The First Blight: Curse of Dumat [RP/Closed]

[Cinnonym]

One century prior, the Tevinter Imperium mastered the whole of Thedas. So great was their hubris, the Magisters of the capital spilled the blood of a thousand slaves to enter the Fade and take the gods' power for their own.

Their reward was ruin.

Their forms twisted, corrupted with their sin, the Magisters were cast down beneath the crust of the earth. And for a time, the surface world returned to peace. For a time, the creatures hid, burrowed, and grew in number.

The Dwarven Thaigs were the first to fall, and then the Darkspawn returned to wash over Thedas like a plague. The Imperium's furthest outposts were overwhelmed, their armies abandoning the peoples they had subjugated to defend their own. For ninety years, the Blight ravaged the lands. Tevinter borders drew inward with every fallen fortress, and when all looked lost for certain, the Battle of Nordbotten saw the first sign of salvation. Fearsome warriors descended on the backs of griffons, striking down the Darkspawn horde with uncanny speed and precision. Here, the tide began to turn.

The Grey Wardens use the blood of the Darkspawn, the essence of their Archdemon, and the power of lyrium to harness the supernatural abilities of their enemies. These skills are the key to ending the Blight, but their numbers are few, and those who survive the ritual even fewer.

That's where you come in.

Tevinter or slave, only the most able-bodied, the most skilled, the most intelligent, will keep the lives they give to the Grey Wardens long enough to do battle. When you hear the call of the Archdemon in the back of your skull, everything you knew about the world will change.

NOTABLE NPCs:

Spoiler: Trajan Vorenus

Name: Trajan Vorenus, Commander of the Grey
Player: DuckFlesh
Class: Mage (Elemental Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 35

Appearance: Medium build. Short dark hair. Fair complexion. Medium armor.

History:
Trajan Vorenus comes from the noblest Tevinter blood, eldest son of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Minrathous. A different man in his position would be a high-ranking magister by his age, but Trajan is considered eccentric and strange even by the standards of the Tevinter ruling class. He spent much of his young adulthood serving as an officer in far-off campaigns, and influential circles in Minrathous whisper that he becomes stranger with every excursion. Still, Trajan's genealogy--and just as importantly, his skill as a mage--are unassailable. As such, he remains a man of incredible importance and influence. Few were surprised when he volunteered for the Grey Wardens, and some were relieved; Minrathous is a calmer place when Trajan is as far away as possible.

Spoiler: Alrik

Name: Alrik, Warden-Constable
Player: DuckFlesh
Class: Warrior (Berserker Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 35

Appearance: Heavy build. Long brown hair. Bronze complexion. Medium armor.
History: Alrik's origins are totally unknown; of like age to Trajan Vorenus, he was part of the man?s retinue upon his return from a far-off military expedition. Alrik's bare, muscular arms show brightly colored tattoos in red and blue; those familiar with the Alamarri find the tattoos very familiar, except that the language and pictography of them remains totally foreign to even Alamarri themselves, no less everyone else.

Spoiler: Thaedrin Davininus

Name: Thaedrin Davinius
Player: Cinnonym
Class: Mage (Blood Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 22

Appearance: 5'10", lean build, perfect posture. Long black hair, bangs that have since grown out and are pushed to the side carelessly. Olive-skinned, grey-eyed. Near perpetual scowl.

History: The son of an Imperial Magister, he holds a position of authority that was bought with gold rather than merit. His family's wealth and power allowed him the rare opportunity to grow untouched by the Blight in the comforts of the capital. He ultimately joined the Grey Wardens for glory and personal gain; the reality the Joining revealed to him has only soured his disposition since.

Spoiler: Delphina Aurelius

Name: Delphina Aurelius, Senior Warden
Player: DuckFlesh
Class: Rogue (Assassin Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Female
Age: 24

Appearance: Slight build. Long blonde hair. Fair complexion. Light armor.

History: Third daughter of a minor Minrathous noble family, Delphina spent most of her time hunting in game preserves and avoiding suitors. She was recently hand-picked by Trajan Vorenus to serve as a Grey Warden officer; the only thing more shocking to Minrathous high society than his offer was the fact that she accepted.

PLAYER CHARACTERS:

Spoiler: Ghil

Name: Ghil
Player: Cinnonym
Class: Warrior (Berserker Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Female
Age: 31

Appearance: 6'1", hard, muscular build. Auburn hair in a tangled mane, shoulder-length, filthy. Bare-breasted, her body is painted in the blue and white of the Alamarri barbarians, crackled and peeling from her suntanned skin in the months since it was last applied, stained with the old blood of the opponents she has slain in the coliseum. She has not bathed since she was enslaved. Tense and alert, she stands tall and rigid when still and moves crouched low to the ground and swift. Hazel-eyed. Gruff and humorless.

History: Now a slave to the Tevinter Imperium, she was once a warlord among her people, her ferocity and strength a product of having grown amidst the perils of the Korcari Wilds and the civil war that has long divided the Alamarri tribes. She led an assault against the hillfolk for resources, but the Tevinter army descended upon both forces and crushed them with their metal plate and magic swords. The survivors were enslaved, to perform the hard labor for which the delicate elves were ill-suited. As the story goes, when the Lord at Ostagar sought to force himself on the wild woman, she dug her fingers into his flesh and tore his throat out. She was sent to the coliseum to die, but her string of victories has earned her an air of celebrity and more comforts than her peers.

Spoiler: Sulahn?nehn

Name: Sulahn'nehn
Player: ShadowFolk
Class: Mage (Force Specialization)
Sex: Female
Age: Estimated at 19-22

Appearance: 5'3", lithe, with as full a bosom as one could expect from an elf. Long, black hair partially pulled back with thin braids throughout and untouched fringe. Bright green eyes, creamy skin typical of a house slave. Careful, quiet, generally obedient if by habit alone.

History: Slave to a Magister Valathian whose family was directly involved in the great sacrificial offering of her people. She was sold to her master young to break familial bonds. Sulahn'nehn remained mostly unnoticed once integrated into her new home, mostly fetching and running errands until she started to develop as a woman. It was then that she was assigned as a more personal companion to the magister. In an extremely rare case, she developed magic later than most. Things happened to lesser mages. She was unsure of exactly what these things were, but it could be certain that if she were to witness it, she would not remain the same. Hearsay of elven mages of all ages disappearing was more than unsettling given the history she?d been told. A slave on her master's estate was found to be a mage and was never seen again. For nearly a week, screaming could faintly be heard; a sound that haunted her sleep. She was desperate to keep her new talents hidden. She was lost on a way to keep it a secret from a man she spent so much time with. Before long, she was offered help keeping her mage status hidden by the aid of a demon. Her master was called to assist an outpost and much to her despair, she was made to follow him. During what was supposed to be a short stay in the fortress, there was a darkspawn attack and defenses fell. Fully expecting to be used as a shield, Sulahn'ehn was astonished to see that Valathian was defending her as much as he was defending himself. Just something he owned, it could be no other reason, the same as someone would protect their riches. The battle left him weary and separated from other survivors. If the creators had ever done anything to give her a fighting chance at freedom, it was this. After a moment of hesitation, with the help of the demon, she punished her master for his wrong doings. She could not recognize what she saw and in a panic she fled. Taking her chances in the wild was far better than what would happen to her if she remained. A few days passed before she was discovered by humans clad in armor? perhaps her fate caught up with her.

Spoiler: Ulrin

Name: Ulrin
Player: Rosen2012
Class: Rogue (Assassin Specialization)
Race: Elf
Sex: Male
Age: 23

Appearance: He stands 5'4" with a slim build. He doesn't appear to be very muscular in terms of upper body strength, but his legs are fit for running and speed. His face is a bit pointed and long, and his cheek bones high. He has slate-colored eyes that hold a distant and indifferent look to the world about him, and rust colored hair that stops at his ears; he has let it become scraggly since his escape and recapture.

History: A former slave, Ulrin is a criminal set for death after murdering his former master?s wife. A year prior to his recapture, Ulrin escaped from the home of his master during a lavish gathering when the guests and guards were distracted and drunk. He resolved to prepare himself for a return to his former master's estate in order to rescue his sister whom served as a companion to the lady of the household when her husband could not fulfill her deviant needs. Upon returning to the home of his enslavers, Ulrin discovered the lady of the house had poisoned and killed his sister during her last night serving her sometime after his escape. Enraged and overcome with grief, he slew the mistress of the house and began attacking the guards wildly until he was taken down. He welcomes death in any fashion if it means reuniting with his sister.

Spoiler: Diocles Komnenos

Name: Diocles Komnenos
Player: FortyThree
Class: Rogue (Ranger Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 25

Appearance: 5?11 and slim, with slight but well defined muscles. His dark hair is shaggy, with just one braid hanging down past his eyes, catching the wind in his peripheral vision. He tends to stand slouched, almost sloth-like, but his dark eyes constantly dart about, taking in everything near and far-Unless something attractive catches their intention.

History: A member of a military family, he joined as soon as he reached the age of majority, more out of obligation than passion. A keen mind, a keener eye, and a distinguished family name assisted his quick rise through the ranks into the position of a CO--And a disregard for minor rules like equipment standards, protocol, and intimate fraternization with the soldiers under his command--aided his swift descent back down to a field officer rank. In other times he would never have made it in the imperial military, but in these strife filled days every hand was needed. In addition, his overwhelming hatred for the darkspawn keeps him reliable in engagements, urging his comrades on aggressively and putting arrows through the eyes of darkspawn and the backs of deserters.

His discipline problems caused his superiors to bring him to the attention of the Grey Wardens, and his skills with the bow made him a candidate. For his part, he accepted immediately, eager to fight the Blight. The reality of the Joining hit him hard, however, and now feeling the darkspawn inside his head has made him more sour and taciturn. Still, before he loses life, he is desperate to kill as many darkspawn and feel as many of life?s pleasures as he can.

Spoiler: Jarrik de Avalos

Name: Jarrik de Avalos
Player: Slycne
Class: Warrior (Champion Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 32

Appearance: 6'0" and broad shoulders give him the appearance of greater mass, but a closer inspection reveals a frame more suited to running without winding than raw strength. His most striking features easily mark his heritage, extensive tattooing along the arms and multiple piercings being sure signs of Rivaini social standings. Though a somewhat lighter complexion than most Rivaini hints of a mixed decent. Most often in heavy armor, it gleams in colors of dull gold and bronze with adornments and a plume in scarlet. A matching shield and spear complete the ensemble, while great care has been given to their appearances, they all show signs of use.

History: The son of a Rivaini and Antivan "merchant" sailor. Jarrik grew up along the seasides of Rivain. An adventurous gloryseeker at even a young age, that enthusiasm was successfully channeled into military service rather than piracy, the all too common profession in the area. The talented lad rose about as quickly in the Empire as one from Soporati class could. Though never seeing campaign, and little action, in the more peaceful Eastern areas of the Tevinter Empire. Displeased with in-action, Jarrik retired and found service guarding various caravans and shipping routes, who were always happy to have an experienced veteran on hand to fend off frequent attacks of brigands and more increasingly darkspawn. A particularly disastrous recent run of encounters has bled this current employer's coffers dry, leaving Jarrik without coin for fine Antivan wine for his thrist nor adventure to sate hunger of a different sort.

Spoiler: Nadja von Brandt

Name: Nadja von Brandt
Player: Cinnonym
Class: Warrior (Reaver Specialization)
Race: Human
Sex: Female
Age: 26
Appearance: 5'8", a dancer?s build, with a casual and friendly nature. Her long strawberry blonde hair is kept loosely braided to stay out of her face during flight and often tousled from the wind. Lightly tanned from days spent in the sun, blue-eyed. Her expression is often distant, but her smile comes easily.
History: Like all Anders, this one grew up in the arid steppes of the Anderfels, cradled by the same mountains that now house Weisshaupt; her people were the first to tame the griffons and the first to battle the Darkspawn, and so are highly valued in the ranks of the Grey Wardens. Though the Anders are still ruled over by the Imperium, they have gained a special sort of autonomy with their expertise. Still, one never knows how deep loyalty goes.

 

[Cinnonym]

A chill wind swept between the marching bodies of the slaves. Many, for weeks, had made the trek from Ostagar?across the Waking Sea and through the fields of Ghislain, following the Imperial Highway to the mountains that cradled the Anderfels. In the beginning, their numbers had been few, perhaps two dozen barbarians, a scattering of elven runaways recaptured. When they reached the barges, they met more of their ilk. By the time they had crossed the valley and swept north to meet the road, a thousand more had joined them from the capital. Not all of them survived the winding paths into the heights of the Hunterhorn Mountains, but there was no shortage of bodies to fill the gaps they left behind.

Ahead was Weisshaupt Fortress, a massive construct of white stone cradled at the head of the mountains; whatever purpose it had once served, it was now the focus of the resistance movement, the headquarters of the Grey Wardens. Where the Blight was concerned, it was perhaps the safest place in all of Thedas. For the elves and humans huddled in the snow outside its doors, however, it held great trepidation. They had all heard the stories. Those that went in did not come out again, they knew. Else they came out changed.

?Keep in order. Remain calm.? Riders managed the fringe of the column, though none of them had the strength to run in this thin air, with their tired feet. Above, a griffon swooped down towards the rear of the fortress with a haggard shriek. Somewhere near, an elven woman began to quietly weep. There was the sound of stone shifting, and a heavy vibration, before the doors of the fortress began to creak open.

Within, some had already gathered to see the new recruits. One man crossed the marble floor to place a gloved hand on the balustrade overlooking the vast Hall below. Only twelve weeks a Warden, the Constable?s uniform was pristine, his studded leather without a dent or a scratch. Where others wore linen cloaks, his was plush and lined with fur.

?This is revolting,? Thaedrin Davinius said with a loose gesture at the doors. Slowly, timidly, the slaves trickled in. ?This is what the nobility calls a ?donation?? Soporati from the army the month before. Now they send us elves and brigands. Half of them don?t have the strength to lift a pail of water, let alone a sword.?

He turned toward his colleagues, his distaste evident in his expression. ?We haven?t the time to bury this many corpses.?

 

[Rosen2012]

'Corpses...' Ulrin could just barely hear the man speak over the sounds of his fellow weeping slaves. He had made sure to set himself as close to the doors as the cluster of tied and tired men and women would let him. Those next to him that heard what was said only showed more signs of grief. They huddled tighter together, their whispers grew louder as they passed the word down to those that sat far off from the doors. Corpses. Soon they would be corpses. He'd be severed from this mortal world and free. Though the other slaves were terrified of death, for him, knowing it was so close was calming, the word had washed a great relief over him.

The former elven slave lowered his head and closed his eyes. He'd been marched for weeks seeking the sentence of death, he was almost envious of those that did not make it. But now it was before him, promised in a passing conversation by this dark haired human. He didn't have to wait much longer, perhaps within the next few hours. Ulrin pulled his body inward and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs muttering to himself.

"Very soon, Twynne. Very soon..."

 

[ShadowFolk]

If only she'd been more quiet. It was the thought that was foremost in her mind. If she had stayed still there was a chance that the armor clad men would not have taken notice as they passed by. Fear had gotten the better of her; she tried to run and her movement ultimately lead to her capture. There'd been no time or means for her to clean away the crime she'd committed. No doubt, if there had been an excuse reasonable enough to give it would have been ignored. It stood to her reason that these were knights sent after her or at least this was her thought before she was brought to what seemed to be a horde of slaves.

In all the time it had taken to reach the fortress, Sulahn'nehn had plenty of time to consider just how she was to be put to death or sold into servitude under some merciless master. She felt the pain of the cold, the emptiness of her stomach, the dread of what was to come next.

She retreated in her mind, wishing she could throw herself at the feet of the divine. 'Forgive me, Creators. I meant the best. If I am to die, I ask only for forgiveness and accept the fate you guide me to.' Try as she might to stay strong she could not. The sound of her people wallowing, the pleading, it was all too familiar. Fear set in once more and her shoulders shook as she cried. 'This is what I deserve.'

 

[duckflesh]

A trio of warden officers emerged onto the battlements, looking down at the trembling mass below. Of the three, only the youngest, a woman named Delphina, showed any sign of compassion upon seeing this scene of terrible misery.

Alrik looked only bored, which is how he always looked. A curious thing-- had he been starved for a month, he would have blended right in with those below-- or with the humans, anyway.

Trajan Vorenus clenched his hands on the rampart, gazing down appraisingly.

"Half of these look likely to die before we can get the cup to their lips," he remarked quietly to Alrik. "Still. Beggars, choosers..."

He beckoned Delphina over. "Separate out the elderly. Those who appear, say... over sixty. Oh, and under ten. They are no use as wardens, but we can use them as stewards and cooks and the like. Perhaps we'll even free those who are family to likely wardens. Put them in the East Hall.

She nodded smartly and headed down the stairs, a pair of broad-shouldered Wardens following. She began to gently herd the elderly and young away; her manner with them was firm, but polite.

Trajan glanced at Thaedrin as though he'd just noticed him. "Oh, Davinius, there you are. Some of them look sick. We can't risk an epidemic. Go down there and pick out all the ones with plague and fever. Put them in the West Hall, won't you?"

No Wardens move to assist Thaedrin, but Alrik manages to crack a smile.

 

[Cinnonym]

The young Constable bristled at the order. "Plague and fever...!" A refusal was on his tongue when he turned towards his Commander, but the disinterest on the man's face and the silence of his peers made him bite it back, flustered and furious.

He turned back toward the mass of slaves packed into the hall like cattle; suddenly every one of them seemed diseased. Thaedrin shuddered with disgust, his hands clenching into fists as he stalked away towards the stairs. Within moments, he was shouldering his way through the crowd, casting his gaze over the humans and elves only as long as he dared. Lest he catch something.

"You. Through that door and wait." Thaedrin picked over the group, his touch light and gentle if only because their flesh repulsed him. "You. And you. ...Stand up."

He paused before an elf that was crouched and huddled on the floor.

"I said, stand. Are you too weak to do so? Need I place you with the ill or the infirm?"

 

[Rosen2012]

Ulrin raised his head toward the human. His lips were pressed together into a thin line. He slowly brought himself to stand, and raised his head high. He may have been much shorter than the Grey Warden, but he kept his head up. He wouldn't let the human see he was in anyway exhausted, least he be sent off with the slowly sick and dying. He'd already waited his time, now he was ready to face death.

His chest rose and fell a bit sharply as he took a few deep breaths and waited for the human to decided his fate. Ulrin considered his size. If he tried to tell him he'd be put with the sick, or worse, kept alive to serve, he'd fight him. Force him to kill him if it came to that.

 

[ShadowFolk]

The humans were moving. Slavers, guards, knights, whatever they were they moved among the crowd and sorted. This terrified the elf. What were they being sorted for? Would they ever be seen again? Was it better to remain in the hall or to be taken into a separate room? She wanted to stop crying, thinking it would only make things worse for her. As soon as the thought entered her mind she began to sob, gulping down air between shudders. Things could have been different. If she had waited or not acted on the one truly violent thought she'd ever had, she may not have wound up miles away, cold, starving, and petrified. No, no. It needed to be done. It was not so much the thought of her execution that made her this way, it was the unknown.

 

[Cinnonym]

Thaedrin's eyes passed over the elf with annoyance, but no further emotion than that. His gaze settled on the next row, and he moved away down the line without another word. A few of the slaves had wounds so festered, he gagged at the sight. Others had caught pneumonia from the barefoot walk up the snowy mountains.

 

[duckflesh]

Delphina had dealt with most of the elderly, and was now rounding up children who looked under ten or so; those who had not yet hit puberty. She shook her head in wonder to think how many of these might have been brothel slaves. All the children she'd found so far were unaccompanied, and filthy as drowned rats.

She was shocked to spot a human woman holding a babe of perhaps a year; she approached.

"You will have to surrender the child, citiz- erm. Ma'am," she said. "We will care for it in the mean time and you may see him again after the Joining."

Hard to say whether the woman even spoke Tevene, but she certainly got Delphina's meaning. She shrieked, recoiling away.

"No!" she shouted. "No take! No take!"

The guards with Delphina tensed. She glanced up at Trajan for guidance; he was watching closely.

He gripped the palisade even harder. They could not spare the woman; she may survive the joining and make a valuable warden, and what good was she to them as a mother whining over a babe? What purpose was there in making an exception? None.

Still, taking the thing risked the mob turning to riot. He scanned the mass again.

There may have been a riot in them once, he realized, but not now. He could likely kill them all himself, if it came to that. As it was, he was going to be killing about half of them.

Soon he'd need to address them, but for now, he needed the ineligible out of the way.

"Take the babe," the shouted down. "Kill the woman if you must. They may reunite after the joining."

He fully intended to allow that, if the mother actually survived.

 

[Rosen2012]

Ulrin watched the human move on from him. He was relieved that he was not to be sorted out with the sick or the servants. The elf turned his gaze up and down the hall taking in the rest of the captives since they arrived. They all appeared more miserable now than they did during the journey. As soon as he heard shouting from down the hall his attention turned tot he woman and her baby.

'They'll both be killed if she keeps that up. Maybe that's what she wants, for them both to die rather than never see them again.' The elf was perfectly accepting of sacrificing his own life, but he couldn't see himself letting a family member die. At least not intentionally. That would not be the outcome he set out in mind with.

 

[ShadowFolk]

There was commotion enough to make Sulahn'nehn break away from her blubbering. A woman was screaming half in Tevene and half in something she could not understand. Whatever the language was it was very clear what was happening; a family was being torn apart. A child being ripped away from their mother. She looked among the humans, wiping her eyes to see if any would help the poor woman. Then to her brethren. Surely the vast majority of them were slaves. Did they not also know the sting of seeing this or worse experiencing it? She could only imagine what her own parents must have felt when she was taken from them. Human or not, no child should be taken from their mother so young.

Sulahn'nehn stood at a crossroad once more. To let the moment pass or to take action. She'd tossed caution to the side once before, this time it would be for something just. With absolutely no authority in her voice she shouted, "Stop! Please!" immediately feeling out of place her voice dropped. "You can't- ...shouldn't... I-It's not right."

 

[Cinnonym]

The elves around the outspoken girl were beginning to stir at her words. This would not do. Thaedrin walked briskly down the column to the wisp of an elf, and shoved her back into place in the line.

"Be still and hold your tongue. Did your Master teach you nothing before he sold you?" His eyes passed over the slaves that surrounded her; though young, his strangeness was enough to cow them back into silence. "If I see you raise a hand, it will be removed."

The Constable's eyes returned to Sulahn'nehn's, while the woman's child was finally wrested from her grasp with squalling from both parties. "Have I made myself clear?"

 

[ShadowFolk]

Sulahn'nehn let out a gasp, she had expected far more than a shove. What courage she had from speaking out had drained away when she met with the man's eyes. She looked to her feet knowing that a misspoken word would see her dragged off. She nodded her head her head obediently, the word 'master' causing her heart to wrench. "Y-Yes, Ser."

 

[Rosen2012]

At the threats from the Constable Ulrin's lips pressed tighter together. He knew the slaves gathered were too tired to fight them properly. No matter what anyone said or did, they would try to take that child. It would be best to let the mother die with the infant. But the others didn't see it that way, their interference only solidified their separation. If they had let her fight, they'd have both left the world together.

But the others, he guessed, still some hope of living. Some hope despite knowing that this place meant death. The elven girl the Constable loomed over was certainly one of those that still thought they had a chance for a decent outcome from this situation. As soon as the man moved away from her Ulrin found himself nudging through the crowd to stand beside her. To him she looked to delicate too survive this ordeal. Whatever was meant for the healthy, would surly kill her if it was promised to take his life.

"You 'ought to keep quiet... And maybe they will let you work here, instead of putting you with us criminals."

 

[FortyThree]

Having spotted his Senior Warden after peaking in curiously, Diocles adopted a careful but determined walk towards Delphina, his head forward. In moments he was five steps behind and one to the right of her, making no move to catch his superior's attention. He was an expert in the military eye, and a casual glance would suggest he was busy assisting her while infact he lazed about, scoping the new recruits. Like most others, his attention was quickly drawn to the altercation over the babe.

Even if they cooperate, most of these poor things will not survive the Joining. What a waste.

As the conflict developed, his eyes shifted to the pompous Thaedrin, a Bull's eye if there ever was one, and then to the face of the elf he shoved. And, a second later, down somewhat.

A terrible, terrible waste.

 

[ShadowFolk]

Oh, if only he knew who 'us' included. She was not quite so eager to correct the elf, of course. Nor did she want to speak again for roughly the next age, lest she cause someone to strike her. She was appreciative of his concern, if any one else shared the feeling, they must have had the same fear in them as she did for not one of them spoke to her. Something not foreign to her.

"I would be surprised if he has not already decided what will become of me..." she spoke softly. These were the only words she spoke to him. If Theadrin returned, she did not want more trouble. Would she even be worth something to them and what exactly was a 'joining'? Her mind reeled in a number of directions, none of them were comforting given the amount of people present. The uncertainty was not welcome.

 

[duckflesh]

Trajan leaned out; most of the sorry lot before him seemed eligible enough, now. There was no sense waiting.

"Eyes to me!" he called out, but their murmuring was too great, and most of them did not seem to notice him. Frowning, he raised a gantleted fist and allowed a cascade of lightning to ripple into the sky, tearing the air with thunder, a startling crash that echoed off the castle walls.

Now he seemed to have their attention. Or anyway, the attention of those with minds intact enough to focus on -anything-.

"Welcome to Weisshaupt Fortress," he called. "It is... regrettable that your journey has been difficult." He paused, as though considering whether further comment on this was required; apparently it was not. He pushed on: "You are frightened and hungry, I have no doubt, and you will be fed soon. Indeed, you must come to realize that great rewards await you! What you are being offered is unprecedented!"

He fought to keep a smile off his lips. Minrathous had sent this tribute, yes, but they did not fully understand how he intended to use it. A slave army was no good, not against Dark Spawn. A slave army would run.

"Elves! Barbarians! If you accept the joining, and if it accepts you, you will walk within these walls as a Tevinter citizen! You will be free and have the full rights of any civilized man or woman! Within these walls, among your brother and sister Wardens, your race and heritage will be irrelevant! On this you have my word!"

He paused to let this sink in. Alrik was impassive as always, but he saw Delphina stifle a gasp in the crowd, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Diocles.

"However..." Trajan continued, frowning now. It had only just occurred to him with the woman whose babe they had taken: was an unwilling freedman any better than a slave? Would that woman ever forgive him for coming between her and her spawn? Pressed into service, wouldn't she be naught but a liability? And what of any others who had too much bitterness festering within them to ever serve a man of Tevinter?

"I know that I cannot take your loyalty for granted," he said, and he wondered if this statement wasn't the most shocking of all. "If you attempt the joining, I will take it as an oath not only to fight the Darkspawn, but that you are loyal to me and to the Gray Wardens. Anyone who shows any sign of disloyalty after that will be executed without mercy. And I warn you now, even those of you who are loyal to the cause may very well die. This is a better life than that from which you have come, but perhaps a more dangerous one. An awful end may await you, and perhaps much sooner than you think."

His eyes traced over them.

"I cannot spare the resources to deliver you back into slavery if you will not fight with us, but I can offer you a swift end here and now. Any who would sooner die than serve loyally here, I offer you a clean, fast death."

He raise his eyebrows, waiting.

 

[FortyThree]

Diocles waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner at his superior, a desperate attempt to lighten the stifling mood. Still, tension was evident in him. His body as taut as a bowstring, he kept his strung recurve in hand, arrows not nocked, but at the ready. The drama of Trajan's speech, and the frankness of the chances of the recruits, was likely to invite some violence. Diocles did not want to murder these innocents.

But that did not mean he would hesitate if they forced his hand.

 

[ShadowFolk]

A mage, and a powerful one at that, seemed to be in charge. Trajan seized her attention and this words that followed were of no comfort. She was at least, partially right. She may very well meet her end in this place. There was only the illusion of an option when all that was offered was to serve them or die. Even then, your life was not guaranteed. The Creators could not be so cruel as to make her suffer, could they? Or maybe they meant to show her that her purpose was only to amount to servitude. Though paying for her deed with her life seemed like justice, she oh so selfishly wanted to continue breathing. If Trajan spoke the truth, she could lead a fairly decent life under them. Maybe she would never see Darkspawn. It was the only choice that did not involve an immediate death. She was no fighter, no practical skills, nothing that she felt would be of value. Did that matter to these warriors? Fright crept forward again and she felt near tears again. She could not decide if her Creators were giving her a chance at redemption or damned her.