Tainted

Her nose wiggled for a moment as her face showed concern and some regret, "I was not saying anything against you. We all have our masks and reasons for wearing them. I was agreeing with you. You said you were no good with words and I pointed out that flowery words mean nothing if there is nothing behind them. When you truly speak, instead of hiding behind your mask, it has meaning."

Guremi put her arms on top of her knees and leaned forward, "I am not good with words sometimes either. Some take me wrong as I am not always used to this language. It is not native for me and when I believe I am speaking well, sometimes my words come out sounding like it is not."

After Guremi said her peace, there was a long silence. Marcus thought back on his reasons for his aloof persona; the loss of his family in West Hill. West Hill was completely overrun by Darkspawn while he was out logging. He could have defended them if he hadn't gone to work that day.

A tear dropped down the side of his face, as he remembered the faces he loved and lost on that black day. He went berserk when he saw the bodies. He blacked out and came to later with a pile of darkspawn dead at his feet and he was covered in their black burning blood. He had howled in savage rage as he cut down the rest in his village.

Durbans was the means to repress that anger. When he dropped Durbans' persona, he was more susceptible to the berserker rage within himself.

Guremi lifted her hands to her face, partially covering her mouth and chin in a contemplative pose with her elbows against her knees. The silence did not bother her. In fact, quiet was sometimes a very good thing when one is reflecting upon whatever they must bring out within their minds. She tended to try not to dwell but understood others required time to do so. She often required time to consider ideas and options but now was now and then was then as she thought in the now a lot more than anything else and seldom looked behind unless it was for a specific purpose, a reminder to use for the now.

She watched Marcus's face as he thought back to whatever his past held and she realized it was probably something like so many she had known. He'd lost much and he hid behind his persona to keep from the pain. She was sure she was right especially when she saw the tear move down his face.

The red head knelt forward, touching a finger to the droplet and gently removing it from his face, "You have lost much with this invasion, haven't you?" She said softly.

''I just have one'' Calliara smiled sadly ''We left everything in Denerim when we left for Weisshaupt, thinking that everything was going to be there when we were back... I just took with me a little book that Duncan gave me, but I already know it by heart. It has just two stories though''

She took a moment to think, and absently took his hand, still looking to the water and the darkened sky

Let me sing of heroes and honor lost and found,
Of monsters and men in all forms,
Of Dane, hunter without peer,
Feared by the forests of Ferelden,
Who one autumn morn spied
A hart of pure white in beam of warmest sun,
A prize for huntsman's spear.


Through the greenwood they ran, hart and hunter
Bringing the stag to spear at last in a long-forgotten grove,
Heedless that the chase had waked a hunger in the golden wood,
A werewolf, a creature with mind of man,
Lured by the hunt and come forth to lay claim
To the hart as rightful tribute
Drawn by the scent of cooling blood.


In the silence the two hunters held.
Dane, spear-armed against the wolf with all his brood,
Knew with sinking heart he was lost
Steeled for the winding roads of the Fade
Then the beast spoke, human-like in voice,
"You have taken this stag from my woods, and my pack
But nothing comes without a cost."


The wolf pack circled, ever closer, and he
Who felled boars and bears with his bright blade
Knew fear. They spoke his name in roars
Like gravestones, offering a beast's bargain.
"Die here, huntsman, alone
And forgotten, or take my place amongst the wolves
As I take your place amongst men."


Thus a bargain struck,
And Dane the wolf pack served in wolfen form,
And the werewolf to his family sped, as Dane,
One year and a day all told.
But some things cannot be repent,
Some coinage cannot be unspent,
When hearts are wagered, a fissure rent.

Marcus was stewing in his memories when he felt a hand on his cheek, bringing him back to the now. "You have lost much with this invasion, haven't you?" Guremi asked Marcus. The elf sat back, looking a little puzzled, but realized he had been getting misty eyed. How else could she have noticed? "The Blight we had... yeah. West Hill got the worst of it. Everyone in my Alienage died. That included all of my friends and family." He said, then stood up, staring at the tree that Guremi had haphazardly cut down.

"But, I've learned to cope. Carving is not just a hobby of mine, it's a means of channeling my anger and regret." He said as he hoisted up Durbans and slammed it down into the trunk of the fallen arbor. Skillfully and swiftly, it was chopped into carry-able logs. Durbans, for its beautiful craftsmanship, was still an axe, not just for cutting wood, but cutting enemies as well.