Post by Warden Darin Cathar on Jul 4, 2012 17:31:16 GMT -5
GENERAL
Full Name: Darin Cathar
Race: Human
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Birthplace: Kirkwall, Free Marches
Residence: The Gnawed Noble tavern in Denerim(only temporary residence)
Affiliation: Grey Wardens
Occupation: Grey Warden
Religion: Grey Warden
COMBAT
Class: Warrior
Character Stats:
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 3
Willpower:
Magic:
Cunning:
Gear: A Grey Warden's sword, wrought of Silverite, come complete with an ornate hilt and blade. The hilt is long enough for two hands. For protection he wears a flexible suit of studded leather. He also owns a dark-green traveling cloak which he can wrap around himself. The cloak sometime shifts colors, so that you cannot look at it very long without at least becoming confused.
CHARACTERISTICS
Appearance: To the regular eye Darin appears as a rough, lean man. You usually don't see him wearing any expression at all on his stony face, yet his moods change often. If you're observant, you can spot his emotions from small gestures; a flicker of the eye there, hands balling up to fists here. Being lean, you would think him to be cumbersome. That is not the case; he is much more agile than you would think due to his swordsmanship. There are a few scratches and scars here and there around his body, the largest stretching from his lip to his left eye. Once it was scarlet, but now it has faded to a faint light-red, almost pink. It's barely visible, but it can be spotted if observed closely enough.
Personality: There aren't many things you need - or want - to know about Darin. He's fiercely loyal but usually cold to everyone around himself. He is known to be a man of moods, though, so you don't need much to get a response from him. Darin isn't very merciful; he sees justice differently than most. Yet he doesn't pursue justice, but the destruction of the darkspawn, which to him is the greatest justice in the world.
A few traits: cold, arrogant, slightly judgmental.
HISTORY
Ever since his birth in the relatively rich family of mostly peddlers rather than merchants, Darin has always lived in the relative wealth and safety of such a family. Despite never really seeing anything gilded or gaudy, he still ate well and was educated as any child in Kirkwall at that time. It was not until his 16th birthday when he was trusted with his first important task - he got to lead the wagons from Kirkwall to Starkhaven. For the first time in his life, Darin was the Wagonmaster on a journey. Obviously, he did not travel alone. He had four merchants' guards with him, all armed with thick, heavy swords that seemed every bit as capable of cutting through wood as axes. It took some time for him to become used to the bedrolls and sleeping on the ground around a campfire; the wagon was filled with dyes, textiles, books and even some weapons. Every weapon they found that the guards would not take they had to sell. This time there were three swords, all rough and apparently old according to the heavy layers of dust on their dull blades, several kinds of maces and one axe. Axes were harder to come by than swords or maces - everybody knew that - and usually the axes were also sold quickly. His father had taught him the basics of fighting with swords and spears, even arranging some lessons from a local bowmaster to teach him the basics of archery, but he seldom took up the sword himself. Not unless he had to defend himself. Darin had already calculated a price for it in his mind before setting off. Obviously he would end up bargaining a higher price for it - his father had complimented him for his skills in trade, especially bargaining. Four times the wagons stopped for rest during the journey, and on the fifth morning Starkhaven laid ahead of the young merchant's party.
Just as his father had instructed, he paid a little extra for the innkeeper - the inn was called "Blind Sailor" - to encourage him to take care of his horses in a more than proper way. The innkeeper, called Simon, a lean, sly-looking fellow, bowed his way out of Darin's presence with countless praises and compliments. It always paid to give a little bit of honey with the stick, his father used to say, and apparently he knew exactly what he was talking about. The day was over quickly, and Darin returned to his room accompanied by several of his purses considerably fatter than they had been before arriving in Starkhaven, and with several new ones just as fat as the rest. He casually said good night to the innkeeper, who eyed his purses with bulging eyes, and then went upstairs to his room. Most of the money was with him, too. Without blinking he placed the purses inside a small chest with a heavy iron lock on it. The key he hid in his garments, while the strongbox he placed firmly in the night cabin. He locked it, too. The guards had to sleep in the barn; they didn't complain, because they claimed to have always slept in the barn, near the wagon to guard it from criminals. Darin had no problems with the arrangement; at least he got to sleep in a soft, comfy bed. To put it short, it was not the most comfortable night after all.
He woke up to find himself tied and gagged on horseback. Occasionally he heard a word or two exchanged between those who had taken him. When he finally managed to open his eyes - his head hurt awfully bad, and there were what seemed to be trickles of blood running down his face - and found out that his money had been taken, although what he did not find out was much more pressing. You see, to the rest of the people it seemed as if he had just vanished with the money - there weren't even any blood drops in his room. As soon as the dazzled(and apparently very, very stupid) guards returned to Darin's father, they told him what had happened - from their perspective. It was an outrage. A local peddler's son vanished with a small fortune, or what was a small fortune in Kirkwall at that time. Perhaps it would not be so in Orlais, but Free Marches were poorer. Nobody really thought of any other possibilities. Well, his father became as dazzled as the guards, ending up more furious than ever. Grumbling about never trusting his siblings, he descended into a ring of drinking and gambling, wasting all of his money by the end of the month. Darin was finally dumped after weeks of rough journey to a barren, cold hellhole the locals called "Ferr-elden".
After a few months of spending time in the slums of Denerim(which weren't really called by any particular name; most people simply called them "slums"), he was picked up by a young, handsome fellow who told him that there was still a whole life ahead of him. He had noticed his performance in a street brawl; he had always been strong and nimble, plus the additional training he had received a few years backwards. It pained Darin to think of his past; he shrugged the thoughts of with a moment of regret. Darin didn't believe a thing the man said - he was far too cheerful for one to believe such tales coming from him. He did say, in a much graver tone too, that he was a Grey Warden. Darin had heard something of them once, in his childhood; fabled heroes. He had never paid a second thought to them, really, but he had always supposed that they existed far away and fought darkspawn. Now one of them had picked him up, apparently seeing some great potential him that he himself had no idea of. He still went along his wishes; what else was there to it?
Darin took the test and survived, if barely. The taint impacted heavily on him, but it did not kill him - the local Warden Commander said that he had around ten years less lifetime than most Wardens, but that it was not unheard of. Darin accepted the information solemnly, if with little lesser care that the Warden Commander would've hoped. It would not matter; if he was to become good at something, let it be fighting. He had a purpose for his life, now. He wouldn't let it slip through his fingers this time.
BEHIND THE MASK
Player’s Pen Name: Michael
Contact: E-mail...
Roleplay Experience: 2 years...
Language(s): English, french, swedish, finnish...
How did you find us?: A long time ago in a way I don't even remember.
Roleplay Sample:
Roleplay Sample:
The wind howled cruelly in her ears as she made her way out of the treacherous mountain passes. Cliffs and steep rocky hills surrounded her, had always surrounded, there would never be anything more than cliffs and rocky hills. They had been her only sight for as long as her memory reached, despite she doubted that it reached back for more than a few hours. But it could not have been more than just that. Sweat ran down on her face, she herself chilled to the bone, the freezing wind pulling her cloak as it wished. Now it blew towards the mountains. Towards templars, and sure death. Desperately she marched onwards, slowly making her way away from them and the mountains. They must have had a hard time with this wind, too, with that heavy armor they wear. If I'm already so tired, they must be double the same. At least a dozen templars had followed her and her friends, till suddenly striking in the calm of the night. Some had fled, including her, but she had seen the templars had pull some of the runners back and kill them. She had ran without much looking back, horrified of such powers. At first she had heard her friends' cries in the night as the templars cut them down one by one, but soon it had been replaced by a total silence. She had startled at every crack, every sound in the night as if it might've bore an arrow down at her, but nothing had happened for a while. Not so much than a few hours ago she had heard the first signs of pursuit; distant cries of the pursuing templars echoing from the steep mountain passes. She had come the long way down into the open plains, her eyes now frantically searching for a place to hide. For some hole to cower in. She found none; the plains were dark and empty, completely lifeless.
Her dark dress was ragged by the journey, the once shining and beautiful silver decorations now dim and dark. The sun was already rising; it was not a perfect darkness anymore, and her dark dress stood out in the open like a patch of black against a dark grey background. She lied down behind a low hill, temporarily hidden from the eyes of the templars, giving herself a moment to calm down. They're not far behind me. If there'd be any hiding places in these flaming plains...then they would obviously look there first. I can only flee from them... a distant cry reminded her of the present danger. But somehow it seemed to come from closer this time. She crawled to the edge of the low, stark hill to get a look at the mountain passes. She was greeted by a crisp, cold breeze from the mountains, bearing more sounds with it than just the sad howling. Yelling. Templars. She could not make out what they were shouting, but then a templar appeared around a corner. He held his helmet in his right hand, but other than that she could not make out much of what he looked like. Dark hair, dark beard, tall and slender. His figure bent backwards as he shouted to his companions. She had seen enough. Crawling back down the steep hill, she felt her heart bumping under her dress. At least I won't go down without a fight. She brushed it aside and tried to concentrate on channeling her magic. Suddenly the whole air around her seemed to ripple. The heat. She channeled her anger, anguish, fear and every other feeling with the magic, emptying herself of all emotion and feeling for the time being. Standing up, she watched as a roaring inferno left from her fingertips at the templars. They hadn't gone a long way down the dirt road yet. The dark-haired templar had yelled frightfully and leaped away from the inferno's path, and most of the templars had followed his lead. Four of them were too slow; she watched as their bodies burst to flame like torches, the fire consuming them much quicker than a normal fire.
"Apostate!" The templars spread out in a wide half-circle and approached her, half running, half trotting. She sent a bolt of lightning at the foremost templar, knocking him a few paces backwards. But he simply brushed it off, stood up and ran back in line with the rest of his comrades. Mavenna grimaced. School of Nature had never been one of her strong points. The ground heaved under the templars' heavy boots... and primitive cries filled the air. The templars looked down, surprised, but a greater danger was approaching from the mountains. At least twenty darkspawn had followed the templars quietly. Now they charged down the steep foothills, catching the surprised templars completely off balance. The ground was still heaving under their feet, and most of them were lying on the ground, unable to get up due to the extremely uncooperative ground. The darkspawn fell, too, but some managed to fall on top of the templars. Soon the ground was full of wrestling templars and darkspawn, each trying to stab the other with their swords. When the earthquake suddenly stopped, there were five templars left. The dark-haired templar got on his feet, glaring at her before launching himself at the darkspawn. "When I'm done with these, I'll get you!" His face was angry and determined, but his voice shook. He was not sure. Mavenna gasped for air as the weariness hit her. She had used a lot of energy there, almost too much for her to handle. She felt a desperate need to sleep, but she knew that she couldn't. Despite her best efforts, she could not resist the urge. Soon the sounds of battle crept outside her consciousness, leaving only a deep, dark silence.
Darin eyed the horizon curiously. It was most evidently just a regular darkspawn raid, and his task more important than slaughtering a few of them, though. He supposed it wouldn't hurt at all to dispose of them quickly, but even he acknowledged the thought utter folly and wool-headed heroism. Wearily he picked up his pace and trotted onward on the stone-paved road. The feeling tingled at the back of his head, gentle but fierce: darkspawn. At first it was faint, but the more he ran towards Denerim - his horse had been stolen during the night he spent in a village inn - the more he became aware of the tingling. It almost didn't exist, but at the same time it was more real than the ground below him. It almost pulled him towards the darkspawn. Darin winced; he hated the feeling. He wasn't sure if it was the awareness of darkspawn or his own mind playing tricks on him, yet he always felt an urge to chase them. Wherever there were darkspawn, there would he hunt and slay them in scores. More often than not in scores; he was very competent with his blade. When he finally was pulled away from his thoughts, it was for another reason that he would have suspected. Far in the distance, towards where the mountains lay, he saw whirling figures leaping and screaming at each other. The tingling feeling also seemed to pull him in that direction. He took up the offer graciously; luck was hard to come by these days.
Darin felt for his sword hilt, softly sliding it out of its scabbard as he strode towards the fighting darkspawn and templars. He moved with a deadly grace customary to most Wardens; in fact he had never met one without it, not counting in the novices. They learned it quickly, anyway. Snarling at the darkspawn, he hurled himself into a deadly dance amidst the howling beasts. The templars finished off a few heads for him here and there, but most of the killing still came from him. The first one he had caught between the ribs, the sword piercing its lifeless lungs, and the second had fallen to a whirling slash as it had attempted a wild slash from behind Darin. Finally, as Darin's sword pierced the last of the darkspawn, he came to notice that the templars were dead, too. Or as close to dead as they could be. Three still stood with gaping gashes running across their dented and battered breastplates, which Darin had heard were more for the show rather than offering the promised protection. Brushing the thought aside, he made himself concentrate on the obvious questions. Mostly, why were the templars here?
He asked them, and found himself eye-to-eye with a dark-bearded fellow who carried himself like a lord. His face seemed like stone, but emotion flickered in his eyes. He met his gaze coolly, but could not stop himself thinking that the fellow was dangerous; perhaps too dangerous for him to tolerate at the moment. Darin frowned at the dead darkspawn, some of them still twitching, he noticed. It didn't surprise him; darkspawn were always reluctant to give up their new-found lives. Just then he heard the templar answer. "We came here in the footsteps of a dangerous maleficar, who killed a score of my men." Darin turned his gaze at the templar, realizing that the templar frowned too. But he had seen no maleficar as of yet. And he didn't agree with the templar way of doing things, anyway. "Maleficar? Would you be kind enough to show me to him, and without beating him to death first?" He could not keep the sting out of his words. The templar glared at him for a long time, but then motioned him to follow. As soon as Darin saw the woman lying on the grass unconscious, he lashed out at the templars. "Why did the woman pass out? I would say that she simply defended herself from being bludgeoned to death by you." For a moment the templar looked furious. With an effort he held it back, but still his every word sounded of hard-suppressed anger. "You...don't...have...authority..." his words trailed off into silence as Darin cut him off. He didn't know why he did it, but there he was interrupting an officer, while he himself was pledged to neutrality. "I have more than you think. Who killed the darkspawn? Who saved your lives? You owe me your lives. But I happen to know a way you could repay me. Go back to your Chantry and leave the girl to me." Now the templar didn't look furious anymore. He was abashed. Finally, he nodded, but still looked Darin in the eye. His voice was bitter. "Fine, Warden. But don't think that it ends here. Your order has always been neutral. I wonder how long that lasts?" He strode off limping with the two remaining templars, leaving Darin to take care of the woman. Darn scowled after him. They could not survive the journey.
Her dark dress was ragged by the journey, the once shining and beautiful silver decorations now dim and dark. The sun was already rising; it was not a perfect darkness anymore, and her dark dress stood out in the open like a patch of black against a dark grey background. She lied down behind a low hill, temporarily hidden from the eyes of the templars, giving herself a moment to calm down. They're not far behind me. If there'd be any hiding places in these flaming plains...then they would obviously look there first. I can only flee from them... a distant cry reminded her of the present danger. But somehow it seemed to come from closer this time. She crawled to the edge of the low, stark hill to get a look at the mountain passes. She was greeted by a crisp, cold breeze from the mountains, bearing more sounds with it than just the sad howling. Yelling. Templars. She could not make out what they were shouting, but then a templar appeared around a corner. He held his helmet in his right hand, but other than that she could not make out much of what he looked like. Dark hair, dark beard, tall and slender. His figure bent backwards as he shouted to his companions. She had seen enough. Crawling back down the steep hill, she felt her heart bumping under her dress. At least I won't go down without a fight. She brushed it aside and tried to concentrate on channeling her magic. Suddenly the whole air around her seemed to ripple. The heat. She channeled her anger, anguish, fear and every other feeling with the magic, emptying herself of all emotion and feeling for the time being. Standing up, she watched as a roaring inferno left from her fingertips at the templars. They hadn't gone a long way down the dirt road yet. The dark-haired templar had yelled frightfully and leaped away from the inferno's path, and most of the templars had followed his lead. Four of them were too slow; she watched as their bodies burst to flame like torches, the fire consuming them much quicker than a normal fire.
"Apostate!" The templars spread out in a wide half-circle and approached her, half running, half trotting. She sent a bolt of lightning at the foremost templar, knocking him a few paces backwards. But he simply brushed it off, stood up and ran back in line with the rest of his comrades. Mavenna grimaced. School of Nature had never been one of her strong points. The ground heaved under the templars' heavy boots... and primitive cries filled the air. The templars looked down, surprised, but a greater danger was approaching from the mountains. At least twenty darkspawn had followed the templars quietly. Now they charged down the steep foothills, catching the surprised templars completely off balance. The ground was still heaving under their feet, and most of them were lying on the ground, unable to get up due to the extremely uncooperative ground. The darkspawn fell, too, but some managed to fall on top of the templars. Soon the ground was full of wrestling templars and darkspawn, each trying to stab the other with their swords. When the earthquake suddenly stopped, there were five templars left. The dark-haired templar got on his feet, glaring at her before launching himself at the darkspawn. "When I'm done with these, I'll get you!" His face was angry and determined, but his voice shook. He was not sure. Mavenna gasped for air as the weariness hit her. She had used a lot of energy there, almost too much for her to handle. She felt a desperate need to sleep, but she knew that she couldn't. Despite her best efforts, she could not resist the urge. Soon the sounds of battle crept outside her consciousness, leaving only a deep, dark silence.
Darin eyed the horizon curiously. It was most evidently just a regular darkspawn raid, and his task more important than slaughtering a few of them, though. He supposed it wouldn't hurt at all to dispose of them quickly, but even he acknowledged the thought utter folly and wool-headed heroism. Wearily he picked up his pace and trotted onward on the stone-paved road. The feeling tingled at the back of his head, gentle but fierce: darkspawn. At first it was faint, but the more he ran towards Denerim - his horse had been stolen during the night he spent in a village inn - the more he became aware of the tingling. It almost didn't exist, but at the same time it was more real than the ground below him. It almost pulled him towards the darkspawn. Darin winced; he hated the feeling. He wasn't sure if it was the awareness of darkspawn or his own mind playing tricks on him, yet he always felt an urge to chase them. Wherever there were darkspawn, there would he hunt and slay them in scores. More often than not in scores; he was very competent with his blade. When he finally was pulled away from his thoughts, it was for another reason that he would have suspected. Far in the distance, towards where the mountains lay, he saw whirling figures leaping and screaming at each other. The tingling feeling also seemed to pull him in that direction. He took up the offer graciously; luck was hard to come by these days.
Darin felt for his sword hilt, softly sliding it out of its scabbard as he strode towards the fighting darkspawn and templars. He moved with a deadly grace customary to most Wardens; in fact he had never met one without it, not counting in the novices. They learned it quickly, anyway. Snarling at the darkspawn, he hurled himself into a deadly dance amidst the howling beasts. The templars finished off a few heads for him here and there, but most of the killing still came from him. The first one he had caught between the ribs, the sword piercing its lifeless lungs, and the second had fallen to a whirling slash as it had attempted a wild slash from behind Darin. Finally, as Darin's sword pierced the last of the darkspawn, he came to notice that the templars were dead, too. Or as close to dead as they could be. Three still stood with gaping gashes running across their dented and battered breastplates, which Darin had heard were more for the show rather than offering the promised protection. Brushing the thought aside, he made himself concentrate on the obvious questions. Mostly, why were the templars here?
He asked them, and found himself eye-to-eye with a dark-bearded fellow who carried himself like a lord. His face seemed like stone, but emotion flickered in his eyes. He met his gaze coolly, but could not stop himself thinking that the fellow was dangerous; perhaps too dangerous for him to tolerate at the moment. Darin frowned at the dead darkspawn, some of them still twitching, he noticed. It didn't surprise him; darkspawn were always reluctant to give up their new-found lives. Just then he heard the templar answer. "We came here in the footsteps of a dangerous maleficar, who killed a score of my men." Darin turned his gaze at the templar, realizing that the templar frowned too. But he had seen no maleficar as of yet. And he didn't agree with the templar way of doing things, anyway. "Maleficar? Would you be kind enough to show me to him, and without beating him to death first?" He could not keep the sting out of his words. The templar glared at him for a long time, but then motioned him to follow. As soon as Darin saw the woman lying on the grass unconscious, he lashed out at the templars. "Why did the woman pass out? I would say that she simply defended herself from being bludgeoned to death by you." For a moment the templar looked furious. With an effort he held it back, but still his every word sounded of hard-suppressed anger. "You...don't...have...authority..." his words trailed off into silence as Darin cut him off. He didn't know why he did it, but there he was interrupting an officer, while he himself was pledged to neutrality. "I have more than you think. Who killed the darkspawn? Who saved your lives? You owe me your lives. But I happen to know a way you could repay me. Go back to your Chantry and leave the girl to me." Now the templar didn't look furious anymore. He was abashed. Finally, he nodded, but still looked Darin in the eye. His voice was bitter. "Fine, Warden. But don't think that it ends here. Your order has always been neutral. I wonder how long that lasts?" He strode off limping with the two remaining templars, leaving Darin to take care of the woman. Darn scowled after him. They could not survive the journey.
Password: Grey Warden
