(And Maker Bless You, Anthony Heare) Poorly-written, guilty pleasure in the works since the summer of 2012 (G-d, how I miss that year). Complete with misspellings, grammar mistakes and Bullshit. Plus, is the "teenager" even fathomable in the DRAGON AGE universe?
Stories have a way of overtime becoming nothing but bullshit.
My father, Osen, told me this one night before bed next to the fireplace. He said that even the stories that were myth would overtime have their own facts changed from one generation of Bards to the others. The Chasind knew that and that must have been the reason why they threw half empty mugs at him, but not as well as my father who made somewhat of a living telling other people's bullshit from centuries past and who's own work would, centuries later, find the most peculiar of scholars and Circle mages that would spend their time making their own stories from his own work. Some, poorly written. Others, graphic. And not only was it poor Osen's work that would be an absolute variation of its original plans, but his life itself. His and ,my mother, Flemeth's tale is that of pure fiction as well and even the one that my half-sister told the Hero of Fereldan is that of merely pure fairy tale. Sure there was a Lord Cobain, but Flemeth was never his beautiful bride (but she was beautiful) and Osen, never his bard. Osen was merely a man in retrospect. He, like any other man, had flaws. Lack of confidence of the fact that he could not support his four-year-old child and young wife, the fact that he couldn't buy his lovely wife a castle or magnificent dresses and the fact that his father-in-law was right. Flemeth told me one night that most of the problems of the world comes from the dark hearts of men, but she saw something in Osen that few men even in this century could ever fathom. His goals were all that for someone else.
I have heard the tales of "The Witch of the Wilds" for centuries. The hero who slayed my mother and sisters by burning them on a stick. The beautiful exterior but demon interior of my sisters. And it would be ignorant for me to not believe that my mother is out there somewhere in the forests as it would be ignorant of me to erase the images of a resilient beautiful woman who taught me to control my, what many would believe, a curse and this is what I told Anthony Heare around the fire camp such as my father use to tell me stories and I do not believe that even when the Templars surrounded him in the Denerim Market, his home city, did he believe me. And still do I not understand how he survived the Taint of the Darkspawn when a paranoid Meredith ditched him in the Dark Roads. But he did. Many believe that the Hero of Fereldan is the hero of the century, but many Grey Wardens before have fought and killed the Archdemon before him without performing The Dark Ritual and conceiving a distant relative with the soul of an Old God. Stories have a way of becoming bullshit, but I believe that if written by a true source, it has overtime of becoming something that can prosper and infatuate the people. Anthony is one such tale.
1 Before the Circle of Magi, before the taint, before the obliteration of his hometown that only the hubris of men could do and centuries before the Reapers made us nothing but myth. Anthony Heare was an Apostate child who covered his hands in leather gloves and who hid himself in his childhood basement in the Elven District of Denerim from the Templars. Anthony told me he never had anyone to talk with other than his sister who was two minutes younger than him and his Elf mother who once was with a Dalish clan that took its place on the outskirts of Denerim. Anthony never met his father who was a Circle Mage who escaped and met Anthony's mother, a beautiful Dalish Elf, that he wedded a year after they met and to keep his freedom did he become a Grey Warden until months later did Anthony's mother open the door of a tiny village hut that they shared with Anthony's uncle in Loathering to be met with the sight of a carrier with a letter with the stamp of the Warden symbol. When she opened it, alone with two three-month-old infants, was she greeted with the message that they found her husband's corpse in the Deep Roads beneath Ozzamar. Things have a way of becoming nothing but bullshit and Anthony's mother, forty years ago, felt this same feeling that was underneath her widow grief. And Anthony learned the truth many years later. Anthony told that his father must have had a feeling that something was awry because in a leather-bound tome that his father left him that his mother gave Anthony when she discovered that her son inherited her husband's magic was there a small written note addressed to Anthony on the first page. To my son, Anthony. For who I will never see. Legends have a way of becoming nothing but bullshit overtime and the Grey Wardens are no exception.
* * * Anthony told me that for years he learned to control his magic and the Fade with the contents that inhabit the leather-bound tome. When he was young, he told me, he would take the tomb and three large veils of mana out to the forest that surrounded the outskirts of Denerim, the same Forest where his mother grew up and in it, he told me, he would practice for hours with the many spells and lessons that his father wrote during his time in the Circle of Magi in Orlais.
* * * Anthony told me he had only one person he could call a childhood friend and that was a boy named Cullen who Anthony would be reacquainted with when he was captured by him in Kirkwall years later. Anthony never told Cullen he was an Apostate for fear of rejection, but what Anthony didn't know before Cullen was under the seduction of a Demon during the Blight when he was a Templar posted in the Freledan Circle, was that Cullen believed that Mages were just like any other normal person on the streets of Denerim. That locking them up was just like locking up a Warrior or those who master in the art of Dexterity that locking them up was just like treating them like dogs. But Anthony never could have known for Anthony never brought up the captivity of Mages with any of the other children that lived in Denerim for fear of suspicion and when Anthony was caught by Cullen when he was a Templar in Kirkwall after his ordeal during the Blight, something that Cullen's father pushed Cullen to do, did Anthony believe he did the right thing.
* * * Anthony's destiny didn't make itself acquainted with him until thirty days after his fourteenth birthday when Anthony's mother was cooking breakfast and his sister was writing in her diary in her bedroom that she shared with her brother that, on that day, did Anthony decide to practice lesson #340 in his father's tome. Anthony told me two weeks before the war in Denerim many years later that if he could change one thing of his thirty years on this world was that he stood home that day. Anthony told me that in hindsight did he notice that his mother was not acting herself as she made breakfast for her twins. That, throughout the whole preporation, was she shaking and barely speaking. Anthony told me that before he open his door with his tomb and vials of mana in a leather bag strapped around his shoulder did his mother tell him that she loved him. Anthony didn't think anything about it and passed it off as a simple I love you and told her the same back.
* * * Anthony did the same drills. spells and meditations as he always did in his excluded spot in the Forrest, packed up his things, and went back home for dinner at five. What Anthony did not know was that for months have the Templars been knew they had a powerful Apostate walking the streets of their city and when Anthony's next door neighbor and his mother's best friend, Darla, plead Anthony to not go home was he met with the fact that something bad had happen. Religious organizations have a way of exposing themselves as nothing but bullshit and the Templars are no exception. When Anthony quickly open the door of his childhood home was he met with the sight of his mother and twin sister, dead, in a pool of dead. Anthony told me that another regret he had was his willing to follow Cullen peacefully to the Kirkwall circle, that, becoming a Circle Mage and ultimately Senior Second Enchanter of said circle was a big fuck you to what his mother and sister died for.
2 Teenagers usually have the most bullshit reasons for being angry at the world, but Anthony didn't. Anthony never did attend his mother and sister's funeral but as he quickly packed his things off to live with his only living family in the village of Loathering he left a note for the Chantry on the dining room table to Stay the hell away and keep their fucking Maker to their selves. A select few believe that nature conceived itself and Anthony, for almost two years, believed that the stories of Andraste and the Maker were nothing but bullshit. I, myself, always was a skeptic when I was young myself but, just like Anthony, I realized that for those who truly believe, religion is a true ignorance to the hatred of the world.
* * * Anthony told me that the majority of the Elves in Denerim saw him and his sister as nothing but as half-breeds for a majority of his childhood in Denerim. Being an Apostate wasn't the only contributing factor. For the Elven parents told their children to ignore him, but the day he left did he finally receive their sympathy, even the District Elder calling him one of their own. Something that Anthony's mother's Dalish clan would never, in no way in hell, ever do.
* * * Anthony's only living relative was his uncle. The same one, that when Anthony and his sister were 8 months old, were living with. And the same uncle lived in the same village hut on the outskirts of Loathering, one of only two huts, fourteen years later. Anthony told me when he arrived in Loathering with nothing but his tome, months after the death of his mother and twin sister, that the first time he saw his uncle he was arguing with one of his neighbor. The father of the Champion of Kirkwall. Over whether or not a certain mage scholar was nothing but fabricated bullshit and that he was just some Orlaisian drunk who worked as a whore just for the next pint of Ale. This was Anthony's uncle's perspective of the scholar. His neighbor, Hawke, was that of the written truth. Anthony told me it ended with his uncle, Yossarian, running to his hut and the fellow of the name of Hawke laughing as he walked back to his house where his wife and kids. Who, that Anthony never knew or never meet but with the occasional quick glance during village festivals, an Apostate daughter born on the same day as him and who also had a twin brother that would have his head bashed against colorless ground in four years when the Darkspawn destroyed Lothering.
* * * Anthony told me that his first sentence that his uncle ever spoke to him after he knocked on the door of his hut was. Listen, Hawke, you already fucked me in the ass. What else do you want? In which, Anthony, whose views on his uncle were deteriorating by the second, replied. Uncle Yossarian, this is your only living relative and it would be rather sad if you told him to go fuck off and he left. Wouldn't it? Sounds of several locks being unlocked against wood and Anthony was met with the sight of his only living relative, a man who looked just like the father Anthony never met with a long dark beard and blue eyes, tired from years of hiding. Anthony told me the moment he had a good glance of his uncle that he could tell he was a mage and that he saw himself forty years from now looking just like him. Fatigued from the years of Anti-Mage sentiment and hiding. Mages have a way of knowing when another Mage is present by just a quick glance of their eyes such as a first time mother does the second time around with their second child, an animal-like instinct.
* * * Anthony told me his uncle greeted him with open arms and told him he was deeply sorry for the lost of such two beautiful women. An apology that the fourteen-year-old boy misinterpreted as phony and emotionless. Anthony's uncle told the young teenager to sit at the central table. An Orlesian antique oak table, wearied down by years of various owners and use. Anthony's uncle poured Anthony a cup of tea and himself one and they sat across each other in silence, looking at every possible direction but straight. So, I see your father gave you his old tome.
He loved that thing. Been writing in it since we were kids.
You don't have to do that.
Small talk. Its more awkward than sitting in silence with in absolute stranger. Oh. Well, I suppose you have a point...has your mother told you anything about me?
Just the usual distant uncle topics.
Usually whether or not the uncle was some drunk asshole who exploit his family for personal gain, whether or not he has an irrational bigotry of those in a relationship with the same sex. You know, typical distant uncle topics. They're very popular with the young Elven gossipers of Denerim. Oh. Well, it must have been a long month for you you must be tired. As much as I have been the few past weeks.
Yes, yes...well, your room is just down the hall to the left. Was the same room you lived when you were eight-months-old. How's that ironic? Been nothing but a guest room for the past fourteen years, although, how could you possibly call it a guestroom with absolutely no guests whatsoever for the past fourteen years? Aye? Well, thanks for the tea, uncle. I guess I'll go to bed. Good night.
Yes, good night.
* * * Anthony told me that he always wanted to be a writer. That being a writer was the only escapism he could find. He told me of a story that he wrote when he was eleven years old about a circle mage named McBeth Crowe trying to find himself a place in society where he could fit in that had no walls, no confinement, no religion, no magic and no Fade. Unfortunately, McBeth Crowe discovers that the society was, in fact, a dream and he woke up twenty years where the story started just to discover he was in Aranar. It was a bleak story, but it didn't give you bullshit. Anyways, what Anthony did for the first few weeks was lock himself up in his room, only occasionally coming out for a dinner of usually bread or lamb soup and the same mundane conversations that strangers usually give each other. How about that weather? Did you hear about Mrs. Kingston's daughter? And what Anthony wrote was nothing but stream of conscious that went on for thirty pages that he threw away after reading three pages.
* * * One day, Anthony decided that enough time has past to start his training in the backyard since Anthony only saw three Templars in town, all taking their places in the Chantry in the village square and the only Forest surroundings were miles away and not worth the trouble. He would do the same ritual he did in Denerim. Three vials of mana, his father's tome. He would sit three empty barrels that he asked the pub in town if he could have and sat them a few yards away from him and on top of the three empty barrels he would sit three empty bottles of what use to hold wine and shoot fireballs at them. He did this for weeks, the same exact thing, three barrels. Three bottles. Fireballs. What he didn't know was that throughout the weeks was his uncle watching him train very closely until one day three months shy of his fifteenth birthday his uncle was behind him, watching as the bottles became shards of glass on the unkempt grass. All except the third bottle.
You know, for a self-trained Mage, I've got to say, you're pretty damn good.
Thanks. But, that's just it, you're self-trained. I mean, its all great and dandy in the beginning but when you start getting as old as me. All that stuff you taught yourself, pure bullshit.
Oh, and why's that?
No perseverance. Sure, you know your shit, but very poorly. Bait for a demon.
Well, what the hell did you expect?
Well, absolutely nothing. I didn't mean anything by it, hell I've known many self-taught mages. And you know what happened to them?
They turned into assholes, thought that if they could teach themselves the way of the arts that they were more talented than most others. I mean, to an extent, they were right. But ego is the downfall of all men, mage or not.
I'm not egotistical.
Nor did I say you were, well...now. Personally, If you want some advice, you really need a trainer. I mean, not an old bigot like me, eh?
You can never spend all your time avoiding helpful advice, Anthony told me. He told me that being an asshole to his own living relative ignoring him with the same repetition of daily life was tiring. That it was impossible.
You see that third bottle. I keep missing it.
Show me your stance...no, no..that won't do at all. You see, you should have your right leg a farther back and your left more in front. Yes, there you go and your wrist should be turned a little to the left. And, Anthony told me, as the weeks continued with his progression in magic increased with his uncle's help. His skills improved and he began to speak more to his uncle, opening up.
* * * Haha. And she left me for some Rivian with a nice ship and twelve inch cock!
But, what she didn't know was that guy was laced with a shitload of dieases. Never bathed see! They continued to laugh for a long time with a bottle of wine and some recently baked bread. Uncle Yossarian, tell me about my father. What was he like?
Your father was the best damn man I ever knew. Brave, intelligent, a Lady killer...although, was saving himself until he found the right girl...thought he was going to be a Chantry Sister or something! No...got caught while trying to steal from some merchant vendor in Kirkwall trying to feed his poor little bastard of a brother...there's many qualities of your father that would take days trying to explain. He wasn't selfish, but was selfish for me...maybe had something to do of the fact that our parents ditched us in trash bins when they discovered our "curse". Some high loyalty in Kirkwall, have all the money and luxury, yet can't tell love from hate. You remind me a lot of him. That "distinct uncle" comment you made a few months cemented it! Hahaha. Have the biggest pair of balls I've ever seen...
Yeah...sorry I was such a dick.
Shit, you don't have to apologize. You lost the only relatives you had left, well, ones that were lovely people...anyways...not me...only in my thirties and I feel like I've lived a few thousands centuries...yeah, your father did more than me in his two decades than I have in my three...
Well, I guess its time to go to bed.
What! Hell! Enough of this self-pity, the night is still young. Drink up! You know, your father never was one for self-pity...
Yossarian poured himself a glass and Anthony and they both made a toast.
To your father!
Anthony told me that his uncle was one of the most likable men you could know. Crude, but very intelligent and the best damn mage in Freledan. You had to see him to believe him type of ordeals. *NOTE: DEVELOP YOSSARIAN'S CHARACTER* *FIX THE CHEMISTRY* *THINK ABOUT IT, MAN.*
* * * Throughout the four years Anthony spent with Yossarian did he began to learn more about his father and mother's past. He learned about how Yossarian and his father were left in the Lowtown of Kirkwall after accidentally sitting the curtains on fire in the living room while playing. Their parents, Anthony's Grandparents, threw the two boys out on the spot because of their reputation as a pure blooded family. Yossarian and Anthony's father spent years working for odd end jobs for a pirate from Rivia with twins, a daughter and a brother, that their mother sold for a mule and twenty sovereigns on separate occasions. The brother, when he was only two months old, to a slave driver and the daughter for a fat Rivian lord for which she was married to for years until being assassinated by a Dark Crow. Yossarian and Anthony's father worked for this man for years on in until they outlived their usefulness and was nearly killed off by the Rivian's henchman who lost an eye, not with in arrow, but with the penis of an elf at the Blooming Rose. Yossarian and Anthony's father worked odd jobs here and there but the pay was shit so they resulted into stealing until Anthony's father was caught trying to steal a loaf of bread and an apple from a vendor in Hightown until being caught in the act by the merchant and a temple guard. Anthony's father tried to fight, but it failed with a concussion from a broadsword. The handle of it. (This will randomly be inserted in certain parts of the story)
* * * 3 Anthony never really talked much about Lothering other than the stories his uncle would tell him about his father. He said that the other parts were just like they were at Denerim. (Explain more about it) Fear of socializing too much and watching his uncle and their neighbor, Hawke, occasionally discussing topics of magic that got so fierce that sometimes the mother or the daughter had to break it up until the father himself passed away for unknown reasons. The daughter occasionally saw Anthony in his backyard training, though he never knew that himself. What Anthony did most in his spare time in the days he lived in Lothering was train, read, write or drink with his uncle. He grew very fond of his uncle, overlooking his abrupt personality and seeing a wise, kindred spirit that has been around. It went on for years like that. That was until the day the future Hero of Freledan was picked up by Duncan and the night before Loghain told his men to hold back and the half-brother king of the future king (get that through your head) was killed by an ogre. It went on like any other day. By now, Anthony learned everything he could from his uncle who now resided in his fourth decade. The day the preparation of the battle of Osgard was in full climax Anthony and his uncle sat together on the steps of the house that they both have lived together in for years.
Shit, Anthony...how old are you?
Eighteen as of a few weeks ago.
Hell, been that long? What? Four years.
Yep. Four years to get the rebellious teenager out of my blood. And four years since the death of my mother and sister and eighteen since my father.
Funny how close the dates of their deaths are.
More in the, Oh. shit Dolorese, your baby choked on its umbilical cord but at least you have a spare humor? Well, dark. But, I guess...baby and an umbilical cord?
Well, its kind of difficult for me to think things up from the top of my head. I'm kind of impaired upon that part.
Hell, I was just wondering if the mother's safe.
Well, they did speak to her after they pronounced the baby's departure.
So, anyways. Got everything I can teach you down?
The firestorm, the fires from heaven, the cyclone..everything except the part where alcohol is just like mana..how does that work again?
Hahaha. Hell, if it did the Circles across the world would have Templars shitting themselves everywhere. But hey, thought that counts.
What Anthony didn't know was that three years later his uncle's journal would be confiscated from the debris of their destroyed hut by a naive, power hungry mage named Quelinkski who took Yossarian's spells and meditations like a Chantry sister does with the book and would, four years after he found the book, nearly destroy the marketplace in a town in Rivia in a drunken frenzy of ale and delusional power. And that wasn't bullshit.
Well, I suppose its time to go to bed. See you in the morning, uncle.
Yes...yes. Good night, Anthony.
4 All Anthony told me that he could remember the night that the Darkspawn destroyed Lothering was his uncle coming into his bedroom, screaming for young Anthony to forget his shit and leave. Anthony said he remember hearing the scream of women and children from outside and the bright orange color of fire on hay huts from his bedroom window.
What the hell are you talking about? What's going on?
Oh, the hubris of men's creation has attacked our lovely village?
Darkspawn! Yes, yes, Darkspawn. Now, no time for questions, follow me.
Wait, I got to get father's tome!
As Anthony tried to get up from his bed, his uncle stopped him.
We've got to go...
Anthony told me that, as his uncle and him were heading for the front door of their hut, three darkspawn broke down the old orlesian oak against the floor. Their armor made from the bone of men, animals and innocent baby raccoons. Their indistinguishable faces protected by the skull of what use to be a Templar Knight Commander in Denerim. Anthony, at that point, never saw his uncle in action and it was a surprise that from the palms of his hands did he witness a large ball of flame engulfed the two unwelcome guests right out of their home and rolling on the unkempt grass of their front lawn. Anthony told me that was the only clear memory of the destruction of Lothering that he could remember, the rest was just a blur. He told me that all he remember was running through unlit forests for hours until stopping at a clear passage, his uncle out of breathe, as well as Anthony.
Anthony: Maker damn, you think we lost them.
Well, don't see any darkspawn, eh?
Where the hell are we?
Yossarian lighted the forest with a small flame from his hand.
Wood. Leaves. My dear nephew, we're in the forest.
You know, for a man who lost his home, you're rather optimistic.
Well, self-loathing never got anyone- -
Anthony told me that the moment his uncle stopped mid-sentence did the only thing he remember was trying to stop his uncle from bleeding to death, holding the left side of his throat as blood poured from the small wound that was punctured by that of the tip of an iron arrow. He remember holding the wound down with both of his hands, but with no luck for after the first initial gag that came from his uncle's mouth solidified his demise. Many years later, after the attack on Denerim by the Templars, did I hear in a local pub in a small village in Orlais of a voice of an aging, ex-Templar bragging about, years ago, on the night Loghain betray King Maric did he shoot an Apostate square through the jugular. Many of the boasting of aging men in pubs of bullshit, and the patrons of the pub believed so, but I knew it wasn't. Anthony told me that it took him awhile to come to terms of the fact that he was the last of the Heare bloodline, that he was all alone in a society that portrayed him as anything but a man and that one night, a few years after he was caught by Cullen and a week before a paranoid, power hungry Meredith ditched him in the Deep Roads, did it finally hit him and he began to cry. He buried Yossarian under an old oak tree a few miles away from Lothering that was in a peaceful passing by a river and bushes of roses. Anthony put five of those roses. Red. on his uncle's unmarked grave along with his staff and a bottle of wine.
4 After Anthony's father was caught and sent to the Kirkwall Circle did he really began to think of his life. You know, the usual. Choices, family problems, the future. And as he began to think about these in hindsight in the Circle's library did he really realise how much of a fuck-up he really was. And one day, flipping through one of the many tomes that covered the walls of the library, did he find himself sitting across from a mage named Hawke. It turned out that Hawke and him were not so much different, that both got their selves caught stealing something from the same bastard Dwarf merchant in Hightown, except for Hawke it was a book solely dedicated on Fire spells and its funny to believe that after these two departed, Hawke with his pregnant girlfriend of Royality and Anthony's father, after thinking his life through very clearly after a few years, was that the legendary heros, the Grey Wardens, would wrong them in one way or another. Except death for Anthony's father while Hawke went on living. It wasn't only the fact that both of them got in this confinement stealing something from the same Dwarf that made them good friends, but it was their philosphies of life, that were so starch different, that made them good friends. Anthony's father believed, though it would change later, in that there was a way to cure their curse that doing so would make them human beings. Hawke, who was raised with love and care from two mage parents, believed that it wasn't the fact that they were mages but the fear and unopen-mindness of the Chantry that was the cause of the fear. They would debate over certain topics for months. This. That. Which Senior Enchanter was hotter. Even when Hawke became a Senior Mage and Anthony's father a Second-Senior Enchanter did they still have these debates over a bottle of wine until they both escaped together with different intentions in mind.
5 Anthony told me that it was bullshit to stay in Freledan. That if he stayed, he said, he would wind up just like the rest of his family. So, hoping to see Yossarian and his father's roots and to start a new life, he leave Freledan with nothing but the tattered clothes on his back, did he take a one-way trip to Kirkwall in the same boat with the rest of the Hawke clan. He couldn't swim and he easily got sick on sea, Anthony told me, so why the fuck did I get on a boat? The journey was a thousand miles and it took about three months until he finally arrived in Kirkwall after storms and the occasionally pirate battle did Anthony spent his time in his third-class room continuing the exploits of McBeth Crowe written in a stream of concious. Usually they were just certain sections of McBeth's life. A dark-haired, blue-eyed half-elf (a mirror of Anthony himself.) Sections of McBeth's views upon religion, life and magic. Many of his views were that of which Anthony shared himself. They wouldn't be particularly interesting to those who didn't know Anthony, but to those who did on a personal level, they were the best damn stories ever concieved.
* * * My mother never was one for the idea of freewill. To her, the idea was bullshit. We were all destined to a certain line in our lives that would cut off the moment we died. Suicide, a heroic battle, jealous spouse, freak accident with a lightning spell. We were going to die in a certain way and we were given only three times to escape and the third time around was in itself very creative and at the same time so bizzare that religious zealots for years would go on about it in town squares and in front of the Chantry they dear so much as if it was a sign from the Maker himself. Anthony's first stroke of death was a few days before the ship reached Kirkwall. It was night and at first, it began as rain which happened almost every night since the ship Freledan, then the rain became thunder and soon the winds began to take speed and as the ship began to rock did Anthony began to throw up in a bucket he stole from one of the horses from the stables. Women tried to calm their crying children with lullabies and Anthony was vomiting in the stolen bucket and soon, up above, three sailors were washed away from their posts and after a twenty minute session with the stolen bucket did Anthony finally realise that he was covered up to his knees in salt water.
* * * Anthony told me he didn't know a lot of what happened outside or that night other than what the captain, hungover, told his bewildered pass and remaining crew members, that a storm hit last night and they were only miles from Kirkwall.
No shit. Said one of the bewildered passes, a farmer with a wife and three children.
What the fuck did you expect us to believe?
Well, continued the captain, been around as long as me you realise people need clarification.
This philosophy would save the captain's life years later when he would accidentally crash his aging ship into the hull of a ship who's captain was an ex-Dark Crow.
A few days later did they finally arrive to the City of Chains, Kirkwall. Reactions were neither high or low from the passengers as their ship sailed underneath the two large twins made from Trevinter slaves centuries pass, they were just fucking glad to get off that damn boat more than anything.
* * * The first thing I remember seeing, Anthony said, was the shit on the streets. I mean, it was everywhere. Many of the passengers mistook it as tar from the ocean, but they never had some noble bastard dump his shit from a bucket far from the sky. And how there were men, women, children sitting in this shit, wearing tattered rags, begging to the refugees as if they were Gods. Anthony said that he remembered the first sentence spoken to him since he left Lothering was from that of an old elf. Wouldn't want to stir any shit in this shithole, mage, you're bound to get your ass shipped straight to the damn Gallows.