Varric Tethras (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brosbeforeprose) wrote2011-07-10 11:02 am
brosbeforeprose) wrote2011-07-10 11:02 am
Entry tags:
CFUD app
Oh, God, camp, you're spoiling me so much. 97.9% IN
Character: Varricof the noble House Tethras
Series: Dragon Age II
Age:… Err, certainly not camper age.
Job: Resident Storytelling, Information Gathering Dwarf
Canon: Welcome to the world of Thedas – and, more specifically, to the city of Kirkwall. Dragon Age II follows Hawke, who, when the family's home village of Lothering comes under demon attack, flees and ends up over the years becoming the Champion of Kirkwall, and the one constant in a city forever undergoing change. One can only assume that becoming a city’s Champion involves sticking one’s nose into all your requisite social issues, including mage rights, racism against elves, military occupation… and ham-handedly trying to ‘solve’ them. Also, by dragon/demon slaying and generally having gonads the side of melons.
And on that note, enter Varric, our story’s narrator and a companion of Hawke’s. An eager storyteller, Varric is either a prolific liar or merely a little prone to exaggeration depending on who you’re talking to. He may seem at first glance to simply be the layabout, disillusioned younger brother of noted merchant Bartrand Tethras, with whom his relationship is usually rather prickly, but in actuality is the eyes and ears of his brother’s – and later Hawke’s – whole operation in Kirkwall. His time spent boozing and basically gossiping in the local tavern (which he literally lives in) is how he not only knows ‘everyone worth knowing’ in Kirkwall, but also how he knows virtually everything going down at any one time, which is very useful when the family business is the subject of repeated espionage and assassination attempts. His weapons of choice are his beloved crossbow, Bianca, and a sharp-as-knives wit. Although he’d maybe like to pretend his loyalty and friendliness are a veneer over a ~rock hard, cold as ice~ disposition, honestly, he’s a softy.
Note: Andraste is the Thedan religion version of Jesus and the Maker is God. Also – yes, Varric nicknames pretty much everyone.
Sample:
So there I was, knee deep in blood and guts and that… gooey stuff that comes out of a man’s eyeballs when you catch him right in that area, Bianca earning her keep wonderfully, and I don’t mind telling you that the smell of these mercenaries was enough to curl my chest hair. And I lived with Bartrand. I must have downed at least 30 of the thugs and Maker only knows how many more were swarming all around me, but you can bet your last tentacle I wasn’t going to go down without a damned good fight. After all, I couldn’t bear to disappoint…
… Andraste’s enhanced cleavage, Fluffy, if you’re not going to listen, there’s no point in telling the story. And keep those tentacles off the duster while we’re at it. I know it’s difficult – it is made of the finest, most supple leathers in all Thedas – but we’ve all got our burdens. Anyway, to cut a long story needlessly short, here I am in this little refugee camp of Elizabeth Sayre’s entirely against my will. I don’t know that kidnapping random – if brilliant at what they do – dwarves is the way to go about creating the perfect Blight refugee camp. And your actual refugees are looking distinctly worse for wear, I hate to tell you. Next time Serah Sayre tries saving people, pre-death is a good place to start. And if you need me here to tell you that, you’ve got more problems than I can solve.
And on that note, let’s get down to business. When I told Serah Sayre that the first step to knowing every in and out of her little camping project was hiring me, I was drunk. I’m not sure if she noticed this, but I sit in a tavern and tell stories for a living. It’s what I do. I lie. I’m usually drunk when I do it. And until I can convince the good lady that my time is better spent anywhere but here, I’ll be in your local tavern telling stories for a living. I guess if I’m getting paid to do—oh wait, I’m not even getting paid. Wonderful. I can tell why you have to kidnap your staff, Serah, wherever you might be.
And no one has to tell me – I know all about your bartering system and a certain rule involving the F in CFUD, and I’m distinctly unimpressed. You need help. Desperately. The less said about the blighted bartering, the better – I can just imagine my dearest brother’s full blown aneurysm at the very thought – and in the name of the Maker’s left testicle, is it really good business acumen to make a camp and name it after the one thing you can’t do? Just a question – I’m throwing it out there. Someone has to.
Never mind, Fluffy. Given the choice between discussing business with a handsy tentacled creature and a slowly rotting pile of limbs with a one word vocabulary, just give me some nose plugs and I’ll be right over there.
Character: Varric
Series: Dragon Age II
Age:… Err, certainly not camper age.
Job: Resident Storytelling, Information Gathering Dwarf
Canon: Welcome to the world of Thedas – and, more specifically, to the city of Kirkwall. Dragon Age II follows Hawke, who, when the family's home village of Lothering comes under demon attack, flees and ends up over the years becoming the Champion of Kirkwall, and the one constant in a city forever undergoing change. One can only assume that becoming a city’s Champion involves sticking one’s nose into all your requisite social issues, including mage rights, racism against elves, military occupation… and ham-handedly trying to ‘solve’ them. Also, by dragon/demon slaying and generally having gonads the side of melons.
And on that note, enter Varric, our story’s narrator and a companion of Hawke’s. An eager storyteller, Varric is either a prolific liar or merely a little prone to exaggeration depending on who you’re talking to. He may seem at first glance to simply be the layabout, disillusioned younger brother of noted merchant Bartrand Tethras, with whom his relationship is usually rather prickly, but in actuality is the eyes and ears of his brother’s – and later Hawke’s – whole operation in Kirkwall. His time spent boozing and basically gossiping in the local tavern (which he literally lives in) is how he not only knows ‘everyone worth knowing’ in Kirkwall, but also how he knows virtually everything going down at any one time, which is very useful when the family business is the subject of repeated espionage and assassination attempts. His weapons of choice are his beloved crossbow, Bianca, and a sharp-as-knives wit. Although he’d maybe like to pretend his loyalty and friendliness are a veneer over a ~rock hard, cold as ice~ disposition, honestly, he’s a softy.
Note: Andraste is the Thedan religion version of Jesus and the Maker is God. Also – yes, Varric nicknames pretty much everyone.
Sample:
So there I was, knee deep in blood and guts and that… gooey stuff that comes out of a man’s eyeballs when you catch him right in that area, Bianca earning her keep wonderfully, and I don’t mind telling you that the smell of these mercenaries was enough to curl my chest hair. And I lived with Bartrand. I must have downed at least 30 of the thugs and Maker only knows how many more were swarming all around me, but you can bet your last tentacle I wasn’t going to go down without a damned good fight. After all, I couldn’t bear to disappoint…
… Andraste’s enhanced cleavage, Fluffy, if you’re not going to listen, there’s no point in telling the story. And keep those tentacles off the duster while we’re at it. I know it’s difficult – it is made of the finest, most supple leathers in all Thedas – but we’ve all got our burdens. Anyway, to cut a long story needlessly short, here I am in this little refugee camp of Elizabeth Sayre’s entirely against my will. I don’t know that kidnapping random – if brilliant at what they do – dwarves is the way to go about creating the perfect Blight refugee camp. And your actual refugees are looking distinctly worse for wear, I hate to tell you. Next time Serah Sayre tries saving people, pre-death is a good place to start. And if you need me here to tell you that, you’ve got more problems than I can solve.
And on that note, let’s get down to business. When I told Serah Sayre that the first step to knowing every in and out of her little camping project was hiring me, I was drunk. I’m not sure if she noticed this, but I sit in a tavern and tell stories for a living. It’s what I do. I lie. I’m usually drunk when I do it. And until I can convince the good lady that my time is better spent anywhere but here, I’ll be in your local tavern telling stories for a living. I guess if I’m getting paid to do—oh wait, I’m not even getting paid. Wonderful. I can tell why you have to kidnap your staff, Serah, wherever you might be.
And no one has to tell me – I know all about your bartering system and a certain rule involving the F in CFUD, and I’m distinctly unimpressed. You need help. Desperately. The less said about the blighted bartering, the better – I can just imagine my dearest brother’s full blown aneurysm at the very thought – and in the name of the Maker’s left testicle, is it really good business acumen to make a camp and name it after the one thing you can’t do? Just a question – I’m throwing it out there. Someone has to.
Never mind, Fluffy. Given the choice between discussing business with a handsy tentacled creature and a slowly rotting pile of limbs with a one word vocabulary, just give me some nose plugs and I’ll be right over there.