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Dec 11, 2019 4:49 PM
Anya and Tabs' characters in AU Thedas
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Junia isn't one to judge, being a Tevinter blood mage comes with very morally dubious lifestyle. Not that she's going to admit the blood mage part to these nice strangers.

"The important part is that you're alive. You can do more and help more people that way."

She shifts awkwardly between the two, very uncomfortable with the closeness and the fact that she hasn't been on a horse since she was a small child, and even then it was a pony. She was much more used to carriages. She hesitates for a moment and then clings to the elf woman in front of her.

"Have you had much experience with Templars?" She directs the question to the mage behind her.

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Anders laughs once, but it's not a happy sound. "You could say that," he says bitterly. Seven escapes and multiple absuses, let alone the fact they killed every single Mage he's known since he was a child, means he can't be even slightly mild about his feelings. Anders has never been good at taking the middle ground anyway. 

"I can't imagine you haven't. Where are you from anyway? You're not Fereldan, that much is clear," Anders questions, partly because he is curious, but also because he can see the terror in her posture. Not a fan of horses, clearly. 

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"Uh, no, not Fereldan. I'm from Asariel, by the Nocen Sea."

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"What, in Tevinter? Are you from Tevinter?" He's incredulous. No wonder she hasn't interacted with Templars much. 

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Azry holds in the urge to throw the woman from the horse. Just because she's from Tevinter doesn't make her a slaver, she repeats to herself, like a mantra. 

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"Yes, I'm from the Imperium. But I left. I'm not going back, Templars or no."

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"Why'd you leave? I thought things were pretty good for mages in the Imperium."

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"For mages, yes. For everyone else? No, not ever." 

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"Well, isn't that just so very cryptic. Have a slave lover, then?"

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"Anders, you're lucky I'm occupied right now or I would smack you," Azry says, her voice a little too dangerous. Even during a Blight, it seems, Tevinter still sets her on edge. 

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"I couldn't stand by and watch so many people be fucked over by the Magisterium. So you know, I did the done thing and ran away. Though not before freeing as many slaves as I could manage." She takes a short pause, "it didn't work out so well for them though. A lot of people died."

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"A noble Tevinter! I never thought I'd see the day," Anders says. Even though a part of him is joking, her story does touch him. How much did he wish he could save his own people? How many times had he failed? 

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Azry's hard opinion of the woman softens. "A lot of the slaves only see that as their lives. They can't even see an open door as freedom," she says. "But thank you for trying."

They near the camp and Azry coaxes Soris to slow.

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She doesn't reply and gets off the horse when they stop. "I have some bread, though its a bit stale, and some dried fruit... I was in a rush when I picked them, so I'm unsure if they're good to eat."

She walks over to a small clearing in the middle of the camp, stumbles a bit and near collapses on the ground. "Or I could just lie here. That works too."

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"Well, while you're lying there, may I?" Anders asks, sliding off the horse with a quick squeeze to Azry's arm. He wiggles his fingers in the woman's direction, soft blue light enveloping them. 

He kneels beside her. "What's your name, anyway?"

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Azry leaves them to it, making sure Soris has water and food, and feeds Cyrion the mabari. 

"I'll try and make something to eat. I think we've only got jerky left though," Azry says, pursing her lips as she digs through her pack. First things first, she reminds herself, and gets started on restarting the fire. 

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"Junia Lucanus Amladaris, one time damsel, full time mage. It's been a pleasure to be rescued by you." She attempts a playful smirk, but it turns into a grimace. "I may have a concussion aaand I've totally forgotten your names, if you gave them...also I think my arm is broken."

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"Junia Lalalala Amaldasomething, pleasure is all mine," Anders grins back. He then pulls his brows together and focuses, summoning the strength of his spirit and lets a soft blue glow envelop Junia. "You're not wrong about that concussion, not too bad though. Your elbow is fractured, your shoulder is dislocated. You have a sprained ankle, two fractured toes, hairline fracture on your hip and far too many scrapes and bruises to name. Luckily, I'm a particularly talented Spirit Healer. You're in good hands," Anders says. He's trying not to sound too full of himself, but it's hard when you're been the only known Spirit Healer in Ferelden for years. 

He smiles good naturedly while he heals her. Fair enough she's forgotten. She's lucky the damage to her head is fixable really. Healing, food and sleep will fix her right up. "I'm Anders, and the grumpy elf is Commander Azuria Tabris. Azry for short."

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"He's just jealous he's only got the one name," Azry calls from the fireside. 

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"Ah. Yeah, I knew two or three people called Anders. They all have the accent to match though." She grits her teeth, while he begins the healing. "That.. alot. I uh- have some Lyrium in my bag, if you need it. Again, I didn't have much time to make it, so it's not very strong. Plus I think the dwarf I bought it off gave me shit stuff."

She looks over to Azry. "Commander, huh? Do you have many underlings to boss around, or just the one lone Anderfellian..." she makes a face, "Anderfeller? Oh Andraste, I've broken my brain."

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"Anderfeller I like, feel free to call me that anytime," Anders smirks, but he's soon lost in the work of knitting bone back together. He finds it easy to lose himself in his work, he's always found the human body fascinating. 

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Azry looks over at Junia curiously. She's remarkably lucid for someone with a laundry list of injuries. Azry has to admit she's impressed with her resilience. 

"Anders is notoriously close lipped about his past. Even I don't know his real name. I suspect the only people who did are dead or unreachable," Azry says. She assembles the vegetables they managed to liberate from a burnt farm house into a pot and pours the contents of two water skins over them. 

"Commander is really just something I call myself to inspire fear and awe in others. And to make them listen to me when I order them about. Turns out even during the apocalypse people don't take elves seriously."

Azry tugs utensils from her pack and stirs the soup. "I've been trying to recruit but it's hard. I don't want to tear families apart. Especially not now."

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"You would think people would be lining up at your door... tent, to help out. Or I suppose they could be all dead. I haven't seen anyone apart from you two and the Hunters for nearly a month."

She stops and stares over their shoulder. "Fuck."

She looks at Anders and Azry.

"I hope you weren't joking about protecting me, because," she points to the oncoming Templars, "this is happening now."

She attempts to stand up but fails.

"Could you give me a hand? I want to do this on my feet. However this turns out."

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Anders lets the magic trickle from his fingers, the line of his jaw set. Junia's concussion is gone, and most of her fractures are fixed. She will be able to stand. 

He sends a wave of restorative energy through her, and then offers her his hand. "They're not going to touch you," he says. His voice is hard. His shoulders are tense. In his mind he can imagine the screams of every Mage they've killed since the Tower, and he is furious. 

They're not taking another one from him. 

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Azry stands and turns, watching the encroaching Templars. The sun glints off their armour, their helmets hide their identities. 

Azry hates them. 

She calls out to them, stepping between them and her mages. "Hail Templars! What brings you to the Wardens camp?"

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