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Alias: Robert
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Character Age: 34
Race: Elf
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Specialization: Tevinter Fugitive
Occupation: Mercenary
Joined: 1-September 17
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Last Seen: Jan 19 2018, 02:02 AM
Local Time: Jan 22 2018, 02:28 PM
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Jan 10 2018, 02:35 PM
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<center><i>26 Bloomingtide, 9:41</i></center><p>
Questions of why filtered through the elf’s mind as travel found him shifting through the rolling hills. For what purpose had he truly agreed to take this job other than to repress the boredom felt when kept within Skyhold’s walls. Perhaps it was simply that, the idea of it all. The chance to get away if only for a moment even if the task assigned to him ended up being a bust. Numbers were currently limited as so far and few seemed to stick around the fortress whenever the Inquisitor set off on one of her ventures. What would be one more wandering soul to them? The unwanted or unwilling were so readily left behind and as far as was known to the elf, he was both.
As was the Champion and yet that man had been dragged along with vain hopes that he would actually be of use to the group in the Western Approach. Or more likely based on the attitudes encountered not return from it. A short huff fell from the warrior as such thoughts crossed his mind. No matter the case the human was something the Inquisitor and her little friends would need to deal with on their own for the time. For while the ghost had wished to tag along with them, if only to linger at Hawke’s side, there had been reason to stay behind with insistence of recovery.
Such requests heeded as time was allowed in order to let everything settle. Though it was not something that would keep the lyrium marked grounded for long. Injury had long since been healed and there were no plans to remain trapped within the fortress walls because of it. There were things he wished to do to get away from all of this for a while. An act of desperation spurring the elf to seek out a duty while he could, one which had led him here into the reaches of those neighboring lands. The rise of sparsely placed building guiding a path onward as a mount’s steps shifted against the mixed earth as it slowly turned to makeshift pavement.
Though not many steps in a low hiss rumbled from the dracolisk’s chest as those paces were made to stop and a weight removed from its back. Soft phrases murmured for none but the beast as a hand came to run gently over the creature’s jagged shoulder, <strong style=color:#732525>“Be good alright? I won’t be long.”</strong> A growl resounded within the beast’s chest though nothing more came of it as a head shook and focus shifted to those few mounts it stood around now. Curiosity holding to the mountain drake just long enough not to protest being secured before the warrior moved away. And with the creature left behind his own feet shifted over the grounds as attentions drifted over the numerous faces that seemed to filter through the small town.
Some of those unknown figures lingering upon him for a moment before they too continued on their way, none of them seeming to be the few he sought. The job had sounded simple enough if not rather vague. A request made by those within this town for assistance in tracking down and hunting some of the local wildlife. Claiming that one would be sufficient to aid in their endeavors for this expedition, hints of others already being assigned to the task but due to troubles some of their own could not continue. Their apparent refusal to be more specific only sparking thoughts that whatever it was they were after took care of those missing few. And yet there was still interest found in the matter.
But first this supposed group needed to be found for there was little in way of direction given other than being harbored within Southmere. While it wasn’t much to go on gaze still shifted over those passed by, most focused upon their own business with none seemingly reading for a venture further into the Hinterlands. Not that the elf could blame them he supposed if the stories heard about this place and its abundant creature issues were to be believed. Though it is not long before attentions are drawn toward a particularly rowdy bunch that so openly carried their weapons like so many others. Yet something was different about the way they carried themselves.
Their decorated appearances standing out amongst the others here and yet there was lingering doubt that these were the ones he sought. An old pull felt from the shortest of the group as eyes lingered on them for longer than the warrior would care to admit before attentions are nearly forced to turn away. Judgement passed that these were not being he wished to interact with as marked fingers brushed slightly to the knife at his side before relaxing once more. A light sigh falling from his lips as paces worked to carry him past the small group in hopes that whoever he searched for lay beyond where these beings gathered.
Dec 3 2017, 03:22 AM
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<center><i>14 Bloomingtide, 9:41</i></center><p>
More time than intended had been spent on what should have been a simple search for a particular mage. A quest which only led the lyrium ghost to cross paths first with the elven Inquisitor. Such conversation lasting far longer than originally hoped yet it was an encounter which eased the warrior’s mind. For it gave promise that the human truly did stand somewhere within these walls it was merely a question of where now. Yet Hawke’s was apparently a presence that many did not desire in the end, an understandable mindset he supposed. As even from the short time he had been here conflicting views had become more than clear.
Information exchanged on both their parts as pieces of any of those burning questions were answered in hopes for where exactly the Champion roosted within these walls. Claims falling that he tended to stick to the battlements at the side of his hound or in Varric’s company when not tormenting any of the others who stayed here. So it was there the elf planned to search for the human first even as the hours only grew later and less faces stood out in the open beneath the starlit skies. Their eyes dancing upon him briefly while others spoke in hushed whispers that he could not make out, thoughts over it pushed from his mind as steps hurried past them.
Paces carrying him over this unfamiliar terrain as they led him to the smooth stone of the battlements. Bare feet brushing against those stairs as reflective stare shifted over those few that still lingered even upon these walls. Far fewer than what rested down below yet enough to draw his gaze. One which shifted over the various towers which littered the pathways before returning to those unknown to him. Near silent question reaching out to them only to have vague phrases point him away. Guidance given in a mix of disinterest and resentful tones as if this stranger had truly been inconvenienced by it all.
Yet direction was sought if only to prevent the warrior from accidentally intruding upon the wrong figure’s room. A misstep within these towers was not exactly how the ghost wished to make himself known. Feet shifted against the stone as attentions flickered between the broken down buildings that seemed ready to crumble to pieces just like so many other places of the fortress. Though while it was far from perfect he supposed that it was certainly better than nothing at all. Barrier provided from the threats which lay outside of it, for the most part at least. But such musing are cut short as sights fall upon the supposed lodgings of the human.
A hand pressing hesitantly to the door’s surface as olive gaze peered within the moment it creaked open. The figure of an oversized Mabari greeting him before the form of the mage could be found practically nestling beneath the dog as it crowded near to him. One which jumped to life at the sound of the shifting wood only to fall into excited wiggles that drew a displeased sound from the man a body beat against. At least until the canine jumped from his perch upon the bed and padded over to where the elf now stood. A door closing behind him as action stalled in the face of the behemoth.
That wet nose pressing against his hands only to quickly stray toward the aroma of lingering blood and herbal supplies which lay beneath the bandaging which covered him. Breath blowing against the fabrics as Hades sniffed along the elf’s side with a gentle whine even as an uninjured limb came to run over the Mabari’s crown. Rubbing briefly against the skin folding along the brindled creature’s neck before drawing away. Slender figure weaving around the concerned beast as attentions fell upon the mage who shifted to face him before he could even find a place upon the bed.
Golden eyes looking the elf over as he gingerly adjusted himself upon the edge of the bed though he was uncertain on how much the human could actually see within the dimly lit room. Though it does not silence the slow sigh which pushes from the lyrium ghost’s lungs as he leaned forward. Ivory hair falling to frame those angular features even as nothing else escapes him but that sigh. An uninjured arm bracing him as the other comes forward with reluctance yet still it is an action carried through. Hand resting against the human’s jaw before pulling away, fingers trailing against his features only to fall away as lyrics rise to break the silence. <strong style=color:#732525>“It is good to see you Hawke.”</strong>
Nov 21 2017, 03:20 AM
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<center><i>13 Bloomingtide, 9:41</i></center><p>
Wavering breath fell against the air as pale gaze shifted over the snowcapped landscape that surrounded the fortress. A body felt to lean for support against the man who guided him now, that smaller figure jostled whenever the human thought the elf’s consciousness was drifting. Though more times than not it merely earned a scowl from the marked warrior as attentions flickered toward him. While others drew a far sharper breath as sudden movement seized the raking injuries which held beneath tightly wound fabrics.
Fingers coiled against himself as a body shifted and weight hit the ground, breath hissing from the ghost’s lungs while he righted himself. Quickly pulling away from both the arm of the human that reached to assist him and the horse that balance had been caught on. Each of them creatures who seemed content to chase after him for a time as they were ushered past those few that stood guard near the front gates. A barrier provided between this supposed Inquisition and any who may have sought them out. No word of intent questioned from the pair as the soldiers simply nodded to the one Fenris had come with. A being he pulled away from.
For while thankful to the man for his help there were more pressing matters which weighed upon his mind. A parting glance cast toward the warrior before near bare feet scurried away over the strangely plush grounds of mixed vegetation and stone. Ears flicking lightly as it is a departure not given silently, Griffin calling out in gentle phrases that he would search along the other side if only to cover more ground. Footfalls carrying him in the opposite direction from the entrance with Fel moving close behind him. The weight of her steps clicking against the rock to keep the other in her sights until a guiding hand pulled her to the stables.
Yet they are not who hold his attentions for long as pale gaze dances over all who moved about. Even before stepping past the threshold of the mountains castle, the place had seemed far busier than he had expected. And while he hadn’t exactly prodded the human for much information he had not expected this many bodies to be active. Each shifting about on their own business though he does not allow for it to stall him as steps carried the injured over the grasses. Olive eyes lingering on the faces he passed by, careful to weave around them and not block the way for those who seemed to be in such a rush.
Though whenever such glances were returned he could not help but to feel on edge. Unspoken question behind the eyes of these strangers or even in the expression which crossed their features. Ones which drew the lyrium plagued to turn his gaze elsewhere with thoughts to ignore all those he was not here for. Yet this location was daunting in its size and unfamiliar to the elf in every way. A silent regret of having stolen away from the side of his temporary companion so quickly, no matter the urgency felt over the matter at hand.
If Asmodeus could be located first then it would be the best in his mind, yet eyes which held on to their dying light still scanned for the figure described to him. One of the inquisitor. Said only to be of Dalish persuasion with dark hair and an unusual mark held upon her hand. <i>‘Couldn’t miss her,’</i> had been the words the dwarf used and yet the tattooed warrior held on to doubt. Unless this supposed mark radiated a light so great that it would instantly draw an eye then he was not entirely sure what he should be looking for. After all, there were a number of dark haired elves here.
So attentions never held too closely to any that did not show an immediate resemblance to what had been so vaguely described. A wrapped arm hugging closely to the warrior’s body in hopes to lessen to the risk of any brushing against it and reigniting the slowly numbing pain which held upon those features. A silent plea that none would take too much interest in it or find their eyes straying to notice how the mangled limb rested awkwardly against him. He wished to find help, now more than ever, and yet he needed someone who would be able to help in ways that neither he nor the guiding soul could.
For this was not a problem that would simply fix itself with just a vague understanding of medicine or healing. No, he needed the help of a mage and if the lyrium ghost had his way it would be from the one closest to him. Though even now he was not certain if such a man was here. If not then he would have to settle for wherever such things could be given, even from the hand of a stranger. Such a search eventually drawing him toward the figure of an elf shorter than he who seemed just as distracted as the rest which seemed to scurry in preparation for some unknown journey. Whether this was the woman he sought out though was another question entirely.
But for now he was done moving blindly, if this was not the Inquisitor than perhaps she would at least still be able to point him toward either Hawke or the correct Dalish. His voice calling out in what he hoped to be even tones the moment his steps stalled upon the earth. Phrases he prayed did not falter and give way to how much of a struggle it truly was, <strong style=color:#732525>“I do not mean to intrude but.”</strong> A hitch catching those vocals even as it is quickly caught and pushed aside, <strong style=color:#732525>“but is a man called Hawke here?”</strong> Unsure tones holding to those questions. For he did not truly know how much truth lay behind the dwarf’s words. And yet he saw no reason as to why the other would lie about Asmodeus’ location, so he held on to hope.
Sep 8 2017, 01:39 PM
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<h2>34 years old . Mercenary . Warrior . Shekib Samimi</h2>
<h3>Robert . 25 . CST . PM or Discord</h3>
<div class="maincontent scroll">


<ol>Other Characters</ol>

29 Drakonis, 9:07 Dragon


<ol>Race & Nationality</ol>
Elf - Tevinter (Seheron)


Chaotic Neutral


<ol>Family Members</ol>
Unnamed Mother (Deceased)<br>
Unnamed Father (Status Unknown)<br>
Varania - Sister (Living)


One-Handed - Advanced<br>
Two-Handed - Expert<br>
Hand-to-Hand - Expert


Battlemaster - <small><i>When fighting solo, a battlemaster is an efficient killing machine. When fighting alongside allies, the warrior becomes a seasoned leader who can rally others to turn the tide of combat.</i></small>
Vanguard - <small><i>A vanguard believes that a good offense is the best defense. Their powerful strikes are matched with ruthless technique.</i></small>

Tevinter Fugitive (Lyrium Infusion) - <small><i>Tattooed with lyrium and fueled by vengeance, Fenris is an unnerving foe and an invaluable ally on the battlefield.</i></small>


<center><b>General Health</b></center>
<i>Physical</i> - While one may not see it at first glance Fenris is a man who holds a build made fit through the trails of his life. Though it is not one made apparent as he has kept a figure lanky and lithe, hiding away the power held within those muscles present. Bolstered by the unfortunate circumstances of the markings lacing over his hide allowing him to hold on to strength.
<i>Mental</i> - Broken in ways that can never be truly mended, he is one scorned within his own mind. A being fueled by hatred and vengeance for those who so torment him, consuming him with never ending thoughts. Conflicting and obsessive they are as each trigger causes the elven man to allow past deeds and prejudice to dictate what action is taken. And while at times he may be swayed, the beliefs places remain firm for there are things that cannot be let go of. Such experiences have left Fenris to believe himself abandoned. By not just others but by the Maker, that his freedom was something won for himself not by some divine intervention or the hands of others unknown.
<i>Social</i> - Finding it difficult to grow close to others he is one who prefers to keep distance from them and from any feelings that may threaten to develop. Yet he is not one to lie to or about himself no matter how it may frustrate him. Attempts made to keep to himself for he is not a very talkative being, one quickly ending conversation when they arise unless within the privacy of a one on one interaction. There is also trouble found in starting them even as he may wish to speak, often not allowing phrases to fall less he is spoken too first.
<center><b>Defining Features</b></center>
<i>Physicality</i> - Even with the willowy build bestowed upon him there is seemingly hidden strength found within the elf as a form is fitted with lean muscling. Never bulky or cumbersome in appearance it is a feature following through with even the spiked armor placed upon him. Metals and cloth which fit his figure and do little to hide the glowing tattoos placed upon his flesh.
When first looking upon the elf one can bear witness to all lain on display. That tanned skin contrasted by the stark white coloration of hair kept just long enough to reach his ears and keep portions of the face hidden away. A typically hardened glare made piercing by bright eyes that look on in olive green tones. Yet they can aid in softening passing glances when they find his features.
<i>Lyrium</i> - Sunken into the skin of the plagued are tattoos of ink and lyrium. This branded shame forever lingering across his flesh in marks spiraling in broken stretches to every reach of his body. These glowing veins lacing unknown powers throughout, the elven man never learning the full potential of what such infusions held and a part of him may never wish to solve such mysteries. Leave them to their secrecies they would remain unknowns.
Yet even with the contempt felt for such marks he is quick to use them to aid in battle and simply intimidation. The discovered advantages called upon to assume the abilities of a Lyrium Ghost, ones which allow him to temporarily phase through objects and solidify at will. As well as assuming a wraithlike state that is more difficult to track. Perhaps in time there will be more discovered though he makes no effort to actively seek these possibilities out.
<center>Proud | Distrustful | Uptight | Guarded | Loyal | Humble<br>
Blunt | Sarcastic | Resentful | Passionate | Volatile | Broody</center>
Held within the grasps of slavery a young elven boy competed for and won the so called right to obtain the gifts offered to a victory, those coursing lyrium veins and a single boon. One used to free a family from those which held them. Yet it is an event left forgotten, pushed from mind with all else before it when he underwent such excruciating experimentations under the hands of the magister.
A task leaving him with only those lyrium infused tattoos upon his flesh. Each vein a constant reminder as the pain lingers on, drudging up what one wishes to forget. Sensitivity spiking with physical discomfort when these marks are touched. Leading the man to an aversion against it though other matters did not help it, those memories hidden with the others.
Service to this Tevinter magister lasts many years yet ends, albeit briefly, when left behind after a battle upon Seheron where he is found and treated by the Fog Warriors. Picking up on both their language and their ways in the following months. The elf growing closer to the Qunari almost finding a place amongst them until a master makes his return to retrieve property cast aside.
Orders falling to slaughter those that had helped him so much and it is a command followed without much hesitation. Though it did not come without regrets. New found turmoil brewing within him driving the elven warrior to take advantage of the opportunity which follows. With a magister left injured by the battle there is silent promise of delayed pursuit.
And so he flees. Unguided path leading him to the grounds of Kirkwall, pursued by the very ones he tried so hard to escape from now. An encounter with Hawke leading to Fenris joining up with them and the rest that traveled at their side. Yet there is not true comfort found with them all, even as more is learned of the one he sought aid from for there are feelings with linger on.
Thoughts that he is simply burdening Hawke with issues that are not theirs. Troubles that should not fall upon the other’s shoulders for they were not their problems to bare. Such were his own and his alone. But even as he attempts to pull away, it is in them that he finds at least a portion of his help. Something needed greatly by the elf.
With Hawke sticking to his side for the time and setting off with one plagued of lyrium to go after those sent by an old master and his apprentice, Hadriana. A failed ambush upon the Wounded Coast allowing him to learn of the woman’s arrival and a location kept within the Holding Caves. Confrontation within those caverns leading to her defeat despite the extreme measures taken to enhance her power and in her eyes secure victory.
Only to find pleading words falling upon the fugitive’s ears. Information in exchange for her life. A promise given long enough for him to learn of a living family member, a sister by the name of Varania. Yet nearly as quickly as a life had been spared it is stolen away for in his mind she had to be eliminated. No matter the words of those he now traveled with. It would not have swayed his choices here.
Following these events Fenris finds himself once again seeking out Hawke’s assistance, a meeting planned and arranged with his sister. Though there is a part of him screaming out that this is only a trap set by Danarius in yet another attempt to recapture him. Worry filled requests seeking out the one he stood by for the time, something within those phrases convincing the Champion to accompany the elven man into the Hanged Man.
An encounter ended with further betrayal yet this from one of his own blood. Location told by the very one he had come to meet with. Though there is a sense of comfort held as Hawke refuses to simply hand him over to the man hated. An ex-master finally slain by the lyrium ghost’s own hands, a freedom rekindled even as the sense of it all never changed. Yet before leave is found from the tavern Varania is threatened.
Those words spoken wounding far more than any blade as the desires of the other were simply for her own benefits, to become a magister in exchange for selling him out. A yearning burned within the man as he ached to tear out her heart as he had done to so many others. Now pleading phrases falling upon deafened ears as a mind focuses on one thing. Yet something pulls him back from the brink, voices of those he travels with reeling him back and allowing a sibling to leave with her life no matter how he wished to take it still. He would not be burdened with more regret.
In the time which followed Fenris found himself remaining at Hawke’s side. Supporting them in their final battle for Kirkwall before splitting off by himself for a time. An effort taken to find himself once again and achieve the goals set within his mind. Communications, no matter how infrequent, kept up with the favored parties whenever desired. Yet no matter how far he may travel there is always a piece kept at his side as memories. Each found in the gifts bestowed by one seen as friend. A book and a blade, one of Shartan the other of Mercy.

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