Max had never seen a dragon quite like Ser Whildaer. In fact, his wings were considered a novelty to most blacksmiths and armor dealers. He was glad that at least this dragon had not been hunted to make more of that armor.
Noticing the slight distress on his face, he interrupted the silence. “My apologies, I just happen to know that most Qunari aren’t exactly friendly with non-affiliated Quns like the Tal-Vashoth. They might see you as a deserter. Last thing I’d want is to have another battle with them. They’re not a friendly bunch.”
“In honesty my worries are more on other things over the Ben-Hassrath.” Whildear spoke.
He even gave a somewhat chide grin to his own thoughts. Oh the times that he had been pursued. And of course not in the most pleseant way that most men would have desired. “The Qun and their agents are predictable. I can get past them.” the drake spoke. He turned a little bit, angled his back to where Max could see the torn holes in the vest for his wings. Though as it would be obvious, the left wing was missing, leaving little more than a part of the shoulder and damage that seemed like it could never heal.
“There is a reason I am the last of my kind.” he spoke, likely indeed confirming the thoughts Max had, though he was unaware of them.
Whildear was a sizable creature. Off the top of his head, Max couldn’t think of anyone or anything that could even be a threat to him.
“What exactly do you have to fear?” He asked. It was a bit much to ask, but he was sure not even darkspawn could slay him.
Seeing all the wear and tear on his wings, the dactylopatagium brevis seemed to be in bad shape, then the small cuts - he thought it strange that he was still standing. “…And what exactly might that reason be?”
The large scar remaining on his left side coupled with a little bit left of the actual shoulder was completely immobile even when Whil flexed his back or left arm his right wing was in better shape, but flight was out the question.
“I fear people.” He spoke. “People did this to me.” The Drake clarified as he was barely able to stretch out his remaining wing. It would start to shake and tremble once halfway stretched out, a sign that it was underused and weak.
“People have done everything to me”
Mouth slightly agape, he wasn’t sure how to respond. The evils of the world were far too many to be accounted for. As a templar, he knew even good would sometimes just a mask. That wasn’t him though. It was not how his family taught him to be.
“I’m...I’m sorry, friend. Is there nothing we can do to fix it?”
He wanted to hold on to whatever small shred of hope was available. Not all of humanity was lost to madness. He was hoping the drake would see to it.
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