[Moku]

Zur Veröffentlichung von Asunder organisiert BioWare den Creative Writing Wettbewerb.

Der eingesendete Beitrag soll eine Kurzgeschichte aus der Sicht eines Magiers oder Templers beschreiben und muss auf Englisch verfasst sein. Das fertige Skript schickt ihr dann an community@bioware.com unter Angabe eures BSN Namens. Ein Teil der Geschichte (50-100 Wörter) soll in diesen Thread gepostet werden.

Die Einsendungen sollen eigens verfasste, unveröffentliche Werke sein und 2500 Wörter nicht überschreiten. Eingesendet werden darf nur eine Geschichte, die keine expliziten sexuellen Handlungen oder übertriebende Gewalt beinhalten.

Eure Geschichte wird beurteilt nach Originalität, Verständnis und Respekt für geistiges Eigentum, Schreibstil, Grammatik und Rechtschreibung und entsprechend der gesetzten Parameter des Dragon Age Universums.


Die Kurzgeschichten können bis zum 10.01.2012 eingereicht werden.

Das Community Team sucht sich aus den EInsendungen die fünf besten Beiträge raus. Die Gewinner bekommen ein Exemplar von Dragon Age Asunder, signiert von David Gaider - der selbst die fünf besten Beiträge lesen wird und sich daraus den seiner Meinung nach besten Text auswählt. Dieser Gewinner bekommt eine Rehe von Produkten der Razor Dragon Age II Linie: Keyboard, Maus, Mauspad etc. Der Gewinner wird ebenfalls zu einer privaten Skype Q&A Verabredung mit David Gaider eingeladen.


News auf der Hauptseite

[Moku]

Ich werd definitiv mitmachen. Das wird sicherlich Spaß machen.

[Codebreaker]

ich würde auch mitmachen wenn mein englisch nicht so schlecht wäre

[Moku]

ich würde auch mitmachen wenn mein englisch nicht so schlecht wäre

Ich könnt Korrekturlesen bei dir.

[Codebreaker]

Ich könnt Korrekturlesen bei dir.

das will ich dir aber nicht antun
meine Englischlehrerinnen taten mir auch immer leid

[Moku]

Meinst das wird so schlimm? Aber du kannst es ja trotzdem mal versuchen, auch wenn du es nicht abschickst ist das sicherlich ne gute Erfahrung für dich und dein Englisch.

[Reding]

Ohhhhh ich würde so gerne mitmachen.
Habe eigentlich die besten voraussetzungen.
Ich kann nette Geschichten schreiben, mein englisch ist ziemlich gut und ich habe einen Englischlehrer zuhause.

Aber da ich weiß, dass ich null chancen habe, lasse ich es gleich sein
Denn in den weiten des Internets gibt es soooo viele talentierte schreiberlinge, die übertrumpen mich zu 1.000%

[Xallan]

Mal nicht so bescheiden!

[Gleichgewicht]

ich würde auch mitmachen wenn mein englisch nicht so schlecht wäre

Daran mangelt es bei mir auch. Für Urlaub oder als business english alles kein Problem, aber bei meinen Geschichten soll Gefühl mit reinfließen. Nach den ersten Passagen sollen die Charaktere die Geschichte in die Hand nehmen und ich sehe einfach nur zu, dass ich mit der Tastatur nachkomme. Da würde auch kein Korrektur-Lesen helfen.

[Fawks]

Ich will auch mitmachen. Mein Englischstudium muss sich ja irgendwie auszahlen

Aber gibts irgendwelche Vorschriften, was darin vorkommen muss? Ich hab die bpcher nämlich alle nicht gelesen...

[Moku]

Der eingesendete Beitrag soll eine Kurzgeschichte aus der Sicht eines Magiers oder Templers beschreiben und muss auf Englisch verfasst sein.

Mehr stand dazu nicht. Und wenn du eben nur die Spiele kennst und nicht die Bücher ist das doch auch egal. Solange du nicht plötzlich Transformer und Handys einbaust, sollte das okay sein.

[AeiaCarol]

Solange du nicht plötzlich Transformer und Handys einbaust, sollte das okay sein.

Ach mist...Dabei war ich fast fertig...

...

Ich würde auch gern mittippseln, aber das Englisch - Jedenfalls für solche Zwecke...Hm...

[Moku]

Man kann ja mal anfragen, ob die einen auf Deutsch machen. Gibt bestimmt einige, die da mitmachen würden.

[Fawks]

So, meine Geschichte ist in der Rohfassung fertig.

Leider habe ich statt 2500 nun 3200 Wörter. Muss also noch kürzen. Wenn jemand Interesse hat, sie zu lesen, poste ich nen Link.
Muss auf jeden fall noch einiges daran basteln.

[Moku]

Ich lese sie mir gern durch.

Meine ist erst 1000 Wörter lang, mir fehlt noch das passende Ende. Ist gut, dass die noch so kurz ist, den Rohfassungen werden bei mir noch immens ausgebaut.

[Moku]

Die Wettbewerbsbeiträge dürfen nach dem Zehnten veröffentlicht werden, weshalb ich meine Story hier poste, sollte sich jemand dafür intressieren. Sollte noch jemand an dem Wettbewerb teilgenommen haben, ist er gern eingeladen, ebenfalls seine Geschichte hier zu veröffentlichen.

Ich habe zwei Fehler entdeckt. Sagt mir nicht, solltet ihr noch mehr finden, sonst bin ich nur nervös.

Penitence
By ColorMeSuprised

It soon dawned on you.
It wasn’t the killing they enjoyed.
It was the fear.

You first noticed when you were patrolling the gallows. There was something you couldn’t define. Something surging through your body, making your fingertips tingle, making your pace more forceful, making your lips widen in a cold smile.
It happened when the mages averted their gazes, shied away and every step of you made them retreat, pressing themselves even closer to the wall.
Like an animal on the prowl. Like a beast on the hunt.
Wasn’t it mind blowing?
This overwhelming sense of power?
You noticed, right?
You were becoming like them.

So when did it start?
It was when you were just a recruit and they took you with them. It was about your eyes. The eyes of a wild beast, they told you. Vitriolic, unrestrained, anxious. They liked you.
You were like them.
You were afraid they were right.
But you still followed them, didn’t even think about disobeying, new as you were, looking for attention and praise, did everything they asked you to do, did everything you thought they wanted you to do, never enjoying just doing like a dull weapon – oh how you wanted to be lauded.
Tossed on the street, both parents dead, it wasn’t like you to seek affection. But there was something about these men, something that intrigued you. After so many years of emotionally starving yourself, it felt like you had a family again; friends you could share laughter, meals and silly stories with, friends you could trust and rely on. They accepted you as you were; ambitious, a tad too willful, determined, strong.
They treated you like a little sister, so precious, so dear; taught you how to fight and how to keep your stance, praised your natural born grace and talent.
It was addictive.

So… why did it change?

How could this bond break apart so easily?

Did it start with the hunt?
Your first runaway mage?
You were excited, though you couldn’t admit it. They trusted you to help hunting down a mage. But something wasn’t right. There was this obscure feeling of presentiment, hard to define. Someone was watching you. Someone was whispering your name.
A big hand on your shoulder and a reassuring smile had to calm you down.
But something was wrong.

The instructions were clear.
Find that mage and bring her back. If she resists, use force.
The groups soon parted ways. You were allowed to stay with your friends on this.
It wasn’t long until you finally found her, a sense of accomplishment.
And there she was.
A girl, younger than you, short brown hair in a mess, clothes dirtied, her eyes tearful, her face fearful.
Do you remember?
Do you remember her screaming, when the men you so admired encircled her?
She didn’t fight back, her body shivering as she tried to hide. You thought your job was done. But your friends kept laughing, relishing
They could have killed her.
They could have taken her back to the gallows.
But they did not.
You knew why.
Because the yelling was encouraging.
Because the hunt was so much more thrilling.
Because they weren’t allowed to touch, but now they could.
Because the cold air was numbing their fingers, but her flesh made them feel again.
Because her lips tasted like anguish and her body like agony.
You stared at them, unable to walk, unable to look away, unable to comprehend. Your thoughts were running in inconceiveable circles.
As the heavy smell of blood reached your nostriles, you vomited on your boots.
You didn’t care.
They laughed at you. Told you, you would get used to the stench. You threw up more, your eyes burning, your body hurting and they helped you get back, one of them supporting your rigid body, whispering that you were not allowed to tell, that you had to keep silent, had to attest she was fighting back.

Do you still wake up, screaming and crying and kicking and regretting?
They were your friends, your brothers, your mentors, your confidents, your supporters. The only thing left in this dark, disgusting world.
How could they?
How could you?
You had been blind to their hatred, their beasts within, even though you had smelled the decay and frenzy. You should have known. Inflicting fear wasn’t enough to these man. They wanted not only the smell but the taste.
And you were asking yourself of what color were your eyes that they thought you were the same? What behemoth was living deep inside your soul? What rotten desire made them get close to you?
It was disgusting.

Alrik was wrong.
You weren’t like them.

But you were.
For the mages you were.

You noticed, while patrolling the gallows.
There was Ser Lori, amiably chatting with an older elven mage. She was actually smiling.
There was Ser Roderick, walking by a group of mages and they only so much as nodded at him in greeting before they turned back to their conversation.
There was Ser Darian, playing with the little children and making them laugh while imitating a scary dragon.
And there was Alrik, walking towards you.
The smile fell of the elven mages lips as he passed by. The group followed his every step with watchful eyes. The children tried to hide behind the older templar, who pressed his lips together as he acknowledge his superior with a short nod.
Oh, how could you have been so blind?
It wasn’t the templars these mages feared.
It was Alrik.
It was you.

But Alrik only so much as smirked at you as he padded your shoulder and told you how well you did, how he knew you wouldn’t disappoint him, when Knight-Commander Guylian would call for you.
Did you feel them?
These hateful stares burning you?
You did, didn’t you?
There is no need to be ashamed, he whispered to you, as you lowered your gaze. You did fine.
Alrik was fond of you.
And you were disgusted with yourself.

But still, you didn’t dare to betray, who cherished you this much. You couldn’t turn your back on those that treasured you the most.
As Guylian asked for you, you repeated everything the friends had told you. Word by word. Emotionless. It must have sounded like rehearsed. You were mumbling about the mage trying to fight back. That you had seen her trying to slit her wrist. That all you could do was to kill her before she killed you.
You were a coward.

And so you returned back to friends, who behaved like nothing had happened, who could share laughter, meals and silly stories, friends who trusted and relied on each other.
The food tasted like nothing.
Insipid.

Weeks later another mage escaped.
And there it was again. This feeling of arbitrary dread.
You weren’t in the same group as the friends.
And you had lost contact with your group.
But they didn’t care about you. After all you were one of them.
Your feet became heavy, your body was struggling with just lifting your arm. So you couldn’t keep up with the others and you felt so tired and scared and strained. However you were listening expectantly into the air, awaiting appalling screams. The escapee had been a man, but it seemed a woman had helped him.
Your boots left heavy prints in the muddy soil, your breath was coming in short gasps. You had been running around for a while, looking for your group, for Alrik’s group, for the escaped mage, for anyone.
It was then, as you rested to catch your breath, that you heard hushed voices and as you turned around, you could see them, the moonlight illuminating their dark silhouettes.
A man and a woman – no, a girl.
You didn’t recognize the girl as one of the mages of the tower. Her demeanor screamed spoiled rich kid, as well.
The mage spotted you.
Your sword was drawn before you even thought about it.
It was not your intention to kill or torture them. You would bring them back to the gallows, where they had to repent for their sins. Guylian should decide how to handle them.
But before you could say a word, the man attacked you.
You were taken aback, you screamed he should stop as you tried to block his spells.
That you wouldn’t lay a finger on them, if they would quietly follow you.
Who would believe Alrik’s pet?
The words made you freeze and his fireball hit you with full force, loosing grip of your sword. You could smell your own burning hair. And the mage was fast. So much faster than anyone you had to fight before. Ignoring the pain in your shoulder you got back on your knees, fumbling for your sword.
What did he say?
You bit your lower lip, hard, angry.
You were not Alrik’s pet.
You weren’t.
You were not like them.
I am not!
You screamed, dashing at the mage. Everything was a blur for you. Pain strained your body. Tears were running down your cheek. Your lips tasted of salt and blood – Alrik would have loved that taste.
But why did his words sting more than the pain?
Why did these words fill you with so much anger?
In a moment he stared at you, in the next you had him pinned down, your sword on his throat, your hand gripping his robe, almost tearing it.
I am not like them! I am not!
He blinked.
There was no fear in his eyes.
Your tears dripped on his cheek and he looked up, meeting your gaze.
I will not hurt you. I will take you back to the gallows. I will not hurt you!
You won’t? His voice was of a pleasant bariton. It was not shaking. He was calm. Why?
No. Your grip on his clothes loosened. Will you follow me?
He nodded and the girl was crying out her hideout. You removed your sword, slowly, watching his face.
I wonder, he suddenly spoke up as you were about to get up, his hand lightly touching your knee and you felt something shaking beneath you. Didn’t Alrik teach you to never trust a mage?
Crushing pain hit your body as your knee was shattered by stones and you were pushed of the man. As he stood up, he picked your sword off the ground and then leaned over you, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
With one foot on your ribcage, he pushed you down.
You are. You could hardly process the words, you saw merely blurred specter, your brain clouded by pain. A monster just like them. You opened your mouth, to breath, to protest, to rectify, to - you didn’t know what. But nothing passed your lips. He shifted his weight. Like he wanted to break your bones. To redeem, why don’t you burn? He continued, spiteful. Just like your beloved Andraste?
Before you could even comprehend, the mage left and fire was all around you. Your armor intended as protection became a trap, burning your flesh. You tried to move your body, to get away, but your strength had almost left you, your body didn’t listen to your thoughts.
In your mind, you were clawing your fingernails into your soil, heaved your body out of the center of the fire, coughing and hurt but alive.
You were not allowed to die, you thought.
There was so much you regretted, so much you had to atone for.

But you layed there.
Still.
Curled up.
As the flames raged around you.

Oh but how fortunate you were.
The Maker had been smiling upon you on that faithful night.
You woke up in your chambers, Alrik by your side, treating your wounds. A healer close to him.
You were saved by magic you wanted to destroy.
Saved by the man you learned to despise.
But were given a second chance.

Now, a lifetime later, standing in front of your Maker, do tell me:
Did you use it?
Your second chance?
Did you atone for your sins?
Did you, Meredith?

Words: 2032

Die Kurzgeschichte basiert nur auf die Spiele, nicht auf die Bücher.

[Fawks]

Dann poste ich hier auch mal meine Geschichte. Und mist, ich merke gerade, ich hab die Wortzahl nicht mitangegeben - sollte man das?

Ich hoffe mal, es sind keine Fehler mehr darin, aber wie ich mich kenne, sind sie es doch...

---

Walking the thin line


Jon stares down a road of white plates, glittering in the evening sun. He's all alone, those plates lead straight into the horizon. There are no trees, no flowers, no grass, no mountains. Only a plane, stretching into all directions. A great vastness unfolds in front of Jon's eyes.

Where in the maker's name am I? Doesn't seem like a mission with a real goal... I wonder where I'll end up.

Somehow, Jon feels like knowing the answer already. I'll end up knowing my destiny. I'll end up being able to separate good from evil. Wow, when did I become such a philosopher?

He follows the white, shining tiles on the floor. The tiles are embedded in some kind of dark sand, showing a sharp contrast, like black and white.
After a little while, Jon finds himself facing the entrance of three high-reaching walls. They're white, as light as the tiles on the floor and they seem to be made of the same material. The wall in the center separates the two different gangways, that seem to pop up right in front of him. Without hesitating, Jon chooses the right one. He follows the white tiles, marching through this narrow lane. He feels caged, once again. His shoulders touch the bright walls everytime he doesn't focus on the tiles he sets his foot on. It feels awkward. He doesn't even know where he is. And he never heard of gangways appearing right in front of humans. His thoughts seem to slip away from him – he can't get a hold of them. He can't concentrate any more …

Remy. She is the only thing that reminds him of where he comes from. Once upon a time, he lived with his parents in Denerim, the capital of Ferelden. At the age of five, he was brought to the Circle. He never heard from his parents again. And now?

Now I'm locked up in a cage called Circle of Magi, somewhere in the center of Ferelden and have to defend myself for being what I am. It's just unfair.



The tiles under his feet begin to change their color. From the shining, clear white to a dusty yellow, changing into a light orange, which darkens and blackens by the second, until he finds himself standing on red tiles, as red as blood. In astonishment, he kneels down and touches one of the tiles. It feels warm, silky, almost fluid. It's a wonderful feeling. He wants to lay down on this tile, he never wants to miss its magnificent touch on his skin, he imagines taking a bath in this substance.

"You can do it. You can have it. I can give it to you." Jon jumps in shock, almost tripping and catches himself by clutching to the wall ... whose color faded into a soft orange tone. Oh no ...

"Don't be afraid. You seek confidence. You seek a solution with the templars. Give me permission over your body and you shall have it. You shall have all you desire. I mean it. Everything. No conditions - only your body in your world for me. Grant me shelter."

"I - won't bargain with demons! Those agreements always fail in the end. You won't get me that way!" Stubbornly, Jon shakes his head. He feels anger rising in him, anger for that creature, that manifests right in front of him. He never saw a demon before, and it doesn't seem like a demon at all. In fact, he thinks, he knows this person ... long, blond hair, falling on the back and curling near the end, a light blue robe ...
"Those agreements, as you call them, fail, because you humans are way too insecure. You are stronger than others. You don't crumble in fear of - let's say - challenges. I ask no more of you than your body in the world of the mortals. You will have full control and I will be no more than a voice, subconsciously speaking to your mind." The demon begins to turn, slowly, moving so softly as if there were no gravity, no time ...

"Remember, I can give you anything. Even her." Now, that the demon's turn is completed, Jon stares at it in blank amazement. He knows this person, he knows the person, the demon uses now to seduce him. I must not give in. I just must not do it. What would she say?

He scribbles a note on a piece of parchment, checking it twice, and carefully closing the book.
Getting up, he puts it back on the shelves, squeezing it in between two other big books.

"Jon, do you have a moment?" Jon recognizes that voice immediately.
"Sure, Remy, what's up?" With a last struggle he pushes the book back into its place, then turning with a broad smile to face Remy.
As she caught his gaze, she returns his smile, but not as broadly by far. Much more bitterly. "Hey, what's wrong?" In a friendly gesture, Jon places his arm around Remy's shoulders.
"You're always getting yourself into trouble. I heard Commander Hector questioning Edmund and some others where you were last afternoon. Have you - You promised you wouldn't do anything forbidden. You did!" Her voice raises until she's almost screaming.
"Calm down, Remy! Come on, let's go a few steps." Rather pulling than guiding Remy out of the library, Jon takes her up the stairs into an empty hallway and moves towards his room.
"Listen, I didn't do anything wrong. I... went down the gardens."
Remy's long blond hair is blown over her shoulder as she shakes her head in anger. "Stop it! Stop lying! You saw Alina, didn't you!"
"I - it was rather - coincidence. She was hiding down there. The templars found her and she ... she did blood magic. She killed two of the them. The last one was one too much for her."
"How could you even say that?! What she did was wrong, Jon, completely wrong! Imagine what the templars would have done with you, had they spotted you there!"
"Well, they didn't. But there was no proof of me doing anything wrong, Remy! I never slit my limbs in order to protect me - although sometimes I would certainly like to...!"
"Shut it!" Remy's blue eyes resembled lightning. "That's just what the templars want us to say. So they have a reason to tranquilize. You have to stay calm. You promised me, you would. I couldn't get Alina out of there anymore. I had to help Ron, as he also believed that blood magic is slightly more than loosing few red drops and casting more spells than usually. The templars almost found him. And now there you go. Telling me that you'd try it, too. Maker, who do you think I am?! The 'I-feel-pity-for-every-one"-saviour? Damn it!"
During her speech, her gestures grew stronger and her voice carries all the anger she has. Now, she sits down on the bed, a single tear pouring from her eye. "You're destroying yourself. As are the others. Why do I still care..."
Jon kneels beside Remy, stroking away the tear from his friend's almost red face, he can feel the heat rushing through her body.
"Because you know that we're right. We're mages, and we should be allowed to do magic. In order to serve humanity, sure, not to gain power. The templars only seek more power themselves. They aren't allowed to... torture us the way they do."
"But they're not as dangerous as we might be. They're right to protect themselves and all the others from us. Look at what Alina did. That's exactly what we're just cannot do!"
"She did that because she felt threatened. You can't blame her for ..."
"Yes, I can! And so I do!" She takes a very deep breath. "Just obey the templars. If everyone does so, soon they won't have any reason left to tranquilize us. Do it for me."
"Maker, you're not afraid of using your... influence, are you." The young mage smirks as Remy's mouth twitches. "No, I don't. Not as long as I care so much."

The demon with Remy's appearance stands right in front of Jon, that slim figure, some inches smaller than himself, gazing into his eyes - he even recognizes those blue pupils of hers. He reaches out for her arm, for her hand, he has to know whether it could be her after all, his fingers approach her robe, his arm seems to stretch out in complete desasperation, his mind is possessed by the thought of touching her, he's sweating blood and water, his heart was in his mouth. What am I doing?! I can't touch her - she's not here - it's only ...

His heart missed a beat. With all his strength, he pulled his arm aside, with the full power of his body, he smashed himself against the wall, out of the reach of that demon. His head bangs the massive wall, for a moment he can't see a thing through the blackness in front of his eyes.
As his view begins to lighten and to clear, the walls are gone, only the red-shining tiles remained on the floor. Something in his head tells him to speak out loud.
He feels like being pushed to finally realize what is going on here.

Slowly, very slowly, he gets to his feet, placing them on the blood-red tile. "I cannot have her, demon, and neither can you. No one can break a free will."
With a sudden noise of rumbling, all the tiles in front of him turn as red as the one he's standing on, and they begin shining like a string of lights. Jon's eyes follow the path unwinding in front of him in two colors - red and white, crossing and apparently melting from time to time, forming a maze directly to his feet. Slowly he recalls everything that has happened. And finally he begins to remember where he is and how he got here.


"Where have you been?" A harsh voice makes Jon turn on the spot.
"Er... huh?" is his only answer. Wonderful. I'm such a fool...
"I want to know where you spent the last two hours!" First Enchanter Edmund is approaching Jon step by step. "Don't you see? We have to do as we were asked by the templars. They are more powerful."
Jon is about to raise his eye-brows sarcastically, but doing this in front of the First Enchanter would not be a sign of respect - on the contrary.
"With all due respect, First Enchanter, they aren't more powerful than us. They use questionable methods in order to scare us, to make us obey. How can we let that happen?"
Edmund's old, wise face turns into a mask of grief. "Because we ought to. I'm sorry, son. But magic is much more evil than you can imagine." He sighs. "Now, follow me, please. You'll understand what I mean in due course."
"I don't -"
"Come on." Without any other remark, Edmund turns his back on Jon, leaving the hall with great steps. Jon hustles right behind him. Together they enter a great hall, and by crossing it, they walk right into Ser Hector's quarter. There's not much furniture in there, a bed, a desk and a chair, as well as a cupboard facing the door side. Looking around, Jon realizes many pieces of armor, tidily put up on their hall stand.

"Jonathan. We'll send you on a mission." First Enchanter Edmund stares at him with his stern gaze.
"Yes, First Enchanter. I'll do what ever you wish."
"This is not about what I wish, Jonathan. This is about what has to be done." He nods towards the doorstep, where a templar appears, all of a sudden. Jon whirls around in shock, but can still control himself.
"Ser Hector! I - forgive me." Jon bows quickly. "You just gave me a shock."
"Shocked - even though you say, you are a righteous mage? That is ... alerting. However, I agreed to send you on this mission. It is a simple task and your way of handling it will show your ... condition. You're consciousness about magic and it's dangers. Off you go."
"But what should I - " "You will see in time, Jonathan." Edmund guides him to a magic portal which suddenly appears on the left wall and gives him quick nod. "Trust your feelings."

All of a sudden, he faces Remy, the blond mage woman, right in front of him. Without being able to move, he feels her hugging him, her arms slung around his neck and he feels their bodies fade - fade into nothing .. and come crashing on the hard stone floor.

Remy gets up quickly and helps Jon stagger to his feet. She beams at him in plain happiness.
"You got it! I'm so ... relieved!"
"I just wondered ... nothing good can come from evil. It didn't make sense at all ... well, it did in the beginning."

"Jon, at first you were yourself. Remember the entrance? You chose on instinct which way to take."
"Yes, I did. And? So what?"

"That shows your reflexion on your every-day doing, Jonathan." The First Enchanter had opened the door to Jon's room quietly and now enters, accompanied by Hector, the templar, whose armor covers every single limb, including his face.
"You don't reflect, you act habitually. This is what makes mages believe, they're superior to everyone. We have been given an honor, and we have to respect it. Never must we get used to the magic power, it is a burden rather than a present. By acting on intuition, you give way to demons."

Now, things begin to make sense for Jon. The white tiles, the red tiles, the appearance of the demon who knew his unspoken wishes. He realizes, how narrowly he passed the test - or did he?
"So I ... passed this mission? The test?"
"This was no test, Jonathan. The mission was to show you your way if you keep going at that level, with that pace. You saw what is about to come. Now it's your turn to react. You have everything you need." Ser Hector directed these words at him, turning deadly on the spot and leaving the chamber in a hurry.

"Good luck, Jonathan. May the Maker guide your way." With a light bow, the First Enchanter takes his leave and disappears.

And once again, Jon finds himself in the arms of Remy, hugging her so badly as if he hadn't seen her in ages. "Thank you, Remedios."


---

Die Geschichte basiert generell auf der DA-Welt, aber man muss weder irgendein Buch gelesen, noch DA Awakening oder DA II gespielt haben, um es zu verstehen.

[Jhonson]

Das Spiel ist vorbei und die Gewinner stehen fest KLICK

Klasse Moku

[Emerahl]

Das Spiel ist vorbei und die Gewinner stehen fest KLICK

Klasse Moku

Herzlichen Glückwunsch Moku

[Codebreaker]

Großes Lob an Moku