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

Throughout the entire endeavor the mage, Deacon, was left to thoroughly examine the situation. An avaricious rogue, skilled at plundering, picking locks and thievery in general. Alarms went off in her head as she noted how easily he was bribed with the mere mention of material spoils. If he was cajoled by money, what if a bigger offer came a long sometime in the future? That would certainly prove to be troublesome but Deacon knew better not to worry herself with such trivial matters. Rather she trudged up behind the warrior - who was still nameless to her - watching the heels of the antsy rogue with her tart, vulpine eyes. West, as in Orzammar? Every time the word Orzimmar was mentioned, only one subject came to mind politics. Deacon despised politics. They were difficult to follow and virtually unmanageable on her part. That wasn't to say she wasn't a political guru. Matters of the heart and mind always took top priority over which king got to take the throne for her. In a nutshell, she was the complete opposite to other humans, elves and even dwarves dwelling in Thedas. I don't understand. Darkspawn come from Orzammar. Why would they be returning there? The rogue chortled. Think about it, Deacon! She despised how he used her name so freely when she had never seen his face once in her life. It's always been known that some darkspawn take slaves down into the Deeproads. The armada that came by the warrior's village were probably done pillaging and overflowin' with spoils, so they're probably goin' back home. Yup ... deep underground ... where it wreaks of sulfur, rotting darkspawn flesh and brimstone. Sounds like my idea of home, that's fersure. While the elf was optimistic about the dark situation, Deacon nor Rage were, even though Rage seemed to have more to lose then any of them. As the elf hobbled merrily along, Deacon broke the silence. She lunged forward, took the tiny elven man by the crown of his tunic and slammed his shaken corpse against the trunk of a nearby oak tree. W-wh-what's your problem! he choked, I thought we were done with this violence! I thought ... t-thought you were the sane one! Zander was frightened beyond compare. The sheer shadow of terror that ghosted over his dainty visage was unsettling enough. Such an elegant, flawless creature being demeaned. Quite obviously Deacon thought otherwise. She extended her index finger which began to hum with a low, dull light, but gradually grew brighter and brighter until it was electric blue. Earlier I asked you a question, Zander. The calmness in her voice made his stomach churn like a wild hurricane. How do you know my name? Zander swallowed the knot in his throat and heaved a soundless sigh, shifty eyes darting left and right then to Rage for help, though clearly he wasn't to recieve any. I ... I heard another mage mention your name before in Val Royeaux. The Amazon with the mask carved from obsidian and beryl eyes bitter as stone. That's what I heard! As soon as I remember what he said and seen you ... I knew you were him! So lemme go! Rather then be 'kind' like Rage, Deacon effortlessly tossed the elf's shaken body to the ground. The thud was sickening, but he recovered almost instantaneously. Fuck, you two are the most violent pair I've ever seen! listulistulistu