Thread: Our own little Awakening. // Dream&Relix

The entire spectacle was observed by the nameless mage. She felt absolutely no reason or impulse to intervene during the warrior's battle. Even if he were overwhelmed by the two templars, she possibly would have rested within the dark shadow's cast by the oak trees, silent and unresponsive. Throughout the scrum she found herself logging every precise movement and mannerism the warrior exhibited - the cracking of the neck, eyes white with rage, merciless, sadistic mannerisms - all of it. It was a habit she developed over the years while being locked away within the Circle Tower of Rivain and had even allowed her to escape her captors. She found it extremely difficult to fathom that even now, templars from Dairsmuid sought after her head. But she heard word from allies in Nivarra that her power was something that could not be destroyed, so they had planned on retaining her gifts and personally escorting her back to the Rivain Circle Tower. When the battle had ended, the mage emerged from the copse of bushes and trees. She was left in a state of pure disgust by the mess left before her. Blood stained the dewy blades of marsh grass and tainted the already murky bayou water. She was respectful to the dead and avoided their battered corpse. She could not summon words at that precise moment. Her eyes - which were a generally light hue compared to the bronzed texture of her sandy colored flesh - were white, almost, with only the presence of her pupils gracing them. She examined the corpses from afar, combing through armor and apparel. The templars had no spoils she could claim. Well, nothing she could put to use. No flasks, elfroot, deathroot or poultices of any kind. Hell, they didn't even carry forms of food of drink. While the mage was known to travel sober, from time to time she felt the need to drown her monotony in a flagon of fine wine. After visiting Orlais and and sampling their fine, fruity wines, she never planned on putting her lips to stale Orzimmar ale again. Perhaps I am not the only monster here, she whispered to herself, though the wind caught her breath and carried it far. Her tone was unworldly, something that was not often heard in Fereldan. Her voice was soft but strong and established. It held authority in it and the power to howl like no wolf could. It was also degrading, and capable of making even the most agnostic of men feel pity for his sins and vices. Though she was not in the chiding mood, she felt the need to make the warrior's faults apparent. You entered this battle knowing you could easily overwhelm these men, she began, crouching aside one of the sundered corpses. She took note of the nicks and dents in the freshly crafted armor, all inflicted by the warriors broad bastard sword. Her long, shaggy lion's mane spilled over her shoulders, revealing tattoos - which she had called runes - trailing up and down the back of her neck and along her collarbone. But you felt a need to sate your rage ... and murdered these men, simpletons if any. I don't think they deserved such a fate. Suddenly, the bushes began rattling. A creature emerged, a digitgrade, and flexed his flaxen muscles. Mage! I smelled the stale scent of metal on the wind. I came searching for you, I feared the templars may have subdued you! The werewolf caught view of the warrior and felt threatened. He bared his teeth and reared his claws, growling and grunting like the feral, cursed beast he was. This ... this cur! He dare approach you as such! Brazen fool! I will rip the sinew from your very bone! How dare to threaten this mage! Her heart is purer then any gold, and you ... you come here to kill her! As he lunged forward, the nameless mage intervened. With raw strength alone she subdued the lycan, wringing him down to the marshland ground. Lady Mage! You would protect this monster? He whimpered. Sazheir. Like Swiftrunner, you're too quick to judge. Be more cognizant of your surroundings and evaluate. You would find yourself much less vehement. The beast slowly climbed to his feet and bowed his head to the mage in shame. You are right, mage. I will do as you ask you have wisdom past your years. I will return to care for my brother ... lest this warrior causes a problem, then I will valiantly fight at your side. He grunted, and as quickly as he had come, he left, leaving the mage to deal with her visitor. You've chased a far-fetched rumor down here to the Wilds ... on what pretenses, I don't care. What do you want? For savagely murdering these men it had better be worth while, lest I feed your sullen corpse to the hungry mouths of the marsh.listulistulistu