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
But the questions will only keep coming, be they from him or someone else. It’s a fact she’s resigned herself to. She follows up shortly thereafter, hanging her head, voice low and dry. “I got roped into some sort of game. Because this—this whole thing—isn’t game enough, apparently. Fancy that.”
no subject
"They seem to enjoy being as cruel as possible to us," he says quietly. "This seems less about the killing itself and more about the emotional pain they seem to so enjoy."
And he would know all about that. Comparing their captors to demons seems more and more apt.