The Start ... Of What?

The Wilds. All she had ever know was Wilds, or that's all it seemed she had ever known. The witch—mage—never knew what the wilds she wandered were called. If she ever knew the civilized names of them, she had forgotten them long ago. She merely called them "home," and avoided the blight wolves as best she could.

Though the blight-wolves seemed to have become more numerous in the past year or so. Margaid couldn't say why. Maybe it had something to do with all the darkspawn running around. That was new. They smelled bad. And slobbered over perfectly good flowers. She found a dead one once and considered eating it, but the flesh was all black and feted, like a bloated fish. It's face looked like a bloated fish, too. Definitely not good eats. Besides, Margaid had a policy of not eating anything a bear wouldn't eat. Bear eating habits were generally good to copy.

(The only exception to that rule was herself; bears seemed totally willing to eat her, but Margaid would never eat herself. Gross.)

Yes, the past year had been difficult. The big forest she had loved had suddenly been overcome with werewolves, which was unfortunate for two reasons. One, it had become too dangerous to visit the sweet, intelligent, taking tree she liked to chat with there; and two, the werewolves seemed to never run out of magic and be forced to turn back into people, which was completely unfair. Margaid had tried to copy the form herself, but she ended up getting stuck just shapeshifting into a wolf, which she could already do and wasn't anything special anymore. That had definitely bummed her out. Having thumbs while also being a wolf seemed like it would be the bee's knees.

After being run out of the forest, Margaid had tried to go south. The wastes down that way were inhospitable, and finding food was hard, but on the bright side, everybody was dead. It was very easy to hide from Templars when every living soul for miles and miles was stone cold expired.

It was a little sad to find many of the Chasind villages with whom she had occasionally sought refuge abandoned or decimated. The darkspawn left only scorch marks and devastation in their wake, obliteration that Margaid had only avoided by skirting around their advancing line, and spending as much time as an animal as possible. It had been a long time since she had eaten food with two hands.

She was an animal now, a wolf skirting the ruins of an burnt-out village which looked as though it was slowly becoming revitalized. That nasty, nasty man didn't seem to have any of his poisoned traps out in the field, which made it easier to get close enough to investigate. There had always been a Chantry here, which meant Templars, so Margaid traditionally avoided it, traps or no, but she didn't see any skirted bucket-heads stumbling around. Most of the old smells she could remember were gone, in fact, replaced with the pungent scents of fresh-cut wood, turned-up earth, and steel. Lots of steel. That was probably a bad thing, but Margaid was curious enough to creep as close as the new wooden frames that would soon be houses, hiding in the shadows of half-built walls and timber piles. Skittering into the form of a cat, she paused to eat a mouse for lunch before slinking closer to the chantry. Finding her way into the rafters in a way that only a cat could, she peered down, seeing a short woman, an elf with a shockingly white head, well-armed individuals but—thankfully—no Templars. For now.

How interesting. Margaid had never seen a town being rebuild before. She always just assumed they sort of...appeared.

Nygozy turned and smiled at Calliara, her noted right hand help. She was always there for her and had been a great help throughout the whole fight against The Blight. Her smile was bright and shone in her eyes as the tiredness left those depths just because she knew Calli was there for her.

"It was told to me that most of our new Wardens would show today or tomorrow. We just have to wait." She walked to Calliara and gave her arm a pat, "And whoever this 'guard' is should be easy to get rid of. It's not like I can't move fast, even with these little legs." She chuckled.

The dwarf heard foot falls before Lithawen even got to the doors and was ready when the woman handed her the paperwork. She opened the scroll and nodded, "Welcome Lithawen. I have heard of your bravery and abilities from my Right Hand. We are ready for your presence and a housing unit is set up for your stay. I hope to know you as well as Calliara does."

She put out her hand to shake the other woman's, with a strong grip upon the arm.

Lithawen nodded, her hand going to Nygozy's, as they shook she kept her eyes fastened to the dwarf's. The elf stepped back and contemplated a second and then produced a letter, carefully folded, the royal seal broken and all. “You have made some very important friends.”

The elf's eyes wondered the church as Nygozy read Alistair words. He addressed Lithawen with familiarity, talking about the honor of working with the Hero of Ferelden. And asking that Lithawen watch her, all the affection in his words. And of course at the end, he signed but gave the reminder to not tell the dwarf. Of course Lithawen was not always the best listener or reader when it came to orders given by a Templar. She and Alistar had gotten along fairly in her early days as a recruit, and they shared the memory of their joining. Which is why she did not disregard the letter completely. But seeing the woman before her, her stance of confidence and her eyes full of experience, the elf figured that the woman would more likely be looking after her if the need should ever arise.

“The veil is thin here. Caution is advisable. Should there be enough stores of Lyrium and enough mages, I will lead a party to attempt to strengthen it.” she let these words sink in with the dwarf as she heard the clank of armor as more approached. Red hair caught her eye and for a moment she was hopeful that the Templar was another from the Tower. Bryant was not Cullen however. Cullen had made her visit in the tower less unbearable somehow, even though he was a Templar.

The elf nodded her head in greeting to them. “Wolfram. And Templar.” she said the title with a snap and distaste in her mouth. He was her captor, his will or not, he was part of the organization she despised.

The other man, the mage. She had seen him in the Tower, though escapes were plentiful these days and he slipped away before she did. They had crossed paths again in Orlais, her assignments were usually given only to her but they shared a common home at the Gray Warden strong hold in Montsimmard. She knew him for a blood made and attempted as little contact with him as possible.

The sight of Lothering became clearer now, as Damien slowly rode out of the woods. He had left the twins the day before as they carried on eastbound to their former home, and now the elven warrior was on his own once more. And finally about to meet the Wardens, too, if what he had heard was correct. Then again, Gray Wardens were hard to miss.

Resting his spear in right stirrup, and against his shoulder, the rider looked alert, if only a bit tense, but the mount beneath him was beginning to feel tired, despite his tranquil demeanor. The short sturdy warhorse had been galloping through skirmishes and escort missions for almost a year now, after being picked up in the middle of the Blight by a band of ragtag adventurers, and he was obviously longing for some rest. Not that his horseman was particularly heavy, quite the contrary, but his luggage and the padded mail armor the beast wore were a whole other story, especially since they had to be carried through charges and cavalcades.

The stallion slogged along between the half-destroyed, half-repaired buildings; his rider, glancing at the construction works from the corner of his eyes, could not help but muse at the speed with which reconstruction was under way, to see a city so utterly ravaged by the Blight, stand so quickly back up on its feet. His eyes finally set on the town’s church, and Damien knew he had found what he came for : a dwarf, two elves, two men including a mage… either the Wardens were in town, or the local circus was back in business. Also, the Warden heraldry was a major tip-off.

There was a time when the city elf would observe people with caution, trying to foretell what others would come to think of him, hiding his ears as best as he could, and watch everyone’s steps with more care than his own. In time, however, things changed : armed and armored like a successful free-lancer, the elven warrior rode at a quiet pace, his head free and his hair in the breeze, imposing himself to the world around him with a confident self-reliance. Over the years, only his face remained relatively constant, with an ever-annoyed frown twisting his eyebrows over the perpetual glare of his dark brown eyes.

Considering the amount of people gathered by the church wall, and how many more were likely to follow, Damien decided to keep his distance for now, waiting for the agitation to boil down a bit before introducing himself: amid the Wardens and their incoming reinforcements, the elf was worried his presence might be overlooked. Using his spear to balance him sliding down to the ground, the warrior then tied his horse to a nearby beam supporting an unoccupied scaffolding, and proceeded to rid himself of his own burden : shield, spear, long sword, and axe came to rest against the makeshift pillar, by the horse’s side. Keeping only his armor and his short sword by his right side, Damien pulled a canteen out from the mess of packs on his horse’s back, and took a swig of water while assessing from afar the Warden’s meeting. He couldn’t make out the details from where he stood, but it was easy enough for him to mark the blonde girl and the white-haired one as elves, their stature and slender bodies characteristics of their heritage. Unless walking with staffs had become the latest trend in recovering Ferelden, Damien could safely hypothesize that the first human was a mage, but that red-haired guy behind him… definitely a Templar. So what was it : was the Tower delivering reinforcements to the Wardens? Or was the free-walking mage a Warden already; but in that case why the escort? And of course, there was the dwarf…

He knew he was looking for a dwarf, and they weren’t common sight to begin with, let alone among Wardens, so that one ought to be the so-called Hero of Ferelden, right ? Somehow, he expected a display more pompous, which would have made identification easier; quite on the contrary, if she was indeed Ferelden’s famed Warden Commander, she seemed accessible and surprisingly trusting too, letting newcomers introduce themselves directly to her. This should have made his plan easier to carry out, but despite it he still wasn’t completely at ease : although he had been mulling it over in his mind for days, he still had no idea what to just say.

It had been a long, long time since she had last seen Lothering. She'd have liked to never see it again. It brought back too many raw, painful memories, and she had had little fondness for the people here the first time around. Not that there she recognized any of those faces now. The people going about their business and rebuilding the village now were unfamiliar, careworn but determined faces. That was almost just as painful. What had happened to the previous villagers, whom she had liked so little? Had the Blight carried the lives off along with their village?

Macha felt a little guilty for remembering how she didn't like this place before as she rode her horse up to the town. Really, she'd only disliked them so much for what they'd done to Sten, but he'd been saved, and this village had not. They didn't deserve her scorn over ancient history. Only her pity for them now, and her admiration for their hard work and dedication. Not many villages that had been in the direct path of the Blight were being repopulated and rebuilt so quickly.

Argos stalked alongside Damon, the horse and the hound so familiar with each other that they never tripped each other up, and Damon was never spooked by the imposing wardog. Damon had carried her all the way from Denerim, a long way for even the most stalwart of horses, and an even longer way for a dog on foot. They'd had to rest often, which made her arrival here later than she might have wanted (but not, at least, later than she'd expected). For the last leg of her journey, she'd been possessed by the fear that she might have missed Nygozy, that the Commander would have led her host on to Vigil's Keep without her, and Macha had not been so sure that she would willingly follow her there alone. She needed the strength of her friends behind and before her to gather the courage to see that place.

But she could see now that that was no the case. Warden banners still hung from wagons and horse saddles, and the unique blend excitement and trepidation that she saw in the villagers' faces could only mean that they were currently being occupied by a military force. She'd never seen anything else elicit that particular emotion in common people. Now all she had to do was find the little Commander, and deliver her message.

[I'm making some assumptions in this post, so let me know if there's anything I need to change. I still have it that Macha has been with Nygozy since their Joining, that she was with their party up until about halfway through, and that since Alistair's crowning as King she's been acting as adviser and steward to the Palace in Denerim. Now she's being sent by Alistair back into the fray.]

(Sorry everyone, I have been promoted in my job (sounds better than it is in reality) and I've been swamped. But I'm back. I also think Nyggy is having a bad episode of her sickness so we'll go on and have something nice for her to come back )

- We will have to organize everything before thinking about a Joining. We barely have a proper ceiling for our humans to stay - Calliara said calmly, still not moving even a single hair, just staring at everyone in turns and the surroundings, keeping her place right by Nygozy, maybe half a step behind her. Enough to show her allegiance, enough to jump to action if needed. Her bow on her back, her quiver on her hip, her curved knives at hand.

- If I may, Commander - she started again, with a gentle bow to the dwarven woman beside her - I'll call Bowen to ask him to show our temporal quarters to these newcomers. At least they'll be able to leave their belongings in a safe place, and their horses in a warm one.

Nygozy nodded absently, still reading the parchments, specially Lithawen's one with Alistair's notes. Like summoned, a merry whistling was heard from behind the reconstructed Chantry, and soon a big, enormous blond man appeared, carrying a log over his shoulder as if it was but a stick. Shirtless and sweaty for the hard work, but Bowen Pentaghast still kept his shield of smile and cheery attitude with almost the same success he had with his steel shield. Attracted by one of Calliara's glares, he moved merrily to get close, and smiled wide when he saw the only known face.

- Maker's breath! Lithawen! How are you, girl? I'm so glad to see you again. It's good to know you're alive and well. How have you been?

- Bowen, these are Bryant and Wolfram. Wolfram is a Warden from Orlais. Would you be so kind to escort our three friends to where we are staying for the moment?

- Certainly, Wolf - the tall Nevarran dropped carelessly the log on the ground - Well met, my good friends. I am Bowen Pentaghast, nice to meet you. Please follow the sweaty back

With a laugh, he started his way to the makeshift barracks they were using at the time. Calliara rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile in the end. Such a big kid. She lowered her gaze to Nygozy, waiting patiently for her to finish her reading, or waiting for new people to arrive. Or for the cat to get down the rafters.