Macha's Character: Duren Aeducan

Character Name: Duren Aeducan
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Race: Dwarf

Class: Rogue
Specializations: Legionnaire Scout
A Legionnaire Scout is no flimsy surface rogue. Built more like a warrior than a thief, Legionnaire Scouts are hardy and brave, diving headfirst into battle instead of hanging back to pick off their foes. In fact, about the only thing that separates a Legionnaire Rogue from a Warrior is the lighter armor; other than that, the Legionnaire Scout is proficient in bows, longswords, dwarven hammers, daggers, and even shield work, if necessary. No dwarf can afford to limit himself to typical class-restrictions in the Deep Roads, where death might be waiting any any turn if unprepared to adapt. As a result, some of the speed and dexterity typical of a surface rogue is lost in favor of improved constitution and strength.
Favored skills: Endure Hardship | Deathblow | Full Draw

Hobbies:

Background: Duren was born the second son of one of the most noble and ancient of Dwarven houses. His grandfather before him was a king of little note, more a scholar than a warrior or inspiring figure. Late in his life, he became obsessed to the point of neglecting his kingdom with the reclamation of the lost Aeducan Thaig. It seemed a fools dream, the dream of a madman, for all the Thaigs of ancient dwarven glory were grudgingly accepted as lost forever to history (and the darkspawn).

While he wasted away over his books and his writing, his sons fought for their father’s place on the throne. Never outright, no. No dwarf would be caught dead without at least the appearance of honor and decorum. But in secret, they waged a battle of politics and wits. Endrin, the younger son, was a dwarf of unsurpassed cleverness and reputation. Despite his popularity, he was nevertheless the second son, and an unlikely candidate for the throne. Unless the Assembly passed over his brother to choose him—an event that would have earned him the dangerous ire of his elder brother for as long as he ruled—the kingship would pass to his older brother unless something was done. With some maneuvering, Endrin eventually managed to convince his brother to take part in a Proving. It was simple enough to make sure it went in his favor, and the end of the day saw his elder brother dead from wound sustained in noble combat—an honorable death, if not an honest one.

Just before Endrin’s father died to pass the throne to his son, he managed to make the breakthrough he’d been searching for all his late life. The location of Aeducan Thaig, found and within reach. And within that Thaig, something immeasurably precious—the shield of Paragon Aeducan himself. Knowing that, even after his death, these pieces of history might one day soon be returned to the dwarven people and to his family, the old king returned to the Stone in peace, and his young son Endrin was named king.

As Endrin’s middle child, Duren existed in a delicate balance between his elder and younger brothers. Trian, the eldest, was cut of a poor cloth for kingship. Humorless, serious, easily offended, and domineering, his only trait worthy of respect was his prowess in battle. It was universally agreed that either of his brothers would make a better king, and he well knew it, and he disliked both of his younger brothers for that very reason. Bhelen, the youngest, on the other hand, was charming and friendly but otherwise unremarkable on the battlefield and was easily looked over and forgotten. Only his cunning set him apart from his brothers, and he made a special point to keep that particular talent hidden. Duren was widely regarded as the best of the three by heads and shoulders, and the only one likely to succeed and possibly even surpass their father as a beloved and respected king. He was a talented fighter, reserved but dutiful and courteous to dwarves of all castes (even, it was rumored, to the casteless, but such would only be a mark against him if proven true), and favored by their father and the Assembly.

Duren was close with his younger brother, both united in the understanding that their elder brother wanted nothing to do with them. His fastest friend and supporter, however, was his retainer and second, Gorim Saelac. His dedication went beyond the strict formality of servitude to a prince and member of the noble caste—it was a bond between brothers in arms, friends, of loyalty and respect. Duren trusted Gorim entirely, and considered him more friend and brother than any of his true kin.

Considering his popularity and ability, it seemed only a matter of time before Endrin Aeducan named his middle son commander of Orzammar’s warriors. Duren had expected such an appointment, but accepted it with admirable nobility and gratitude nevertheless. A Proving was held in honor of his promotion, and Duren chose to take part in it, to a resigned eye-roll from Gorim. Afterward, there was a feast, and in attendance were a group of Grey Wardens of legend. Dwarves had always respected the Grey Wardens, and the Grey Wardens in turn respected the dwarves as being one of the only other groups in Thedas to understand their struggle against the Darkspawn. Duren, in particular, spent much of the evening and into the night speaking with their commander Duncan, comparing strategies and histories. They spoke about a recent conflict with a casteless dwarf from Dust Town who had managed to shame the Provings, and how Duncan had conscripted her, both because of her ability and to save her life. When Duren expressed an interest in meeting such a firebrand dwarf, Duncan apologized and said that, because she had caused such an uproar, she was waiting elsewhere with a contingent of other Wardens. Their party would be leaving in the morning.

The next day brought the true honors, however—more prestigious and glorious than any Proving or feast in his name. For his first official mission as commander, Duren was to lead a small scouting into the Deep Roads to locate the long-lost gates of Thaig Aeducan, and to retrieve the Shield of Aeducan. It was a mission of immeasurable import and danger, and would require the utmost in skill and stealth in order to see through to the end safely, for Darkspawn and the Stone knew what else lingered in those ancient and long-undisturbed tunnels. The unspoken reward was clear: do this, and the Assembly and your father will surely name you for king.

With Gorim at his side and a small squad of scouts, they set out for the Thaig, using the information collected by Duren’s grandfather years before. The going was treacherous, but no more than Duren had expected. They were in the Deep Roads for several days, following carefully calculated maps, and on the fourth day, Duren suspected that they were close. On the morning of the fifth day, they at last found the mighty doors that marked the entrance to the Aeducan Thaig.

Only, the doors were unexpectedly open. Duren was immediately on guard, for nothing should have been able to open the doors save the signet ring of House Aeducan, which acted as a key to the otherwise impenetrable gate. But foul-play or trap or not, he was stubborn—they had come so far and their prize was just ahead of them. They could not turn back now.

Duren entered first, the darkened antechamber to the tomb seemingly still and silent. But then there was a sudden sound and the rush of inky smoke used so frequently my rogues to hide their movements, and Duren stepped back just in time to avoid a blade slashing through his neck. It caught him on the face, slicing through his bottom and upper lip, and for a moment, the shock of the pain was enough to send his head spinning.

And when his head wouldn’t stop spinning, he realized, with a coldness in his stomach, that it probably hadn’t been a simple blade. The sound of Gorim’s shouts and fighting was all around him as they were suddenly surrounded. Despite the poison that was slowly growing stronger in him, making his vision swim and his movements sluggish, he fought onward. Many of his scouts were killed, and the rest seemed to have suddenly vanished. Gorim took on rogue after mercenary after assassin, fighting his way towards his lord, who was busy fighting off his own enemies. Before Gorim could reach him, he was knocked out, and soon after, wounded and near-paralyzed by poison, Duren was overcome.

Seeing that his victory was near, the mercenary captain leading the ambush took the time to brag about how he had subdued the respected second son of Aeducan, and even brazenly admitted that he’d gotten the signet ring from Trian. Underneath the pain and haze of poison, that betrayal cut deep, but there was nothing Duren could do about it now. And then the mercenary captain stopped short, and a dagger shoved through the front of his chest. He collapsed, and Gorim kicked the body aside to scramble to Duren’s aid.

After that, things happened in a bit of a blur. Gorim found an antidote on one of the rogue mercenaries’ bodies, bringing Duren back from the point of delirium. Together, they made their way to the inside of the tomb, where the Shield of Aeducan, and the ancient Paragon himself, had been laid to rest. Despite the great losses and earth-shattering revelations, it seemed that their quest was a success. Inside the tomb, they found the rest of the living scouts, who claimed to have chased some of the mercenaries on ahead. Wounded, and with only a fraction of their party left alive, they made their slower way back towards Orzammar.

The trek home took two more days than it should have, bringing them back within sight of the city seven days later, the entirety of the expedition lasting just shy of a fortnight. But even within sight of home, their trials were not yet finished. In the last section of Deep Roads leading into Orzammar, a section that should have been safe and free of darkspawn, they stumbled upon the remains of a massacre. A squad of soldiers, dead on the stone, and in their midst, Trian, laid out in all his warrior’s armor as if he’d been in a battle. Duren and Gorim both physically recoiled from the shock, but even worse was the sound of approaching footsteps ahead. Not a moment later, King Endrin himself, accompanied by his own second, Lord Harrowmont, and Bhelen marched onto the scene. Their faces were grim but not shocked, a foreboding sign that send a feeling of dread down Duren’s spine.

Duren didn’t know how, but he wasn’t fool enough to not know why. The moment the scouts at his back spoke up to confirm that he had slain his brother, he understood that he’d been betrayed. Framed. And there was only one person in Orzammar who could benefit from the murder and arrest of two elder brothers.

He and Gorim were separated, and Duren was taken to the sturdy rock cells deep in Orzammar. The murder and betrayal of kith and kin was only to be expected in the circle of dwarven nobility, but it must never, never be brought to light. To get caught was sloppy, and would result in the same criminal conviction as any common casteless thug. In this case, it didn’t seem to matter that Duren was actually innocent. Gorim came several days later to deliver the news. Banishment: Gorim to the surface, and Duren to the Deep Roads. It was essentially a death sentence, but one with honor in it at the very least.

When they brought him up from the cells at last, ready to cast him out into the Deep Roads, his father wasn’t present. He was too distraught over the loss of his second son, said Pyral Harrowmont. Instead, he was seen off by his father’s second, with Bhelen standing just behind and to the side. Duren’s narrowed eyes would not leave his brother’s, even as Harrowmont read him the official statement of his execution. He was to be sent into the Deep Roads with no provisions, no armor, to wander and survive as long as he might, but never to return to Orzammar. The idea that he might manage a way to survive was merely a formality—all in attendance understood that he would be dead within days.

Before he could be sent off for good, however, Harrowmont pulled him aside, and with seriousness in his eyes, asked Duren if it was true that he had killed his brother. Duren, with all the anger and certainty in him, said that he had not. Harrowmont nodded, and then, without words, produced a sword of the finest dwarven make, and handed it to him. It might not keep Duren alive forever, he admitted, but it was all he was able to make survival easier. Perhaps, in time, Duren might find a way.

Alone and with nothing but his sword in hand, Duren turned away from Orzammar for the last time to enter the Deep Roads.

He survived for almost a week on his own. The Deep Roads twisted and turned, going deeper and deeper and then up and up. He avoided darkspawn where he could, fought them when he could not avoid them, and ran when he was forced to. The nuts that scurried in the dark were food enough, and deep mushrooms are not poisonous in small amounts (though they lyrium they grew beside he avoided entirely). Water was almost impossible to find, but some of the frozen steams lining the walls substituted well enough.

In the end, the Legion stumbled upon him. They didn’t ask who he was or why he was down here—when they extended their hand, he took it without hesitation.

Duren fought with the Legion of the Dead for several months. Times were worrying, he learned. Despite the hoards of darkspawn still lingering in the Deep Roads, it was nothing compared to their usual numbers. If there less darkspawn down here, that meant that they were traveling to the surface, which could only mean one thing in turn: a Blight. There was little that the Legion could do about it down in the Deep Roads except fight what darkspawn they could, and pray to the Stone that the open, merciless sky above would protect the Grey Wardens who fought on the land.

About half a year into the Blight, Duren was on a scouting mission in a network of disused tunnels near the surface. It was reported that, somewhere nearby, there was a breach to the surface that was allowing darkspawn to move through to the surface world. If possible, his scouting troop was to locate the breach and mark it on their map before returning to the rest of the Legion. But as they neared the probable spot, there was a sudden collapse, and Duren was separated from the rest of his party. Indeed, he was separated from the Deep Roads entirely, for the only tunnel he could access from his side of the collapse was the tunnel that led up to the surface. Technically, the mission was complete—the breach was located and now, thanks to the collapse, was sealed off from allowing darkspawn access to the surface. But he was also cut off, with no way to return to his squad or the Legion. There was nothing he could do but turn to the surface.

The former prince had never seen the sky before, nor grass, nor any of the other oddities of the surface world. With no idea of where to go, he wandered, looking for the nearest possible village or city. He came at last upon Redcliffe Village. Dwarves were not common in the area, but neither were they unheard of, and with time, he was able to carve out a new life. He worked as a blacksmith, impressing the local resident blacksmith with the usual dwarven tricks of the trade (for no dwarf will never consent to be considered a lesser smith than even the greatest of human smiths). In little enough time, the community came to embrace him, however distant and private he might sometimes have been.

But the village soon came under their own hardships. The failing health of their lord was one thing, but when the dead came walking, living hearts quaked with fear. Duren was among the first in the attempts to fight them off—compared to darkspawn, the dead seemed little enough of a threat.

When the Warden came, it was to the awe and delight of all. It seemed that, at last, they were to be saved. Duren fought with her and her companions as they took one last stand against the decaying army, and Redcliffe saw a more beautiful morning at the end of that night than they had seen in many long weeks.

After the attack, many folk understandably choose to leave Redcliffe and those frightening memories behind. Duren was among that number, and eventually he came to settle in the north, in Amaranthine. He picked blacksmithing back up, making a small place for himself in that town. But news travels quick through Ferelden, and none more quickly than news of the Hero’s daring exploits. Among the rumors and stories of her adventures came word of Orzammar, and Bhelen Aeducan election by the Assembly. Duren remains in Amaranthine now, but even a blacksmith can remember that he was once meant to be a king, and rest does not come easy knowing that a brother who framed and cast you aside sits where you should.

Personality: Duren was ever the beloved prince. Smart, proud, brave, intelligent, and more than a little stubborn. Though he was well aware of his status and rank and placed great personal importance in both, he nevertheless respects anyone as long as they prove that they're worthy of that respect; whether that meant a dwarf of any caste, or a human on the surface of any background. He has a noble bearing and a noble heart and sense of duty, and though that nobility can easily, and perhaps rightly, come across as vanity, it is not undeserved. The people of Redcliffe came to respect him for his instance on giving nothing less than his best, because doing so would reflect poorly on his honor(which he valued above all things). Though he can often come across as aloof or private, he is not without manners or courtesy, and his friendship is surprisingly easy to win.

Like many dwarves, Duren can be very stubborn and vain, especially when it comes to dwarven tradition. The sky remains strange to him, and he values the stone and his ancestors above any of the flimsy religions of humans and elves. The crafts and forges of the dwarves are unsurpassed in his mind, far exceeding the weapons and armors and stonework of the surface. Gold and treasures are precious to him, and as blacksmith, he’ll refuse to take anything less than what he knows his work is worth (which is not an inconsiderable amount).

Weapons/Armor: Duren fights with a standard assortment of weapons, including bow, longswords, daggers, and dwarven hammers, wherever most appropriate. All of his weapons are of excellent quality, but otherwise un-sentimental. The only weapon he keeps on him at all times is the fine dwarven blade given to him by Harrowmont just before his exile into the Deep Roads.

As a rogue and a Legionnaire Scout, Duren wears light, maneuverable armor, but perhaps of a sturdier make than most rogues (partly because, as a dwarf, he can carry more weight, and partly because he is used to being front and center in melee combat).

Appearance:



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