1 réponse à ce sujet

[Samzo77]

 This is a short story, about 1750 words, that is in the world of Thedas, but not related to any character specific to Dragon Age.  I felt it was a good writing exercise, and hope to do more shorts like this one.  I hope you enjoy it, and welcome constructive criticism and editing tips.

-

Dearest Revered Mother,


For many years I have been blessed to serve the maker and His chantry, and I have been humbled by the generosity and kindness bestowed upon me throughout my service. I am sad in knowing what it took for me to find this destiny as the Makers servant, for there is much shame within me over my actions prior to pledging my life to the work of the chantry. Now, the lyrium and my own age threaten to take that shame away, by causing me to forget what I was and what I have done. I am writing you this letter in hopes of forgiveness before my mind is absent and inconsolable.


When I was a young man, I left the home of my youth, without word to family. Behind me lay a life in my fathers business, which had earned him considerable wealth, and a family I can recall nothing of.  I wrote to my father's estate once while in the service of the chantry, to let them know I hadn't passed to the beyond, but there was never a reply.


I headed west and fell in with another young man, Harold, and we traveled from town to town, and city to city, between Nevarra and Orlais. We stole, gambled, and cheated our way in each location, wasting the coins we took on liquor and women of ill-repute. Even now, all though the details hazy and distant, I have trouble keeping emotions stable at the thought of such practices.


Harold often spoke of becoming notorious, romanticizing theft and murder. He soon found an opportunity with a man from Tevinter, Liam. While I can scarcely recall Harold's features, Liam's have forever been engraved in my mind, even as it decays. He was of average height, thin and boney. His black hair was unruly, but he constantly pushed it back with his hands, as if to tame a forest. His thin beard was black like his hair, and just as unruly. When he looked at you it was as if something else, something evil, stared at you from behind his eyes, even when he smiled. I was afraid of him, and rarely looked at him or spoke to him. He told Harold about a Chanter in the next town that walked from farm to farm collecting donations.  His return trip would be around sundown, and there were many places we could intercept him.  Liam showed us a cave we could return to once we had made off with the coin, a place to lay low and divide the spoils of our shameful deed.


Harold and I both assumed the Chanter would hand over the tithes quickly at the site of our swords.  With our faces covered, we trapped him on the path, Harold in front of him, I behind. Harold shouted to hand the coins over, but the Chanter simply looked at us and smiled.  We asked again, but he would not hand us the collection box.  He stood his ground, tightly clutching his box with a look of peace, as though there were nothing we could do to hurt him.  He spoke words we did not understand, but that have been a comfort to me for many a year thereafter.
"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade
For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."
Harold became angry, but I was awed at his courage.  By Harold's order, we corralled the chanter with our swords.  Though he would not give us the box, he went wherever we prodded, and we took him back to the cave, box of tithe and all.  We made camp for the night, ate and took turns keeping watch of the chanter and his box.  He spoke no words, and slept with his head upon the wooden prize. 


The next day, Harold left me to watch our hostage, while he gathered food.  We would wait for Liam to arrive, and then decide how to handle our predicament.  I sat with the chanter, and what had started as admiration for his courage turned to frustration.  He gave answers only in riddles of the chant, and refused to hand over the tithes, even upon the promise of letting him go.  Harold came and went, showing his frustration in threats and sudden movements with his weapon.  I did not want to hurt the man, I only wished he would comply with our demands.  I did not like thinking of what Liam might do when he made his way to the camp, and I was sure he and Harold would force me to kill the chanter.  As the day went on and that thought continued to occur, I pleaded with the man, told him I didn't want him hurt, that I was just in a bad spot.  I promised I would give up this life if he would just give me the box.  Tears came freely, and I began to understand just what I had left behind for false promises of fortune and fame.  I poured out my heart to the chanter, and he smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity."


I went back to my spot on the other side of the fire, and pondered those words. Could I really find life in the Maker?  As I thought on this, Harold came back into the cave.  Night was beginning to fall, and he said Liam should be here soon.  He would meet him outside, and I should prepare my sword if necessary.  I glanced at the chanter and he smiled at me, while Harold left us alone again.


No words were spoken for at least an hour.  Night was upon us, and we waited anxiously for whatever may come.  I heard voices outside, Liam must have arrived and was speaking with Harold.  Their voices grew louder and there was a shout and the sound of thunder.  We both jumped from the ground, and Harold stumbled in, charred and bleeding.  His eyes were terrified, and he had but moments left in his life.
"Run"
It was all he could say before falling face first to the cavern floor.  I ran for the backside of the cavern, there was a path that lead further in, and hopefully to a new exit.  I had grabbed the chanter's arm, and he was running with me.  We found ourselves in a small chamber that ended, no place to go.  There was a large boulder that obstructed us from view, and we hoped it a suitable hiding place.  As we sat listening to strange noises, the hair on my neck and arms began to stand on end.  The chanter leaned over and whispered in my ear,
"They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.
They shall find no rest in this world
Or beyond."


I knew then what we faced, Liam was a blood mage, an apostate, the first I had ever met.  I became so afraid, but the chanter still had a look of peace on his face.  He took my sword from me, laid his hands upon it, and spoke,
"Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."
He placed the sword back into my hands and smiled.  I felt my fear begin to be replaced by peace, even though I knew he meant for me to fight Liam, to stand against him.  There would be peace for me in the beyond if I stood for what was right now, and I knew then I no longer wanted earthly fame, and that the fortunes of this life were fleeting, but the glory I needed lay beyond death.


We waited for what seemed hours, and then Liam approached our chamber.  He stepped into the area where the cavern opened up, and stood.  I could not see him from my cover, but my mind showed me his smile and his devious eyes.  He stood and reviled us, calling us cowards, telling us how he would use our blood to further his power.  He knew we where here, but wished to draw us out for a tactical advantage.  The chanter leaned into me and whispered again,
"Let the blade pass through the flesh,
Let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice."


I understood what the brave chanter meant to do, and as he rushed out from behind our boulder, I came after him.  Liam let out a yell and I felt an energy fill the room, and before me the chanter fell, burned by lightning as Harold had been, but I did not falter.  I leapt from behind the chanter as he fell, sword raised.  There was a look of terror in Liam's unholy eyes, and I brought the sword down upon his head.  With a splatter of blood, he fell to the earth, and his soul to the torment of the demon that plagued him.


I left that cave and never looked back.  I headed west, deep into Orlais, until I felt far enough away from my sins.  I knew the chanter allowed himself to die so that I might defeat the evil that sought us, but I knew he would never have been there if Harold and I had not brought him in our greed and stupidity.  I would atone, and I knew now what my life was meant to be.  I found a chantry and asked to train as a Templar, and have served faithfully since.  The sword has stayed with me, and when I hold it a steadiness comes over me, knowing the blessing the chanter had spoken over it.


Revered Mother, I know what I have done is a terrible thing, but before I am lost in my mind and without ability to seek forgiveness, I ask that you would bestow your favor on me, and comfort me in these last days of my service.  Forgive me for not having the courage to come forward sooner, and for my actions so long ago.


Faithfully, and humbly your servant,


Ser Uriah Le'Castionne,
A Knight of the Templars

[jackkel dragon]

Very nicely written. I didn't notice any glaring errors (literary or setting), and the plot flowed well. The character of Liam was well-developed, changing (in perception) from the suspicious highwayman to evil blood mage. Good work.