Nathaniel Howe
Warden Commander of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
- Posts
- 183
((OOC: August 5, 9:35))
Weisshaupt Fortress was an imposing series of buildings at the edge of the Broken Tooth, a rocky and uninviting butte in the southern region of the Anderfels. Prior to Nathaniel's journey to the Anderfels, his only real experience with an Anders was… Anders. The people he met within the arid and blighted lands were nothing at all like his friend. They lived in constant vigilance, ready to battle darkspawn whenever the need arose. To them, darkspawn were very real and very present. No other area of Thedas, not even Ferelden, suffered as many attacks in any given year.
The thousands of Grey Wardens Nathaniel was told to expect at Weisshaupt proved to be more like a few hundred; still a staggering number considering the mere 21 total in Ferelden. From kitchens to stables to cleaning staff, every person residing at the fortress was a Grey Warden. Nathaniel had never seen anything quite like it before. He understood the reasons well enough. Everyone on a front needed to be prepared for battle. He simply could not imagine such a hierarchy working in Ferelden even if it would simplify things a great deal. No more creative truths about why the Grey Wardens required so much food. No more false stories about recruits dying on a training expedition.
The fortress itself was comprised mostly of smooth white stone with spires that reached high into russet skyline. It was in one of those towers he was given rooms. The large windows came to a peak at the top and were big enough to sit in. His view was not what most would call beautiful. There was no lush greenery, no rushing water, no splash of petaled color to draw the eye. Gnarled and matted grassland covered the steppe below, veins of blight scattered throughout the brown grass marring the otherwise monotone landscape. It truly was a hopeless type of place, grim and foreboding. And it was to be Aedan Cousland’s prison.
The long journey to the Anderfels gave Nathaniel much time to consider what he would say to Aedan when he saw him. He thought of many different scenarios, many different words they might exchange. But truthfully? He did not know what would happen when he came face to face with the man he once called friend and brother. The hatred that burned so hot within him when he first returned to Ferelden was no longer there, long since tempered by duty and reason. Nathaniel almost wished for its return, though. That ire was all encompassing and without conflict.
It was naive to hope Aedan might change his mind. That his capture would serve as the epiphany needed to bring him back into the fold. The man that awaited Nathaniel in the dungeons might even greet him with gratitude. But a part of him did hope beyond all logic for the impossible. He hoped but prepared for the expected worse.
Two days he waited after arriving at Weisshaupt before he sought out his audience with Aedan. Near the long spiral staircase that lead into the bowels of the fortress and her dungeons was a mausoleum built to honor the slayers of the Archdemons. Five placards adorned the monument. Four names. Garahel the last. Nathaniel stared some time at the empty placard.
This was Aedan’s legacy.
Whatever confusion he felt about Aedan, whatever loyalty still remained melted away at the sight of the empty placard.
Weisshaupt Fortress was an imposing series of buildings at the edge of the Broken Tooth, a rocky and uninviting butte in the southern region of the Anderfels. Prior to Nathaniel's journey to the Anderfels, his only real experience with an Anders was… Anders. The people he met within the arid and blighted lands were nothing at all like his friend. They lived in constant vigilance, ready to battle darkspawn whenever the need arose. To them, darkspawn were very real and very present. No other area of Thedas, not even Ferelden, suffered as many attacks in any given year.
The thousands of Grey Wardens Nathaniel was told to expect at Weisshaupt proved to be more like a few hundred; still a staggering number considering the mere 21 total in Ferelden. From kitchens to stables to cleaning staff, every person residing at the fortress was a Grey Warden. Nathaniel had never seen anything quite like it before. He understood the reasons well enough. Everyone on a front needed to be prepared for battle. He simply could not imagine such a hierarchy working in Ferelden even if it would simplify things a great deal. No more creative truths about why the Grey Wardens required so much food. No more false stories about recruits dying on a training expedition.
The fortress itself was comprised mostly of smooth white stone with spires that reached high into russet skyline. It was in one of those towers he was given rooms. The large windows came to a peak at the top and were big enough to sit in. His view was not what most would call beautiful. There was no lush greenery, no rushing water, no splash of petaled color to draw the eye. Gnarled and matted grassland covered the steppe below, veins of blight scattered throughout the brown grass marring the otherwise monotone landscape. It truly was a hopeless type of place, grim and foreboding. And it was to be Aedan Cousland’s prison.
The long journey to the Anderfels gave Nathaniel much time to consider what he would say to Aedan when he saw him. He thought of many different scenarios, many different words they might exchange. But truthfully? He did not know what would happen when he came face to face with the man he once called friend and brother. The hatred that burned so hot within him when he first returned to Ferelden was no longer there, long since tempered by duty and reason. Nathaniel almost wished for its return, though. That ire was all encompassing and without conflict.
It was naive to hope Aedan might change his mind. That his capture would serve as the epiphany needed to bring him back into the fold. The man that awaited Nathaniel in the dungeons might even greet him with gratitude. But a part of him did hope beyond all logic for the impossible. He hoped but prepared for the expected worse.
Two days he waited after arriving at Weisshaupt before he sought out his audience with Aedan. Near the long spiral staircase that lead into the bowels of the fortress and her dungeons was a mausoleum built to honor the slayers of the Archdemons. Five placards adorned the monument. Four names. Garahel the last. Nathaniel stared some time at the empty placard.
This was Aedan’s legacy.
Whatever confusion he felt about Aedan, whatever loyalty still remained melted away at the sight of the empty placard.
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