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Dragon Age - A man of few words (Part 8 uploaded)


Rule 34

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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?
 
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avatar99

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

I liked it, that was pretty cool. Not trying to be snippy or anything Rule but the only translation you seemed to get wrong was the fact that the god is called 'The Maker" in the english version however creator is a very close guess.
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

Oh right. I read Creator in and thought it would be the human God. It probably was a Dalish one, or all the Dalish ones.
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

All the Dalish gods are "The Creators" Like I said though Rule it was pretty good I liked the story.
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

Aye, I enjoyed it, too. Look forward to seeing you expand on it, should you choose to do so. I look forward to seeing what happens when Thorval finds out that Zev's a Crow.

And what? No Sten? *grins*
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

i think the guy was more interested in the hot T&A around copper ofcourse your tits beat all but meh
 
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Pale

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

Avatar, this is why you don't talk to women.

Rule.. good job. Not sure about this phrase,

but his vocal chords are probably not going to endure this trial
.

Unless you mean an actual trial in front of a judge, as opposed to something difficult you go through (like being hung), I'd suggest something like "Survive this."

I like.

P
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

And what? No Sten? *grins*
As far as I know, Sten heads home after the main game. As such, he's not in the group anymore.

And Pale, my dictionary says that a trial can also be translated to encumbrance or stress, so I'll leave it in for now.

EDIT: I'm impolite. Thanks for the comments everybody. Maybe I'll start working on part deux soon.
 
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Copper

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

Rule -
I think he can stick around, but I've only seen the one ending thus far, so I'll defer to your choice there. I just like the big man.

Eh, Avvie's forgiven, Pale. Course, he did compliment *my* tits, so maybe I'm baised...

And please do. Glad your Warden got a name. I'm starting to wonder about the constant use of "sugar tits" but I'm also willing to take things with a grain of salt (or maybe artificial sweetener in this case...)
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

xD much love Copper. Us retail associates have to stick together. Besides, I might have a slight crush on you... *blush*
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

Aye, retail soldiers do. As for the crush *holds up hands* Flattering but 'tis over the internet. That's all I'll say on the matter, mainly, too, to not let Rule's story thread get hijacked.
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words

Indeed. The only crushing in this thread is that of skulls. Part two is coming along well and should be up later today or tomorrow at the latest.

~~~

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.

~~~

The Joining

Darkspawn are even more horrifying when they die. I've killed plenty men in my life, and you could always tell when they're dead. Something fades from their eyes. Darkspawn just stops moving. They might as well jump up again every moment. I sneer in disgust as I bash in this Genlock's skull with its own mace. Just to be sure. As it falls back, my dagger detaches itself from its stomach. I check the little clearing for any more threats before heaving the bulky body on the side.

Fuck, I don't even want to know WHY they need it. Still, I take the little glass bottle Sharyn handed me and fill it up with the thick, black blood of the creature. Some of it runs over my hand, and I wipe it off at the dirty cloth of the Genlock's pants. Before going back, I check myself for wounds. A few scratches, and a dull ache where that Hurlock hit me with the club. Leather armor took the brunt of that blow though.

It was only a small group of them, and the group sent the dwarf with me. I've never seen anybody fighting that well drunk. Right now he shambles towards me, his beard soaked in Darkspawn blood. “Ye be doing a good job f'r a human,” he slurs. “Though ye did a whole lotta dodgin'. 'ere,” he adds as he throws a leather bag into my general direction. I've quickly come to accept that the Grey Wardens tend to plunder their enemies after their death. After all, I didn't do anything else. I catch the purse and store it away.

I pause and weigh the Genlock's mace that's still in my hand. Pretty good quality after all. Sharyn told me a story about a Genlock master smith she killed in the Deep Roads somewhere. This may be the work of one. Though covered in grime, it lies firmly in my hand. The head is formed to look like the skull of some untold horror, a twisted visage with spikes poking out at random.
Oghren (that's right, that was the name!) interrupts me with more slurring. “That be damn ugly piece a' work, but it sure is effeci... infa... good.” A laugh wrangles itself out of his chubby neck. “Kinda like you and me, eh?”
Yeah, thanks a lot. Do remind me that I'll never woo a lady again with that croaky-ass voice that I'm left with. Wynne and her healing spell did help with the pain, but my voice didn't come back. It never will.

The next town better have a whorehouse, or I'm going to explode. Imagine my surprise when I found out that Sharyn is into girls and shares her tent with that other redhead, Lelianna, on a nightly basis. Ain't that fucking great? The only other female here is Wynne, and I'd rather sodomize Ichabold, the dog.
With a grimace I shake my head and turn to Oghren. “Back,” I croak. The dwarf nods. “Aye, we be hanging around here long enough. Let's go, I've a date with a beer or twelve.”

~~~

“No.” Wow, those are two words in a matter of hours. Go me. Unfortunately, one of them upset Sharyn somewhat. Okay, she's drawn her sword. That big-ass greatsword. This is not somewhat upset anymore. “I'm afraid this is not an option anymore,” she explains in a calm, collected voice. “You have come too far already, and I can not let you turn your back on this.” She herself doesn't seem to be quite sure why. I guess there's a story behind that, but I don't really feel like asking right now. So it's either drinking this mess of Darkspawn juices in that goblet she handed me (look at the size of that thing, it looks like a small bird bath) or getting decapitated by her. I'm tempted. My head's halfway off already anyway – or it feels like it.

In the end, I concede. Slowly I raise the goblet to my lips. Its content is sloshing around... mostly because my hand is shaking. I haven't been that nervous since my first roll in the hay. And just like back then, it may be better if it's over as quickly as possible. So I cease stalling and put the goblet to my lips. The stark taste of copper is mingled with something much stronger as the blood pours into my mouth. As it touches my tongue it seems to ignite with a sudden burst of heat... and it only gets worse as it rolls down my throat like liquid fire.
I had my eyes closed, but now it wouldn't matter. They have rolled up into the back of my skull. Hard ground hits my knees, or I hit the ground – I can't tell. A terrible shrieking sound comes to my ears, and visions flash before my eyes... Darkspawn of all kinds overwhelming a village, tearing the villagers to pieces and kidnapping some women. An ogre stuffing his face with a child. Some wretched, disgusting creature of bloated flesh and writhing tentacles somewhere deep under the earth. All the colors appear tinted in green like somebody sprayed goop into my eyes. And all that time this fire is burning through my throat, my stomach, my very core. I expect to smell my charred flesh, but instead there's nothing. On and on the pictures rush, one more horrible than before...

Some time later I find myself on my back. Sharyn is kneeling over me, and her face relaxes just as I open my eyes. “I was starting to worry. My own joining didn't take nearly as long... I've been told,” she adds as she helps me up. “What did you see?” I stare at her in bemusement before grabbing my throat. Can't talk, damnit.
Her eyes go wide as she realizes the same thing. “By the maker, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-” I cut her off with a hand gesture and pat her on the shoulder. It's alright. It's not like you stabbed me in the back. I just got hung, is all.

She shakes her head and straightens her shoulders. “Well then. As of this moment, you are a Grey Warden.” All out of a sudden, her voice grows in authority. “Your old life, your family, your friends – none of this can, none of this must matter to you.” Fair enough. I'm not leaving much behind then. “Your goal in life, the only goal in life is to fight the darkspawn. Not wealth, not glory, not even justice. We are not called the White Wardens, or the Knights Of Valor. We do whatever it takes, even if those things are against the standards of our time.” Her eyes drill into mine with utmost intensity. “Are you willing? Are you able?

Those are questions easily answered with a yes, but her emotional speech really did make me pause for a moment and think, if really only for a moment. I have done horrible things in the past. I am certainly able, but am I willing to put those skills to use once more? For a greater good? Those are good questions, and at the same time not questions at all.

“I am”, I say with as stable a voice as I can manage.
 
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Copper

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

As it seems we're doing comments here...Nice inclusion of the skull bashing *grins* I'm liking the details you come up with, Rule. Like the talk of the mace and Thorval's internal monologues. Reminds me a shade of oldschool RPGs...y'know, the ones where the main character doesn't talk. "..." (Although the less you say, the more trouble you get into, heh.) Still, I like the handicap. Makes for interesting situations, descriptions, and work-arounds.

Only thing I'm pinging on in this one is "Zweihänder," but more in an attempt to help with translation. Unless you're speaking of a specific sword name (Like Oathkeeper or Sten's blade...Asala, I think.), the term they use in the English games is greatsword (from his description, I'm thinking she's using a two-handed blade). If it's a one handed blade, then it's 'longsword.'
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

Ah yeah. They're calling them "Großschwerter" = Greatswords in German as well, but I forgot about that. I've just seen two-handed swords referred to as Zweihänder even in English stories. I'll go and change that.
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

Don't get me wrong, it's a cool sounding word/name for them, but if you're shooting for English/DA use, that's the English.
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

Oh no, I understand. No need to worry.

In other news, I've updated the top thread with links to part 2. I've roughly mapped out part 3 by now, and I also came up with titles for the individual chapters.
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

Just a heads up - I have not stopped writing this. I've just been distracted. Mostly, ironically, by Dragon Age: Origins Awakening. Part 3 is nearing its completion, and it should be up some time this weekend.
 

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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

No worries. Looking forward to seeing more. I'm about done with my first playthrough of it. We'll have to discuss more elsewhere.
 
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Re: Dragon Age - A man of few words (Now with Part 2)

Burn It Down

When she said we are supposed to fight the darkspawn, I didn't know she meant all of them at once. At least that's what it looks like. When rumors went around about a big troop of darkspawn, Sharyn all but jumped at it. She almost seemed eager. We packed up our camp and got moving towards Corney, a community of wheat farmers with considerable wealth. That must be some good wheat. Next thing I know we're charging down a hill right into an army of those gibbering, howling crazies. Zevran (that elf) and Leliana are hailing arrows down on 'em, and Wynne is keeping us alive. Hopefully. Right now she's fixing up Oghren, who took a nasty cut right across his face. Damn, he doesn't even notice. He's just yelling obscenities at the darkspawn, and it drives them fucking nuts. And Sharyn is just as bad – she's shrieking like a fury as she hews with that greatsword. I actually think she took notes from that crazy god damn dwarf. All out of a sudden, a shadow pounces on a shriek and brings it to the ground, out of view. That must have been Ichabold.

All the same, they're drawing the attention of the darkspawn. They barely even see me, and that serves me just fine – another one of them suddenly finds himself with a dagger in his back. With a grimace I club him over the head as hard as I can (which is plenty hard) just to be sure. Oh, look, that one's sneaking up on Sharyn – dagger to the back it is. Every day a dagger to the back... I resist humming a tune as the stupid fucking darkspawn just present their rears to me like good little sheep. Ripe for the shearing. I actually think I'm grinning as I'm picking 'em off-

Son. Of. A. Bitch. I cough as I pick myself up off the floor, and I'm tasting blood. What the hell was that – Ah. Must've been that big armored Hurlock with that maul that looks like it's weighing a ton. No wonder he launched me halfway across that battlefield with that thing. It looks like a massive rock attached haphazardly to a young tree or something. The Hurlock roars. I get ready. And as it charges at me, I dive forward and break the bastard's kneecap.
Jossyrn always said that if you take out a man's legs, you take out the man. He's a bastard, but damn – he's been right with most of the things he taught me. I picture his face on the Hurlock's body as I cave in its skull.

A rock flies narrowly over my head and crashes straight into a group of Genlocks. As I spin around I nearly lose my lunch. There are a few things you really don't want to see. Ever. An ogre is certainly one of them. Sharyn told me that towards the end of her journey she has killed at least a dozen of them – but Sharyn is occupied with a shriek wailing at her, and a Genlock is clinging to Oghren's back, merrily trying to bury its teeth in his noggin. Good luck with that. No idea where that dog is, either.

Thuck-thuck. A pair of arrows hit the creature, but it is barely phased. It must have a hide as tough as leather. Thanks anyway – nice to see my situation has been noted. Normally I would roar and yell as I charge an opponent. Panic them. Can't roar and yell anymore though, and there's no panicking that ogre anyway. So I just grab my weapons tightly and start circling the son of a bitch. It beats its chest as it slowly moves towards me. My chest still aches from the blow that Hurlock struck me with. Fear is allowed, Jossyrn used to tell me. Well, I'm about to allow all over my pants. The big, blue-skinned motherfucker is big enough to crush me with one hand, and... what is that sound?

Oy, fireball. Where the hell did that come from? Wynne's somewhere in my back, so it wasn't her.

The spell hits the ogre in the back and explodes at once into an inferno of fire. From where I stand it looks like the Ogre has donned a fiery cape for a moment – which does absolutely nothing to lessen the pants-shitting horror I'm experiencing. Still, a chance is a chance, right? While the ogre is flailing its arms to extinguish the magic flames that char its flesh I finally make my charge. Almost there – take out the legs. That kneecap is a mite high, though...

Hopefully my face looks awesome and not distorted in fear as I leap at the beast and twist my entire body to deliver a mace blow. Luck stays on my side (thank the Maker, or I would've fallen flat on my face) and I do manage to shatter that knee pretty good. With a roar that puts Oghren to shame the beast falls. Everything seems to slow down for a moment as is see that mountain of blue flesh falling in my direction. My muscles feel like rubber as I stagger backwards. Not quite gonna make it. At least I'll make sure that bastard goes down with me. With all my remaining power I ram my dagger upwards and bury it into the descending skull of the ogre before it, in turn, buries me underneath it.

Nothing for a while. Only struggling.

By the time I've dug myself out from under the ogre the battlefield has changed. Drastically. To be more precise, everything is on fire. The darkspawn, the grass, the corpses, everything. The crackling fire is the only sound left and forms a backdrop to an absolutely eerie silence. Oghren stands not far away from me and stares at something behind me, mouth agape. Whatever it is, it must be worse than an ogre. Since this heady rush of combat is starting to fade pretty quickly, I probably have a broken rib or two and I really don't want to see something worse than an ogre, my body is advising me to faint right now. I'm more than glad to oblige.

~~~

I come back to at the camp, inside my tent. Somebody tucked me in – I bet it was Wynne. I slowly sit up (they fixed my ribs, I notice) and notice that I'm only in my ragged old underpants. That drakeskin armor they provided me with is neatly piled up towards the exit. Did... did somebody clean it? How long was I out? I just manage to put on the leggings before Wynne pops her head in. “Ah, you are awake. That's good. We're having dinner, and Sharyn wants you to meet the... latest addition to our group.” Her face reveals a bit of disdain. Somebody that Wynne does not like? This I have to see. She even likes Oghren, and that's just unnatural.

As soon as I exit the tent I can see him. There is no mistaking – this man, this slender elf, was the firestarter back there nearby Corney. He wears a strange, outlandish robe that ends in a layer of sashes below his chest (it looks like an elaborate cummerbund like some of the noblemen are wearing, or maybe a corset), leaving his upper body completely exposed and at the same time showing off the clan tattoos that adorn his body and face. They decidedly look like flames consuming him. Even stranger, the elf is completely missing his eyebrows, or any hair for that matter. A plain mage staff leans against his shoulder, and his voice is calm and quiet as he chats with Sharyn. You can't really imagine this guy laying waste to an entire army of darkspawn, yet at the same time you totally can.

Sharyn looks up as I come closer and gets up from the log that serves her as seating. “Ah, Thorval. Back among the living, I see. Meet Nylenn, he's a – how did you call your brethren?” The elf smiles with a strangely emotionless smile. I'd say he's one of those tranquil guys, but they don't brew up a hellstorm of fire and... well, even more fire. “We call ourselves Dervishes, oh Grey Warden. As I was about to say, the whirling you saw me doing is a practice that is only taught within our small monastery... well guarded from the Chantry and its hateful eyes.” Nylenn relaxes and drinks something from a fictile bottle that hangs from his robe. This may be why Wynne doesn't like him. She's all over the church and the Circle of Magi. That's something that I don't really get – does she really hate her own people so much?

Nylenn continues, and I make an effort to understand his quiet, oh so calm voice. “Through dancing, we aim to reach Alahraim... a spiritual ecstasy and calmness of mind so great that our consciousness establishes a connection to the Fade. We are not directly entering it, but through Alahraim we are able to draw energy out of it to add more power to our spells – to heal the deadly sick or destroy armies of enemies. Admittedly,” he adds with a smile, “I spent two entire days in Alahraim to cast the spell that laid waste to these darkspawn.”

“Why?” My croak shakes that shit-eating grin of his at least somewhat. Good to know that. “That... that is a loaded question. Why am I here? Why did I kill the darkspawn?” He looks at me, expecting an explanation of some kind. Luckily, Sharyn speaks up. “What my silent friend here wants to know is why you have shown up at such an opportune time.” Nylenn gladly turns his eyes away from my marked neck. “Oh, I was looking for you,” he calmly explains. Sharyn's eyebrows rise slightly, but she remains silent. “My order has heard of the blight only recently – news travel slowly in our part of the land,” he continues. “They sent me out to join the Grey Wardens. And even though I am a few months late,” Nylenn explains with that smile again, “my orders are still the same, no?”

Sharyn turns towards me and looks at me expectantly. What? Oh, does she want to know if I'm okay with it? Hey, you're the boss, Sugar-Tits. I ain't got a word in this. But hey, if you insist... I look Nylenn up and down and finally nod in approval. Who wouldn't want such a... such a weapon of mass destruction? Wynne grimaces behind Sharyn's back and turns to stomp away, and Sugar-Tits gets her official face on as she shakes Nylenn's hand. “Well then. As of now, Nylenn of the Dervishes, you are a recruit of the Grey Wardens. Shortly you shall truly join our order.”

Let's hope this is not a mistake.
 
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