Siege & Escape [Open]

[jaxanders]

[glow=red,2,300]Siege & Escape[/glow]

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone

Something has been taken from deep inside of me
The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see
Wounds so deep they never show they never go away
Like moving pictures in my head for years and years they've played

If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone

~~~

Fire crackling and explosions could be heard from around Val Royeaux as Anders made his way through the streets, dodging people of various sorts. Templars, siegers and citizens fleeing for their lives, panting as he made his way through the streets before reaching a sudden dead end with two templars on his tail, cornering him in the dead end.

He turned quickly, hearing the footsteps of armour clanking after him rapidly approaching with a voice calling out "STOP RIGHT THERE, APOSTATE!" causing Anders to swivel around, staff in hand and ready to attack if need be.

Two armour cladded Templars blocked the exit out of the dead end alley, while the apostate was summing things up to 'This is bad, but it could be worse.' The Templars didn't even start with a warning, they just lunged for him which made Anders react with a shocking 'Lightning' spell from his fingertips, which slithered up the sword the Templar was about to stab him with, causing the Templars to scream, the pain coursing through his arm and making him drop the sword then Anders pointed his staff at the Templar and flicking motion with and a blast of fire erupted from the staff and collided with the Templar's chestplate, causing him to be sent flying backwards out of the alley and into some rubble from the city under siege.

"You'll pay for that, apostate!" the remaining Templar cried after seeing his comrade get flung out of the alley via a fireball and a made a hasty attack, rapidly trying to swing his sword at Anders, causing Anders to dodge the weapon and hit the wall at his back before ducking as the sword meant to take his head off, causing the mage to mutter "That was too close for my liking.." then he proceeded to retaliate, slamming his staff into the gut of the Templar then outmaneuvered him, placing himself behind the Templar.

The Templar quickly gained some semblance and was about to use a Smite when Anders slammed his staff into the ground, causing the ground shake with a small earthquake, knocking the Templar off balance and then lightning filled the alley as Anders continued his retaliation on the Templar before sending a fireball at him, unlike his comrade he had nowhere to go and was sent careening into the wall and knocked unconscious..or dead but Anders wasn't about to waste the chance to get out alive and retreated, running out of the alley and continuing through the streets of Val Royeaux, the Orlesian Capital under siege until he dived into another alley, not a dead end but it would suffice for him to rest a while. Anders sat against the wall, panting slightly and trying to get his energy back after that disaster in the other alley.

~~~

Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past
Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have
Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back
And never moving forward so there'd never be a past

If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave

Just washing it aside
All of the helplessness inside
Pretending I don't feel misplaced
It's so much simpler than change

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone

(Lyrics: Linkin Park - Easier to Run)

[facemelterrp2]

The city was under siege. Terror, fear, and fright gripped many of the souls running about in the streets. Zerthan happened to be in the heat of it all. He arrived in the city just days before the siege, intent on finding information on Hawke. Hawke was his blood... his life... and his lust. He stared amongst the crowd as they were running from the besieging soldiers. The Grand Duke possibly. He had heard that the Grand Duke wanted to plot against Empress Celene for quite sometime now. And it looked like he finally took action.

He turned a corner and happened upon a group of Templars threatening an apostate by the looks of it. He immediately withdrew his head, deciding to stay out of the Templar's affairs. Besides, all he wanted and desired was Hawke. He heard the fighting beginning. It sounded to Zerthan as if the Templars would win, but then he saw one of the brave souls flying toward a wall, no doubt impacted by a fireball. The other Templar shouted 'You'll pay for that apostate' and more fighting was heard. Then that Templar was eventually defeated as well. Are Mages really that powerful?, he thought to himself. He sneaked in a look, and he saw the Mage running out of the alley, but the mage didn't see him, thankfully

Zerthan decided to follow the Mage out of curiousity. He followed the apostate until the man darted into another alley and took a brief rest. It was then he decided to talk with the man, with no intention of hurting him.

He slowly approached the man, trying to conceal his weapons the best he could...

[facemelterrp]

Panic. Panic gripped the heart of many, running frantically about. Hawke had her hood conceal her face, as she was in the heart of the Chantry lands. She came to the capital of Orlais to look for someone she knew was here. I know Anders is here somewhere in the midst of all this, she thought as a few civilians bumped into her, intending to run for their lives. She started to run about the streets, releasing her staff as she did, twirling it around her left hand only to suddenly grab it with fierce strength. She turned into a corner and ran straight into a Templar. The Templar fell and she staggered but kept herself balanced afterwards. Oh Maker, you really want to do this to me now eh?, she laughed at the thought. She wasted no time. She grabbed the Templar by the throat and hurled him into a wall.

"You better start talking... or I will kill you." Hawke gripped the throat tighter with her reinforced right hand, the armor no doubt causing great pain upon the man. The Templar struggled and gripped Hawke's arm with both hands, his weapon falling onto the ground. He smiled. "I know that arm-cough-or anywhere. You-" He started coughing blood. "Are the Cham-cough-pion aren't you?" Hawke was not about to be discovered by a lone Templar. "Pity you didn't say what I wanted to hear. Maker help your soul." She threw the man into the other side of the street with all her strength, the man flying high into the air, and he hit the wall with a bone cracking thud and fell to the ground. His spine was no doubt broken, and his throat disfigured badly. He couldn't move or breath. Hawke threw up her right hand and summoned a deadly fireball, only to hurl it towards the man. All the man could do was watch as his impending death awaited him. He managed to let out a cry before the fire hit his flesh, so much pain in his death. He screamed and withered, shedding tears, before dying there on the spot.

Hawke had no time, she continued her search for Anders...

[hyacinthe]

Chaos. Everlasting and prudent to everyday life, at least it was more evident now. Because war does not change. It reaves the land it consumes and even the Heartlands of Orlais would not escape it.

Panic filled the streets as did fire and Templars. They rounded up whoever they deemed fitting in order to restore their ideals of peace. So the claimed in the name of the Chantry. But that was up for debate.

"Divided we are conquered..." a survivor commented to the nearest listener. A redhead hiding her face with the use of a cloak. This group intended to leave the city together but alas...the bucket-heads found them.

"Scatter!" a voice shouted, probably the group''s leader. Magic users had been among them and became quick targets, alongside the innocent. Of course Hyacinthe was among them. The one hiding her face, they had been allies albeit briefly.

She kept running, separated from the rest, until someone shouted "Wait!" a male voice. But...distracted? She halted, focused and listening, there was the distinct sound of someone in armor. Even among the noise. The woman was unaware she had stumbled upon a cornered mage being confronted by a stranger. More conflict?

Probably.

[Iggy]

Desmund ran, ran like a coward, ran because his body could fathom no other response. The deepest, most primal part of his psyche pushed him onward, refused to let him slow or stop, made him feel the heat of the beast's breath at the back of his neck, making the small hairs raise and sending sick quivers through his gut. Desmund wasn’t a Chevalier anymore. Desmund wasn’t a warrior, trained since infancy to slay his foes. He was not a noble, bred from superior stock and entitled to all that Orlais had to offer. He was no longer a general in the glorious armies of Gespard de Chalons, the saviour of Orlesian dominance. He was not drunk off the thrill of victory as his forces poured through Val Royeaux’s gates. He’d been all of these things once, just a few moments ago really... but then it had come, come out of the fire and blood and chaos of a battle so nearly won, to bring death....

It was... he was... just a messenger, some boy, some page, some squire to a lesser noble, come to deliver a message to the battle commander, though something had been off from the very start. A simple squire did not carry a blade that wicked, a greatsword wrought of heathen Qunari steel. A simple squire did not grin and hold himself in such a cocksure manner when in the presence of his betters. They’d demanded the boy’s message and he’d given it to them, given it to them as he’d drawn that demonic blade in one fluid motion, body forming a perfect arc, and swinging the cleaving metal wide, the tip catching one of the field marshals in the groin, and carving him open to the neck, his body blossoming into a queer crimson flower and spraying boy and soldier alike with blood.

Desmund had never given Templars their proper credit, always considered them more a nuisance than anything else. He knew their worth now though. Was this what they felt? This bitter bile that rose at the back of the throat and threatened to drown a man in a sea of his own cowardice? To see this boy become something else, a howling demon, a white eyed creature with skin stained scarlet by the blood of a dozen soldiers, a manic grin pasted to his features? Was this what it felt like to face an abomination in battle. The boy didn’t stop killing, made no formal declaration, issued no challenge, merely moved and slew and moved and reveled in carnage of his own making, slinging about that massive sword as though it were light as a feather. The boy’s body twisted, and the blade tore through an armored pikeman. The boy touched the ground, and the great-sword twisted in his grip, came around in a slash that took Ser Duvet’s head from his shoulders. The sword dug into the ground and the lad flung himself off of it, onto one of the infantrymen, sank his teeth into his throat and tore out his jugular, roaring all along. He ripped the spear from the corpse's hand and swung it about as he glided back towards his blade, beating back all comers and finally spearing a horse and rider at once as they’d come charging forward. His hands found the grip of his bastard sword once more, and Desmund fled.

Twenty men, the commander’s guard had consisted of twenty men, veterans of dozens of battles, fierce warriors each. They were not enough, not enough to slow this boy who was demon who was abomination who was a golem of sickening grins, blood, gore, and fury. There had been no time for Desmund to mount his horse, no time at all. So he fled, fled on foot, trudging through mud and rubble in heavy armor, muscles screaming for relief, but mind unable to comply. Too slow, too slow! He moved so damnably slow in all of this armor, this thick heavy plate that should’ve protected him from missile and blade alike, that should’ve allowed him to wade into battle unafraid of the any rain of blows. But just like the guard, it was not enouogh. Desmund had seen the beast's blade tear through good steel as though it were cotton cloth, cutting gouges at first, but slicing deeper still as the creature’s blood lust rose and rose. Desmund felt tears on his cheeks, and paid them no mind. He’d cast off his pride, cast off his armor, because they were too heavy, because he could still hear the screams behind him, though he couldn’t tell if they were torn from men by the monster, or by the greater battle raging around them. He’d long ago stopped caring, letting the sounds goad him forward. It could not end like this! He could not fall on the field to some blighted, maddened beast, when he’d accomplished so much on this day! When he’d broken the defenses of Val Royeaux itself!

Desmund wept, and through his tears, he saw figures. Men, two men, one in a robe, the other in armor, near enough to each other. Good, good! Perfect! They would help, they would help, they would slow the creature, buy Desmund some time, a few more moments of precious life, a few more yards of precious distance. They would fight the creature because they could do nothing else, and they would die because the creature could not. Desmund had seen it, seen Ser Granui send his sword through the boy’s chest, and yet the beserk fiend had not stopped, had not flinched, merely cleaved another soldier in twain, torn the longsword from its own body, and rammed it through the visor of Ser Granui’s helmet. Poor Ser Granui, poor dead, honorable chevalier. Not like Desmund at all, Desmund du Carlac, Duke of Val Foret, soon to be the favored lord of the new emperor, and first an foremost, alive!

Desmund nearly cackled with the giddy glee of it all as he thundered past the two men, quick to leave them to their fate. The ecstasy of his escape filled him, thrilled him, delighted him to no end, delighted him so much that he almost didn’t notice the massive length of steel that sprouted from his chest like some odd sort of sapling. He was dead before he hit the ground, who knew the beast could throw?

~~~~

Iggy trotted up to the downed corpse, chuckling as the Blood Blindness bled away, his eyes sane and normal once more, his countenance somewhat more stable. He placed a foot on the general’s back and tore his sword free of the old man’s body. He came around, lined up his target, took a mighty swing, and removed the once great Desmund du Carlac’s head, from the once great Desmund du Carlac’s body, stuffing it in a burlap sack and tying it about the bandoleer than ran across his chest and waist. Iggy pawed at a few of the wounds on his body, some of them were a bit deep. It was hard to tell where the enemy blood ended and his own began, but he could feel himself loosing warmth still. Damn, he’d come out of the fury before he could heal proper, that was always the problem with chases. Iggy shrugged, and set about looting the corpse of all the pretty things it no longer truly required. He’d patch up soon enough, but unless he found some foreign aid, patching up was going to require a small coma. A warzone was not a good place to be taking naps, he’d need to finish this up quick and find a barn or something. Iggy remembered something. He looked up, an eyed the robed man that the former commander had barreled past, the man in the robe, the man with a familiar stick.

”Oi, you a mage? “ Iggy chirped at the man merrily enough, offering him a warm grin, ”I’ll give you some this one’s stuff if you heal me up a bit. Sound like a fair trade? This one was a nob, his stuff should be worth lots!”

At that moment, another figure rounded the corner, approaching the scene from Iggy’s rear, draped in metal and fine linen, shock written on his face, sword raised at the mage. The word ‘Apostate!’ had just enough time to leave the templar’s lips in a suitably self-righteous tone before Iggy struck, lashing out and sweeping the man’s legs out from beneath him. There were advantages in being short, just out of a foe’s eye level when crouched. A dexterous, surprisingly strong hand caught the templar’s throat and slammed the man into the mud. Iggy loomed over his stunned prey, smiling giddily down upon him, ”Thanks for volunteering, buddy!”

Iggy’s features contorted for a moment, and the boy roared. For the briefest flicker, the young man’s face seemed overlaid by the visage of a gaping fanged maw, ivory teeth flickering with the queer lights of an internal furnace. The templar’s scream didn’t sound entirely human, registering at a higher pitch, becoming the sound of dying animals in a trap, as he stared, stared into the mouth of a black dragon, stared into the mouth of madness, chaos incarnate, Zazikel reborn for the briefest of seconds... and was Devoured. The man’s body went limp, Iggy wiped his mouth with a grin and burped, tasting the inside of his mouth, ”Mmmm... sorta like oranges!”

The templar’s life energy surged through Iggy’s veins, patching the majority of his wounds and sating a hunger that normal food would never truly satisfy. Iggy gave the mage a grin, and shrugged, ”Well, that one took care a most a me hurts, but I’d take any other good stuff you’ve got, for a trade. Got two to choose from now. Whatta ya say?”

[facemelterrp]

She ran through some crowds, still running away from all the fire and screams that could be seen and heard throughout the city. Her staff in hand, she turned yet another corner of a long-winding street and gasped at the sudden view she stumbled upon. Men, woman, and children were all lying on the blood-entrenched ground. Some were hanging from the rooftops with a noose around their necks, perhaps killing themselves instead of facing the terrors of a battle enraging. Children and mothers were hand in hand, all dead and cold. The stench of the bodies were unfathomable, something that was always unavoidable no matter how much people wanted to avoid it. Hawke gripped her trusty staff, so hard, her palms spewed blood as a result of Hawke's deep anger. War is always the same, no matter how it is started and fought! Damn the soldiers! She closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer for these poor souls, hoping the Maker would treat them well. She sighed and continued moving through the street, her search bringing her ever closer to danger.

Her armor clinked with each step, her hood fluttered with every step...

[Gespard de Chalons]

The night had grown late and screams of terror could be heard from the city of Val Royeaux, once the beautiful capitol of Orlais, but now a city ruined and on fire. Smoke rose to the heavens and the clouds above was blood red and dark, from the distance one could see and hear the fear of the citizens as the city was laid under siege by Grand Duke Gespard`s men. Siege towers were moving toward the walls, the trebuchets unleashed their huge stones upon the city and many warriors had already gained access inside. Some had flanked the city from the eastern gate, while some had come in by the harbor. The huge battering ram that had been created in advance was already on its way toward the main gate, prepared to smash it open. To succeed the siege, Gespard knew that to gain access he would need to smash the beautiful gates of the capital open, so that his entire army could charge in and put an end to the misery of the people.

Already there were riots in the streets, all caused by the Lord Chancellor who had called in for conscription that morning and because of the Mage rebellion in the white spire that had happened the day before. The people wanted Gespard to come and save them, as they all had heard the stories about the Empress and the White Divine. Nothing was as it used to be, everything was changing. Some claimed the Empress had fled the city, some claimed she already had been taken captive or killed, although none the less Gespard seemed determined to the unleash his wrath, fighting those men loyal to the Empress to claim the crown which was rightfully his. Grand Duke Gespard had managed to secure an alliance with Lord Seeker Lambert, and together they had agreed to put down the unrest in their country and the rest world.

Gespard had managed to defeat Marquis de Chevin and the northern host upon the fields in the Heartlands some days ago, but still some of Marquis de Chevin`s forces had managed to flee to the capitol to fight a last stand. Sitting upon his white horse, the Grand Duke watched Val Royeaux burning from the distance while he restrained his horse, overlooking his men from a hill top, watching with observant eyes as they attacked. He was clad in his steel plate armor and had on a red cloak which showed his presence clearly. The other nobles whom supported him also stood by his sides, while some had gone to lead the troops. The wind was strong this night and Gespard could see that the smoke was blowing westward and he knew that the citizens would soon have problems breathing through the thick chaos that roamed. It could not be a better opportunity, the people wanted him to be their savior and he was going to be that, victory would soon be his.

[facemelterrp]

Hawke had her fair share of bitterness of battle in her time, so she wasn't too appalled by how many bodies sprawled the streets as she continued to proceed further into the city. Bodies of stone were hurled at the city, crushing the many buildings throughout Val Royeaux. Siege towers filled with many of the Grand Duke's men were apporoaching the walls of the city, the defenders divided and leaderless. They have no idea what their doing up there! We need a leader! Hawke certainly wasn't going to do it, as she felt it wasn't her place to lead the soldiers, Anders was her top priority. From far away of a distance, she could barely make out a facade of the Grand Duke on what appeared to her as a white horse. Get off your high horse mate! She laughed a little, concealing some amusement to herself.

It was then that she could hear something that always brought her into tough situations. Templars. She threw herself behind a set of barrels still intact in one of the less torn streets. She peered through a little opening between the barrels and saw at least about 20 Templars gathered. She listened to what appeared like the Captain of the Templars giving orders to his men aggressively. "Oi you there! Send the word to the other group that we need to assemble! We have caught sight of an apostate in the area. He has killed a small group of our men already. We cannot let it happen again! And there was also another Templar found not so far away from where we are going! There may be another Mage among the city, find the Mages and kill them on sight! Follow me!" Hawke saw them leave the street and turn the corner. Another Mage? Anders is here somewhere in this area! I need to find him before they do!

She got up and patted herself, her cape beneath her waist filled with dirt and dust, and started to follow the Templar's direction...

[Alex]

Alex stared at the gaping hole that a flying stone projectile had opened in the wall. He held a sword in his right hand, not believing his luck - he had already began to think that he couldn't escape the Templars forever. Soon his usual senses kicked in, and he smiled, taking the first few steps to sprint towards the opening. However, as Alex was running, a few men - he couldn't count their heads except that there were more than ten - appeared from the opening. They were clad in the traditional leather+mail combination, but some of them wore partial plate. "Templars!" , he thought, as they broke formation and began walking towards the center of the town. Alex stopped and turned left before the Templars could see him. He hid behind a cart, trying to stay calm. He had been given quite a shock. The Templars moved closer, speaking intensely:

"I hope that we won't run into that renegade mage... the Captain wants him dead now, too... what the hell are we supposed to do against him?! Try to dodge his spells?"

They all looked very strong and agile, making Alex think what it would be like to confront one of them in a duel. Alex heard their footsteps recede from him, making him more aware of the real threats near him. He still heard the same man speaking in the same manner as before.

"We have no chance against him with these swords. Maybe with a crossbow, but not with these. "

"Yep, I think that it would do... except that we don't have any crossbows, rookie.", the other one replied with a slightly mocking tone. He seemed to be amused at the rookie's behaviour.

Realizing his opportunity in an instant, Alex glanced at the guards through a small hole in the cart. He saw two templars standing by a wall, the other leaning to it and the other standing with his arms akimbo, facing the leaning man. He noticed that both men were turned away from him. Alex crawled to his left, trying to find his knife belt hidden under his cloak. He drew one of his three throwing knives that he had left, springing up with tiger's ferocity. He threw the knife at his target. Alex heard a satisfying thump as the knife nailed the templar's head to the wall. The other templar turned, believing that it was the apostate's work. He didn't have time to realize his mistake, as Alex lunged his sword forwards to pierce his throat. The man had foolishly forgotten to check the state of his mail coif, resulting in his death. Alex drew his sword from the man's throat, and loads of blood bursted out of it. The man growled slightly, and more blood poured from his mouth as he tried to shout. Alex turned away, leaving the dying man alone. His brains were already working on an another subject.

"Perhaps this apostate could tell me what this ring really is..", he thought as he stepped down the road leading to the back part of the city. "I will see to that duel later..."

[Elissa Vuronia]

War brings out the worst in people. Chaos and destruction are its brothers and death is found everywhere, and for the first time in her now adventurous life Elissa would now experience the horrors of what war really is. After many weeks journey across Thedas, Elissa finally arrived within the capital city of Orlais, with Amity in tow the two marvelled at the majestic site that stood before them. Upon entering the city and buy some fresh supplies, she made sure Amity was feed, and looked after by stable boys while Elissa decided to get some well needed rest.

However the cries of agony, screams of fear and the chaotic explosions awoke Elissa from her slumber. She quickly rose up from her bed, in a startled state. Her very heart began to beat faster as the noise suddenly made her jump, sweat poured across her entire face. Wearing a nightdress, she moved to the window and used her eyes to scan the surrounding area outside of the inn. Sure enough she heard the cries of terror and agony, Elissa gasped and immediately she picked herself off the bed and got changed into her travelling clothes.

Minute’s later Elissa quickly paid for the room she was supposed to sleep in and emerged into the street. Her eyes looked fearful and sadness filled her being as dead bodies were seen at different points in the street where she stood; her confidence took a huge beating at the site of death being everywhere. However she was curious at how these poor people had died, so she decided to investigate.

Kneeling down she examined one of the nearby dead bodies and noticed they all been killed by some kind of bladed weapon. Chaos had sweeped the city, and was now a witness to a massacre of some kind. Realising this Elissa decided it was time to leave the city before she too was attacked. Wasting no time at all, she quickly threw her long emerald cloak around her shoulders and headed towards the stables to find Amity.

Luckily the stables were in one piece and Amity stood there looking rather smug with himself. Wrapping her hooded cloak tightly around her, Elissa grabbed Amity's reigns and marched out of the stables. But just as she marched out of the stables, several armoured templars moved towards her and blocked the pathway northwards. One of them pointed its sword towards the cloaked Elissa, which forced the teenager to stand still as the templars surrounded her.

She recognised the symbol of the templars upon armoured chests. As they surrounded Elissa in a circle, one of them, which had stood out from the templars, approached her and spoke with a gruff voice of determination. "Do not move little girl! Take off your cloak now!" This templar had a different helmet then the others. Two small grey like wings appeared on the left and right side of the helmet and was actually a lieutenant within the Templar forces.

One of the templars who held his sword out towards Elissa spoke with a confused tone. "Sir, I don’t see a staff anywhere. I don’t see it on the horse". Elissa's eyes looked over at the man who spoke to his commanding officer, what did he mean by a staff? Then it hit her mind. These templars fought she was a mage and then they figured that she hid her mage robes underneath her long floor length hooded cloak. Then they might see if she was a mage or simply an innocent bystander.

Just to humour the Templars, Elissa followed the lieutenant’s orders and unclasped her cloak while forced it to fall down to the floor behind her. All they saw was a silver tunic, black trousers and brown soft boots, then one of them noticed a the ring on Elissa's left hand. The lieutenant examined the ring and immediately gasped in horror, he signalled the men to drop their weapons and immediately he bowed talked to Elissa. "I beg your pardon Milady! We thought you were a mage".

Elissa picked up her long cloak and simply replied with a heart-warming smile. "No harm has been done. Do I have your permission to leave good sir?" The templar nodded his head three or four times and stepped aside to allow Elissa to walk freely. Soon they dispersed and left to find more mages within the city, with a sigh of utter relief she once again flung her long cloak around her shoulders. There she wrapped it as tight as she could around the entire body and proceeded to the nearest gate in attempt to flee the city.

[Lord Seeker Lambert]

Lord Seeker Lambert stood in a white tower, looking out from a large window. The noises from below told him of the death, of the pain, of the chaos, and he cherished deep inside. What chance would any mage have down there? , he said to himself, but the smile died on his face very soon. He heard distant sounds, like thunder, from the streets below. Gazing down, he caught a glance of a lightning spell used at one of his own men.

"Damn those incompetent fools! I should be down there myself..."
He was all alone in the White Spire, having a great view of the battleground. He could even see the enemy commander, Grand Duke Gespard, sitting on his white horse in the distance. Lambert thought that the horse could've been fat, but he wasn't sure about it. It was such a long distance. However, his peaceful observation wasn't left unnoticed. Suddenly Lambert heard(and felt) a massive crash. The tower swayed hard, and slowly it began falling backwards. Lambert ran down the stairs as fast as he could. His heart bumped in his chest, forcing him to continue. He was filled with adrenaline, which allowed him to sprint quickly out of the falling tower. He stopped after a long while, breathing heavily.

Lord Seeker Lambert turned towards the ruins that just a few minutes ago were the White Spire. He cursed in his own tongue, then calling for his comrades. The falling of the White Spire had attracted many people to come and see. Lambert spotted a templar from the crowd, and called out for him. The Templar ran to Lambert and bowed to him, stating his name.

"My name is Gerald Avinald. I'm a sergeant of the 4th company."

Lambert squinted his eyes, like thinking hard.

"Then I believe that you know sir Alec, my personal advisor. Your task is to find him and bring him to me! Dismissed, sergeant."

The sergeant nodded, leaving to search for Sir Alec. Lambert didn't want to wait any longer. He began roaming the streets for signs of battle, but it was impossible to determine where the main battle was. There were sounds of fighting all around him. Lambert decided to go for the nearest sounds, and to his surprise he found a gaping hole in the wall. At first he was too shocked to even notice a large unit of his soldiers marching up the road towards him. Soon he met with their commander, who told him what happened. The enemy trebuchets had targeted the front walls, but some projectiles always flew over it and crashed on the buildings in the city. It so happened that this one projectile flew a lot further than the other ones and caught the wall in its soft spot: from the inside. That part of the wall collapsed almost immediately, and his unit was there to protect it.

As you can see, sir, we cannot leave this part of the wall unprotected. Enemies will pour in as soon as they notice it."

Lambert sneered. "If they come in from there, dividing their forces, we would have no chance even if half of our forces would be stationed there. We can only hope that they won't notice it until we have driven the enemy from the front gates."

With that said Lambert left the crossroads with the unit under his commands. He prayed for the Gods to turn the tide of this battle. His prayers were answered immediately(or so he thought). An another company of templars joined them, and Lambert already hoped victory. His heart was filled with confidence as he marched through the city streets, leading a large battalion of his templars to battle. Soon the sounds of battle became clearer to hear and easier to recognize, filling the men with tension. Seconds passed slowly, but step after step they were reaching the battlezone. And soon, they spotted the two fighting forces. The defenders were badly outnumbered. They were fighting a desperate battle against their foes, who seemed to blacken the sky with their numbers. Lambert ordered the charge...

~~~

The battle had taken a turn to the worse. At first the defenders had been successful, but the sheer mass of their enemies had driven them back. Lord Seeker had rushed in to help with all the men he could gather; there was a large company of templars and a few armed citizens. Although the coming of Lord Seeker had turned the tides, there were still more of the attackers. And there was something shady going on in the city...

Lord Seeker Lambert glanced around himself, looking for his advisors. He sneered - his advisors were gone again. He didn't bother to turn around. Calling for them was much more simple. Soon two advisors clad in mail surcoats appeared in front of him. They bowed considerately to Lambert, presenting their excuses for their absence. Lambert waved his hand, as he were frustrated, resulting in a long silence. Lambert raised his gaze, glaring at his two advisors. Finally, as a full minute had passed, Lambert turned his gaze away. His expression turned; now it was almost happy, in opposition to his very scolding glare. Suddenly they heard a voice speak; a lazy, stretched voice. Only after a few seconds they realized that Lambert was the speaker. They both thought the same thing: Lambert must have some special ability of creating dramatic moments...

"I have one task for you both. I want you to go back in the city, find all our separated squads and unify them. Then bring them here. Dismissed."

His two advisors left immediately to accomplish their tasks. Lambert gazed back at the battle, trying to find someone. A few seconds later he saw him; a very large, muscular man wielding a large, bloody morningstar. Lambert suspected that he wouldn't even hear someone shout at him when in battle-frenzy, but he tried nevertheless. To his surprise, the large man turned around after killing his last adversary, disengaging from the fight. Wulfric(yes, that is his name) ran the short distance to Lambert, looking interrogatively at him. He was about to ask a question, but Lambert spoke first.

"Wulfric, I have a very special task for you. I have heard that two templar soldiers were killed near the eastern gate, near a gap in the wall. I want you to investigate and bring the culprit to me. Alive."

Lambert smiled weakly to Wulfric. He trusted him.

[Iggy]

Some said the first cut was the sweetest. Those people were stupid, the second cut was just as sweet, as was the third, and the fourth, and the fifth....

Iggy reveled in a new coat of war paint, bright, scarlet and warm, slick yet sticky to the touch, with a salty, bitter, metallic tang and scent. His blade wedged itself in man’s waist, a Templar. Iggy had learned very quickly that only the fancy, high up templars got the nice full body plate. The greener recruits and common footmen got stuck with a sort of light mail, which probably had all sorts of nifty anti-magic enchantments, but tore like cloth under the maddned onslaught of a reaver’s blows. Iggy left his greatsword in the man’s body and twisted out of the way of a heavy, frantic slash from another footmen, leaping backwards with a shocking sort of nimblness. He caught the off-balanced man’s head in his grip as he leapt, and brought it down over the greatsword’s naked edge. The boy landed, piroueted (a very manly pirouet, mind you), took the hilt of his sword in hand in hand and kicked it loose from the falling corpse. The bodies fell to the ground with sodden plops. Iggy grinned, and heard sniveling. He looked back at the man whimpering on the ground. The Templar quailed before sight of the grinning, red creature, coated in gore, possessed of a relentless fury that had seen a half dozen templars hacked to pieces in as many heartbeats. The boy’s blade had caught him along the back of his forelegs, severing his hamstrings and leaving him a mewling heap on the ground.

Iggy loomed over the fallen Templar and chuckled, smile bright and cheery as ever, ”See, you and your buddy learned an important lesson today. When somebody tries to ask ya nice, where your master is, you just tell ‘im. There’s not need ta be rude, and there’s certainly no need ta ‘cuff the runt upside the head.’ Nooooo, if ya do that, I collect yer fuckin’ limbs!”

The lad tossed a severed, plate-mailed arm, into the fallen Templar’s lap. The man pissed himself. Iggy wrinkled his nose, but chuckled all the more, “So, let’s try this one more time!”

The lieutenant was most forthcoming, babbling out quite detailed instructions. The lieutenant had been the Lord Seeker’s assistant for all of a day, inheriting the position through sudden, battlefield promotion. He had no great love for the frightening old badger, certainly not enough to keep struggling against the demon who walked about in a young lad’s skin. Iggy thanked him, and took his head with one deft swing.

Finding the Lord Seeker was no great task. He was a bit worse for wear, the signs of battle still clinging to him, but of all the Templar armor Iggy had cut through in the past few hours, this old man’s was by far the fanciest. Only a few soldiers milled about the area, a few of the city defenders, and a few Templars, not many guards for someone this important. Hmmm... good, Iggy hoped it meant the old man could handle himself well in combat. The typical Templar's sword play suffered from a life spent battling men with sticks and robes, and not folk who knew how to handle a blade proper. Cutting fools to bits was fun and all, but Iggy hungered for more of a challenge. The boy grinned and gave a sharp whistle to get the man’s attention, tossing the head and letting it roll to a halt in the mud at the man’s feet. He offered the Lord Seeker, one of the most prominent heads of Templar Order, a head, and a genial wave, ”Good day, m’lord. Lovely weather, eh? Great day for a war. I’m ta give ya a message, so listen up good and close like, alright?”

Iggy lunged forward, the Bassrath-Kata strapped to his back, slithering into the grasp of two hands with shocking ease, comfortable in a familiar cradle. The bubbly berserker tore across the mud, a blur of scarlet, flesh, and steel, a roar on his lips as he closed on his target, the words just barely discernible, ”Die screaming!”

((OOC: No worries, Iggy will soon be called away, but I thought it would be fun to exchange a few blows before then. Do stay alive....))

[Lord Seeker Lambert]

Lambert turned around towards the unfamiliar voice, silently preparing himself for anything. But no mental preparation could've prepared him for the next chain of events. Lambert thanked the Gods for granting him such a personality that gives so few room for fear. But he did fear, for what he faced was so utterly horrendous that no man could face it without feeling fear. He saw a short, bloody man holding a head in his hands. He held the head from it's hair, and to his horror, he recognized the man. He was Sir Alec, one of his personal advisors.

Lambert lost his temper. He raised his gaze and drew out his sword, ready to kill the short, odd man in a flurry of rageful blows. But he was shocked again, as the odd man transformed into a horrendous beast, to, to a dragon in front of his eyes. Lambert couldn't believe his eyes, and he was stunned for the first seconds. The beast noticed this and leapt forwards, reaching out for Lambert's neck with its claws. It screamed something, but Lord Seeker Lambert did not listen. Instead he was filled with rage, with deep disgust against anything inhuman, and only thing he wanted to do was to kill this disgusting, pitiful creature. He released a wild roar and leapt against the beast, lunging his sword through the air, aiming to decapitate the beast...

[Iggy]

Iggy reveled in it, the glorious sting and keening shriek of metal biting into metal, blades meeting one another in a deadly dance played out in a frightening staccato. The old man had teeth! Glorious! Iggy pushed his onslaught forward, body a burning machine, greased and fluid, utterly brutal and wanton in the execution of each blow, striking out with a force that broke bones and threatened to tear armor. Lord Seeker and Sanguinem Caecus danced with one another for a bit, each offering the other a symphony of sword blows, a riposte here, a parry, an opportunistic stroke, each motion, each movement, each act of aggression hungering for blood.

Another sharp exchange and the two broke away. Iggy slid back in the mud a couple of yards, mouth agape in a hideous grin, tongue lolling as his body cooled itself, seemingly steaming in the frigid air. The normal foot soldiers had fled, their minds not able to stand up against the mask of abject, fear-inspiring madness sewn onto every inch of Iggy's flesh, all of their thoughts of loyalty and solidarity quickly abandoned. The Templars fared somewhat better, somewhat.

The handful of them present, rushed to fill the space between their master and the... the thing that sought his blood. They formed a wedge around him, five armored bodies, swords and shields drawn. The brother at their lead, the man called Andal, the one who faced the beast directly, summoned the courage to very nearly drain the stammer from his voice and sound the charge. He knew the ones who stood behind him: Carter, Alishe the Wilder, massive Ricard of Val Chevin, and the boy, Davil. Andal knew the blades at his back, and together they would end this threat to their Lord Seeker, just as they had done throughout the siege,"Defend the Lord Seeker! In the name of the Maker and the Blessed Prophet Andraste, chaaaaaaar-"

Andal almost made it, almost did something glorious, something that would've earned him a rapid promotion into the highest echelons of the Templar Order. He and his brothers... they charged forward, charged despite the bowel-loosening terror born of the abomination they faced, charged with the Maker's blessing on their lips, and he had lead them. He must've earned something, some reward, some blessing in this life or the next, surely!? At the moment, all he seemed to earn was a blade through the neck, the beast lashing out with heathen steel and slicing through his gorget, cutting off his words. He saw it as he fell, hurtling forwards, some great crimson demon come to claim its prize, eyes empty and white as porcelain, that horrific grin carved into its features, the guttural words that tore from its throat in flurry of harsh, maddened laughter, "Unum!"

Iggy felt new life blood on his skin, warm and fresh and gushing out of the valley he'd carved in the first Templar's neck. He cried out, cried out for joy, the ecstatic rush surging through his veins and melting away the aches and strains in young muscles, the man's death feeding the frenzy. Iggy's body worked in opposite ways, as opposed to the natural order as a Magister's footsteps through the Fade. The body should have grown more weary with each blow delivered, each life taken, yet each motion only seemed to prod Iggy forward, quickening his movements, easing the protests of his muscles. Death and violence surged about the boy like a cool wave in the driest of deserts, and Iggy prayed that it never ended.

"Duo!" Iggy knocked aside Carter's kite shield and brought the wicked blade down, cleaving into the man's shoulder and chest, giving birth to another bright red geyser, another font of energy and chaotic joy. The blade sank deep into the Templar's body, and Iggy left it there for a moment, flinging himself forward, driven as much by instinct as he was by skill. The beast found new prey, a woman this time. Alishe presented her shield as though it might slow the fate to come, her arm strong and steady, even though Iggy could smell the sharp, bitter stench of fear. Strong fingers gripped the underside of the metal bulwark and thrust it upwards into the woman's face, letting it crunch into the exposed flesh and twist the metal of her helmet. She staggered, lost balance, and Iggy tore the long-sword from her grasp. In a twinkling he was behind her, facing the next foe as he thrust the sword backwards, through the base of the woman's spine and through her heart, until it blossomed from between an armored bosom,"Tres!"

Iggy grinned and flipped the woman's armored body atop his own, and into the path of Ricard's battle axe. The beast twisted from beneath its human shield and slithered backwards. He tore his great-sword free from the cloying body of one of the fallen and dashed forward. He made an arc around the flailing brute of a Templar struggling to pull his weapon free from his sister's body and promptly carved a crescent moon into the man's back,"Quattuor!"

~~~~

Davil turned to flee. This was too much, he couldn't do this, couldn't be here anymore. Andal had named him right, he was little more than a boy, a truly green recruit, caught up in all of this madness and mayhem when he'd only left his family's farm a few months ago. This was not the glory he'd prayed for, this was not the good he'd hoped to accomplish! He'd tried, really tried, stayed close to his makeshift squad through out the whole of the siege, the four veterans promising to make a fine Templar of him yet. He shouldn't of had to do this, shouldn't have to take up a sword he could barely hold properly, shouldn't have to arm himself with a shield who's weight he couldn't even bear, shouldn't have to see the men and women he'd considered great warriors reduced to... to pieces!

Davil turned to flee, and caught his Lord Seeker's eyes. How could he give up his life for this man? This hard, cruel-eyed, stone-faced creature who'd seemed more myth than human. Davil had seen him only once before, at the commencement ceremony for the new recruits blessed (ha! blessed!) to train at the White Spire. Even then, Davil saw this... this far distant figure. If the Divine was the Right Hand of the Maker and Andraste, then surely this man, Lord Seeker Lambert, was their Sword! Davil reached toward him, bright young eyes begging, begging for aid, begging for divine intervention.

"Quinque!"

The boy didn't feel it, and that much was a blessing. One moment he was running, running towards the Lord Seeker, and the next moment- he could no longer feel the small, jarring shocks of his feet striking the earth. For that matter, he could no longer feel his feet. The great-sword took him at the ribs, severing leather armor with ludicrous ease, cleaving right through the torso and shield arm. Davil felt sudden lightness, the edges of his vision hazing with a bright, white light, as his top half tumbled across the ground, coming to rest in the thick mud at the Lord Seeker's feet. He looked up at the man and blinked once.

~~~~

Iggy tore forward in a small storm of blood and bits of people, a hurricane on two legs, a true son of the Sanguinem Caeci, high on the mad frenzy of the berserker and the reaver. He brought the great Qunari blade to bear and twisted his body as he swung towards the Lambert's midsection, offering the Lord Seeker a wild, cackling oblivion.


((OOC: Bwahaha, i love turning game mechanics into narrative. If one actually took a moment to break that series of events down, it might translate into the following (note, this doesn't actually translate directly within the frame of a written story, and it does blend Origins and DA2 together):

Vanguard: Might, Damage +10%
Berserker: Beserk, Damage +10% remaining stamina
Adrenaline x5, 8% stacking, Damage +40%
Death Blow, %Stamina Regen per Kill
Reaver: Frightening Appearance
Fervor, Attack Speed +30% after a Kill

Total Damage increase: +60% - 75%, Speed +30%

Do this with a warrior Hawke the next time you play DA2 and let the crazy take hold. Finally, at long last, your warrior can out damage the freaking rogues.))

[Alex]

Delete, please ;D

wrong account. lol