The Start ... Of What?

Margaid observed all of the Wardens' greetings with a degree of confusion. It seemed to be some sort of confederacy forming, a band if you will, but to what point or purpose, Margaid couldn't discern—and she had trouble discerning nuances for the most part to begin with. Living as an animal did not require much practice in reading into subtleties. Animal form also made it slightly difficult to think with particular complexity. Something about the change in biology made it easier for Margaid to live animalistically, made sleeping on the ground less unattractive, but also made higher-function human thought more difficult. Fortunately, cat-Margaid was more perceptive than most of her other animal forms, and so only some of the conversation went over her head.

She was particularly pleased when the Templar left in the company of a bear of a man, and the reduced anxiety made it even easier to concentrate on her curiosity.

From what she gathered, these people were Wardens. Margaid had only heard of the Wardens being mentioned half a life ago, when she had been a different person and when the Wardens themselves had been non-entities. It seems that they were crawling out of the literal woodwork of the new town now, and Margaid wondered why. The person Margaid had been a long time ago had dreamed of the Wardens, once, she seemed to remember. They freed their mages, used them for good instead of keeping them caged up like molting birds. Or like chickens to fatten up and slaughter at Harrowings. That long-gone part of Margaid stared at the Warden Commander hungrily. To be accepted there meant a certain kind of freedom she had always been denied, even living on her own and unchained in the wilds. Freedom from the Great Hunt, in which she had been the prey all her life.

Cat-Margaid slunk down to the floors, keeping hidden behind boxes of nails and other building supplies, to get a closer look at the people still assembled. One elf was definitely a mage, which might be a good thing for Margaid, though it wasn't a certainty. The shockingly white-haired elf was still there, and now on the ground she could see the elaborate tattoos of the Dalish on her face. That, too, might be a good thing. The wild elves didn't cage their mages, either. The dwarf woman, whom Margaid presumed was in charge, also remained, though her attention seemed to be off wherever those papers were taking her. Dwarves, too, had a strange relationship with magic, and none of the dogmatic Chantry background that made most humans hate mages so, so perhaps she would be less likely to turn Margaid away. Only the final human gave the wilds witch pause. She was human, armored like the great knights who were all devout Andrastins. She might convince her comrades to turn Margaid in.

But if Margaid asked to join before the Templars could arrive, then maybe she would be safe...

As one elf asked the other a question, Margaid snuck out from between the boxes, standing sheepishly to the side. After a brief—brief—moment of consideration, she transformed back into a human and peaked around the blonde elf who had just spoken.

"I do hope you're staying long enough to let me join you."

“You have made some very important friends.”

Nygozy smirked just a tiny bit about the words Lithawen just said then the expression faded into a sigh, "Some yes. It comes with the territory to either make friends or enemies but usually a bit of both. So let me see here ..." She took the notes with care and looked through them as they stood there, "Hmm. I see."

“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.”

Lithawen's cautionary comment made the Hero look up and nod, "That would probably be a good idea. Calliara can arrange which mages are at their peak in order to help with this situation." There were others coming to their meeting and she looked up directly at them with a smile. Two men. One templar and one mage. This looked interesting.

- Aneth ara, sister. It is good to see you safe and well. I am anxious to know about your adventures, and I am sure Bowen will be delighted to see you as well - she bowed her head slightly, hands clasped behind her back while Nygozy took care of the parchments. When the two men arrived she greeted them as well, as warmly as before - Well met you both. I am Calliara Mahariel, Constable under the command of Warden Commander Nygozy. I will be the one you'll have to go first if you have any concern.

Calliara was always there backing Nygozy up making conversation where she needed the quiet filled in. It was reassuring to have that with her as it was with her friend, Drake.

"Greetings, you must be Warden-Commander..." Wolfram drifted off grabbing a document from his bag. "..Nygozy Brosca. I am..."

It was interesting how both of these men reacted towards Lithawen being there and she waited patiently as they both took note of the woman even though others in her position would have taken it as bad behavior to pay attention to someone else in the middle of meeting a Warden-Commander. But Nygozy was not like that. She understood that people reacted to what they knew and gave leave to many small reactions which would give others reason to become offended.

"Lithawen? They transferred you here, too? Did...did you just arrive?..."Wolfram sighed. "I am Wolfram Caron."

Nygozy took the form and smirked as she saw the note about thanks for her somehow living because then he wouldn't have to become Warden-Commander of Ferelden.

"I am Knight-Corporal Bryant Franderel. I was holed up in one in the Tower during Uldred's attempt at independence."

Nygozy gave Bryant another looking over and nodded as she took her time to consider if she'd seen either of these men before.

"Uldred? I heard nothing about this," Wolfram commented.

Bryant turned to the Warden he escorted. "Maybe it's in those documents of yours," he dismissed. "Wolfram was sighted north of Lake Calenhad and the Templar intercepted him, as he was once of our Circle of Magi. Once his documents were verified, they sent me to escort him 'ere," he explained.

Lithawen nodded her head in greeting to the templar and mage and Nygozy watched the expression from under her lashes as she read the notes. “Wolfram. And Templar.”

"Atisha Lithawen," Wolfram replied to the elf. He turned back to the Constable,"Calliara, was it? I take it with Lithawen's presence, you plan on holding new Joinings soon. Am I safe in the assumption?"

"I have need of more supplies before I can hold a joining." Lithawen said, "Most of which are to be expected, lyrium most of all, and maybe some new recruits would help."

- 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 the log carelessly to 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.

Nygozy shook her head and chuckled, "As the large, sweaty man says, he will take you to the rooms. Do not worry. He is no killer peasant ready to eat the flesh of former tower residents." She waited as the men were about to leave but also was glancing towards another who came to pay their respects to her.

“Warden Commander Nygozy,” Damien stated then gave her a formal bow, even if the dwarf noticed that this action was not exactly heartfelt, then he gave Calliara a formal greeting nod. “Warden,” then turned back to Nygozy.

“I’m glad I can finally meet you in person. My name is Damien. My thanks for halting the Blight so swiftly, first of all : you saved a lot of lives, and maybe mine. Incidentally you’ve put me out of business, but I don’t actually mind,” the elf finally managed a half-smirk that quickly died off. “I have been crossing swords with darkspawns myself for the past year and few months. Now, I understand you have an order ¬– if not more – to rebuild and as for me, honestly, the civilian life doesn’t suit me that well,” Damien tried not to rush his speech, but time was of essence, and he certainly did not want introductions to last forever. “I have acquired some skills that might be useful to you, and you could offer opportunities that I cannot overlook. So I’d like to offer you my services, for some time at least : I understand not everyone gets to work with the Gray Wardens, but I think we can help each other.”

"Really?" Nygozy acknowledged the elven man with a small smile as she took note of everything about him, "And you have not had any business since getting rid of small infestations of darkspawn? That sounds rather nice in my assumption. I suppose that they now stick to the deeps." She glances to Calliara as she speaks, "These skills ... since you are capable of killing darkspawn they must be fairly good. What do you do, ser Damien?"

Some nights, Ianto went to sleep thanking the Maker with everything he had left in him for the Blight. With abominations, darkspawn, apostates, and archdemons running every which way in Ferelden these days, tracking down one measly renegade Templar was hardly a primary concern for the Order. Actually, he wouldn't have been surprised if the Knight-Commander hadn't even noticed he was gone. So many Templars had become possessed . . . so many had died in such disfiguring, grotesque ways, that it would have been easy to assume Ianto had gotten himself killed, one more dead Templar among so many others. Some of the other surviving Templars might have remembered that he'd been trapped along with the rest of them in Uldred's magic cage, but he didn't particularly think that any of them remembered enough or cared enough to put two and two together.

Despite the high chances that he was not being pursued by angry Templars eager to drag him back to the Chantry and make him pay for his desertion, Ianto had still been on edge since running from the Tower. Every step between Lake Calenhad, through the Hinterland, to the West Road near Lothering had been plagued by paranoia, looking over his shoulder, and the agony of Lyrium withdrawal. By the time he'd reached Redcliffe, he'd already muttered a thousand apologies to every mage he'd ever hunted through the wilds. There were times where he would have rather died than go another moment without Lyrium, and at other moments he would have killed for it. He wasn't happy with himself for feeling either way. Luckily, Lyrium was not as difficult to find as the Chantry would have liked, if you knew where to look. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him alive and not foaming at the mouth like some half-deranged mabari. That would have been an ugly sight.

It had only been a few months since the terrors of the Circle had been burned into his memories and his nightmares, but already the dreaded Blight had been defeated. The same Warden who had freed him and the other Templar's from Uldred's grasp had saved the whole of Thedas by defeating the Archdemon. Ianto might have only seen her briefly in the Tower, without sharing so much as a word with her, but even that story was enough to keep strangers at taverns entertained and impressed while he made his way through Thedas, hopping from one Inn to the next. Just seeing her was a story for most people, and he didn't mind embellishing where necessary to impress a drink out of a few of them.

He'd been up in some backwater village near Amaranthine when it occurred to him that he could stop embellishing. Why not go seek out the Wardens, make more than just a story out of it? Once the idea got into his head, he couldn't get it out again. He could stop running, stop hiding—the Wardens could take in anyone, and they'd be forgiven for their past crimes. Surely running away from the Templars could count for that. He wouldn't have to hide anymore. And sure, the Blight might have been over, but there were still people out there to help. If there was anything he missed about being a Templar, it was the idea that he'd been a help to people, a protector, a guardian. That notion had been shattered along with Maari, but maybe he could build something new out of it. 

And that was how Ianto found himself backtracking near all the way to Redcliffe, the exact last place in Thedas he wanted to be. But rumor had it that the Wardens were in Lothering, and Lothering was near Redcliffe, so it was unavoidable. It was a recent rumor, too—only a week or so old—which meant, if he hurried, he might not miss them completely. A horse could carry a single rider from Amaranthine to Lothering in just a few days.

Lothering hadn't been what he'd been expecting. It was good that the people were rebuilding, and in the wake of such a tragedy, it was probably high time that people got up and did something about it. They'd made considerable progress, especially since the last time he'd been through here it had been a festering hole in the ground, destroyed entirely by Darkspawn hoards. Good for them.

Ianto had left Greg—he'd named the horse he bought in Amaranthine Greg because the grey old thing had reminded him of Knight-Commander Gregoire—in a recently rebuilt stable with the rest of his things when he'd come into town. Finding Inns that were eager to take in travelers and their coin was easy, so he'd had more than a few choices at a bargain. While getting a room, he'd heard a lot about the Wardens camped in town from some of the locals. It was true—the Hero of Ferelden was among them, and more were joining her each day. Some old farmer had insisted that she was attended by a host of maleficarum and savage, wild elves. His wife had slapped him and put him in his place, but still, the picture had been painted in Ianto's mind. He didn't imagine it could possibly be true, but his Templar sense had been picking up a fair bit of magical activity—the first he'd felt since crawling out of the Hinterlands weeks ago.

He'd ended up spending the night at the Inn without approaching the Warden camp, trying to screw up the courage to do so the next morning. And when the next morning came, he'd found a dozen reasons to forestall his going. The Innkeeper had offered to take a silver off his tab if he helped with some of the early morning chores. There was something refreshing (not literally) about taking out the latrines—it reminded him of his recruit days. By the time he was done with everything she'd asked, it was already getting well on into the late morning, so he'd stopped to grab some breakfast. And then he'd gone to see to Greg. And after he'd done that, the old, tale-telling farmer from the night before had come by complaining that his gate had collapsed in the night, leaving his goats scattered around the town. How could Ianto not offer to help?

But now he had no more breakfast or horses or goats to use an excuse from going to meet the Wardens. The time had come, and he was going to do it, and he was going to talk to the Hero, and he was going to—probably make an arse out of himself, but maybe they'd take some pity on him and take him in. If all the magic he'd felt growing in the town was any indication, there were probably more than a few mages in attendance to the Warden, and maleficarum or not, he wasn't so sure they'd be happy to see a Templar wandering into their camp. Still, they said that the new King had been a Templar before being a Warden, so perhaps they wouldn't be so quick to freeze him in a block of ice in some kind of mage-y revenge.

They were gathered by the Chantry, so to the Chantry he went. Getting close, he could see that there was definitely some kind of gathering going on over there. Some had broken off into smaller groups, and some were gathered around the Chanter's Board talking. From this distance, he couldn't see who or what they might be, but the alarming prevalence of blue and griffon-emblazoned silver was kind of a tip-off that it was a bunch of Wardens.

Before he could get close, though, he heard someone nearby calling for help. It was a small, feminine voice, and small feminine cries for help were usually the kind of thing a Templar should respond to. His attention on the gathering near the Chantry was broken as he looked around, searching for the source. A small, elfin (that probably meant she was an elf) woman was hunching over a puddle of mud and muck by a half-repaired building. It looked like there was someone in her arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he trotted over. As soon as he got close, though, he cursed inwardly. Shit. They were both mages. He could feel their magic crawling across his skin. It had been some time since he'd been near magic, but it had been even longer since he'd been near a living, breathing mage in the flesh.

But he didn't want to hurt them, so he clamped as far down on his Templar abilities as he could. It wouldn't do them any good if he was neutralizing all the magic in the area while this elven mage was trying to work some kind of healing magic on the mage passed out in the mud.

"Um," he started again, walking up a little more slowly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other held up in front of him in a non-threatening gesture. "That is, is he alright?" He glanced over at the Warden-conglomeration, and then back at the kneeling mages. "Are you two with the Wardens?"

“Oh, I’ve been busy alright, and it’s not outta lack of darkspawns that I stopped hunting them. But it’s just not the same,” he answered evenly with a shrug “hunting them all by myself is a much riskier business, since the group I travelled with has disbanded. You know how it goes: they all wanna see their families, go back to their farms, and whatnots.” He briefly rolled his eyes, and with a derisive snort added: “if you ask me, all they’re coming home to is heaps of rubble and corpses.”

However small Nygozy’s smile was, the elf was relieved to find an inquisitive mind, rather than the closed ear he could have expected. “As for skills, you guessed it, there’s more to me than a Darkspawn-slaughterin’ gladius,” Damien boasted with a smirk. “Even though by all accounts it is quite fantastic, I like to think I’m as much brains as brawn. Now let’s see…”

Lowering his eyes a bit, he seemed to focus on his left hand, as if counting on his fingers, while he successively brought up each point he had prepared: “As I mentioned, I rode through the Blight with a group of six other fighters, and I’m proud to say I’m no stranger to our survival. Thanks to …” the elf briefly hesitated, seeking an appropriate terminology, “… past experiences, I’ve grown pretty good at anticipating movements and actions. And even if I’m not the best of scout, I can find a weakness in any line, cover tracks, set up false leads… whatever wins the battle. Also, I’ve spent most of my life with humans: you can bet I know a thing or two about inter-racial relations and, coincidentally,” Damien frowned slightly at the memories “I’ve become familiar with enforcing discipline.”

Apparently nearing the end of his exposition, he raised his head to fully focus on the Hero. Well ‘raised his head’ as much as necessary: it was frankly a relief to finally talk to someone shorter than he was. “That is, if you need someone to yell the lout and rowdy back into the rank, you can -”

"Nygozy," a booming voice erupted from his left.

“Ohforfuckssake,” the elf muttered under his breath, obviously irritated by the interruption. He shot the newcomer an annoyed glance, only to find a rather peculiar human woman, with an unmistakable air of nobility around her: beyond her Warden herladry, something about the way she spoke, something about the way she strode, something about her face... Damien had seen enough nobles stroll along the streets of Denerim to know them from commoners.

"Or is it Warden-Commander, now? 'Hero' would be shorter."

Turning his attention back to the Warden-Commander, he quickly concluded: “Well, I guess I just told you most of what’s to know.” And with a formal nod he ended “I’ll wait for your word.”

That said, he took a step back - faithfully followed by his horse behind him, which mimicked the gesture –, thus signifying he interrupted  his discussion with Nigozy, inviting others to take his place. Not that the lass had been waiting for it, it seemed. But he accepted that he wasn't the only entry on the Warden-Commander's meeting list today, and he certainly wasn't at the top.

A sudden movement at the corner of his eyes caught his attention, and Damien momentarily turned his head to where a curious-looking one-eyed girl seemed to have popped up out of nowhere. The elven warrior frowned a bit at the sudden appearance, unsure what to make of it: focused as he had been, he totally missed any clue that could have hinted to her being a mage, though the woman did not exactly match the physical expectations of a warrior.

He otherwise did not feel particularly alarmed: partly because his subconscious reasoned that there were enough concealed locations as it was, that no one seeking harm would appear out in the open like that –and near a mage, no less; but mostly because if someone was here for an assassination attempt, Nygozy was a more likely target than Damien. And the elf would have plenty of time to react then.

((starting to color my lines because I feel it's gonna get pretty messy))

Gareth

The Bann of Waking Sea was making a goodwill trip around the Bannorn, with a procession of soldiers, Chantry Sisters and some doctors to bring aid to those who needed it. And nowhere was their aid needed more than Lothering. It was hit hard by the Blight, one of the first places overrun by the Darkspawn. Gareth Cousland stroked his beard in thought as he rode alongside his commander, Jon Krille. He left his holding to be governed in his absence by his seneschal, a trustworthy man who he had fought alongside during the Blight. Krille however, Gareth knew was an ambitious sort and so kept him within eyesight at all times.

At any rate, Gareth heard rumors that the Warden-Commander was in Lothering, and had been meaning to meet with her for some time. He was not at the Landsmeet towards the end of the Blight, as he had spent the better part of the year the fighting lasted defending Waking Sea from Darkspawn invaders. He had only met the Warden-Commander once, and that was very briefly at Ostagar, where he was temporarily reunited with his cousin and former betrothed, Macha. Macha.He thought to himself. Perhaps she is here too...? He mused to himself, though he snapped out of his thoughts when he saw how Lothering looked. It was mostly in ruins, but there was an impressive amount of progress being made in rebuilding. He found himself smiling in pride at human determination. Coming upon the Chantry, he spotted several people dragging an unconscious man out of the mud. "What's happened here? Is this man in need of aid?" He asked, then nodded to one of the physicians in his entourage. She immediately set about her work of examining the mud-soaked man in the arms of a dusky-skinned elf- probably Rivaini, though she lacked the accent, but that wasn't saying much.

"My lord, the man is exhausted it seems." The physician said, after examining Edwin on the ground. "I am fairly certain he'll be fine, he just needs to rest." and with that, Gareth nodded his head and dismounted his horse. He walked over to the Templar and the elf who were with the unconscious man. "Is this man a friend of yours? Perhaps it's best if you get to an inn if there's one nearby anymore. My people say it's rest he needs."[/font] He said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Otherwise, I must go into the Chantry and would bid you two a good day."He smiled in reassurance and headed in. The Chantry was, for lack of a better word, crowded. Naturally, the Hero of Fereldan would be flocked to by people who wanted her to help with the reconstruction efforts. Gareth, Krille, and two more guards approached the already busy woman and the colorful characters around her.

"May I present, Gareth Cousland, Bann of Waking Sea, Veteran of Ostagar, and Cousin of Teyrn Fergus Cousland." Krille said, his voice unpleasantly gruff to match his equally unpleasantly gruff and scarred face. Part of his upper lip was sliced open during the Blight, leaving him a nasty hairlip scar that only served to further add to his air of disquieting intimidation. The man was bald, and sported no facial hair to speak of either, only a map of deep, badly healed scars on his face making him look like he was sewn together as a patchwork doll.