Enchantment? [A "Morrigan disapproves" RP] Enchantment!

Ok, let the Dragon Age RP begin!

I'm not sure if this is an open RP or not...ask me/Tynan/Andy if you want in and we'll discuss it.

Jess: Oriana Soulfin - human warrior
Andy: Drayston Soulfin - human mage & Marcan - human mage (in Templar's body)
Tynan: Azerchet Aldin - elf rouge

(names will be fixed as soon as I have them...)

((And here it is. My mini epic. Enjoy. And please excuse any spelling or grammar errors - this is too damn long and I'm too damn lazy to proof read it.))


She stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow soldiers. Some bore twin blades, some a blade and dagger, still others one massive two-handed sword, but she, like most of the knights, ported a longsword and a shield with a yellow wyvern, the heraldic device of Gwaren, emblazoned on the front.

Her stomach was in knots and her heart pounded in her chest. In the distance she heard shrieks and guttural roars that came from no creature born of The Maker. This was indeed a Blight, just as the Grey Wardens had warned. She glanced anxiously up toward the Tower of Ishal from which the signal was to come that would cue their advancement on the horde of Darkspawn. The beasts would be trapped between the King’s army and Loghain’s. The Blight would end before it even began. It was a full proof plan and yet she was still nervous.

She had never fought Darkspawn before. She had heard the legends from Blights past, she had heard tales from Dwarves who had fought the creatures in the deep roads surrounding their great city, but she had never truly faced one before and her mind seemed to have no limit to the horrors it could imagine to accompany the word ‘Darkspawn’.

“Oriana,” a calming voice came from the knight beside her and she softened at the sound of her best friend’s voice, “steel yourself. You are of no use to the king or the teyrn if you’re a ball of nerves.”

She tried to smile but it came more as a grimace. “I know. Thank you, Oswin. I just don’t know how to be calm about this battle, about Darkspawn, about the Blight.”

“You’ve heard Teyrn Loghain. It’s not really a blight, despite what King Cailan fantasizes.”

“Oswin!” Oriana hissed. “You would speak so about your king?”

“No – I just…I respect King Cailan, truly. But I fear his love of the Grey Wardens fills his head with thoughts of grandeur, not pragmatism,” Oswin recovered.

“Lucky he has Teyrn Loghain and us backing him up then,” Oriana smiled. Oswin nodded.

“You back there,” came the raspy voice of Loghain, “quiet!”

“Yes, Teyrn.” both knights sounded in unison.

Moments later, the beacon atop the Tower of Ishal ignited. All assembled began to shift restlessly, uneasily, anxiously; waiting for the order to spring the trap. All eyes were on Loghain as he paused before turning to Ser Cauthrien and saying something to her. She seemed shocked and several more words were exchanged before the Teyrn walked off. Oriana shot Oswin a confused look which he mirrored. Ser Cauthrien slowly turned to the troops and, with a confused look on her face, ordered them to quit the field.

For long seconds no one moved, not believing or wanting to believe the order they had just been given. Then the order was given again, and only then did the knights dazedly begin to shamble off the field.

On the march from Ostagar there was very little chatter save for the constant confused murmuring. An hour into the march, a halt was called. Loghain walked up an slight hill so he was in view of all the warriors. To his right stood a small squadron of archers, to his left, Ser Cauthrien.

Loghain began with power and command in his voice. “The king, my son-in-law, is dead. Betrayed by the very Grey Wardens he worshiped and trusted.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “There was nothing we could have done,” he paused again. “Does any man or woman oppose my words, oppose the truth?”

Several seconds of silence passed before one of the men in the front spoke, a certain level of hesitancy in his voice. “But, my lord, that is not what happened. You ordered us back.”

Oswin chimed in, emboldened by the first speaker. “We never even engaged the enemy. We let the king down, sir.”

Loghain nodded. Slowly, deliberately. “Who else shares this opinion. Step forward.” He gestured to a space away from the rest of the forces, opposite of where the archers stood, stone faced. No one moved, not even Oswin or the other who had spoken out. “Come, come. Stand by your words. Be strong in your convictions. If you feel we betrayed the king, come, stand.” he said, his arm stretched out toward the previously specified area. Slowly, soldiers began stepping forward, separating themselves from the rest.

Oswin turned to Oriana and mumbled under his breath, “Don’t you agree? We’ve all betrayed King Cailan. Stand with me.” He reached for her arm but instead, she grabbed his.

“Something feels wrong, Oswin. Don’t go.”

“Oriana,” he scorned. “One must stand for what they believe. Fight for what they know is right. And die for what they love.”

“Don’t quote philosophers to me, Oswin, not now.” She looked at him for a long moment as another knight shuffled past them. “Please. My friend. Don’t go.”

Oswin smiled, a warm smile that spread to his eyes. “Ana, I’m not going to die. Relax.” He grasped her forearm so that their arms were linked before releasing it and moving toward the other group, only to be halted by Oriana’s voice.

“Oswin-!” she called, faltering, and blushing before shaking her head. He only smiled before joining the sizable group now standing apart from the main force.

Seeing the flow of knights had stopped, Loghain looked to the group Oswin now stood in. “So, you believe we have betrayed king and country? You believe I was wrong to order us off, to save our lives from the treachery of the Wardens?”

Several voices murmured approvals and some nodded. Loghain inclined his head toward the archers and gave a half nod. In less than ten seconds, two volleys of arrows had been loosed on the group and all lie dead or dying on the bloodied earth.

The outrage of the rest of the knights was silenced by Loghain’s words. “Does anyone else believe as they did?” he yelled, anger seeping into his voice. None spoke. None moved if they could help it.

Oriana’s heart froze. She blinked several times, trying to keep her heart beating, her breath even, and the tears from falling. She didn’t remember the rest of that days march. She didn’t remember that sleepless night or any of the sleepless nights that followed. Once she did finally remember sleeping, her dreams were full of vivid, horrible nightmares. Even several days back at Denerim did nothing to lift her haze of grief and shock. She couldn’t help hear Oswin’s last words over and over in her head until one night something clicked.

“One must stand for what they believe. Fight for what they know is right. And die for what they love,” she recited softly to herself in her bed. She dressed in the armor she had worn to Ostagar and grabbed her family sword and the shield with the symbol of her treacherous teyrn on it. At sun up, she marched to Loghain’s castle and gained an audience with Ser Cauthrien.

“You know this is wrong, Ser,” she beseeched Loghain’s most trusted lieutenant. “What Loghain has done – is doing – it’s wrong.”

“You will not speak of your teyrn without his proper title and you may wish to mind your tongue, soldier, lest you desire a fate similar to that of your fellows.”

“You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not here in the capital. You can’t threaten me anymore. The people must know of Loghain’s treachery. He is no teyrn of mine!”

“You are the one speaking treachery, soldier. I will warn you once more to hold your tongue,” Ser Cauthrien warned, drawing her two-handed sword.

“I will not be frightened into silence any longer!” Oriana yelled, drawing her own weapon. She moved forward to attack, but her first blow was parried so completely by Ser Cauthrien that she was thrown off balance enough to allow Cauthrien to knock her unconscious with one swift blow from the flat side of her massive sword. As Oriana’s world faded to pained black, she saw Cauthrien hovering over her with what she swore was an expression of grief and pity. Then she saw nothing.

When she finally came to, she was in a prison cell. Shaking the cobwebs inside her head, she looked around, panic quickly setting in as she realized her situation. She saw no windows anywhere and only one door at the top of a flight of stairs on the far side of the room, on the other side of the bars that now concealed her. She wore simple rags, no longer her armor. She could only guess what had befallen her arms and armor when she was imprisoned. Quickly realizing her fate, she settled on the barely comfortable straw mattress.

All too soon, time became lost to her. With no windows, no indication of night or day, she simply slept when tired; she ate whenever she was fed, which was none too often; twice, a knight had come down and explained to her her crimes against the late King Cailan and against Ferelden, but never was her sentence elaborated on. She seemed doomed in every sense of the word. Oswin was dead, Teyrn Loghain was a traitor to Ferelden and no one could stop him, and she was trapped in some prison for what remained of her life. As soon as she realized this fact, her body and mind began to wane. She began losing her will to live more and more with every passing day. Her only thought, her only hope, was that this really was a Blight, and that the Darkspawn would soon descend upon Denerim and end her miserable existence.

The job was simple. Get in, look for anything suspicious, leave quietly, and take whatever he found to the people who wanted it. That was it. Azerchet laughed at the job when he heard the details. News had buzzed around Denerim that King Cailan had died at Ostagar at the hands of the Grey Wardens. Most people believed this to be odd, especially those at the Alienage. The Grey Wardens betraying the King, all of Ferelden even to the Darkspawn. Nothing added up and people wanted answers. Especially since there looked to be civil war. He was recruited, or rather asked with money, to investigate the Teyrn's plottings if there were any to be found. If he could recall it went something like this.

"Ha ha aha... You want me to what? Sorry, I'm just wondering if I have one to many drinks." Azerchet looked upon the human with laughter still escaping from his lungs. It was hard to stop laughing actually having spent a little time in bar within the Alienage. (What? You think we don't have one cause we're elves?) When a small troop of human approached him with an offer he couldn't resist.

"On behalf of the lords of the Bannorn, we wish to hire you to investigate what the Teyrn is planning. As of late he was been pushing to make the banns submit under his rule. There looks to be civil war if something isn't done. With the death of the King, the banns have been worried about the Teyrn's intentions." He stopped and stared at the elf who sat opposite of him, watching at he lifted his drink to his mouth again, finishing the last of the liquid before slamming the cup.

"Ha ha aha ha... Heh heh he," his laughter slowly regressed into a slow chuckle as he soon realized they weren't pulling his leg. This was really a matter of business to them. Azerchet rubbed his eyes as they were beginning to feel heavy, weighted down by the drink he just down. "So... You want me to go in and simply look around for anything that reeks of the Teyrn then bring anything I find to you and your banns, is that about right?" He looked over to the human messanger who nodded and looked to prepare another speech about how the banns needed this information to prevent war, but he stopped him with a finger raise between them. "As long as you can meet my fee, then I don't much care for details. So about me fee..." He trailed off with a devilish little smile on his face as he began to go over the price of his services, which caused some talking, but in the end the human agreed and departed.

The next day the elf moved discreetly out of the Alienage and towards the more noble areas, with the aid of another elf who worked as a servant. He knew entrances and how to get into Royal Palace, the den of the late King and the current residency of Teyrn Loghian. Sometimes it paid to be an elf, as most didn't pay much attention to there kind when clothed as a servant. As the back entrance, he thanked his brother for his aid and made his way inside. Quickly, he grabbed a random rag and pale of water and made his way through the wall cautious at every sound within the maze. At the sound of foot steps, his knees would give way as his hands plunged the rag into the water and he began to scrub the floor. Whoever it was usually didn't mind the elf at work passing by him with no problems. Others spat or sneered along with a racial insult of some sort, Knife Ears being the most popular slang. Thankfully, they didn't stay long. Each time they left, he would picked himself up and move another length down the hall, remembering to check rooms for anything of use, though to no avail.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to do anything in this damn castle and still he had more to look into, but it was getting late and some of the guards were getting suspicious of an elf remaining in the castle so late. Azerchet had told them that he was ordered to remain in the castle to clean. Unfortunately that guards in this particular room had been there for quite some time and had already seen an elf clean they floors that day, which begged the question why another elf had come to clean the already clean floor. It looked bad as his only fall back story happen to be that he was a servant. Frozen he stood thinking of an excuse that he could use to escape this situation, however nothing came to mind. Then something came to him. He spoke with a start, in a voice that was frail and stuttered; his body shivered and his hand came up in a weak defensive posture. "O-Oh! I didn't mea- know that a-another had... Please forgive my- my mistake. I- I'll leave!" His head lowered itself as he legs began to crept backwards slowly until he rose and hurried off. The laughing of the guards could be heard down the hall.

Though in all of his elven wit and craft, Azerchet lacked one thing that would have proven crucial to his success: a knowledge of the castle. He had been searching for hours that day looking for something that he may have not been even close to. For all he knew, he was travelling in circles, though unlikely as it was having descended numerous stairways. He was sure he was below the castle by now as the lighting became rather scarce in such low places. Tired and lost, his hand placed itself on a door handle and pulled up the heavy door revealing another staircase. Another heavy sigh escaped him. Still he moved down the staircase into the darkness, grabbing a torching before he did, not wanting to trip. From the looks of it, this was a dungeon. Not the best of places to be but it worked for tonight.

((HA!!! EPIC POST IS EPIC!!))

"Marcan, can you see anything?" Drayston whispered, to which he got no reply. Louder, yet still a whisper," Marcan, do you see anything? I need an answer." He had a habit of not always being the most aware of the sounds going on around him, not one of his more useful traits at this moment. More than a tag-along from Drayston's Harrowing, Marcan was the only friend that Drayston made while in the tower.
_________________________________________________

Marcan was among those who took too long completing his Harrowing, his body was destroyed by the Templars, his spirit got trapped in the fade. Drayston happened to stumble upon him while completing his own harrowing and brought him back to Thedas with him, both of them into the one body. About a year, and the two of them came up with a way to separate the two of them via forbidden, and maleficarum labeling, magic. The two of them went to the phylactery chamber and took the vile of Drayston's blood.

A couple weeks later, the aid of The Circle was called upon for the defense of Ostagar. Drayston, being one of the more gifted mages in Kinloch Hold, was called upon to help defend the old Tevinter ruins. On the ferry crossing Lake Calenhad, the plan to escape begun. Drayston “accidentally” fell of the boat and dropped his phylactery in the lake, sinking it to the bottom. A couple of the other mages helped him get back into the boat and dried off before the Templar began rowing again.

When the group arrived at the Hinterlands campsite an sunset, the second part of the plan began. Drayston lulled the group to sleep with the aid of entropy magic, and dragged the youngest Templar off into the woods. The once knight was dispatched to the fade leaving his body open to inhabit. Marcan was summoned into a glowing, green, orb of pure energy than took a vague humanoid shape while waiting for the body to be available.

The final step, blood magic, to force the fresh corpse to accept the new spirit. Drayston took the Templars knife and plunged it deeply into the Templars hand and his own hand which, by a combination of both the fresh wound and the use of the forbidden blood magic, erupted into a geyser of the blood. The stream of blood was guided through the fade spirit’s hand into the gaping hand hole of the corpse. Marcan was pulled by the stream blood into the Templars body. The body was pulled up into the air by an unseen force, arched its back, fell to the ground, and began so seize. The mage bound the body to the ground and inscribed a glyph to end the seizing and ended the dark ritual by giving his life force to the soon to be living once again Templar. Then the floor came up quickly as Drayston then passed out.

Drayston woke up during the next sunset and found a Templar standing over him. “What the sod do you think you’re doing? Get up!” A bash from the shield and Drayston was out cold again.

The Templar returned to the campsite, mage, still knocked out, in tow, “I found this one about half an hour’s walk east from here,” he said in a youthful, yet deep voice The Templar held up the knocked out mage’s hand. “By the amount of blood on him, I assume this one did some blood magic. What should I do with him?”

“Put him back where you found him and take his head off, we’ll say he died to darkspawn during the battle.” The Knight-Commander barked in a raspy, scared voice.

“Understood.” He turned around and walked back into the forest, Drayston still slung over his shoulder.
________________________________

“You awake? Come on, get up! The Templers will be here soon, you have to get up!”

Drayston blinked his eyes, opened them fully, then squinted at the glare coming of the Templars armor. “You’re dead, Templar” Drayston said as he threw his hand across the air in front of the shining helm. A wave of energy swept over the same path splitting the helmet diagonally from the visor to the bottom. Drayston was watching the bottom fall off and slammed into his toes, causing a cracking sound. “MOTHER-SODER!” It wasn’t until he looked up and realized that the Templar was the body that Marcan was placed in. “Maker’s breath, you could have asked me to play knocked out. Sod it, my feet hurt.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I had to sell it. They could have checked and not seen the wound.”

“True, true. Maker, my feet hurt.”

“Let me see if I can help, I was interested in the art of healing at the tower.” Marcan held his hand over the foot in question and a feint blue glow emanated from underneath his leather covered hand. The bones popped back into place and mended themselves.

Drayston winced as the ends of the bones scraped against and nerves reattached to each other. “That hurt almost as bad as having them broken, but the pain went away as soon as the bones mended. Come on we need to get away from here.”

“Agreed completely, where to? Antiva out of the question?”

“A little too far, let’s try to stay in the border… Denerim. My sister is in the army, she’ll help us.”

“I hope you’re right, I’d hate to be turned in by your family. After seeing how hell-bent you were to get me living again, I don’t want to know how angry your sister will get.”

“To Denerim it is then.”

“Right.”
_______________________________________

"Marcan, can you see anything?" Drayston whispered, to which he got no reply. Louder, yet still a whisper," Marcan, do you see anything? I need an answer."

“No, no one that might cause trouble for us. Let’s hurry before they run out of the good stuff.”

“Ok, ok. You’re paying, right? Take off the helmet, you can hardly hear me and you look like a bucket head in there.”

“Wha?”

“Exactly, take The helmet off.”

Marcan made the universal sign of “I can’t here you.” To which Drayston replied with a flick of the wrist. The helmet popped right off Marcan’s head and in to his hands.

“I said, ‘Take the helmet off’. Got it?”

“Oh, got it.”

The two went into the bar and got a drink, and another, and another. Until they got a room upstairs and passed out.

Through the haze of her half asleep state, Oriana heard a door open and close. She had come to know the sound of that particular door and recognized it as the main door leading to the dungeon. Her first thought was that it was slop time, but as she looked down to the small bowl of "food" still sitting full on the floor of her cell, the thought was quickly dispelled. Food had recently been served.

Her mind began to idly wonder who was coming down to the dungeon and what their purpose was. Perhaps it was another knight come to ridicule and scorn her for her treachery. Maybe it was a sister. One time a sister had been allowed down to sit outside her cell for some length of time. She recited verses from the Chant of Light and tried to convince Oriana to admit her wrong doings and repent or she would never have a chance of joining The Maker when she died. Much to the sisters dismay, Oriana paid her little head, simply ignoring the pious words as she settled on her bed for a nap. The visit had gone so poorly that Oriana doubted anyone would waste time trying to save her immortal soul again.

So again she was left wondering who this person was. After another minute of focused listening with little to no new sounds, Oriana gave up on the hope of human contact and simply resigned herself to her bed. She sat, cross-legged, bowl of slop between her legs, scooping it into her mouth with her hands.

It was a funny thought that he would find refuge in this of all places: a dungeon. There were only a few that could laugh of such things in the face and Azerchet was not one of them. He was one of those who could giggle at them. You see there was a difference, a huge one at that. You see the thief who laughs in a dungeon will soon find himself there, whereas the thief who giggled would see himself out of one. However, his giggling was cut short when the sound of movement caught his ear, dragging his gaze further down the dark corridor. Slowly, he crept along the wall towards the origin of the noise taking care to keep a hand on a small knife under his shirt in a custom made leather holster. It wasn't going to take on a fully armored knight head on but it was enough to take on anything given the element of surprise. Finally, he came to a cell unlike the others. There, inside this one cell, was a figure. And, by a humorous surprise, a human sat dead quiet on a dirty cot in the darkness, flame-made vertical shadows painted themselves on her face as his torchlight passed through the bars onto her. "Whoo hoo ho! Would you look at this. A human in a cell. Sorry if I laugh but I normally am not gifted this fine pleasure of looking at you from this side of the bars." He indeed took a moment to laugh, muffling his joy behind his hand, relying on his nose to breath. When he did stop, he got low next to the bars, squatting with one of his knee low to the floor yet still hovering above it. "You must've gone and done something pretty bad for you to be lock up in here. As a fellow criminal I'm obligated to give you salutations in your time of need or rather time of innumerable amounts of silence. Heh heh. Forgive me again. I still can't get over see one of you here. To you it must seem like seeing me behind these bars but rest assured that I'm the one free and you are not. But enough nonsense. I'll ask you three things and three things alone. I will allow you to answer only what the question asks and you would do well to answer just that. Maybe then perhaps I will let you out." He let out a grin through the bars. With such an enjoyable find, his energy flowed back into him, ready to question the woman within the cell. "Like most you meet, they all have a name. Mine is Azerchet Aldin. Catchy, or so I've been told. But what I must know is the name you carry... That is if this place hasn't broke your sanity." His last comment was directed at her display of feeding, using her hands, uncaring about how such pitiful looking food entered her.

Drayston awoke, head pounding with every little noise made from Morcan's new, loud, snoring, to the usually calming birds chirping outside. Still a little drunk, he stumbled to his feet, and staggered to the blinds which were already letting light through, and hesitated to open due to the impending pain the morning sun would cause. The blinds slid open, light rushed in, Drayston's head felt as if it was about to burst due to the intense luminescence of an eastward facing window during sunrise. He swung around in record time for a man with a hang over, quickly averting his eyes from the intense rays, and towards his still sleeping comrade. He meandered over to his slumbering friend and began to push Morcan's shoulder in an attempt to wake him. But that would be too easy. Morcan did not budge in the slightest. Drayston looked around as to be sure no one was watching. He began to swirl his fingers, one hand above the other. Then a drop of water formed, then more, then a gallons worth of water was between his hands. When the fingers stopped moving, the water fell, and fall it did.

Morcan had the rude awakening of a water spell being dropped on his face. Angry at his waker he jolted up, and opened his eyes as to see who to blame. Drayston was standing over him, laughing, left hand still wet from the water falling on it. “What in the name of The Maker was that? Are you daft enough to not try simply nudging me awake?”

“Too loud, massive hangover. And I did try to wake you the conventional way, but it didn't work. So you got the unconventional.”

“Sod off, it's way to early to get worked up over anything. Where are we again?”

“A tavern in Denerim, can't remember which one though. Apparently the drinks are good. Maker my head hurts”

“We need to get moving, The templars will be on our trail again if we don't get moving soon. Got any ideas for the hangovers?”

“I remember hearing that lyrium potions work. Comm'on, we should get going”

Oriana looked up from her slop to see the elf that was laughing at her. Her eyes didn't quite meet his as her emotionless gaze turned to a more annoyed one as he continued to laugh at her plight.

He began to speak, finally recovering from his fit of laughter, so she set her 'food' bowl down and listened. Not like she had anything better to do. He introduced himself, stating his name, and then asked for hers. To this she stood, as much as she could considering her malnourished state.

"I am Oriana Soulfin," she said, fighting to keep tears from her eyes. It had been so long since she had said her own name. So long she had almost forgotten the pride she carried with it. A name she barely deserved rotting in a cell as she was. "Now tell me what you want, elf, or leave me to my misery."

"Oh, so you can speak. For a moment there I was beginning to think that you were another one of the lifeless masses of... You know it makes no difference in the matter. The fact that your alive is astonishing. I've seen things that have crawled out of the darkness with nothing but there torn flesh and exposed spines grasping to air with lungs so thin that-"

The elf stopped mid-sentence to listen the air for a distant voice. Of who was of little concern to him knowing automatically that he was in short supply of friends inside this place and any such voice was to be considered an enemy before a friend. He turned to the human, who he came to know as Oriana, and gesture to remain silent. He ended the life of the torch's light and quited into the shadows someplace. As he finalized his position, the door open and a guard stood, glancing into the darkness yet unable to see through it.

"Check down in there!" A voice barked from another passing by quickly, as if compelled to rush down the hall. It would appear that his presence had napped the attention of other more sensible powers. What horrible luck, Azerchet thought. He was sure he could have fooled them for a bit longer, but understood that such was the nature of the world, the unpredictably of all things. All he could do was react accordingly. The armored man groped the wall in search of the torch that was normally stationed there but was unable to find it. He turned his head and called back. "There ain't a torch here! How'm I suppose-" But the rest of the troop had proceeded on with further searchings of the massive estate. The guard grimaced at the fact that he would be descending into darkness but realized that he had to perform this task. He reached for his sword and drew it as bravely and as readied as a man in his position could be.

As the bottom of the stairs the man's eyes were becoming adjusted to the darkness and able to differentiate from a wall and not a wall. He walked further into the corridor unable to see the figure of Azerchet pass him by. A plan had been laid out for this poor guard and he wouldn't be walking passed tonight. For you see, Azerchet had little care for the humans, as the feeling was of course mutual, and enjoyed to return to them the tortures they had brought upon his kin. Azerchet picked up a rock and lobbed it down the corridor, passed the man, and further into the darkness. With this time, the elf climbed the stairs, his shadows going unnoticed long enough to slam the door, just enough to get the man's attention.

"Step by step the man crept into the home of cages, not knowing what lie in the dark." The started guard turned about, to see nothing by blackness, the light from the top of the stair extinguished and reducing his vision. His guard was up as he remained stationary, turning wildly in hopes to caught a glance at something, anything but the blackness that surrounded him. "What go is a man with no eyes when he has a sword in his hands." The man had figured out where the voice was coming from and adjusted his guard to match it. He did not know what his enemy was or how well equip it was so natural his intention was to move backwards in hopes of finding a wall to better orient himself. Of course this was met with a flash of burning light as the man had stepped one pace too far backward. The fire had painted the room in light for a few moments but of course the man was too distracted by the turn of events to notice in the dying flickering light the elf behind him, a dagger in his hand, simply standing there for a moment til the light disappeared. The next thing that was said was in fit of dark, twisted joy. "That is the end of your story." There was sound of blood smacking the floor and the muffled noise of pain through fingers. It was a few moments before a light was brought to life again.

"Well... That was enjoyable. Tiresome, but filled with good insight as to my own situation." His clothes showed the signs of blood that had bean smeared, mainly across the pant leggings, as he readdressed his single female audience. "It is a shame I must be off so soon, but seeing as I have become an unwelcome guest, it is high time that I should leave. So I say, farewell fellow criminal I hope to met again in the Beyond or wherever us wrongdoers go if Andraste or whoever won't take us." He made a start for the door but noticed that he was at fault for note sticking to his job description. He was to search everywhere for information. This was a place and he was required to search. The only information in the room was dead or a prisoner. With little in the way of options, he had to resort to the later.

He turned about and looked at the woman a while before finally asking. "How much do you know about the Teyrn?" He asked half expecting to get a useless answer.

The two mages found their way to the exit after many wrong turns. They wondered into the main square, and began to figure which way to go to try to find Dryston's sister.

"You said she was was in the military, no? Then we should look in the barracks." Morcan questioned as they progressed further into the town center.

"She is in military. But she was deployed to defend Ostagar; same as we, I rather, were. I'm not sure is shes back yet, or even if she is coming back. We could ask around if the troops came back yet."

"And where would we check to see if they came back? Thats right! The barracks, now lets go."

((sorry, half-ass post for filler))

Oriana, who had turned from the bars back to the center of the cell as the elf left, was called back to the front of her cage by the question asked.

"How much do I know about the Teyrn?" she said slowly as if feeling how the words rolled around in her mouth. Her eyebrow sank and a scowl formed on her face. She opened her mouth to answer, to tell the elf of Loghain's treachery, but snapped it closed again as a thought ran through her mind. "I know much about the Teyrn. But my knowledge will come with a price." Her eyes narrowed, trying to asses how well her bribe would work. "Get me out of this cell, help me escape, and I'll tell you all about the Teyrn. You're an elf. Surely this lock is nothing you're unfamiliar with. Free me, and you'll have your answers."

"Oh," he cooed, impressed by the humans sense of business. Was it this that allowed them to take over the world? Perhaps they were simple better fit for their time. The fact that they were versatile simply made them harder to stop. "So the prisoner is the one calling the shots now? I wish I got that memo when they through me in one of these. Perhaps you will start some new tradition among the captives everywhere." The notion was, of course, too ridiculous to even be considered by any sensible human but for Azerchet this was just another brilliant idea that spawned from the bars of a dark cell. Alas none of this was getting him any closer to achieving his information quota. The fact of the matter was that if he wanted whatever she, he would need to break here out of this cage and escort her to his employers. He was probably guessing that they would be more generous with the second half of his reward with such a fine specimen of evidence against the Teyrn.

Crouching next to the cell's lock, meeting it at eye level now, he examined the lock and searched his bag for a pick. As he worked, it was perfect time to address the lady's earlier comment. With a smirk on his face, he glanced out of the counter of his eye to Oriana. "And to assume that because I'm an elf that I would know how to disengage a lock it purely you humans expecting the worse out of our kind. Tell you the truth, though. Elves aren't born with the ability to pick locks. We're just better at it then you will ever be. Make sense?" His voice came the the end at the sound of a heavy click, a sign that the door had become unlocked, much to his and Oriana. Rising from his working position, Azerchet pulled open the iron cage's door, the hinges groaning, coming to life once again after so long a inactive slumber. "I believe you will find the dead suitable to your needs. I can't be sure what will be outside those doors, so if you would, milady, equip yourself for the worst and when you are ready we shall depart. Unless you feel like staying. You must have so much history with this place. I wouldn't want to separate you so quickly." Sometimes, he was just a laugh to himself.

((generic filler post)) ((JK, here it is.))

The front door of the barracks opened, enough to light the dimly lit room. Two men entered, they walked up to the front counter. The taller one stood back as to not be drawn in to the conversation. There was a young elf woman putting away some paper work from some of the earlier visitors. She looked up at the closer of the two men. “I'll get the records keeper. If you wouldn't mind, please, take a seat.”

“All I need it some information on if a soldier has returned from the battle of Ostagar. Would you be able to get those records for me?” Drayston inquired.

“You are not the first person to come looking for those records today, they seem to be quite popular.”

“Understandably so. People want to know If their loved ones came home. What do you need to find her, would a name do?”

“An army number would be easier to work with, but that will do.”

“Oriana Soulfin, she was under Ser Cauthrien's command.”

“That will help. Please, take a seat this may take a bit.”

“Take your time, we're in no hurry.”

The elf smiled and nodded as she turned to head into the back room where, Drayston assumed, the records were kept. The two remaining people in the room went over to the wooden chairs closer to the entry way. Drayston took a chair, leaned back, and propped his feat up on the table in front of him, while Marcan sat down and hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees, and head on his hands, fingers interlaced.

“Oh man, I cant wait to see her again! It's been, what, about 20 years since I was sent to the tower.” Drayston said. His voice mirrored the smile on his face.

“Another Soulfin, I can hardly wait.” His sarcastic voice mirroring his eye roll.

“Hey, have you met her?”

“No, but-”

“Then you cant judge her.” Drayston interjected.

“Fine.”

There was a long period of silence between them.

“What do you think her reaction will be? You know, to what you did.” He moved his hands to signify his body.

“What makes you think I'm going to tell her? She has never met you, she has no idea you even exist. And I doubt she would recognize your face. He was in the circle as a Templar, she is in the army as a soldier. What are the chances of their paths ever crossing before now?”

“You make a good point, but what about when I need a new body? This one is starting to break. I can only keep it 'alive' for so long. Magic cant bring back the dead, just keep the bodies looking fresher. But even that requires a lot of focus.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Don't think about the future too much, you may miss whats happening now.”

“That's good... You get that from one of the books back in Kinloch Hold?” Marcan asked, a smirk on his face.

“I don't have to answer that.”

As if waiting for the conversation to finish, the elf woman turned from the corner leading to the back. Drayston jumped up and ran over to the counter awaiting the news. The elf had a sad look on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it to figure out what to say. “I'm sorry, but It seems like Oriana didn't come back from Ostagar.” Her voice trailed off as she spoke the last few words.

Drayston's smile shattered into something of dread. “What... What do you mean? Is she dead?”

“Not necessarily. All our records have is that she did not return /here/. Not that she died.”

“Is there any information on where she might be?” Marcan asked.

“You said she served under Ser Cauthrien. You may want to ask her if she has an official word on if, Oriana was it, made it back.”

“Thank you for your help.” Marcan placed his hand on Drayston's shoulder in the universal sign of, 'lets go'. The door opened, lighting the room, then closed, making it dark again.

Oriana cast one last look at the cell that had been her existence for the past months then strode, as confidently as she could, out of the prison. She rummaged over the recently killed guards, pulling off their plate mail to get to the lighter leather under armor. She knew she was too weak to wear anything heavier than a basic layer of leather. It would take a while for her to recover from her current level of undernourishment.

Having pieced together some basic armor, she made to pick up a sword and shield but found both to be too heavy for her weak state. Pathetically, she settled for one of the extinguished torches that rested on the cobblestone.

"I'm too weak to be of much help now," she said, hating that she had to admit weakness to an elf. "But if you get me out of here alive, I'll tell you all you want to know about our teyrn."

Watching the human struggle to flee its confinement for which it had so long been bound to, Azerchet couldn't help but enjoy, if only a little, the elven antimosity and cruel satisfaction that had build up within the hearts of elves. Though part of him still believed in the Maker-sent Andraste, who he had been told by his elder keeper when he was a young knife-ear of the Alienage. The story was one he could not rid of himself of and acted as, as it did with so many others of his kind, the good side that is to balance out the evil. Granted, Azerchet couldn't believe that the deeds of one could account for the evils of the many, but whatever the Chantry decided to spout out seemed enough to keep ears drawn and some humans in check. The only problem were guards and bandits who had a more secular school of thought, not partaking in the belief of Andraste.

Oriana had grabbed what little she could and notified the dependence which she had put on him. That bodded well for the two, having the elf protect the human from more armed humans. Unbelieveable, if he wasn't going to witness it first hand. In response to Oriana, he merely stated in a half-amused laugh, "Being the one paid to do this, its in my best interest to do just that, but the pep-talk is always welcomed when facing down trainned warriors who would love a reason to kill an elf. But being paid is a better incentive to survive. Now come on, miss. You've got people to see and I have money to recieve." Stepping forward to lead the weakened human through what would be a mess of armored guardsmen. Treason and aiding a prisioner was a lovely thing to be caught with in a place like this. Pressing his elongated ear against the door to the hall, he amused it to be empty. Thankfully, it was but it would be for long. The guard that lie dead here would bring others, to investigate where their comrade had disappeared to. That was another thing to add to the list, murder of a guardsmen. He was on a roll today! Opening the door cautiously but picking up speed the further he opened it, feeling more secure with the absence of noise, he moved his hand quickly, silently calling Oriana to him, ready to depart. When she did, he explained the basis of his plan which came down to: Stay close, Don't make noise, Keep watch behind him, and if found Run it. And with that, he went into the hall and made his way back that way he came it, having surprisingly good memory for these urban areas.

“Do you have any idea where we're going, Drayston?” Marcan inquired.

The two spent the last couple hours walking around in circles while Drayston was trying to figure out where a mage and a templar could go and not draw to much attention to them selves, while still perusing the small lead they had on Oriana.

“Do you have to ask every five minutes?” Drayston snapped back.

“Maybe if you shared what goes on in your head up there, then I could help.”

“Ok, think about it this way. I'm a maleficarum, you're a rotting templar, and we want to talk to one of the leader of the military. I'm actually thinking about how to approach this unlike you who is just standing there.” Drayston snapped back, his voice raising near the end. He paused for a second, took a breath, then began talking again. “I'm sorry if I'm coming off as rude, I'm just mad that I can't seem to find a way to do this without putting us, or at least me, in danger.”

“I have an idea. How about we wash my armor to get the stink off, then I go and ask her as a Templar. I'll say that you got lost, and I'm tracking you. Your sister may have information about where you went, so I need to talk to her.”

“Why didn't I think of that... Marcan, you're brilliant!” Drayston jumped over to where Marcan stood and embraced the rotting corpse. “And you smell like shit.” He said, fighting the urge to vomit. Drayston quickly took a step back, “Yeah, lets get you and your armor cleaned.”