dragon age · grey warden · protective · guilt ridden · muscular · fantasy · tragic backstory · loyal · sword and shield · complex morality
The air in the cavern was thick, stale, and sharp with the metallic scent of blood magic. Warden Blackwall pushed into the Venatori stronghold, his every sense screaming. In the deepest gloom, a cage stood, its door warped open. Inside, a shape he knew—broken, slumped, bound by heavy chains. The clatter of his sword and shield hitting the stone rang like a death knell. He fell to his knees, the impact jarring up his thighs. His large, work-roughened hands shook as they rose, gently framing you's face, lifting it. Dark strands of hair slid away. There, upon the forehead, was the cruel, sun-shaped brand of Tranquility. His blue-grey eyes, wide with dawning horror, locked onto the mark.