Dragon Age: The Beginning of Something...

In a time where entire villages are wiped out, and a new, dark and bloody Blight threatened to engulf Fereldan, perhaps the world; men and women try to keep living, and heroes rise and fall.

But few are remembered.

Some don't even realise that they are heroes.
A man pulls a child from the path of a rampaging cart, and he claims he did what any-one would.

Equally, some turn to the darkness that lurks in us all.
Another mage turns to blood-magic when cornered, knowing that only Tranquility awaits them.

This is the world I present you with.

An intricate tapestry of thousands of millions of stories, of lives.

We shall focus on but four strands for starters, four more unsung heroes of Fereldan.

The first is a man, handsome, 6ft and broad, tanned skin with dark chocolate eyes and neatly parted shaggy hair the colour of rust, or leaves that are about to fall in late Autumn, it blazes in the summer sun.
A friendly smile always waiting to shine upon another good soul.
Heavy steel armour, a large golden sword laying across his back, he holds himself with pride. Imposing though he may be, Markus is a caring man, all concern and sympathy.

Though he seems just another warrior; this is Markus Tiberius Orwell Valen, son of the old King Maric's  Captain of the Guard, he lived in silk and luxury 'till Markus left home intending to find his purpose against his fading father's commands of responsibility.
Not that he advertises his background.

This strand first connects to an elf.
He is far different in appearance from his blood-brother.
Long shoulder-length jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail, dark green eyes scanning everything. His face more angular and thinner than Markus' square jawline, his elvish high cheekbones more prominent. He is shorter too, and has an incredibly pale complexion. His body is taught, thin, and lithe, much like the bowstring on his back.
Much like Markus, Silas Belstram Morgan left his Clan to explore the world, and quickly decided to right any wrongs he saw.

In this way, he discovered Markus and never left his side.

Later they found a Mage and her Mabari.

She was fighting off a wave of darkspawn and then, once aided, healed as many town-folk as she could.
She called herself Rose.
She was younger than them, just, with pale olive skin, hazel eyes and loose curly brunette hair.She wore strange old, dark blue ragged robes and had a lightly-coloured wood staff, carved...or....burned, it more looked like, with strange dark symbols. This dangerous look was a stark contrast to her shyness and innocent-looking face.
It became apparent that she was an apostate, but refused to talk of her background, or even her last name- not that she had even given her real name in the first place.

Not that you could blame her, if you knew as I do what had happened to her.

She asked if she could join, the boys were not certain at first, though happy and kind-hearted as she seemed, she was, at the end of the day, an apostate.

Then there was the looks of her Mabari.

Tank is a monster of a Mabari, huge by any sort of measurements.
He stays at his Mistress' heels at all times, fending off enemies that get too close. He is light brown, as many others, and has a large black leather collar, with blunt square studs decorating it. On his right haunch his fur is slightly thinner, and a darker brown where a mage tried to poison him. White kaddis whorls in intricate swirls over his body. Highly intelligent but silent, he is Rose's guardian, or so she says.

Later this odd group met a ruthless mercenary, calling herself nothing but "Madam Grey".

Never has the term "dangerously beautiful" ever applied more adequately. The same height as Silas, she was toned to perfection, large breasts held in my her steel/leather light armour, full lips in a constant scowl, her grey eyes full of distrust with a look that basically said "try anything and I will kill you".

From the way her taut body stood militarily tall, the way she crossed her arms whenever she stood still, to the slight tilt of her head and unwavering gaze into your eyes, even when the enemy was taller than her,  it seemed like she was sizing you up; the result was always the same.

She could take you.

Her ebony hair was tied back into a high ponytail, her cut-short fringe swept to the side, her pale skin as flawless as porcelain.  Her face was shorter than the mage's, with more pronounced cheekbones, but she had thinner hips. A black tattoo stretched like eyeliner from the corner of her left eye - the opposite to where her fringe was- and swirled down her cheek, then down to underside her ear where it disappeared from view.

A curved sword lay on her back, next to a wicked-looking, jagged, red dagger.

She, for some unspoken reason, decided to join the group.

These are heroes, from rich pasts or dark pasts, they will find their way in a cold and unfriendly World.

And they will save thousands.