Just a moment in the area and it's made obvious that this is the seedy underbelly of the great dwarven city towering above. Here, massive halls and brightly gleaming armor give way to grimy hovels and beggar's rags. There are no shouts from merchants hawking their wares, or town criers relaying the latest news. Instead, the sounds permeating the area are mournful pleas for food or coin to buy such, ragged and incurable coughing, or the slurs of the guards who seem more interested in keeping these desperate people in their place. An interesting fact: one and all, those of the neighborhood sport a face brand. The guards do not.
As Aren makes her way through the neighborhood, daggers on her back and wearing leathers that certainly don't match the quality of the guards, but protect her just a little bit. At least in theory. The brand on her own face and the sneers of guards as she passes make it clear that protection is paper-thin. "Get out of my face, brand." "Stand back, I don't want to catch any of your diseases." "Vermin." When it's not a guard spitting at her, there are occasional mutters from a fellow 'brand' about her being 'one of Beraht's people', but she ignores this, ignores it all. This is the only life she's ever known, and it will never change.
"The plan will work, Your Majesty." "Of course it will. The Blight ends here."
Aren should be traveling with Alistair to the Tower of Ishal to light the signal fire for Loghain's troops. She did, in her waking life, but here and now she stands with her commander, Duncan, and King Cailan as the army awaits in the dismal night for the approach of darkspawn troops. The air is thick with tension and the incense that a Chantry sister is waving, and there is little noise other than the barks of mabari much like her own (absent) Barkspawn. Everyone knows this is where they break the darkspawn forces...or are broken in turn.
In time, it becomes clear that this is one of those latter circumstances. Later, in the desperate clash that ensues, Aren looks up and can see that the signal beacon is ablaze. This is where Loghain and his men are to move in and strike...except they don't. She watches helpless, as his army marches...away from the darkspawn, away from battle. The forces left behind cannot stand against that onslaught alone. Aren, separated from king and commander, tries to reach them but intervening darkspawn she must fight and defeat in the mean time ensure that she's only arriving in time to see the Ogre crush the life out of the king, producing a massive spray of blood. Duncan, the first person outside her sister to show her real kindness, falls soon after avenging him.
And something in Aren snaps. She can't reach Loghain, can't drive a blade in his heart like she so desperately wants to, but she can take down the Hurlock who just cut her mentor down. Unleashing a scream of rage, she charges, heedless of danger and ignoring the very real fact that there's no way the battle can be won now. She wants blood.
Sorrow (cw: implied battle, gore, corpse defiling, dead mabari)
Ostagar again. The site is far different from the other night, for those who witnessed it during battle. Now it's daylight, revealing collapsed tents, charred structures, darkspawn 'architecture' and scattered corpses. Some of those corpses are intact, while the darkspawn evidently had 'fun' with the others. Mabari aren't excluded in this number, a few of the great beasts sprawled by their masters. The deafening clash of the previous night's battle is replaced by an eerie silence.
Aren continues walking and doesn't stop until she comes across the sight of King Cailan's blood-soaked, crucified corpse set up on the bridge leading to the Tower of Ishal. She shudders but forces herself not to look away as that lump in her throat forms, her hands forming fists and her knuckles turning white. This is what came of believing the Blight would end so quickly, or being caught by forces outside their control. A logical part of her knows that there's only so much she could have done, but it's hard, too hard, to justify that to a corpse.
The voice that emerges from her is unsteady, rough. "...he needs a pyre, I have to give him a pyre. Not this." Duncan, too, if she can find him.
Aren Brosca | Open
Dust Town.
Just a moment in the area and it's made obvious that this is the seedy underbelly of the great dwarven city towering above. Here, massive halls and brightly gleaming armor give way to grimy hovels and beggar's rags. There are no shouts from merchants hawking their wares, or town criers relaying the latest news. Instead, the sounds permeating the area are mournful pleas for food or coin to buy such, ragged and incurable coughing, or the slurs of the guards who seem more interested in keeping these desperate people in their place. An interesting fact: one and all, those of the neighborhood sport a face brand. The guards do not.
As Aren makes her way through the neighborhood, daggers on her back and wearing leathers that certainly don't match the quality of the guards, but protect her just a little bit. At least in theory. The brand on her own face and the sneers of guards as she passes make it clear that protection is paper-thin. "Get out of my face, brand." "Stand back, I don't want to catch any of your diseases." "Vermin." When it's not a guard spitting at her, there are occasional mutters from a fellow 'brand' about her being 'one of Beraht's people', but she ignores this, ignores it all. This is the only life she's ever known, and it will never change.
Rage (cw: violence, likely gore, betrayal)
Ostagar
"The plan will work, Your Majesty."
"Of course it will. The Blight ends here."
Aren should be traveling with Alistair to the Tower of Ishal to light the signal fire for Loghain's troops. She did, in her waking life, but here and now she stands with her commander, Duncan, and King Cailan as the army awaits in the dismal night for the approach of darkspawn troops. The air is thick with tension and the incense that a Chantry sister is waving, and there is little noise other than the barks of mabari much like her own (absent) Barkspawn. Everyone knows this is where they break the darkspawn forces...or are broken in turn.
In time, it becomes clear that this is one of those latter circumstances. Later, in the desperate clash that ensues, Aren looks up and can see that the signal beacon is ablaze. This is where Loghain and his men are to move in and strike...except they don't. She watches helpless, as his army marches...away from the darkspawn, away from battle. The forces left behind cannot stand against that onslaught alone. Aren, separated from king and commander, tries to reach them but intervening darkspawn she must fight and defeat in the mean time ensure that she's only arriving in time to see the Ogre crush the life out of the king, producing a massive spray of blood. Duncan, the first person outside her sister to show her real kindness, falls soon after avenging him.
And something in Aren snaps. She can't reach Loghain, can't drive a blade in his heart like she so desperately wants to, but she can take down the Hurlock who just cut her mentor down. Unleashing a scream of rage, she charges, heedless of danger and ignoring the very real fact that there's no way the battle can be won now. She wants blood.
Sorrow (cw: implied battle, gore, corpse defiling, dead mabari)
Ostagar again. The site is far different from the other night, for those who witnessed it during battle. Now it's daylight, revealing collapsed tents, charred structures, darkspawn 'architecture' and scattered corpses. Some of those corpses are intact, while the darkspawn evidently had 'fun' with the others. Mabari aren't excluded in this number, a few of the great beasts sprawled by their masters. The deafening clash of the previous night's battle is replaced by an eerie silence.
Aren continues walking and doesn't stop until she comes across the sight of King Cailan's blood-soaked, crucified corpse set up on the bridge leading to the Tower of Ishal. She shudders but forces herself not to look away as that lump in her throat forms, her hands forming fists and her knuckles turning white. This is what came of believing the Blight would end so quickly, or being caught by forces outside their control. A logical part of her knows that there's only so much she could have done, but it's hard, too hard, to justify that to a corpse.
The voice that emerges from her is unsteady, rough. "...he needs a pyre, I have to give him a pyre. Not this." Duncan, too, if she can find him.