VIR ABELAS – THE WAY OF SORROW
CHAPTER 3 – APOSTATE;; 10-16
- x – x – x – x – x
Cherise knew that it would be too difficult for Virabelas to survive on her own. She had survived on the charity of her parents for ten years, and the Orlesian bard knew the chances of her surviving without them for an eleventh was too much to hope for. With that in mind, she stayed with Virabelas a few days in order to guide her through the tumult of sorrow that the girl was certain to be dealing with. Confusion, rage, outrage, grief. This mass of swirling emotions was difficult even for soldiers that fought and lost many of their best friends to get through. As a bard, Cherise knew this, and she knew that Virabelas was too young to completely understand that the world didn't stop because her parents' hearts did. That in spite of being bloated on emotions, she had to eat and drink solid food to survive. Virabelas failed to understand then how much kindness she was being shown when Cherise dragged her from her home, screaming, kicking, and crying, to come with her to Kirkwall. How could anyone expect a ten year old child to understand that sometimes escaping the memories was the only way to soothe them? The Orlesian didn't care that she might be resented for a few weeks when she lugged Virabelas to the city of chains. It was different, of course, from what the girl that had grown up living in at Starkhaven. It was not luxurious or beautiful—it was simply...Kirkwall.
Worse than the sudden change of surroundings was the fact that nobody seemed very keen on accepting Virabelas into their ranks. She did not make this any easier, always resilient to change and refusing to alter herself to fit in with the others. Cherise, as a bard, didn't care much for it, but she knew the need for blending in with the crowd. To disappear while still in plain sight. She sold the rich clothes that Virabelas had donned and dressed her in simple, modest ones to match those of any bard's. Where Virabelas spoke with a sharp Antivan accent (picked up from a massive amount of time around those Antivans that came to call), she softened the situation with her rich Orlesian tones. It was hard to believe that the two were as close as they could be without being directly related. There were other things that had to be taught as well. Thievery was not the most difficult of crimes to teach, nor was the art of self defense (though Virabelas had already been well versed in that, so there was not much hassle in that). Once Virabelas had settled enough in her rage to calmly accept where she was, Cherise took her to see an event that would give everyone the lift in spirit that they needed. The Grand Tourney.
Of course, like most others, Cherise and Virabelas were there only to watch as chevaliers from Orlais matched up against knights from Anderfels and mages from Tevinter butted heads with Ash Warriors that came in passing. It was the greatest and most exciting of days that Virabelas would have thought she would ever be able to witness. Her heart raced as her mind conjured ways to tell the tales much like Cherise might have told her a story about the last Grand Tourney. She watched with wide eyes as people from all over Thedas came to prove themselves against each other—no race, no nation, no order was too proud to show up. Not even the Grey Wardens, eager to find a fresh recruit. It had only been about two years after her parents had vanished into the Orzammar to put their lives down next to the other Grey Wardens before them. It was too soon for Virabelas, only twelve and still angry, to be confronted with the thing that she cursed and wanted to destroy. Still, in spite of her anguish, she held herself in check for Cherise's hand was always on her shoulder whenever they were close to the Warden that drew all of the child's anguish. That hand on Virabelas's shoulder was all that it took for her to control her temper and her desire to challenge a man that she would never have been able to win against.
The Grand Tourney had started drawing to a close, and a champion was about to be chosen when it happened. The Grey Warden had approached Cherise, asked about her origins. If this interest had been purely physical, then perhaps nothing would have happened. Virabelas might only have been disgusted at the thought, but the man was not interested in some physical fling for the sake of relief. He was looking for a recruit, and Cherise had caught his eye. Perhaps if he'd waited just a moment longer, Virabelas would not have lost her cool. She shrieked her fury, drew the attention of what small crowd that was around, and she threw herself at the Warden. Cherise did her best to control her charge at the sudden display of aggression.
”I won't let you! I won't let you take Cherise from me too!” Virabelas shrilled as she reached towards the armored man with fingers bloodied from trying to tear through armor that was no softer than steel. She continued shrieking as he brushed off the situation as nothing and refused to stop her attempts even when he apologized to Cherise for trying to separate the bard from the little girl.
”I apologize, I did not realize you had such a young daughter to care for,” though he looked at the girl with a questioning look. She did not look like Cherise—she was not an Orlesian in appearance or heritage, after all. Cherise only put a firm palm onto Virabelas's head had pressed it downwards in order to have her bow to the Grey Warden that she had tried to assault with all her spirit.
”It was not your fault, Warden. I apologize on her behalf,” it was betrayal at its highest. Virabelas couldn't control how hurt she was that Cherise, her Cherise would side with the Order. The organization that the bard had watched tear her heart apart! She looked at the brunette with wide, injured eyes that spoke volumes about the amount of betrayal that she had suffered all at once. ”Virabelas, you should apologize.”
”No! I refuse to apologize to a Grey Warden!” the child shrieked. She turned her gaze onto the Warden with such hatred that there could be no doubt that some form of demon had torn through the Fade to gift such a small thing with such intensity. Her every fiber wished for the Warden to suffer, to feel the same numbing injustice that she had when her parents had been stolen from her, when Cherise had wrenched a metaphorical knife deep into her back and through her heart. ”This is your fault, Warden!” The accusation was bold, to say the least. The Warden looked taken aback, but this look very suddenly turned into one of shock as a bolt of lightning formed from the strength of Virabelas's will and threw itself hard at his armored chest...no pun intended. There was a clamor as the Warden crumpled to the ground, not dead, but stunned from the blow. Cherise gasped and swore under her breath while hurrying the child out of sight. Anger dispersed and was replaced by putrid terror. ”Cherise, what did I do?!”
”Nothing, little one, but we must move before the Kirkwall templars hear of this,” the woman whispered while quickly leading Virabelas away from the crowd that was sure to gather. The Orlesian bard brought her out to where there was a river of people and pushed the sandy-haired child into it, plunging her in headfirst to the rush. Virabelas gave a shout and watched as her mentor and guardian vanish as she was swallowed up by the crowd. She was left on a familiar road, and knowing that she could not return to search for Cherise, Virabelas ran away. Fearing the templars that she had never learned to stop her heart around, the girl ran as far as she could north, trying to reach Tevinter...where magic was welcome. This, of course, never happened. She was a child, and while she was used to traveling, it was more difficult going on the path alone than most liked to imagine. Tired and hungry, she collapsed on the side of the road as she passed her old home of Starkhaven and neared the border of Antiva. When she awoke, she was in a room with a young man and woman looking over her.
”You poor thing, where are your parents?” the realization that she would never see Cherise again settled deep into her bones and her heart. Not knowing what else to do, Virabelas felt hot tears spring into her eyes, but battled against them to her fullest. She would not cry again, she demanded of herself. She'd lost too much to have any tears left to cry. The couple that found her took pity on the child and took her in as one of their own, teaching her the ways of Antiva and the best way for her to survive regardless of the presence of Antivan Crows. They showered her with affections and gave her everything they could in return for tales that she had learned in the Free Marches when she had traveled alongside Cherise. They told her more stories about the Crows and their power, making her heart race much like when Cherise told the same tales. It was not the way that the tales of the Crows were told, it was the very deeds that the Crows did themselves that made Virabelas adore them. The idea that someone could be graceful even while slitting someone's throat gave a brilliance that legends of chevaliers and lady knights could not give. She adored the thought that to be a Crow meant to be feared. That to be a Crow, one had to be strong enough to pass the training shrouded in mystery. That one had to be something...special to join the ranks of such a secretive organization. The thrill of it all was the best that she could afford in a place where women were not expected to be fighters.
She did her best to control her magic outbursts after that, staying away from other children in spite of the loneliness that would bore holes into her heart deeper than she could reach. Virabelas feared the same betrayal that Cherise had given her. Feared that she would be abandoned and lost among the crowd again. It was during one of those rare times that she could not entirely control herself that she ran to the most secluded place that she could find to let loose some of the pent up magic. To just release a bit of it in a small burst so she could control it again for a few weeks, maybe a few months. She was thirteen when she crossed her first real Antivan Crow in action. He was everything in the stories and more. The girl stood there awestruck in the blood bath, terrified and yet enchanted all at once. Unfortunately, he took notice of her and was ready to end her life with a blade to her throat. She did not scream. Only released the magic that she intended to when she had entered such a secluded part of an Antivan city to begin with in the for of a bolt of lightning, sending the man into the floor. She dared not check to see if he lived as she ran. Surely, she thought, the Crow would inform the Circle in Antiva, and the templars would be after her. Virabelas dared not dally as she made her way to the Tellari Swamps.
It was in these swamps that she met a fellow apostate like herself. She claimed to be a Witch of the Wilds—or at least descended from one. Virabelas did not fear her and countered that she was not interested in fairy tales. The apostate attempted to amaze the adolescent with her magic, but found it countered with some unrefined bursts of Virabelas's own. Impressed by the fact that a mage could evade the templars and the Chantry so well even at such a young age, this so-called Witch of the Wilds agreed to teach her what she could by way of magic so long as Virabelas agreed to stay with her. Virabelas agreed to this, not having anywhere else to turn after potentially angering the Crows and alerting the Circle to her existence. There she stayed for three years, learning everything about magic that she had convinced herself the Chantry would not. She learned the primal art of lightning first, finding it to be the easiest to conjure (though quite difficult to control), and then was given the conceptual information on the skills that the witch had taken up. Spirit magic.
She excelled in telepathy, though her capacity with the entire concept of the school of spirit magic was better than other attempts made. Her capacity to learn had hit new highs when she began to master spells like Mind Blast and Force Field, but that was all brought to little more when they let someone go. Someone that reported to the templars of the Antivan Circle. They came down like a storm, bringing a dozen warriors for two apostates. The other witch had battled first, latching Virabelas in place with a well cast Forcefield and battling against the templars on her own. She killed five of them before they were finally able to plunge a blade into her belly. In her dying breaths, she crippled a sixth before she was gone. With her Forcefield dispelled upon her death, Virabelas was able to turn her own rage against the templars that refused to stop taking from her. They had thought that she would be an easy target, given her young age. Sixteen—hardly more than a girl. If she had not fought so ferociously, perhaps they would have taken her back to the Circle for a proper raising. Who knew? It was not something that Virabelas was willing to listen to. She blasted them with as much power as her body could muster then, capable of stunning and crippling those that were not careful enough to move out of the way. She killed two of the templars with her magic, injured most of the others. Their commander was the one that changed this. He neutralized her magic, thought he had destroyed her fighting chance. He didn't realize that a fallen soldier's weapon was not as useless as the his corpse. She hefted the templar blade and proved herself to be no easy opponent, slaying another two templars (already injured and taken by surprise) before she was brought to her knees by the might of the other three.
”Apostate, have you any last words?” the commander questioned, too kind and soft to refuse a sixteen year old child at least a chance to beg the Maker for forgiveness. She said nothing and bowed her head downwards. ”I see...” and he lifted the blade, ready to end it in one strike. Virabelas squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself to lose her life. The blow didn't come down upon her throat. In its stead a blade of a different kind came ringing to her ears. Hazel gray eyes snapped open and saw, from a distance, a familiar form making its way down towards her and the templars.
”Stop!” a swoosh of brown hair and a rich accent filled the apostate's senses. Cherise had returned. The bard stepped to a place before the templars, drawing their attention. There was a symbol emblazoned on the shoulder of her armor. Virabelas was speechless, unsure of what to think about it all. ”I am taking the girl with me.”
”She is an apostate and a danger to us all,” the templars' commander growled. ”Look what she and her fellow apostate have done!” A motion to the corpses that littered the floor. Cherise did not lose her stride, did not hesitate for a moment as she spoke again.
”I am invoking the right of conscription. Hand her over, templar, or face the wrath of a Grey Warden.”
VIR ABELAS – THE WAY OF SORROW
CHAPTER 4 – ABANDON;; 16-19
- x – x – x – x – x
”How dare you?”
That was all that Virabelas would say as she was dragged (this time quite literally) from the Tellari Swamps back to Antiva City, where she was going to undergo the Joining. Cherise ignored her and refused to listen to her continuous protests about being taken from what she could honestly say was the closest thing to a safe place that she could think of. In spite of their close bond, it was hard for a girl at the peak of rebellion to accept that she was being taken to be among the ranks of the very people that she had learned to hate with all of her heart. Eyes turned onto her as she squirmed and shouted, her feet making marks against the floor as she growled and roared with more intimidation than most darkspawn could have pulled off. Dragged to the small camp that the limited number of Gray Wardens in Antiva could afford, it was hardly an understatement to say that Virabelas would have hacked her own arm off if it meant getting out of the Grey Wardens. In order to prevent her doing just that, Cherise had the child essentially tethered to a post and kept under constant vigil until preparations were completed for the Joining.
It was never questioned whether it was worth it to bring a girl that seemed so intent to hate the Grey Wardens in. Hell, nobody even paid any mind that they were not aware of her name or origins. All they knew was that Cherise had been searching for her since she had joined the Grey Wardens first. That she had spent the past four years searching for the girl now tied to a post so that she would actually go through with the Joining. They never even raised an eyebrow when Cherise forced her recruit to the ceremony and recited the speech with what few Wardens would go to witness the potential creation of a new Grey Warden. Rather, they let it be. If she was so intent on going against being a Warden, then it was likely that she would never even make it past the Joining. She would succumb to the taint if she wasn't meant to be one of their own, and if worst came to worst, she could always throw in the towel when the darkspawn came to call.
"Since the first, these words have been spoken at the ceremony: Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."”
Cherise brought the chalice to Virabelas's lips. The girl refused to drink until the bard made it her only choice for survival. Believe it or not, almost a decade of a grudge can be quickly put aside when your only choices are to drink the blood being poured down your throat or drown in it. Virabelas had never known something to be more physically painful than the Joining, her condition faltering between life and death for a good two minutes before she finally settled onto the side of life. Weakened from the ceremony, she glared up at Cherise, accusing and hateful as ever. She did not receive an answer for the betrayal, only some food and water to sustain her and a guard to make sure she did not try to escape or end her own life in the tumult that followed. As it turns out, Cherise ended up mentoring Virabelas, much to the chagrin of the mage. The girl was torn, of course, between the loyalty she felt towards the bard and the sheer hatred that she felt towards the Grey Wardens. On the one hand, she owed Cherise everything—the bard had saved her life more than once. On the other, the Grey Wardens had taken everything away from her. Her parents, her life, and even her identity vanished into the depths of the Order's gullet. The two things that she had learned to love and hate the most were combined into one person. Cherise.
About three weeks later, Virabelas made her first attempt to escape from the Grey Wardens, fully intending to run off to Tevinter if she could make it that far. Needless to say, the attempt failed, foiled by none other than Cherise herself, who had come to expect that the girl would try to run off at any given chance. It was a common occurrence, though the two most memorable were her first attempt and her final attempt. During her final attempt, she had almost managed to cross the borders of Antiva, but was stopped by a Crow that she had struck down five years before by a knife to the leg. The poison that laced the knife combined with Virabelas's own inexperience was her ultimate downfall in the exchange. She couldn't take him by surprise a second time, in spite of her increased affinity for magic during her time with the Grey Wardens. She had mastered more spells and had, at some point, even come across an elf that learned the art, long forgotten and thought-to-be-lost art of the Arcane Warrior, but it was not enough. She had not been in any real fights bar the one against the templars that had led to her recruitment into the Wardens.
”Leave her, Crow. She belongs to the Wardens,” Cherise once again stepped in to save Virabelas's life.
”I don't need your help, bard! I would rather have died at the hands of the templars than join the Wardens!” the mage replied fiercely before turning back to the Crow that she knew wanted to kill her. ”Well? Kill me, Antivan Crow!” The Crow would not have anything to do with the murder of a Grey Warden. Vengeance was not as important as his own well being. He admitted this and backed down without a moment of hesitation. Virabelas was absolutely furious at this and openly challenged the Crow. ”Coward! You will not even face a woman! What about this is worthy of the Antivan Crows?!” She had no idea that the only reason that she had been spared was because it was “impolitic” to kill a Grey Warden, even if there was a contract on the Warden's life. There were few that would have thought about slitting the throat of a Warden to begin with. This didn't stop Virabelas from challenging the Antivan views of women and the culture of an entire nation though. She did not claim to be Antivan by birth or by culture, but she made the nation her home. The mage had no intention of letting anyone believe that she was a dainty flower that did not belong in the thick of the fight—and if that was not the reason, then she was surely looking for death in the way that she fought.
There were not many darkspawn on the surface, but when they rose to call, it was usually Virabelas that ran to the front lines to deal and take as much damage as she could in the thick of it all. She had no qualms about calling a thunderstorm while she was in the center of it either. Death held no control over her actions...the mage only knew what it meant to be outraged and hateful. She could not turn her fury onto the Wardens, but she could be as ruthless and cruel as she wanted when it was darkspawn that she dealt with. As the members of the Order found more respect for the girl, they revealed more to her...and she allowed more of her own life to be exposed to the other Grey Wardens. She had not told them many truths over the years, and when it came time to abandon her false name, the Grey Wardens were taken aback.
”Virabelas? Like Virabelas the Wardens' child?” she was a legend. The story of her birth had spread far among the small numbers of the order. It had given the Wardens hope that they could lead a life even when their duties were completed. That they could dare to hope for a family with someone that understood the burden that they carried. That one could struggle against the laws of fate and nature to create a miracle if it was really what was wanted. At last she was revealed to how hard her parents had fought to conceive her. Another conflict arose. Why had they done this to her? Why had the birthed her when they knew that they would never live until she was old enough to understand? The love for her parents and what they had been to her was hard to balance against this. She settled on the notion that perhaps they had hoped for a life that they'd been told they couldn't have, and at last, after years of stubborn belligerent behavior towards the Order...Virabelas began to comply to the Order. She swore her loyalty to Cherise once again and the two grew closer than sisters related by blood once more...but by then, it was too late for Cherise. About two months later, Cherise was felled in battle against the darkspawn.
”Cherise, you must hold on! Just until the healers arrive!” the mage cried while desperately trying to salvage what she could of her mentor. Her guardian of so many years. Virabelas clung to Cherise as if it would keep her spirit from moving on to the face. ”Cherise, please!”
”This is why your parents gave you to me...because they could not bear to see this look on your face...” the woman replied in a voice barely above a whisper. She touched the mage's cheek as the little one fought back tears and protected their final moments with as much power as her magic could afford her. ”I wish that I did not have to see it either...it is too sad. I preferred you smiling...” and then she was gone. Virabelas was devastated, but refused to cry. She refused to let her weakness show again. So she swore. If being a Grey Warden was a death sentence in itself, she would never allow it to take from her life. She would make the most of a single life before she marched to her death in Orzammar. She swore it by the same blood that had cursed the Grey Wardens the she discovered the truth about the Calling.
VIR ABELAS – THE WAY OF APOLOGY
CHAPTER 5 – GREY WARDEN;; 19-32
- x – x – x – x – x
It took death to make her open her eyes to the sacrifices that the Grey Wardens made. They gave up their lives for the sake of those around them, and as stubborn as Virabelas was, even she had to begin to change her mind about what the Order did. She began to take her duties more seriously as a Grey Warden, no longer stirring trouble up in Antiva for the sake of stirring up trouble. Her skills as a Warden only served to get better as time passed on. She honed her talent with a sword in hand and by the time she was twenty-three, was locally known as “the Antivan Commander of the Grey”, though the title was far from official. Those Wardens that lived in Antiva listened to her without question, even those that were older and wiser than she complied to her quick thinking and sharp orders. Virabelas, thanks to the years she spent learning the art of self defense and her stubborn headlong attempts to rush into death at the start of her career as a Grey Warden, was a far better master of combat than most others her age. It wasn't long before her partial armor and blue robes became a well known sight around the city, forever vigilant and on the search for signs of darkspawn or recruits that showed promise.
She was, perhaps, too eager to help the Order when she stepped into the business of the Antivan Crows, stopping an assassination from happening in order to rescue a potential candidate for the Grey Wardens. Those that had been stopped shot her nasty looks, for the man's recruitment into the Wardens had put quite a hamper onto the political position of those that had set the contract out to kill him. Certainly further attempts could be made, but it would cost a great deal more to attract even the most foolhardy of Crows. Not to mention that the one that was recruited soon gained a huge boost in popularity as far as politics went. Of course, most of the political nonsense went over Virabelas's head—she'd never had to worry about it before. Rather, she was more interested in building up the forces of the Gray Wardens as best she could, and hell be damned if anyone could stop her from it. She had watched, after all, almost all of the original Wardens that had been in Antiva when she underwent the Joining go to their Calling as she grew older and more experienced. While she never cried to show her pains, there was always a new hole torn not only into her heart, but in the Order as well. The number of Grey Wardens was small as it was. The absolute necessity to create more was no exaggeration. Virabelas knew this perhaps twice as well as anyone else. She was also aware of the risk that she ran by refusing to tell anyone about the Joining or what becoming a Grey Warden entailed.
It was because of this ignorance about anything that didn't pertain directly to the Order that she became the target of a particularly well thought out (and quite highly paid) assassination attempt. The Antivan Crows, foiled once and shamed three times by this woman, thought that it was about time for them to make the first move. Experienced Warden or not, it was becoming increasingly obvious that she might serve to damage anyone's attempts to reach a high political power. Her movements were erratic, following only those that she felt might do the Grey Wardens well. It was quite a surprise when she even went as far as to try and gather a recruit from the Crows themselves. While she could have invoked the right of conscription and forced the Crow to join their ranks, that was, perhaps, the single thing that Virabelas understood about politics. The right of conscription was not meant to be used so freely. Only when it was absolutely necessary should it ever have been done. Still, trying to recruit a Crow on top of meddling with political affairs, regardless of how aware she was of either crime, was something that could not be tolerated for long in Antiva.
The Antivan Crows after her life had followed her, trailed her until she walked into some desolate back alley where anyone would have had trouble defending themselves against more than one assailant. They attacked from all sides, backing her into a corner before she could even react. She had a knife pressed to her flesh more times in that battle than she could remember in the past five years of her service with the Grey Wardens—the situation had been terrifying in itself. Remembering that the Antivan Crows were infamous for their rather powerful poisons, she did her best to avoid getting cuts directly onto her skin. She was not entirely successful. Though the Warden was able to force the Crows into retreating, the attempt was not without its consequences on Virabelas herself. She'd received numerous lacerations traced with poison that made her weaker, and a severe injury to her side and back had made her survival questionable for the first few hours after some kind souls had found her from where she had dragged herself in search for help. The injuries were so grievous and the cause of them so sudden that it was a commonly accepted fact that the Warden could not remain in Antiva while the conflict against her was still at large. With little else to do, the Grey Wardens sent Virabelas to Ferelden to recuperate. Denerim, to be exact.
”I am not eager to return to Denerim,” she said to the other Warden keeping her company on the caravan to the capital of Ferelden. ”There are painful memories for me there...” And that was no lie. It was hard to forget your first impressions of a person, much less first impressions of an entire world outside of the walls that one was raised within. Denerim was her motherland, this was true, but it was to her dismay that she was assigned to Denerim for both medical treatment and recuperation. ”Hopefully, I will not be recognized. It has been more than twenty years as it is...” a pause. And what if they did recognize her? What if they still remembered and thought of her in same way. Still a vicious abomination waiting to get loose. Virabelas dared not ask and intends to let sleeping rumors lie...lest the city folk begin to accuse the Grey Wardens of recruiting abominations...
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