Several days had passed, yet the surveillance drones and orbital probes released by the Dawn only confirmed the stark reality that John and Cortana had arrived in a new realm. Feedback data revealed a land mass populated by societies typically reminiscent of Earth's feudal era, but not to a large degree. Though John could see the emphatic hallmarks of stone fortifications in many locations, the notion of a true feudal society was countered by the presence of large scale cities, visibly urban areas, and something resembling a highway system from the aerial screens.
Nonetheless, on the personal level, the humans of this world seemed to be lacking any technological prowess or innovation. This was a vexing problem for Spartan in concerning the status of his armor and weapons. This medieval world meant that finding the resources to maintain his armor and munitions was practically an unviable process, if not impossible. Whatever supplies he had available would have to stay in storage, including his Mark VI MJOLNIR.
On a more rational reason, travelling around in futuristic armor would make him stick a out like a sore thumb. Even in his own universe, the presence of a Spartan made most UNSC personnel nervous and sometimes fearful. For those who had never seen a Spartan, they usually reveled in the belief that Spartan IIs possessed the ability to turn the tide of battle wherever they were engaged. On the other hand, for those that have, the grim dark truth was that the insertion of such commandos was a direct death sentence, such that any squads that were attached to them resulted in high casualty rates. Only a few UNSC officials were aware of the circumstance in which Spartans are sent into: suicide missions.
With that slight ponderance, John agreed with Cortana's suggestion at relinquishing his armor to the ships armory storage. Thankfully, the UNSC's neural relay and interface technology allowed John and Cortana to link through the orbital monitors that were released before the Dawn's descent. She would be his most precise navigator.
"For your first major destination, may I suggest heading for the largest port city. It seems to be a political and cultural center, and probably the best place to enquire about finding the best supplies and new armor for yourself," she directed.
Elissa's curiosity desperately wanted to visit the impact site, but the rest of her companions repeatedly nagged her about getting proper-grade supplies and a chance to see whatever old contacts they had in Denerim. The traders at the capital city normally provided higher quality items than their village counterparts. For Leliana, Denerim was one of the few places in Ferelden where Orlesian fashion products were available. But for Zevran, the rare Antivan prostitute at the Pearl.
Anyhow, the group found themselves trudging along on the ancient Tevinter highway system. One would normally expect a scenic trip towards the capital, but the sky above was turning a violent grey and black, foreshadowing a thunderous torrential downpour. The dark overcast then finally expelled its innards, to such a quantity, that the precipitation blurred the surroundings. Elissa pressed on wretchedly through the storm with her company. She hoped to encounter an inn eventually, as they moved into the more populated areas of northern Ferelden. That hope lessened several miles later once she realized that patchy forests still remained ahead and would so for miles. They would have to stop and find or construct their temporary shelters then.
With Cortana's advanced forecast readings, Master Chief easily anticipated the large storm. Knowing that the fierce weather would last the entirety of the day, the soldier built a proper shelter out of the several young trees. He had just left the shelter to gather more branches to pad the roof of structure, but on return, he discovered a group of strangers standing before his shelter, hoping to take advantage of his work's welcoming respite from the rain.
"May we join you, if you can spare the space," said a youthful woman on her friends' behalf.
Observing the group's well armed appearances, John, with a simple gesture, warily allowed them under the large shelter while also understanding their sincerity to avoid ill-health from the cold dreary weather.
Despite the shelter, the mood beneath the roof was one of awkwardness and woefulness.
Huddled together, the winds made their wet clothes and their wearers miserable. The close proximity to their odd host made for some uncomfortable moments. His size and his build, yet he was human. Compared to him, even the Qunari seemed petty and small. There were questions just waiting to being asked.
Far from seeing an end to the downpour, Elissa broke the silence with a short question,
"Let's start a fire, it's obvious the storm will continue past the night."
"Yes, but we are out of dry tinder and materials," Alistair answered.
"I could have sworn that we had a bag full of it."
"But you forget, Morrigan's ego demands her own large pit of fire every blasted night."
In rebuke, the sorceress pointed her staff towards Alistair, "If I recall correctly, we left the task of gathering fire materials to that dimwit."
"Why do you two always have to act like a divorced couple," Elissa interceded.
"Well, if it gets really freezing, we'll just have to share body heat the old-fashioned way," expressed Zevran.
"No. No. No one is taking their clothes off. I'm sure no one wants to see what imperfections each person has under their clothing," she scolded.
"Say, while we were being silly, I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves to our host," the elf inserted.
"I'm Zevran. Speaking to me was Elissa. The dark one over there is Morrigan and her hater, Alistair. Then that's Leliana…"
While Zevran spoke, John became fixated on the man's ears as if the introducer was an elf. Was he in a fantasy world? That would explain…just then John pointed his gaze towards the two short statured beings in his midst. Dwarves, elves, and a giant. In other circumstances, they would all be considered freakshows. But this was his new reality that he had to accept.
"And what would be your name, sir?"
To which the Spartan reacted with a pointed stare, "Franklin," he lied. The name belonged to a certain Senior Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez, the closest to a father figure a Spartan could know. His name was an honorable one to use, and the real person behind it reflected the values which candidate 117 followed religiously.
"If you're enquiring about my background, I prefer not to…"
"Great, we have another Sten, Elissa," the elf joked. In seriousness, the mechanical voice of the Spartan frightened some of the group.
"Where are you headed anyways, because we might be travelling towards the same destination? The end of this route leads to Denerim regardless."
"Would Denerim happen to be a major trade center and seaport?"
"Why yes, at Denerim…"
"Good, that is where I'm headed," John replied.
"We can guide you there and through the city," Elissa interjected.
"Judging by your odd clothing and seriously heavy accent, you're a newcomer to Ferelden. We'll help you if you agree to be an extra set of eyes and hands. Due to our explorations, we have a large inventory of newly discovered items to carry to Denerim to sell. A person of your size would be immensely helpful. Agreed?"
"Agreed," John nodded.
This development would certainly keep Cortana happy.
Oh well, I'm certainly not a good writer, but I'll try. I just only realized how hard writing is.