Application - Underworld Wars
|| Player Information ||
Name: Heather
Personal Journal: agentgrrl
Time zone: CST
Contact: adeolucror [at] gmail [dot] come || adeolucror
Current Characters:
Vincent Valentine | Final Fantasy VII | dirgingcerberus
Brennan Mulwray | Mutant X | theshockvalue
Akihiko Sanada | Persona 3 | tobestronger
Drizzt Do'Urden | Forgotten Realms | usestwohands
Sephiroth | Final Fantasy VII | wutaiwarhero
|| Character Information ||
Fandom: Dragon Age II
Name: Fenris
Age: He looks around 30-ish or so I guess. He has no idea how old he is.
Canon Point: Act II, after his companion quest "A Bitter Pill" but before the End of Act quests
Is this character dead? No
History: [Wiki]
[Optional] Character Development and Relationship Transfer from previous RP: None
Personality: Fenris is an elf of many complexes, with an undercurrent of, at times, biting sarcasm colored by his bitterness over his past, the atrocities he's seen and experienced at the hands of Imperial Magisters, and confusion over his missing memories. He holds within him a deep-seeded hatred for all magic, but this is tempered with a sense of justice and an understanding that the Circles of Magi outside the Imperium are quite different from those within its borders. When Fenris is first introduced to the party, he's been running from slave hunters sent by his former master, Magister Denarius, for three years and exhibits three major traits: a great deal of cunning used to outsmart the hunters tailing him, a strong pride in the fact that he is "not a slave", and a ruthlessness exemplified by showing no hesitation in crushing the lieutenant's heart in his hand after the man called him a slave.
He has little memory of his life before he received his lyrium tattoos, and those have only begun to return recently. As he says, his first memory is receiving them, and all that amounts to is agony. His memories after that point are of oppression, and of witnessing horrific torment after horrific torment exacted upon both slaves and Qunari at the hands of the Tevinter Magisters. On the surface, mages in Tevinter have the best interests of the people at heart. They claim that the tenet of "Magic should serve man, not rule over them" is to mean it would best be used to serve people in a political capacity. Behind the scenes, though, Magisters will resort to any means necessary to achieve their goals, consorting with demons, participating in Blood Magic rituals to attain their goals. Because of this, watching slaves used as unwilling sacrifices, and listening to the venomous tongues of both Denarius and his fellows, has sown within Fenris a deep distrust for all mages beyond the Circle of Magi. Evidence has shown him mages when left to their own devices will stoop to any means to achieve their goals. He feels the Circle is necessary if only because it takes mages' decisions as to their use of power away from them. As he says, "what has magic touched that it has not spoiled?"
He has a hate inside of him, that, when fanned either by the hunters who pursue him or by others who mistreated him, often takes over his actions, causing him to do horribly violent things he sometimes later regrets. In the heat of things, it causes him to make cruel comments to his companions (which he later apologizes for) and voids all mercy he would normal show to others, even going to far as to make false promises in order to gain information. When facing Denarius' apprentice, he gives her his word he will not kill her if she gives him information regarding his sister, after which he crushes her heart in his hand using the powers granted to him by the tattoos. Questioning him afterward yields sarcasm, snarls, and a declaration of, "I enjoyed crushing that bitch's heart in my hand."
While a large part of his hatred for Magisters and all slave owners in the Imperium stems from his personal experiences, he's never been ignorant or blind to the horrors of slavery. To the Magisters, to the Senate, and to the Archon himself, slaves are nothing but chattel, pitiless fodder for their dark rituals, to be worked to the bones in their quarries, to the used to nothing and tossed away, only to be replaced when broken, like a cart wheel. He would see all slaves freed from such squalor, and looks fondly on anyone who agrees. It's actually one of the reasons he has great respect for the otherwise very selfish Isabela, who freed a ship full of slaves bound for sale in the Imperium. As he's said, "Tevinter wine is made from the blood and tears of Tevinter slaves," a reality he would see ended, if it were in his power.
In what seems like stark contrast to his pursuit of his own freedom, he does little thinking against what is and isn't the usual. He's never attempted to use his powers for monetary gain, such as picking pockets, he's never sought to learn to read (slaves are prohibited), and until Hawke suggested it he'd never thought of seeking gainful employment with anyone. In the three years he's known Varric, though, he's come out of his shell somewhat, joining him for a weekly game of cards at the Hanged Man (for which he owes Varric several sovereigns).
He's very observant and remembers things discussed around him. Though he served the position of nothing but bodyguard for Denarius during his servitude, he can explain the intricacies of Tevinter government, explain how the Circles in the Free Marches differ from the Circles in the Imperium, discuss in detail various historical figures, and speaks fluent Qunari. Considering he has never been taught to read or write, it can be assumed he learned all these things simply by listening.
In conversation, his biting sarcasm are almost always apparent, varying from triads of ridiculous stories with Varric to snipes against Merrill's incompetence. He isn't afraid of voicing his opinions to any who are listening, but also has no patience for anyone who seems to be wasting his time. There are few people who earn his respect, but once they have, he will hear them out and consider everything they say very intently. He has a penchant for waxing philosophical about society and people, and often makes almost meditative comments in combat. While he does, at times, sink into fits of brooding, they don't last and he'll be back to his sardonic self before too long.
Skills/Abilities: Fenris was tattooed with lyrium, magic in it's physical form, and the markings give him the ability to phase through solid matter. He can make his body incorporeal at will, but maintaining himself in this form for long periods of time slowly tires him and he has to rest before doing it again. He can also unleash a shock-wave of energy from his body while incorporeal that spreads out in all directions from him to a distance of about ten feet.
He's familiar with a lot of different wines, as he was made to serve Denarius and his guests quite often (because the tattoos were intimidating to visitors), speaks fluent Qunari and Tevinter as well as Common. He learns quickly and by ear. He's trained in sword play specializing in large, two-handed swords.
His two greatest weaknesses are his volatile temper, which often provokes him to making very bad decisions, and his inability to read or write. He also has an aversion to being touched due to his markings, both because it is a physical reminder of the pain of their application and he doesn't like the idea of others touching them.
First Person Sample:
|| Accidental Video ||
[The feed clicks on as if by accident, and the viewers are subjected to a skewed view of the Ferryman they know and love, accompanied by a deep, lightly accented voice.]
I never booked passage on your...vessel. I have no sovereigns for payment.
[The Ferryman extends a skeletal finger toward the dock. The video blurs as the device is moved and the holder can be seen in profile.]
Well...that message is clear enough. I get the impression I shouldn't be extending my thanks.
[There's of course no response from the Ferryman, who simply stands, more still than the living can manage, and waits. Fenris raises an eyebrow, but complies without further comment. The ferry can be seen disappearing into the mist beyond the dock even before the elf turns.]
Well that was...strange. [His large green eyes finally notice the lights coming from the tablet he'd accidentally activated and his brows sink in confusion.] And stranger still. [it's not like any enchantment he's ever seen. None of the words across the screen have any meaning to him, though, so he's a bit at a loss.] Tell me, curious device, is there any way to disable your incessant blinking?
Third Person Sample: "I'll tell you, but you have to give me your word you'll let me go afterward." The desperate words leaving Hadriana's lips set a fire in Fenris' breast. Watching her, prone on the ground, splayed beneath him, vulnerable, weak, begging him for mercy. The irony of the situation was not lost on the elf.
So many years he'd stood before this woman, eyes down-cast, as she pestered him, berated him, shamed him, called him a filthy knife-ear slave, revoked his meals for days on end for simply breathing out of turn, tormented him at every given opportunity. Here was this woman, this loathsome apprentice blood mage, begging Denarius' loyal servant for mercy. It was laughable, downright comedic in it's utter absurdity. He'd slaughtered every hunter Denarius had sent for him, and now he'd sent his wayward apprentice to capture him where they had failed.
Six years ago, he would have bowed his head, reined in his rebellious tongue, and followed her back to Denarius, a cowed slave once more. Three years on the run, and three more at Hawke's side, had shown him something else, something more. Still, facing this desperate woman who'd tortured him so, his eyes were blind to the future. The past would not rest. It must be destroyed.
He bent low, one hand beside the reclined woman, close enough to feel the hot wind of her panicked breath on his cheek, and uttered, barely a whisper, "I give it."
The frightened Hadriana took what was offered to her. If he was gambling correctly, it would never enter into her mind his intended betrayal. He was far too loyal a product for such treachery. And she sang, just like the mockingbird he knew her to be. He grinned a devilish scowl of triumph as he willed his lyrium brands to life, feeling his body phase out of sync with the world around it. He shoved his hand into her chest, wrapping his hands around her wretched excuse for a heart. Her screams of pain did nothing but fuel his rage as he crushed the life from that thrumming muscle.