Hello dear readers!
This is my first attempt at a Dragon Age story.
I would appreciate your support as I begin weaving the tale of my very own adventure in this world of endless possibilities. Feedback is always appreciated and greatly treasured.
The post here will be the prologue, links to the chapters, and the way I imagine the characters would look.
For those that have already been following the Chronicles - I'm honored that you've taken out some time to read my work. I hope you will enjoy the next installments!
-Ravenna Snow
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Title:
Dragon Age: Chronicles of Tainted Blood
Rating:
[M] - for mature content, violence, and strong language
Setting:
Approximately one year after the coronation of King Alistair...
Word Count:
22,687
Summary:
How far would the Warden go for duty? How much would the Warden risk for
peace? She lives on borrowed time, yet yearns to repay that debt. For
duty and for love, she would give it all - every drop of her tainted
blood.
...All above morphs created in Toolset (except for Wynne).
This is what I imagine these characters to look like...
(Credit goes to More Hairstyles and P-Angel's Tragic Eyes mods for giving me something to play with!)
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Links:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - (7/27)
Chapter 4 - (7/29)
Chapter 5 - (7/30)
Chapter 6 - (8/09)
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Dragon Age: Chronicles of Tainted Blood
Book I: The Winds of Change
Prologue
The winters of Ferelden could be described as mild.
Compared to the overwhelming blizzards and all-encompassing snows of Par Vollen, the atmosphere at Soldier's Peak resembled autumn. Here, even if there was no shelter to be had and no way to make fire for warmth, one could certainly survive on nothing but the strength of will alone. At least, that was what the hooded travelers kept telling themselves. The fact that the sporadic gusts of freezing wind and hail kept pushing them back was a thing of shame. They were Qunari – compared to the raw winters of their homeland, this small storm should not hinder them so.
There was something strange about this mountain, however – something that made their leader pause too often. Their heavy boots crushed the snow under their weight, the friction of metal against wet rock making too much noise for his liking. He was cautious. Back home, there were stories told of their leader facing an ambush in these lands by creatures known as Darkspawn. Was he wary of them still, even though the monsters had been pushed back in the last conflict? Although they were mildly curious, they remained silent. It did not occur to them to doubt their leader's judgment; he was their commander after all.
They trekked for miles through the moaning wind, wondering when the time would come to seek shelter from the pelting ice. At last, the leader held up a hand, motioning for the party of five to come to a stop. He pulled his hood back from his face, bright white hair quickly blending with the snow. His vivid, golden eyes scanned the surroundings, his shoulders stiff.
"What is it?" asked one of the warriors. "What do you see?"
The man did not reply and another warrior sent his partner a glare, elbowing him lightly in the side.
"Silence. Do not disturb our leader."
His partner grunted in reply and settled his gaze on the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of danger. All this walking and constant marching hardly worked to put him in a good mood. What he wanted was a nice blood bath – to feel his blade tearing through the flesh of his enemies. This endless stillness was not welcome. The leader had yet to fully explain what they were searching for. They'd set out from Por Vollen nearly three weeks ago, sent on a mission to the northern mountains of Ferelden by the Arishok himself. To what end? Only their leader knew, and it appeared that he was unwilling to share. His followers did not give it much thought – their duty was to fight, not ask questions.
While they were paused, the man reached for the water skin at his hip. Unscrewing the cap, he squeezed the thick hide only to give a disappointed grunt when he felt that the water within was frozen solid. If he was truly thirsty, he could have just eaten some of the snow, but for now his need was not so dire. His only regret was that he could not taste the pure water in the flask; it was the last of the supplies from their homeland. Looking around at the foreign landscape made him feel some weariness.
"Forward," the man in front of him suddenly said. They continued to march for several more hours up the mountain. The path that wound up became steeper and steeper. As they advanced farther up, the trees began to thin out until there were hardly any to block the view of the mountain ridge. That's when he noticed a large, towering structure made of stone standing on the very peak of the hill. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a mighty fortress. Was that their destination, then? Were there monsters in there? Were they going to fight? As they climbed, he swelled with pride, eager at the thought of serving his people. His hand was never far from his sword.
They were almost nearing the worn path to the drawbridge when he tripped on a large rock and dropped his flask. So startled was he that he nearly failed to regain his balance – something that he hoped went unnoticed by his partners. Cursing, he looked down, giving the offending boulder a good kick of frustration. Their leader, startled by his loud expletive, turned back to look at him. The man in front of him glared. Nodding respectfully in an apologetic gesture, he reached down to pick up his fallen equipment. A look of utter shock momentarily crossed his features before he cursed again, bending forward to brush snow away from the rock.
"Why have you stopped?" their leader asked impassively.
"This is not a rock…" he replied simply. His interest piqued, the leader moved forward, kneeling down beside his follower. Together, they moved away clumps of ice and snow until both men were taken aback to find a small body. Although the man was confused, the leader seemed to recognize the shape. His movements suddenly became more animated; he pushed his follower aside roughly.
"Leader…do you know what this creature is?"
He did not appear to hear him. Instead, he shifted mounds of snow away from the figure until he could move it from its frozen prison. There was a sudden light in the qunari's eyes; they seemed to glow a more intense gold. Confused by this reaction, the man's followers stood still, unused to seeing their leader so moved by something other than a battle.
"Kadan…" he whispered. The men all stiffened at the same time. Their leader had uttered a word so sacred to them that few had ever truly used it. Whatever this tiny creature was, it obviously held tremendous meaning to their commander. A small sound came from the half-frozen animal. It uttered syllables that were foreign, but could be recognized as words.
"…Sten…" was the sole thing they understood in the entire mess of garbled noise. How did this animal know their commander? The Qunari who had originally tripped over the body placed a hand on the leader's shoulder, his face a bit concerned. The enormous warrior shrugged it off, giving him a brief look of warning before picking up the half-dead thing and wrapping it in his cloak.
"We will proceed," he said simply. The men knew better than to question such an order.
Modifié par Odangou, 10 août 2010 - 12:05 .
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