The woman before Wyatt fits the description he was given of the last recruit. He's uncertain if it's her though, so Wyatt observes her as he approaches her. She wields a greatsword, a style of combat he could never get the hang of. He already feels a manner of respect towards the stranger for that alone.
"Excuse me, are you one of the Grey Warden recruits," He asks, keeping his voice steady. He immediately notices the large scar across the woman's face. Curiosity fills him, but he says nothing. Everyone at this camp has a story. Some, such as Wyatt, do not wish to share, and that's something he can respect. All he does is wait for an answer.
She blinks slightly, eyes falling to his hand and she hesitates for a few moments. She takes it hesitantly, doubting that he’s realized who she is, what she is. “I would say it’s nice to meet you, but…” She trails off, pulling back and glancing away, “The situation is hardly ideal.”
She’s quiet for a few moments longer, “Do you know anything about the Wilds?”
The bitter laugh that comes from Wyatt's throat is unintentional. He raises a hand to wave it off. "Apologies. It's simply that--well--your words ring much truth. Not long ago, I dreamed about fighting in this battle." Wyatt shakes his head. "Now? Now I wish no part of it."
He looks off towards the gates leading out into the wilds. "A bit. All from books though." The things he's read on the area have mentioned vicious, wild animals, witches, barbarians, and the like. Now with the Blight, it should be filled with some Darkspawn as well. Wyatt makes a tight fist at the thought. He'll make sure he spills blood from more than one of the vile creatures. "Best be prepared, mage." He'd have to be blind to not notice the staff she carries. Mages are useful, but they make him slightly nervous. "I foresee challenge in those Wilds."
Brows raise in a bit of forethought as she watches his reaction,
the patience and the resulting amusement. She’s intrigued on a
rueful level, and does not quite feel hatred as much as she feels
a roiling of other things that she doesn’t care to focus upon, not
now. The manner in which he uses for her name is given a blink,
a bit of a bristle, and then she is taken aback — at an apology.
"That won’t be necessary," she says, and if anything, sounds
perhaps a little abashed. Not sorry… but close enough, maybe.
"Eralyn is fine. As Wyatt is for you?"
"Aye," Wyatt says with a nod. Wyatt is just fine--more than, even. Though pride surges through him due to his own last name, it is now a name he relates to loss, and he is not ready to deal with said loss. Not yet.
Deciding he could be doing other things while he stands here speaking to Eralyn, Wyatt shrugs off the shield on his back, and unhooks the blade strapped to his hip. "You mentioned arrows, yes? How long have you been using a bow," He asks as he begins to inspect his weaponry. Wyatt stops suddenly, looking up at Eralyn. "If you don't mind my asking, of course," He adds before continuing his inspection.
So this blog is still a thing. My friends and I are waiting for another to get more free time before continuing on here. I also haven't played DA:O in a while, so yeah.
Gwen looks over at the unfamiliar man, frowning slightly as she looks at him. Her smile is slight, and maybe a little tight, but she thinks considering the situation she’s doing well. She meets his gaze, “I think the chaos means we haven’t properly met.”
Wyatt isn't doing much in his time of waiting until he and the other recruits are to be sent into the wilds. It bothers him. He's left alone with his thoughts--thoughts he'd rather not deal with at all. The memory of his mother sending him off with Duncan causes a frown to form on his lips. He wants to scream, to lash out against something. When they finally leave the camp, it won't be soon enough.
He doesn't realize that he's staring off until a voice and pair of unfamiliar eyes are met with his. He shakes his head before extending his hand in greeting. "I'm Wyatt." The woman before him matches the description of one of the others that Duncan had recruited. His thoughts still linger though, so his greeting goes no further for now.
My feeling was correct. Nothing went as planned. The King and Grey Wardens have all perished, all thanks to more treachery. But I'll get to that in shortly.
Shortly after regaining consciousness, I was to attend a meeting with Duncan, The King, and a few others, including Teyrn Loghain. I did not trust him from the moment I met him, and I'm not proud to admit I was correct in my feeling, but that's getting ahead once more. The King congratulated me for completing The Joining, but I'm not sure I deserve it.
The King ordered Alistair and I to light a beacon at the Tower of Ishal. Neither of us enjoyed the fact that we wouldn't be participating in the main battle, but what were we to do? Disobey The King and Duncan? Alistair and I were granted our wish though. The Tower was overrun by Darkspawn and we had to fight our way through.
Slaying the Darkspawn inside was cathartic. It felt good to lash out against the evil creature, but it wasn't easy. We fought our way through to the top of the tower. There we encountered a massive Darkspawn. We call those of this species Ogres. The battle was not easy, and I got careless in the battle. The creature knocked me out. When I came to, Alistair was impaling his sword through the ogre's heart.
We had no time to rest after the battle though. I used a kit I purchased before heading to the joining, and it eased the injury I had taken. Alistair thought we missed the signal to light the beacon, and we might have, but now we'll never know. After lighting the beacon though, we were overrun by Darkspawn. A few arrows pierced through my armor and I passed out once again.
When I came to, I was greeted by the face of one of the witched we encountered earlier on. Her name is Morrigan. According to her, her mother transformed into a large bird and rescued Alistair, Orpheus, and I. It sounds like a story I was told as a child, but I have no logical explanation for how an old woman could save us from a horde of Darkspawn, so I didn't question it any further. Instead I thanked her for treating my wounds. They were apparently severe, but I do not feel much pain as of now.
After I had dressed myself, I exited the hut and came across Alistair talking to Morrigan's mother. She told us her name is Flemeth. We're unsure if she's the Flemeth from the stories, but we weren't going to question the woman who saved our very lives. She told us of how Loghain and his men retreated at the signal rather than assisting The King and the other Wardens. Even though the battle was in our favor, they were overrun, and now Alistair and I are all that remains of the order in Ferelden. Alistair didn't, and still isn't taking it well.
Flemeth aided us even further by helping us develop a plan. The Grey Wardens can use treaties during Blights to recruit the aid of Elves, Dwarfs, and whoever else they needed. We decided to form an army to take on the Archdemon and its Blight. Flemeth insisted that we take Morrigan along with us on our journey. I truly believe that she'll be valuable to our cause, but she and Alistair don't seem to meet eye to eye.
We were allowed to gather our bearings before heading out. During this time I talked to Alistair about Duncan. Though I haven't known either for long, I could tell the two shared a bond. One that must have made it so Duncan's death hurt Alistair greatly. I had recently gone through something similar myself, so I could understand where he came from. Discussing our losses was not easy for either of us, but I truly feel a little better from doing so. As foolish as Alistair may appear, he truly is good company, and he is kind.
Morrigan's advice has brought us on the road to a town called Lothering. That's where we are headed now.
He is unusual, this one. The manner with which he holds
himself — with which, by extension, he regards her — finds
Eralyn looking a bit more deeply at the human. He is grieving,
that much is apparent. They all are, she thinks, and her gaze
flicks out among the sparse few milling about. In some form
or another, they all hold some loss.
It’s frustrating to realize this, and her eyes eventually find the
hand that is held out to her, vision settling on his expression and
the disappearing grin that was there and gone again far too quickly.
She catches the tattoos lining his face as well, and though she
wants to ask the story behind them — there is a pang, a momentary
reflex to demand that there be something of worth behind the color,
a desperate plea — she does not, and eventually does take his hand.
It took a bit too long to shake hands, but she does, even if she is
slowly reaching an epiphany. Shaking hands with a human. Tamlen
would…
Tamlen isn’t here.
"Mahariel — Eralyn." And then, to be contrary and perhaps even
difficult, his name given so casually… “Andaran atish’an, Wyatt. I will
be sure to aim my arrows away from your back while we fight.”
The elf takes a while to return his greeting, but Wyatt waits patiently. Though he's still grieving over what had happened, it'd be in his best interest to make some sort of comrade in arms for when they go to battle. He raises a brow at the tone of her greeting, but it's forgotten and replaced by a small huff of laughter. "You have my thanks, Mahariel Eralyn."
A small grimace shows on his face after saying her name in the joking manner he did. He rubs the back of his neck, the fleshy bit exposed by lack of helm. "My apologies. Times of recent have been...difficult. That probably wasn't appropriate." Wyatt shakes his head. "Would you prefer a more formal address?" Much to many's disapproval, Wyatt believes in equal treatment of the races, and that includes elves--city or Dalish. He does not know this one though, not yet at least. It would be better for him to get the formalities set before jesting with her.
Ostagar is brilliant and claustrophobic. Too many people, too
many walls, too much, too much. She doesn’t like it, won’t like
it for a long while, but there isn’t anything to do about it but try
to bite her tongue and cope and get used to it. She doesn’t mope.
She doesn’t admit defeat. It isn’t the way of her people — they
have adapted, and so shall she adapt.
The one shem — the man — that arrived looking beaten down and
empty and lost, a dangerous glint in his eye. He is one to watch, and
she watches until she is left alone by the other elves (servants, it
makes her blood boil and her stomach lurch, and her fingers ache for
her bow but she will not draw it, she will not spill anyone’s blood here,
no matter how panicked or unfamiliar she feels). The Joining is a subtle
knife in the back of her mind, tracing her thoughts sharp and ominous,
and she itches to run, to go out on their errand, but she must wait.
So she approaches him. Stops. Says, “And how do you expect the
Wilds to treat us?”
Ostagar. He had wanted to do battle on these lands, but not under these circumstances. He wanted to battle alongside his father and brother, but treachery had prevented that. Now his mother and father are dead, his brother is out in the wilds--too far out to get within contact--and he must battle alongside strangers.
While it drives him mad, all he can do is wait for his instructions, so he walks through the camp where he's allowed. Many are preparing for the oncoming threat, the Darkspawn. Many are also underestimating the threats of what they are soon to face. While he has never faced on himself, he has read up on the creatures. They are fearsome alone, but in Blights--which Duncan tells of one coming--they are a force many do not return from battle with.
It may be the anger he has yet to vent out, but Wyatt wishes to do battle with some. He longs to fell the beasts, to shout out in victory over their corpses--if not just so he isn't allowed to let his thoughts linger on his family. Thankfully, he must only wait a while longer before he and the other recruits are to be sent into the wilds, where he is sure to be able to swing his blade freely.
An elf approaches and speaks to him. If not just by her approaching him, the tattoos on her face signify that she is no servant. That causes him to grin if not for just a moment. "Poorly, if I'm to be honest. But it shall be satisfying to swing my blade at whatever may come," Wyatt responds. He extends his hand in greeting, "I'm Wyatt."
I've decided to keep a journal. I'm not entirely sure why, but...I suppose it makes me feel better to get some thoughts out.
To start things off, my name is Wyatt Cousland. Yes, Cousland, as in the noble family from Highever. Or at least we were until Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine betrayed my family. My father and brother were to go assist the King and the Grey Wardens against the Darkspawn in Ostagar alongside Howe's men. But Howe's men were delayed, or so we were told.
The only reason I'm still alive is due to my parents' blessing to join the Grey Warden who was visiting our castle in search of recruits, Duncan. My parents stayed behind to make sure we'd escape to Ostagar. That's how we get to where I am now.
It hasn't been long since we arrived here. Upon our arrival, Duncan and I were greeted by the King himself. He seems like a carefree, almost foolish man, but he promised me that once the Darkspawn horde is taken care of, he'd see to it that Howe is brought to justice. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but one way or another, Howe will bathe in his blood for what he's done.
I'm getting off track though. The King also told me Fergus is out in the wilds, scouting. Unfortunately, there's no way to get word to him, so I must wait until after the battle to see him. I am not eager to deliver the news though. Just thinking about how he's going to feel makes me wish that this moment would stand still forever. I know not how I'm going to tell him that not just our family is gone, but his own as well.
Continuing from before, Duncan allowed Orpheus, my faithful Mabari companion, and I to settle for a few moments. I did not wish to be alone with my thoughts for too long though, so I was thankful he gave me a task to complete. I was to find the two other recruits and a new Grey Warden named Alistair.
I found the other recruits before Alistair. The first was a thief from Denerim named Daveth. I do not trust nor like him. The second was a man Ser Jory, a knight who hails from Redcliffe. He, I like.
After informing the both of them that Duncan wishes for their presence, I sought out Alistair, who wasn't difficult to find. I merely had to follow the bickering. Alistair is a strapping man, a bit of a jester as well, but I'm going off topic once more.
We returned to Duncan and the others, and he told us that we were to prepare for "The Joining," the process in which we'll undertake to become full fledged Grey Wardens. We were to traverse into the Korcari Wilds to retrieve some items. I'm unsure if I'm allowed to mention what they are, so for now I'm going to omit them from this.
I had wished we'd encounter Fergus during our times in the wild, but there was no sign of him. Instead there were savage wolves, horrific Darkspawn, a demon of all things, a flower that the kennelmaster is apparently searching for, and two witches of the wild. They seemed more respectable than the tales speak of them. They gave us what we came for and let us go on our way.
And that brings us to now. The other recruits and I are going to perform The Joining soon, so I must finish my entry here. I know not of what will happen, but if I believed in The Maker, I'd pray to him right now. Something about this battle appears far more ominous than most others believe it to be.
