To Gods be the Glory - Character Preview
Imagine a Grey Warden who enlisted because they came through her town and presented her with an option other than back-breaking labor and poverty.
Imagine that when she survived the Joining, she decided that she would have taken back-breaking labor and poverty over what she experienced. And would reaffirm that again on her first journey into the Deep Roads.
Imagine the fear that settles deep into her bones and doesn’t leave, even after she picks up a sword.
Imagine that she is not fast. Her swings don’t come as swiftly, and her movements are fumbling, unsure.
Imagine that the other new Wardens take to calling her Zero. For the number of darkspawn she’s successfully killed alone. That her superiors turn a blind eye to the teasing, and only gruffly offer her lessons in their free time.
Imagine those offers slowly drying up.
Now imagine the Wardens all picking up their weapons and marching towards the Deep Roads, again. The ball of ice forming in her gut. Her wavering prayers to the Maker - anyone, really - because she knows she isn't good enough, isn't worthy, of the duty she signed her life to.
Now imagine the surge of darkspawn, howling and hurtling themselves towards the Wardens. Imagine them fighting in the dark, because they're frighteningly good at sucking the air out of the corridors just long enough to kill a torch. Imagine the clash of swords, the shouting, the screaming.
Imagine her hands, trembling, as they raise her shield and sword.
Imagine her frightened footsteps as two hurlocks corner her, one more than usual, and no one is coming for backup. No one is coming to help, because the Maker can't hear her this far down beneath the surface.
Imagine her praying anyway, as teeth sink into her arm. The words forming on her tongue even as her shield and her faith fail to protect her.
Imagine her lying on the ground, earning her name. Zero, for the number of darkspawn killed on her own. Zero, for the amount of courage she has.
Zero, for the amount of life she has left.
Now imagine a shadow that comes across the battlefield, like fog in the morning. See the way it crouches over her, thinking, assessing, judging. Watch it stroke her cold face like a parent mourning their child, before disappearing as quickly as it came.
And now imagine her clawing, gasping to life.
