Name: Garrot (Gar) Hanu -------An alias meaning Dream Thief in Dovah'Zuul Age: 42 (actual) 22 (Apparent) Gender: Male Race: Human
Appearance: Hero Forge Reference
Red colored dragon eyes
Thick long black hair reaching his lower back, straight with a feathery texture
Broad shouldered, muscle appropriate of a laborer, dark tanned skin, almond shaped eys, and rounded nose with a softly curving bridge hinting to his Filipino heritage
A Thedosian might assume he's an Avaar/Tevinter bastard and a Reaver due to his skin color, height, red eyes, and racism.
He has scars resembling a beast's teeth marks along the right side of his neck and lower jaw. Claw marks along his arms, torso, and back of his legs. Surgical scars on his left foot, left wrist, and middle of his chest. Despite these intimidating qualities Gar is one to smile often and it shows on his resting face.
(See Misc. for more details)
Personality: Optimistic, non-confrontational, introvert, intelligent, organizational, helpful, scatter-brained, prone to bouts of melancholy, terrible at finding the right words to say
Skills: Not all skills from his old life translate directly to Thedas. He is good at task-oriented problem solving. Has random knowledge about things. Likes to technology, cooking, dancing. Small amount of healing knowledge, among other things, is notable for Thedosians. Is illiterate in common.
Magic: Specializes into storm and force magic. He can cast some fire spells, and very good at barriers. Healing spells are draining at best, at worse: a health hazard. Ice magic doesn't come naturally. At best he can cool things in his vicinity. Creatively uses his magic in ways many trained Thedosians mages wouldn't consider. Has an affinity for shapeshifting but will likely not learn it as it is reviled by many Theodosian cultures, namely the Chantry.
Biography: Native to Earth then one night he found himself pulled into the supposedly fictional world of Thedas following the explosion at Conclave 9:41 Dragon. He survived hordes of demons in the fade thanks to his gift as a dreamer (Somniari). When Gar managed to leave the fade he subconsciously manifested a physical form for himself, as he was not physically in the fade. This is not too dissimilar from how the spirit of compassion known as Cole formed his own body. Gar finds out he is a mage. Although his control significantly better than other newly manifested mages it doesn't change the fact he is untrained, and under significant stress of his situation. He is captured, questioned, and released by the newly founded inquisition...from the chantry dungeon that is. He is still a mage with little choice but to help. Besides Thedas's past (and future) is not entirely unfamiliar to someone who played the Dragon Age video games...
He is afraid of insects, including spiders of course. Falling from heights, deep water.
Can barely swim
The demon which Gar fought with in his dreams gained a foothold through Gar's grieving the death of his husband Alex. When he escaped The Nightmare's patch of the fade it took relevant memories.
Gar was formerly only 5"7' before he subconsciously manifested himself a body in Thedas. Being on the extreme end of the height spectrum is a hassle.
His new physical form is a result of him only thinking "human" like he would when shapeshifting in his dreams. The dragon form comes from a specific recurring dream. The scars on his body reflect a mix of scars on his original body, and the injuries he got fighting to escape the fade.
Not a skillful singer but does enjoy singing anyway. Karaoke!
Is not afraid of physical labor. Still kept in shape despite age and being a middle manager in retail.
Addicted to Chocolate, not fond of most cheeses.
Hates cold weather (And he ended up Frostback mountains lol)
Used to be hard of hearing. Still has audio processing issues.
Is dragon-blooded . Enhanced sight (low light, motion tracking), smell, strength and durability. Doesn't use reaver abilities but could learn. His temper is shorter than he is used to. Will struggle with smell not only being stronger but different (ex blood isn't repulsively sweet now)
Accent is an unholy conglomeration of different accents. It's primarily an American accent you hear from gamers in the early 2000s. However he grew up in the south so there's southerisms and occasional drawls in his sentences. Th sounds have a soft d sound. And vowels are often pitched higher and sharper. (Courtesy of Thai, Tagalog, and Spanish) In Theodosian terms he sounds vaguely Free Marcher and several something elses they can't pin to one place. To make matters worse the chameleon effect results in more confusion depending on the accent of the person he's talking to. (Yes this is seriously how I talk. It was very confusing talking to two people at the same time where one had a thick Spanish accent and the other spoke Hindi)
Has years of experience in retail, food service, and call-center. His last held job was a middle manager in retail.
Name: Tamrace (Affectionately called "Tammy" or "Tammy boy" by a select few)
Appearance: Wavy but somewhat messy ginger hair that just about reaches his shoulders. Hazel eyes. Clean shaven face, rather pale, with freckles spread across his cheeks, nose, and even a few around his eyes. Medium, fit, and agile build. Fairly short; stands at only 5’6.
Due to genetics Tamrace is very susceptible to sunburn - and since he was raised in the desert he learned quickly to cover up his skin when outside in the day. Thus, one may not see much of his actual face in the day, due to his force of habit. Dragon Age Ref Hero Forge Ref
(A very brief and simple) History: The circumstances of Tamrace’s birth are a mystery. He’s never known his parents, where he came from, or why he was abandoned within the vast and harsh desert land of Tromeros when he was just an infant. He only knew that he was fortunate to be discovered, taken in and raised by a native tribe of hunter-gatherers.
Being a very isolated people, the Tromerians had never quite seen someone that looked like him before, but many warmed to him and treated him equally. He was taught as any Tromerian would, learning the necessary skills and techniques to survive. As of present, he plays the role of a hunter and scout with pride and enthusiasm, though he’s known to help in any job should it require a helping hand.
Recently, however, a series of misfortunes have befallen the tribes. In an attempt to avoid extinction, Tamrace's tribe leader declared a journey be undertaken, into lands considered to be sacred, taboo to be tread upon by the living... through the gateway into the afterlife (or so they believe?...)
In reality - it's a lie! They didn't find their dead people - only living peoples far more technologically advanced than them, living in a world far larger than they thought possible. What they called Tromeros was actually a place deep in the deserts of Western Orlais (sp?)
Personality: Tolerant, reliable, typically friendly and good-humored, dedicated worker, altruistic, observant; prone to cracking under pressure, anxious, can be too selfless which can possibly lead into self-neglect, bad at making difficult decisions, possibly a bit naive, can be hasty and impatient
Skills: Hunting; mainly uses bow and spear, as well as other various tools and traps. Could be considered somewhat of a rogue class. Survival skills.
Other: Speaks with a thick and undetermined accent. Illiterate. Big animal lover; birds and horses are his favorite. Likes dancing and is secretly a good singer.
The taste of his mother's som tam never tasted so flavorful as it did now. Christian's husband, Alex, sat almost comfortably to his left, poking at the food on his plate he didn't recognize cause his husband rarely cooked this many foods from home. Christian had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom and process how this was even happening. A frown crossed his features when he realized he was somehow standing in his bedroom. He looked behind and was standing in his mother's dining room again. "Crisco, you okay?" His mother stood up looking genuinely concerned.
"No." He said as heavy weight sank into his stomach. A slimy flutter of unease caressed his back. Relax. You always wanted this A voice seemed to say in his mind.
"You aren't her. She doesn't care." Those words were clipped with horror. That feeling across his back seemed to tightened; Christian whirled around, coming face to face with his bedroom door. He went in and slammed close.
"Boundry! This is my safe space and you cannot enter!" He declared it definitively, as he often practiced, but could not silence the yearning of his heart. His mother opened the door and tentatively walked in. "Crisco you are making scene!" she whisper shouted, "I just wanted to see you again. This is what you wanted."
The room felt comfortably warm, soothing even, as his knees gave out. It felt like waking up in bed. Sleepy and at peace with himself. With an lazy stretch Chris sat up in an empty bed...and in the wrong bedroom. He was standing when it glided in, formless and frustrated. "Why do you resist when I give you what you want?" It sounded like his mother. His dead mother.
"GET. OUT." Even with all his will the thing pushed back with an inhuman cry. The two beings pushed back and fourth. Each time the room became more disorganize until nothing obeyed the laws of physics anymore.
"This is my dream and you are unwelc-" He stumbled forward as it stopped pushing and glided past him, quick and elusive as a paper airplane. Looking behind him he saw a ghost of Alex lying in bed next to him. He saw the demon's trajectory. Chris screamed and pulled on the anchor tethering him to his body. He pulled desperately trying to get there first. To protect.
I have you The demon whispered in malicious delight right in his ear. To his horror he felt it slipping through the cracks of his skin. He fell for the oldest trick in the book. A moment of distraction was all it needed. It wanted him all along. While Chris fought to expel the foreign entity from his body with every trick he could conjure in his mind's eye he vaguely noted that no demon ever fought this hard before. It seemed nearly desperate...then something else happened. Like a burst of heat from being too close to frying oil. Danger. Chris didn't dare turn his attention back outside his mind again. It didn't matter suddenly as he was falling. Something shifted in him- though he didn't have the time to process the missing piece. The demon was screaming. "No.NO! NO!"
Chris opened his eyes this time to find the demon falling outside of him. The sick feeling he got when falling struck him harder than the demon's sudden angry grip. He pushed back only this time the demon actually recoiled. This momentary victory was cut short when he collided with solid ground. He quickly got to his feet though his breath was not catching up quite so fast. As he got up he registered something wet on his face. It hurt. There were fragmented visions. Chris heard people screaming. He heard words in a language that sounded so familiar but he couldn't place it yet...
"WELL WHAT IS THIS?" A booming voice brought him to the present. "I CAN'T PLAY WITH YOU...YET. CATCH HIM."
He felt his pulse quicken. All around him stood disturbingly solid apparitions of people he knew. Except they were all in different stages of decay. There were bugs falling out of orifices, they made noises that sounded like words and nails on chalk board at the same time. By the time he realized he had froze in place one of the nightmarish things had a hand on him. It was trying to pull him down. Quickly he looked to the only empty space he could see to his left and imagined himself there. It worked! There was no time to feel the taste of a victory no matter how small however....
"What the. FUCK was that?!" Ran through his mind along with a litany of curses in every language he knew. He barely had the capacity to feel fear anymore. His world was pain and that green portal before him. He flapped his wings desperately trying to gain speed. There was something on him, several somethings. Like insects with a hell of a bite crawling on his skin. He stayed focused on his only hope.
He wished it was like that moment of release before you hit the water. Where that hush of peace, fear, and excitement, co-existed all for a single moment. This was more like a trip through a blender and Chris was that stubborn carrot that wouldn't break. The air felt thin; it felt like it was eating away at his entire body like water running over ice. He instinctively did what he often did when there was too much pain without and withdrew into himself. It helped for a moment. Then something hit him in the face. He blinked stupidly at the ground that filled his vision and remembered he was a dragon! "This is my dream" he told himself again as he willed his wings to catch the wind.
It wasn't enough to avoid hitting the ground again with a crash. The pained roar leaving his throat feeling almost natural. The pain of open wounds resurfaced to his attention. Chris still felt like a piece of ice in the kitchen sink. He called back to that comforting dream where he changed into a dragon. Where he knew power and escaped his prison. Only he was doing this in reverse. He needed to cage his power. He wanted the stability and a familiarity of being human again.
When he woke up again he could feel two things: cold, and something metal around his wrists. He groaned, neither feeling was welcome. The man sat up disoriented with the unfamiliarity of his surroundings and confused from the pieces of memories he could reach. Before he could start the processing anything however fresh pain blossomed across his face. Instinctively his turned his head with the momentum, but his timing was too slow to really take the bite out of whatever hit him. In the next moment he felt hands jerking him up. He'd barely got his feet under him when a hand grabbed his hair and pulled him lower. "You have 5 second mage to answer my questions." The woman spat. "Who are you?"
It took him a moment a focus his eyes, they took on a confused realization before he spoke "Cassandra?"
That got him another punch to the face. She grabbed him by the hair again "WHO. are. you?" she demanded without letting go. '"This feels too real. This is just a dream." Chris tried to tug on the anchor to his body. He tried to feel the familiar ache in his chest he often got from sleeping in one position too long.
"What?" She sounded confused momentarily. 'Did I say that out loud?'
"Did you help blow up the conclave?" She said to him. It was then Chris also realized he'd had a strange sensation emanating from the manacle around his wrists. His left hand opened. A glace confirmed there was no sparking green hell hole there. But the manacles did have a rune on them glowing a familiar blue. She called him a mage...
"Fetch the Nightgale." She directed to someone else. Chris tentatively dared to look up at Cassandra again. "You-you're....real? You can't be real." The interrogation didn't get any better from there.
It was even scarier, sitting across from The Leliana in person. She had the air of someone who could kill him as easily as she took her next breath and signed apologetically. "You'll have to forgive Seeker Cassandra for her brute force tactics. However you will find I am no less suspicious of you." She narrowed her eyes at me. "I am known as the left hand of the divine, the Nighgale...but for the purpose of your questioning you may refer to me as Leliana." Then she tilted her head in an unsaid question.
"Gar....Garrot Hanu ma'am" He'd had time to think of a name to give them during the second round of the seeker's questioning. Apparently she couldn't place his accent. Gar was unsure if this was a boon or bane yet. Leliana was not exactly...gentler than than Cassandra during the "questioning". He was shaking and struggling to keep his thoughts together. The physical pain and fear kept his adrenaline spiked high. After an amount of time passed, he couldn't grasp time anymore at this point, he sat up straight with a jerk. He almost listed out of his chair during the interrogation if not for the disturbing cry of pain somewhere down the hall. Then Leliana simply left the room with the ominous words "Keep him alive." was punctuated by the slamming of the door she walked through. Gar would've sworn he saw a flash of green light before the door closed.
Dramatic exit thus concluded the man in templar armor stood by the door. The templar made brief eye contact then looked away quickly with an expression Gar could only guess was disturbed.
Chris, now Gar, had the chance to assess himself. His hair was long, down to his lower back, longer than he had ever let it grow out but still jet black. He apparently had the beginnings of a beard...a good deal of it thicker than the scraggly half beard he could only grow before. It was there he could also feel a peculiar scar along his lower jaw that went down his neck. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt over a red one, and a leather jacket that stopped the uncomfortable draft but did little for his exposed hands that were manacled and thus he couldn't put them in his pockets. Guessing by the feel of it he had nothing in the pockets of his distressed jeans that were tucked into black boots. Clothing he hadn't wore for decades....which brought up the fact his skin looked like almost as they did when he was his young self again if not for the fact they were heavily scarred...and obviously bigger. Everything was at least twice the size he was used to everywhere. Gar took a moment to be grateful his skin color was a familiar reddish brown, and that his very different voice was still his own, after a fashion. It took awhile during his interrogation to recognize that his voice was the one he'd only heard when he thought 'outloud' inside his head, except deeper than he expected. It was nice. To not have to hear the old man voice he was used to, that always bothered him when he needed to talk a lot at once in the past. But that's what puberty gave him. And his thoughts continued to wander around similarly safe ideas until he fell asleep at the table.
It had been days now. Gar wasn't sure how many but he missed the small interrogation room. It was much warmer than this wide open space full of iron cages. There were always several templars stationed in the room at once. But he couldn't get a good look. It wasn't enough that they had him chained, caged, and apparently magic suppressed with the threat of being smitted. They repeatedly forced some kind of liquid drug down his throat until now he gave up resisting. The taste wasn't so bad once you got used to it. The disconnected feeling from reality was one he often sought by drowning himself in alcohol. Gar could do with a space heater, and something other than this sorry excuse for a blanket though. The food here was terrible and portions too small as well.
The prisoner, soon to be the herald, lay sprawled in a cage too far away for him to hear conversations when others came in and tended to her slight elven form. That was when he saw Solas for the first time, he only spare Gar a curious glance before focusing upon his task. Seeing Solas reminded him he couldn't remember dreaming any time he woke up. It reminded him he'd been a prisoner for days now without bathing. 'Maybe I'm not dreaming.' Haunted him constantly. Like the freezing cold that was an unwanted, but familiar, companion by now. Very much unlike the other man in a cage next to his. If Gar had to guess the ginger-haired man's height he'd say it was about his previous one. He'd been trying to guess using objects, doorways, and the height of the humans who came in as a frame of reference, what his current height was. Even Cullen only came up to his chin and the man was somewhere above the 6 foot mark, he seemed to recall. Gar could only guess he was at least 6 feet 7 inches tall himself. An entire 12 inches taller than he was previously! He always wanted to be taller after all. '
Please let this be one long vivid dream' He prayed into the aether as he put his faith in no god any longer.
Seeking a distraction he looked over to his jailbird companion again. They'd barely been able to exchange any words beyond their names. The man was called Tamrace. It seemed a miracle to Gar they even spoke the same language. Who knew Dragon Age really was in English? He didn't want to question the convenience of it. But he wished they could talk more to pass the time. Gar was bursting with questions. Including "Why do I get the impression we've met before?"
It was as if Tamrace had been slapped. A bitter taste rose in his mouth, and he was stunned silent as he stared wide-eyed across the hut at whom he considered his best of friends. Stasia looked perfectly calm despite her caustic tone. There was no indication she regretted what she just said. Not like he might've wished. With that realized, he swallowed the bitterness with a grimace.
"And you order me to run towards that.... that green lightning that has just split the very sky? That just shook the very earth? Did you not see there were rocks and beasts falling out of it?... Actually, I do not care what you see. Whatever this is is - it is dangerous! That much is clear!"
The exact words exchanged next were becoming foggy by now - though he did know they'd grown louder as an argument broke - but he vividly recalled being pulled down forcefully by his scarf to meet nose-to-nose with Stasia. Her face held anger now, and Tamrace felt an odd crackling sensation from the hand she was using to hrab him. "Have we traveled all this way just to run now? I say not. But if you want to go against the Oracle's word - so be it. Be a coward. Back down. Give in to your nerves. Just as you always have."
Maybe Stasia was purposely trying to push him, from the choice words or the subtle threat of magical harm or both. He didn't know. But it certainly seemed to work. He pulled away almost immediately; while it didn't take him long to resign himself his scowl remained, and a condescending remark followed, "... Yes. Fine. As you say, Oracle Stasiastik."
His exit from the temporary camp of his people was swift and furious. To think they'd only finished setting it up today, and yet it was likely it'd last little more than today now given this new and mysterious danger looming in the sky. Despite that - he was perhaps just a little relieved to be getting away from it now.
Maybe he shouldn't have been, but Tamrace was quite surprised for a person to be the first thing he stumbled upon. Besides fallen rubble that is. He'd expected there had to be some animals or people caught in the crossfire, but what might've caught him off guard was the oddity of the sight.
It was a lone person, lying amongst snow and rubble. Not only that, but lying in the center of a large patch of displaced snow, far too large for a person to create - and yet there seemed to be no signs of anything else. He felt that detail confusing and of particular note, though he wasn't sure why. But he also couldn't make out much of the person from the distance he was at; Tamrace saw reddish-brown skin and black hair and clothing he could only call strange. He knew that the man did not look very lucid, if at all, and any injuries he must have, the redhead could not see - but it seemed to be dire, if the blood stained on the ground was anything to judge from.
It was enough for his nagging sense of altruism to kick in.
After a quick glance around the immediate area, Tamrace stepped out from the rocky outcropping he'd been hiding behind. As quickly as he could he climbed down the uneven and icy ledge, dropping with a soft crunch to the level of ground the stranger was lying at. As he approached Tamrace noticed the man may have been just barely awake.
Before he could say anything however - he heard a shout, and the marching of feet coming ever closer.
Tamrace put up only a little resistance as he found himself accosted. A little resistance meaning he might have kicked and bit whoever the person was that had been practically manhandling him and forcing metal binds around his wrists.
Maybe not the best first impression. Not the most civilized way to introduce yourself to the civilized peoples. But in Tamrace's opinion in that moment, if they'd wanted a better response, they could have got him to come along without all the show of aggression.
Once they had successfully subdued him and hauled him into interrogation, they weren't any kinder. He recalled his scarf being roughly torn off from around the rest of his head, revealing his full face now. Free Marcher? Ferelden? They tossed around words he didn't know, and they might seemed equally unsure of it themselves, as they hadn't quite seen any Free Marcher or Ferelden native looking as he did, with clothing that looked better suited for a desert, and weapons (which they'd immediately confiscated) being made from mainly bone or stone. It became only more perplexing when, like with Gar, they couldn't quite place his accent when they started getting him to speak.
"Who are you?" Also much like Gar had, Tamrace had received a decent amount of questions and punches. "What do you know about this? Did you have a part in the explosion? Who do you answer to?"
Who was he? Tamrace. What did he know about this? Absolutely nothing. Did he have a part in the explosion? Unless the sheer misfortune of his existence had made the world go 'fuck it, I want to destroy myself now.'
And who did he answer to? Stasi. His tribe, his adoptive kin. That's what he answered in his own mind, but he was not about to spill a single word about them to these people. They could try all they wanted for all he cared; he was too loyal. He wasn't going to put them in more danger than they already might be....
....... Who knew how long it'd be before he knew that answer for himself, now.....
Tamrace was very much beginning to feel like a fox caught in a snare. He couldn't tell just how much time he's spent surrounded by this cold and hard cage, with little else accompanying it besides a raggedy blanket and a periodic meal. It wasn't so much the food - he's been raised to either eat or starve and he was used to eating small anyway. The blanket was at least of some comfort - even if it was more so from the purpose of occupying his hands by picking it apart one loose fiber of cloth at a time. At least with that, there was something to distract him. Because this cage might as well have been the worst kind of punishment for someone so dependent on doing something, anything, such as him. It was something of a miracle he's been able to restrain any open panic thus far. But the longer he stayed trapped, the more he had to pray his Ancestors give him strength... agh! Ancestors, give him strength!
"Why do I get the impression we've met before?"
The question was enough to give Tamrace a start. He'd been looking away from Gar. Sitting with his back pressed against the bars of his own cell, his hazel eyes were aimed towards the ceiling, with his thoughts on places far beyond the prison walls. His fingers were currently tap-tapping on his knees. The mindless rhythm they drummed was broken with the man's slight jump, his head turning to face his cage neighbor.
"... I, yes. We have, somewhat," Tamrace cleared his throat. He found his lilted voice somewhat faint, even dry. Huh. He's barely talked all this time, hasn't he? They haven't said much at all to each other.
"I saw you lying in the snow... I do not know why or how. But I went to check you for injuries, see if I could help - but soon enough they came." He gestured towards the Templars currently in the room. Tamrace then tilted his head, a look of concern crossing his face as he glanced back at Gar. "I could tell you weren't very... all there. And... there was a lot of blood. I assumed you did not know up from down at the moment, let alone noticed me. Hah!... but, err, how are you feeling now? Well, aside from... the obvious, trapping, we are in..."
A frown crossed his face until he realized some unspecified amount of time had passed. It had been years since he'd been under any kind of influence this strong but Gar knew how to recognize something was going on even if he struggled to put everything in order. Thankfully it was starting to become easier. He'd feared to come off as rude to whomever was showing him this kindness. Tamrace was his name, yes.
"Oh. Ah-Yes. Thank you?" That was very diplomatic. He could just tell by the awkwardness in the air. "Wait blood?" Gar felt the scar on his face without thinking. He knew there were other scars on his body but they were too much for him to figure out under the circumstances. His mind, in its own way, skimmed upon what he knew of this story. He didn't recognize this Tamrace, or even his accent.
"I'm sorry for forgetting. I-if I didn't tell you already my name is Gar. Garrot Hanu, really, but that's too formal yah?"
Why dredge along this discomfort? He managed to talk this much without being interrupted by those templars for once. Which Gar dumbly realized were not present at this moment. No wait they were just not focused on them. He glanced over. Subconsciously wondering if she was waking soon. Solas said so, he vaguely recalled, along with the memory of how to make egg benedict. He regretted it immensely.
Tamrace almost didn't need a verbal answer. The awkward silence that settled in before Gar's first reply told the shorter man he was probably mentally lapsing. But something about the way he was speaking, too, was somehow off. Tamrace wasn't sure if part of that could be attributed to the accent though. While just about everyone here spoke oddly in Tamrace's perspective, even among them, Gar seemed to stand out. Either way, Tamrace noted he seemed at least a little disconnected and was slowly coming out of it. It vaguely reminded him of how he sometimes saw others, or how others had described his behavior, on occasion after coming down from a stint of smoking cactus.
... Hadn't these people been administering some sort of concoction to Gar every now and then?... hm. Perhaps that was why. But he'd only seen them giving it to Gar? What was it about him that told them to subdue him in that way? Tamrace wanted to say there was something there was something underneath the surface going on, but if he were honest he could say that about everything right now.
Thankfully for Gar, Tamrace didn't look to be taking offense. Actually the redhead smiled, chuckling slightly, "Yes. Blood. Quite a lot. I wasn't able to see the extent of your injuries. I'm sure there has to be scars. Though what matters is that you are not bleeding anymore, yes?"
And he didn't even point out this was the second time they would exchange names. "Well, er, it is a nice meeting of you, Gar," The name was emphasized with a decisive roll of the r's, just like he did in his own name next, "Likewise, I am Tamrace."
Since he assumed it likely Gar might have forgot. Still, he was starting to feel a little better now that he was talking to someone.
Gar sucked in a breath. Pieces of what happened before. The fearlings. Then he released it smoothly as he could. Repeat. Then noticed he had closed his eyes at some point. "Sorry. I remembered..."
"Tamrace" he said instead trying his best to roll the R but got stuck slurring the sound instead. "I could never get the hang of rolling Rs." He gave the smaller man a sheepish shrug. "May I call you Tam?" Their comfortable interaction could only be short-lived however. The Elven woman groaned and sat up. Gar winced and looked over to the door before it opened, and his interrogators stepped in. They really have dramatic timing nailed down. How did they even do that? Gar slowly shifted nearer to Tam as they intimidated the poor woman. "She can heal the sky." he whisper to the man.
"I remember...things chasing me." she said with a shudder "A dragon stopped them. And...a woman. She reached out to me and then.." The entire time Gar listened in with baited breath. It had been awhile since he played the game but he would've remembered something about a dragon; at least he'd like to think so. Cassandra and Leliana both glanced his way. Before the elf could do more than look their way Cassandra was pulling her up and pushing her towards the door. "I will take her to the rift. You should go to the forward camp."
The hooded woman gave a crisp nod, "I must see to a few things." And then they were gone. Gar didn't like the look he was getting from the spymaster. He could barely recall bits of the interrogation. Though he had been fighting to gain some lucidity he found himself wishing for another dose of that drug to calm his nerves.
"You told me I was not asking the right questions. ...Serrah Garrot Hanu." She calmly kneeled in front of his bars, staring directly into his eyes, templars at attention behind her "What were you refusing to tell me?"
The large man gulped. She could be referencing so many things he couldn't tell her. The Nightgale's hand slid deftly behind her so Gar spoke quickly. "The white rose growing from a dead bush. Pride guards the first rift. It's a jumble but I can't share pieces that might be wrong. Being in the fade..." Gar choked on the memory. "I thought it was just a nightmare."
A chilly silence hung between them. "Fade-touched...Can you change into a dragon again?" Gar had never used magic outside of his dreams before and he repeated this. When her hand came back in view he saw a vial; she tried to assure him it would counteract the other drug in his system.
Leliana stood up straight and looked at both men before her a moment before reaching a decision. "Templars, release them. Lysette I am assigning you to keep him in Haven. He claims to know non-magical healing." Then she turned her attention to the smaller man.
"We need people who can fight at the forward camp. It is our plan to retake the temple of sacred ashes. If we fail I fear the world will be swallowed by demons. Tamrace will you aid us?"
He didn't like the idea of sitting here and hoping everything would turn out fine. But she was right he hadn't tried to cast any magic since it was being repressed. Could he wield it safely? Gar didn't know so he turned to possibly his only friend here and tried to look encouraging.
Tamrace had opened his mouth to answer Gar's question - which would've been a rather pleased yes, because wow, that was far less emasculating than his usual nicknames! - but their interruption came before he could utter a word. It was almost too convenient really. He too watched on with Gar as the odd, pointy-eared woman woke up at last. Tamrace had been curious of her, not only because he hadn't quite seen someone like her but because he'd noticed the faint green glow accompanying her. It hadn't been long before he connected that it was similar to the green lightning in the sky....
'She can heal the sky?' While Gar's statement surprised and confused him, Tamrace made little response besides a sideways glance and a raised brow at the taller man. Didn't want to draw attention after all. Plus, he was straining to hear as much as he could of what the woman was saying.
And before long the conversation was concluded, and the attention was turned to the two men. More specifically his jailbird companion. Even if Lelianna's stare was not directed at Tamrace he still felt subdued by it. It reminded him of Stasi, somewhat, and from that he knew this was certainly a person with power. Not to be heeded lightly.
The following exchange surprised him even further. Of course he only listened, and tried not to look as interested as he was. Whatever Gar was saying about white roses and pride at the rift and the fade... he couldn't understand what that all meant, but knew it must be of some import. Then the spymaster asked if Gar could change into a dragon. Again the word dragon being used. What was it, even? He felt like he should know; that it was something he's seen before but called something different.
Whatever it could mean, Tamrace had the acute feeling that his new acquaintance was something... alien, even among these people.
Tamrace looked up when Lelianna addressed him. The redhead would have said 'do I even have a choice?' but quickly deemed that foolish. He was being asked to help them fight. They were placing that much trust in him, and if he played this right he might have a hope of that trust extending into freedom. So he instead offered the spymaster an eager nod and a warm smile as he hopped up to his feet. Ow! That hurt. Muscles were cramped. It was hard to move that much in here. His limbs will be thankful for this chance.
"Of course! Return my weapons and I will make sure they shall strike true in your prey."
There was one thing however... he looked from Lelianna to Gar, who seemed to be trying to give him silent encouragement. Then back to Lelianna. "You say he might know non-magic healings? Do you not think this forward camp could make use of that too?"
Gar was smacking his lips in disgust at the bitter taste of the antidote. He would notice in a few minutes it was working. What caused him to suddenly look up was Tam's attempt to bring him along. He tried not to look eager to but judging by the looks they were giving him he failed. The man slowly stood up. The aches from barely moving for days in the cold made the slowness necessary....and there were the pins and needs from formerly numb body parts he failed to notice.
Hesitantly he spoke up. "If I'm allowed to go with y'all I'll need something to defend myself with...and maybe we should grab healing tools and light supplies?"
Leliana gave them a considering look, though Gar felt that might've been for effect and she had already made her decision.
"Lysette can you have him ready at the gates in 5 minutes?" A quick exchange of information passed between the women followed by a quick slip of paper for Lysette that Leliana somehow managed to write on in a matter of seconds. No doubt slipped into a hidden pocket somewhere. How was she keeping it so neatly tucked away in form fitting leather armor?
Lysette was gentle enough removing his manacles and leading him to the requisitions officer. She was not however very friendly; repeatedly drilling him of the ground rules for magic or else she would smite him. Gar recognized her now as one of his favorite templars from the game. He wasn't getting the same vibes as he did from the game, then again everyone was stressed. As far as they knew it really was the end of the world. Even knowing it as he did nothing virtual could really prepare him for standing there and looking up at the sky. He could only compare the sheer disparity of the experience to the first time he had gone up a mountain verses when he saw the default picture of a mountain-scape in Windows XP. Albeit this awe wasn't slightly tinted with fear of falling into the sky, it was a bleeding terror.
"You don't seem surprised." she noted as she shoved a pack at him, that he dutifully placed on his back. "This is my first time seeing it, but how could I not already know of it?" Next thing she shoved at him was a large wooden shield with an iron frame. Well it would've been large on a normal sized man. Gar was just turning it over to figure out the straps when she started walking in the direction of the gates. Her ground rules were clear, but awfully unkind of her to move before he had the shield secure. All he could do was try and keep up and ignore the looks people were giving him. Now that his mind was clear again he could notice every sound he heard, every scent he smelled seemed....more than before in some way.
With a sigh, as they finally reached the gates, she turned to him. "Do you even know how to put it on?"
"Truthfully? Only theoretically ma'am." he flushed as he put the right side against his left forearm and struggled to keep it balanced while he got one of the straps in a notch that fit his arm. After she helped him put it on she made a comment it was probably a good thing they didn't hand him a weapon he'd probably hurt himself. It was hard not to feel offended but he knew as someone with no real life combat experience he couldn't say anything about that. She must've taken pity on him.
"Hey. I'm giving you a hard time but don't doubt for a moment I won't do my best to protect you." Gar could only hope she was sincere.
This....was more real than any dream he had before. He tried not to think it. But it also didn't feel real either. He discreetly tried to find that tether to his physical body that he could sense when he was dreaming and came up empty. He could only sense where he seemed to be in this present moment, and that was disturbing. He felt sick.
Leliana was there now with Tam, both wearing more armor and weapons, giving him a questioning raise of her brow. "I keep hoping I am dreaming but..." with a heavy sigh he pushed back on the mounting hysteria "My healing knowledge isn't just theoretical. But I only know emergency triage techniques. How to keep a patient alive long enough for someone with years of training to see to them." That seemed answer enough for the spymaster. Next they were striding forward and Gar kept scanning the skies for falling debris. Surprisingly the bridge was still intact.
"Did the h-that other prisoner leave Haven before us?"
"Not that you are in any position to demand answers." She said with a delicate pause that Gar looked puzzled for she found amusing. "She needed more time to prepare. She was unconscious for three days after all."
"Ah that makes sense...I was not trying to sound demanding. I apologize for my mistake."
"He claims to be called Garrot Hanu." Leliana tilted her head in question at her companion, formerly the right hand of the divine if not for- no she would not dwell on it now. She had a job to do and it was to obtain information Seeker Cassandra could not with brute force. She it found did wonders for her interrogation with words, both poisoned and honeyed, so she allowed her friend to vent their collective rage on the suspicious captive.
"And?" Truthfully she had been watching for most of the interrogation from the shadows. Cassandra surprised her by calling her out on that now. "Your insight is invaluable nonetheless." she teased.
Predictably Cassandra made a sound of disgust. "He is a mage, and clearly dragon-blooded. He has not attempted to use Reaver abilities, but recognized me on sight. Be careful Leliana. I will be near if he tries something." Leliana nodded seriously while also lightly pushing her towards the door. "I can handle him you needn't worry. Rest. Your sword arm will be needed soon."
These days Leliana often carried a weight around her, the relative lightness around her friend was only evident now that she fully donned her responsibilities as spymaster. Someone was responsible for what happened at conclave. Someone most holy did not expect...the inconceivable had happened. In the wake of a sky bleeding demons upon the land were 3 prisoners defying explanation. One a woman, a Dalish elf with a green mark on her hand resembling the one in the sky; One human man possibly a Ferelden if not for his clothing, accent, and heavily tanned skin was found aiding the third prisoner; a human man found in a crater left behind by a Dragon that was witnessed leaving the Breach with demons falling of its back. The nearby snow was covered in blood. This information reminded her of that battle against Flemeth. Unfortunately it could be a week before she received a reply from Morrigan, assuming the bird reached the witch and she chose to answer her letter.
Objectively he appeared to be a Human man, a mage, standing 6 foot 9 inches, weighing about 22 stone, muscular. Red eyes, vertical slit akin to dragons, consistently black haired, no scales or other inhuman traits; Hair-length down to his lower back, healthy and well cared for. He smells faintly of tea tree and coconut. Tanned skin of brown-red hue, nails, teeth all imply access to the best food and products money could buy. His hands and feet are calloused by in a manner more common of a laborer than warrior. It was impossible to miss his scars. The obvious teeth marks across in lower jaw and neck, and the claw marks across his body, were fresh. Likely in recent battle with demons. There are small burn marks reaching to just above the elbow of indeterminate origin. And 3 surgical scars. One on the left foot, left wrist, and a large vertical scar in the center of his chest. That last scar that was concerning, as if someone had opened his chest cavity and spent the considerable effort of keeping him alive during and after the endeavor. She had an hard time imagining it was done for benign reasons. Though when asked he said it was an operation on his heart that kept him alive, no details. She learned through this he had fairly comprehensive knowledge of the human body. According to him he could only do minor non-magical healing.
The prisoner wore foreign clothing made with impeccable detail down to the last stich. Some kind of black leather jacket lined with pockets filled with various items; many overlapping bracelets, one which had a working clock; a black and silver wedding band with intricate circular patter; two shirts, red and black. Below that was a tightly woven, and thick, pair of deep blue pants of unknown make held up by a clamp closure belt. The pants however also appeared to be intentionally faded and torn in places. Followed by finely made calf-length black leather boots that appeared to use a combination of cow and...drake skin? Notably studded with bits of steel along straps connected at the ankle by a steel ring. There were another set of straps at the top of the boot, between those were laces. The shape of the boot was sleek with a raised heel. Clearly his attire was chosen for fashionable purpose. Steel is relatively cheap but the craftsmanship was masterful. This boot did not match up with any trends she was aware of. Another curious thing of note: one of the inquisition mages, few as they were, reported his clothing radiated magic but held no enchantment. If not for the Dalish prisoner she would think this a side-effect of being in the fade...
Origin remained unknown; although his accent is dominantly Free Marcher it is influenced by unknown languages and dialects. Facial structure almost resembles some Rivaini, but not quite that either. He has responded to Orlesian, Tevinter, Qunlat, Elvhen, Dwarvish, and Antivan with vocabulary too limited to even conduct trade. He willingly explained the meaning of his name with dark humor. Allegedly meaning "Dream Thief" as he was his mother's first born, and an unplanned pregnancy. When questioned if it was his true name he responded philosophically about true names being bound to one's soul. Whomever his people are they are connected to many cultures, some she never heard of, and peculiar ideas about magic and spirituality that were not consistent with cultures she knew of. Although Rivain was looking like the most likely place to find answers, had she the time. In a round about way he explained his people knew only a little about Thedas through the fade, affirming the theory he is from somewhere beyond our maps. It was then she also brought out one of the items on his person: a wallet. It was patterned in gray/black with a yellow stripe intersecting with an emblem featuring a goblet and some sort of animal- she would guess a badger. Within it was some form of paper notes, and various cards in a language she could identify. One card however did have a photo with what was likely identifying information. But it was not a picture of the prisoner. When asked he stated it was his uncle, and he had it as he was his authorized representative for medical reasons. She was certain he was lying about that, and probably lying about forgetting to put his own ID in his wallet.
So while she was inclined to believe his memory was fragmented as a result of what he had been through. He was not a good enough liar to hide the fact he was omitting details. One of those people who tried to obfuscate the truth without telling lies. According to his testimony he was fighting a desire demon before he found himself outside his own dream and in the fade. Though he adamantly refuses to acknowledge the inconsistency of being here physically if he was dreaming at home at the start of his tale. Her professionalism knew his sanity was hanging by a thread and did not press further. He continued the tale saying "since it was my dream" he willed himself to be a dragon in order to escape and overpower a horde of demons. The story got stranger as he described the creature that had bit him around the neck was another dragon, one from a memory of a nightmare he had before. She would have asked for more details regarding that but something else stood out to her. During the blight she had seen Morrigan take nearly fatal damage as a bear but did not appear physically injured upon returning to her human form.
"Did you only encounter demons and nightmares?" His eyes flicked to his left as he tried to recall, or stall for time. "No I did not encounter anyone." The response was too crisp for her liking.
"Did you see anyone else?" she amended. He froze for a moment, immediately realizing this was mistake he admitted to seeing two other "humanoid" figures being chased by fearlings but was too preoccupied with his own problems.
Once he found his place in his unbelievable tale it matched what she had seen herself. A dragon falling out of the Breach itself, covered in demons and blood. "I knew a shapeshifter once." She started, not missing his focus had returned. Something about that look said he knew what she was thinking. It was a look she spent hours perfecting with different tones. And who did not make assumptions about "The Witch of the Wilds" who aided the Hero of Ferelden?
"Physical injuries you received as a dragon should not affect your human form. Yet your scars look like the injuries you spoke of in the fade." After enough time of him shifting uncomfortably at the non-question she offered him succor.
"Have you ever attempted shapeshifting before?" She did not show her surprise when he stated he had never used magic outside of his dreams before. It was all coming together. The reason he thought he was still dreaming,. It seemed he was a Dreamer on top of this. It was strange he would state it so obliviously given how much general knowledge he possessed on magic and the fade.
The spymaster was not ruling out the possibility he was responsible for the destruction of Conclave. He also recognized her on sight. But it was seeming more likely he was connected in some other way the longer the interrogation went on, when exhaustion had set in and her captive made more mistakes. Even tired as he was she noted his breathing and every nervous movement, excepting the most subtle, were tightly controlled in a pattern. The prisoner was slippery and neatly side step answering direct questions with a finesse of someone whom had training but little experience. The first two concoctions barely affected him even with the dose doubled for his size and dragon-blood. The third was promising, however it only made communicating with him more tedious.
Despite his savage appearance he was an educated man with a heart of a scholar. It was easy to ply answers out of him about esoteric topics spanning multiple disciplines. Outwardly she encouraged this with subtle nudges towards topics he considered unsafe, making a show of exasperation when he derailed the topic. Inwardly the spymaster's smiled. She only made minor notes in her pad regarding the technical information she could not understand, unless writing something down got results from him. It took until the near the end of the interrogation for her to finally ply information of his origins. But it did not make sense, likely the concoction not only slowed his thoughts but affected recall. He called his home Earth, nearly shared more but caught himself on "North Kch". This was useful at least to get him talking about the weather of his homeland, which lead to the topic of cooking. He was even more passionate on this subject as esoteric sciences. The questioning was nearing its end as he was barely putting coherent sentences together any longer.
At least one drug was effective on the large man, and suitable for keeping him pliant. She thanked the maker for small blessings. While they could not leave their unique prisoners unguarded for fear of their escape, or death at the hands of a mob, they could hardly spare the manpower away from the line holding back demons. The prisoner had responded extremely well to positive reinforcement. She considered asking Josie to take over questioning next time but could not entertain the thought for the time being. She would request Lysette from the Commander as her demeanor struck her as someone who sympathized with mages as she did. It was a rare trait in a Templar that would balance out Templar Darrell. It would not do to have the guards kill a prisoner.
An elven apostate had been found claiming expertise on the fade. At the moment she was unable to deny such a boon, suspicious though it was, and left to see if that sliver of trust was misplaced as the Dalish prisoner screamed in pain outside the room.
It was strange that, for as much as he had hoped through these days to be free of his binds, there was only a fresh apprehension that crept over him as they were removed, and he moved to follow Lelianna as Lysette tended to Gar. A thick tension hung in the air. The reality of this circumstance was sinking in with every step. It then came to Tamrace's mind - he'd agreed to fight for them without even knowing what he was fighting against.
Not that he was unused to it by now. His people's recent journey had them face plenty new quarry. Still, as a hunter who sought to know how the animal behaves beforehand, he couldn't help but be afraid of how effective a fighter he could promise to be.
Speaking of effectiveness. He'd expected to simply be tossed his normal weapons and tools when they were getting themselves battle ready, yet Lelianna had decided to give him the option of selecting something new instead. Something that may have appeared favoring of quantity over quality to any other Thedosian eye, but to Tamrace the low-caliber steel weapons were something of a wonder. Their spear and arrow tips appeared more durable and precisely piercing than the flint and whittled bone he was used to. They looked promising - but he wasn't used to such material. How else was it different? Any difference that could make him fail in a fight?....
He'd glanced over to Lelianna. One look reminded him he had no time to really elaborate on his ponderings and worryings.
He ended up taking some of the steel along with his original gear; extra arrows to go in his quiver with the bone, and a steel spear in case his stone broke. He also decided to take the leather armor the Spymaster was offering as well, something he might be thankful for down the road as he fit it over his cloth attire that was a better defender against weather than any physical combat. But now that he had his bow, his long and short spears.... his bolas.... his stone knife.... pack of bone throwing shards..... (gods are we sure he didn't have a secret weapon crammed up his ass too?....) having those returned gave him at least some sense of comfort.
So they met with Lysette and Gar at the gates, and soon they were off. Tamrace found it difficult not to look up at that crackling green fissure ravaging the sky, considering they were treading closer to the damn thing. He was watching the occasional flares of magic and debris raining down from the eye of the storm, nearly expecting it to simply burst and engulf the sky like a wildfire.
The thought didn't fill him with confidence.
But, well... this was what Stasi wanted, wasn't it?
"Tch! I wonder if she knew already she may lead me to death!" He thought bitterly. His scowl was hidden behind his scarf; all anyone else might see was his shadowed, narrowed eyes darting every which way, scanning the path ahead for any imminent threats.
It appeared their forces had held down the first bridge successfully, the path clear and relatively undamaged. Beyond that - not so much. The winding rocky pass separating the first and second bridges was currently echoing with the shouts of men and cries of demons; the clashing of steel and snapping of fires. The party would not have to rush very far up the trail to find a group of soldiers being barraged by a fresh wave of demons. Though they had a relentlessness to match these creatures of the Fade, blood and nicks on their armor and weapons hinted at previous fights, and slippage and miscalculations in their attacks and counters betrayed the fact they were steadily getting fatigued. A fact that could turn deadly, quick.
"Fall back!" The lead soldier among them was shouting, and while they fought they were backing and retreating behind the hurried fortifications of spike walls and overturned wagons, hoping for a pause. Others were already behind the stockades, with archers firing potshots at two rage demons and their accompanying wraiths.
Tamrace was not prepared for this. All this clamor and movement, these unnerving, unnatural creatures... so much to account for so suddenly. He was struggling to focus on one thing at a time let alone decide his course of action. Shit - Shit! Right! Ancestors. Yes. Weapon... with shaken hands he reached for his bow. Then into his quiver. After closing his eyes and taking a restrained breath, Tamrace rushed over and slid behind one of the barricades, knocking a bone arrow and peeking around to search for the clearest target.
Meanwhile, a warrior was scrambling away from the heart of the battle, moving closer to the party. It was immediately apparent why; she held only her sword, her other arm busy supporting the weight of another, who was sporting burns and an alarming gash on his right calf. Not to mention he looked ready to pass out. Both of them were, really.
"Somebody! - get a medic! - he needs healing, quick!" Out of breath, the woman lowered her injured comrade behind the safety of a spike wall, away from immediate danger. Before she could do much else however she was hit by a bolt of fade magic square in the back, throwing her off balance and sending her rolling into the snow and dirt with a cry of pain.
After they'd crossed the second bridge Gar realized to his horror he hadn't even considered warning those soldiers from cross the bridge when the seeker arrived later. The sickening feeling in his stomach kept building in his stomach as they climbed closer to the thick of battle. Logically he knew battle smelled something awful, but had forgotten until he could faintly smell it downwind. The noise built and their pace quickened slightly as they neared the fracas. Gar could feel a faint prickling on his skin he assumed was the pure fade energy from the rift ahead. If he had the processing power to think he would've noted what was going on before him but the now dragon-blooded man found himself overwhelmed not only by the suddenly realistic fear of death, but the cloying smells of the dying, their blood and shit, and sounds of battle that were sharper now with no stone resting between him and threats to his life.
He couldn't process what happened next entirely as Lysette grabbed him and pulled with all her might to get him moving behind cover. There was a woman. A man with an injury on his leg bleeding out suddenly on the ground where Gar crouched. He registered the word "Medic" and as he started to shift the woman fell into the snow, fade energy evaporating from her back. Gar almost felt himself freeze but before anyone else had time to drag the woman closer Gar turned to Tam, gesturing as he spoke. "Pressure above his cut; leg up; stop the bloodflow down!"
The wounded man was possibly urgent but the unseen wound to the woman's back could be an emergency. Gar pulled her firmly, but carefully, from Lysette and started checking her. Breath, pulse, visual inspection of the wound all in the same instant he was positioning her for further treatment. In the span of seconds he found her pulse, almost ridiculously easy, slow enough for concern considering her earlier distress. Shock often raised heart rate, why was her's slow?
"I need her armor off. Are we safe enough here?"
Gar was hardly idle as we waited for a response. He tore the shield from his arm as he hurriedly went through the pack looking for appropriate supplies, and wished the entire time they allowed him time to assess what he was carrying. Various medicinal looking containers didn't mean shit if he knew fuck all about them! Bandages, sutures....Gar would ask which vial was an antiseptic if he thought there was time for that under these circumstances. He was simply categorizing and preparing to demand they grab things from the pack that did certain things he needed things to do. Would they know words like antiseptic? Leli answered him. Lysette, not knowing he knew no healing magics, granted him permission to use them.
As she worked to remove the armor for Gar, who prepped the physical tools he needed, he looked to Leliana with a glance to his pack. "I can't read these. Her heart is failing. Do we have anything for that?" Short and to the point as he could think while trying to keep his voice level and devoid of the panic trying to claw out of his chest.
While she did her own search Gar had started counting the heart beats then timed CPR to work with her shallow breath. The woman was unconscious so it was difficult to do this correctly when he had zero experience doing this outside of a controlled environment. Leliana was there with two bottles in her hands. A medic she might not be but she knew her poisons, and was battle hardened besides. Medicine was, more often than not, poisons expertly applied to trick the body back into wellness. "This will thin her blood with 2 drops. This will quicken her heart with one. And healing potion." A small part of his brain compared the drop of the third bottle to someone slamming a bottle on the counter. 'God I want a drink' he thought.
In the end he didn't need any of that. She jerked awake swinging her arm as if there were a sword in it. "Easy there soldier." he intoned while delicately checking her pulse again. "Your heart nearly stopped. Focus on calming breaths. Leli help her." She was a bard she knew how to calm people.
Gar was already turning, ignorant of everyone's microexpressions to commanding The Nightgale in such a casual manner. By this point a curious Solas had made his way over after spotting the strange mage's healing technique. The elf also heard the templar Lysette comment she did not sense magic in what ever the human man did.
"I will cast a barrier should we need it." These templars were trained to suppress magic. He could not risk being struck with a smite.
The human, Garrot Hanu he recalled learning from the fade though something else echoed in how he said it. Language as people knew it was not remembered by the fade, but if one knew how....Solas's attention was turned to streak of energy soaring towards there position. The barrier spell was almost finished weaving, fast enough the bolt of energy would've collapsed harmlessly on the barrier. Except he sensed magic burst away from the human. Like lightning it intercepted the attack and exploded into...shards of crystalline energy was all he could think to describe it as. The energy of the offending spell refracted around the shards, harmlessly dissipating into the air. This was all in a moment. In the next moment Sola's barrier sprung into being.
"Fuck! Sorry!" The human winced and turned his attention back to his patient. That was the only outburst of magic from him as everyone deterred any further attacks. To his trained eye the human's attempt to sew the soldier's skin shut was fumbling. Solas also noticed the flare of his nostrils, his dilatated pupils and the way his Adam's apple dipped low as he worked his jaw... This told him a few things about the man he could not learn from the limits of the fade, from what little time he could spare to watch the interrogation. How could his plans have gone so wrong? The human was directed to a few other patients as the wounded were cycled back towards the forward camp.
When there was a moment of respite, at least for himself to recover as others fought, Solas approached the group that clustered around him. It was the same people as before, with exception of the nightgale. The dwarf, Varric, of course managed to saunter there first. "Well this was exciting! Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller here to help. Although being here wasn't exactly my idea to start."
"I have never seen healing skill such as yours." He said with a tilt of his head. "My name is-S" Before he could finish however the rift burst open violently and a myriad of demons materialized at once.
"Those ones are new" Varric commented on the terror demons.
"Shit. Watch it, they like to teleport under you!" Lysette, the ever prepared, was helping the human put a shield on his arm. She look and spoke to him sternly. "Don't be a hero! Use your magic only if you have to." So he was not allowed to participate in battle then? Curious considering he had not used a single healing spell as he tended to the fallen soldiers.