(updated by appearances)
The Heroic Party
CORINNA PALAIOLOGINA FILIA ARCHONTOS (a Tevinter mage)
Author’s Note: Possible mature content. I don’t care for gratuitous sexuality and things of that sort, and will make any attempts to tastefully avoid vulgarity but given the nature of the game itself, please don’t read this if you’re an impressionable child.
This story follows the events of DA:O, but not to the letter—that would be both impossible and incredibly boring. The story will diverge appreciably after Ostagar, since the presence of a magister would undoubtedly change certain key events.
No, Tevinter is not an origin in the game but it’ll work out fine. You’ll see. The name Palaiologina is the feminine form of Palaiologos, the last imperial dynasty of the Byzantine Empire—which, of course—Tevinter is based on.
Since pseudo-Latin makes me cringe, and I have no aptitude or inclination for it, I’ll be using a classical Latin and ancient Greek for the Imperial language. That’s just my thing, and my explanation for the bad Latin in the game is just my own invention and is not canon.
I’m going to handwave most of the character names and skip combat as much as possible in the narrative interest. In real life, people don’t have names floating above their heads so it shouldn’t be too much of an interest.
DA2 has provided new lore information that has superseded some of what I've written earlier, such as the organization of the Tevinter Circle—it seems that magister is the rank above first enchanter, rather than just a generic title for the nobility. Since none of the other origins had characters that had fully realized their powers, I've had to downgrade her to the status of enchanter (one higher than the level of the mage origin, to reflect her noble status).
Another adjustment from the original story is that I will be hewing more closely to the lore that places the contemporary Imperium as an analog for the Byzantine Empire: thus, Tevinter will more closely resemble medieval Greece while still—as you might except—manifesting the ideology of its ancient forebear. For that reason, too, the main character no longer wears a classical Roman outfit, but rather, a fanciful approximation of posh Byzantine active wear (as opposed to the really long robes that they'd actually wear) inspired by this illustration: http://fc06.devianta...by_ZoeStead.png . The character description will follow in the story, but if you want to visualize her, she essentially looks just like that, except minus the giant green skirt and the big blue poofy sleeves. Consider it the fabric equivalent of the light leather armors in DA:O, as opposed to those terribly impractical long robes (great designs, poor for combat!).
CHAPTER I
Ostagar Fortress
The young Alamarri king was the greatest idiot she’d ever seen. He looked like a woman, prancing around in his long blond hair and outrageously burnished gold armor. Corinna was female, but she thought that Cailian was "womanish" in the most stereotypical sense possible. Of course, perhaps his mincing foolishness was a form of bravery: that shiny gilded monstrosity he was wearing would make him the prime target in any battlefield.
He was very friendly, though, and Corinna felt terribly guilty for thinking so poorly of him. A fool he might be, but he was a damned charismatic fool and that was not a bad characteristic in a king.
“Ho Duncan! It’s good to see you friend,” the king greeted warmly, “and who’s this slip of a girl at your side? Is she to be a Grey Warden too?”
Pah! Not terribly likely, Corinna thought. Dedicating her life to fighting darkspawn seemed a terribly tedious way of spending her life. She preferred to partake of the finer things that life, and the great city of Minrathous, had to offer. The wardens were called grey for a reason: their existence was dull and monotonous.
Duncan, the broad-shouldered Grey Warden who’d brought her to this former Tevinter fortress, adopted a look of polite surprise. “Your Majesty, I had—”
“—not expected a royal welcome?” the monarch finished. “But how could I not greet the great Duncan and his fabled Grey Wardens? This will be a battle for the centuries! Though I am not convinced it is a true Blight. But where are my manners, you were about to tell me about the girl.”
“Yes, King Cailan. This young lady is the daughter of the Imperial Archon.”
The king—Cailan, was it?—turned to regard Corinna with a great deal more interest. He seemed thoroughly fascinated by her, as if she were a talking squirrel or something equally bizarre. “All the way from Tevinter? How wondrous! Are you like a princess, then? Perhaps you wish to observe the battle from the towers? I guarantee that this day will be forever remembered in legend and song.”
Corinna was about to deliver a sharp retort, but Duncan spoke up first. “Perhaps we ought to be more concerned about making our dispositions. Night will be upon us soon.”
“Sound counsel,” Cailan acknowledged, “and the teryn will have called out a search party for me by now. It was pleasant meeting you, my lady.” The king half-bowed, and then turned into the forest with his honor guard, leaving the Grey Warden and the girl alone.
Duncan spoke up just as the king had left. “You were about to tell him.”
“He thought I was some pretty pretty princess, accustomed to being used as a species of ornament. I am the daughter of an archon, not the feeble-minded offal of that Orlesian harlot!” Corinna seethed. She was coddled enough back at Minrathous; she had come to Ferelden for war, not to be treated like fine porcelain.
“Walk with me,” Duncan commanded. The two of them walked across decaying marble ruins, covered in lichens and moss that were millennia old. The entire fortress had a haunted look to it, quite well matching Duncan’s grave tone. “Do you know what they would do to you if they knew what you really were? You are not in the Imperium anymore—in the southern regions of Thedas, the Chantry wields tremendous influence. If anyone in this camp had the slightest hint that you were a maleficar, they would kill you on the spot.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Duncan, we’ve been over this,” Corinna replied in a wearied voice, “I came here to fight darkspawn, not shriek in fright every time I see the shadow of a Templar."
Duncan abruptly stopped. “How do you suppose you will fight the darkspawn? If you participate in this battle—truly participate—they will know who you are. I have no intention of holding back a capable fighter such as yourself: but I need to know that you will be able to use your abilities in full. Everything depends on it.”
Something in his voice made her shiver. “I can do that,” she whispered.
“I believe you. It is why I will ask you to take part in the Joining, to become a Grey Warden.”
Corinna leapt backwards, as if she had just stepped on hot coals. “Join the Grey Wardens? Why would I do such a thing? The Wardens forfeit their titles and inheritances. I am a mage and an archon’s daughter—with my ancestry, I may someday rule the Imperium. I do not mean to give that up.”
“If we do not stop the Blight here, there may not be an Imperium left to rule,” Duncan said darkly, “Ferelden will fall, and the darkspawn will gain immeasurable power once they have subjected the populace to the taint. You came here for a reason, and joining the Grey Wardens will mean you can combat the darkspawn with little fear of Chantry persecution.”
She didn’t like the idea of becoming bound to their order. However, she could see the advantages of using blood magic with impunity: she had trained in the ancient ways, but without it she was no more than a middling mage. She might embarrass her father, or worse, get herself killed by those darkspawn. She needed her blood magic, and if she had to join their dismal little band, then so be it. Father could always absolve her on her triumphant return to the capital.
The mage agreed, reluctantly, and Duncan appeared quite pleased. He instructed her to take a look around the camp and meet up with the new recruits, including a warden named Alistair. Corinna was extremely curious to investigate the ruins at this point and see what manner of forces the barely civilized "Fereldans" had assembled to combat the Blight.
As she took her leave of Duncan, she crossed an arched threshold that sealed off this corner of the fortress from the central causeway below. A thin section flanked by parapets, almost like a bridge, separated the two halves of the fortress. The bridge was flanked with yellow banners which flapped in the wind, and Corinna turned her head to follow the path of the winds across the valley and to the mountains beyond. Curious as to what lay below the walls of the fortress, Corinna walked to the bridge and approached the nearest parapet. She peered down at the fortifications below before getting seized with a sharp vertigo as the height grew into scale.
Her Tevinter cloak, clasped at her right shoulder, began to flutter in the air as icy wind whipped down the mountain causeway. Corinna pulled back from the edge with a slow, measured pace so that she would not be pulled backwards along with the wind. The wind felt like thousands of steel pinpricks upon her skin through the thin silk of her tunica, so she grabbed her cloak and pulled it around her shoulders while burying her bare arms inside its voluminous bulk. The cloak was dyed a deep purple and trimmed with gold filigree Imperial Chantry starburst motifs, so she drew a lot of attention from the soldiers that were patrolling the bridge.
She called to one of them and asked him for directions. “Well, if you’re looking for Alistair, you’ll be wanting to walk just past the Circle encampment and head up the stairs there. If you see fancy royal looking tents or the infirmary, you’re on the wrong side of camp,” the guard helpfully provided.
Corinna thanked him, then took her time crossing the windy bridge. She was quite ashamed at herself for being so squeamish about heights: she’d lived her entire life in the rarefied heights above Minrathous, and her own people had built this fortress! There was just something deeply unsettling about the place—it reminded her of home, but in a terrible way. In her mind’s eye, she could see Minrathous in ruins like Ostagar and the thought frightened her to her core.
She breathed a sigh of relief after she crossed over to the encampment. As she began her search for Alistair, she felt the telltale yanking of the cosmic plane that accompanied mages when they were journeying into the Fade. True enough, a collection of Circle mages were swirling with lyrium just past the gates of the camp. She had no desire to associate with any of them, and the two heavily armored Templars standing in front of the Circle camp seemed mightily unfriendly. She decided that it was best to avoid them entirely.
A little further beyond the camp, she saw a man in a curiously bedraggled set of leather armor. He was certainly no line soldier or knight—could this be Alistair?
He was sassing some female knight, who was stomping away just as Corinna approached. The man regarded her with curiosity. “May I help you? Ahh, you must be the new recruit!”
“Good afternoon. I am Corinna Palaiologina, and you are?”
The man, quite wiry and considerably taller than her, stared at her down an aquiline nose. “Name’s Daveth, and I’m a fellow recruit. You’re quite different than I expected!” He was looking at her quite intently, which was a little unsettling given that there was a certain shiftiness in his coffee-colored eyes. His unshaven face and the general rough condition of his clothing gave her more than a little concern, especially when his eyes shifted downwards, giving him a view down her blouse.
“Do explain,” the princess said politely enough, but with the slightest glimmer of threat in her voice.
Daveth continued on heedlessly. “Well… you’re ah. That fancy robe makes you look like you’re with the king's lot. And that tight thing you’re wearing is so—err, it really brings out your—and they’re so perk—I mean, you look perky... and young! How old are you?” His eyes never left the cleft revealed by the “v” of her tunica.
She had worn what constituted relaxed Tevinter daywear underneath her purple cloak; by Ferelden standards, it was positively extravagant. The ensemble consisted of a magical scepter topped with a hand grasping an orb of Thedas and red sandal-boots as well as a purple dyed tunica resembling a sleeveless surcoat but considerably more elaborate. The tunica extended to just above her knees; the tunica might ordinarily be accompanied with another elaborate floor-length skirt if worn at court, but she had elected to fight bare-legged, as even mages got tripped up in combat. In hindsight, tights would have been a sensible option for this awfully cold wasteland. Her dark hair flowed long and unbound underneath a traditional Tevinter hat, and her ears, neck, and fingers were adorned with jewelry. An ornate belt cinched at the waist turned the lower part of the tunica into a set of skirts, and held the upper part in place so it did not blow open. As a consequence, her fairly miniscule bosom did rather strain against the thin fabric, which the scoundrel had picked up on.
Corinna felt quite violated. She was no chantry-repressed sister, and Minrathous rightly had its reputation as the most decadent city in the world but this was different. As little she cared about who saw her, she felt that it was beyond the pale for some filthy peasant—and Daveth’s accent was not that of an Almarri noble, she knew that much—to leer at her. Did he have any idea with whom he was speaking? A lesson must needs be taught, she decided.
With the mages just a few yards down, Corinna knew that she had to tread lightly. She was quite precocious for her age, but a king’s camp would doubtless be adorned with some of the most senior mages in the realm and she knew she was no match for a master. The camp was fairly crawling with knights and Templars, too. Though she was rather more athletic than the doddering old mages of the Circle, she did not expect she could dodge steel while simultaneously casting her magic. She was not a warden yet, and to be exposed as a maleficar would mean certain death. But if she were careful, there would be little risk.
Corinna inhaled sharply and the entire world changed. To tap into the blood was to commune with the gods: superstitious fools called them demons (a perversion of the Tevinter word daimon, meaning god), but they were ultimately just spirits and dealing with them was no different than any other form of magic. Just as it took concentration and awareness to keep a primal fire from burning out of control, so too it required one’s wits to avoid being tricked by a demon. Mankind was originally taught blood magic by the Old Gods, and the most ancient families in the Imperium—hers included—claimed that they could sometimes still hear their distant whispers whenever they went to the blood. Corinna had some doubts whether this was true, but she did know that she had occasionally heard the whisperings of demons even before she had learned the ancient ways; one was no more susceptible to demonic lies simply by using blood instead of mana.
She could have done anything to this Daveth, but Templars were well trained in spotting the signs of blood magic. She would have to manipulate the blood carefully, and from the inside—making it look like simple telekinesis. First, she silenced all the distractions of the army camp so that she could only hear the sound of her own heartbeat. She attuned herself to that sound and felt the blood rushing through every corner of her body, and then she reached out with her senses. She felt the vibrations in the ground, in the air, with her very blood and she kept listening until she fought what she had sought: the telltale beat of Daveth’s own heart.
She followed its stream, searching and searching until she found the spot where a great deal of blood was now flowing. She found the spot, and made his blood boil. His inhuman scream would have been terrifying to behold, had the vesicles in his lungs not suddenly swollen with blood and expelled all the air out of them. Then, as the masterstroke, she reached with her hand and pulled the blood, twisting and crushing that particular organ with relish and gusto.
When she was finished, Daveth lay on the floor clutching himself in a pure and sublime agony. That would teach him never to look upon the body of his betters. Corinna turned away with a girlish giggle and continued to search for Alistair.
Right then, just across the courtyard, an elderly mage looked on with a wary expression.
Modifié par Emperor Iaius I, 04 avril 2011 - 04:58 .
Retour en haut
