OMNIA OMNIBUS (6/?)
anonymous
August 10 2011, 20:37:03 UTC
A legend who didn’t seem to like Anders much, for that matter.
‘The Gallows,’ Hawke muttered under his breath. He brushed over the far edge of the map with sun-cracked fingers, tugging pensively at the corner of his beard with his other hand. It was current consensus that the Gallows did exist-just too far away, too riddled with arcane scars, to make the trip worth the trouble. Not until there was specific incentive, like confirmation the Book of Justice was currently residing there. And confirmation was what Anders had in spades. With directions, to boot. ‘I’ve never charted such a wicked course.’
Anders drew in a breath, unsure whether he was meant to respond to that, or if Hawke had forgotten he was there altogether. Dark head bowed low over the map, Hawke reached out for a thin metal instrument Anders didn’t recognize, then walked its slender metal legs forward and back from one corner to the one opposite. At last, he stilled, sharp metal pressed against worn vellum, and rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefinger.
Anders waited. He held his breath. He leaned a little closer, too, trying to see what it was Hawke saw in the majestic cartography.
‘Fenris!’ Hawke shouted, so suddenly that Anders nearly leapt out of his boots. Somehow-clinging to the tattered shreds of his dignity-he managed to remain in place.
The door behind them creaked; the metal bolt slipped out of place with a clunk. Someone ducked beneath the crossbeam and stepped into the room, and Anders was reminded at first of the giant spiders he’d seen back in Ferelden, long limbs and sharp, armored exoskeletons. The man who’d entered had the slight build of an elf, but there was something foreboding, something quick and powerful in the tension of his posture. As he stepped closer, Anders saw that he was an elf after all, covered in white vallaslin, with an expression as fierce as any angry Dalish woman Anders had ever encountered.
Before The Tales of the Champion, Anders didn’t know elves ever took to the sea. He’d always imagined them as more of a land-faring people, what with all the trees and opportunities for frolicking with the halla.
Then again, this elf didn’t seem like the frolicking sort.
Besides, Varric was aboard the ship. So obviously no one on board knew how to be decorous.
‘Yes, captain?’ the elf asked.
Anders fought his nerves and wracked his brain for the details he knew of Captain Hawke’s fearsome crew. The first mate Isabela was one of the most popular characters, for obvious reasons; her sharp tongue and ample curves made for fantastic storytelling, and there weren’t many who’d accept a tale of The Champion without the promise of Isabela on-board. But over the years-loose-bound leather-backed volumes making their way from port to port, multiplying alongside The Champion’s infamy-new characters were added. Anders recalled two elves in that number, though one was a woman, a good-natured apostate named Merrill with deadly powers. She was likable enough, though Anders privately found it terrifying that a blood mage could be so friendly.
Clearly, she wasn’t the elf before them now.
The other elf, Fenris, was-Anders paused to thumb through distant, lovingly-read pages-the bo’sun, also a warrior, also an ex-slave and a bitter sort, given the occasional dry line at the end of a rousing chapter. But despite his lack of socialization, he was just as deadly-and after all, ‘deadly’ was the favored word in those books, the only real requirement shared amongst all members of The Champion’s motley crew.
‘We’ll be passing through qunari territory soon, Fenris,’ Hawke said, over the sound of Anders’s thoughts. They scattered like a handful of sand in the wind, and Anders blinked, suddenly very much in the present, amidst real people, not alone as he so often was with characters on the page.
‘The Gallows,’ Hawke muttered under his breath. He brushed over the far edge of the map with sun-cracked fingers, tugging pensively at the corner of his beard with his other hand. It was current consensus that the Gallows did exist-just too far away, too riddled with arcane scars, to make the trip worth the trouble. Not until there was specific incentive, like confirmation the Book of Justice was currently residing there. And confirmation was what Anders had in spades. With directions, to boot. ‘I’ve never charted such a wicked course.’
Anders drew in a breath, unsure whether he was meant to respond to that, or if Hawke had forgotten he was there altogether. Dark head bowed low over the map, Hawke reached out for a thin metal instrument Anders didn’t recognize, then walked its slender metal legs forward and back from one corner to the one opposite. At last, he stilled, sharp metal pressed against worn vellum, and rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefinger.
Anders waited. He held his breath. He leaned a little closer, too, trying to see what it was Hawke saw in the majestic cartography.
‘Fenris!’ Hawke shouted, so suddenly that Anders nearly leapt out of his boots. Somehow-clinging to the tattered shreds of his dignity-he managed to remain in place.
The door behind them creaked; the metal bolt slipped out of place with a clunk. Someone ducked beneath the crossbeam and stepped into the room, and Anders was reminded at first of the giant spiders he’d seen back in Ferelden, long limbs and sharp, armored exoskeletons. The man who’d entered had the slight build of an elf, but there was something foreboding, something quick and powerful in the tension of his posture. As he stepped closer, Anders saw that he was an elf after all, covered in white vallaslin, with an expression as fierce as any angry Dalish woman Anders had ever encountered.
Before The Tales of the Champion, Anders didn’t know elves ever took to the sea. He’d always imagined them as more of a land-faring people, what with all the trees and opportunities for frolicking with the halla.
Then again, this elf didn’t seem like the frolicking sort.
Besides, Varric was aboard the ship. So obviously no one on board knew how to be decorous.
‘Yes, captain?’ the elf asked.
Anders fought his nerves and wracked his brain for the details he knew of Captain Hawke’s fearsome crew. The first mate Isabela was one of the most popular characters, for obvious reasons; her sharp tongue and ample curves made for fantastic storytelling, and there weren’t many who’d accept a tale of The Champion without the promise of Isabela on-board. But over the years-loose-bound leather-backed volumes making their way from port to port, multiplying alongside The Champion’s infamy-new characters were added. Anders recalled two elves in that number, though one was a woman, a good-natured apostate named Merrill with deadly powers. She was likable enough, though Anders privately found it terrifying that a blood mage could be so friendly.
Clearly, she wasn’t the elf before them now.
The other elf, Fenris, was-Anders paused to thumb through distant, lovingly-read pages-the bo’sun, also a warrior, also an ex-slave and a bitter sort, given the occasional dry line at the end of a rousing chapter. But despite his lack of socialization, he was just as deadly-and after all, ‘deadly’ was the favored word in those books, the only real requirement shared amongst all members of The Champion’s motley crew.
‘We’ll be passing through qunari territory soon, Fenris,’ Hawke said, over the sound of Anders’s thoughts. They scattered like a handful of sand in the wind, and Anders blinked, suddenly very much in the present, amidst real people, not alone as he so often was with characters on the page.
‘Beg pardon?’ he asked.
Both Fenris and Hawke ignored him.
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