Marian Hawke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hereliestheabyss) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-02-27 12:17 am
hereliestheabyss) wrote in thearena2015-02-27 12:17 am
Entry tags:
i have an excellent sense of dramatic timing.
Who| Hawke and the Dragon Age cast, Hawke and Cassandra
What| Hawke survives the Carnage in the Caves! ... Only to die later in an undignified fashion. At least she has some gifts to deliver, first.
Where| The re-established camp of the DA crew after the jabberjays force them to relocate, found in the pine forest. Death occurs at the mountains.
When| Later half of Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Blood and eventual death
Marian Hawke had seen better days.
Those damn birds made a right fool of her. It was humiliating. Beneath her. To conquer so much, only to be rendered inept by so little. The Capitol’s methods were new to her, had rubbed raw the fears the Nightmare had already exposed, and for once the Champion of Kirkwall was visibly shaken.
What was left of her red scarf, her token, was tied tightly around her right thigh. An appropriate color, and one that might have hid the blood if the struggle had not left evidence elsewhere. She wasn’t soaked in the substance, but tell-tale crimson was splattered sparsely on her clothes, smeared on her skin where she’d made a half-assed attempt to wipe it off. There was a limp in her gait, a glaze in her eye, and whatever ordeal she’d been through in her absence from the camp had obviously made an impact on her.
But what might have been more immediately noticeable were the supplies she held in her hands. Lacking a proper satchel or any other kind of container meant everything was held together in an awkward bundle of ripped up clothing. (Because that’s really what those clean clothes were provided for, Hawke.) There were also two weapons too big to fit in said bundle, cradled in the crook of her elbow. All in all, she looked like a walking death trap. Felt like one, too, albeit for wildly different reasons.
She wordlessly approached the makeshift campsite, avoided eye contact with any who might have seen her arrive, and dumped everything on the ground without so much as a hello. The contents became clear enough as they tumbled to the ground. Food, bottled water, a few knives. And the two larger weapons— A spear, a proper one, Capitol make, and… A scythe. Unconventional and deadly. How appropriate.
Hawke would bounce back. She always did. It just might take some warming her toes by the fire and an uplifting conversation, first. In the mean time, everyone else was free to help themselves to the prizes awarded her for killing in cold blood.
At least something good came of it.
What| Hawke survives the Carnage in the Caves! ... Only to die later in an undignified fashion. At least she has some gifts to deliver, first.
Where| The re-established camp of the DA crew after the jabberjays force them to relocate, found in the pine forest. Death occurs at the mountains.
When| Later half of Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Blood and eventual death
Marian Hawke had seen better days.
Those damn birds made a right fool of her. It was humiliating. Beneath her. To conquer so much, only to be rendered inept by so little. The Capitol’s methods were new to her, had rubbed raw the fears the Nightmare had already exposed, and for once the Champion of Kirkwall was visibly shaken.
What was left of her red scarf, her token, was tied tightly around her right thigh. An appropriate color, and one that might have hid the blood if the struggle had not left evidence elsewhere. She wasn’t soaked in the substance, but tell-tale crimson was splattered sparsely on her clothes, smeared on her skin where she’d made a half-assed attempt to wipe it off. There was a limp in her gait, a glaze in her eye, and whatever ordeal she’d been through in her absence from the camp had obviously made an impact on her.
But what might have been more immediately noticeable were the supplies she held in her hands. Lacking a proper satchel or any other kind of container meant everything was held together in an awkward bundle of ripped up clothing. (Because that’s really what those clean clothes were provided for, Hawke.) There were also two weapons too big to fit in said bundle, cradled in the crook of her elbow. All in all, she looked like a walking death trap. Felt like one, too, albeit for wildly different reasons.
She wordlessly approached the makeshift campsite, avoided eye contact with any who might have seen her arrive, and dumped everything on the ground without so much as a hello. The contents became clear enough as they tumbled to the ground. Food, bottled water, a few knives. And the two larger weapons— A spear, a proper one, Capitol make, and… A scythe. Unconventional and deadly. How appropriate.
Hawke would bounce back. She always did. It just might take some warming her toes by the fire and an uplifting conversation, first. In the mean time, everyone else was free to help themselves to the prizes awarded her for killing in cold blood.
At least something good came of it.
no subject
"You look like shit." She informed the human cheerfully. "What happened? Were you attacked? I saw you running into the caves..."
Her eyes moved to more fully inspect the stash that Hawke had gathered. Quietly, she stooped enough to grab the scythe, and straightened. "How did you get these...? Sit down by the fire, I'll try to clean your wounds." She told the other woman, and glanced around. Enough snow on the ground, maybe that would suffice? She'd give anything for bandages right then. Maybe if she ever finds a dead person, or causes one, she can strip some of their clothes off.
no subject
“I killed someone.” The answer was a mumble, the words almost involuntary on her lips. Then came the repetition, louder, offering clarification. “I killed someone. I thought they had— Everyone. They didn’t. They just had this.” She kicked away one of the knives, indicating her prize. How lucky.
no subject
Standing, she took the scarf, and grabbed some of the nearby snow, shoveling it in and walking back to put it near the fire. A trip to the river would be best, but after the Champion had rested. "Do you have any other wounds?" She asked, as she waited for the snow to melt. Once it was slush, she applied it to the wound, trying to clean the wound, and let the coldness of the ice numb some of the pain. It wasn't the best first aid in the world, but it would have to serve.
In the back of her head, she tallied it up. Hawke was now among the injured, Adella dead. That left Maxwell and her as the only fighters. While they at least had weapons now (and Tabris kept the scythe close to her), the fact that they now had five wounded and two to guard them weighed on her mind. What would happen if they were attacked by anyone, tributes or wild animals attempting to take advantage of the injured gathered? This wasn't a cave. It was open, far too open. And it made Tabris fret.