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[Lest]

Marcus Cousland watched, horrified, as his servant collapsed before him. The lifeless body toppled onto the foor, an arrow jutting out from it's back and a pool of blood soon collecting under the corpse. He felt like vomiting, like crouching in the corner in fear. He needed to run - to get away from this place.

An sudden thought burst into his head, as terrible as the night - unshakeable as the event that he had just witnessed.

Howe betrayed us.

Suddenly, Marcus felt an anger - a horrible, deadly anger that surged from deep within his soul and carried on. Coursing violently through his body as he stared at Howe's men, who where readying themselves to attack. Ancient, warrior's blood ran rampant through him. He grasped his blade, which was leaning against the wall, and tossed it with horrid vengance at the archer who had killed the Elven servant.

The sword struck true, and the man tumbled back, collapsing after a few steps, the blade having plunged into his chest. For a moment, Marcus questioned the fact that he had just killed someone - but it was quickly put out of his mind as the other of Howe's men, who was carrying a shortsword, made an attempt to ram the blade through Marcus' chest.

Marcus, however, was saved by his instinct. He made a swift-side stepp, followed by a forceful punch to the jaw. The armoured man stumbled back, and Marcus made another punch for his neck, sealing the man's windpipe and snapping his neck in two.

The boy took a second to breathe, collect in his surroundings, before moving to the cupboard to get dressed into his chainmail.

___________________________________________________

"Bad dream, I take it?"

Marcus was shook from his sleep by a voice, a female voice. Slowly, he began to become aware of a shocking pain striking unrelentlessly at his body, like a terrible, burning lightning. He stopped moving for a moment, and it ceased. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and he stared at the chasind-like woman.

"I... Morrigan?" He stated, truely he had not expected to see the witch so soon - gradually, memories began to flood into him. Ostagar - vengance, His father, his family, the wardens, Duncan, the king, all dead. The rush of memories that hit him at that moment made him suddenly ask another question to the black-haired beauty. "Where's Alistair? Is he okay?"

Morrigan sighed, nodding. "Indeed, it appeared as if the person who was to respond to your signal quit the field." She stated bluntly, folding her arms, before adding:  "Let me remind you that you have a responsibility as a Grey Warden, or so my mother told me."

It's important to note that Morrigan spat the word "Mother" out like an agressive curse.

"I..."

"Your equipment's in the cupboard, your friend is outside, Mother healed your wounds and no, I did not take any pleasure in undressing you so she could do so." Morrigan stated, once more, with bluntness to rival that of the Qunari's, before casually walking out. "I'll make some stew."

Marcus sat up, clutching his head.

It's been a hell of a few days.

Modifié par Lest, 14 mars 2010 - 07:30 .

[Lest]

Marcus stumbled through the stone halls, the flames around him furiously lashing out with embers. He was bleeding from his previous encounter, and only wearing some simple clothing with a shortsword in his hand. His eyes were firey with rage - it was too painful to see the truth, that his family, his friends, were proberly gone by now.

He didn't bother to look in Oren's room. He couldn't bear it if the child had been slain.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. His father - his mother, talking to eachother. His legs suddenly found life where none existed, and he sprinted into the room. His stomach turned at what he saw - Father was wounded, badly. There was a large gash in his side, and he was holding it. Gasping with pain.

"Father!" Marcus yelled. Quickly kneeling at his side. His mother - so strong, so dedicated, was broken. Weeping and weeping, sorrowful cries penatrating the night with unrelenting dread. Marcus looked at his father, his family - the couslands. Destroyed.

He found himself being taken back to childhood memories. His nan coming into the dining room with steaming plates of gorgeous food, the laughter of his father - playing in the fields with his brother, they were the Couslands. They were proud, strong.

They should be proud, strong.

Unbreakable.

Unbreak....

Marcus burst into tears, feeling it rising up in a hot wave - a horrid feeling that got caught in the back of his throat in a strangled weep.

"I'll make them pay, father."

______________________________________________________

"Alistair?"

The templar blinked, he was sitting, staring vacantly into the distance. Marcus read a great sorrow in his eyes, which slowly turned to joy. He sprang up, and Marcus found himself embraced in a tight hug. Alistair chuckled estaticly.

"Your alive, I can't belive it. Oh, thank the maker!" He said, before pulling away. Marcus smiled at the man - he had become rather fond of the wise-cracking master of bad one-liners in the short time that they had known eachother.

"They're... Dead, aren't they." Marcus stated with a solem tone. Shaking his head, Loghain had abandoned him. Betrayed him. He found himself being reminded of Arl Howe, and he clenched his fists violently. 

"I..." Alistair nodded, gritting his teeth absent-mindedly to himself. "Maker, this doesn't seem real. Duncan, Cailin. All gone." Alistair raised a plated boot and ground it into the dirt out of fustration. Marcus allowed himself a moment of greif. He knew loss, and how to deal with it.

Alistair wasn't taking it well. His eyes were misted and his brow was furrowed deeply. Marcus reached out, patting Alistair on the shoulder. "I know what it's like, turn the greif into anger. Loghain will get what's coming to him, I promise."

Alistair chuckled, but there was no joy in it. It was empty and hallowed. "I'll hold you to that, Marcus."

Modifié par Lest, 15 mars 2010 - 05:51 .

[Lest]

"D-Don't.... Worry about me, Pup."

"Father-"

"I said, don't. Your my boy, I love you. But... I won't be making it through the night."

Marcus clenched his hands, and further tears filled his vision, blurring it as they pitter-pattered on to his father's chest. His mother crawled to him, still sobbing. Still filling the air with her mournful tune.

"I'll... I'll kill every last bastard that goes through that door, my love." She murmered, caressing his father's cheek as she leant down to kiss him. Marcus looked away, standing up.

"I'll join you, then." He stated decisivley.

There was a terrible rumble - the gates had broken, and it was likely was his friend - who had, just this morning, helped him kill the rats infesting the kitchen, was dead, too. Another wave of terrible greif passed over Marcus, but nothing could've prepared him for what his mother said next.

"Go, my boy. Please, just go." She murmered, looking up at Marcus.

"N-No!" Marcus stammered, rage boiling inside him. "I won't! I'll make the stand, here, with-"

"Please, pup." His father whispered, his skin was a pale blue. "Get out, run. They're coming - survive, and bring justice to Howe.

Vengance."