Group 1 : Chanter Davor Who: Ekaterina Davor, Wardens and Companions of Group 1 Where: The Bannorn When: Evening, 19 Molioris What: Chanter Davor is about to find out exactly how inhospitable Ferelden's Bannorn can be...
The worst part about this country was the wind.
Ekaterina huddled deeper into her thick traveling cloak, pinching shut the opening at her throat in a feeble attempt to block the questing fingers of Ferelden's cold breeze, a wind that ran rampant across this wide treeless plain. The road she followed was a thin pale ribbon laced between the rolling hills of this grassy expanse, the flush of summer's green pushing aside the lifeless wreckage of winter. The stirring air was bracing, coming in gusts strong enough to bend the grass and shrubs before it, plants undulating in vast waves until Ekaterina felt like a boat adrift in an ocean of grass.
This 'Bannorn', as the sailors on the ship from Cumberland had named it, was an open lonely place. In the miles she'd walked from West Hill, she hadn't seen another soul, the arcing cloudless sky broken only by the occasional flutter of bird wings. Now that the sun had set, the last of its pink tendrils curling back behind the horizon, the land felt more intimate. Fuzzed by twilight the hills and rocky outcroppings were softened, washed of color and angles, and Ekaterina felt her steps lighten, no longer oppressed by the glaring endless sky. The first of the evening's stars winked in the darkened east, heralds of what she was sure would be a vast spray shortly. Soon she would have to find a spot to rest for the night.
She dropped her hand from the clasp of her cloak as the wind died away again, burying her stiff cold fingers in the thick warm ruff of the wolf that paced beside her, mindful of the strange spikes and spurs that grew from his back. She'd never seen an animal such as this before, a twisted vicious caricature of a wolf, but despite its rolling eye that gleamed with a feral sort of madness it seemed willing to follow her readily. The summons had taken her a few tries when she first stepped onto this long road, dredging up half-forgotten skills and brushing the dust of years off them to purse her lips in a sharp whistle that rang with the comforts of pack, of easy hunting and companionship. When this strange canine had loped over the nearest rise, Ekaterina had thought perhaps her skills had failed her completely, until the wolf had thrust its great hand beneath her hand, the protrusions on his back and limbs clattering with each movement. Traveling alone was never safe for any woman, whether she was a Sister or not, and Ekaterina would take whatever company she could get - even if it was this odd beast.
The woman and wolf continued their march, drifting silently under the rising moon. Ekaterina knew she should be finding a place to bed down for the evening, but something about the night wind had her on edge, the open terrain leaving her feeling exposed. Restlessly her eyes searched the hollows and pockets below the rocky tors for a niche to hide in, somewhere away from prying eyes. With an anxious whine the wolf snuffled its cool nose into the palm of her hand, voicing his discomfort with their path. The wolf wanted to skulk, she could tell. Wanted to run in the shadows of the hills, far away from the unblinking eye of the moon. To walk on this wide open roadway went against everything his instincts told him, and his skin shivered with the conflicting urges.
Ekaterina patted his unblemished side reassuringly, and veered slightly off the road. As long as she kept it in sight, there was little harm in walking alongside it, if it brought her companion some comfort. The dry bracken beneath her soft-soled boots would have crackled loudly beneath anyone else's heels, but Ekaterina slipped past the years of stagnant city life and shook the rust from the skills that had once been her entire life with a pang of nostalgia, ghosting along the moor as silently as the grave. The Revered Mother of Cumberland most likely half-expected Ekaterina to die on the dangerous trip to this remote town of Redcliffe. Ekaterina would be damned if she gave her that pleasure, and her jaw set in determination again, affirming again her intention to use every talent she had picked up over her years as a ranger to shove her survival in the Revered Mother's face.
Sighing softly, she rolled her shoulders to release the tension and murmured a few stanzas of the Chant, grounding herself in the familiar words and letting the anger slip away. The Maker surely would not object to a Sister using any abilities at her disposal to survive. After all, didn't the Maker help those that helped themselves?
Some distance ahead the warm glow of a small fire lit up a hollow in the hills, and Ekaterina toyed with the idea of scoping it out. Perhaps the campers there were friendly, and would welcome a weary Sister. She could easily glide around the area without alerting its residents, just to be safe. Mind made up, she started toward the distant group, taking only a few steps before being brought up short by the growl that dripped from her companions curled lips. Alarmed, she glanced at the wolf just as he lifted his head, muzzle pointed skyward as a chilling howl ripped itself from his throat. His powerfully clawed feet churned up dirt and stones as he sped off toward a nearby pile of tumbled stone, the crumbled remnants of a tall outcropping that had once crowned the nearby hill. In the dim moonlight she saw shadows flitting beneath the boulders, and the shifting wind brought a hint of cloying decay. Warily she slipped the large magyar bow off her shoulder, the polished horn and wood quickly warming in her hands. Sliding an arrow from the quiver slung on her back, the fletching stiff in her ungloved fingers, she drew hard and bent the exaggerated curves of the bow into a sharp curl as she sighted down the smooth shaft carefully.
A high pitched shriek rent the air as her wolf friend launched himself at a scrap of shadow, two blades flashing into existence and lashing towards the beast's flank. A second shape broke free of the hollow to rush the wolf, a horrific creature of sinew and rot with lanky limbs that clutched daggers in each bony hand. Ekaterina held her breath, her vision narrowed down to nothing but her arrow and the target. With the tiniest of motions she uncurled her fingers, letting the arrow fly in a whistling arc that whipped the creatures head towards her, just in time for the wicked arrowhead to bury itself deeply in an eye socket. The creature crumpled to the ground, a strange blood that seemed too black and thick dripping down the polished shaft of the arrow.
Her wolf was busy, fangs and claw tearing deeply into the shriveled flesh of the first creature, but the rocks were suddenly alive with motion, a few creatures like the first but much shorter and stockier, and a last taller one with a staff of some kind held tightly in its claws. The wan moonlight shone off all of their bald heads and as one they turned to look at her, their flat dead eyes sending a chill down her spine.
"Violently were they cast down, for no mortal may walk bodily in the realm of dreams, bearing the mark of their Crime: bodies so maimed and distorted that none should see them and know them for men." The whispered words of the Chant slipped unbidden from her lips as she drew a second arrow, a sort of awed conviction ringing in the words. These could be nothing less than the Darkspawn she had read about, had heard stories of, but had never seen. A sneering pity curled her lip as she watched these wretched beings flow across the grassland towards her, these twisted symbols of the Maker's wrath. She was badly outnumbered, even with her wolf, but she refused to lie down and accept death at the hands of these warped blasphemies. Perhaps it was her time to be called to the Maker's side...but she would go down fighting.