Shadows of Corruption

[AurianaValoria1]

Celeste nodded at Abraham's advice, "All right, then." Taking a deep breath, she flexed the reins and clicked her tongue, "Let's go."

 

Chevalier's ears flicked backwards a moment before he took a step forward. Trying her best to imitate Gabriel's practiced movements, the inexperienced rider slowly guided the horse down the path that led away from Orzammar. As her steed's hooves crunched the finely ground pebbles with every footfall, Celeste tried her best to banish the haunting ghosts of memories that hovered in the back of her mind. Listening to every little sound, every bird call, every stone shifting, every breath and snort of the horses served to numb the urge to let the tears flow again.

 

It was going to be a long ride to Redcliffe.

 

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By the time night fell, they hadn't even made it out of the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. They were forced to pitch camp by the roadside - no tents, merely a small fire and a few logs to sit on. Celeste had made short work of the fire, lighting the minuscule pile of wood with a snap of her fingers. As she silently moved around the camp with light steps, following whatever impulse her grieving mind came up with, she hoped her talents would be perceived as useful...and perhaps give the others the hope that she'd actually be of some help to them, and not become a moping and weeping liability.

 

To keep her mind occupied, the mage decided to stay near Chevalier - feeding him, brushing him, and petting him as she spoke soft words that he didn't understand. It was a few minutes before she thought about the things that Gabriel might have left in the horse's saddlebags, and as her eyes wandered over the leather pouches, she felt a bit sickened. She wasn't certain she wanted to look.

 

But what if he left letters or something? Correspondence of some sort? Maybe even to his family? They would want to know what happened...

 

Celeste absentmindedly traced the Chantry sunburst that was engraved on one of the brass bosses of Chevalier's bridle, swallowing hard as she tried to muster the courage to search the steed's meager cargo.

[Macman253]

Wind kicked Lucky to a gallop and followed his companions. The assassin was quiet throughout their trip. Lost in thought about the fight in Orzammar. He remembered the job the elderly dwarf had mentioned, a merchant that had ties to the Cartel was his target. He sighed and pushed it away. He turned his attention to whistling a Dalish travel tune, distracting his mind from dark thoughts.

 

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When they pitched camp, Wind's spirits had risen. He removed Lucky's saddle and let her graze after wiping her down from the long ride. The elf dug through his saddlebags and removed a bottle of Orlesian Red he had tucked away for a rainy day and a small whetstone. The elf sat on a log by the fire that Celeste started and popped the cork from the bottle with a soft *thunk*. He took a sip of the fine wine from the bottle and wiped his lips, sticking the bottle in the dirt beside him. He drew his Crow Blades and stuck one into the log, then spit on the stone and began to slide it over the long daggers edge as he idly whistled an endless tune. After a while he was happy with the shining edge he put on the dagger and started work on the second. Taking the odd drink of the wine every few minutes as he did.

Edited February 13, 2016 by Macman253

[FreemasonGamer]

After they had made camp for the night in the chilling wilderness of the Frostback Mountains, the first order of business for Abraham was relieving Revas of his tack. It was a familiar chore, but a troublesome one after a long day of riding. The former Templar was sore and exhausted from their strenuous travels, and his steed was noticeably irate for whatever reason that his rider could not fathom. As soon as the All-Bred's tack was no longer a burden, Abraham gently stroked his neck for a moment or two before the brilliantly stubborn beast hastily cantered off, huffing and nickering in annoyance.

 

"Maker knows whatever has gotten into him." Sighed the venerable warrior as he took a seat upon a log facing the bonfire. A veil of shadows danced wistfully across the man's wary face, his emerald gaze appearing dark and ancient in the flickering firelight.

 

As soon as he was situated upon the log, Abraham withdrew his smoking pipe and tobacco from his satchel, carefully stuffing the richly scented mulch into the briarwood trinket. He then procured a match, which he used to light the pipe's pleasantly cinnamon-fragment contents. Within moments, the old Templar was producing as much smoke as a frustrated Ferelden Frostback. However, even the smoothing nature of Abraham's habitual smoking did little to dispel his broodiness as it started to set in.

 

Out of boredom, Abraham soon set his curious attention upon his companions, his contemplative gaze shrouded in quivering ribbons of tobacco smoke mingled with shadows. Wind seemed content as he tended to his blades with a bottle of what seemed to be imported alcohol—nothing brewed in Ferelden was sold in fanciful Orlesian glassware, Abraham knew for a fact—at hand, but Celeste didn't appear to be faring well as she agonized over her fallen companion's belongings.

 

Simply watching the mournful enchantress reminded Abraham of unspeakably-old wounds that had long since healed before he ever encountered their band of misfits, yet even the faded scars that remained were sensitive nonetheless, stained with memories.

 

Before the sight could trouble him, the Templar grumbled disjointedly and delved into his bags in search for a drink. Unfortunately, most of his favorite brews had run dry, and few of the bottles or flasks in his possession still contained alcohol of any true flavor or potency. Eventually, his gloved hand emerged from one of his saddlebags with a simple-looking glass bottle containing a thick golden liquid within. Abraham's weak smile only slightly disturbed his wealth of facial hair as he uncorked the brew, and the overpowering scent of honey with a hint of apple blossoms immediately betrayed the mead's Chasind origins.

 

Muttering a silent toast, Abraham tipped his head back and indulged in the mead, and its sweetly bitter taste felt oddly appropriate for an evening silenced by the presence of grief. Either the Templar's tolerance was worryingly low or he had forgotten the intensity of Chasind mead, however, as his consciousness quickly slipped away into the murky splendor of intoxication.

 

Nevertheless, Abraham frequently sipped the increasingly tasteful mead between great puffs of smoke from his briarwood pipe, almost entirely lost in his indulgence of both.

 

Then, he heard something that sent shivering chills down his spine. It was incredibly faint, eluding his compromised awareness like an evening breeze passing through a torn butterfly net. His blurred gaze sluggishly swept across the camp in search for the sound as it quietly refined into what sounded like... singing? Alas, the drunken Templar didn't see anything unusual until he glimpsed a blurry ginger-haired figure across the bonfire, and the sight froze him with more strength than any spell of a Tevinter Magister.

 

Watching the unrecognizable figure intensely as sweat beaded upon his bright red face, Abraham was all but paralyzed in bewilderment mingled with a torrent of lesser emotions riled by his drunkenness. All he could do was listen to the familiar sounds that permeated his thoughts,

 

Of all the money that e'er I had, I spent it in good company...

 

And of all the harm that e'er I've done, alas was done to none but me...

 

The words were soft, gentle, and warm. They were familiar. However, they only lingered for a moment's breath once Abraham started to pay close attention to the eerie yet heartfelt singing. Within the blink of an eye—several, actually—the camp was silent, and no one stared back at the drunken Templar from across the fire.

 

Confused beyond all measure, Abraham slowly finished the last of his mead and relined in his seat, consequently falling off the log with a thunderous thud.

Edited February 16, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

Celeste heard the abrupt clank that was Abraham passing out, and with concern on her face, she glanced in his direction. The soft snoring that followed set her mind at ease rather quickly, however, and she returned her attention to Chevalier whilst shaking her head.

 

Sighing heavily, she moved to the saddlebags and slowly began to open them, one by one. The first bag contained mostly items that pertained to Chevalier's care: combs, picks, small vials of salve, and the like. There were even extra tack pieces in case the originals were broken. The second bag seemed to be a catch-all for coin, merely holding a handful of coppers and silvers...

 

Upon opening the third and largest bag, though, she could feel a lump gather in her throat.

 

Inside had been neatly folded a set of Chantry robes, cut and embroidered in typical Templar style. Gabriel likely brought them along for extra clothing in cold weather, and the shiver that coursed through her when a breeze wafted through camp made her wonder if she should not put them to good use herself. She quietly passed her hand over the heavy but soft fabric, tracing a finger along the golden embroidery. Would he care?

 

Snorting, she mentally scolded herself. Of course he wouldn't. He would have put them on her himself if he knew she was cold. Swallowing, she unfolded the layered garment, taking it by the shoulders and letting it fall loose...and then something shining dropped from it and clinked on the ground. Curious, she frowned as she peered at what lay in the grass, and as she bent to pick it up, her eyes welled with emotion. There lay a two-sided silver amulet; on one side, the Templar Sword of Mercy had been embossed, and on the other had been engraved the face of Andraste, her hair flowing around her countenance like flames. Celeste held it reverently in her hand for the longest time, turning it over and over again as silent tears tracked down her cheeks. Then, wordlessly, she clasped it about her neck alongside her other medallion before donning the robes - first the scarlet underlayer and then the dark blue coat on top, tying both at her waist with the crimson sash. Save for a bit of her pale blue hem at her ankles, her own garments were swallowed whole by the too-big robes, but it didn't matter to her. Re-securing all the saddlebags, she then found a place near the fire and lay down to sleep, curling into a ball facing away from the others and not caring what anyone thought.

 

No doubt that towards morning, she would be glad for the extra clothing, especially since their blankets had been lost at their camp in the Deep Roads.

[Macman253]

Wind finished his work just as the Templar toppled over, he sat up in alarm but when he noticed that he had fallen asleep from what he assumed was exhaustion he let out a sigh of relief. He slid the crow-blades back to their proper sheathes and smiled, his head swam with the fine Orlesian wine. He continued to drink, glancing at Celeste as she laid down, noting the large set of robes on her small-ish frame. Wind chuckled lightly and looked into the flames of the flickering fire. After a few hours of drinking he heard a voice drift into his ear,

 

"Gael." Said the voice, he had not heard his name in over a decade. The elf instinctively looked at where he thought the voice came from. It was a soft feminine voice, he clutched an ear and took a heavy swig. "There was nothing you could do for her." He said to himself reassuringly, he glanced at his companions, making sure neither of them heard him. After a few minutes of silence he sat up on the log and laid down it lengthwise. When the moon was up high he slowly but surely fell asleep.

Edited February 17, 2016 by Macman253

[FreemasonGamer]

The air was crisp with chilling dew and frost when Abraham eventually awoke the following dawn, his old bones aching beyond measure from a night of sleeping upon the unforgiving earth. Worse still, the ache in his body hardly matched the throbbing headache in his mind, which felt like a twisting dagger attempting to lacerate the poisoned contents of the old warrior's skull. Unable to recall much from the previous night, Abraham was left dumbfounded as to what happened. However, the empty mead bottle and smoking pipe lying on the ground within reach of his gloved hands gave a satisfactory hint regarding the evening's turn of events.

 

With a substantial groan, the former Templar heaved himself upright, the frost that coated his steely white armor crinkling like paper with every move he made. Before he did anything else, Abraham carefully retrieved his priceless briarwood pipe and stored it away in its rightful case. As he did, the venerable man found it noticeably difficult to complete the task with his fumbling hands and crippled dexterity.

 

While it took a substantial amount of effort and concentration, Abraham soon managed to stand tall, emerging from the thick blanket of fog that typically veiled the early mornings in the Frostbacks. Glancing to his still-slumbering companions, he mumbled and grumbled quietly to himself as he half-wandered, half-staggered over to his grazing steed, Revas. "Good morning..." Abraham said softly to the Dalish All-Bred who paid him no mind, and the warrior quickly found what he was hoping for after a moment of rummaging through the saddlebags resting on the ground beside his steed.

 

It was a small pouch containing elfroot, which the former Templar had learned long ago helped with blistering hangovers when chewed. So, Abraham grabbed a pinch of the fresh, almost minty-smelling herb before beginning to chew it earnestly like a child with a bit of candy, tossing the pouch back onto the meager stack of saddlebags. The elfroot's taste was unremarkable, but it did gradually soothe Abraham's ailment until there was a much more tolerable ache in his mind and body alike.

 

Abraham simply stood there for a few moments as he chewed on the elfroot, and he contemplated whether he, Celeste, and Wind would remain there long enough to ready themselves with a simple breakfast cooked over a warmly fire. His contemplation, however, was soon interrupted when he caught sight of an indistinguishable silhouette drifting in and out of sight through the impenetrable fog. He narrowed his eyes cautiously as he slowly drew his greatsword, which gave a long and foreboding hiss as it emerged from its sheathe. Flexing his stiff fingers whilst gripping Tempest's hilt, the old warrior continued to scrutinize the surrounding veil for movement, but he saw nothing else after drawing his blade.

 

"Maker, cease this nonsense..." The former Templar sighed almost pleadingly as he rubbed his forehead, suspecting that last night's mead might not be finished with its trickery.

Edited February 23, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

The slow scrape of steel against scabbard woke Celeste from her deep sleep, and the mage sat straight up, pale eyes wide as she saw Abraham standing ready in the fog. She shivered and drew Gabriel's robes tighter around her, even as she cautiously stood, her breath coming out in cloudy puffs from the cold.

 

"Abraham?" She asked tentatively, wondering whether or not to ready a spell, "Is everything all right?"

[FreemasonGamer]

"I believe so..." Abraham replied, reluctantly sheathing his blade and ushering a heavy sigh, "I thought I saw something moving out there, but it must have been nothing." He explained gruffly, beginning the process of loading his horse with his saddlebags and tack.

 

"Apologies that I awoke you." He also remarked over his shoulder as he equipped Revas, who was accustomed to the routine. While the venerable warrior tried to shrug off his suspicions, they still tantalized his thoughts and kept him on edge. Perhaps it was simply due to a poor night's rest and too much alcohol before that.

 

Once the Dalish All-Bred was fully equipped and prepared for the long ride ahead, the former Templar spat out the chewed elfroot onto the frost-covered earth and noted to the mage, "Would you prefer it if we got back on the road as soon as possible, or would you rather us try to scavenge some sort of meal before doing so?" While it might have seemed odd for any Templar to cater to a mage's desires, Abraham was a stickler for certain mannerly habits, one of which being courteous to the ladies whose company he infrequently had while on the road.

[Macman253]

Wind shot up like a lightning bolt when he heard the steel blades sing. He had a Crow blade in one hand and the empty bottle of Orlesian wine in the other, up and ready to bash in someones head.

 

"Who's there!" He growled, his eyes still low from sleep. He shook his head and saw his companions and smiled lightly, he looked at the bottle and let it drop as he realized he was close to tossing it at one of the once-blurry shapes in his hungover stupor. Just as he came to that realization his head began to throb painfully. He clutched it and laid back on the log with a depressed sigh.

 

"I am never drinking Orlesian wine again." He said as he looked up at the morning sky. When the talk of breakfast came he sat up. "I can go get us a pair of rabbits if you wish." He replied to the Templar, "I could do with the walk..." Added the Elf.

[AurianaValoria1]

Celeste's eyes strained through the fog when Abraham said that he thought he saw something, but she herself saw nothing at all. Returning her gaze to the former Templar, she was about to respond that they could move on when her stomach growled...

 

...loudly.

 

Looking down at her abdomen and then back up, her cheeks reddening, she glanced back and forth between Wind and Abraham sheepishly, "Uhh...maybe we should eat first?"

Edited February 25, 2016 by AurianaValoria1