By the River of Drakon...

[OOC: Everyone is welcome to join. And I apologize for the Incredibly Lame Pun in the title, but I just had to. There was no resisting its siren call.]

Griffinhart stood at the riverside, on a quiet, small - private? - dock, and watched the glittering water go by.

He looked about, to make sure there were no threats nearby. And there were none - at least, none that his keen senses could detect, and that would have to be good enough for him. Well, that, and the blades that he bore, and the armor that he wore. But then, the armor would not be worn for long - that would defeat the entire purpose of the exercise to follow.

Deftly, swiftly, with no great care or caution, the warrior disrobed, removing the armor with unerring familiarity. The swords, sheathed, dropped first, followed by a myriad of smaller blades. Metal clanged to the wooden boards of the dock, proceeded by the soft collapse of underclothes that kept the armor from chafing. And finally, there he stood, wearing nothing but a shoulder-sheath and the six-inch stiletto knife that hid within it; and the scars; and the bloodstains.

Such were the ravages of battle.

He slid into the water with all of the grace of a boulder, for he was an Anders man by nurture, and the Anderfels were not known for their vast seas and sandy beaches, nor for their glassy, still rivers and elegant forest-ponds. Even so, Griffinhart had made it a point to learn to swim, even if he was far from the most artistic of swimmers. The dirt of travels and the gore of recent fights slid off him like a mottled skin with relative ease (and some scrubbing from a cloth that he had acquired for a few bronze). The scars, however, did not fade.

The scars would never fade.

He let the water steal most of his body's weight, here, where it was still shallow, and examined the scars that ran the entire course of his body. Griffinhart knew there was no point in trying to place when and where he had earned each one; he couldn't remember such pointless facts. Ten years of fighting, and one would forget where every scar came from.

A flame, dire and white-hot, had eaten away his right arm long ago, and the skin was warped and mottled, even though it functioned like any other person's right arm, and had the musculature of any typical right arm. And his left arm had been spared no mercy either; while the fire faded half-way across his torso, the other half began a different pattern, with different strokes - strokes that ran short and long, crosswise and sometimes ragged; lines that spoke of claws, pockmarks that were bites, but most of all, cuts, simple and cruel, to the point where his left arm could not have been much more than scarred tissue. It was a wonder he could feel anything with his hands. Whatever harm his face had escaped in the past, his body did not fare nearly as well.

Griffinhart floated there, in the shallow, slow moving river, and contemplated his past in silence.

Nygozy was walking about in a slow pattern around the edge of camp and near the river. She was doing no more than taking a walk and trying to clear her head by listening to the animals of the woods. It was somewhat helpful with the breeze cooling and warming her skin.

As she strode along she came to the beach and also a dock she had noticed some time before but had not had the chance to visit as of yet. Her feet were quiet as she moved along the sand then onto the dock, her slight size being a help in her normal silent state.

She noticed the clothes and weapons so looked out at the water finding the sight of Griffinhart an amusing find. It wasn't every day one got to see a naked man floating about. Well, at least for most people. The man's frame was a multitude of scars which were noticeable at range and she wondered how many he had.

The Dwarf knelt on the dock and watched the man for a few moments before commenting, pleased that she could still be adept at not being noticed, "You must be Griffinhart." She said, guessing from the armor and items, "It is unfortunate that we have not been able to speak before now. How's the water?"

"Commander," acknowledged Griffinhart of Nygozy's presence. He did not act as though startled; indeed, he acted as though she had existed at that spot on that dock for all of eternity. He righted himself in the water and turned to the Warden Commander on the dock, saluting her, his feet plastered as best they could be on the shallow bottom.

He knew who she was merely by observation - everyone else had deferred to her decisions, and she led the motley assembly, and the motley assembly followed. She was the superior of the group, and his orders were to report to the leader of the Ferelden Gray Wardens. But, for the moment, that could wait. "The water is cold," he replied to her immediate inquiry. Promptness in response - one of the things the Wardens of the Anderfels were taught. A lax attitude was not tolerated. "I apologize for my state of dress. I was not aware that you were on inspection, Commander," rumbled the Anders man, his voice like the beginnings of an avalanche.

"I had intended to make myself presentable before..." -he searched for the right words- "...meeting with you."

Fenrir had followed Nygozy as he saw the dwarf wandering here and there, trying to get her attention. Torture was patrolling the camp, so the tiny pup escaped from the bigger Mabari's eye and trotted happily here and there.

Daddy was still snoring in his tent, and Mommy was close, he could smell her, but, in that moment, all his attention was in the not-so-tall-but-kind-mommy that understood what he said and was able to speak with him just as Mommy did.

Not-so-tall-but-kind-mommy was speaking with another tall one, almost as tall and strong as Daddy, and there he went, waving his little tail.

He sat by Nygozy's side and panted cheerfully at Griffinhart, wide, big puppy eyes and excitement, like saying 'Here I am! Ain't I cute?'

"Cold." She said simply then looked down at the pup.

Nygozy had heard Fenrir but was not concerned as the pup was probably better off following her rather than getting in anyone's way and Kai would have kept an eye on the little fellow as well. He seemed to like him.

She knelt down and petted the pup as Griffinhart got up then lifted the little fellow into her arms, "Won't be long until you're bigger than me, eh?" The woman stood and rubbed the little rascal giving him the attention he was craving.

"I am not on inspection. This is a personal time, clearing of the mind you might say." She moved away from his clothes to give him some privacy and looked out over the water instead of at him not knowing if he cared or not for that casual care to others' privacy.

"Since you are here we may as well talk and discuss your position within the Fereldan wardens." Nygozy was pushing Fenrir's ear in his face to get him to nip at it. If there was something that could take one's mind off of most things it was a cute puppy.

"My direct orders were to report the Ferelden's Warden-Commander and support them in any manner they deem necessary," said Griffinhart. The scarred swordsman stood on the dock, cold water dripping off his battered form, and presented a letter he had pulled out from a pack hidden amongst his clothes. It was worn and crumpled with travel, but not dirtied or torn; it seemed as though the Weisshaupt Warden had gone to great care to ensure the integrity of the letter. In fact, judging the state of the wax seal - pressed with the heraldry of the Grey Wardens, a seagrant griffon - the letter had not even been opened.

"I am under your command until such time as you see fit to return me to Weisshaupt Fortress."

The letter was taken and she kept the puppy from slobbering all over the paper then put him down to play attack with him with her foot. Nygozy opened then read the letter with an indifferent eye, not making any expression to what was said until she had finished it. This was a curious letter to say the least, at least in her mind it was. She folded it and put it in one of her inner pockets to protect it.

The man seemed to have been through a lot and the letter suggested some terrible things. Even if she wrote back to this senior warden she was not likely to gain much information but she was curious enough to try. Maybe some day, probably long after she herself had gone to the roads, they would answer with a bit more than, "Use Griffinhart as you would any other weapon."

That rang of mental disturbance but not one in which made this man's capabilities and loyalty any less.

"Do you prefer to be called Raphael or Griffinhart?" She asked as she roughed up Fenrir with her foot, "Get dressed. We walk."

"I answer to both," stated the Warden with indifference. He dressed himself with the same care as he had undressed himself - fast, and with the familiarity of training and time. The armor had only a cursory wash, but it would have to do. The underclothes could be replaced in short time; Griffinhart knew he could afford rough travel clothes to replace the worn and used ones he was wearing.

His swords sat at hip and over back, for ease-of-draw and for attacks from two different angles; the fighting dagger stayed in its shoulder-sheath; and each boot hid knives in them as well. Any more would have been wasteful, and easily accessible to a quick opponent.

The swordsman fell into line behind Nygozy, his face once more behind the impassable visage of the featureless helmet.

At least he was really good at following orders but in such an impassive manner that it was uncanny. Discussions with the people she knew best showed that was the case but she'd had to experience it herself. This man felt of death, an inner hunger and impassable barriers. There had to be something terrible for him to be like this. He was a warden so there was that but he seemed a man who would not trust easily.

Before moving anywhere she turned part way, her side to the man as she spoke, "To my side, if you will. This is not a march to a war. It is discussion."

She rolled Fenrir about, still using her foot in the play, "I need to know more about you than the fact that you have a name, you are a warden and anything else easily said in a few lines of a basic 'to whom it may concern' letter. This may seem personal to you and I am sure that it is on some levels but you can imagine that knowing your people helps solidify how you deal with them."

There was no compassion in her voice as she'd been told he was not the type to accept such things so she had kept to a no nonsense tone.

He stepped to her side as was ordered. And then she barraged him like a storm.

But it was nothing, because it was something he did not - could not? - comprehend. Griffinhart moved with Nygozy, maintaining the pace, as he turned her words over in his head, trying his hardest to understand what it was the Warden-Commander wanted from him. She wanted to know him, because "knowing your people helps solidify how you deal with them"?

There. That was an opening that he understood.

"Deal with me as you would any other weapon," said the warrior, his voice neutral, saying the line as if he had said it a thousand times before. "I am a Gray Warden, taught and trained to kill darkspawn. I do not know what else there is that I can tell you." This was the truth, as far as he knew it. He had never been anything but that.

Now that settled things out easily, cut and dry but with nothing but a statement that sounded like a peddler selling wares and saying, "Come one come all and see what this mace can do. It has a blade on this side as well so not only does it smash and goosh the heads you wish to crush, it slices and dices too. Two weapons in one. They won't last for long. And not only that but if you buy one now you will get this handy dandy skinning knife in the handle for those pesky bastards who just need their throats cut."

"That seems to be the common statement when it comes to you. Interesting that." She stated while walking, "Yet what kind of weapon are you? Being a Grey Warden means a lot of things but talents, capabilities are personal."

"I am whatever weapon suits the situation best," replied Griffinhart. "Typically a sword. Swords are multifunctional in their methods of killing or incapacitating. And I can use magic. I am what the Chantry calls 'apostate'." Did he elaborate? He did not know if the Warden-Commander wanted him to further clarify the point, or if she valued silence. More likely than not she wanted him to say more - she wanted him to give her a reason to trust him.

Trust is a weakness.

"I belonged to the Wardens before the Chantry could claim me. All I learned, other Wardens have taught me. And where their teachings failed, I taught myself." A hedge mage, rather than a rogue mage, then - an apostate that never belonged to the Chantry in the first place.

"Ah yes an 'apostate'." She said it with a touch of inflection but not much, "It seems like luck was upon you to be able to avoid the Chantry. It is not a place one can put their trust in those who are above them. Then again, it is probably no different anywhere else when it comes to that."

Right now probably was not the best time to speak with a man like this. It had come to her attention that Griffinhart was one who tended to speak of trust in a negative fashion and at this time Nygozy was not in the mindset about that particular type of situation. Trust. Who would cut you down next if those who you believed in the most hurt you?

"So the wardens found you before the chantry had the chance. How old were you when this happened?"

"I was not old enough to remember the faces of my sire and dam," Griffinhart calmly recalled. "But the Gray Wardens did not claim me then. Not until the second time, when the orphanage burned down around us as the darkspawn butchered the adults. We - those of us that survived - joined the Gray Wardens then, as... not as Initiates. Servants? I do not know the right word, if there is one. We did not serve formally with the Wardens. We helped them with menial tasks - maintained Weisshaupt, maintained their weapons, grew food. The Wardens protected us and trained us in return. Trained us to fight, and to survive."

They were knights, clad in bloodstains and battle-scars. They were knights, colored gray, and fought back the beasts in black, with steel that neither shone nor sparkled, with spells that wreaked chaos in the ranks of chaos. They were saviors to those the didn't need to save.

"I was chosen to be an Initiate, soon. My twelfth winter, perhaps. Maybe earlier, I do not remember. And I was Joined four winters after that. Younger than most, but... it was necessary. We were necessary. I had already killed many darkspawn before then." It was not a boast he had made, but a simple statement. But then, it was the Anderfels, and one did not live in the Anderfels for any length of time without having killed a few darkspawn. "I had known about the Fade before then, both from stories and from my own dreams. And I knew from the stories not to reveal myself... at least, not until the Gray Wardens had taken me as one of their own. I was more valuable to them as a soldier than to the Chantry as a prisoner." Griffinhart paused for a moment, wondering if there had been anything he had forgotten.

"I hope I still am."

And the fog was suddenly starting to lift from the landscape that was Raphael Griffinhart. So he hardly knew anything but the Grey Wardens and a severe hatred of the Darkspawn. She could understand that and how he could become so strongly attracted to being a tool of demise for the evils that lurk upon the lands.

Plus he was so young when he was chosen and became a warden. There was more to that than met the eye and it was something that Nygozy wanted to find out. He had worked well as a weapon before but she definitely wished to make sure the weapon was not going to become one against themselves one day.

She always considered this with those who came within her ranks but Griffinhart seemed like a man who was on the edge.

"You were an intelligent youth." Nygozy stated in a complimentary manner but still without strong inflection within her voice. He did not seem like one who cared for much sentiment if at all, "If I could keep all from a Chantry I would. Do not get me wrong, I understand their concerns but the methods are far from satisfactory. Every member of my people is valuable and their safety from such things is a priority."

Nygozy stopped to kneel and roll Fenrir on the ground a bit, petting his little belly, "So all you have been has been a weapon."

"All I will ever be is a weapon," nodded Griffinhart. He did not remember ever being anything more, nor wanting to be anything more. A simple life, killing darkspawn in the service of the Gray. Sometimes killing more than darkspawn, because it wasn't only darkspawn that threatened the Wardens. He did his killing, against darkspawn and against those worse than darkspawn, with equal coldness - Griffinhart took lives with the same ease as he breathed, and bore his duties as he did his hatred: with pride and without protest. It was his life, as he remembered it.

Fire flashed against the snow, and lopped off his right arm. Razors lashed against bone, and torched off his left. But Death strode with speed, and could not be stopped.

"I was a weapon in the hands of the Wardens of the Anderfels. I am a weapon in the hands of the Wardens of Ferelden. Such are my orders."

"Only a weapon?" Nygozy played with Fenrir's paws, wiggling them as she held the toes and smiling at the little one's antics, "You must have been something more than a weapon at least as a child. I suppose you do not remember those days?"

She kept her eyes on the pup as she figured that Griffinhart had some bad history which removed all interest in ever being anything but a weapon. It was the only thing she could see as he showed little to no emotion, felt dark in an uncanny manner that was not evil but directed like any other weapon. If it had been due to other things there would be a lot more emotion showing.

"No," Griffinhart shook his head, "I do not remember those days." He paused - hesitated - the words choked back for a moment - did he dare say it? - He knew he had to. He had committed the words simply by simply thinking them. And once committed, you had to follow through. There was no going back, so move forward, with all your being and all your weapons brought to bear. But here, he was unarmed.

No matter. He did not need weapons to kill - he was a weapon.

"I do not remember much."

There. It was not done, but it had begun all the same.

"But I remember the ways of killing, and I remember my oath to the Gray Wardens. I do not need to remember much else."

Even your weaknesses become your strengths. There lay a ghost in his memory, phantasmal words he did not remember hearing. The warrior thought back to that night, at the campfire... "You cannot remember what never happened."

A lot of things had "never happened" in his experience.

Fenrir panted and barked in Nygozy's arms, delighted with all the atenttion he was getting from her, and he licked her fingers and hands and every inch of skin or clothes he could get.

Playing, he rolled over and trotted around them, waving his little tail, and finally he started to sniff at Griffinhart, even standing on his back legs to reach his knees and more, still waving his tail

"You know ... sometimes I wish I did not remember much either. Sad, isn't it?" Why in the stone was she opening up to this man a bit? Maybe she felt a kindred pain with having a painful path.

Nygozy stood as she watched Fenrir looking for attention from the man, deciding to see what he did, "I remember too much of what has been done in one belief or another. There is always too much pain, too much mis-communication and fights on how to do things not to mention those who pretend. Ill will and treachery. Is that all we can hope for?"

Stop. You are rambling now, starting to sound like Jezarine. If you don't watch out you will be sitting by the fire with them talking at a mile a second and making everyone else look at you like you are a complete lunatic instead of just a partial one. That did not sound like a pleasant concept. Those two were cute when they did that but Nygozy believed that if she did then she would not look cute.

"Some say it is all about trust when it comes to working with others but I believe it is more about respect."

Griffinhart kept his silence as Nygozy spoke, out of politeness, out of respect for her command, and most of all, simply because he did not know what to say. They tread now on alien territory, and he would not act without analysis. Such was his way. The silence crept in as he thought of words to say - he did not know what he wanted to say, and so instead tried to think of what she wanted him to say; and he failed at that endeavor as well. The dog played at his foot, pressing its weight in full, but the warrior stood as stable as a mountain, and did not notice it in his thoughts.

Finally, something came to mind.

"I... do not know about hope. I swore an oath and sacrificed myself for the sake of destroying darkspawn, so that others would have hope in my place. I only know how to fight against hopelessness."

But trust? And respect? He know of those things. He knew all too well about those things... even if he did not know how he knew. Those were killing words. Words that could bring men to killing, and bring killing to men. They were risky words, there for a moment, gone in an instant. A single slight, and everything could be undone. "Like the tree," recalled Griffinhart, inwardly. Outwardly, he had something else to say. "I respect your station, Commander. And I trust in your commands. That is why, if you ordered me to stand against a Blight on my own, I would do it without question, because I trust that you have a reason for sacrificing my life. That it is a good reason."

Were those the words she wanted to hear, he wondered? He did not see the reason, if so - these were basic truths. He had just as easily said "the water is cold" a short while ago.

"I am a weapon, bound by oath and order to the service of the Gray Wardens of Weisshaupt Fortress, and to your service by their orders. I do not know what more you want me to tell you."

Nygozy watched as Griffinhart tried to come up with something to say and waited patiently as the silence went on and on. That was no problem. She was used to waiting and letting her mind wander to consider what to do next. Yet when he finally spoke it seemed that he was unsure of something but what it was made her wonder. There was more to him than what met the eye, something deep and painful creating a whole dark persona. It was difficult to figure out what exactly could be said to learn any more of the man within as that person seemed to be swallowed by the will to get rid of evil, to be used as a force that did not care of it's own life.

"That is not something I would like to do, or ever have liked doing. Sending people to what was likely to be certain death is never an easy task. It is why I tend to do things myself with my group." She shrugged, "Yet it is something I will have to do now and again in order to save our people. You probably do much better to be a weapon rather than anything else. There is no sense of betrayal in your heart for what you may have to tell others to do."

Gulls cried at the sky, looking for some form of food as Nygozy picked Fenrir back up, "I am sorry to have asked you questions you could not answer. I wanted to know more of you and your past so I could find where you would fit best within this outfit. There will be constant change for some time to come in order to get everything sorted out. I have need of your abilities and your support and am happy to see that I have it."

((sorry I've been dense today thinking I already posted here because I'd made the post but I guess it didn't go through. I'll watch better next time.))

Griffinhart nodded at the Warden-Commander's words. He understood now, and knew what to say - or rather, knew that he had already said what needed saying. "There is nothing for you to apologize for, Commander. You are not at fault for my lack of knowledge," began the stoic Warden. "I am a weapon, Commander. Use me to incapacitate, to maim, to torture, and to kill. Use me alone, or in concordance with other weapons. But I am not like you, Commander - I can not sacrifice a life for the sake of other lives. That is not my station and it is not my way. I die first, so that your enemies die with me, so that you and the others may live."

In death, sacrifice. That was part of the Gray Wardens' motto, equally important as the parts the preceded it. Griffinhart had made peace with the motto long before his Joining, and knew that, when the time came for it, he would make the sacrifice without hesitance. He would do it without question. But it was a part that many other Wardens fought against, he knew.

But how did you know?

[OOC: Meh. I didn't have much time to make a post in the past few hours; nothing was lost. No need to apologize.]

"I did not know that you were capable of torture. There are many who do not have the stomach for such things but I suppose you are not one." She rubbed her forehead and let out a breath of air. Torture. Yes, she had named her Mabari that but she seldom allowed her dog to do what could be considered torture, even though she had used that talent a couple of times when she had no other choice. Then again you could say that the dog tortured the group she had been with leaving them slobbering presents and peeing on their tents to mark his territory so that no other animal would come near them.

This was a predicament that she did not ever wish to be in but felt that there would be times when it would be required, "I shall remember that information for if I ever require those skills. Thank you for informing me of that. It is good to know what I can call upon one to do."

Nygozy closed her eyes then sighed, "Unfortunately for my sense of peace, it is my job to do. As I said, I would prefer to be on the front lines the same as you and the others but that is not my place. All I can hope for is that I make the right decisions and ones in which minimizes the loss of life to our people."

"I can only break bodies, Commander. For most, that - or the threat of it - is sufficient. But some people have no care for their body. I cannot break minds," stated Griffinhart. Breaking a mind required arduous study, and time, and most of all, familiarity. The swordsman did not seem to be (and indeed, was not) the type to get familiar with his enemies - or anyone else, for that matter.

Behind the inscrutable face-plate of his helmet, the warrior cast his eyes downwards at Nygozy's quiet dissatisfaction with the duties of her station. "No one lives forever, Commander. We will die whether or not you send us to die. It is better that our deaths have meaning." From anyone else, those would have been melancholy words. Perhaps, from Griffinhart, they still were. But if there was any sadness in his voice, it did not show. The way he said it, it only spoke of his single-minded nature: efficiency. Even in death.

Especially in death.