In my Nobless Oblige playthrough, I had the goal of not selling any unique equipment. It was more of a gamer challenge at the start (and it really made me hard for gold throughout the game), but it was interesting on how many trinkets I got to keep.
Then, of course, I had to justify keeping and carting around all the stuff. Here are ten reasons, as I progressed through the game.
This was actually a lot of fun to write: it looks like length creep set in, but in fact it was intended, as a reflection of how more and more thought went into the collection.
Codex 2: King Cousland's Armory
The Hero of Ferelden's weapon and armor collection became famous in its own right as a testament to
his travels and connections. Myths about it grew faster than the collection
itself: a romantic Bard's tale says he hoped to gather every weapon in the
world so that no one else might suffer as he had, an Antivan myth popular among
the Crows says that he never sold a single trophy from all the men he killed,
and the Qunari camp tale is that the future King began building his armory even
then, so long-sighted was he.
One: Greed
"No," Aedan argued, appealing to Morrian natural sense of
self-interest. "If we sell such a relic here, we would only get a pittance
compared to what we could get elsewhere."
Two: Bribes
After hearing of Loghain's bounty, the last Cousland felt no
remorse about sending the Chantry-girl's sticky fingers onto the greedy
merchant's prized Tevinter crossbow.
Fergus had always been a stickler for quality pieces. Maybe
some guard with the same could be convinced to look the other way for such a
piece.
Three: Signet
The man's eyes widened in recognition of the helm Aedan
wore. "Welcome back to Redcliffe, my Lord!" the peasant greeted, and Andean
returned it with a well worn grin as the man led him straight to Bann Teagan's
current residence. Nearly half the village seemed to wait outside, awaiting
mediation following the tragic attacks, but to a child they parted for him at
the sight of his helm. Ridcliffe's reward, while not his preferred helm, was always a quick pass to whatever and
whoever he needed to see. Sometimes, recognition helped.
Four: Leopard Spots
While no rogue himself, Aedan knew that the quickest route
to being discovered was in looking as if you were trying not to be seen.
Instead he strolled with a purpose, tipping a helmet he had never worn before
today to a guard passing by. Walking right under a wanted poster which had his
most distinctive Grey Warden helmet covering his face, Aedean's pick-pocketing
of Master Tilver was lost for just another mercenary moving through the crowd.
Five: Identity
Let Oghren and Zevran make crude jokes about two men
polishing their swords together. Let Morrigan scoff, or the others stay
separate with looks of pity and unsought sympathy in their eyes.
Aedan and the Sten sit back to back, occasionally passing
materials but never talking as they clean their respective blades. Looking at
the Cousland relic he held, Aedan understood the solemn Qunari. If he were to
wake up one morning without knowing where his sword was, would he…?
Six: Gifts of Consequence
It is now-King Bhelen, of all people, who teaches him the
value of a personal gift.
"It was a maul favored by my Brother," the Dwarven King had
said. "May it remind you of your time in Orzammar."
Which brother? The one he framed? The one he had murdered?
At first he wants to throw it away in disgust. He didn't
ally with Bhelen because he believed his words. But, with a pause, he realizes
that maybe that was the point. He hadn't allied with Bhelen because he
believed in him. Bhelen wasn't giving this to him because of either of them had
been fooled, but rather because neither of them were. And that really was
something to consider, an almost generous reminder.
Let it never be said that Bryce never tried to teach his
children to accept gifts in the spirit with which they were intended.
Seven: Gifts of Coercion
The Grey Wardens always have had a troubled relationship
with the Circle of Magi. It's not so much that the Circle does not want to
help, but the Circle feels compelled to consider the Chantry, and thinks things
through a bit too long and often and against what the Wardens might like. While
the salvation of the Tower buys much good will and cooperation, it cannot last
forever on its own.
So Aedean doesn't intend to let it.
The next time Gregoir is about to be reticent, the
Knight-Commander finds himself being returned a suit of Templar-Commander's
armor, said to have been recovered from a smugger outside Orzammar. And the next
time Irving is a bit too cautious, the Wardens mysteriously find and return
another magical item lost to the Tower during the Horror.
They can hardly arrest him for returning things the
Abominations likely had destroyed.
Eight: Gifts of Apology
Some actions can never be taken back, and to apologize or
admit mistake undermines whatever good came out of it. You must, forevermore,
be committed, or else make the sacrifice truly meaningless.
For Andean, the Werewolf massacre is one such action.
He never loses much sleep over the loss of the Dalish. He
has sympathy, but no love, for the Dalish and their isolationist ways, he
perhaps hypocritically condemns the Dalish clan for never questioning or
challenging their leader despite their doubts of the true nature of the
werewolves, and to his dying day he counts the Werewolves as one of the only
ways Ferelden could have come close to matching the sheer numbers of the
Blight. Werewolf warfare is something that could change the balance of power in
Thedas forever, and in Ferelden's favor if it could be managed just right.
But even so, he isn't proud of it. As a Grey Warden, as a
Ferelden noble, he would do it again, but he isn't proud of it. So when the
Lady of the Forest gave him leave to scrounge through the Dalish Camp, to take
what he wanted, he did: Zathrian's ring here, a Dalish artifact here. He
leaves with a chest full of guilty memories.
And when he encounters the Dalish, a Dalish, again, he isn't
stingy about returning the belongings of her people. Not all at once, never
without reason, and never quite enough to cause them to forget or forgive, but
almost. And it almost soothes his conscious.
Nine: Gifts of Learning
"You want to spend half the treasury on what?"
King-Consort Cousland asks, not sure if he heard correctly.
"A University," his wife repeats with all the confidence of
the first time, as if their pillow talk is the most common sort in the world. "I
believe we have the need, and the opportunity, to do so. It may not provide an
immediate investment's return, but it will be advantageous to the nation in the
long run."
She is set in her ways, as always. He's begun to learn the
signs. And so has she. It won't be the first time they've fought over domestic
spending priorities, nor will it be the last: he favors the martial, as
expected, and she the civil. But she holds her tongue when he steps out of the
bed, still unclothed, and walks to the wall where he keeps some of his war
trophies. Their location in the royal bedchamber was a concession on her part,
but the presence of naked steel close at hand comforts him.
Instead of a sword, though, he lifts down a crossbow she has
never seen him use before. Without a word he loads a number of bolts into the
weapon, aims at a well-damaged door, and pulls the trigger once, twice, three
and then even a fourth time, as bolts fly out faster than any many could crank
a standard crossbow. She sees he is pleased that she did not once flinch at
the sound of the discharge.
He holds the repeating crossbow out, showing to her a piece
of technology beyond their ability to recreate.
"Study this," he says simply, giving the condition for his
support.
Ten: The Gift of Legacy
The year, by the old Chantry calendar, is 15:31. Jamie
Cousland is a young child who will one day do great things. But today, she is
on a field trip.
Leading her classmates out of the air-wagon, she remembers
her mothers' teachings enough to thank the mage who piloted them all this way.
She also thanks the Tranquil who assisted him, though that was a wasted effort
as always, but it has to be done.
As the teacher lines them up, she takes a look at Soldiers
Peak. To be honest, it's rather different than what the old story books portray
it as: a large number of renovations, and many more expansions, have pushed the
entire fortress from just the peak of the mountain to almost half the mountain
itself, with a good number of outposts visible on the next peaks on over. Such
outposts go across the Coastland mountain range: back in the last war, the
Marches had regularly sent our air-pirate raiders, and Soldiers Peak had been
the center of countering them.
But that's all old history now: her uncle had married a
woman from the marches, and she loves her cousin very much. Instead, she and
the rest of the students are brimming with anticipation as a group of
tough-looking, but smiling, Ferelden Wardens emerge to guide their group
through the magical checkpoints that defend the Keep's interior.
As they pass through the fortress, one of the Ferelden
Wardens, an elf (And when was the last time anyone had seen an elf? Hadn't they
all bred out by now?) gave them the history of this and that, but Jamie barely
paid any mind. Like the rest of the children, her blood sang in anticipation of
why they were here. To see the Armory.
First it had been a war chest stored outside the Keep
itself, before it had been reclaimed. Then it had been one room, then two, then
the basement, then expansions.
Now, it had become a legend. The mountain, hollowed out by
the Ferelden Wardens' Dwarven allies, had expanded the keep, but also given a
fitting place to store the legendary collection. And they were here now.
A cavern of many, many levels, descending farther down than
the eyes could see, each 'floor' capable of holding more than one above. More
armors, more swords, more crossbows and early Qunari arquebusiers and magical
rings and staffs and everything that had come to Ferelden and the Wardens'
possession since the King, all kept preserved by the magical fields strengthened
by the thin Veil to the fade.
And this was what they could see, a collection constantly
added to and organized. Elsewhere, everyone knew, the Wardens kept the really dangerous stuff, the magics
and technologies and things that would be studied in secret, understood, and
then one day stored for when they were needed.
Jamie Cousland would know this, because today she would be
told it. Separated from the group by chance and accident, lost on one of the
many levels awaiting her recovery, she realized she was not alone. A spirit, a
memory of the past echoing across the Veil, stood beside her, looking at the
armory. When she had overcome her fear, asked its purpose, it had smiled and
gestured to the rows and rows of materials of war and said one thing.
"I leave this to you," Aedan said, "so that you will not
need it."