I was going to name the Mabari Meeko, after the Hound in Skyrim but after playing Dawnguard I went with Bran.
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Before anyone complains about the Ring of Hircine, yes I know that it does not do what I claim it does but in a non-game setting the ability to grant another transformation seems pointless as the limiting of one per day is merely for balancing. Therefore, I figure that instead it could be used to help tame the blood when the moon is full and/or when his anger begins to bubble out of control. He can still transform if he chose to but he doesn't want to, so he doesn't.
Am I alone in thinking that Morrigan looked much better in the clothing from the Sacred Ashes trailer than in game? I mean I won't lie and say she didn't look hot in such skimpy clothing but it seemed a little too much (Especially during the Urn quest and here I thought I liked the cold!), that garb she had in the trailer was unique and interesting, the Robes of Possession from the Grimoire quest should've been modeled after those. Oh well, that's what PC mods are for I suppose.
I was unsure how much an average meal would cost so I based it off how much the drinks cost in Tapster's Tavern in Orzammar. Two copper for Ale, Three for mead. So a simple meal and some drinks shouldn't cost more than thirty copper, no? Then again, who knows.
Halfway through the bar scene I came to a realization, does the Warden's group learn of Loghain's declaration of treachery in Lothering before meeting the soldiers? I can't really remember, so for the sake of me not having to write another scene of Amon and company learning it just assume they heard it somewhere either from Morrigan or someone in town.
And that folks is it for this chapter, was going to be longer but I decided it was better to release a shorter chapter then to wait longer for a couple more pages. As always, leave a review if you find a mistake or if you just wanna say hi!
Ginyou Rinsom Away!
