Shadows of Corruption

[FreemasonGamer]

Abraham scowled fiercely when the Templars and guards baring the crest of Redcliffe on their shields had quickly stormed into the tavern, apprehending Celeste and surrounding both him and Wind. At least when one of the Templars seemed to recognize the Enchantress, the other two alongside the guardsmen quickly dragged what remained of the fallen mercenaries out the door. A heavy sigh escaped the old man's lungs, and he lowered his weapon but refused to sheathe it until he was sure they were safe.

 

"I had forgotten how bigoted Redcliffe's commonfolk were to mages," The veteran grumbled once his echanted blade slid back into its scabbard, watching carefully as the Templar helped Celeste to her feet.

 

Wind's comment soon reached Abraham's ears, and the former Templar turned his attention over to the Dalish elf who had taken to pouring himself a drink for all the recent trouble. Honestly, a drink tempted Abraham, but now was not the time. "It isn't difficult." He replied simply to his fellow Antivan Crow, giving him a hard look before glancing at the other Templars.

 

While Abraham both respected the Chantry's more agreeable ideals and disproved some of its more questionable aspects, he knew better than to slander the Chantry's name in the presence of others who might have held it in higher regard. In other words, Abraham wasn't a very religious man who knew well enough to give the topic a wide birth with more pious individuals present.

 

"Aye, we've just returned from Orzammar after our endeavors in the Deep Roads went awry. The circumstances of our return to the surface were rather grim, but we still agreed that informing our employer of the expedition's ill fate would be necessary."

Edited June 26, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

The Templar lieutenant looked flabbergasted as the three told him about their reasons for being in Redcliffe, "The Deep Roads? Your employer must be insane. The Blight just ended, there's no way all the darkspawn have retreated deep enough for it to be safe, yet." Glancing to Celeste, he added, "I'm surprised to see you un-escorted from the Hold, considering the danger. I would've thought Delaney would have been with you."

 

Giving the lieutenant a forlorn look, she replied quietly, "He was. He died with the rest of our team, covering my escape."

 

This seemed to shock him to silence for a moment. Then, he answered, "Maker's breath. I'm...very sorry to hear that. You have my sympathies, Enchantress." Shaking his head, he looked between Wind and Abraham, "Tell your employer that his or her greed caused the death of a fine servant of the Maker. They might not be so quick to put the Chantry's finest in harm's way once they are charged with his death via reckless endangerment. There would have been no reason for him to have been there had they not required a Circle scholar for their foolish ambitions."

 

Turning back to the mage, the lieutenant sighed, "Well, a sad business all around. You three don't need any more harassment, so might I suggest you stay at the Chantry, tonight? It's only there that I can guarantee the rabble won't bother you anymore. It's the least I can do, considering the situation."

 

Celeste thought his offer rather generous, but she glanced to Abraham and Wind for their opinions before giving the lieutenant an affirmation.

[FreemasonGamer]

The lieutenant's honest and uncensored shock concerning their doomed expedition hardly sat well on Abraham's shoulders, but it didn't surprise him any, either. His shaken reaction to their compatriots' fate including Delaney's was like salt in the wound, reminding the old veteran of his stupidity. Abraham's employers had flashed a generous sum of gold, and that alone convinced the former Templar to disregard any second guesses; that kind of carelessness had almost gotten him killed. Despite his lifetime of experience and instincts, Abraham made the same mistake as any brigand driven by greed and forfeited his own safety and that of his fellows for the sake of money.

It troubled the old man a great deal as he only half listened to Celeste's conversation with the lieutenant. Of all the adventurers and misfits who had gone into those Deep Roads, Abraham was the only one of the three who had survived, and what had the veteran done with himself since surviving the disaster? He had drunken himself senseless and instigated unnecessary violence. That fact alone unsettled Abraham even more so. Not only had he so selfishly chased the promise of gold towards what could have and very well should have been his doom, but he had also squandered his second chance at life when the corpses of good men, better men still littered the depths below.

Abraham despised this foul sensation weighing heavily on his heart, and it did nothing to help the ache in his bones and his thoughts. He was so vexed by his contemplation that he hardly noticed the silence until he spotted the Enchantress's and lieutenant's focus aimed at him. Clearing his throat, the veteran shook his head to shake off the brooding look on his face before nodding solemnly in agreement.

"Your generosity is appreciated. I would be content to compensate the Chantry for the inconvenience."

The former Templar regurgitated the kind words without much thought, searching his person for his pipe out of habit. He was stressed, and he needed to smoke.

His pipe.

Maker damn those miserable bastards!

The sorrow quite clearly settled onto the man's weathered countenance while he desperately glanced over the sheer mess of overturned furniture, debris, and splinters in search for any remains of his pipe. Abraham had that briarwood pipe for years now, and he refused to believe that he couldn't fix it if he could just find the pieces.

If.

There were no if's, there couldn't be. Abraham had to find his pipe so he could repair the invaluable trinket. The borderline vagabond of an ex-Templar had few treasures to his name, but that damned little thing was one of his most precious. It held memories that he couldn't endure losing.

"Maybe you could be so kind as to take Lady Celeste and Wind to the Chantry, Templar? I would like to stay here and... assist the barkeep clean up. I am as responsible for this mess as the sods your men dragged out, so it is the least I can do."

Abraham frankly didn't care about how badly he had inconvenienced the tavern's owner. He only cared about leaving the ruined establishment carrying exactly what he had with him upon his arrival, nothing less.

Edited July 2, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

The lieutenant and Celeste watched Abraham's agitated mannerisms for a moment before the former inclined his head, "I will. Enchantress, elf, if you would follow me, please."

 

The mage's brow furrowed as she sensed Abraham was being less than honest, then nodded to the Blight veteran next to her, "Of course. Thank you, ser."

 

Her mind was still reeling from her experience as she let the small squad of Templars lead herself and Wind to Redcliffe's Chantry - everything from the smiting she'd received to the insults hurled her way and now Abraham's moody and unsettled behavior. In an attempt to redirect her thoughts, she glanced around at the buildings about her and marveled at how some of them still stood. She had not been in this town since she was a small child, and many things had changed; yet an equal number of things had not. It had weathered an undead infestation and the darkspawn horde, and though it was obviously still recovering from them, the town had largely emerged from the disasters marvelously intact.

 

Fitzgerald, that was his name.

 

"Lieutenant Fitzgerald, yes?" she suddenly asked, looking to the lieutenant with a quizzical gaze.

 

"Aye," he replied, "I was at Denerim, same time you were. We met briefly before the battle...I thought you might not remember me."

 

She chuckled, "I'm surprised you remember me."

 

He snorted, "My dear Enchantress, I am fairly certain there's only one mage in all of Ferelden who dresses in silks to fight darkspawn."

 

One of his men snickered inside his helmet, the sound hollow.

 

"Shut up, you."

 

Redcliffe's Chantry was small but comfortable, and Lieutenant Fitzgerald escorted her and Wind to two tiny, vacant guest rooms near the door before departing to speak with the sisters about their accommodations. In the meantime, Celeste set herself down on the creaky cot in her own room and waited...for what exactly, she wasn't certain. Her mind was fuzzy and her limbs numb with fatigue, and all she really wanted to do was sleep.

[Macman253]

Wind downed the strong alcohol and took the bottle with him as he wiped his lips with his sleeve. "Atleast he didn't call me Knife Ear." He grumbled as he followed. Wind glanced over his shoulder at Abraham and gave him a nod of farewell before departing. As the Templar and Celeste spoke Wind put the bottle to his lips several times but he was silent for the walk. He looked around nervously, a feeling of uneasiness came about him. He walked with a Mage and several Templars towards the Chantry. A place where few who had such a dubious history with the Chantry ever walked away from when escorted there by Templars.

 

When he was showed his room he laid down on the bed, took a final swig from the bottle and set it on the floor next to the bed. "Well, it has a roof and something that could be described as a bed.." The elf pressed down on the mat, "...if it were at a distance." He added before closing his eyes and nodding off with one of his Crow Blades gripped in his hand as it lay across his chest while he slept.

[FreemasonGamer]

...

 

Darling, time to wake...

 

Abraham groaned like an ensnared animal, his head hung low as he sat in a small stack of fresh hay within the stables outside Redcliffe's tavern. The stench of horses hardly registered to the slumbering old man, and the quizzical looks from the residing steeds, regardless of their frequency, received no response from the vagabond. Hoping to simply rest his eyes for what he thought were only a few minutes, the aged veteran tried to tune out the silken voice that echoed in his ears. He only needed a few moments of rest.

 

You must wake up, Abraham.

 

Her voice sounded so sweet yet exhibited a stern tone, urging the weary ex-Templar into action. Reluctant to move so much as an inch, Abraham only managed to roll onto his side as a cold shiver swept down his spine. That voice, why was he hearing it? He hadn't heard it in so long that he had to contemplate whose face it belonged to. Cracking open a dark, glazed eye, Abraham only caught blurred flashes of Circle robes, coppery red hair, and rich brown eyes full of worry. Those glimpses were like the reflection of a shattered mirror; each shard only preserved a few details of a grander thing that no longer existed.

 

Abraham!

 

A sharp demand rang in his ears mere moments before he heard the thunderous crash of Revas kicking his stall in panic, the equine flaring his nostrils irritably. Abraham shot upright with a startled expression and winced shortly after when all manner of pops and creaks sounded from his outraged old bones aching in a painful uproar. Glancing around wildly, the veteran wondered where exactly he was until he noticed the first rays of dawn peeking through the entrance and shutters of the stables.

 

"Maker... Revas, stop that..." He grumbled, shutting his eyes tightly when the delicate morning light irritated his eyes, reminding him of an awful headache pounding at the base of his skull. It as a tight, throbbing pain that pulsated throughout his weary form, and he lolled his head to the side as he wondered where he was, why he was there, and who that woman has.

 

It looked to him like he was in the stable, what with the horses and such. Why was he there? Abraham struggled to recall the night before, but all he could remember is fighting, Templars, and his broken pipe. Groaning once again, the old man spent several minutes staggering to his feet, pained by every move he made. He had come to the stables last night for something, and he took a moment to rest... He had needed a moment's rest after cleaning up the tavern from the fight. Abraham finally began to curse incoherently when he realized that he had collapsed from fatigue then and there in the stables of all places.

 

As his knees started to quiver and threatened to give, he leaned against a nearby post for support, grunting and huffing for breath as cold sweat poured down his neck and beaded upon his forehead. The man felt close to death's doorstep, to be frank; his head reeled from the throbbing pain that resonated with an aching sensation that gripped his body. His limbs felt heavy and were stubbornly stiff at the joints, and he wondered momentarily if he was hung over.

 

Then he recalled the woman with fiery locks of hair and chestnut brown eyes, the revelation chilling him to the bone. Abraham didn't dare say her name while his strength was all but gone— she was painful to speak of at the best of times— his head spinning even worse when he realized what exactly he was enduring. It was the lyrium.

 

When had he taken it last?

 

That question hung heavily on his shoulders before he willed himself to sit down on the ground, shakily digging through his satchel for his box, the special oaken box in which he stored his Chantry-given tools for refining lyrium. While he rummaged desperately for the wooden container, Abraham sighed mournfully when he felt the broken bits of what had been his priceless pipe the night before; he didn't even know if he had all the fragments, but he had more pressing concerns at the moment. Finally, the former Templar procured his box of utensils before setting it in his lap, closing his eyes and silently praying that he might find his saving grace within it.

 

Abraham opened the box and found little except broken shards of glass and ceramic that used to be his tools, and all his lyrium vials were barren and empty.

 

Cold turkey.

 

"Damnit!" The old man cried out before slamming the little box shut, trembling from the depressing discovery. He had no idea what to do; he couldn't function like this. Then the veteran remembered his companions whose whereabouts he had trouble recalling. Fear and regret soon raked at his heart when he thought frantically about Celeste and Wind. The Enchantress was roaming Ferelden without a Templar to chaperone her, and Wind was obviously a cutthroat of the most unsavory sort. Abraham needed to find them.

 

"Revas..." The name spilled from the man's mouth, his tone betraying the pain and worry that all but paralyzed him. Cocking his head in his rider's direction, the All-Bred watched Abraham intently, his dark eyes mirroring what might have looked like sadness in the right light. The old stallion knew his person well enough to recognize that the sickness was returning, that the old man hadn't foreseen it and therefore did nothing to prevent it. Revas pitied his person, but the beast of burden only puffed air through his nose to express it.

 

Sitting there with few alternatives, Abraham fought to steady his breathing and prayed to the Maker that this would pass soon. Abraham had others depending on him. Also, he was afraid that the visions might return before his strength did, and that was as terrifying as anything.

Edited July 13, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

Celeste knew not when she finally fell asleep on the small cot. At some point, either one of the resident sisters or a Templar slid a tray of bread and cheese under her door, and this she had eaten ravenously. She wondered as she ate who had convinced who to give her food - surely none of them wanted to feed a mage? Her thoughts were bitter, and they plagued her mind even as exhaustion pulled her into the Fade to dream. There, Duty haunted her with Gabriel's face...and with rage she ran from the spirit, who most assuredly protected her every night, until she woke with tears streaming down her face.

 

She left the Chantry before even the sisters awakened, her heart heavy and sore. As she began her search for Abraham, who was nowhere to be found in the Chantry itself, she glanced down and noticed with utter horror that her silk robe was stained with beer and grease from the conflict the previous evening. Clenching her fists, she first marched to the now deserted tavern and then towards the stables, not giving one wit who saw her even as her pale cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

 

Surely the old man couldn't be far?

 

Peeking inside the dimly-lit stables, she finally glimpsed the armored hulk sitting in the aisle, his face a sickly pallor. Had he been there all night?

 

"Abraham! What are you doing here? Are you all right?" she rushed forward, kneeling beside him. Frowning, she added, "I should have been the one sleeping here instead of you...since everyone seems to see me and my kind as beasts."

Edited July 13, 2016 by AurianaValoria1

[FreemasonGamer]

"Celeste? Eh, I'm fine," Abraham groaned with squinting eyes bent in the direction of the Enchantress, clearly lying through his teeth. While the painful aching of the withdrawal was beginning to wane, he hardly felt like moving so much as in inch, and he did well to turn his head in her direction. His blistering headache continued to resonate through his skull even as he tried his best to evaluate Celeste's disposition; he couldn't recall much of what had happened the night before besides the mob that had threatened to descend ravenously upon the Circle mage.

 

Her remark inspired a grave sigh to escape the large man who took a steadying breath before shaking his head. Shreds and fragments of the previous night were beginning to dawn upon him, but they were like glass shards, and he was hardly in the state of mind to handle and decipher them. "Ignore those bastards," He said crudely without restraint or remorse, "Common people despise what they don't care to... understand..."

 

With no small measure of willpower, Abraham forced himself to stand, pressing his back against the wooden post for the needed support. An audible groan escaped him before he stood to his full height, but that he did accomplish after a few moments.

 

"Where the Crow, Wind?" He soon inquired, clearly taking the attention off himself as he sought to address his primary concerns. Celeste was here, so that only left one other companion unaccounted for.

[Macman253]

Wind snored loudly on his Chantry provided cot, the empty wine bottle lay on the floor beside him. When one of the Templar's from before grew tired of the Elf's disruptive snoring he entered his room and woke the elf with a boot to his leg.

 

"Wake up." Instructed the Human sternly. Wind snapped away, his eyes hung low. He shook off the tired eyes so he could see the Silverite framed human. "What?" He asked the Templar. The Knight grabbed the bottle and looked at the label then gestured for the Elf to get up. "It's morning, time for you to go."

 

Wind rolled his eyes and stood and slid his Crow-Blade into the sheath on his hip and departed the Chantry. When he was outside the first thing he did was yawn and stretch before making his way to the stables where he kept a spare bottle of wine in his saddlebags.

[AurianaValoria1]

Celeste's brow furrowed at Abraham's reply. She could tell he wasn't fine at all, but she decided to say nothing further about it, deeming it best not to press the issue and risk angering the warrior. Lips pressed tightly together as he stood up, she, too straightened and remarked, "That offer for potions is still open, by the way." Pausing, she added quietly, "And...thanks. I just...never encountered people who so ardently hated mages before. I've lived a sheltered and, perhaps, lucky life compared to some others. I knew I was sent to the tower because people didn't understand those like me. But I never expected the hate to be quite this...extreme."

 

At that moment, the Crow in question appeared in the stables, and Celeste gestured to the elf, "Right on cue. I think I recall our employers' representatives were supposed to be waiting on us at the old mill here in town. We should go there and get this business over with."