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[equinexus]

Hail! I'm equinexus, and I'd like to thank you ahead of time for taking the time to appreciate my works. Enjoy!

(This is my first post in the forums, so bear with me as I learn how to use the codes correctly. )

Fanfiction:


Commander of The Grey (Part I - Welcome to Amaranthine) |  (Part II - Caved In) | (Part III - One Day, We Shall Join You) , Part IV - coming soon!
As the new Warden Commander of Vigil's Keep, these are the adventures of Elias Surana (Profile) , featuring the characters/locations of Awakening.



Blade of Orlais (Part I - Dancing With Wolves)  | Part II - coming soon!
Known as the Blade of Orlais, the Orlesian Bard Gervais Andras serves the Imperial Court of Orlais as it's top assassin, carrying out his duties in the name of Empress Celine I.



The Bloodied Blade (Part I - Mort d'un Bard)  | Part II - coming soon!
Defying the orders of the Empress to assassinate his own
family, Gervais Andras (Profile) saves them by smuggling them out of Orlais. Furious, the Empress places a high bounty on his head, forcing Gervais to fight for his life.

Modifié par equinexus, 07 mai 2010 - 09:12 .

[equinexus]

Blade of Orlais (Part I - Dancing With Wolves)


The bathwater of the porcelain tub steamed from the heat, the rose
petals spread within leaving a soft scent in the air of the room.
Candles lined the edges of the tub, sufficiently lighting the highly
decorated and furnished washroom. Burgundy linens fresh from the laundry
were laid out, ready to be worn.

Shedding the remains of his garbs, the lone inhabitant of the grand washroom tiredly peeled his blood-soaked clothing from his skin, letting them fall to the floor beside his armor. Completely nude to the world, he inhaled the scent of the roses deeply before a small smile emerged from the corner of his mouth.

"I am spoiled," said the inhabitant, his Orlesian accent
heavy as he stepped towards the bath. Just as he was about to sink a toe
into the waters, he noticed an envelope sitting atop his fresh
clothing, making his elven ears perk up in surprise. The wax seal on the
envelope had the symbol of the Empress Celine I, and he was
instantly intrigued by it.

Plucking the envelope from atop the linens, he lowered himself into the bath, the waters quickly darkening
as the blood lifted from his pale skin. He relaxed a moment, running his
fingers over the wax seal just once before dunking his head beneath the
waters, his ebony hair flattening around his shoulders as it dampened.
Holding the envelope above the waters, he sighed lightly before he
pulled a diminutive razor from the hidden side of the tub, cutting
through the wax seal and opening the letter.

"I have been most pleased by your work, Gervais Andras. You are to attend an upcoming
ball, hosted by Gerard Lambert. He is in need of your song. I trust he
will be most entertained."

The elf's piercing blue optics scanned over the letter before he held it over the flames of a nearby
candle, setting it afire. He did not have to read it twice to understand
its meaning.

"It appears I shall dance with the wolves of Orlais," muttered Gervais as he watched the letter burn away, leaving
only floating embers and ash.

Val Royeaux, home of the aristocratic Lambert family…

The ball was both grandiose and lively, filled with hundreds of guests all clamoring about the latest fashions and gossip. The ladies of Orlais donned extravagant gowns, textured and bejeweled to match their finest pair of slippers. Men stood gallantly besides their prized women, their buttons and boots polished to reflect even the slightest hint of light.

Clad in attire that complimented his sharp, angled features, Gervais glided through the maze of people with hardly a glance from the male partygoers. Apart from the occasional interested lady scooping up his arm and making her best attempts to lure him back to her chambers, he made polite conversation as he slowly gravitated towards the host of the party; Gerard Lambert.

The blonde aristocrat stood near his latest prized possession, a painting of Emperor Drakon, founder of Orlais.  Showing off quite shamelessly, Lambert drew the attention of a dozen guests, discussing the painting and occasionally bringing laughter from the group.

Gervais knew he had to gain the socialite's attention, one way or another.

Approaching the painting, he gently eased into the group, the guests unaware of his intrusion.

"Quite a brutish man, wasn't he?" commented Lambert as he gazed at Drakon's portrait, bringing giggles from the women of the crowd and chuckles from the males.

"Sometimes a man of brutish nature is needed to secure the safety of a nation," responded Gervais in his thick accent, being sure to speak in his most enchanting tone, silencing the group as they all turned to seek out the owner of the voice. Once they eyed the Orlesian elf, their eyebrows rose, waiting for Lambert's reply.

"Oh?" asked Lambert, the elf catching a glimpse of curiosity, and interest, from the human's eyes. "And who might you be?"

"Excusez-moi, my Lord. I am a minstrel, here to entertain at your request," said the elf, bowing politely, his silky black hair falling about his ears before raising his eyes shyly at the aristocrat, who enjoyed the sight of the timid elf.

"Is that so? I should like to sample your skills, minstrel," said the Lambert, Gervais picking up the hidden suggestiveness. "For now, let's hear a song. Impress me and I may have a permanent position open for you here."

"I will do my best to please you," said Gervais, his lusty gaze locking onto Lambert's, bringing a gulp of anticipation from the lord.

Lambert proceeded to hush the nearby groups of guests with an announcement. "Quiet down! A minstrel is here to sing for us," said the blonde, and after a brief moment there was silence. With a gesture of his hand, Lambert urged Gervais to begin his performance.


Adjusting his clothing, Gervais became surrounded by the large group of Orlesians, and he cleared his throat before speaking. "I will sing the song of wolves, for the ones who live amongst us," said the elf in his melodic, soothing voice, chuckling inwardly at his secret insult. These aristocrats were indeed wolves, constantly ripping out the throats of their competitors for a bigger piece of meat.

Unaware of his true meaning, the Orlesians were engaged immediately by his mysterious statement, his mesmerizing looks and voice drawing their full attention.


"Blanc ou noir comme toi je pars au loin,
avec l'espoir
de changer le destin.
Bien que dans le corps l'âme embrase,
dans
l'obscurité la distance devient infinie."

The guests began whispering amongst themselves, surprised by how well this elven minstrel
sung.

"Avec des jeunes vêtus en peau de bête,
on danse
ensemble au milieu des tempêtes.
Un autre horizon se dissout
dans
la lumière des yeux qui veulent se reveiller."

Lambert was clearly captivated, staring with his mouth parted and his eyes wide as the song came to its conclusion.

"Et, j'attend là,
où rien
bouge maintenant.

Même si je ne te vois pas
je peux retrouver
ce que l'on cherche dans la nuit.
Même si c'est très difficile
je
danserai mon chemin avec les loups."

When the song ended, Lambert instantly began clapping, the rest of his party following suit as Gervais bowed politely to them.

"Outstanding!" a voice from the crowd yelled above the clapping, and the elf grinned, bowing once more.

"Sing us another!" cried another voice, and an eruption of agreeing voices came from the crowds.

"Now, now," said Lambert as he moved steadily towards Gervais, ensnaring the elf about his waist. "Let's not tire the poor minstrel of his voice! I should like a private chat with him first."

After a playful round of jeers from the crowds, they began to mingle with each other once more as the Lambert led Gervais by the hip out of the crowded ball and down the hall of his fine household.

"Your name? From where do you hail?" questioned the Orlesian lord as they moved through his vast hallways, lined with portraits of the immense Lambert family. The carpet was a bright red, much like the color of blood. Gervais knew that color well.

"I am Gervais of Montsimmard, my Lord," answered Gervais, lowering his head slightly. Remembering to keep a timid persona, the elf's icy blue eyes scanned the halls for chevaliers, eyeing two posted at the grand doors of a room they approached, and a few wandering guests. He would hate to have witnesses. Killing innocents was never his cup of tea.

Lambert eventually led Gervais past the armed chevaliers, who examined Gervais suspiciously as he was led into the lord's private chambers. Inside, a bed fit for a king was draped with peach linens; his dressers made of oak and rugs of expensive furs.

"Well, Gervais of Montsimmard, I think we've come to an understanding," said Lambert as he shut closed the doors behind him. The elf pretended to be startled, turning suddenly to the human.

"My Lord?" he asked, playing coy.

"You will stay here in Val Royeaux, entertain my guests on occasion," said Lambert, reaching out to trail his finger down the curve of Gervais's cheekbone, "and accompany me to bed when called upon."

The Orlesian lord proceeded to embrace the thin elf, holding the shorter man against himself unabashedly. He captured Gervais's silky hair in a tight grip, pulling on it roughly.


"My Lord… I wonder," whispered the black-haired elf as Lambert began to trail kisses down the length of his porcelain neck. Slowly, Gervais eased a thin blade from the sleeve of his attire.

"You wonder?" asked the aristocrat, pausing briefly in his seduction to ask the question.

"I wonder the noise you will make when you die," whispered the bard, and as Lambert pulled away in confusion, the elf raised his blade in a quick movement, sinking it into the flesh of the aristocrat's neck. Blood sprouted in all directions, dampening Gervais's cuff as he slowly eased the gargling man to the floor, making sure that his descent to the floor was quiet.

"So that's the noise," whispered the assassin to the dying man, whose eyes were wide in betrayal and shock. There was only a few moments of suffering before Gerard Lambert died with a bewildered look upon his face, and the elven bard Gervais gradually rose from his knee, retracting the blade from the corpse's neck. Slipping the dagger back into the sleeve of his fashionable attire, the elf closed his eyes, whispering a light prayer.

"Maker, pardonner mon âme."

Without further hesitation, Gervais instantly made his way towards the panes of Lambert's chamber, quickly unlocking and swinging them open. They were on the third floor, and it was a long descent to the ground below. Climbing onto the windowsill, the elf swung himself out onto the banister, scaling the wall until he moved close enough to a nearby house.

Making a leap of faith, the elf lunged a great distance, latching onto the roof of the neighboring household. Grasping the edge, he dangled dangerously from it, fighting the urge the look down at the distance beneath were he to fall.  Summoning his upper body strength, he grunted as he pulled his entire being safely over the edge, rolling onto his back and sighing in relief.

"I see you are not on my side today," teased the assassin as he looked upward into the sky.

After a moment, Gervais gained his bearings and stood, peering over the expansive rooftops of Val Royeaux with a hand upon his hip. The world was engulfed by night, but torches lit up the immense city and music danced on the breeze, bringing it to his pointy ears.

From the Lambert household, he began to hear a great deal of scuffles and noise, no doubt one of the chevaliers coming across Gerard's corpse and alarming the other guards. They soon flooded the city, knocking on doors and storming the streets of Val Royeaux, looking for the unnamed minstrel Lambert had taken to his rooms, but the assassin had long since gone, disappearing into the night without a trace.

Modifié par equinexus, 07 mai 2010 - 09:34 .

[equinexus]

The Bloodied Blade (Part I - Mort d'un Bard)

The darkness of night consumed the sky, darkening the landscapes of the
wilds. Shining like a watchful eye, the moon's beam was the only light
in the forest, creating shadows through the trees' branches. A brisk
wind had picked up, making the bitter cold night even more chilly with
each gust. As the wind whipped the leaves and branches about in their
eerie dances, an elf sat crouched among one of them, squinting his eyes
as he hid behind the thick, brown trunk. He breathed heavily, attempting
to catch his breath as he waited, staring into the shadows with
determined blue eyes.

After a moment, the elf was able to quiet
himself, becoming completely still as he surveyed the woods slowly.
Every movement of shadows drew his attention, his eyes flickering about
as he tried to catch sight of his pursuers. Suddenly, out of the
blackness, an arrow came flying directly for him.

With a precise
movement, Gervais knocked the arrow off course with his blade, ducking
behind the trunk completely when another arrow splintered the tree just
beside his head, sending fragments of bark flying in all directions.
There was only a second of silence before he heard the crunch of a
branch, and he turned to spot a dark figure charging him, their weapon
drawn and ready to strike. Using his blade, Gervais blocked the downward
attack of the dark figure, ducking and swinging a leg around to trip
the attacker. The figure lost their balance, falling from the trunk but
landing safely on the grass below.

"He's here!" cried the
figure, immediately summoning others from the woods.

Surrounded,
Gervais watched as they all crept like lions about him, in the trees
and on foot below. Several skilled archers had drawn bows from their
quivers, pulling their bowstrings taut as they aimed for the dark-haired
elf. Pausing, he waited for them to all fire, running and diving off of
the branch to land on his feet in the meadow below. Dodging the arrows
in midair, he chucked his dagger at one of the three archers, striking
them as he landed upright, already drawing another from the belt at his
waist.

"I'm not going to make this easy," hissed the Orlesian
elf as he took a defensive stance, pulling his sword from the sheath of
his back.

At once, the two remaining archers descended from the
trees, relinquishing their bows to draw their own blades, joining the
two other rogues already on the ground.  Taking on four assassins of his
order would be the death of him, but in the back of his mind, he saw
the smiling face of his sister. He had rescued her and his parents from
the Empress's assassination order, and that simple look of appreciation
and love he had seen on her face was worth of all his efforts. Now, he
would have to pay for his defiance, and to him, the payment was only
fair; his life for his family.

Circling him, the four assassins
slowly coordinated their positions, trying to figure out the best way to
take down one of their own. Gervais knew all of their tricks, and he
would make sure he made them earn the bounty on his head.

An
assassin tried to backstab him, leaping at him sword-first. Turning,
Gervais dodge the blade before shoving his own sword through the
assassin's stomach, bringing him down. The second assassin attempted to
take advantage of the scuffle, running up on Gervais as he pulled his
sword free, only to take the elf's dagger to his face as he cut through
the flesh of his cheeks and neck with a swift swipe.

Exhausted,
Gervais breathed heavily in his armor, glaring at the two assassins that
remained. They continued to circle him, and by their tactics, he knew
they were going to strike at the same time. Idly, he wondered if he
would be able to survive this maneuver, wondering what to think at the
last moment of life.

Before he could decide, the assassins
struck at him, leaping at him from both sides with their acrobatic
attacks. In a whirlwind, Gervais twirled his blades on each side of him,
creating a cyclone of movement. Cutting into the assassins, they
groaned as they were gutted, collapsing onto the ground in a fit of
guttural noises.

A sharp pain shot through Gervais's midsection
and he slowly lowered his eyes to spot the hilt of a dagger sticking out
of his armor, the blade fatally deep in his flesh. Looking to his other
side, a sword skewered him from belly to back.

Weakly the elf
trudged forward a few steps, unable to think a clear thought as his
weapons fell free of his hands, sinking in the grass among the bodies of
the dead assassins. Gervais was surprised when he felt a heavy blow
against his back, another throb of intense pain beginning to form as he
turned to see what had caused it.

There was yet another
assassin, grinning as he aimed another arrow at Gervais, releasing it
with a twinge from the bowstring. The momentum of the arrow pierced
through Gervais's armor, entering his chest and knocking him backwards a
few steps.

Coughing, blood began to seep from the corners of
the elf's mouth, falling to his knees tiredly as he began to succumb to
his wounds. He could feel the death of his body, wondering what an odd
feeling it was as the last assassin approached him for the killing blow.
Even though Gervais's vision was blurred, he spotted the figure raising
his bow before him, about to fire one last arrow.

In a final
act of defiance, Gervais pulled the dagger free from his side, forcibly
throwing it with lightning speed and sinking the sharpened edge into the
forehead of the last assassin. He went down without a sound, sprawling
dead in the meadow among the others.

Falling onto his side,
Gervais hissed as he fought the sporadic surges of pain, watching as
black ate at the corners of his eyes, bringing only silence and
darkness.

***********

"I'm hungry," whined a redheaded elf
as he walked along, trailing behind his four companions. At his side
stood a large mabari, trotting happily with a light pant as they moved
through the forest.

"You just ate, Iain!" cried the blonde
Templar, unable to believe her ears. She had just spent two hours
feeding her four male companions, quickly growing frustrated with the
redhead.

"Yeah, but I am still hungry," said Iain, knitting his
fingers into his hair as he walked, bringing an irritated scoff from the
woman.

"You're going to get fat, you know," frowned the female
Templar, bringing a chuckle from the blonde mage who led the group.

"Loraine's
right. Zevran won't love you anymore," said the mage with an evil
smirk, the Antivan nearby laughing loudly.

Iain pouted slightly,
folding his arms to his chest with a huff. "Oh shut up, Elias."

The
elven mage continued to smirk as they moved, a silence coming over the
group as they drifted through the woods. It was early noon, with the sun
high above their heads and the birds chirping nature's melodies. Elias
couldn't sense any darkspawn, and he was sure his fellow Wardens,
Alistair and Iain, would have said something if they had.

Glancing
over the pauldron of his Sentinel armor, his love interest, the Templar
Loraine, walked side-by-side with her childhood friend, Alistair.
Zevran, the Antivan assassin he had spared, was some distance behind
them, keeping close to his charge and the youngest of them all, Iain.
Iain's mabari, Dailen, pranced at the elf's feet, occasionally sniffing
the grass and leaving his scent on the trees.

It was a moment
before the Commander looked forward once more, coming to a quick stop in
surprise at the scene. In the midst of a glowing meadow were the
corpses of many rogues, all sprawled in different manners of death. In
the middle of it all was a black-haired elf, sprawled on his side with a
sword and arrows protruding from his armor.

"Would'ya look at
that?" commented Iain as they all gathered at Elias's sides, eyeing the
scene with interest.

"Poor sods," frowned Alistair, obviously
displeased with the behavior of the fallen, knowing they should all be
working together in the tough times instead of fighting one another.

After
a moment, the redheaded Iain wandered forward to check the corpses for
loot, becoming interested with the fallen elf in the center of the
bodies. There was an elaborately decorated sword and dagger near the
corpse, perfect for dueling, and he knew he had to have them.

His
companions watched as the elf looked about, gradually making his way
over the black-haired elf. Squatting beside the corpse, he picked up a
loose arrow, beginning to poke at the body idly, nudging it slightly. In
movements quicker than he could comprehend, the corpse suddenly grabbed
hold of the nearby dagger, launching to his feet and grabbing the
redhead by the neck and arm. Pressing the blade dangerously against the
skin of Iain's neck, the black-haired elf glared at Elias and his party
over the redhead's shoulder.

"Reculez! Je vais le tuer!"
screamed the bloodied elf, blood caking his mouth and armor as he rocked
tiredly, still clutching Iain by the arm with the weapon to his neck. "Je
ne vais pas sans se battre!"

"Iain!" exclaimed Zevran, his
face filled with worry for his lover's safety.

"Well, he's not
half as dead as he looks, is he?" commented Alistair.

Being the
leader he was, Elias remained calm, raising his hands to the crazed elf
slowly. The Orlesian was clearly feverish and frightened. "We're
not here to harm you," he said in his most soothing tone, drawing the
attention of the severely wounded Orlesian.

"Comment
puis-je savoir? Reculez, ou je vais l'égorger!" shouted the bloodied
elf, gradually taking steps away from the group, still holding Iain
hostage. His bright, blue eyes were wide, his hair disheveled and
plastered to his forehead with sweat.


"Vous pauvre âme!
Vous avez peur... " murmured the Templar, knowing Orlesian
fluently. "We are friends, here to help you." Her tone seemed to
surprise the wounded elf, and he looked to her, his eyes calming
slightly.

"Qui êtes-vous? Que voulez-vous?" he asked,
still holding Iain closely to his weak body.

"He wants to know
who we are, why we are here," translated Loraine, the Templar glancing
over at the mage.

"My name is Elias Surana. I am Commander of the
Grey, leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We are seeking out a den
of darkspawn known to be somewhere near here, when we stumbled on you.
You are in no danger," said the blonde mage, keeping any panic for his
redheaded friend hidden from his voice. "Please, if you could calm
yourself and release Iain."

"How do I know you're not with them?
How do I know you won't stab me in the ba-," uttered the black-haired Orlesian,
growing extremely weary as he remained suspicious. Staggering, he was
overcome by his wounds, suddenly slumping forward against Iain. The
dagger fell from his hand and the redhead turned to catch the Orlesian
cautiously, carefully lowering him into the grass.

Running
forward, the party approached them quickly, making their way through the
corpses to get closer to the fallen black-haired elf. Zevran gathered
Iain up in his arms, sighing in relief and holding the ginger elf
tightly to his chest.  Loraine stood near Alistair, gazing down at
Elias, whom was kneeling before weakened Orlesian.

"I am a
mage," whispered Elias to the drifting Orlesian as he unbelted
his gauntlet, tugging it from his hand. "I will do my best to heal your
wounds, but you must trust me."

The Orlesian's eyes fought
to stay open, finally giving in to them as he lay helpless. "Thank
you," he whispered, his voice thick with accent.

"Stay with me,"
ordered the mage, patting the Orlesian's cheek to keep him awake
long enough to heal his more severe wounds. "Tell me, friend," Elias
said as he unbound the elf's armor, seeking out his puncture wounds.
"What is your name?"

The dark-haired elf fought to keep his eyes
on Elias, rolling about involuntarily as unconsciousness crept over him
once again. "My… name? Is Gervais," uttered the Orlesian, his
alluring eyes sliding shut.

"Gervais, stay with us," said the
mage, but to the Orlesian, his voice fell upon deaf ears at the
darkness once again consumed him, falling into a peaceful rest as he
felt the pain of his wounds finally ease.