Application for Underworld Wars
|| Player Information ||
Name: Jamie
Personal Journal: hellblazing
Time zone: Central
Contact: parting_wings [at] hotmail [dot] com; AIM: elysianreality
Current Characters: None
|| Character Information ||
Fandom: Dragon Age II
Name: Varric Tethras
Canon Point: Shortly after being released by Cassandra, post-game
Is this character dead? No
History: Un, deux, trois, et quatre
After the remaining companions scattered to the winds (short of Anders staying with Hawke), Varric was picked up by the Chantry and interrogated by Cassandra Pentaghast, a Seeker. Following the conclusion of his story he was indeed released as promised.
As for the major choices/crossroads in the game, here's what happened:
> The Hero of Ferelden is a human female warrior
> Alistair and the Hero are king and queen
> Hawke is a female mage, overall friendly with a bit of a sarcastic streak
> Bethany was killed by the ogre
> Hawke worked for Athenril for her year of servitude
> Hawke romanced Anders
> Carver joined the Templars
> Anders healed Bartrand and Varric spared his brother's life
> Hawke gave Varric the lyrium shard
> Isabela ran away with the tome of Koslun, never to return
> Hawke and Varric sided with Anders and the mages
> Hawke was forced to kill Fenris
Personality:
Varric is a showman and an unrivaled storyteller, no question about it. He loves the sound of his own voice and has charisma by the boatload, a fact which he displays quite readily upon entering any tavern (though he claims he only frequents the nice taverns). In exchange for his stories, which are often fanciful recountings of his friends' deeds with a few... extra details thrown in, all he typically asks for are a few drinks. Nearly everyone in Kirkwall has bought him a drink at one time or another, and Kirkwall isn't a small city. He's also branched out into printing, having set his epic "Hard in Hightown" into bound texts.
Behind the showman, however, Varric is actually quite pratical and sensible. He's the one who kept House Tethras running while his brother Bartrand was out making business deals. He's the one who recognized Hawke's potential and worked to get her into the Deep Roads expedition. He has an eye for talent and a keen understanding of the way the world works.
Despite his practicality, Varric has a deep love of leisure and the finer things in life. Rather than stay in his own house he rents out a permanent room in the Hanged Man tavern. He dresses for style over function, going so far as to eschew the traditional dwarven beard. Being noble doesn't interest him--it's the expensive lifestyle he's attracted to, and he's got that in spades. He maintains said lifestyle by pursuing activities that might not be... entirely legal.
More plainly put, Varric is a rogue. As such he has an extensive understanding of underworld organizations and shady dealings. He maintains his own spy network, has pull with most of the major factions in Kirkwall, and knows pretty much everyone in the city worth knowing; he uses his influence largely to help his friends out of tight spots, such as keeping the gangs in Darktown away from Anders' clinic. After all, what was the younger son of a dwarven house supposed to do to keep from dying of boredom? His concern for friends shows the compassion that runs deep in him--you can lie, cheat and steal, but step on the weak or threaten someone's life and you've crossed the line in Varric's eyes. He's not a big fan of violence, preferring diplomacy or blackmail, but sometimes you just have to shoot fools.
Official business is not his cup of tea. He hates dealing with the Merchants' Guild to the point of never attending meetings, parceling his various above-board business dealings out to fictional family members (at least as far as the record books are concerned), and never opening his mail. That sort of thing just doesn't jive with his otherwise freewheeling lifestyle. Still, he does keep the house running now in Bartrand's absence. Someone has to, after all.
Because he was born on the surface to a family of exiles, Varric has no connection to or love for the dwarven traditions of Orzammar. He's an Andrastian; the Ancestors mean little to him. He doesn't particularly care to be underground or outdoors unless it's in Kirkwall itself.
As far as others are concerned, Varric prefers people who are friendly, kind, and those with a sense of humor. A joker himself, he can sling sarcasm and taunts around with the best of them. He also uses this sense of humor to take jabs at those without one--some people (*cough*FenrisandCarver*cough*) just need to lighten up, if you ask him. Though this might be seen as a defense mechanism, learned from his time dealing with family troubles, Varric is a genuinely easygoing and fun guy to be around. Most of the time. Cross him or his friends and you'll be meeting the business end of Bianca, his prized crossbow, shortly enough. He likes to hang out with Hawke because she's so interesting he's guaranteed to get a good story out of it, and because she's a genuinely good person who tries to make a difference in Kirkwall.
Varric rarely speaks about his personal life or his family, preferring to glorify others with his wild tales. He's a liar par excellence (a compulsive liar in his own words), a drinker but not a drunk, a flatterer and a lover of beautiful women. In short, Varric is the life of the party and he's not afraid to admit it.
Skills | Powers: Varric has no real "powers" to speak of... unless you count a massive charisma and some damn sexy chest hair. His skills consist mainly of prowess with a crossbow and the ability to pick just about any lock or disable any trap in existence (thanks to a hell of a lot of cunning). He can also stun small groups of people for a few seconds, though this is due mainly to small gas flasks that he keeps on hand at all times.
His crossbow skills include just about all of this tree (Bianca), as well as most of this one (Marksman - Friendly). He can be pretty stealthy when the situation demands it, though most times he prefers showmanship to skulking around in the shadows.
He's also quite short, if one considers that a failing.
First Person Sample:
[A video feed begins transmitting, showing first the ground--sideways--followed by nothing but air for a moment as the device is moved and then finally a man. A dwarf, rather.]
[He's probably not like most dwarves you've met, however--assuming you've met many. There's no beard, just stylish stubble, and his finely tailored shirt is open at the throat to reveal a muscular chest and quite a lot of chest hair.]
[Don't be alarmed if the chest hair mesmerizes you. It's done the same to more than a few young ladies in Kirkwall. He'll even tell you about it if you buy him a drink or two.]
Sodding ferryman... leave me stranded in the Deep Roads, will you? [He sighs] And last time went so well. Shit.
[He raises his voice] If this is your idea of letting me go, Seeker, we obviously weren't on the same page when we made that agreement! You hear me, you Chantry bastards? Next time you need my help you can just clap me in irons, you nug-humping--
Huh. [He's distracted, examining the tablet now. The video tilts crazily as he turns the device over and around in his hands.] ...not any kind of trap I've ever seen. Magic, maybe. Up to my ass in mages for the better part of a decade and not a one of them around when you need one.
[After a few moments of checking out the tablet he looks around and shrugs.] Well, even if it's cursed it can't be as useless as Merrill's mirror, and I certainly don't have any better ideas at the moment. Here goes nothing... [A gloved hand appears and tentatively taps on the screen.]
Third Person Sample:
And just like that, they let him go.
Varric stumbled away from the entrance of the old Amell manor, chancing a look back at the guards who'd escorted him out--the same ones, he was fairly certain, who'd brought him in for questioning in the first place. It was difficult to remember faces through the blow he'd taken to the head. "Invitation" indeed.
The memory caused the knot on the back of his skull to ache again. The dwarf reached up one gloved hand to rub at it gingerly. "Andraste's sanctified smallclothes," he swore under his breath, careful not to let the guards hear. With one last petulant glance at the manor and a shake of his head, Varric set off back toward Lowtown, feet moving more on instinct than through any conscious decision of his own. Even the Hanged Man wasn't entirely safe for him anymore--the Seeker had proven that--but it was all he had. Where else was he supposed to go, the Merchant's Guild?
Varric shuddered at the thought.
The day was waning, the sun long on the tops of the manor houses in Hightown as he wove through the crowd. He'd lost an entire night and the better part of a day with Cassandra with nothing to show for it but his hide. Still he found himself picking up a tune to whistle as he walked. Even the events of the last several hours couldn't keep his spirits down forever. After all, he'd told a fantastic story, and maybe set the record straight for his friends in the process. If it kept the Seeker--and therefore the Chantry--off their backs, so much the better.
And it really had been a bloody fantastic story, hadn't it? He hadn't even embellished it.
...much.
Besides, it wasn't as if he could warn the others of the Seeker's inquiry. The part about him not knowing where to find the Champion had been true enough. Carver's duties with the remains of the templar order meant he was a no-go. Merrill hadn't been to her house in the Alienage in days according to Varric's spies in that area. Fenris was dead, Isabela long gone, Sebastian had quit Kirkwall and Anders was wherever the Champion was now, presumably.
Aveline. She was still with the city guard. Not that Varric felt he'd portrayed her in a particularly awful light, or that the Chantry's wrath would be falling upon her exactly, but this was one of those things she would probably want to know about.
And maybe, just maybe, he could coax her out for a drink in exchange for the story.