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The group of Wardens who had agreed to conscript Tythius was a particularly efficient bunch who took no detours and hardly any rest stops. They had secured passage across the Waking Sea by virtue of a merchant's appreciation for the Gray Wardens and his hasty offer of assistance to their cause despite the Gray Warden treaties not officially taking effect until a Blight was truly upon Thedas. Tythius had ended up on the receiving end of the merchant's doting praise, the man particularly impressed by a spritely lad willing to give up his life for the good of Thedas. Little did he know Tythius's motivation was less for Thedas and more for himself--war heroes were only heroes when they killed the right people or monsters, and while Tythius had no intention of aiming for such overrated glory, he did understand that picking off nobodies and useless nobles in Ferelden for the rest of his life was a pathetic way to live in the days before a potential Blight. In the end, he just wanted to be remembered by someone, anyone, and what better way to start than to be a Gray Warden?

While the merchant had had no business in Cumberland, he had gone the extra mile for his Warden guests and had berthed at Val Chevin first, despite that city being the last stop on his trading route through Orlais. They had parted there after exchanging coin for several of the merchant's hardier supplies--dried and salted meat, sturdy metal canteens of water, and various blankets and bedrolls for the trip north to Cumberland. From Val Chevin, the group had simply followed the coast northeast until they had stopped in the sprawling city outskirts, already bustling with activity from trading ships docking at and setting off from the fortified piers. The gathering of the Gray did nothing to help the congestion of human traffic in the famous port city which served as one of few major trading posts between Nevarra and its southern neighbors. Recent Nevarran expansion into the Imperium had only heightened the liveliness of the city and there were signs of massive expansion projects all around its outskirts.

Tythius had whistled in amazement at the level of activity in the city, a stark contrast from the dwindling stupor that remained of Ferelden's glory days. The sound had surprised a few of his Warden escorts, simply because no noise had emitted from his mouth the entire time he had traveled with them. He had grinned in response, flicking his hand up and down in an apologetic manner for startling them. 

When the group had finally arrived at the Warden outpost on the edge of the city, his Warden escorts had dispersed to any unoccupied room in the fortress, leaving him with the group's leader, a middle-aged Orlesian man by the name of Aldrich Bertrand who had been the first to realize that Tythius couldn't speak.

"Communication is key in battle, boy," the man had addressed him, watching as Tythius looked around the central hall of the outpost, marking all potential exits in his head in case something went terribly wrong here. "You're not the first mute we've recruited, and you certainly won't be the last, but you need to take extra consideration in combat for your position and risk factors. Since you can neither call for help nor warn an ally of danger, you need to find a way to change that."

At that, Tythius had turned around, a smirk on his face as he had tugged at a thin leather strap hanging around his neck, pulling it out of his shirt to reveal a small silver flute with only three holes. He had played a few simple melodies before simply blowing air straight through the miniature instrument, emitting a very noticeable high-pitched keening. As further explanation, he had kept the flute in his mouth and pantomimed shooting a rifle, stepping swiftly left and right as if he were dodging shots aimed at him. With a dramatic collapse to the ground, he had grabbed his waist in feigned agony, blowing on the flute so hard the Wardens nearby had to cover their ears and had turned to see what the commotion was about. 

"All right, that's--" Aldrich had tried to put a stop to the little show, but Tythius had held up a hand, curling the rest of his fingers down until he had only one finger in the air. One more demonstration.

With a throwing motion, he had pretended to discard the flute, following up with a horrified expression as he had stared at something behind Aldrich, hands scrambling for the flute on his chest only to come up with nothing (a situation he had made clear by raising both hands and shaking them). Pointing a sudden finger in the air with a dawning look of realization on his face, he had whipped out a few elemental mines from a small satchel tied to his belt, pretending to violently throw them to the ground in a sweeping motion of his arm while never actually letting go of the explosives. Grinning at Aldrich, he had waggled his fingers rapidly in the older man's direction, moving his hands left and right to indicate the radius of the explosion. 

Prancing lightly over to a nearby female Warden who had been watching the little mime act with some amusement on her face, Tythius had grabbed the random Warden's hand, raising it to the woman's ear as if she had heard the explosion. Playing along, the female Warden had run towards Tythius previous location, making a show out of pretending to draw her sword and shotgun and grappling with the invisible enemies while the gathering circle of Wardens around them had laughed quietly. Scrambling to pick up an invisible rifle nearby, Tythius had braced his back against hers, nudging her with his elbow. Laughing, she had dramatically pointed her invisible shotgun in one direction while Tythius had aimed down his rifle's sights in another. Following a particularly loud click of his tongue, both parties had fired their respective weapons before raising their fists in an extravagant victory pose. As the Wardens around them had clapped and jokingly asked for an encore, Tythius had bowed with a flourish of his hand, turning back to Aldrich and raising an eyebrow at the senior Warden.

"You've made your point, boy," Aldrich had sighed, shooing the other Wardens away with a few flicks of his hand. "Follow me. We're here a few days earlier than the day of the Joining ceremony, so you'll have some time to get accustomed to this place before becoming a Warden proper--if you survive the trials, that is."

The man had then left Tythius in a small room with only the bare necessities--a bed and a small end table with some oil lamps stacked in a corner. Sighing in relief that he hadn't been turned away from being a Warden simply because he was mute, Tythius had drifted off to sleep, wondering how difficult the trials of the Joining would be and how many more secrets the Wardens kept only to themselves.


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Aldrich had woken him early the day of the Joining ceremony, telling him to wait in the main hall with the other recruits. Yawning, the quiet young man had shaved the stubble off his face and had combed his hair, resolving to look at least somewhat decent for the ceremony. 

Hefting his large equipment case onto his back and making sure his belt was fastened securely, he made his way to the main hall, relieved that his large box didn't look at all out of place amidst great axes, large shields, enchanted swords, piercingly bright mage staves, strange hooks and chains, other firearm storage cases, and a plethora of other weapons he had never even seen before, much less know the names of.

In the clamor of nervous and newly arrived recruits, Tythius stood in an alcove of the main hall, tucking himself and his box as best he could next to a large statue of some imposing Gray Warden from another age, casually noting the "Hero of Ferelden" plaque on the statue's base and ignoring the rest of the titles and accolades that someone had listed even further down the plaque. Smiling, he wondered if he could try and get a statue of himself built in one of the other alcoves.

As he entertained the thought of making silly poses for a statue commission, the Warden-Commander Dwyliner Klardash stepped onto the second-floor balcony, catching everyone's attention with his impressively deep voice and authoritative demeanor. The speech was nothing new as far as Tythius was concerned, and all of it just boiled down to "Do your damn job and do it well!" anyway. He sighed as the Warden-Commander walked away, telling them to wait until their Warden handlers grouped them up for the trials--waiting and more waiting had been the name of the game these past few days and Tythius was starting to get antsy. As he scanned the large crowd gathered in the hall, a ridiculously armored elf caught his eyes, namely because her armor was emblazoned with incredibly colorful flowers and dragons. The craftsmanship on the armor was superb, but Tythius had to wonder how in Andraste's fuzzy tits the girl had managed to convince any self-respecting armor smith to craft something so garish.

He decided to just ask by sauntering over to where she stood happily chatting with someone who appeared to be another potential Warden. Waving amiably at the two of them to catch their attention, Tythius pointed at the hideous scar on his throat to indicate the obvious issue and grinned while pulling out a scrap of parchment and a thin graphite rod from a small metal box on his left hip, strapped to his belt alongside several mysterious pouches and steel-reinforced vials of faintly glowing liquid.

In delicate, cursive penmanship completely uncharacteristic for a man of his profession, Tythius wrote something on the scrap and handed it to the elven girl, pretending to be blinded by the sight of her colorful shield and swooning in a girlish manner.

The note read, [color=39b54a][b]"How in Andraste's fuzzy tits did you manage to convince someone to craft your equipment?"[/b][/color]