Disclaimer- I don not, in any way, shape or form, own Bioware. The only thing I own is this odd little set of drabbles.

So, I've never really been a drabble person, I liked reading them, but I've never really written them. In the spirit of NaNo, I decided to try my hand at writing them. Within the next couple of days, I'll have three of these up. Each on will be a set of 10, 100 word drabbles based on one character. The first one, since Inquisition will be coming out in a couple of days, is my Inquisitor.

Azalea Trevelyan

The day her father hit her for the first time, it was raining and she was two. The thing she remembers the most about it, was the rain and how the thunder boomed in time to cover up her shrieks of pain. She could taste the blood in her mouth from where his foot made contact with her chin and blurrily saw her mother cowering in the corner, covering her abdomen with both hands. He was drunk then. Both of her brothers were upstairs, knowing to stay well away from their father when he'd been drinking. She hadn't.

She was three the day her little sister had been brought into the world; the day she saw her mother bleed out from the pain of childbirth. Later on that day, as her father cried over a bottle of booze and looked over the bassinet that carried Dahlia only to cry harder, the world raged outside. Torrents of water beat against the house and Azalea learned the hard way that the world was a cruel place, only made crueler by the people that lived in it. After leaning over the basket, she decided she would be the protector.

Angel was two years older than Aza the day he decided to share a secret with her. Pain blossomed like wild fire across her limbs and his hands glowed red. She sobbed and begged him to stop, only to realize it made him happy to hear her scream. When it was all over, she ran to her room, slamming the door and falling down to cry. It caught the attention of her father and when he beat her, she clamped her jaw shut and bit her tongue, refusing to scream. In the corner of her eyes, she saw Dahlia cry.

The day Dahlia died, Azalea was six and it was her fault. By that point she, knew, what Angel was and the meaning of blood magic. Father didn't know, but it didn't matter; Angel was to be templar. Despite how much Daddy hated Aza, he loved Dahlia, whom reminded him of his lost wife. For all her protecting of the little girl, she hadn't been able to stop Angel from using blood magic. Screaming in pain, she begged her big sister to end her pain. Aza accepted and tried the only thing she knew to stop pain. Death.

It was a week from her seventh birthday when she overheard her eldest brother and her father discuss selling her. Angel decided, as the heavens poured down on the house, it would be the perfect time to practice his newest spell. As the lightening cracked across the sky, she begged Andraste to stop the fire in her blood, the agony that rippled across her hands and feet. As her birthday neared, the Maker granted her desire in the form of a Master. Though little more than a glorified slave, he taught her all the she could ever desire learning.

At Twenty-one, Azalea became horrified at the person she had become under the tutelage of Quinn. Above all she desired freedom from her Master. She could not hate him, but she could hate the person he had turned her into. Despite hating herself, Aza stayed. Her debt to him was not yet free. He loved her like a child of his own, but treated her like the thing he bought her as. Until the day she earned her marque, she could never be free of him or his household. Disillusioned from the world, she didn't dare dream of better days.

Only months after her Twenty-fifth birthday did Aza finally earn her freedom, the intricate ink on her back proving to herself and the world that she had earned back what should have been hers by birthright. Despite finally being free, she agreed to one last request from Quinn and made her way to Haven, where she was to use her family name to get into the conference and spy for him. The resulting blast killed the people she was travelling with and so many others. Waking up only caused pain, something that she was far too familiar with in life.

After the breach, Azalea found a way to reinvent herself, to become the person she truly wanted to be. Though she was the Inquisitor, she was not the ruthless killer, not the meek slave that craved the touch of a blade, but someone fierce and strong; someone who dared to stand up for others. As the Inquisitor, Aza could become the protector she had once promised she'd be. She thrived even though the world was thrown into chaos. Secrets were kept from those around her for fear of rejection, but secrets are never kept secret for very long.

It wasn't until closing a particularly hard rift that Azalea realized she was dying. In the beginning, the mark had been killing her as it grew, and when it had been stabilized, it was theorized that the mark was no longer killing her. The elven mage had been wrong. Each time she closed a rift, a piece of her soul was ripped from her. Perhaps it was the glue that kept them closed, she could never be sure. For all the good her mark was doing and all she was doing to right the world, she started to accept death.

The world was raining upon her again, when she realized she didn't want to die. She had always feared storms, feared the imminent pain that always came on her when it stormed. Now though, she felt only grief as she kneeled in the mud, crying. The weight of the world on one person's shoulders and Aza wanted to be selfish. Wanted to live a life after this was all done and over with. For her entire life she had refused to believe in love, only to realize it existed when she felt it herself. Instead, she would die for him and for Dahlia.

Alright. There's the first drabble set. Tomorrow, I'll have my Hawke up. I hope you all enjoyed, please read and review to tell me what you think.