At least part of a chapter, because its taking so long. My first attempt at an action scene, so have mercy. :-P Thanks for reading, and being patient!Into the Wilds - Part 1Alistair stood by as Duncan explained the coming mission to his new recruits. It would be their duty to collect vials of darkspawn blood for use in the actual Joining ritual. Not so different from his Joining, though there hadn’t been nearly as many darkspawn then. His task was to guide, and ensure that they weren’t easy prey for the foul creatures out in the Wilds. Duncan had also set him a special job – to find abandoned Grey Warden treaties that had been left long ago in an old waystation.
As Duncan spoke, Alistair watched the newest recruit, the young Dalish elf Duncan had brought in that morning. The two others, Daveth and Ser Jory, he had come to know over the past month while Duncan was away – Daveth was a bit shady for his liking, and Ser Jory was a nice enough sort though surprisingly timid for a knight of Redcliffe.
He had been surprised when Duncan had asked him to accompany the recruits, especially as he’d been kept out of the majority of the fighting thus far. It was supposed to have been Fenric’s job, and far as he knew nothing had happened to his fellow junior Warden to make him incapable. Meeting this new recruit, however…he thought she might be the reason why. She stood with her back to one of the pillars surrounding Duncan’s fire, managing somehow to keep an eye on Duncan, on her fellow recruits, and the area around her all at once in a way that made his head spin.
It wasn’t that she seemed afraid. Wary was the more appropriate term, he thought, like a wild animal. In fact, with the intricate tattoos that ran mask-like across the upper portion of her face, she rather reminded him of a captive cat he’d seen as a child during a winter visit to Denerim in the menagerie of some bann his guardian had visited. An immense, striped thing, it had paced and prowled with the same contained energy, the same dangerous grace as this young woman before him. Where the cat’s eyes had been a feral yellow, though, her eyes were a hard grey, like storm clouds, or steel.
She had been almost as cold as steel on their brief tour of the camp as well, immune to his usual chattiness. He was fairly certain he hadn’t said anything particularly offensive, even inadvertently. Yet. Fenric, however, incurable womanizer that he was, would have made trouble from the start.
That caged wild cat had nearly taken off some fool boy’s hand when he’d gotten too near –it was characteristically wise of Duncan to head off potential danger by reassigning Fen before he could cause trouble with the new recruit. It was too bad he was the only alternative, Alistair mused to himself. He rather liked his hands, and his head, where they were.
Duncan dismissed his recruits to arm themselves before their journey into the Wilds, and motioned for Alistair to approach as they left.
“You know what needs to be done,” his mentor said solemnly. “It is important that those treaties are recovered.” Duncan hesitated briefly, as if he were reluctant to say something, then continued. “Do what you can to keep Karaleyna out of any close combat.”
That surprised him. “Out of combat? Duncan, if you think she’s incapable of fighting, why…”
The elder Warden sighed. “I have no doubts she is more than capable. But I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”
Alistair looked to the elven woman, headed towards the king’s kennels. What was there to notice that would so concern Duncan? Not that she was female, that was too obvious. He studied her departing form for a moment, puzzled, when suddenly a nagging sensation of familiarity about her fell into place.
“Maker, she’s tainted,” he breathed. He hadn’t recognized it before – with all the Wardens around and the darkspawn wandering the Wilds just outside the fortress, the sick oily pull of the taint had become almost common-place. But now that he’d identified it, he could feel, almost see the darkness in her blood like it was in his. Tainted, and badly so.
“How is she even still on her feet?” he asked, turning back towards Duncan. Soldiers with half the amount of darkspawn plague in their veins were in the infirmary, bed-ridden. They’d put men with less taint to death, before they became ghouls.
“Much of it is her clan leader, the keeper’s, magic. Old elven magic, unlike anything I have seen before,” Duncan replied. “The rest…I think she just refuses to give in.”
No wonder this young woman had impressed Duncan, Alistair thought. He was a little bit in awe himself.
“But despite that, she is very ill, and growing weaker with every day that passes,” Duncan continued. “I believe that the Joining ritual might save her through the immunity to the taint, but you know the dangers. She will need to be as strong as possible if she is to survive.”
“I understand, Duncan. I’ll do what I can.”
“The Dalish are proud, Alistair,” the Warden Commander warned. “She will not allow herself to be coddled. Think of it as an exercise in diplomacy.” The last he said with a small smile, and Alistair scowled. The elder Warden’s expression quickly grew serious again. “Watch over your charges, Alistair, all of them. Return quickly, and safely.”
“We will, Duncan.”
“Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return.” With that, he was dismissed, and Alistair went to collect his charges.
He headed for the kennels first, still intrigued by this newest recruit. He found her crouched in a pen, gently removing a leather satchel from the slobbery mouth of a mabari.
“This is not a toy, Anari,” she gently reprimanded the hound. Pulling the bag away from the dog, she opened it and pulled out a bound volume of some sort. Untying the cord that held it shut, she opened the pages.
“See? These are the sword forms of the Dalish, my father’s notes. He was my clan’s keeper, before I was born.” She flipped through the pages as the dog looked intently, for all the world as if he were reading. “You must guard this very carefully while I am gone,” the elven woman said seriously as she replaced the book in the satchel, the hound watching solemnly. She scratched his head and stood, apparently noticing Alistair standing there for the first time. He felt rather like he had intruded on something private.
“Ah, almost ready?” he asked, feeling slightly embarrassed. She nodded and moved to the back of the pen, around a large white deer-like creature with intricately curved horns, the likes of which he had never seen before. She paused to lay a tender hand on the animal’s nose, and spoke a few soft words to it in an unfamiliar language – Dalish, he presumed – before moving to a pile of equipment.
She picked up and strung a bow, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ve always heard the Dalish were unparalleled archers,” he said, suddenly inspired, to which she nodded. “Is it true?”
“True enough,” she replied with a small smile.
“Then when we find the darkspawn, I’d like you to stay ranged, cover us from a distance. They often have archers of their own.” She nodded again without comment.
He watched as she unwrapped a bundle of arrows, giving each a cursory inspection before sliding it in her quiver. “So, I’m curious, have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?”
“Yes, just recently,” she replied, still focused on her task.
“I’ve only fought them once up close, and that was before the battles here started.” He shuddered, remembering. He’d nearly soiled his drawers, though he’d never admit it out loud. “Tell me, did you find them as monstrous as I did?”
“Hideous. Dangerous. But killable.” She shrugged. He wondered if she could really be as nonchalant as she seemed. If so, maybe she should be leading this little expedition. In the pen, the elf straightened and swung the quiver over her head, adjusting it over the sword and dagger already there. She looked up at him expectantly.
“Right, let’s go get the others.” She left the enclosure and fell into step behind him.
****
They’d been wandering the Korcari Wilds for several hours now, with no sign of anything more tainted than a pack of blight wolves. But now, Alistair could feel the skin-crawling filthy wrench of darkspawn ahead. He motioned Karaleyna back – the Dalish elf had taken point shortly after realizing how inept her companions were moving in the wilderness.
Alistair looked at his assembled team as the elf drew near. She had held her own in the small skirmish with the wolves and kept a level head, as had the rogue Daveth. He trusted their instincts in the fight to come – but their fellow recruit, the knight Ser Jory, concerned him. Rather the opposite of what he had expected.
Jory was fidgety now, nervous and all-together un-knightlike from what he remembered of the knights of Redcliffe, where he had spent his childhood. But darkspawn were enough to unnerve the bravest souls. It was why this part of the ritual was necessary – it took not only skill but a particular brand of courage to join the Wardens. Or a particular brand of crazy, depending on which of the Grey Wardens you talked to. Either way, it was time for Ser Jory to prove himself.
“There are darkspawn just ahead,” Alistair said, observing their reactions. Ser Jory paled and gulped nervously. Daveth hid it better, only fingering the daggers at his belt. And Karaleyna…impassive as always, tattooed features hiding what emotion there might have been there, except for maybe a sharpening of the steel in her eyes, almost as if she were looking forward to the coming fight.
“It’s a small group, just on the other side of that rise, I think,” he continued.
“Small group? Just how small is small?” Ser Jory asked. The knight was sweating visibly, and his rogue companion looked at him with some disgust.
“Come now, ser knight, it can’t be all that bad.” Daveth grinned, in what was probably supposed to have been a reassuring manner, though it had little effect on the knight. “The Warden there doesn’t seem too worried.”
Ignoring Daveth, the knight continued to press Alistair. “How many of them are out there?”
Alistair sighed. “I can’t say for sure. Some Wardens could tell you number and kind, but I haven’t been one long enough. Somewhere between 10 and 20 maybe.”
The knight’s eyes grew wide and his mouth moved, but flustered, no coherent words came out. The voice that spoke instead was soft and feminine. “You’ll want me on top of the rise, I assume?”
Alistair nodded and turned to the men. “You two, let me lead, guard my back.” Two more nods, and more nervous gulping from Jory. “This is what Grey Wardens do,” the junior Warden reminded them. And himself. “Duncan wouldn’t have recruited any of you if he thought you couldn’t do this.”
Over the hill they went, Karaleyna finding herself a vantage point as they moved forward. A copse of trees greeted them beyond the rise and from there, the darkspawn came.
They met in a collision of metal and flesh. Alistair crashed his way through the darkspawn, knocking one down with his shield and spinning to skewer another on his sword. He went through the mental count as he cut his way through - a mixture of genlocks and hurlocks, melee. An arrow ricocheted off his shield and he altered the count to include archers.
He turned his head to shout an order only find an arrow already in flight, which buried itself in the hurlock’s chest shortly afterwards. Two more followed in quick succession, and the darkspawn archer was down. He flashed a quick smile of thanks Karaleyna’s direction, just in case she was looking, before turning his attention back to the battle.
He fell into the patterns made familiar by practice – bash an opponent to the side, parry and strike. Side-step, drop a genlock to the ground. Behind him, he could hear, sometimes glimpse, Daveth and Ser Jory battling, taking out the foes he left behind him. Jory at last was acting like the warrior he was supposed to be. And around them, the whistle of arrows felled more until half the darkspawn were down. It was almost fun, if one ignored the smell and the guttural cries. And the oil-slick feel of the taint that made you want to vomit.
The rain of arrows had stopped at some point, and Alistair looked back to find the Dalish archer, arrow notched, aimed to the left of their position. He was momentarily confused, until that nauseating pull began again – Andraste’s ashes, a second group of darkspawn. Most likely their presence had been masked by the larger group they had engaged. Not that it mattered now. They were headed straight for the elf’s position, and she was dead if they got there. And so was he, because Duncan was going to kill him for losing a recruit.
He was torn only for a moment. “Stay here!” he shouted to the other two, and set off at a run. He just hoped he could get there in time.
Arrows dropped two genlocks and a larger hurlock was pinned to the ground with a clever shot through the creature’s leg. He realized though with a sinking heart that the darkspawn would reach her first.
The first darkspawn to reach the top was dropped with an arrow to the throat, the second stabbed through with an arrow by hand. The third fell to a knife she pulled from the back of her belt, and then the monsters descended upon her in earnest. She dropped the bow, drew sword and dagger, and began to
dance.
He couldn’t think of another word to describe it. There were better fighters amongst the Wardens, it was true, but none of them
moved like that. Like she was…dancing. His steps slowed as he watched her spin to avoid a hurlock blade, using the momentum to spit another darkspawn on her sword. She transferred the dagger to her right hand, slipped to the side, and finished off the hurlock. Maybe she didn’t need help after all. The Dalish recruit seemed to be doing fine on her own.
A blur of motion to the side caught Alistair’s eye. “Your left!” he shouted. She had enough time to give a forearm to the blight wolf’s jaws instead of her throat when the tainted creature launched itself at her, bearing the woman to the ground and burying her under its weight. He cursed under his breath for slowing and raced the rest of the way up the hill, slamming shield-first into a hurlock prepared to skewer the prone elf. The blight wolf lay to one side, dagger buried in the side of its head, but Karaleyna had yet to gain her feet again.
Three more darkspawn, and his foes were defeated. A quick glance down the hill showed that Daveth and Ser Jory were working together to finish off the last of their opponents as well. All the recruits had survived. Alistair paused for a moment to catch his breath and utter a small thanks to the Maker before stowing sword and shield.
He returned to where the Dalish recruit still lay, slightly stunned. “Are you alright?” he asked with some concern. She sat up slowly and nodded, though he noted the slight wince when she moved her head too quickly and the way she held her left wrist close.
“Here, let me see that,” he said as he bent to kneel at her side. He dug around for the bandages in his pack and reached for her hand.
She pulled away from him. “It’s fine, you don’t need to…”
“If it’s fine, you won’t mind me taking a look then, will you?” he interrupted. “Indulge me. Besides, you’re bleeding.”
With a sigh, she held out her arm and helped him undo the bindings that held the leather bracer in place. The armor, light as it was, had taken the brunt of the damage, though there were already dark bruises forming the length of her forearm from animal’s powerful jaws, and a jagged cut where a tooth had cut through.
“This doesn’t look too bad,” he commented as he gave the wound a cursory inspection and began bandaging her arm. “Though you ought to have a healer look at it when….” He trailed off when he realized that she wasn’t listening, her expression distant.
“Do you hear it?” she asked.
“What? Hear what?” He listened, but heard nothing. Even the local wildlife seemed to have been scared into silence by the recent battle.
“Something…like a song. Beautiful, and yet terrible, all at once.” She frowned and shook her head, suddenly more present than she had been moments before. “I can’t explain it.”
A song…that sent shivers down his spine. Some of the older Wardens, nearing the end of their time, had talked about hearing a song. The archdemon, they said it was, calling the darkspawn to war. But the only ones who heard it were the older Wardens at their Calling or those on the verge of becoming ghouls. Which meant they needed to hurry.
****
“You won’t stop there, will you, Keeper?” Big, wide eyes from all around met Merrill’s as she paused in her tale.
“You asked about Karaleyna’s start as a Grey Warden,” she answered, amused. She already knew what the answer would be.
“But she isn’t even a Grey Warden yet! You can’t stop there!” came the indignant response from one small child.
“Are you asking for another story then?”
“YES!” the chorus of children answered.
“Very well, I suppose we can do one more,” Merrill chuckled, and the children cheered.
Modifié par Sandtigress, 17 avril 2010 - 06:40 .
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the Dalish! I love that your doing this story as lore that the Keeper is telling to the children. ^-^
