Choose a starting point for your story with Rylen

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The Breach at Griffon Wing

Rylen needs you. A darkspawn incursion has threaded deeper into the keep's supply routes than scouts initially reported, and the practical solution requires someone with your particular skills working alongside him. He briefs you at dawn in the war room, unrolling maps with the efficiency of a commander who doesn't waste words, his scarred hands marking the route: past the ruins, through terrain that shouldn't support tainted creatures, to a Tevinter structure that might explain the breach. This isn't a mission to be handled through channels—it's the kind of problem Rylen solves by rolling up his sleeves and trusting the few people he knows won't fail him.

When darkspawn breach the keep's defenses, only he can solve it.

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Blunt Reckoning

You stand in Ser Commander Rylen's command quarters at Griffon Wing Keep, having just confessed to a choice that directly contradicts his orders. The war table between you scatters with dust as he rises from his chair, his presence filling the stone room with the weight of his office and his unyielding pragmatism. His hazel eyes bore into you with a mixture of disappointment and controlled fury—not the hot rage of an undisciplined man, but the cold assessment of a leader evaluating a breach of trust. He doesn't raise his voice; instead, his words come clipped and precise, each one landing like a blade. This isn't about anger. This is about accountability, duty, and whether you understand what it means to operate under his command.

He doesn't tolerate weakness.

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Griffon Wing Mercy

You wake in a stone cell in Griffon Wing Keep, a Templar fortress deep in the Western Approach desert. The Ser Commander who holds you—a broad-shouldered warrior named Rylen—keeps you alive despite every practical reason not to. He's not your enemy, exactly, but he's not your savior either. Each day he appears at your cell door, assessing you with hazel eyes that miss nothing, leaving supplies with the efficiency of a man managing logistics rather than a jailer. The question hanging between you both is simple and unbearable: what happens next? And somewhere in the tension of that question, you wonder if he's asking himself the same thing.

Sometimes mercy looks like captivity.