OOC Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=164201.msg7626993#msg7626993)<br/>Roster (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=164198.msg7626766#msg7626766)<br/>Recruit and Interest Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=163527.msg7582250#msg7582250)<br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong>Bor Hannon<br/>Woodland Clearing<br/>Somewhere North of Ostagar</strong><br/><br/>It had been a full day since the rout at Ostagar.<br/><br/>Dusk fell over the sparse woodlands of southern Ferelden, shadows lengthening and melding together.  The clearing was larger than most villages, an almost perfect circle of dead winter grass around an odd monolith in the center.  The vaguely oval-shaped rock stood on its end, partly buried in the frozen ground.  The morning after the battle had brought with it a frost, and the gloomy day that had followed had done little to weaken winter's grasp on the land.  That day had been living torment.<br/><br/>Bor was lucky to be alive, and he knew it.  He had watched as Ferelden's army and his fellow Wardens had been consumed by the Blight, far below in that damned box canyon.  All the arrows in the world had nothing to stem that dark tide.  And then the Tower of Ishal had fallen, and Loghain fled the field, leaving Bor's<em>brothers</em>and<em>sisters</em>to the slaughter.<br/><br/>His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, frozen blood cracking on his white knuckles.  Knowing he could do nothing for Duncan or the others, Bor had made for the Tower, seeking the three young Wardens trapped within.  He had saved them, at least, warning them of the impending horde, and getting them out before a hundred thousand Darkspawn could surround the Tower.  They had been split in the night by an ambush.  Alistair had made to circle around the south, Mathius and Eluv'yan to the east and west, and Bor to the north.  None but him had made it to the old ruins he had directed them to.  He had waited three hours before the Darkspawn drove him out.<br/><br/>Bor's eyes burned in the chill air.  No.  He would not mourn them now, not when he himself was still in danger.  There would be tears for the dead later.  For now, he had to survive.<br/><br/>The time spent waiting for the young Wardens had cost Bor dearly.  In the vague mass of fleeing soldiers and refugees, the thousands of panicked men and women spread over dozens of miles of Ferelden woodland, there had been a semblance of safety.  By the time he had been forced to abandon the ruins, the refugees had pulled miles ahead, leaving him amongst the stragglers, where there were more Darkspawn than normal men.  They tugged at him, the Darkspawn, their taint resonating with the filth he had willingly taken into his veins.  They were to the south, the west, the east.  A great mass of them lured behind Bor in the direction of Ostagar, and roving parties shifted on his flanks.  There were fewer to the north, which was why he was--<br/><br/>A knot of taint connected with him, staining the edge of his mind.  Darkspawn, very close.  "Maker above," Bor swore, whirling around as he jabbed his sword into the ground at his left.  He swung his bow over his shoulder next, nocking his next to last arrow as he did so.  The shaft was loose before he clearly saw the Darkspawn, and the arrow thunked uselessly into a tree.  The band of Darkspawn, four hurlocks and a lone genlock, hesitated for a heartbeat, then ram forward, slamming their weapons on armor and shields.<br/><br/>Bor swore again at the wasted arrow.  He hadn't slept in nearly two days, and exhaustion and the taint were finally taking its toll.  Calmly, forcing his hands to be steady, he aimed and fired his last arrow, taking the genlock in the eye.  The stout beasts were troublesome alongside hurlocks, forcing oneself to defend both high and low.<br/><br/>Bor took a deep breath, discarding his bow to the side.  He pulled his sword from the ground, tapping it against his boot to knock the grit loose, and very deliberately raised it before him.  His shield was like a lead weight.  His arm shook.  Maker preserve, but he was tired.<br/><br/>Four hurlocks.  None were wounded, and they looked fresh.  All three wielded wicked swords and crude shields, but Bor could tell by the way they moved -- awkwardly, leaning to their right -- that they were not used to the heavy equipment, let alone trained with it.  They never were, seemingly content to just flail about in a blind fury.<br/><br/>Well, Bor was happy with that.  It made them easy to outmaneuver.  He'd block the first strike, step back, riposte, step back again, bash with shield, stab high over their defenses, step back, whirl...<br/><br/>Despite the cold, Bor was covered in a hot sweat.  His hands shook, as much from the taint as from his exhaustion.  His battle plan melted from his mind, and he lost his focus.  Before he knew it, the Darkspawn were upon him.<br/><br/>"VOID TAKE YOU!" he roared, leaping forward into the fray, fighting as furiously and wildly as his opponents.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Mathius and Eluv'yan were originally sent to the Tower of Ishal along with Alistair to light the beacon.  Just like ingame, they find it under attack and rush to light the beacon.  However, Bor manages to find them and get them out before the Darkspawn horde overwhelms the tower, and they flee into the woodlands.  Later that night, they're separated in an ambush, and for some reason could not make it to their rendezvous point.  Where they went, what they did, and why they couldn't rendezvous is obviously up to you, as is what they did after that.  However, they managed to continue north, and are near enough to hear Bor's warcry at the end of the post.  Whether they met up with each other or managed it by themselves is up to you.  Have fun, and may the Maker shelter you beneath his hand!</div></div>