This story has been an idea I have been tossing around in my mind for quite some time now. I am very much in love with the Dragon Age universe, and have always had, like so many others, the dream of working in the gaming industry. I combined my passion for both these things to create the story of Kassar, a half-human, half-kossith warrior from a small and remote fishing village in Rivain. In his struggle to find purpose, he is shaped by and will make his mark upon a world deeply immersed in conflict. If you happen across this story in your internet travels, and if you happen to like it, do share it with your friends. It will help me become noticed by... well, somebody (you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, and other five-cent cliches sure to make you groan). With that out of the way, our story begins. Relax and enjoy.
Kassar stood amidst the charred rubble of his home. This sight was of no shock or sadness to him; his home and the village it was in being destroyed one decade ago. It was his choosing to live among the ruins, waiting to be found by the Qunari. Ten years ago, Kassar's home town, a small fishing village in Rivain, was attacked by Tal Vashoth and razed to the ground. This was also the day of Kassar's first kill, despite him being only eight years of age at the time. He remembered clumsily throwing his father's sword, and the dull thud it made as it entered the Tal Vashoth's chest. Both of his parents were killed that night. In fact, he was the only one in the village to survive. One could call it luck, or perhaps the fact that he often went unnoticed. Kassar was a half breed. His mother was Kossith, and his father was Human, a pairing very rarely seen in all parts of Thedas. This always left Kassar as the odd one out amongst the other children, being neither human nor Kossith. Combining this with his disinclination towards social interaction, he was often completely overlooked, despite his unique appearance. Before the night his village was sacked, Kassar was in training to become Karashok - a soldier of the Qun. He received his training sword on his fifth birthday, had used it to duel with other children around his age until three years later. Indeed, Kassar was born a warrior, and fighting was virtually all he knew.
Kassar never left his village after it was destroyed, instead choosing to continue his training. His father's sword was one of the few possessions he had after the raid, and he put it to good use. Kassar would wake up every morning and practice from memory the very blade techniques the Tal Vashoth used to slay his fellow villagers. He mastered them in time, and aimed to use his finesse as proof enough to become Karashok should he ever be found by a Qunari patrol. For ten years he had waited and practised and meditated, until he finally found what he had seeked: purpose.
It was a misty morning, and the gentle ocean breeze swept across Kassar's face. He stood, facing the ocean with the cool wind in his hair as he trained. It wasn't until noon that he spotted three heavy-set silhouettes approaching him on the beach. As they grew nearer Kassar saw that they were Kossith. Kassar initially prepared himself for another attack by Tal Vashoth, but noticed that these figures were different. They walked with a confidence he had not seen in bandits, and were much better equipped than the Tal Vashoth that made their home in the jungle. They grew even closer and Kassar could now see that the men approaching him were Qunari. They wore heavy red leather gloves and the tips of their spears seemed expertly crafted. Their faces and upper torsos were covered in the red war paint of the Ashaad - scouts. The Qunari locked their cold, unflinching gaze upon Kassar as they reached him.
"Shanedan," Kassar greeted them. "I have waited here for-"
"Tal-Vashoth. A lookout, most likely." The apparent leader of the Qunari group said.
"It has not attacked and it has not fled. Why?" Asked another.
"I wish to join the Qun," Kassar said. "I have waited many years for your arrival."
"Parshaara. You are Tal-Vashoth. There is only one way for you to find the Qun." The leader retorted, raising his spear.
"It shows confusion." The third Ashaad said. This was true. Kassar was unsure why the leader of these scouts was showing hostility towards him. He had heard stories of the Qunari and how they would accept anyone who wished to become Viddathari, yet this band of Qunari seemed ready to slay him on the spot.
"I am not Tal-" Kassar was interrupted again before he could explain himself.
"It is a ruse. Vinek kathas." The leader stated.
At that, the three Ashaad readied their spears and attempted to surround Kassar. Instinctively, Kassar drew his sword and immediately pressed the attack. He knew that the moment these three opponents encircled him, he was slain. He swung at the Ashaad nearest him. The scout was unprepared for such a sudden offensive and raised the wooden haft of his spear just in time to catch the blow. Consequently, the spear broke in half. To Kassar's surprise, the scout dropped the broken spear and charged at him with his bare hands, screaming. He had just time enough to raise his sword, impaling the scout. He freed the dying scout from his blade using his foot, and turned to face his two remaining aggressors. The remaining two fell rather easily. The leader of the Ashaad prepared a predictable thrusting strike with his spear. The strike was effortlessly dodged by Kassar, and the leader fell to the sand, his throat cut. The final Ashaad showed his first sign of emotion at that point: shock. This expression quickly subsided and the final scout attacked with even more vigour. After avoiding and parrying a blitz of thrusting strikes from the remaining scout, Kassar sensed an opening and capitalized on it, mortally wounding the scout. The scout lay gasping on the sand for some time, clenching the heavily bleeding wound. Kassar took the scout's spear, and respectfully placed it beside the dying man. The Qunari nodded to him, and the rugged gasping stopped. The shoreline was quiet once more, save the chirping of songbirds and the rolling of the waves, eagerly washing away the ugly crimson stains amidst the sand.
Kassar meditated on the battle and what came before it. The Qunari called him Tal Vashoth, perhaps mistaking Kassar for one of the bandits in the jungle. In truth, Kassar did not know what he was. He was rejected by the Qun, and now had no purpose. The only thing he knew in his life was training and battle. Perhaps, he thought, he was indeed Tal Vashoth. Perhaps the Qunari indeed saw his own lack of purpose and immediately labelled him as the role he most easily fit. After hours of contemplation, Kassar decided it best to prove his theory by seeing if his Tal Vashoth neighbours in the jungle would take him in.
The next morning, Kassar prepared to depart from the ruins of his old home in search of the Tal Vashoth outpost. As he turned to leave, he hesitated, and decided it best to leave his father's sword where it came from. To Kassar, it had become a piece of the ruins, and removing a part from the greater whole seemed inappropriate. Kassar stood in the centre of the ruined village, and plunged the blade deep into the sand. As he looked back at it, the blade glistened radiantly in the sun, a proud monument to all that transpired there the past decade. Kassar couldn't help but feel a sudden pang of sadness. The ruined village and beach were all that he knew, and he understood very well that he might not see neither again.
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