Thread: Where Allegiances Lie [Kyre & The Intrepid Wanderer]

No Templar with an ounce of sense could look at what was going on outside the walls of their Circle and not realize the dangers. Not just from outside, but from within their own walls. Mages were becoming increasingly restless as time passed. Under the Knight-Commander's order, the Circle's Templars had begun to crack down on the mages within the Circle. Threats of Tranquility and Annulment were made every time mages began to seem restless, Tempalrs roamed the halls, and only the most essential of classes those teaching a mage to resist the influences of a demon were still continued. Harrowings had decreased in a seeming direct proportion to the number of Tranquil mages who walked the halls. It was something that gave even the most zealous of Templars a moment of pause. So many mages now were just simply refusing to partake in their Harrowings, and so many of those who did now so often fell to the influences of the demon summoned to face them. The halls were virtually empty these days, Darryn realized, with most of the mages seeking the comfort of their own within the confines of the dorms. Those rooms were some of the few where one could expect to be reasonably concealed from the prying eyes of the Templars, though there were always guards just beyond the door. Only the Templars such as the Knight-Lieutenant himself could be seen in the halls. It wasn't that the mages were not allowed in to the halls of the Circle. No, the First Enchanter had been able to convince the Knight-Commander to avoid a full restriction on the mages. Even though he was a Templar, Darryn had his own reasons for being glad that the mages were still free to walk within the confines of the Circle itself. Standing at a stout 6'2, the Fereldan-born Knight-Lieutenant stood out in an awkward way physically in comparison to his fellows. He was easily taller than any of them, even the Knight-Commander. He was so tall and the Maker had seen fit to grace the dog-lord with broad enough shoulders that his peers often joked that, were he to simply stick a pair of horns to his head, then he might very well pass as a Qunari. Dark red hair was kept tied back in to a pony tail that would barely grace the very base of his neck and could still be tucked well under the helmet that he had been issued with his armor. He was handsome, though not the most handsome of the Templars, but by no means some ugly thing. A smooth, well-shaved jaw-line, and mercury-silver eyes tinged with the blue of a lyrium addict meant that he was a somewhat attractive man. Physical stature betrayed his strength, though not so clearly as the massive black-bladed greatsword he carried across his back. Darryn came from nobility as well -- in a sense. His father was a minor Teyrn in southern Ferelden, near the Wilds, or at least that was the rumor. It was said that he was the love-child of the Teyrn and a young maid who attended to the estate. He was in the orphanage before he had ever even been able to meet the man, only discovering the story later on in life when he asked around at the orphanage where he was raised for the first few years. He had fallen in to the discipline of the training, taking solace in it at a young age when he had felt he had nothing else, and Darryn had quickly proven himself capable among his peers. He began to learn and master the skills such as Cleansing, or other abilities intended to combat rogue mages. That wasn't to say he was some sort of incredible prodigy, but he was good enough that the Mother took notice of him when it came time to decide which of the trainees were fully ready to take their vows. Reporting to the Circle, lyrium dust flowing through his veins, he had been given his posting, and had set to work immediately trying to do his best. At first his responsibilities were simple things, such as guarding the stock room, or perhaps one of the many spots along the halls where Templars now junior to him these days stood in vigilant watch. As he began to prove himself, he was given more responsibilities. For example, one which he no longer felt proud of in these recent times of strife, was to be one of the guards for mages' Harrowings. There he saw more than his fair share of successes, and struck down an only marginally smaller number of abominations when a mage failed to resist the temptations of a demon. But it was there, in the Harrowing Hall, where the man-still-a-boy had seen her . A girl that left him starstruck with the way she handled herself under stress. She left him absolutely tongue-tied. Though one might question just how a woman managed this. As he walked the hall, Darryn himself pondered it. The reason that he was so frozen was not as much in who she was as what she was. Were it just some Templar of equal or slightly lesser rank, the issue would have been quickly solvable for him. He would have simply approached the woman, asked if she might in fact be interested in him, and it would go from there. Yet it was never so easy, he thought, as blue-stained silver eyes paid little attention to his actual surroundings. No, the Maker had an ever shifting plan, and a very wicked sense of humor, he mused. Out of the many women who could have stolen the Knight-Lieutenant's heart, why did it have to be that one? He tried, oh the Maker knew he tried, to excuse it as nothing more than a pointless child-like crush, but that rarely did anything more than hold off the feelings for a week or less. He was infuriated. He was confused. He was -- nearly running in to her. Darryn had been heading for the Circle library, intent on . . . some goal. However as he suddenly brought himself to a sudden stop in the doorway, several important thought processes were brought to an equally sudden stop when he realized just who it was that he had nearly ran in to on his way to the front desk. His face, looking down at her, was a poor mask of mild friendly happiness as he smiled, and his only saving grace came from the fact that she either didn't see through it -- or she was just far too polite to actually mention it. He rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment, looking at her. Oh, Alisia. It took all the Lieutenant's will not to stutter like a school-boy, What are you doing here? Oh, smooth. He thought to himself, Ask your crush, the studious mage, what she's doing in the Circle library . Maker, am I bad at this.