Kirk Tabris

Kirk was numb, numb from head to foot, for that was all he could afford to be; flames licked at his body from every direction , streets stained red with the blood of innocents, the horde ever  marching unto Denerim, their numbers never thinning no matter how many were cut down. If the blonde elf were to be anything but numb he feared the carnage, already grown plump and greedy, would swallow him whole; he needed to stay calm, numb, unstoppable, he had to stop the Horde, he had to stop the Archdemon, anything less than the total accomplishment of this and every goal he had worked towards would be in vain, all that he cherished would be consumed and he would, undoubtedly, be dead.

“Must you look so sullen; shouldn’t you be leading the charge with a stiff upper lip?”

“How would you know Shale, you don’t even have lips” responded Kirk in a dull tone as Shale threw a Hurlock to the ground and broke its spine with a stomp. Although numbness was what he sought for this battle, it was not why he felt it; his spark of rage and violence was gone. Somehow, no matter how he reached out to that abominable power deep inside him, it would not surface; and that worried him more than any darkspawn that currently challenged him. His ace in the hole, that which disgusted him in principle but empowered him in reality, without that, he was just an elf in some armor with a bow.

“Oh fine, pick out the squishy flaws I lack if it makes you feel better” huffed the golem, Kirk quickly turning to give her an apologetic look, he hadn’t meant to snap at her. It was an outburst of frustration and not searing rage, not that which defined his victories.  Shale seemed to accept Kirk’s apology as a rocky rumble crept from her throat as she moved forward to confront the latest wave of darkspawn pouring back out from the city they had just entered and violated. The blight-infected bodies of Denerim’s invaders were cast aside by Shale’s mighty swings, just sacks of meat before the golem’s stony strength.

Kirk loosed an arrow at a darkspawn that emerged from behind some flaming rubble, seeking to flank Zevran who was otherwise occupied with two genlocks that had already attacked him. As it always did, Kirk’s arrow struck true, piercing the foul creature’s throat, the beast dropping to the ground gasping for air, its’ wind-pipe sundered, blood now beginning to flow into it. Not dead, but as good as dead.

Zevran stomped his heel into the stomach of one genlock knocking it backwards as he deftly dodged the other’s attack with a quick step before lunging in and lacerating its chest with a series of rapid stabs from his daggers, ending the beast with a final stab to the throat. The genlock he had knocked back seeking to kill the elf charged at Zevran but was quickly cleaved in two by Sten’s mighty blade, the qunari having erupted onto the scene, protecting Zevran with his vigilance out of orders rather than his own desire.

Even the implacable emotions of Sten were contorted into something unrecognizable, a passion of duty and Kirk knew that his numbness would not do. It had been rage that powered his Reaver abilities, not a feigned ferocity oozed through numb skin; it was pure and unbridled. Coldness would not see him victory; passion would. With a shout Kirk snapped from his distance and loosed an arrow with all the strength he could muster, the speeding projectile closing the distance between he and his target in an instant, burying deep in its shoulder, the monster roaring in agony as a swarm of summoned insects spilled from Wynne’s glowing staff tip, swallowing the creature in a cloud of tearing and stinging mandibles. His allies at his side, Kirk, charged to reclaim the gate, their first step to reclaiming Denerim from the darkspawn, from the Archdemon. They were going to reclaim his city.