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Chapter 1: Hung (Below)
Chapter 2: The Joining (here)
Chapter 3: Burn It Down (here)
Chapter 4: The secrets of Whitestone PT1 (here)
Chapter 5: The secrets of Whitestone PT2 (here)
Chapter 6: The secrets of Whitestone Epilogue (here)
Chapter 7: The remnant (here)
Chapter 8: The deepest roads PT1 (here)
DISCLAIMER: This is a Dragon Age: Origins fanfiction, set several months after the end of the main game. Spoilers are present. The expansion pack Awakening is not included here. I have not played DA:O in English and as such, some terms may be translated wrong.
I don't own DA:O and I'm not looking to make a profit out of it.
Criticism and comments are welcome. If there's enough interest I may whip up some more.
EDIT: There's actually no smut in this, so it should be safe to read even for those that don't like certain aspects of my RP style.
~~~
Hung
Getting hung is not a pretty death. If you're lucky your neck just snaps and you shit and piss all over yourself. Me? I'm about to be choked to death by a lyrium-reinforced rope. My legs are twitching in the air like I'm putting on a dance show for the crowd that's gathered in order to see one of Denerim's most hated men die. My fingers clutch desperately at the thick cord around my neck, but there's just no space for them. And the worst part?
I'm still going to shit my pants once I'm dead.
I murdered one of the most beloved noblemen in the entire country, second only to the queen. At least that's what “they” say. “They” are fucking liars. “They” hired the Crows of Antiva to eliminate Arl Eamon, and “they” pinned it on me. Greedy, envious bastards. I've sworn to protect the Arl with my life, and now I'm dancing on the rope?! Me?! The Arl picked me up off the street and made me more than I could ever have been. Ser Thorval, who would've thought?
Maker help me, as soon as I get out of this sling I'm beating them to death with the gallow itself...
Woah, neat. My vision is greying out. Won't be long now.
…
I think my eyes just popped out of my head. Maker, I hope not.
…
Is... is that my tongue that's flapping against my face? Kinda hard to concentrate right now...
…
Bastards... I'll, I'll wait for you over there... Maker, forgive me...
…
…
~~~
Great tits. If this is the after-life, I don't mind being dead at all.
“The rope has crushed his windpipe. I can fix that... but his vocal chords are probably not going to endure this trial. The lyrium did its deed.” Wait, that's somebody else. Sugar-Tits over there hasn't opened her pretty mouth. She hasn't moved a face in her muscle, really. Wait, no. Muscle in her face. The Fade is messing with my mind... but is this really how death feels like? Am I supposed to doubt that I'm dead? Am I supposed to KNOW that I'm dead?
WOAH! Granny, stop shoving your face into my field of view. Where the hell did you come from?! Nearly gave me a god damn heart attack!
So, my heart's still beating. Huh.
Sugar-Tits probably saw me twitch because she unfolds her arms and walks over to me. She looks... stern. Dark red hair and intense blue eyes. A real treat, but her expression is – I don't know. Calculating, perhaps. Her hair's done up in an elaborate bun, and- “What about the scar?” The scar? What scar? Turning my eyes seems to take ages and tire me out completely, but eventually I look back at the old hag. Well, okay. Hag is a bit harsh. She looks like she was a really pretty thing once. Right now though she's shaking her head, and that's not a good sign.
“As I said, the lyrium did its deed. No healing spell in the world is going to remove that mark from his neck.” Aww great. Doesn't take a lot of guessing to figure that out. That damn rope must've burnt itself into my neck, and now I'll spend the rest of my days with the imprint of it adorning my throat. Sugar-Tits leans over me and studies my face. “Is he going to be able to fight?”
“I am-”
Holy forsaken depths of the fade. What the fuck happened to my voice? Like a rasp pulled over a piece of iron! Agh. Hurts as well. Not gonna talk for a while. Sugar-Tits jerks back as she hears it as well. My face must have scrunched up in pain, because Granny hurries over and puts her hand on my chest. “Sssh, my son. It will get better in time, but I am sorry to tell you that you will never sing a song again. To answer your question,” she continues, facing Sugar-Tits again, “physically he is fine. The neck did not break and his lungs did not take damage.” While she's talking in her educated voice I take a look around. Baby steps, Thorval. Let's see where I am. I'm gonna find out HOW I got here in time.
Out in the open. Hm, didn't expect that. Near to a fire. A few tents are nearby. Oh hey, other people. A blond elf is standing a bit aside and watches me with a slight smirk on his face. There's this weird tattoo near his eye as well. As I watch him, a shitfaced dwarf stumbles into my field of view and offers the elf something out of a wineskin. Blondie's face wrinkles in disgust – whatever's in there must be pretty strong. Wouldn't mind a hit. The dwarf grunts and slurs something before moving away, muttering to himself about “faggoty elves.” Huh, so the elf loves the boys. I hope he's not into big, mustached guys with gray eyes.
Oh hi there, beautiful. Another redhead. . . that makes three – no four of us already. Sugar-Tits, the dwarf, this cutie there and me. I'm the darkest out of them all though. Cutie is looking around before feeding some scraps to a big-ass dog. Mabari, or at least a half-breed. I've never owned one myself, but Arl Eamon had a few of them. Strong and loyal. Good breed.
I notice that Granny has stopped talking, and so I focus back on her and Sugar-Tits. She leans down to me and studies my features for a moment. For some reason she really seems to be fascinated with my nose. It forms a little hook – got it broken in a fistfight. After a while she speaks up. “I guess you don't recognize me, do you? You were not with Eamon during the Battle of Denerim.” True. I tried to rob him on his way back to Redcliffe and ended up begging him to take me away from this god-forsaken place. He did. “My name is Sharyn Cousland,” Not-Sugar-Tits-Anymore continues, rudely interrupting my flashback, “and I'm a Grey Warden.”
Maker, help me. I croak in surprise and immediately curse myself as it feels like something tore inside my neck. The woman that lead the attack on Denerim? The one that sent that pretty boy Alistair packing and put Anora on the throne? She's the one that let Loghain smite the Archdemon and allowed him to redeem himself? She barely gives me time to think about that. “After... after Denerim our numbers have dwindled. To be precise, I'm just about the only Grey Warden left. I've searched high and low for somebody worthy to recruit...” She furrows her brow. “None of them were up to my standards. They were good,” she hurries to assure me. I don't know why – I don't know any of them. “But they were not the type of men and women I'm looking for. You are.” Oh. Now we're getting to the core of the issue. “You know how to fight, you yearn to better yourself... and quite frankly,” she adds with a humorless smile, “we already recruited you to save you from the string. Welcome to the Grey Wardens.”
Oh great. Sure is good to know your options, right?
Chapter 2: The Joining (here)
Chapter 3: Burn It Down (here)
Chapter 4: The secrets of Whitestone PT1 (here)
Chapter 5: The secrets of Whitestone PT2 (here)
Chapter 6: The secrets of Whitestone Epilogue (here)
Chapter 7: The remnant (here)
Chapter 8: The deepest roads PT1 (here)
DISCLAIMER: This is a Dragon Age: Origins fanfiction, set several months after the end of the main game. Spoilers are present. The expansion pack Awakening is not included here. I have not played DA:O in English and as such, some terms may be translated wrong.
I don't own DA:O and I'm not looking to make a profit out of it.
Criticism and comments are welcome. If there's enough interest I may whip up some more.
EDIT: There's actually no smut in this, so it should be safe to read even for those that don't like certain aspects of my RP style.
~~~
Hung
Getting hung is not a pretty death. If you're lucky your neck just snaps and you shit and piss all over yourself. Me? I'm about to be choked to death by a lyrium-reinforced rope. My legs are twitching in the air like I'm putting on a dance show for the crowd that's gathered in order to see one of Denerim's most hated men die. My fingers clutch desperately at the thick cord around my neck, but there's just no space for them. And the worst part?
I'm still going to shit my pants once I'm dead.
I murdered one of the most beloved noblemen in the entire country, second only to the queen. At least that's what “they” say. “They” are fucking liars. “They” hired the Crows of Antiva to eliminate Arl Eamon, and “they” pinned it on me. Greedy, envious bastards. I've sworn to protect the Arl with my life, and now I'm dancing on the rope?! Me?! The Arl picked me up off the street and made me more than I could ever have been. Ser Thorval, who would've thought?
Maker help me, as soon as I get out of this sling I'm beating them to death with the gallow itself...
Woah, neat. My vision is greying out. Won't be long now.
…
I think my eyes just popped out of my head. Maker, I hope not.
…
Is... is that my tongue that's flapping against my face? Kinda hard to concentrate right now...
…
Bastards... I'll, I'll wait for you over there... Maker, forgive me...
…
…
~~~
Great tits. If this is the after-life, I don't mind being dead at all.
“The rope has crushed his windpipe. I can fix that... but his vocal chords are probably not going to endure this trial. The lyrium did its deed.” Wait, that's somebody else. Sugar-Tits over there hasn't opened her pretty mouth. She hasn't moved a face in her muscle, really. Wait, no. Muscle in her face. The Fade is messing with my mind... but is this really how death feels like? Am I supposed to doubt that I'm dead? Am I supposed to KNOW that I'm dead?
WOAH! Granny, stop shoving your face into my field of view. Where the hell did you come from?! Nearly gave me a god damn heart attack!
So, my heart's still beating. Huh.
Sugar-Tits probably saw me twitch because she unfolds her arms and walks over to me. She looks... stern. Dark red hair and intense blue eyes. A real treat, but her expression is – I don't know. Calculating, perhaps. Her hair's done up in an elaborate bun, and- “What about the scar?” The scar? What scar? Turning my eyes seems to take ages and tire me out completely, but eventually I look back at the old hag. Well, okay. Hag is a bit harsh. She looks like she was a really pretty thing once. Right now though she's shaking her head, and that's not a good sign.
“As I said, the lyrium did its deed. No healing spell in the world is going to remove that mark from his neck.” Aww great. Doesn't take a lot of guessing to figure that out. That damn rope must've burnt itself into my neck, and now I'll spend the rest of my days with the imprint of it adorning my throat. Sugar-Tits leans over me and studies my face. “Is he going to be able to fight?”
“I am-”
Holy forsaken depths of the fade. What the fuck happened to my voice? Like a rasp pulled over a piece of iron! Agh. Hurts as well. Not gonna talk for a while. Sugar-Tits jerks back as she hears it as well. My face must have scrunched up in pain, because Granny hurries over and puts her hand on my chest. “Sssh, my son. It will get better in time, but I am sorry to tell you that you will never sing a song again. To answer your question,” she continues, facing Sugar-Tits again, “physically he is fine. The neck did not break and his lungs did not take damage.” While she's talking in her educated voice I take a look around. Baby steps, Thorval. Let's see where I am. I'm gonna find out HOW I got here in time.
Out in the open. Hm, didn't expect that. Near to a fire. A few tents are nearby. Oh hey, other people. A blond elf is standing a bit aside and watches me with a slight smirk on his face. There's this weird tattoo near his eye as well. As I watch him, a shitfaced dwarf stumbles into my field of view and offers the elf something out of a wineskin. Blondie's face wrinkles in disgust – whatever's in there must be pretty strong. Wouldn't mind a hit. The dwarf grunts and slurs something before moving away, muttering to himself about “faggoty elves.” Huh, so the elf loves the boys. I hope he's not into big, mustached guys with gray eyes.
Oh hi there, beautiful. Another redhead. . . that makes three – no four of us already. Sugar-Tits, the dwarf, this cutie there and me. I'm the darkest out of them all though. Cutie is looking around before feeding some scraps to a big-ass dog. Mabari, or at least a half-breed. I've never owned one myself, but Arl Eamon had a few of them. Strong and loyal. Good breed.
I notice that Granny has stopped talking, and so I focus back on her and Sugar-Tits. She leans down to me and studies my features for a moment. For some reason she really seems to be fascinated with my nose. It forms a little hook – got it broken in a fistfight. After a while she speaks up. “I guess you don't recognize me, do you? You were not with Eamon during the Battle of Denerim.” True. I tried to rob him on his way back to Redcliffe and ended up begging him to take me away from this god-forsaken place. He did. “My name is Sharyn Cousland,” Not-Sugar-Tits-Anymore continues, rudely interrupting my flashback, “and I'm a Grey Warden.”
Maker, help me. I croak in surprise and immediately curse myself as it feels like something tore inside my neck. The woman that lead the attack on Denerim? The one that sent that pretty boy Alistair packing and put Anora on the throne? She's the one that let Loghain smite the Archdemon and allowed him to redeem himself? She barely gives me time to think about that. “After... after Denerim our numbers have dwindled. To be precise, I'm just about the only Grey Warden left. I've searched high and low for somebody worthy to recruit...” She furrows her brow. “None of them were up to my standards. They were good,” she hurries to assure me. I don't know why – I don't know any of them. “But they were not the type of men and women I'm looking for. You are.” Oh. Now we're getting to the core of the issue. “You know how to fight, you yearn to better yourself... and quite frankly,” she adds with a humorless smile, “we already recruited you to save you from the string. Welcome to the Grey Wardens.”
Oh great. Sure is good to know your options, right?
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