The world has gone mad. Truly it has. Aleron's horse plods through the snows of the Hinterlands at an even pace. The rider travels with purpose, looking for answers, but he finds them en route as much as he believes he will when he arrives at his destination. Signs of the mages and templars slaughtering each other still mar the landscape which should have been beautiful, if cold, this time of year. Not for the first time, he wonders how things could have come to this. Not for the first time, he blames himself for not having seen the signs when he was in Kirkwall ten years ago.
He travels, not in his Seeker's armor, but in a new set. It still gleams with polish without the nicks and scuffs one would expect of a more seasoned set. A gift from his mother while he escorted her back to her family's home in Orlais. Aleron should have refused it on principle alone. Acceptance would only fuel her ambitions which have no place in his life now. Yet there was good reason to travel more incognito. Riding through the countryside marked as a Seeker felt an invitation to ambush or unrest given the very uncertain times. For now, he is but a well-armed soldier riding a quality war horse across the Hinterlands.
2. Honestly? What in the Maker's name are people thinking?
Aleron cannot continue on his way because there is a rabble of shabby locals barring his path. At the first, all he can make out of everyone talking over each other is something regarding bears. Not that he has any desire to tangle with a bear if at all possible, but this is the only way to where he's headed without taking an overly lengthy detour. ...and then he hears the real reason.
These lunatics are trying to protect the bears. There's angry complaints about too many bears being killed and some nonsense about how rams are going to run rampant through fields in the spring. His only visible response to this is to continue staring at them all, and one slight quirk of an eyebrow. If he wants to sigh at their stupidity, he's not letting on, nor doing it.
4. The tavern is lively and cake is all around, but there's one patron who seems oblivious to it all. He's not; Aleron just doesn't care. He's seated, alone, at one of the tables with a single ale being slowly nursed. When asked if he'd like to sample some cake, he refuses, calmly. Not even a hint of annoyance upon being asked for the seventeenth time in an hour. Instead, he's holding a letter in his hand, its sealing wax unbroken. He's holding the letter but not actually looking at it. After some time, he stands, walks to the fire, throws the letter in, and returns to his seat without so much as a frown or a glance at the contents within.
5. That is a skull on a stick. A glowing skull on a stick, to be precise.
The Seeker isn't sure what its purpose is, but he distrusts it on principle alone. The exposed skull is trouble enough without unknown light coming from it. Some magic with which he is unfamiliar. That alone demands an answer. If he could only bloody get to it. He's as stoic as ever, but the way he paces back and forth bespeaks his level of growing frustration. There must be a way up. Bones do not just amble up hillsides on their own.
Aleron Darton | Dragon Age (OC) | Prose or Brackets A-OK
He travels, not in his Seeker's armor, but in a new set. It still gleams with polish without the nicks and scuffs one would expect of a more seasoned set. A gift from his mother while he escorted her back to her family's home in Orlais. Aleron should have refused it on principle alone. Acceptance would only fuel her ambitions which have no place in his life now. Yet there was good reason to travel more incognito. Riding through the countryside marked as a Seeker felt an invitation to ambush or unrest given the very uncertain times. For now, he is but a well-armed soldier riding a quality war horse across the Hinterlands.
2.
Honestly? What in the Maker's name are people thinking?
Aleron cannot continue on his way because there is a rabble of shabby locals barring his path. At the first, all he can make out of everyone talking over each other is something regarding bears. Not that he has any desire to tangle with a bear if at all possible, but this is the only way to where he's headed without taking an overly lengthy detour. ...and then he hears the real reason.
These lunatics are trying to protect the bears. There's angry complaints about too many bears being killed and some nonsense about how rams are going to run rampant through fields in the spring. His only visible response to this is to continue staring at them all, and one slight quirk of an eyebrow. If he wants to sigh at their stupidity, he's not letting on, nor doing it.
4.
The tavern is lively and cake is all around, but there's one patron who seems oblivious to it all. He's not; Aleron just doesn't care. He's seated, alone, at one of the tables with a single ale being slowly nursed. When asked if he'd like to sample some cake, he refuses, calmly. Not even a hint of annoyance upon being asked for the seventeenth time in an hour. Instead, he's holding a letter in his hand, its sealing wax unbroken. He's holding the letter but not actually looking at it. After some time, he stands, walks to the fire, throws the letter in, and returns to his seat without so much as a frown or a glance at the contents within.
5.
That is a skull on a stick. A glowing skull on a stick, to be precise.
The Seeker isn't sure what its purpose is, but he distrusts it on principle alone. The exposed skull is trouble enough without unknown light coming from it. Some magic with which he is unfamiliar. That alone demands an answer. If he could only bloody get to it. He's as stoic as ever, but the way he paces back and forth bespeaks his level of growing frustration. There must be a way up. Bones do not just amble up hillsides on their own.