Shadows of Corruption

[Macman253]

Wind chuckled lightly, letting the Templars harsh words flow off his back. "My friend, never change." He said with a smile as he kept pace with his companions, Redcliffe was the kind of town he would have never come to unless he had a contract before he departed the House Of Crows, but now he seemed to travel to and from them nearly exclusively since landing on the shores of Ferelden. Wind had no dislike of those villages, he found them quite interesting but they didn't match the chaotic hustle and bustle of the larger cities like Denerim or Kirkwall.

 

The Dalish looked up to see the sunset, "Nothing in this living world can match the beauty of a sunset.." He said, then noticed the rump of a very well endowed Redcliffe lass, "..Well.. There are a few exceptions." He added with a smirk and a chuckle as he rode beside his companions.

[FreemasonGamer]

Rolling his eyes after overhearing Wind’s comment while the elf’s gaze lingered on the sight of a comely young lady passing by, Abraham sighed before dismounting Revas. With his steed’s reins firmly in hand, the old fighter didn’t realize how tired and achy he was until his metal-clad boots hit the ground.

 

Abraham winced ever so slightly, taking a moment to straighten his posture. Despite how he felt, the former Templar didn’t care for slouching or hunching over like some old man who shouldn’t have had the weight of a full suit of armor on his back.

 

“I’ll most likely retire for the night after a good meal,” He mumbled while he led his horse to the nearby stables that were conveniently adjacent to the bustling tavern. There was quite a number of horses occupying the stalls, but the man beckoned to his two companions once he found three vacant stalls for their own.

 

“You behave yourself, my friend,” Abraham remarked to Revas when the middle-aged stallion found himself shut inside his own stall. The majestic beast flared his nostrils and shook his head irritably, his aggravated expression speaking volumes. “Calm down, you old goat,” His rider countered, gingerly stroking the horse’s long face in a soothing manner, “We’re not going to be here nearly as long as we stayed at Orzammar.”

 

A few minutes of gentle strokes temporarily eased both Revas’s stress and Abraham’s fatigue for a short time, but the aching weariness soon returned to the veteran with a vengeance once he departed from the stables in the direction of the tavern. “We can find our employer’s lackeys in the morning,” Abraham mentioned tiredly to his two fellows while on his way to the nearest source of a meal.

 

Somewhat to Abraham’s regret, the tavern was about as far from peaceful as such an establishment could be. Bellowing laughter, drunken singing, and merry shouting all filled the tavern with noise that resonated painfully in the ex-Templar’s head. Obviously disgruntled by the boisterous atmosphere, Abraham made his way to the bar and ordered himself a meal and the strongest drink they had, tossing a handful of gold onto the counter as payment.

 

The bartender and the other patrons within the vicinity picked up on Abraham’s darkened attitude, but most were wise enough to give the monolith of silverite a healthy amount of space. His demeanor improved slightly once a plate loaded with pork, mashed potatoes, and gravy was slid his way alongside a tall tankard of fragrant ale. Without a second thought, he dug into his meal and drained the tankard of its contents, paying little heed to the odd looks tossed his way.

 

“Another.” Abraham grunted at the bartender, all but slamming his empty vessel onto the counter once he had finished his dinner. He would have refrained from such brutish behavior under most circumstances, but the old warrior felt that it only made him fit in with the rest of the loud, bothersome tavern-dwellers all around him.

 

The ex-Templar paused when the bartender disappeared with the empty tankard, and he took a moment to retrieve his smoking pipe. If smoking couldn’t ease his tension, then nothing would. The familiar fragrance of cinnamon did seem to inspire a peaceful look in Abraham’s harsh gaze, at least.

 

“Got a problem, old man?” An antagonizing drunkard barked from Abraham’s right, and the man’s companions quickly burst into irritating laughter at their friend’s bold accusation.

 

Abraham’s head was already pounding, either because of the strong ale he might have drank a little too quickly or the continuous uproar of noise throughout the tavern. Glaring in the drunken man’s direction, the ex-Templar sized him up, looking him over from head to toe. He was probably half Abraham’s age if not a little younger, and neither he nor his four drinking companions were very intimidating in stature.

 

“Not yet, boy.” The old warrior soon growled, exhaling a vast plume of smoke with an irritated sigh. He didn’t want to fight, not with his headache. However, the pests staring him down didn’t seem like the sort to stand down, and all Abraham could hope for was that the bartender would hurry up with his ale.

Edited June 21, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

Celeste wordlessly stabled Chevalier in the stall next to Abraham's aging Revas. She was slightly worried that the elder horse's irritable nature would be problematic for Chev, but, fortunately, the calmer stallion seemed unfazed by Revas's fidgeting. The mage quickly unloaded the horse's tack and, after thinking a moment, removed Gabriel's robes and rolled them up, putting them back in the saddle bag. They were obviously too big for her, and she didn't want to end up accused of impersonating a Chantry official...

 

Unfortunately, she forgot about the buckle on the belt atop her sash that was formed in the shape of the Circle's emblem. She hadn't had a staff to worry about hiding, but the buckle alone was enough to more than make up for it. She had followed Abraham into the rowdy tavern, dodging waitresses and smelly patrons all the while, when someone inevitably noticed she was wearing robes...and then saw the buckle.

 

"Hey! We got an apostate in here!" someone shouted. The deafening roar in the tavern almost immediately dissolved into unnerving silence.

 

Steeling herself, Celeste paused in her entry, smiled, and replied calmly, "I assure you, I am not an apostate. I am a Circle mage granted leave by-"

 

"Bull! Circle mages aren't allowed to leave their towers!"

 

"Yeah, what he said!"

 

"I bet you stole those robes, apostate!"

 

Within seconds, the naturally boisterous atmosphere of the tavern had quickly turned sour, even downright hostile, with some patrons even beginning to stand up and advance towards her. Celeste's pale eyes widened, and she began to back up, her hands up defensively.

 

"Quick! Someone hold her down so she can't cast anything!"

 

"Get the Templars!"

 

Oh, Maker, help me! she thought, determined not to cast a single spell; if someone fetched Redcliffe's Templars, the last thing she needed was to feel one's wrathful smite. Desperate, her gaze found Abraham's silvery bulk at the bar and silently pleaded across the room for aid...

[Macman253]

Wind rode through the village to the stables in odd silence, he stabled Lucky alongside his companions wordlessly, patting the mare on the neck as they departed and catching up to the others. The tavern was a jovial place, his bulwarked Templar companion was in a dour mood as he often was for the last while and Wind decided to pay it no mind. When it came time to order he ordered a large plate of Nug smothered in gravy with a freshly baked muffin and a flagon of ale. Many would think his choice of meal was odd but Wind often shrugged and continued eating when someone remarked on it.

 

When his companions simultaneously stirred the local patrons AND the chantry Wind simply sighed, slammed his hand on the bar and stood to face them, he drew his Crow-Blades with a spinning flourish around his fingers and gripping them in his hands.

 

"Anyone lays a hand on her they will lose it faster then a Orlesian wench drops her knickers!" He threatened angrily, he figured the rough remark would aid in his attempt to keep the peasants at bay long enough for Abraham to rush his way to Celeste.

[FreemasonGamer]

Abraham hadn't even received his second tankard before accusations of an apostate present in the tavern reached his ears, and the burly man swung around to cast his attention over towards the crowd encircling Celeste. Emerald fire scorched those who turned to see his harsh glare, speechless as the imposing fellow was momentarily dumbfounded by what he saw. No one bothered listening to the Enchantress's desperate attempts at explaining herself, instead pinning ignorant, baseless accusations on the mage. Had it not been for the fugue temporarily rendering the veteran's mind inert, he would have immediately jumped to his feet alongside Wind as well. However, the aged man only stood there, vexed by the tavern patrons' merciless disposition towards his ward. Although, the Crow's bold remark swiftly instigated all but an absolute uproar throughout the establishment that did little to ease the awful throbbing in Abraham's head.

 

The venerable warrior still didn't come to his senses until he peered across the room and met Celeste's pleading gaze, those starry sapphires of hers fearfully begging for assistance. Such a pitiful and concerning sight spurred the staggered former Templar into action, and he rolled his shoulders before bringing his fist down onto the bar much like Wind had done, the silverite-plated impact producing a very satisfying smash and leaving a small but visible fissure in the stained wood.

 

"Silence!" Abraham bellowed, almost to the point of roaring both out of aggravation and a desire to simply be heard over the plethora of shouts and barks. Indeed, silence quickly settled over the tavern only to be interrupted by the man's thunderous stomping, his face burning red from having to raise his voice so loudly. "Fools," He snapped, marching his way through the crowd towards Celeste with a mad look in his eyes, "I am former Knight-Captain Abraham Rohart of Kinloch Hold and am escorting this Circle mage back to Kinloch from a permitted expedition to Orzammar."

 

By the time Abraham finished his furious, articulated statement, he was standing before the Enchantress protectively and staring down the rest of the tavern's occupants. His clouded gaze and enraged expression all but dared anyone to question him, but the uneasy silence only lasted for a breath or two before a nearby man, a mercenary from the looks of his mismatched equipment, snorted defiantly, "'Former' my arse! And I'm a long-lost Theirin bastard!"

 

Most of the tavern found the daring statement to be amusing while laughter spilled over the room, and a red-faced Abraham sighed menacingly with a deadly look in his emerald eyes. The briarwood pipe hanging out of the corner of the former Templar's mouth seemed to sag before he suddenly lashed out with a firm backhand, catching the jokester square in the jaw. Crying out in pain after a painful, sickening crunch, the sellsword spun around before collapsing to the floor in a wailing heap. "Maker's breath, you broke his jaw!" Cried out a terrified young lady who kneeled over the beaten man, although the validity of her quite possibly exaggerated statement was uncertain.

 

Her observation only made Abraham grunt proudly before another man yelled incoherently as he charged the silver monolith. Standing his ground, the veteran threw a heavy right hook towards the charger but misjudged the distance, and the man easily evaded the swing before landing a precise jab into Abraham's jaw. The pain spurred from the blow whipped Abraham's head back, sending his precious smoking pipe sailing through the air in pieces; it was difficult to tell which infuriated him more, the hit or that it broke his most prized possession.

 

Staggering slightly, the elderly fellow shook his head to recover and was surprised to receive another blow to his cheek; his opponent was quick. Lurching forward, Abraham threw all his weight into a wide-sweeping haymaker that the brawler apparently saw coming and quickly ducked to avoid. The former Templar stumbled forward from the failed attack and soon felt a punch to his right side bounce off his silverite armor. The dull impact amused Abraham as he reeled around and managed to plow his elbow into his adversary's chest, tossing him back a few feet. A frown grew across the veteran's face when he approached the man, rolling his shoulders and ready to beat the holy fire out of him for breaking his pipe.

 

Suddenly, a disturbingly loud crack pierced Abraham's ears followed a mere second later by blurry, blackening vision. After a light but effective chair had been broken over the back of his head, the silver monolith buckled and collapsed to the floor, his mind reeling and threatening to slip away into unconsciousness. Groaning weakly, he found the cool hardwood floor pressed against his cheek soothing, and he only managed to get his hands beneath him before a heavy boot kicked into his ribs with more force than his armor could negate. A whooshing sound quickly followed when the air was knocked from Abraham's lungs, and he rolled onto his back before gazing up at the ceiling. It looked very far away.

Edited June 22, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

Everything happened so quickly, Celeste could barely keep up. The next thing she knew, Abraham had been thrown to the ground with the force of the blows that were now raining on the warrior who had dared to defend her; two, three, now four people were taking advantage of Abraham's prone position...

 

And the spectre of Gabriel came back to haunt the Enchantress as flashbacks of the Deep Roads threatened to consume her mind.

 

Not again...never again!

 

Immediately abandoning her plan to not use magic, Celeste let out a cry and emitted a wave of power that slammed into three men advancing towards her - more mercenaries, it seemed - and sent them flying backwards over tables and crashing into chairs, reducing the furniture to splinters on impact. A rune flashed upon the floor around Abraham, paralyzing the former Templar's assailants before she used the same trick she had on the others, turning the very air into a wave that hit like a fist and propelled them into the far wall.

 

At this, many of the unarmed patrons - farmers and artisans, likely - began to flee the increasingly-chaotic establishment, shouting curses and screaming for Redcliffe's Templars. It was only a matter of time before they arrived, and Celeste felt her heart grow cold with dread. Yet part of her didn't care; she would endure whatever punishment they devised if it meant her companions lived.

 

And besides, it was her fault they were threatened to begin with, she thought as she knelt by Abraham's side, a soft blue glow radiating from her hands as she attempted to heal the injuries dealt him.

 

In the meantime, some of the other mercenaries now saw the Crow as fair game, eager to claim his possessions for their own, and three jeering humans surrounded Wind with weapons in hand...

[Macman253]

Wind watched as Celeste cleared the house, he laughed at them as they fled. "You pack of cowards!" He yelled at their backs, when he turned he noticed his three assailants. The elf sighed and shrugged.

 

"Alright gents, just remember." He said with a pause as he gestured to the group with one of his blades. "You chose this." The elf stepped forward slightly, causing one of the mercenaries to hold his blade in a defensive posture and take a step back. Wind smiled lightly, the one to his left trembled slightly, The Dalish reached to the counter and picked up a bottle of Redcliffe Stout, he popped the top and took a swig of the thick beer. Wind glanced at the two beside the center mercenary, One had a bald head and the other was missing his right eye. Wind smirked happily as he wiped his lips clean.

 

"Not a bad bit of bitter." He said before flipping the bottle around in his hand and whipping it at the center Mercenary, a brutish human with a clefted lip. The bottle tumbled end over end and struck the Mercenary in the face, smashing him directly in the nose and breaking apart with a shower of glass, alcohol and blood. Cleft Lip fell over while clutching his now bleeding face where the bottle had hit him.

 

"You broke my fecking nose you bloody Knife Ear! Rush 'im lads!" He commanded to his fellows, it was then that both of the remaining mercenaries attacked. They both had a good foot reach on the lithe Dalish and were both well over foot taller and several pounds heavier. Wind ducked the wild swing of a cudgel from Left Eye, the Elf replied by grabbing a corkscrew from the counter and dug it into Left Eye's remaining eye. The mercenary hollered like a pregnant woman giving birth as he clutched at his eye, trying to remove the instrument. Bald Head roared and drew his axe.

 

"That was my brother!" He bellowed as he swung at Wind, the elf ducked under the first strike, pushing himself away from the counter and into the open part of the tavern thanks to Celeste's spellwork he did not have to worry about an abundance of furniture. Wind ducked low, shifting his weight as he dodged and dipped the wild swings. Wind chuckled, he ducked around a haymaker strike to come around behind the tall mercenary, he patted the human on the head.

 

"Nice haircut, lose it in a game of Wicked Grace?" Asked the Elf as he ducked back out of reach of the Human. The Mercenary growled and lunged at Wind, Wind expected the axe but he did not expect the human to grab the lithe assassin and hurl him over the bar into the wall of bottles with a thunderous crash as he struck the rack, then hit the floor with a loud thud and was consequentially rained on with spirits and glass as one of the shelves gave way to dump it's contents all over Wind who now laid face first on the floor behind the counter and not moving, still stunned from the hard impact with the wall.

[FreemasonGamer]

The world spun dazzlingly around Abraham, his assailants ruthlessly descending upon him in numbers close to half a dozen, like wolves. Their onslaught did not last long, though. A mage's raw power blasted them away like leaves caught in a storm, leaving Abraham motionless on the floor in a daze, the familiar sensation of magic in the air crawling across his skin. Then Celeste came into view, and the muted warmth of her healing soon washed over the beaten elder, chasing away his pain and mending his injuries.

 

With a heavy sigh, Abraham closed his eyes in relief before sitting upright, a low groan escaping him as he did so. The crowd's fleeing cries and screams still echoed in his thoughts, but his sluggish attention only turned towards the Enchantress kneeling beside him. Her terrified expression perplexed him, his bushy brows knitting together at the sight.

 

Focus. He thought, inhaling a deep breath before rising to one knee before grumbling to the mage, "Thank you..."

 

Suddenly, the pained howls and chaotic crashes of another brawl caught the veteran's attention, and he swung his head towards Wind's direction to see him quite effectively fending off three mercenaries, two of which already lying on the floor and bleeding. One of them clutched his oddly-bent nose while the other wailed with a corkscrew protruding from his eye socket. The sight frankly made Abraham frown, and he staggered to his feet just as the third brigand hurled the Antivan Crow into the liquor shelves behind the counter.

 

Steeling himself as he stood between the armed axeman and Celeste, who had proven to be his saving grace, Abraham whistled sharply and caught his opponent’s attention. There was still a cloudy haze in the former Templar’s mind, but he only shook his head and growled. He couldn’t lose. He had to win this fight, his friends’ safety hung in the balance if he didn’t.

 

“Put. That. Down.” Abraham commanded angrily, curling his fingers around the hilt of his Tempest threateningly. Huffing brazenly at the remark, the mercenary only flexed the grip he had on his own weapon and spat.

 

“After I yank it from your skull.” He snarled bitterly, raising his ax and closing the distance between them.

 

“So be it.”

 

A shower of crackling sparks and chilling frost fell from the veteran’s silverite greatsword as it emerged from its scabbard with a cutting hiss, the runes etched into the mirror-like polished metal gleaming with a bluish purple aura. Abraham held up his massive blade to deflect the incoming swing of the mercenary’s ax, the impact shuttering through them both.

 

Cursing, his opponent attempted to snag the former Templar’s sword with his ax and tried to pull it from his grasp, but Abraham clung tightly onto his weapon and heaved. The mercenary was unwilling to let his ax slip from his hold, so he only held on dearly and staggered aside, thrown off-kilter from the veteran’s successful attempt at freeing his blade.

 

Abraham advanced while he had the opportunity and quickly leveraged Tempest downward before grabbing the sword by the blade in proper half-sword fashion. Using the cross guard of his greatsword, the former Templar hooked onto the mercenary’s shoulder and forcefully pulled him forward, causing him to stumble to his hands and knees.

 

Kicking the ax away when it clattered onto the floor, Abraham then plowed his boot into the man’s shoulder with a weighty kick, and the mercenary slid across the floor on his back. Marching over to his fallen opponent, the venerable warrior pinned him to the floor with a foot on his chest, shifting his hold on Tempest and lowering its enchanted edge over the man’s throat.

 

“Yield.”

Edited June 22, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

Right when Abraham had cornered his foe, Celeste felt something she had never experienced before wash over her in a debilitating wave - a chilling agony, gripping and life-draining, sapping the strength from her limbs, coursed through her veins and burned even as it felt like ice. She felt powerful gauntleted hands grasp her firmly by the wrists and pull them behind her back as a blue-limned sword point flashed in front of her throat.

 

"Don't struggle, apostate," she heard a metallic voice echo behind her.

 

Her vision blurred, and she struggled to regain focus as her knees weakened. So this was what it was like to feel a Templar's wrath. This was why mages feared them - the power to render a caster completely and utterly useless in one single move.

 

City guardsmen stormed the tavern, surrounding Wind and Abraham even as three Templars detained Celeste. A fourth entered behind them, helmetless, glancing around at the mess before turning his attention to the Enchantress...

 

And even in her weakened state Celeste recognized his face. Heavily scarred, one eye missing and patch-covered, slightly receding hairline, middle-aged...

 

"Wait," the Templar moved forward and squinted his one good eye at her, looking her up and down, "I know you...you were with Lieutenant Delaney at Denerim, weren't you?"

 

Celeste's gaze went in and out of focus as she mumbled, as if through mud, "Enchantress Celeste...LeVenoisel...of Kinloch Hold..."

 

Gesturing to his subordinates, the Templar lieutenant spoke firmly, "Unhand her at once...she's a veteran of the Blight and stood with us at Denerim against the Archdemon's horde."

 

As if scalded, the Templar who held her immediately backed off with hands raised, as did his fellows. Celeste instantly fell to the ground on her hands and knees, feeling warmth flood back through her once the invisible chains of lyrium power were released. The lieutenant then looked over his shoulder at the guardsmen, "Get those mercenaries out of here but leave those two to us," he gestured to Wind and Abraham, glancing back at Celeste for confirmation as he added, "I'm supposing they're with you, since you three are the only ones standing?"

 

When she nodded, the guards picked up the remaining wounded sell-swords and none-too-gently removed them from the premises. As they departed, the lieutenant bent and offered her his hand to the weakened mage. Celeste flinched reflexively, and he quietly reassured her, "It's all right. I do apologize for the confusion and for my men's treatment of you...we were overhasty."

 

Sighing, she took his proffered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet; when she wobbled a bit, he steadied her and asked, "What brings you here to Redcliffe with these two? Were you granted leave from the Hold again, or has another disaster befallen the place?"

 

Slightly breathless, she replied, "The former. We were on an expedition to the Deep Roads."

 

At that point, she looked to the others to help fill in information for the lieutenant; the smiting she'd received had almost rendered her unable to think properly.

[Macman253]

Wind groaned as he came to. He slowly rose to his feet, swaying back and forth slightly. He felt his head pound like a Darkspawn War Drum. He shook his head clear just in time for the Templars to ensnare Celeste and surround Abraham and himself. The Elf raised his hands in the air, "Why is it wherever I go I end up on the bad side of the Chantry?" He asked Abraham with a sly smirk and a chuckle.

 

When the Lieutenant took control of the situation Wind breathed a sigh of relief as the Templar lowered the sword aimed at his chest. "We are the only survivors of that expedition. We came to Redcliffe to speak with our mutual employers and inform them of the fate of our recently deceased compatriots." He glanced at the dazed Celeste, "Some of us lost far more then wages.." He added as he spoke to the Lieutenant. Wind lowered his arms as he suddenly realized he had not lowered them when the Templar stowed his blade, the Elf began to rummage around behind the bar and came up with a bottle of Orelsian Red Wine. He popped the cork with his teeth and found a nearby glass that had survived the recent brawl and poured himself a tall glass.