#allpaths

She was born in the breeze of the night and under the light of flames.

She was born frail and tiny, with a cry unfitting her size.

She was born healthy. The clan celebrated her bloody form, an ominous prophecy of the life she would lead. And they cheered in their ignorance.

They didn’t know. No one did. No one knew that the child would grow to be a vigilant hero, although a tragic one, a watchful guardian, a spiteful ally in the war to come, a ghost of vengeance, an urban lethal legend,  a criminal.

How could anyone predict her fate, when it could go down such fickle paths? The whims of life are ever so impossible to guess. But it didn’t matter. Not then. She was born loved, despite the secrets behind it all.

That was probably the only thing that mattered. Definitely then, probably now.

It is what she has to remember in her moments of doubt. Even though sometimes she can’t.

She was born loved.

And the day came again for her to remember, as she looked at the stars.

In the breeze of the night, when the realm is in bloom.

“What are you doing up there?”

It was a hot summer morning. There were not many things to do to escape the heat. The children played in the river, but she didn’t want to join them. So she hid under the leaves and the breeze sing to her.

A song she couldn’t hear when the question kept on repeating, over and over.

She rolled her eyes and shifted, legs falling on either side of the branch she was sitting on. She peered at the child shouting at her. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She asked back, her voice squeaky.

“How did you get up there?”“Roben, go away, or so help me...”“Noriaaaa, how did you get up there?”“Shhhh! It’s a secret! This is my spot. Vara u’em!”“I’ll tell mum you’re not--”“Oh no you don’t!” She shouted and went to jump off, but as she went to pass one leg over the branch, her hands slipped. She flipped, and down she went.

Everything went black for a moment, and when she opened her eyes, the light hurt. Everything hurt. She was laying in a carpet of leaves and hovering over her head...

“Noria? Did you die?” She furrowed her brows and reached to grab him, but he jolted out of reach.“Ar tu na’din!” She shouted and jumped after him.

Too fast. Her whole body ached and her head felt like it was about to explode. Dizziness took over and she leaned against the tree.

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?: Dakarai will say, without hesitation, that his father was the most honourable man he had ever met. He loved how he always cared for whatever mattered to him. He was always right to his wife and Dakarai himself, and it showed how much he enjoyed his work, feeding the ravens and writing letters. Maybe he was overprotective in his effort to keep Dakarai hidden from Templars, but it never showed. At least Dakarai didn’t see it. There was nothing he hated about him. His father didn’t teach him how to harness his magical ability, but he taught him how to read and write and more importantly, he taught him how to be gentle. How to be honourable. How to be a person one could be proud of. But more importantly, he taught him how to be patient and how to listen, both of which helped him a lot in his later life. Also, he is the reason why Dakarai doesn’t trust the Chantry in any way.

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?: Dakarai had no siblings. He was an only child.

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?: Yes. From the moment he showed his magic. His father didn’t want him to fall in Templar hands, he didn’t want him to be taken to the Circle, because he didn’t trust any Andrastian institution. He went to great lengths to protect his son, even sent him away for ten years, so that he could train. He wasn’t overprotective in the sense that he locked him inside the house, but in how he sent him away so that Templars wouldn’t ever find him.

7. What was the economic status of their family?: They weren’t poor, but they weren’t what you’d call rich either. They were comfortable. Made just enough money to survive in their everyday life. Many people wanted to send letters and most of them didn’t know how to write them, so there was always work for them.

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?: He grew up only writing and reading the common tongue, so his accent is a dead giveaway of where he’s from. Everyone knows he’s Rivaini the moment he speaks, even though that accent has eased down after many years on the road. However, he knows the common tongue very well and he doesn’t make any vocabulary mistakes anyone else wouldn’t make. He also grew past the syntax complications. If anything, his speech is rather academic, he doesn’t know much in the terms of common slang, and even when he learned some, he never grew to use it. Never needed to. He can get his point across without it.

daggersandsparks

Since I don’t know which Path you want to go with, I’ll be extra efficient and I’ll write you THREE starters. Because I can. Pick the one you want and remove the irrelevant text. And I’ll try to make them extra vague, for more freedom of development.

Circus Path: The crowd had almost cleared out after one more successful performance. Some people stuck around, because their children wanted to see the animals, but he didn’t need to be there for that. Egon could take care of it and shoo them once they’d have had a good look. He removed his colourful coat, leaving his chest bare, and hung it outside his tent before he walked in. Once inside, he spotted her. He took a good look at her and spoke. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”

Healer Path: He had to run, fast, he hardly had enough time to pack before the Templars came, burning everything in their path. They didn’t discriminate, struck whoever was in their path, with the excuse that they were harbouring mages. A day’s work, destroyed in a blink of an eye. He had spent hours patching them all up, only to watch them die. But there was no time for him to feel sorry. He could not save them. He would only have himself killed.

He took the reins of his mule and made way to the forest, away from the violence. They wouldn’t look for him there, they didn’t even know he was gone. However, someone knew he was there. He heard a twig snap under the pressure of a boot. Someone was sneaking up on him. He turned around and once he spotted her, he frowned. “I can’t even feign surprise.” He spoke with a hint of anger. “Did you cause this?” He asked and pointed at the flames.

Agent Path: “You will be shadowing them for the entire trip. If they fall victims of an attack, you will not stop it. You will only report back to us. It should not appear like we suspect that we’ve been betrayed. We’re only looking for facts, so that we will be able to proceed accordingly. Understood?” Sister Nightingale was pacing back and forth as she briefed them, and once she finished the sentence, he confirmed with a nod. He didn’t like that plan, but it wasn’t like he could oppose her judgement. It wouldn’t be wise.