The Orlesian occupation of Ferelden lasted almost a century, marking a dark period in Thedas.
Vigil's Keep was the first fortress to fall. Twenty years after the invasion began there, Orlais finally sacked the city of Denerim, claiming victory and drove the king into hiding. Though routed, the king now known as "Brandel the Defeated" continued to rebel against the Orlesians... but his efforts have proven inefficient, as most nobles believe that Ferelden is truly lost.
August has just ended and the cold and rain are starting to show, on-and-off, in the southern parts of the continent. The northern half is experiencing only minor changes.
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NOV. 24th Happy belated first month anniversary to us! A few things to be noted. We are currently taking nominations for our first ever site spotlights. The nomination period will be over by the 30th, so feel free to take your time as new members and threads roll in. Just don't forget about them. Secondly, the advertising contest is still going strong, but it slated to wrap up at the end of the month. If you want to earn some extra gold and help promote the site, best to get on that now, while the rewards are higher than usual. Thirdly, the site lottery is still going, and the drawing period will be over Friday. Lastly, we should be getting that multiplayer thread soon. Sorry it's been delayed so long--as you can imagine, I've been busy with single player for Inquisition. Once I'm done, I'll put up the threads and we can hopefully get some games going.
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It was hard to miss Nutmeg. Even amongst all the other bronto in the menagerie. Most of them sported outlandish and exotic paints appropriate for the flavor of the act. Nutmeg was plain, almost even dull, except for the large, pink satin ribbon tied around her neck. The ribbon was lovingly tied and perfect in its shape--it easily matched the bronto. Sure, it was a massive, lumbering beast at first glance. But anyone with bronto familiarity would know that Nutmeg was the cleanest, finest groomed bronto in existence.
Out in the open and on some Orlesian highway, Nutmeg was even more difficult to overlook. And what little she lacked in visual conspicuousness, she more than made up for in audio displays. The quirky, but upbeat melodies of an upstart erandian (think: ukulele) player bounced off of nearby trees and rolled out over the road.
He wasn't quite good, yet, but he wasn't bad either. And he had plenty of time to learn between cities.
Without a warning, Nutmeg listed over from the road and onto the soft field of grass and clovers. The moment she slowed to a stop, Sly flipped off of her and landed on the ground with a soft thump. He made a few paces away from the bronto just to be sure. When she was stopping, that meant one of two things; she was eating, or she was shitting. Or both, since she had a bad habit of shitting while she grazed. Either way, her shits were awful things, like sickly rodents that festered in a demon's asshole for weeks on end.
Walking up the hill, Sly crossed the road and leaned himself against the trunk of a tree, his feet just barely hanging out over the road as he plucked his erandian. The trunk and its roots were surprisingly comfortable, and the moss clinging to the bark helped cushion things a bit. With the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the leaves, it made for a lovely day.
Provided you didn't look in the direction Nutmeg was shitting.
Post by Erika Arcos on Nov 27, 2014 19:59:52 GMT -5
((Sorry if this post is a little slow at first, just trying to get into Erika's head and life a bit. Hope it's fine to jump in now, too!))
It had been a moderately profitable trip to Orlais if she could say so herself. Erika didn't particularly like dealing with the Orlesians - they would pay more, true, but it felt like prejudice was worse over there. Sure, maybe it was all in her head, and she herself had plenty of reason to dislike them, but it felt like everyone looked down on one another over there. Sure, the nobles always looked down on the freeholders and other commoners, but even they seemed to have a haughtiness about them.
Still, it wasn't like she could just not travel there, even if it weren't a useful place to hear potentially valuable rumours. It was the basics of supply and demand - Orlais had supply, Ferelden had demand. Particularly Amaranthine, what with it being where Orlesian culture had started to take off in her home country. As such, in addition to common trade goods and her own medicines, she was carrying fine fabric and alcohol as well. The elf had considered a few pieces of art, but that would be too hard to sell without someone already lined up, and it'd be too easy to make a loss.
Her black cat, Garahel, was living up to his famous namesake and protecting her goods by sleeping on them. The stray had adopted her in Montsimmard, and she promptly named him after the elven Grey Warden who ended the Fourth Blight. It made sense given the location, anyway. It was nice to have some company other than her horse, Tessa. She was a sweet thing, but more of a working animal.
As the wagon trundled down the highway, Erika spotted... what looked like maybe a bronto on the side of the road. That certainly wasn't a common animal at all. She'd seen them sometimes on the rare occasion she and her father had engaged in the lyrium trade. The Chantry may control it, but there was no way that they could control everything about it. The wind changed direction, and carried the sound of someone playing music her direction. It was one of the pleasures of the road, not knowing what you'd stumble upon next. Sometimes it was bad, but occasionally you saw rare and interesting sights.
It was about time for lunch, anyway, and she wasn't carrying anything that was super perishable, so she reigned in Tessa and the wagon came to a stop. The music itself was coming from atop a small hill by the side of the road. What looked to be an elf sat rested by a tree as he played notes from his erandian. It wasn't the best music she'd heard, but the deserted country road and natural sounds complimented gave it a pleasant rustic air.
"Mind performing for an audience?" Erika asked as she pulled down her hood, the faintest hint of a Dalish accent in her voice. Since it was mostly just her and her father on the road, she didn't have much chance to lose it entirely, especially when he started to pick it up from her. A loud noise to the side drew her attention as the bronto bellowed and relieved itself in the grass. She couldn't help but smile a little in embarrassment at the timing. "Certainly a unique beast, isn't it?" The elf said with a laugh. Best to just play it off.
Post by Valkyrie Rase on Nov 29, 2014 16:57:30 GMT -5
Orlais wasn't exactly her favorite place in the world, for multiple reasons. She had grown up in Ferelden, but her village still felt separate, like it was it's own little chunk of land, so her distaste did not come from a sense patriotism or anything like that. No, Orlesians were just assholes, plain and simple. Not that Fereldans were a cheery bunch themselves, but she never felt quite so out of place there opposed to this damned place. Valkyrie's grasp of the language was very loose, and she had been told on more than one occasion that her accent was apparently atrocious, not that she spoke enough Orlesian for it to even matter anyway.
She had only made the trek here to guard a caravan, and that had gone terribly, to put it lightly. A darkspawn attack had not been something she expected, and many of the people she was supposed to be protecting died. The Qunari wasn't necessarily upset by that though, after all the fact any of them made it out alive was a blessing, but she was irritated that she did not get her full payment. Valkyrie had considered threatening the money out of them, but they had already lost so much, and that damned bleedin' heart of hers couldn't do it. Now she was stuck in Orlais until she could gain back some of her lost Sovereigns to make her way back to Ferelden.
Of course, things weren't all bad, especially not once she had met Rosa. She couldn't remember if the human was an exotic dancer or an acrobat of some sort, but either way she was pleasantly flexible and seemed to more than reciprocate the Qunari's advances. At some point mid-spooning, she had agreed the travel with the Circus and keep Rosa company, at least for a little while. So far she did not regret her decision.
Valkyrie felt surprisingly invigorated, arms reaching over her head to stretch as she walked, her back cracking satisfyingly. She was still in her armor, and her swords were strapped to her back and waist respectively, the Qunari not about to be caught unawares. Everything had felt at ease, peaceful even—at least until the sudden scent of animal crap bombarded her senses, and not the old, stale kind either, but fresh and ripe. Her noise wrinkled, face drawn back in disgust as she quickly discovered the culprit. The bronto was huge, and as such, so was the shit it had just released from its bowels, not that it seemed to notice, continuing to munch away happily like it hadn't just given birth to an unholy stench beast.
The creature seemed without its rider, but it didn't exactly take long to figure out who could possibly own it, two elf's standing a bit away from the bronto and conversing between themselves. The Qunari trudged toward the duo, not even trying to quiet her heavy movements. "Andraste's ass, I wouldn't want to step in that, eh? A dwarf could suffocate in there," the swordswoman mused amicably, gesturing toward the large dump with a grin on her face.
His notes were jumping and jaunty, tropical sounding for any that had heard the instrument being played on Rivaini islands just off the mainland. Overall his playing was closer to strumming, but occasionally he struck a chord or two or plucked a single note. Given his dead average sound, he elected to play notes and chords sparingly until he became better acquainted with the instrument.
Truth be told, he was half-tempted to doze off under the shade of the tree. Other than being a bit brisk, the weather was perfect and the ambiance was enough to put even the grumpiest quillback to sleep. And it wasn't as though he were in a terrible rush. The troupe was a way's off and they wouldn't need to be at the main tent for a few days yet.
Before he had the chance to make good on his drowsy inclination, a handsome elven lass. Her features were like carved marble, sharp and hard and angular, but pleasing all the same, and obviously feminine to an elf who was all too often mistaken for a woman. Granted, even he may have had difficulty with her were it not for her feminine walk and voice.
"Not at all, my sweet." Sly drawled warmly, his accent so slight that it was virtually nonexistent. "I cannot guarantee a superb performance, but I'll do my damnedest, just so long as you know I don't take requests." Songs other than diddies were beyond his ability.
Knowing better than to look Nutmeg's way, Sly locked eyes with the elven woman and laughed. "Nutmeg?" The corner of his mouth remained angled up. "Don't let her hear you say that--she's a bit of a diva. I still damn the day I put that ribbon 'round her neck. Seemed to go to her head." He was, of course, exaggerating. Nutmeg was as much of a diva as any bronto could be, but her pride was more tempered than the large cats the circus had in its menagerie. No one could out diva a cat.
To Sly's surprise, there was a second newcomer. A tall and broad Qunari... female? They were a common enough sight in the Circus' ventures to Rivain and Tevinter, and even somewhat common in Antiva. But this far South they were virtually unheard of, and seeing a woman outfitted as a warrior was certainly a rarity. Tal-Vashoth, undoubtedly.
Once more, a woman seemed to want to draw attention to Nutmeg's existence, and more specifically her defecation. Sly still refused to look that way.
"Only enough to suffocate a dwarf?" Sly mused. "She must be stopped up. Some days it goes up to my neck." Another exaggeration, and one he didn't try to cover. He was too busy grinning for that. "Pull up a stump, my dearest horned one. As I told the elven lass, I don't do requests, but I'm more than happy to perform. And if either of you are feeling peckish, you're welcome to some of the rations in my pack."
Erika inclined her head and stepped, almost jumped off of the wagon. He might not compare with the many musicians she'd seen in her lifetime, but he wasn't terrible, and it provided a nice distraction. She enjoyed the company of others, anyway, and it wasn't often that you got to have a chat with someone on the road. Sometimes she'd take passengers, but that wasn't the case right now... and she wasn't exactly fond of the idea of bringing an Orlesian passenger along.
She started to laugh at his comment on the bronto - it seemed the man was a good humoured sort - when a deeper, less refined voice from behind caught her attention. The large, horned figure standing before her was clearly a Qunari, but no less surprising. Where had she come from? She was armed and armoured, but it didn't look like she was a bandit or anything. Perhaps a guard for the elf? If she was, it didn't seem like they recognised each other, anyway.
The offer to share in his rations was a generous one, and one she'd take him up on. "Haha, well, I was going to request an Orlesian opera, but I'll take trail rations instead." Still, it'd be impolite to a fellow traveller to not offer anything herself, so she quickly rummaged through her wagon until she found a small bag filled with apples. Erika had stopped by a fruit vendor recently hawking his wares, and she couldn't help but grab a few for herself. Garahel stretched and meowed as she grabbed the bag, and so Erika sighed and took a strip of jerky as well. She headed back to the others, black cat following in her wake.
The Qunari had come in closer in the time it took for her to grab the bag, and Erika reached in to it as she approached. "Compliments of Erika Arcos." She said with a smile to the giant of a woman as she held out an apple for her to take. There was a reason to be generous to other travellers other than kindness. The roads could be dangerous, after all, and if you got in trouble you may need to rely on someone you passed earlier. If you leave them with a positive opinion, they'd be more likely to help you out in a tight spot. That was the theory, anyway, and one she'd rather not put to the test.
Post by Valkyrie Rase on Dec 3, 2014 20:24:16 GMT -5
The Qunari offered a laugh at the elf's comment, and if she had been close enough she would've clapped him on the back. Fortunately for him, he was out of reach, and therefore his skin was spared any possible bruising. "Perform, eh? So you are part of the circus then," Valkyrie mused, though that didn't surprise her, after all he had that look about him. Not to mention not many elves had bronto's, but she knew the circus had a variety of different animals, some she had never even seen before. The petite female on the other hand wasn't quite as colorful, and she suspected the girl was just another traveler, though she could have been wrong. Maybe she was just a fortune teller or something of the like.
They were both friendly, and eager to share, which was not something she wasn't particularly used to, especially not in Orlais. Then again, they probably just didn't want to offend the giant swordswoman, which she could understand. If Valkyrie were light enough that a steady breeze could take her away, she wouldn't be trying to pick any fights either. "Thank ya," she grinned down at Erika, taking the offered apple graciously and biting into it. The fruit was crisp and a little tart, but not at all unpleasant, and obviously fresh.
"Names Valkyrie," she introduced herself, finally noticing the dark furred cat and crouching down until she was on one knee, holding her hand out to try and entice the feline her way. The Qunari used to have loads of cats back home, having kept them around for rodent control, though there was one particularly ambitious feline that would chase the foxes off as well. The woman had fond memories of the little beasts. "Cute cat," she complimented through another mouthful of apple, her manners obviously lacking, though her mood was bright nonetheless.
She was vaguely aware she should have probably offered them something in return, but truth be told she didn't exactly have anything on her she could really part with. Although, trying to hand them one of her swords would be rather comical. She doubted they would even be able to lift it fully. In the end, the Qunari decided her presence was gift enough to them, and they could just be grateful for that. After all, any bandit would think twice about trying to rob anyone with her around...well, unless they greatly outnumbered the woman, or put an arrow through her skull, but hopefully none of those things would happen.
"The one and only. Or at least the only that matters." The androgynous elf affirmed to his large, horned friend. "My specialties are firedancing and escape artistry. And I would assume you're some sort of mercenary the Circus hired on?" She was a Qunari and she was not attempting to savagely murder or convert him, which meant that she was Tal-Vashoth. And so far as he knew, there was only one profession Tal-Vashoth had in civilized lands. Well... two, but seeing as they weren't at a brothel and she didn't have her skirts hitched to her waist, he could rule out the other.
"I'm happy to make the trade," Sly winked saucily. "Orlesian Opera is awful stuff. Except for the one with the acrobats and the dragon and the murder," the elf paused for a moment to think of the proper title. "Draconifique." The title was awful, but the Opera itself was truly entertaining, although far from high art. A beautiful princess cursed to become a dragon every time the sun set, and a gallant apostate dragon hunter, who fell in love with the very princess he was attempting to hunt. He, of course killed her, because most every opera was a tragedy, but the stage work and puppetry for the flight of the dragon and the staged magical combat against the beast were nothing short of riveting.
But his erandian would hardly do Draconifique justice, so he was more than happy to rifle through his pack. His road rations consisted of a peach marmalade, a large bundle of salted pork, two small loaves of bread, and a wedge of gouda cheese. Neatly arranging them out before the pair, Sly placed them on a cloth and motioned.
He was somewhat surprised, but pleased to find that she offered him a fresh apple. Since travel was long and the circus was cheap, he either had his choice between road food, gruel or whatever he sprang for. The glossy skin of the apple was a welcome sight. "Thanks." He nodded and picked up the apple, shining its skin against his shirt before he took a crisp bite and set the thing aside.
"This song is compliments of Sly, and only Sly. Two names is one too many. I don't understand how you lot don't tire your tongues out during a proper introduction." He supposed his real name was Sylvester, but that was attached long after he'd been called Sly. It felt more like Sylvester was the pet name... and one that no one used. Turning to his erandian, he started up another song, eying the Qunari woman this time.
"Have you considered joining the Circus? It would certainly be less gruesome than what you currently do. And they are always looking for exotic talent."
"Draconifique? I think I heard someone complaining about it in a tavern. Apparently their hat got singed as part of the performance. If it's that spectacular I might have to see it if I get the chance." She wasn't actually all that interested in opera, and such a high-class event was expensive at best, but it wasn't something she'd done before. It might also prove to be a way to get some upper class contacts in the future. Orlesians loved their theatrics and backstabbing, so where better to make inroads than at the place that dramaticised them?
Valkyrie, the Qunari woman, certainly didn't seem upper class at all, but that was hardly a bad thing as she watched her bend down to entice Garahel her way. He may be lazy and greedy, but he was certainly no coward as he approached her and sniffed the woman's hand. Satisfied, he started to brush up against her legs and purr. "Yep, he sure is. When he wants food, anyway." He knew how to act to get his way. Her will wasn't the strongest against her cat. "Well, I suppose we can't disappoint Garahel. Would you like to do the honours, Valkyrie?" Erika offered the jerky to the Qunari. I have successfully commercialised cuteness. Her sword shall be ever loyal to me, or at least my feline companion! She couldn't help but smile at the comedic, almost megalomaniacal thought, though she passed it off as just being friendly. The two of them seemed like they be good company.
Erika snorted a bit at his complaint about long names. Names were important in her trade, and particularly the trust and goodwill you could build up around them. She was thankful that she could use the name of her father to open up avenues that might not have been available to her otherwise. "I suppose one name is easier to remember, too." She said, grinning. I wonder how he'll take that. Erika thought as she tore up a piece of the bread so she could add cheese and pork to it. She was feeling quite peckish, so the woman was content to ready her lunch as the other two conversed for a bit. At least she'd be free from a cat pestering her for food this time.
Post by Valkyrie Rase on Dec 29, 2014 18:02:02 GMT -5
The woman's mouth was quirked into a smile as the elf spoke of his profession before inquiring about her own presence here. Strong shoulders rolled in a shrug, violet eyes briefly flickering toward the way she had come earlier from Rosa's wagon. "Well, you're right about the first part. Though I don't know if I was exactly hired," she replied, her gaze now on the redhead again. The Qunari had no obligation to protect any of the circus members with the exception of Rosa (although that was more out of affection), but she wasn't one to shy away from a fight either, and probably wouldn't abandon them if something did happen. Well, unless more darkspawn showed up—she had filled her quota for quite some time of those things.
The conversation quickly shifted to operas, and she was content to just listen for now, having never heard of Dragonifique. Ferelden wasn't exactly known for the same extravagance as Orlais was, especially not the parts she had come from, so seeing an opera wasn't very high on her priorities list. Well, unless it had a real dragon in it, but she suspected that would be a short-lived show. It wouldn't just be a mans hat that would be singed, after all. Instead she focused on the feline, who had bravely approached her and was now happily shedding as much fur as possibly onto her armor, though Valkyrie didn't seem to mind, humoring the beast with ear scratches.
She only stopped when the other female offered her the beef jerky. "Why not, s'rare a cat likes me," or anyone, for that matter. Most of the fur balls seemed rather stuck up, that or they were feral, and you didn't want to go trying to pet those types. Taking the jerky, she held it in front of the cats face, who sniffed it for only a moment before taking it from her gratefully, like it hadn't eaten in days. Valkyrie suspected that wasn't the case though, animals just had a way of acting like they were half-starved even if they had been fed just moments ago.
The Qunari took another large bite out of the apple as she straightened, leaving the cat to eat for now. "Maybe we just give our tongues more exercise," she offered toward the male, smirking roguishly and winking at Erika.
"I don't mind gruesome," the swordswoman admitted, quite liking her job despite the danger and gore. Ever since she was young she had wanted to be a fighter, and now that she was...well, Valkyrie was more or less content with her lot in life. Granted she'd be even happier if she got paid more, but she doubted that would happen unless nobles became more inclined to actually hire her. "And I doubt I have much talent," she added, almost as an afterthought. At least no talents the Circus could use, or so she thought. As for exotic...well, she had never really viewed herself that way, but everyone else sure seemed to. Scarce, maybe, but exotic? No, when she heard the word, she tended to think of beautiful, sultry woman from a far off land, and she was none of those things.
“Oh?” He grinned. “Are you giving us a free sample of your services before charging an exorbitant sum?” The rich, almost husky tone of her voice made him think that it was something salacious or less than honest. But seeing as she was only looking towards a stretch of road, there wasn’t a lot to go off of. And despite his own tendency to reciprocate flirts, intimate affairs were the last thing on his mind at any given point.
His attention soon returned to the talk of opera, specifically his favorite opera. Just the mention of Draconifique had him all nostalgic. He’d have to see it again when they landed somewhere civilized. Hopefully the opera house of wherever they landed would be showing it. “I’m afraid it’s not spectacular in the dazzling, revolutionary art form way. But it kept me on the edge of my seat and quite entertained, and given my exotic profession, you can imagine that doesn’t happen often.” He smiled over exaggeratedly, with enough sauce to baste a turkey.
“Too true. But the stamina of my tongue is still a worry. Had I fifteen names to brandish I would remember them quite expertly, for memory is something I have in ample measure.” Ample measure didn’t cut it. While he couldn’t proclaim to have a perfect memory, and he suspected that no one did, he had as perfect as one came, and could recall events both far-gone and recent with ease, visual and aural. He wouldn’t boast, of course. Much as he wanted to, he usually waited until someone made further inquiries or showed skepticism before he wowed them with an example or two.
Raising the apple again to his lips, Sly took a bite that gave a wet crunch before it filled his mouth with a lightly sweet, and tart flavor.
“Perhaps so. I imagine you give yours more than I do mine.” He did not dwell overlong on that thought. Even beginning to entertain the idea about what she might have been referring to would have likely left him queasy.
“Oh? Fancy yourself a daring, gallant sort? Or are you in it for the bloodsport?” He could understand a thrill, although he preferred thrills that came without grievous injuries and being covered in someone else’s fluids. But violence seemed a more ready outlet for her adrenaline. Unless she genuinely enjoyed the violence itself, something which Sly found difficult to believe. Who would willingly enjoy sullying their clothes with sticky, syrupy fluid? And if you managed to gut your enemy, then you have two distinctive things to worry about. “There’s a talent for everything. Knife throwing might be a natural extension of your abilities. Archers come in handy more often than you’d think. And swordplay can carry over into firedancing.” At least the kinds that utilized blades.
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