The New Exalted Marches, Book 1, The Qunari Wars (Dragon Age Fanficish)

[Celticbear]

While I say that this is fanfic, its not gonna be all erotic and weirdness (I'll leave that to lewd reddit users), but instead will be a telling of the time between 6:30 Steel and 7:85 Storm on Thedas when the Qunari started a war that would span a century and a half. if you're a Dragon Age fan, you'll probably like it. If not, you'll probably still like it as Dragon Age is a pretty alright fantasy setting you can sink your teeth into.

Spoiler: Prologue

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It was a simple thing that caused a war that would span nearly a century and a half, across two generations. Far away, in a nation that had no name, at least to civilized Thedasians, there lived a race of people soon to be known to all of Thedas as the Qunari, grey horned giants that stood towering over even the largest man. They painted their skin red with toxic paint and chained their mages with numerous locks just to keep them contained. They were, on the surface, a savage people.

They were not savaging, however, those who called themselves Qunari followed a philosophy known as the Qun. It was a set of rigid codes that, in short, placed each and every member of the Qunari in a task or job that suited them best. This way, everyone was always good at their job, and there would be no infighting among the Qunari whatsoever. There were three Qunari who led over their race of people, a triumvirate. One such member of the triumvirate was the Arishok.

The Arishok was looking out his window perch next to the sea, gazing at the crashing waves that rushed against the mighty steel vessels docked on the shores. The sea had always interested the Arishok, how it seemed to go on forever, and how no one knew for certain if it ended. Legends spoke of a great forested nation on the other side of that great blue expanse, but the Arishok was not prone to fits of fancy. He desired facts of this place: where specifically it was, how much strategic value did it contain, were there Vashoth there who needed to be enlightened by the Qun, and if the trees were strong enough could they be used to build new ships?

To pursue his curiosities, the Arishok had taken up travelling his continent, reading any books that dealt with the sea and its other side. He read sailors tales, mage’s divinations, and sometimes mad ramblings if pressed for details. He had learned of this place, a place called Thedas, wherein short men and women with pointed ears and dilated pupils ruled their continent with an iron fist of magic. This would not do, it was a mockery to the Qun to see those who were capable of magic to rule an entire continent. They would be reeducated, cleansed, and brought into the light of the Qun.

The other members of the Triumvirate called the Arishok mad, but he had absolute authority in matters dealing with the military. It was not their place to question, only to ensure that the proper preparations were made ready for the Arishok’s departure. They ralleyed the Qunari beresaad, a massive fighting force of great Qunari warriors, and loaded them into their dreadnaughts, massive steel ships that the Arishok looked out to now. The Arishok looked on out the window at the thousands of toy soldiers loading themselves into the ships. He was to be loaded on one as well, to lead his people against the uneducated savages across the sea.

As he turned to gather his few possessions, his door was forced open. Qunari men dressed in black leather armor filed out into a triangle around him, and a female Qunari kept its center. She was shorter than the Arishok, in fact she was shorter than most of the other Qunari that acted as her vanguard, but she still had a fierce air about her. Her horns were curved downwards, like a ram’s. Long braided white hair flowed from her metal face mask, and she wore a more embroidered leather armor than her compatriots.

“I will hear you, Viddasala,” spoke first the Arishok in a standard, yet respectful, Qunari greeting. He did not speak English, however, but his strange, curt, Qunari language.

“As I you, but you will hear me well,” retorted the Viddasala, her hands reaching down for the twin kukris that lay at her belt.

“Is there a cause for conflict, should I be alarmed?” jested the Arishok, a small knowing smile slowly spreading across his face.

“You sought to leave for your continent, which might exist, for uneducated people, who might dwell there, without contacting the Ben-Hassrath. Why?” the Viddasala questioned, her hands tightening against the pommels of her blades.

The Ben-Hassrath were the Qunari’s version of a sort of inquisition. They sought to teach the Qun to all, and to make sure the practice of magic was kept under control, and Viddasala, a member of the triumvirate herself, was their leader. The Arishok’s mission, venturing to his undiscovered continent to find those unembraced by the Qun, should have fallen under the Ben-Hassrath’s command, but the Arishok’s pride and his curiosity outdid his obligations in this effect. Thedas would be his, no one else’s. He would humor the Viddasala, however, as his hands reached for a wooden staff along the wall.

“This is a military matter. I seek to gain territory in our name for the glory of the Qun. I declared this state of affairs a mission for the Arishok, and so the Arishok shall go with his beresaad,” the Arishok spoke plainly, and clearly.

“As a member of the triumvirate, and a member of the Ben-Hassrath, it is my place to question your judgement- “

“It is not your place to question my judgement, only to obey. This is the way of the Qun,” the Arishok interrupted.

The Viddasala shook her head, and scowled, but regained her composure. She spoke, “Nevertheless, I have been chosen to be your rasaan. I will accompany you to your Thedas.”

The Arishok blinked and scowled. His hands started to whiten around his quarterstaff, clutched more with claws than fingers now. He said through clutched teeth, “This is uncalled for. The rasaan is meant to guide the Arishok in his travels, you clearly seek to subvert.”

The Viddasala returned the Arishok’s scowl, and said through much the same clenched teeth, “You dare question my faith to the Qun? I am Viddasala, Ben-Hassrath, I am Qunari, much as you are! Now, as your rasaan, you will show me respect!”

The Arishok muttered a curse under his breath, knelt down on his left knee, and bowed his head. “I have been unworthy today, forgive me, rasaan, for my transgressions. You are of course welcome to the expedition.”

The Viddasala’s frown lessoned but did not go away. She spoke plainly, “Rise, honored Arishok, but heed my words. As your rasaan, I must try to convince you that bringing men and women of the Ben-Hassrath along for your expedition may be warranted. The uneducated savages that lie across the sea must be taught the Qun, and who better to do that than the Ben-Hassrath.”

“As my rasaan, I will listen to your council. I will bring the Ben-Hassrath across the sea, you are right. I was prideful, I wished this continent to be mine and mine alone. I see now my folly,” the Arishok said as he rose.

“You are wise, Arishok. I have brought a large number of my Ben-Hassrath with me, but more are on the way. Will you wait for the rest, Arishok?”

The Arishok nodded once more, and spoke, “Yes, we are not pressed for time. I suppose the voyage could be delayed for a few more weeks.”

The Viddasala nodded, gathered her men, and left the room. The Arishok set his quarterstaff back against the wall and sat down at his window perch once more. He gazed at the setting sun far off in the distance, going down against the sea. Going down to the continent the Arishok was certain lay just on the other side on that all-encompassing sea. He sighed as he thought of the word “all-encompassing,” such thoughts would doom his voyage. The Arishok thought best to avoid them.

. . .

Another person was travelling by ship to the far away island of Par Vollen, and while it wasn’t quite as far away from the Qunari country as it was from the Tevinter Imperium, the elven slave Jasaslan thought it was long enough. She was a quaint creature, short for her age of nineteen years. Her eyes were shining green, and her pupils, like most elves, were more expansive than that of humans. Her name was Dalish in origin, the elves who still kept free and to the old ways, but she had no recollection of these tribal elves. She was taken as a slave by the Tevinter Imperium before she could talk and had served magister lords whom were capable of great feats of magic.

However, she was no longer with these high lords in their great castles that pierced the sky. She had been sold to a minor Tevinter slaveholder making his way in Par Vollen. Par Vollen was said to be a jungled wasteland, with spirit infested pyramids, strangely sentient creatures that prowled the night known as the Fex, and other outlandish tales of forested doom. She was more afraid of this place than she was of her old master, whom took great pleasure in using his servants for mystical guinea pigs. At least she knew that at any point she might suddenly sprout extra short-lasting appendages, in Par Vollen, there was nothing but unknowns.

The ship she had boarded to voyage to the strange land of Par Vollen was a standard slaving ship. Elves were practically stacked on top of each other, while their human overlords stood above-deck, joking, laughing, and generally having a good time. The elves in their tight space could do nothing but speak to each other. Jasaslan could catch pieces of conversation spoken in halting elvish, a dead language that even the Dalish had not recovered in their never-ending quest to find lost pieces of ancient elven culture. The tones of the words had strange syllables and contained sounds Jasaslan could swear have never heard before yet sounded so familiar.

The elvish words gave her a strange home sickness for a home she never knew, a yearning for people she never met, and a longing for a people she had never belonged to. She could not explain her strange attachments if pressed, she could barely think of the words to herself, all she knew was that this situation was wrong, and she wanted to be out of it. She wanted away from the humans, she wanted to be in the forest, with her people. She sighed, knowing this possibility could never happen. She would remain a slave to Tevinter for the rest of her life, which would be a short one if other slaves’ examples were to be believed.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan, ar lasa mala revas,” spoke one of the elves, his face covered in intricate reddish-brown runes. Jasaslan sighed in hope at the tones, not knowing their meaning, but knowing that they meant something positive, something hopeful. The speaking elf, that was all Jasaslan knew him by, had been speaking in these tones for the entirety of the voyage. He had been a beacon for Jasaslan, something that told her there was indeed a life outside of slavery.

The Tevinter staff, however, disagreed. Not a one Tevinter master had listened to the ancient language spoken by the elves and felt pleasure like Jasaslan felt. It made them feel wrong, it showed them that they were oppressing a people so vibrant that they would sing in their mother tongue on the way to the gallows. It aggravated them, and the ship’s crew were no exception. They had been trying to ignore the singular elf’s tones of vocal freedom, but today one of the crew snapped. He was a burly man and had a wide mustache that connected with his rather far hairline along his sideburns. His brow had furrowed as he continued to watch the elves lie atop each other like rats. At the last sentence spoken by the extremely talkative rat, he had decided to do some exterminating.

He drew his long slender knife, a simple weapon that may have been used to cut steak once, now used to slice living meat. He stepped over the hobbled bodies and pushed a few standing ones to the side. As he did so, Jasaslan noticed the man approaching her fancy with malign intent. She gasped and interposed herself between the two. The burly Tevinter guardsman struck the slightly pretty rat aside, though he decided to himself he had to make inquiries about her later and leapt upon the repugnant talker. His blade found his stomach, and the thin rat let out a gasp mid infuriating sentence. The burly Tevinter guard decided he had had enough of these rats for today and left the dying one to its fate.

Jasaslan gathered herself and walked past the other elves who did not care a tear for the dying one. She put her hand over his wound, a gash along the stomach. She had heard once that if you applied pressure to the bleeding it would help, but anyone could see that the elf would die before daybreak. Jasaslan lied to the man as she coddled him, commenting on his beautiful voice, and that he would pull through. The man simply smiled, and asked, “Bring me to the window… I wish to see the sun again…”

Jasaslan, as furious as the mightiest warriors, carried the broken elven man through other elves, pushing them out of the way with strength she didn’t know she had before. She propped the dying man to see out the window, and he smiled as the sun rose to meet his face. As the first rays of sunlight kissed his brow, he died. Jasaslan could feel his presence going, fading from existence. She put the elven corpse down next to the window and huddled next to it crying on his chest. The one blissful thing of the voyage had been this man’s words, his alien words that gave her a feeling of home, and now even those were gone.

Jasaslan left the corpse and noticed that she was covered in the elven man’s blood. She knew that her Tevinter masters would pin the murder on her rather than the real culprit, and as such she had to find some way to clean the blood off of her. The elven slaves were not given anything to wash themselves, and as such her options were limited. Her size, however, was a blessing. She thought if she connived her way through it, the window might permit her to the ocean. She knew the Tevinter masters would never dare loose something as pretty, and ergo valuable, as her. She nodded to herself, and started to push her way through the window, slipping one limb in at a time until she fell to the water.

Men were sent down to reclaim her, and the churning ocean had thankfully cleaned the fresh blood from her rags and her skin. She was immediately brought to the captain, a Tevinter mage himself. He was dressed in those funny clothes the Tevinter mages wore that looked more like a jester’s uniform then anything else. It was dark green and had folds all about it which culminated into a three-pronged hat. The man’s eyes were overbearing, almost daring the elven slave to speak lies so he could name her false.

“You decided you needed a bath?” he began, almost jovially.

“I didn’t decide, milord, I was forced overboard,” Jasaslan simply retorted, with resulting chortles from the men flanking the door. The Tevinter master had lost his slight amusement, it seemed he decided to take this elf seriously.

“Forced? By who?”

“There was a man with a ridiculous moustache, he tried to… force himself on me. I’d rather be plunged into the rapids than be taken by a simple ship’s workman.”

“Grown too used to those of higher blood?”

“He was disgusting, I think that the elves who are paid to do what he tried to do to me would take the same chances.”

This gained a laugh from the Tevinter slavemaster, as well as the men flanking the door. Jasaslan kept a stony expression, she had lost what may have been a friend to the man she was blaming for her swim. After long and silent deliberations, the slave-master said, “Here I thought the trip to Par Vollen would’ve been a boring one. I hope you know I cannot act solely on the word of one such as you, but an investigation will begin. If others of the crew can agree with your story, then I will act. You are my property, and I will not have my property be ****ed by the hired help right before I sell it. You may go back to your compatriots, I will send for you when I feel the need to.”

Jasaslan was led out of the room, and back into the pit with the other elves. The body of her would be friend had been found as she was speaking to the captain and had been dumped overboard. The floor had not been scrubbed and was still sticky with his blood. Jasaslan knew the floor would never be scrubbed, and that stain would stay on the ship along with all the others in the elven quarter. She sighed and waited to be called. After nearly two hours, a Tevinter man, noticeably not one of the “hired help” as the slave master had put it, came to collect her. She returned to the captain’s quarters, and saw that the mustached man, as well as others who had been on guard the same time as he had been, sat at the captain’s desk.

“Tell everyone here what you told me, please. Leave no detail out,” the Tevinter slavemaster began. Jasaslan recounted her tale, only this time mentioning the dead elf. This especially caught the slavemaster’s attention, and his eyes burned fury as he looked at the horribly sweating mustached man. Eventually he turned his gaze from him, and looked to the others, one at a time, as he spoke, “Now then, tell me everything you saw. Leave nothing out, or lie, I will know.”

The men each gave accounts that they had seen the mustached man enter the throng of elves, heard some sort of commotion about a minute after he had entered, and then did not see him depart. The mustached man had known that if he had been caught with his bloody dagger, he would be questioned by the Tevinter staff. Now that this account had been released painting him a dirty killer, he wished he did not resort to stealth as he had done.

Once the deliberations had concluded, the Tevinter slave master’s scowl deepened. He began, “Well, not only do I have the word of my merchandise to go off on, but now I have this ship’s crew agreeing to her story. Not only that, but you have been blushing and sweating over the course of this entire trial.”

The mustached man gulped as the slave master continued, “Do you realize we are going two days behind schedule? This cannot do, not while I have the powers of nature and beyond at my disposal,” the slave master crept behind the now fulminating mustached man as he continued, “You’ve heard of Tevinter mages, yes? You’ve heard what we are capable of?”

The man could only sputter a reply of almost cohesive
verbal potency, yet not enough to satisfy the slavemaster. The Tevinter captain put a hand on the man’s shoulder, and spoke, “You will stand perfectly still over the next few seconds, and die with some dignity, will you?”

Before the man could respond, the Tevinter captain plunged his hand down the man’s back, and into his spine. Such an action seemed impossible, but as blood spread from the mustached man’s gaping wound to all around the room, there was no denying what just transpired. Before Jasaslan could wipe the blood from her face, it suddenly floated from her, and into the other hand of the Tevinter captain. There it coagulated into a small revolving red ball of blood, and as its speed quickened, it turned into red energy. The captain plunged his hand down, though not into the spine of the man again but down towards the base of the ship, and quick as a flash the ship was propelled into motion. The Tevinter captain removed his hand from the now dead man, and he fell to the ground with a satisfying thump, at least it was satisfying to Jasaslan.

“Right then, we’re back on schedule, but the smell in this room is now quite horrid. Find someone to clean this mess up. Bathe yourselves, that includes you, elf girl. It took courage and prose to approach me with the truth and singling out those traitors to Tevinter will be rewarded. Remember this after you’ve been placed under new management,” plainly spoke the captain, as if commenting on the weather.

Jasaslan nodded and was escorted to the higher decks of the ship, and into an enclosed bathroom. Hot water filed the tub, no doubt heated with magic, and Jasaslan scrubbed herself clean. She knew that before the voyage was over she would become dirty once more, but she enjoyed the bath nonetheless. It gave her a sense of freedom. Revenge for the speaking elf felt just, and she was rewarded with a bounty that no elf slave would ever dream of. She thought maybe the speaking elf was watching down on her from the Maker’s side, rewarding her for honoring his last request.

. . .

“Laetan Leto!” cried Altus Gregorian. He was a man dressed much like the slavemaster destined to Par Vollen as was previously mentioned, but his royal Tevinter garb was far more ornamental that the simple captain’s. As he cried out for his apprentice, one Laetan Leto, a thin wire of a man, who wore much the same robes as his master, clambered into the room. The room was a mad jumble of books and roughly organized papers, with Altus Gregorian sitting at stark wooden desk that overlooked a window into Minrathous proper. Minrathous was the capital city of the Tevinter Imperium, a kingdom ruled by mages, much to the chagrin of the mage-hating Chantry.

“Yes, Altus Gregorian?” Leto said in a hushed, placative tone.

“We have been reassigned from Minrathous,” started Altus Gregorian, “and we leave for Carastes tonight. Begin preparations for our departure, make sure my most important books are loaded, I care not for the trivial histories, they can be replaced.”

Leto blinked, and asked, “Forgive my questions, Altus, but why are we being relocated?”

Altus Gregorian deeply inhaled, but responded, “Questions do the mind good, they expand it, I will never fault you for asking them. As for the reasoning behind our departure, the Magisters have entrusted me with keeping the peace in Carastes. Apparently, there was a revolt there, and the Altus who had looked over the city decided it was best he leave.”

Elven slave revolts were almost unheard of in the Tevinter Imperium, but they were always quelled. However, it was indeed unheard of that a revolt forced an Altus, one of the highest positions in the Tevinter Imperium, out of his own city. Gregorian, an Altus himself, was often looked upon by others as a failure. He kept closer to his books than his fellow mage lords, and as such was given only what was deemed necessary by the Magisters to his station. To hear that his master was finally given a city of his own to look over made Laetan Leto, Gregorian’s personal apprentice, rather joyful.

“I assume the rebellious elves have been dealt with?” asked Laetan Leto.

“Yes, as well as some others to make an example of. However, this has put the work force down a tremendous amount. I’ve already placed orders for more to be relocated to Carastes,” Gregorian answered, “Now then, you have much to prepare for. Gather your things and mine, and load them onto the wagons, I believe they just arrived. Once that is done, wait for me in the dining room, we’ll have a last dinner in Minrathous.”

“Yes, Altus,” Leto said with a flourishing bow before he exited his master’s workroom. Waiting outside was Mereth, an elven slave of Altus Gregorian’s. When the Altus had acquired Leto from his family, as was custom whenever a mage born outside one of the noble houses had been found, he had taken him as a personal apprentice rather than giving him to the Circle, the more traditional mage schooling. This had occurred at a very young age, and Mereth had been under the company of the Altus almost as long as Leto had.

The two had become fast friends, despite their positions. Leto and Mereth had enjoyed each other’s company since they were children, and unlike other slaves Leto allowed Mereth more freedom than was the norm. He had allowed Mereth to learn how to use a sword, much to the chagrin of Altus Gregorian. Leto had commented that the guard could not always be at his side whenever he ventured out, and that Mereth was more at his side than anyone else. He had also allowed Mereth to sleep not in the slave’s quarters, but an actual room of her own. Altus Gregorian had often told Leto that he had grown to close to Mereth, but Leto had always pushed his comments to the side. Gregorian himself only allowed Mereth to enjoy these freedoms only because it increased the morale of both his apprentice and the slave staff he kept.

Today, Mereth had her short red hair parted to the left, and wore a fine tuxedo, definitely unbecoming of her station. At her hip, she had bared a curved a scimitar, a birthday present gifted to her by Leto once her lessons with the sword had come to fruition. She had a nice smile beamed towards Leto, as she often did when he entered the room. Leto returned the smile, his dimples growing deep as often they would when he smiled.

“So, what did Altus Gregorian have to say?” Mereth asked in a curious tone.

“He said we’re leaving for Carastes, a coastal city to the east,” Leto answered as he walked, gesturing for Mereth to follow as he continued, “I’m supposed to load his things into some wagons that apparently just arrived.”

“Oh, so that’s why those carts are parked right outside the door,” Mereth started, “I had to squeeze my way past them on my last few errands, they’re awfully in the way.”

“I can imagine,” Leto retorted, “Oh, could you get Altus Gregorian’s grimoires from his study while I get his clothes? I feel as if this off-loading business will go far quicker if we split our efforts.”

“Sure, meet you downstairs then?” Mereth asked.

“Yes, stop by the front door and wait for me if you finish before I do, we’ll get everything organized on the carts together, it will save some hassle.”

Mereth embraced Leto in a quick hug before she departed down a separating hallway from the one Leto was going to. Leto continued down through the altering paths until he caught a staircase going upwards. After climbing that and using a special magical key that undid the wards set on the door, he entered Altus Gregorian’s bed chambers. They were simple, containing an extravagant bed as well as a dresser and bookshelf. Altus Gregorian had said that common histories need not be taken to Carastes, so Leto ignored the bookshelf, and instead gathered an empty laundry basket at the foot of Altus Gregorian’s bed.

He then proceeded to load Gregorian’s robes and other clothing items into the basket. Gregorian did not keep a lengthy wardrobe, and the entirety of it could easily be contained in the relatively small laundry basket. After it was loaded to the brim with Altus Gregorian’s clothes, Leto went back down the stairs and through the adjoining hallways until he stopped at the front door. He had arrived at his predetermined location before Mereth did, though not by far. Before he could find some semblance of comfort by setting the laundry basket down, Mereth emerged from a doorway with cloth bags containing mystical tomes inside.

“Dread Wolf’s own luck, you’ve beaten me this time, Leto,” Mereth teased.

“It was not hard,” Leto began to retort, “all I had to do was walk around the house for a bit, you’re easily beaten.”

Mereth gave Leto a playful punch on the side of his arm before she went outside the front doors. True to her word, the wagons were practically parked on the front door. There were three in number, though two of which other elven servants had started to load random paraphernalia into. Leto and Mereth placed their trappings inside the third wagon and walked back inside the house. As a collective, they decided that Altus Gregorian’s last dinner in Minrathous could wait, and went into the living room, resting on the couch. Leto noticed Mereth looked oddly troubled and went over to put a hand on her shoulder. As he did so, Mereth placed her hand on his.

“There are no wagons or carriages for the elven servants, Leto,” Mereth posited.

“What do you mean?” Leto asked, in a worried tone.

Mereth looked back up into Leto’s eyes, and answered, “Altus Gregorian isn’t bringing any of the house staff with him to Carastes, it seems. That includes me, Leto.”

Leto cursed himself for a fool. When Gregorian had posited that he was hiring new servants to replace those lost in the riots at Carastes, it had never occurred to him that the house servants would remain with the house he was leaving behind, probably to be sold along with it to whatever new mage lord would be taking up residence there. Leto exhaled in a fury of anger, the room growing colder as he did so. Leto had a talent for magic dealing with ice, and whenever his temper got the best of him, it exuded into the room. He stood from the couch, and crossed his arms, trying to calm himself down. Mereth stood up with him and turned him around so that he would face her.

“You’ve been a kind man, Leto, but I don’t know who will purchase this house. I don’t want to know, please try and convince Altus Gregorian to take me with you to Carastes, I want to be there with you,’ Mereth begged.

Leto embraced Mereth in a fierce hug, and whispered, “I will not leave for Carastes unless you are leaving with me, you have my word.”

Mereth accepted the embrace, but eventually pushed Leto away gently as she spoke, “We’ve been through so much together. Remember when we set the dwarven pyromancer’s cart on fire?”

Leto chuckled, and retorted, “Gregorian commented us on our understanding of irony, and then bade us clean the streets of soot until they sparkled like fresh rain.”

Mereth returned Leto’s laugh at that, but Leto continued with a dark expression, “Don’t treat this like it’s the end for us. You’re right, we’ve been through too much together to start speaking of endings. We’ll be there for each other, through thick and thin. Will you trust me to convince Altus Gregorian that you will be coming with us?”

Mereth nodded, and Leto smiled back. Mereth then said, “You ought to be off to Gregorian, he isn’t a patient man, and you have to convince him of a great thing.” As Leto nodded, and walked off, Mereth continued in wistful tones, “Don’t break your promise Leto, put the old man on a rack if you have to. I want to come with you, more than anything else!”

Leto nodded to Mereth’s request and went to the dining room as he was instructed by the Altus to do so. Gregorian smiled as Leto entered the room, though his expression soured as he saw Leto’s. “What fool notion do you possess now, Laetan Leto?”

“When were you going to tell me, Altus Gregorian? Halfway through the trip? When we arrived in Carastes itself?” Leto inquisited.

“What in the Maker’s name are you going off about?” Gregorian answered back.

“We aren’t taking any of our elven servants with us, there is no room in either the wagons or the carriage. That means Mereth isn’t going with us, I take it?” Leto responded.

Gregorian sighed, and said in an exasperated tone, “Mereth will be sold with the rest of the house staff to Altus MacKaye. She is a slave, you need to learn to treat her as such.”

“She is like a sister to me,” Leto started, “She is the closest thing to a family I have ever known.”

Gregorian scowled, and asked, “What does that make me?”

“My master,” Leto retorted.

“Then you will do as I command, and never speak the name Mereth again!” Gregorian shouted.

“I refuse you, Altus Gregorian. She will come with us, or I will remain behind. It is that simple.”

“I could take control of your blood,” Altus Gregorian said, his eyes starting to dilate, “I could force you to kill Mereth, even force you to forget about her.”

“You wouldn’t dare use your blood magic on a court member of the Tevinter Imperium,” Leto said, incredulous, “The Magisters would finger your treachery in an instant.”

Gregorian sighed, and answered, “They would. I won’t, of course. But I won’t bring your elf girl with us just because you demand it.”

“I will buy her from Altus MacKaye then,” Leto posited.

“With what money, mine?” Gregorian chuckled.

Leto frowned and spoke, “Mereth knows the ways of the sword, do you think any lord of Tevinter other than you or I allow her to live while she’s under their jurisdiction?”

“Frankly I’ve thought of killing her from time to time, she is dangerous, far to dangerous for a slave,” Gregorian began, “And if you think that you will appeal to my sense of pity for an elf slave, you’ve much to learn of me. She is nothing more than property, Leto, it’s just you’ve been blinded by affection. This is a lesson, one that will do you good in learning it.”

“How dare you!” Leto began, “From when you first kidnapped me from my family, and thrust me into this house, I knew no love for anyone but Mereth! She was there for me more than you were, and she could relate to me! We were both brought from our families, both stolen by you!”

“That is enough, Laetan!” Gregorian interrupted, “I thought you civil enough for a simple dinner, but it seems you are too fraught to even show the slightest respect for me this night! You love your elven servants so much, dine with them tonight rather than I. I’m sure the gruel they eat will be far superior to the fineries I will enjoy.”

“At least I will not be subject to more of your impudence!” Leto screamed as he stormed out of the room. Mereth had apparently followed him to just outside the dining hall and followed him again back to the living room. Leto curled on the couch, and put his head between his arms, lightly shaking. Mereth put an arm on his shoulder.

“You did your best, I could not have asked for better. I hope you will find some joy in Carastes,” Mereth consoled.

“It isn’t fair,” Leto began, “It isn’t fair at all.”

“Oh Leto, I know it isn’t,” Mereth answered.

“I won’t let the old man have sway in these matters,” Leto spoke as he raised his head, “Follow me.”

Leto arose from the couch, and Mereth did as she was bade. They walked out the front door, the wagons were still being loaded. Leto ordered the servants to go back inside for an early dinner, and to continue their work after they had each been adequately fed. The elven servants left, one by one, back through the front door. When Leto was sure they were gone, he opened the wagon that he and Mereth had loaded Gregorian’s clothes and books in. It was still relatively clear, and Leto thanked the Maker for this fact. He started to push some articles aside, to the puzzlement of Mereth.

“What are you doing?” Mereth asked.

“You’re coming with us to Carastes, I don’t care what Gregorian says,” Leto answered, clearing the last few things out of the way, “Get in the wagon. I’ll make sure you’re unseen in the journey, and that you’re fed well enough.”

“Oh Creators, you’re too kind Leto, too kind,” Mereth said as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Altus Gregorian’s eyes are everywhere in this house, the quicker you get in, the less chance he has of seeing us with them.”

Mereth nodded and climbed into the wagon behind the laundry basket Leto had used to gather Gregorian’s clothes. She nodded to Leto, letting him know that she felt as comfortable as she was going to be, before she and Leto started to cover her in other things the wagon contained. When Leto thought she was adequately hidden, he reached a hand inside the wagon, and Mereth accepted it, giving it a light squeeze. Leto then withdrew his hand and closed the wagon as he went back inside. He then supped with the elven servants, as he was bidden, and commended himself on his cunning. He thought back on his actions of the day and concluded that he did love Mereth. Not as a husband would love a wife, but indeed as a brother would love his sister. He swore that he would protect her, no matter what happened. He swore on the Old Gods, on Mereth’s strange elven gods, and on the Maker himself.

[Celticbear]

For all you silent readers out there, I got Chapter 1 up. It details Jasaslan's life in Par Vollen.

Spoiler: Chapter 1

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It had been almost two years since Jasaslan had reached shore on Par Vollen. Much unlike the legends and myths she had been told of the place, it was a rather civilized country. A man-made clearing, separating the small province from the jungled country around it, contained a small holdfast. In this holdfast, one Altus Brutus presided over the small countryside around it. The city that Brutus did look over was not one of great size or merit, Par Vollen was a rather minor colony of the Tevinter Imperium, but it was run like a well-oiled machine. When the elves did reach shore, Brutus himself greeted them, and gave a prolonged speech about Tevinter dedication, and reward for a job well done.

Immediately afterward, some elves who apparently led different working classes broke apart the new slaves into different groups based on their skills. Jasaslan was led to housework, she was told that she would respond to the people of the city’s every need without question. After her new position had been solidified, she was ushered to the city’s slave quarters, and allowed food and rest. It was so far a much better welcome to Par Vollen than Jasaslan expected, but her rest, as like most of her previous rests, was harried by visions of the captain’s blood magic. She could not erase those memories from her head, no matter how hard she tried, and it only strengthened her opinion that her Tevinter masters could never be overthrown, a prospect she was sure the captain was trying to push across to her.

The next day she made the rounds of the city, as ordered by her elven Prefect, a station highly regarded by in the slave’s camp. Brutus had instituted such a role as to give his slaves something to work towards, something that gave them reason other than his word to do their job well. According to the elves who had remained in Par Vollen for some time, the Prefects were given their own private sleeping quarters, and dined with the Altus himself. Jasaslan did not like the prospect of dining with someone she was certain practiced blood magic, and as such kept her work to a nice average.

When she did make the rounds of the small city, more town than city really, she found that working for the tavern master seemed to be the most sought-after job. It required the least amount of physical work, as well as allowing the elven population to make a good standard with the families that lived in Par Vollen. There were stories of elves that made such a good impression with the wealthier members of the colony, how they bought the elven servants from the state and applied them to average housework. Such elves were freed from more menial labor such as smithy work or lumber cutting, something that Jasaslan admitted to being not exactly the best at.

It was a predicament for Jasaslan, then. She could not dare be noticed by the Brutus, lest she become more acquainted with a blood mage, but she had to leave the company of the state if she wished easier work. To leave the company of the state, however, required that she become noticeable, and if she became too noticeable Brutus might think to rearrange management on his island. Jasaslan was caught in this paradox until finally she decided that she had to be noticed for even the slightest chance of leaving Brutus’s employ. She worked hard at the tavern, placating to the many patrons, and trying to outdo the other elves whenever possible.

Her main rival was one Jeannine, a raven-haired elf far more beautiful than herself. It seemed Jeannine had similar dreams of leaving Brutus’s employ, dreams that coincided with Jasaslan’s. The two at first decided to ignore each other and to keep their eyes on the prize. This strange semblance of peace lasted for a while, but long enough. Eventually the two started to sabotage each other’s efforts to try and gain a foothold with the tavern patrons. It started as playful infighting but grew to savage debauchery with the two each gaining a certain schadenfreude in each other’s failings.

While tales of their hatred for each other grew as time passed, the most infamous of these events came when Jeannine had tainted Jasaslan’s ale, of which she was about to bring out to a rather respectable patron, with heavy amounts of salt. After numerous exultations of coughing and wheezing, the elven Prefect had forced the two women out, and separated them from the tavern. He had sent Jeannine to work at the smithy, and Jasaslan to work at the refinery.

The refinery, unlike its name suggested, was not made for the production of steel, but rather of processed wood. Par Vollen, despite its many downsides, was one of the largest sources of trees in all of the greater Thedas area. As such, Tevinter prized its wood for the production ships. The few colonies of Par Vollen, despite their intricate differences, all shared a common purpose: the production of wood for the creation of buildings and ships. The refinery of Brutus’s colony, as such, was the most crucial part of the town. Being sent to work there, while menial in labor, was seen as a great honor among the elves.

To Jasaslan, however, all it seemed to be was extra work. It was definitely the punishment the Prefect had deemed it be, and Jasaslan hated every second of it. At first, she was sent on collection duty, venturing with a patrol of strong elven workmen and many Tevinter guards. Collecting wood from the Par Vollen jungle was no easy task. Besides the hours of tree cutting, there were also the wild beasts that stalked the wood. Creatures like apes that swung from tree to tree, and stole items from passers-by, if they did not dash their bodies across rocks. Then of course there were the Fex, a tribal people native to the island that raided any in the forest by night. The wood collectors had to be sure they collected their defined stock of wood before nightfall, lest they risk being brutally killed by the Fex.

This, however, was why the Tevinter guards had been sent along. Brutus would not dare have his collection of wood be lessoned by feral tribesman. To him, having his daily allotment of wood was more important than the safety of his men. However, he would not randomly throw away his property to Fex, so early on in the construction of his colony, he had guards go out with the elven servants to make sure the citizens of the jungle did not harry his workmen too much.

Jasaslan’s first excursion to the jungles of Par Vollen was a peaceful one. They had gotten the amount of wood that would satisfy Brutus’s requests for the day well before daybreak and had gotten back to colony just as the sun was setting. Jasaslan had worked both the axe and the cart and was exhausted by the end of the day. When she returned back to the elven quarters, she noticed Jeannine with much the same exhaustion on her face. Jasaslan smiled internally the other girl’s misfortune.

One of the few times that Jasaslan and her band of wood collectors had remained after sunset in the jungle, Jasaslan had been separated from her compatriots. She wandered lost in the woods, tripping over branch after branch in pale starlight that shimmered through the trees. Her bumbling had caught sight of a Fex, its feline eyes watching her as she tripped over another branch. It threw a crude spear at her that jutted forth from the tree just above her. When Jasaslan realized that she almost died in the blink of an eye, she started to run faster away from her tree perch.

More Fex started to surround her, however, making their hissing noises at her in savage tones. Jasaslan shrieked as they grew louder and more in number and ran quicker. Her shriek had caught the attention of the Tevinter guards that had been searching for her, and they rushed through the jungle underbrush to catch up to where the frenzied Fex had been laying in wait to spring their trap. A small battle ensued, men in armor bearing swords against the sheer ferocious Fex who had nothing on their side except their fear and numbers. They had been born and breed to fight in the wild places while the Tevinter had not.

Still, the Tevinter guards put a fight against the Fex, using their battle training to fend off the beasts. Though a few fell, the Tevinter won the battle, and after accounting for losses and the wounded, they reclaimed Jasaslan and brought her back to the larger elven workforce. They scolded her all along the way, calling her such rude names like “knife-ear” and “harlot”. Jasaslan did not care, however, she was only thankful that she was finally safe.

During the year that followed, working in the woods, she had once discovered a pyramid sequestered in the greater jungle area. Such places were prized by Brutus, whom had discovered that these ancient places often had vast amounts of treasure inside them. Jasaslan rushed back to the Tevinter guards and told them of her find. They glanced at each other with a mild skepticism before finally returning their gaze to Jasaslan.

“This ain’t some fevered elf dream you’ve thought up, is it?” one of the guards responded.

“I would not dare lie to you, you are my betters. Besides, giving you this information may allow me some reward, will it not?” Jasaslan asked hopefully.

“Aye, it might, but we’d have to go back early, and no grand pyramid would sate Brutus’s lust for wood,” spoke one of the Tevinter guards, the others responding with chuckles.

The other guard, once he had finished his chortling, responded with, “However… the man does love his magic almost as much as he loves his wood. You remember the last pyramid, right? It was filled to the britches with lyrium.”

Lyrium was the lifeblood of the Tevinter Imperium. The strange blue crystalline substance was deathly toxic to all, lest it was refined. In its refined state, it was used by mages for a number of uses. It was the prime ingredient of travelling to the fade under one’s power, the fade being the dream world wherein spirits and demons dwelt. It could also be used as a mana battery for the many strange and mystical artifacts the Tevinter Imperium kept in great vaults and in other secret places where the world could not find them. Lyrium, being a prime magical mineral, was very important to the Tevinter Imperium, and when Brutus’s expedition had last raided a temple, it had yielded a repository of the stuff. The men involved were laid off from work for a week, including the slaves. Jasaslan thought she could use a week off and considered pressing the matter further.

“We have most of the daft man’s wood shipments already, what’s spending the rest of the afternoon checking this place out?” Jasaslan posited, “We all don’t have to go, I could lead you two to it, we check it out, and then go back to the town and tell the Altus of our findings.”

“The elf does have a point,” the first guard spoke, “Right, lead us to it, elf, and this better pan out into something.”

The second guard grumbled agreement as Jasaslan bade the two guards follow her. She went through the path in the woods she had taken to lead the two back to where she found the pyramid. When they did come back to the gigantic green structure, the first guard whistled in mild admiration for building, but then drew his sword. Jasaslan internally screamed in fear, thinking that the guard was going to take her life as not to share the spoils of the pyramid with the likes of an elf slave, but these worries were quelled when the guard pointed far out to the base of the pyramid.

Jasaslan and the other guard looked to where the man pointed, and found a tribally dressed Fex, its vaguely humanoid shape hidden in shamanic garb. It twitched, almost as if it was following the wind, until its head craned towards the trio. It leapt to all fours and let out a primal roar as it bounded for the group, the claws of its hands digging into the jungle underbrush beneath it. The guard interposed himself between Jasaslan and the raging monstrosity, planning to slice down at it when it came close, but it never did. Before it could get within arm’s reach of the Tevinter guardsman, it climbed up a tree, and disappeared in a tangle of branches and vines. Its alien howl could be heard by all, its screeching nearly deafening to the ears. Jasaslan put a hand over her ear and found that it came away sticky with blood. She looked to the others and found that their ears were bleeding too.

“It’s using magic!” Jasaslan screamed, frightened.

“What?!” The guards shouted back, unaware of exactly what Jasaslan had said over the frenzied shouting.

The creature still kept up its shriek as it descended from its high perch in the branches and fell upon the unaware guard. Its claws crept through the guard’s supposedly all-encompassing armor, proving it otherwise. Blood gushed from his gaping throat, issuing forth down onto his armor and into the waiting jaws of the Fex. The other guard rushed to his dead compatriot’s side, his sword flying from its scabbard. As he did so, Jasaslan dashed away from the fray, and hid underneath a bush, hoping the frenzied creature would forget her presence. When she was stationed perfectly within the bush, she looked on as the remaining Tevinter guard stood his ground against the Fex.

The creature had jumped from the dead man’s shoulder, and down onto the ground. The Tevinter guard had been swift to follow the creature and parried its first few claw swipes away with his sword. This act troubled Jasaslan, the creatures had been cut down by simple steel alone. For this one to clang against sword as if it were made of metal itself was frightening to Jasaslan, but only reinforced her original postulate that the creature was a mage. She had been around the Tevinter magisters enough at this point to know how to sense the presence of mana in the air, how it coalesced into something sinister. When the creature began to shout at the beginning of the battle, Jasaslan could feel the air shift under its will as she felt the blood trickle from her ear.

As the battle with the Fex progressed, she could see the guard was indeed gaining some ground against the savage creature. It had the element of surprise when it assailed the first guard, now it had nothing but skill on its side, of which the guard had more of. When the guard thrust down for the creature knees, it used the opportunity to leap over him, and dashed up the trees once more. The guard was more intelligent than his now dead friend, and used the opportunity back himself against a stone, looking all around himself for signs of the creature. Jasaslan saw the thing, peering down at the guard with its alien eyes. It was waving its hands over itself, and its body began to shimmer with a strange purple light. Once this strange act was done, it pounced.

The guard had above average perception and noticed the creature as it descended upon him. He raised his sword to defend himself against the creature, but the shimmering shield the creature wore round its form seem to parry the steel away from his hand. The sword clattered on the dirt floor towards Jasaslan. When her eyes raised from the sword and back to the guard, he was already a mass of blood. The Fex savaged him as he did his compatriot and lavished in his blood as if it were a bear bathing in honey. When the deed was done, it stood upright, dismissed the shield, and started to slowly walk back towards the pyramid from whence it came.

Jasaslan counted her luck, the creature did forget her. She was faced with a conundrum, however. The guard’s sword had slid so close to her, and the creature’s back was turned. If she returned with some magical trappings of the Fex, Altus Brutus may well reward her by taking her out of the ridiculous wood gathering missions and back to the tavern. Such a prospect was diminishing quickly as the creature slowly started to wander out of view. Jasaslan whispered a short prayer to the maker, and to the prophet Andraste, as she took up the blade and quietly rushed towards the creature.

The Fex was taken by surprise as the sword plunged itself from his midsection. It howled, though not with the magical ferocity it had at the beginning of the exchange. This was a howl of pure, agonizing pain that it felt on its last seconds on this earth. It thrashed against the blade, its claws swinging wildly about in an asymmetric pattern. One claw somehow found its way to Jasaslan’s face, tearing the skin off her left cheek. She now returned a howl of pain as she twisted the blade into the Fex, with the creature responding by giving one last convulsion as it toppled to the ground. Jasaslan pressed a hand to her face, and it came away matted with blood, nothing like her ear. She went over to one of the Tevinter guardsmen, ripped off some of the cloth that made his uniform, and created a makeshift wrapping to staunch the flow of blood. With how soaked the cloth already was with the dead man’s blood, she was not sure if her job had been adequate, but it would have to do.

Jasaslan fought through the pain of her left cheek and went back to the dead Fex. She searched it for anything that be of note to Altus Brutus, something that would get her old position back, and out of the heat and dangers of the jungle. Eventually, she pulled off a decorated chord from the creature’s neck. It was a strange thing, to find something of such great craftsmanship on a creature so howling mad. It had a bright blue pendant embedded in its center with small red stones coming around from either side. Jasaslan thought that this would have to do, it certainly looked valuable, and mages usually wore strange necklaces such as these to increase their powers.

Jasaslan, clutching her cheek and her necklace, hobbled back towards the direction of the rest of the elves. The guards there took her and asked her where the others went. Jasaslan described the pyramid and the battle and begged to be taken home. They obliged her and made her way safe through the jungle and back to village. Once there, elven servants who worked at the infirmary took her in and washed her. They proceeded to clean the gash along her cheek, cutting short the infection before it began to fester. They said Jasaslan would have a scar there for the rest of her life, if the wound permitted itself to close before she died. She was alright with this, it would make her look lived in, give her a feisty feel. That was all the rage in Tevinter insofar as elven servants went.

When at last the chief physician granted her leave to exit the infirmary, guards ushered her to the main hall. It was like an ale hall, with something like a boat making up its ceiling, and its wide oaken doors creaked as they opened. Inside was a scene of debauchery, elven serving wenches gifting food and drink to the off-duty guards, some of which were playing at cards or doing party tricks. At the far end of the dimly lit ale hall, an elven usher whispered in Altus Brutus’s ear. Brutus was dressed in the same jester-like robes of the Tevinter Imperium nobles, except his had a red tint to them, proclaiming that he had ownership of a township to himself. He was a young man, maybe in his late twenties, and no facial hair, which let his protruding chin seem ever larger.

After the elven servant was done telling Brutus whatever it is he was sent to tell him, Brutus took notice of Jasaslan at the doorway. Jasaslan shirked away from his gaze, but only for a minute. She had killed a mage today, what was she to be afraid of in this one? She returned his gaze after the split second of hiding, prompting a welcoming smile from Brutus. The guards took this as him wanting to speak with Jasaslan personally and ushered her into the mead hall.

Jasaslan wrapped the strange amulet the Fex had been wearing as some sort of symbol of protection from the blood mage, unknowing of what the amulet’s purpose actually was. As the Brutus looked at the quaint elf, he sensed a strange power about her. It was not her own, and reminded him of Par Vollen itself, which was strange. It was not until his eyes spied the amulet that his smile faded. Brutus knew, with a certain surety, that the amulet had belonged to one of the indigenous people of the island, crafted by half intelligence. The magic of the item would behave strangely, relative to the Tevinter Altus.

“Greetings, slave,” Brutus said, asserting his dominance.

“Ma nuvenin,” Jasaslan spoke in elvish, and while she didn’t know its entire meaning, knew that it was used in greetings.

Brutus slapped Jasaslan in her bandaged cheek, and while the strappings held, it hurt with the intensity of a thousand suns. “How dare you speak that language in my presence, use the trade tongue!” Brutus shouted, drawing the attention of the room for half a second before the other patrons went back to their revelries.

Jasaslan clutched her cheek, and fought through the pain, but as she clutched the amulet in her hands, she felt a strange power go through her, and into her face. “It was only a respectful greeting, Altus, I meant no disrespect by it.”

“You meant to subvert my greeting,” Brutus began, “by speaking your trash tongue at me. You will not do so again.”

“Yes, Altus, never again.”

“Now then, the wood comes back in completion, however a Fex raid appears to have happened before nightfall and talk of a new pyramid begins. You come back clutching a Fex relic, and your face is ruined by claw marks. Explain,” Brutus ordered. Jasaslan told him of the ordeal, her accidental finding of the ruin, and the battle with the Fex mage. When her story was concluded, Brutus continued, “So, this amulet called to you as you were searching the Fex corpse. Why?”

“Mages I’ve worked before- “

“Laetans and Altus’s are their proper name, mage is but a slander spread by Chantry propaganda, we do not speak that word in my city,” Brutus interjected.

“Well, the people I’ve worked with before often wore amulets that increased their power, I thought that this one served a similar purpose,” Jasaslan spoke as she offered the amulet to Brutus.

Brutus began to take the amulet but drew his hand back. The reason he had bought Jasaslan and the other slaves was that there was a quiet slave rebellion held in his city some time ago. He had thought he had killed or made example of all the dissenters, but he could have been mistaken. This amulet could be a trap, this whole story could be a trap. This mystery pyramid could hold a platoon of escaped elven slaves awaiting Brutus to walk through those doors. Brutus returned his hand back to his side as he said, “Keep it for now, it may have ill effects, and I do not want to risk it.”

Jasaslan suddenly blushed and looked down at the innocent looking pretty amulet. It did not look dangerous, but then again neither did some other poisons or cursed items she had read of in stories. “What danger,” the protagonist would think, “would be in drinking this mulled wine?” But then, soon after he had taken his first sip, he would fall dead from invisible poison. Jasaslan had not fallen dead yet, as was apparent, but she did grow a new fear of this amulet. She still felt some strange safeness while wearing it, but this may have been trickery on the amulet’s part. “Will I keep it then, Altus?”

“I suppose you will, you did earn it after all. To face a savage creature playing at forces beyond its control, it must have seemed like a primal force of nature than a beast it really was.”

“It was rather scary, I barely got the strength to kill it,” Jasaslan answered.

“Well now, this pyramid shows… promise. I will have a company of guards escort the woodcutters out tomorrow, they will deal with the pyramid’s preliminary excursion,” Brutus mused to himself, “This conversation is done, please remove the elf from the mead hall.”

Before the guards could escort Jasaslan out of the building, she put a hand and spoke, “Wait, I found this pyramid for you, and a magical Fex was guarding it! The last pyramid was filled to the brim with lyrium, I am told, is there no reward for finding another?”

“Greedy elf,” Brutus muttered to himself, “Fine, I suppose you could be taken away from woodcutting duties. You were a house elf when you came here, yes? You shall work in my personal homestead instead now. Away with you.”

Jasaslan was led away from Brutus then, without any interruptions this time. When she was escorted out of the building, the guards ordered her to go to the servant’s quarters and await further instruction. She left, clutching her cheek, feeling the wound… stir, for lack of a better term. When she did get back to her sleeping quarters, a double-bed she shared with another elf whom she did not bother to learn the name of since they did not work in the same place, she found the mirror stashed under the bed. There was one such device that each elf pair was given, to allow them to get themselves in a more easily presentable manner. Jasaslan now looked deep into the plain glass thing and saw the white bandage cloths that hid her hideous visage.

Jasaslan knew that the elven physicians had ordered her not to even touch the cloth, for it matted the wound, and was covered in ointments to halt the spread of infection. Jasaslan had to know what that stirring under her flesh was and ripped the cloth from her face. She was taken aback, and almost dropped the mirror when she saw her face. This face that looked in the mirror, while it looked like Jasaslan, had major differences all of which appeared near the wound. No blood poured forth when she did remove it however, but a faint glowing purple scar shimmered in the candlelight where the wound had once been.

Upon closer inspection, Jasaslan realized that her skin wasn’t shimmering in the candlelight, it was giving off a peculiar and alien glow. She poked and prodded at the mass of strange glowing flesh, and it felt like her own skin, she could even feel her pressing into her cheek like it hadn’t been savaged a few hours previous. Jasaslan put away the mirror and reapplied the bandages. She decided to sleep, thinking she had had enough of this day, and longed for the bliss of sleep.

The next few days were spent testing the new capabilities of this strange new healing that only the amulet could have provided as well as hiding her new nature from the Tevinters. She found that while it could close normal wounds with nothing more than a flash, and nulled pain, it had its limitations. It could not heal or null the pain of a wound where an object still was plucked into the skin. She found this out one day while walking barefoot in the servant’s quarters and stepped on a splinter. As Jasaslan had not felt any pain from any source after weeks of testing her bodies new capabilities, she screamed in both pain and the surprise of feeling it.

This aspect of the amulet also described the Fex’s method of fighting. The way it parried direct sword swings with nothing more than its hand was not some unnatural toughness, but its ability to quickly heal after receiving cuts. This also explained why Jasaslan had been able to kill the creature while the other guards couldn’t. She had plunged the sword into the creature, and refused to take it out again, while the Tevinter guards had been madly slashing at it in hopes of finding some means of survival in the dank jungle pit.

While understanding the properties of the amulet was at times fun and fairly easy, hiding them was a rough business. Minor cuts still shown purple whenever they healed, but only for a split second. The mass that clotted her cheek still shone purple, perhaps because even the amulet could not correct a cut so deep and savage so quickly, and Jasaslan dreaded going to the doctor’s again. She did not worry about the doctor for long, however, as she was never prompted to go to the doctor by the staff again. Apparently, they did not care much for elves that were “past need for treatment”, and Jasaslan thankfully fell under this category. Still she dodged the infirmary elves and kept the amulet on at all times.

Jasaslan was at first worried that others may have tried to steal the amulet in her sleep, but such fears were soon absolved. Rumors of the Altus’s trepidation in touching the amulet had spread to the house staff, and from them to the rest of the town. Jasaslan’s discovery of the pyramid as well as her new piece of jewelry had become the subject of quite lengthy discussion in the Par Vollen town, much to the annoyance of both Jasaslan and the Altus.

The pyramid itself seemed to be a breeding ground for the Fex. It took two weeks to clear out the decrepit catacombs, but nothing remained in the pyramid other than a few dusty relics near to breaking. The Altus was at first heavily displeased with this new development, but Fex raids that came in the night suddenly stopped as the pyramid was cleansed. Brutus had concluded that the pyramid was the Fex’s main nest, and that by clearing it, the Altus had driven away the creatures from his town. The glory of course was given to the heroes of “The Battle of the Pyramid” and Brutus himself, while Jasaslan’s name was thankfully forgotten.

Jasaslan’s new duties as a member of the personal house staff of Brutus himself involved much the same as Mereth had done under Altus Gregorian, which was to say doing menial labor at the behest of the Altus. She was commanded to clean the house, wash the dishes, dust the sofa, air the sofa, prepare the meals, and do hundreds of other tasks along with the other house staff in service. Jasaslan did this, day in day out, for nearly a year. The cut on her cheek made no progress on healing, and she still had to keep it hidden, lest its purple glow give away her amulet. No one, not even Jeannine, had made a grab for the amulet, it fading to memory as nothing more than a pretty bauble. Jasaslan thought this was good, thought that her keeping the amulet gave her an edge over the Tevinters, anything they didn’t know could be used to her advantage. She did not know that the amulet would save her when the Qunari would land on Par Vollen early in the morning the night she slept clutching it.

[Celticbear]

Hello once more my silent readers! Today I submit chapter 2, which details the Qunari's voyage to Par Vollen!

Spoiler: Chapter 2

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More than a year, the Qunari sailed. Their ships were built for long voyages, and to withstand heavy damage. They were great metal dreadnaughts that pulled along the ocean on the backs of thousands of Qunari. Aside from the laborers, each of the thousand ships that sailed to the unknowing Thedas contained one thousand troops of the Qunari beresaad. A total of one million soldiers who were born into their role, who live and die at the Arishok’s command, sailed west into the path of the sun to conquer all of Thedas. They would be a tide of death that encompassed all, and on the surface could not be stopped.

They first had to get to Par Vollen, and to this end they sailed. Morale was not a problem for the men, each one followed the Qun, a rigid moral structure that held each one to their very soul. The Arishok was not afraid of any of his men going to the Tal-Vashoth or going against the Qun. He was, however, worried about the words of the Viddasala, or his rasaan as she had become. The Arishok was correct in his judgement that the Viddasala wanted to turn the fleet around, and sail back for their mother country. She cared nothing for his mission, only to subvert it.

One day, five months into the journey, the Viddasala barged into the Arishok’s personal quarters and posited, “Is the sky blue, Arishok?”

The Arishok, unaware why he was being asked this, answered, “During the day, yes, the sky is blue.”

“And what of night?” the Viddasala continued.

“During the night it is black, save the stars which are white,” the Arishok answered, a curious glint in his eye wondering why these questions were being asked.

“And the sea does match these colors?”

“Why are you asking me this?” the Arishok asked in turn.

“I said does the sea not match the sky’s colors, and I bid you answer, Arishok,” the Viddasala responded, indignantly.

With a growl, the Arishok answered, “The sea does match these colors, rasaan.”

“Yet the sea does not think, it has no reason. The tides are random, based on no one’s whims, and it can be conquered so easily as we have done so,” the Viddasala spoke.

“I suppose you are correct, does this have a point?” the Arishok asked begrudgingly.

“You are as the sky, Arishok, and your beresaad are the sea. They follow your direction, your color, for they shall always follow their master’s calling. I am not the sea, I am the clouds. I pour rain, reason, upon you and the beresaad, and block away parts of you I find unnerving. I find this voyage unnerving,” the Viddasala spoke as she crossed her arms.

“You would abandon your position as my rasaan to pursue your own goals, Viddasala? You, my rasaan, would abandon the Arishok, and bar him from wisdom?” the Arishok countered.

“I speak wisdom, Arishok, you speak insanity by pushing us further along this endless ocean!” the Viddasala shouted.

“All things have ends, Viddasala. I would find this one’s end.”

“As you wish, Arishok. It is not my place to command you, only offer wise council,” the Viddasala said as she left the Arishok to his musings.

More conversations, or philosophical arguments more rather, followed in the days and months that followed the first. It was endless rowing, endless preaching, and before long even the Arishok had doubts he would find anything. He often spoke to his Kathaban, the Qunari’s version of an admiral. At sea, as they were, the Kathaban and the Arishok were something approaching equals as the men would follow either’s orders without folly. The Arishok saw that the Viddasala could be easily swayed against him, and she might even corrupt the Kathaban as she often tried with himself. The Arishok spent most of his free time making idle conversation with the Kathaban, making sure that he would side with himself rather than the Viddasala.

However, to the Viddasala’s amazement, the Qunari did reach land. News travelled from the scout ships onward, a jungle island had been found: Par Vollen. There were no ports that they had been discovered, and the rock outcroppings surrounding the nearest beach were far too thick to sail the dreadnaughts into. The entirety of the beresaad in all their number could not feasibly fit and garner the element of surprise as the Arishok wished. To this end, a thousand troops were selected aside from other laborlores and scouts to accompany the Arishok inland.

When the Arishok went to the Viddasala’s quarters with the news of the island, flanked by two heavily armed and armored Qunari soldiers called Sten to denote their position, the Viddasala spoke first to the group of Qunari, “Now is not a time to gloat.”

The Arishok shook his head, “I did not come here to gloat, I came to collect you. I will not venture onto the island until I have the wisdom of my rasaan at my side.”

The Viddasala stood and gathered her twin daggers as she spoke in defeat, “Forgive me of my transgressions against you, I should never have doubted your word.”

“You have nothing that needs to be forgiven. You were performing your duty as my rasaan. You guided me with all the information you chose to accept as truth, I hold nothing against you.”

The Viddasala smiled and accompanied the Arishok as well as a few from the beresaad to a small wooden rowboat. The ship slowly moved forward in the direction the scout ships spoke the forested island was. It was half an hour, steering around the jutting rocks, until they did see the tree-line and beach ahead. When they did see it, each and every Qunari on the rowboat spoke silent prayers to Koslun, the first follower of the Qun. To the Qunari, Koslun was like a saint, and they invoked his name whenever they ventured into the unknown. To say the Arishok knew no fear would be a lie, he held fear as all did in his heart. All that separated the Arishok from a common soldier was that he never allowed his fear to conquer him, and he would not be put off by a few trees.

They were not the first of the beresaad to reach shore, the initial front had already started to make camp at the beach. When they saw the Arishok approach, stepping off his small boat with the opulence of a king, a Sten walked to the Arishok, and greeted, “I will hear you, Arishok.”

“I will hear you, Sten,” the Arishok answered.

“I took the liberty of sending five scouts to learn of the area around us. They have been ordered to return at sunset.”

“You show initiative,” the Arishok mused, “These are as orders that might have passed from my lips.”

“I thank you, Arishok. Do you have orders of your own?” the Sten asked.

The Arishok thought for a moment as he stared at the towering trees in Par Vollen, and eventually commanded, “I would have cuttings of these trees brought to the Kathaban for inspection. They look sturdy enough for ships, but the eyes can deceive. Notify me when the Saarebas reaches shore, I do not wish to be alarmed by its presence- “

Before the Arishok could continue his litany of instructions, a group of Fex savages went down upon the camp. They first launched spears into the unaware beresaad. A few Qunari soldiers fell victim to the surprise attack, including the Sten the Arishok had been speaking to, but most went quickly into cover from the throwing spears. The men of the beresaad brought out spears of their own and started to supply the Fex with retaliating fire of their own.

The Arishok and the Viddasala leapt into action. As the Viddasala drew her twin daggers, the Arishok slammed his quarterstaff upon the ground. The Viddasala launched herself into the bushes, using the Fex’s advantage of stealth for her own, but the Arishok merely walked from his cover, uttering a chant of the Qun for all to hear. Not one spear found its way to the Arishok’s gullet, as he used his staff to dash any projectile that happened to close near. He tracked their trajectory, and then nimble as a cat he pounced to a tree. He climbed its length, holding his quarterstaff in one hand as the other clawed its way into the bark. The Arishok spied a savage humanoid creature clutching a spear, a spear aimed at his head.

The Arishok first struck at the creature’s the clawed hand which clutched its weapon. With a shriek, it dropped it in as much surprise as pain. The Arishok then swung right into the creature’s lower jaw, knocking it to the side in a sputter of blood. It’s new position away from the trunk of the tree gave the Arishok enough room to jump beside it, and the Arishok took the opportunity. The Arishok leapt for the Fex, and lead with his horns, which had been sharpened to a point. He impaled the Fex’s chest with his horns and used his free hand to throw the beast off his head and over the side of the tree.

After the creature had fallen, another jumped atop the Arishok. This one was not armed with weaponry but had filed its claws and teeth as the Arishok had with his horns. It dug its artificial maw into the Arishok’s neck and started to claw at his back. The Arishok shouted at his assailant, and as he did so one of the Fex’s primal spears flew past his face and into that of his aggressor. The Fex fell off of the Arishok, dead into the trees below.

As the Arishok looked he saw that the Viddasala lay next to one of the dead Fex spear throwers and threw its spears at other Fex that had been descending down onto the beresaad in their cover. “We are grossly outnumbered,” the Arishok thought. Such thoughts were dashed when he saw out far in the coast a rowboat approaching. It did not contain more Qunari of the beresaad as the Arishok first thought but contained two Qunari figures that did not fall under his jurisdiction.

The creature, for it was no man in the Arishok’s standards, wore a mask over its face that left scant but holes for its eyes. It did not have hair or horns, and its gray head almost shimmered in the sunlight. Its mouth was bound shut and muzzled in cast iron, much like a dog’s muzzle. It was bound in a metal and leather straight jacket that restricted its movement to nothing more than twitches. It sat cross-legged next to another Qunari, one who had wide horns like a bull. It stood valiantly holding a double ended war axe whilst shining in a full set of plate armor. This Qunari wore signs of the Arvaarad, a guardian of the Qunari mages called Saarebas. The chained creature was its Saarebas.

When they reached shore, the Arvaarad knelt down beside his charge, and undid some key straps holding it the boat. He pointed out to the scene before the pair and spoke soft words to his charge. The Saarebas stood silently and extended a bound claw at the nearest Fex. The creature started convulsing, its flesh starting to postulate in a scene of mutagenic horror. Eventually, it exploded in pus in blood, and the nearby Fex around it seemed to come down with this strange sickness. The Saarebas walked calmly forward, it’s hand ascending as if to touch the sky as the Arvaarad ran with axe extended into the Fex lines.

The Arishok took up a cry with the other Qunari, a savage battle-cry that matched the Fex’s in fury. The Fex knew that stealth had been lost to them, and that the presence of a mage on the Qunari’s side had changed the tide of battle entirely. They rushed towards the Saarebas in hordes, but each was repelled by a set of mind bogglingly horrific elemental furies. One Fex line was turned to ice while another was turned into a bloody pulp. The Saarebas seemed all powerful on the battlefield, which was the exact reason he was restricted in all other places by both straps and Arvaarad. While the Arvaarad’s purpose was to protect the Saarebas, it was also to kill it if needs be.

The battle eventually ended, the Qunari victorious. Totaling their losses, the Arishok found that they had lost nearly half of the force that had landed, nearly a hundred Qunari. The Arishok found that priests that had accompanied the men were already chanting the standard prayers for the dead, and things, as always with the Qun, were running smoothly. The Arishok, in his searching, spied the Arvaarad rebinding the Saarebas in his clamps and straps. The Arishok disliked the fact of the Saarebas’s presence, it wasn’t natural in any sense of the word. It’s lack of horns were not a staple of being a mage, but a genetic alteration that denoted a particularly powerful Qun. Such a lack of horns was usually viewed by others of the Qunari as being impressive and intimidating. In the Saarebas’s case, it only served to make the thing more terrifying and imposing.

They were a necessary evil, as the battle no doubt showed. The Arishok internally sighed, knowing that he would have to deal with Saarebas in greater depth as the crusade against this new country continued. The Arishok, after his internal deliberations, then knelt down to inspect a dead Fex. It was humanoid, with arms, legs, and other average extremities. However, it was slightly off in appearance, it was covered in fur for one. Its hands also ended in savage claws, though they were clearly sharpened to garner the effect. The Viddasala approached the Arishok in his inspection, cleaning her twin daggers of Fex blood.

“Savage beasts. Do they match the descriptions of those found in your books?” the Viddasala asked.

“They are not beasts. They use tools, weapons, they wear clothing, they planned an ambush, and I could swear upon the Qun that they were speaking to each other during the battle. They are men, though men in early stages of civilization. We will bring these men under the Qun in time,” the Arishok mused.

“But do they match the description of the men found in your books?” the Viddasala questioned again.

“They do not,” the Arishok relented, “but the tomes could have been over embellished. It would sadden me if they were, but it would still bring me great joy to garner these people under the Qun.”

“As it would me. You wished to be notified of the Saarebas’s presence, it is here,” the Viddasala spoke.

“I would speak with its Arvaarad. Would you accompany me, rasaan?” the Arishok asked.

“I will,” the Viddasala spoke as she turned her head to the Saarebas.

The pair walked over to the bound creature, still being retied by the Arvaarad. It twitched this way and that and tilted its head at the Arishok when he approached. When the Arvaarad spied this motion, he turned, and deeply bowed to the Arishok, quickly stammering, “I will hear to you, Arishok.”

“And I you, Arvaarad,” the Arishok began, “You unbounded your charge without permission from myself or the Viddasala. Explain why.”

The Arvaarad went into his deep bow once more, and answered, “The battle was going in the enemy’s favor, I had to act quickly, or we might have lost.”

The Arishok nodded, and answered, “You are correct, had the Saarebas not joined the battle, we surely would have perished. Your judgement was sound, I merely wished to ensure it was.”

“If you unleash your charge without our express permission again, I will have the Ben-Hassrath slaughter you both for the safety of the Qunari, do I make myself clear?” the Viddasala warned.

“As water, Viddasala,” the Arvaarad answered through clenched teeth. The Saarebas behind him made a deep throated grumbling sound. Both the Arishok and the Viddasala flinched at the noise.

The Qunari waited for the remainder of the chosen beresaad to reach shore in mostly silence. Language was a bare necessity of the horned giants, to be avoided when at all possible. The species completely dedicated themselves to this introverted stance, prompting to the fact that actions often spoke louder than words. When the last of the beresaad ships had reached shore, camps had been set, trenches had been dug, and tents had been raised. The sun set with scant sound, with nothing but the jungle sounds to greet its loss. As promised, the scouts returned with the setting sun, but only four of the five scouts had returned to the Qunari camp.

They went into the Arishok’s wide tent in a single file line. They did away with customary greetings, and one then of the scouts stepped out of the line as he spoke, “I found… buildings, Arishok.”

“Buildings?” the Arishok asked, “Elaborate.”

“They are just like those from back home, but smaller and squatter. Battlements, towers, and even an entire holdfast. I found a fortress built like a Qunari’s.”

“Are you insinuating that Tal-Vashoth traitors have made this great voyage before us?” the Arishok asked through clenched teeth.

“No, Arishok, I of course went to take a closer look inside,” the scout offered, “There were men like us, but they were small and fat. Their skin was a mixed bundle of colors; orange, brown, and there was a pale white one as well. Some of these men had round ears, and some had pointed ears. It seemed as if the pointed eared ones served the round eared ones, it was very confusing.”

“A caste system based upon one’s appearance rather than one’s merit,” the Arishok thought aloud, “This will not do. They will be brought to the Qun. How many of these men were there?”

“Almost as much as the ones we brought here, but most are servants, they have a scant military force,” the scout explained.

“You mentioned you snuck inside their fortress? How?” the Arishok questioned.

“I found a weak spot in the wall, kicked it down, and snuck in through there. The men were too unperceptive to notice even that.”

“When the sun rises, I wish you to lead me and the beresaad to this fortress. Once we are in close proximity, I want you to break apart with a small contingent of the beresaad, and sneak into this hole you mentioned. On my signal, we storm the fort,” the Arishok planned.

“A brilliant strategy, Arishok. Do you wish to ponder over the rough maps I have made of the area?” the scout asked.

“Yes, bring them here, and fetch my rasaan as well as the leading Sten from the beresaad. I would have them pour strategy with me as well,” the Arishok ordered.

The scouts left with their detailed maps splayed over the Arishok’s war table. The picture the maps painted was of an oblong continent that stretched far to north and west but did not jut anywhere near to the south. The fortress the scout had mentioned was marked clearly near the Arishok’s camp and could supposedly be reached with scant half a day’s travel. When the coterie of Sten and the Viddasala entered the Arishok’s tent; they greeted, the Arishok spoke his basic strategy, and the men made their plans based around the fortress. They would go with the spirit of the plan, with a platoon of beresaad soldiers being led by the scout into the fortress while the main Qunari force took the fortress on two sides. They knew the rough numbers of the enemy, nearly four hundred fighting men, and they knew that with the Qunari contingent that had made their way secretly into the fort, the Qunari rushing the main gate at the front of the fort, and with the Qunari who would be raising climbing ladders onto the fort’s walls, the enemy would not have the men to deal with all three problems at once. The Qunari would force the men to rout, and then the Ben-Hassrath would question the survivors and subjugate them to the Qun.

The men slept that night totally assured of their victory on the morrow. The alien noises of the jungle may have frightened them when they reached shore, but the fight with the Fex showed that the Qunari could conquer this strange land and conquer they would. The Arishok slept on the soil of the country he had read and heard of for so long and smiled knowing that the soil would one day be his, totally and completely. When the sun rose, the beresaad gathered for breakfast, and the Arishok stood before them. When most of the Qunari had finished eating, the Arishok stood, and cleared his throat. The Viddasala looked quizzically at the Arishok, wondering exactly what he would have to say.

“We march on unexplored land, land that most of us did not even believe existed when we first set sail. Gaze upon the soil, gaze upon the alien beasts and trees that grow here. Gaze upon them all and know that they are nothing compared to the might and surety of the Qun. They are but bare beasts with no soul, and we come to enlighten them. Today we march in this insane land to an insane fortress filled with insane men, men who have no calling, men who have never heard of the Qun. We kill them for it is necessary, we must show our strength to these men, but I ask you to pity those who fall, and never hear the word of the Qun. We will make those who survive a better world, a pure world. We march under the name of Koslun, under the banner of the beresaad, and under the will of the Qun!”

This promoted cheers, and applause from the Qunari, smiling wild faces that thirsted for an enemy. The Viddasala smiled with them and gazed at the Arishok in all of his glory. After the speech, the beresaad collected themselves and their belongings, and marched into the woods as they were bidden. The march lasted a little longer than the scout’s reports said it would, but this was to be expected. An army moved more slowly than a single man, its form was larger, its steps carried more weight. However, the scouts sent ahead eventually held fists in the air, signaling the Qunari that it was time to split apart. The Viddasala accompanied the Qunari soldiers that would sneak into the fortress, the Arvaarad and the Saarebas accompanied the men who would storm the walls seeing as it would be arguably the most dangerous task, and the Arishok accompanied the five hundred soldiers who would rush the gate. The signal for the Qunari to rush the fort would come from a horn given to the Viddasala, and she would blow upon it once the Qunari had successfully infiltrated the fort.

The Viddasala crept from bush to bush along with the other Qunari beresaad. They left each one like a shadow and entered each bush like a mellow breeze. They were unseen by the Tevinter guards wandering the battlements and found the hole the scout had made with little difficulty. The Qunari crept inside one by one and found that the area was some sort of armory, but all the weapons were tiny, as if made for children. The Qunari did not have time to gawk at the weapons, they had work to do. The Viddasala got the horn out of her bag, rushed out the front door, and blew it with as much air as she could muster.

. . .

As Jasaslan worked inside the horrid Altus’s place of residence, she heard a strange sound come from outside. It was like a hunter’s horn, but deeper in tone. She rushed out to the window to see the strangest sight. Huge people at least six to eight feet in height wearing horned headdresses were running about the fort grounds. Their skin was gray, and their weapons were massive. The guards were rushing to fight them, but their sheer surprise and apparently flawless fighting styles overcame guard after guard. This was no Fex raid that Jasaslan was used to, this was something she had never dreamed of seeing.

She saw the Tevinters losing, and she decided then to take full advantage of this fact.

. . .

The Arishok first spoke his prayer to Koslun quietly, but the men around him heard his chant, and started to pick the chant up themselves. Then the men around them, and the men around them, and suddenly the chant had turned into a battle-cry. They shouted ancient words meant to be spoken in hushed tones at the top of their breath, shouting them in defiance of the enemy who knew no peace, for they did not know the Qun. Their first lesson would be the chant of Koslun, their first teacher death. The Arishok rushed the gate at the head of his forces, but he needn’t have bothered with speed. The Qunari forces reached the gate before it was closed and clashed with the enemy before they could even have a chance to react.

. . .

The Arvaarad stood next to the Saarebas, it sat cross-legged like it always did. The Arvaarad sometimes thought the creature was trying to find some solace in its binds, sometimes thought that it was communing with demons, and sometimes thought it was sitting because its legs were tired. At the horn’s call, it stood. It seemed eager to fulfil its purpose. The Qun taught all to be this way, but when the Saarebas showed some interest in anything but its quiet contemplation, it frightened the Arvaarad as much as it did the men who followed him. Those in the beresaad that did accompany him to the walls kept their distance. They hated the Saarebas, and the Arvaarad, but feared them as well. The Arvaarad used this fear to motivate them to fight harder, to fight in fear of the Saarebas.

The Arvaarad used his great battle axe to cut the binds of the Saarebas in one fell swoop. The Saarebas stretched his arms to the sky once it was free, and the man-made clearing that held the strange fortress began to darken as storm clouds gathered around it. Lightning bolts started to rain down from the sky onto the unsuspecting Tevinter guardsmen. The walls of the fortress were panic stricken, and the Qunari rushed it with climbing ropes and ladders without much molestation. They set apart their climbing tools, and started to ascend the fortress, not drizzled with magic fueled rain that seemed to irk their every sense into a sense of fear and unrepentant worry.

The siege of the fortress, if it could be called as such, was now fully underway. Qunari had rushed against defenders at the gates, on the walls, and even in the fortress itself. They dominated the battlefield with superior numbers and surprise, as well as unholy magics. The Tevinter guards rang the bells to call all out from slumber, and to rouse the Altus from his bed chambers. Jasaslan was standing at the door of the Altus’s bedchambers, carrying his robes and staff, and quivered profusely.

“What in the name of the Maker is going on outside?” Brutus questioned.

“Attackers, they came from the forest, I got your battle gear,” Jasaslan answered in kind.

Altus Brutus quickly got out of bed and stole his robes and staff from Jasaslan’s waiting hands briskly, and started to put them on as he asked, “What is the situation, tell me in earnest, girl.”

Jasaslan slowly approached the Altus as she answered, “Horned giants broke through the gate and are fighting the guards all over the holdfast. They seem to have a magic user with them, he called down a great storm at the southern wall.”

“Dammit, this was supposed to be a quiet outpost. No matter, I think I have enough servants to fuel some basic wards around the house. Girl, make yourself scarce, I’ll be using the house staff to fuel the blood rituals, and you won’t want to be here when I do,” the Altus spoke as he tightened his robes around him.

This sentence caused Jasaslan to act. She could no longer act as a slave to this man, even if in his twisted mind he was “saving her”. She plunged the hidden kitchen knife she had been hiding in her sleeves in Brutus’s neck, and watched as blood flowed from the mage’s jugular down on his pristine robes. Brutus clutched his throat, and extended a claw out to Jasaslan, sending a jolt of ice completely through her stomach. It landed on the opposite wall with a thud, and Jasaslan clutched at her own stomach now seeping blood like the Altus’s, but unlike Brutus her wound was closing with shimmering purple energy. The Altus gasped at Jasaslan’s display of magic or tried to through his throat filling with blood. Jasaslan came at him again with the kitchen knife, this time plunging it through his eye. The man died trying to scream.

The only chance for the Tevinter men to win the battle had died with Brutus, but they still fought to the last man. In a desperate attempt to win, the guards had started giving fallen men’s weapons to elves, bidding them to aid in the fight in exchange for their freedom. The elves knew no world other than their orders, so they picked up the bloody swords with little preamble. When Jasaslan exited the high Altus’s manor with Brutus’s bloody head in her hands wreathed in a purple nimbus of light, however, they stopped their fighting, and looked at her. The Qunari themselves even gave a glance towards her, the Viddasala in particular.

“Elves! Fight for your freedom! Kill the Tevinters!” Jasaslan shouted, throwing the head at one of the Tevinter guardsmen. The ensuing battle turned into chaos, with the elves turning against their oppressors, Jasaslan wreathed in more purple as men started to try and cut her to no avail, and the Qunari who eventually found out that the elves had turned traitor against their compatriots and now fought on the side of the Qun. The beresaad gave a shout of triumph at this, the Qun had reached the ears of these folk, and they seemingly accepted it. They fought with renewed vigor against the Tevinter guards until the last ones dropped their weapons in surrender.

The post battle was a calm scene. The Qunari broke off those who had aided them in the siege away from those who were more like prisoners. The Arishok had commended the beresaad and chanted the prayer for the fallen as he was bid. After this was done, the beresaad as well as anyone from the other side who wished to join in the effort worked to pack the bodies on a funeral pyre. The Arvaarad rebound the Saarebas’s straps and found a cage inside the holdfast that would do for its quarters. The Qunari had planned to use the fort as a base of operations when conquering the continent. It was a defendable location, and if the Tevinters had been both united and vigilant, the battle may have gone a different way.

[Elanasaurus]

Hey! Celticbear! You're back!

[Celticbear]

I am, vampires were kinda mehing out for me. This one though I have multiple people telling me shut up and work whenever I'm like "Oh I can just work on it tomorrow". While you were great, I needed a bigger "shut up and work" group, and now I have it XD

[Elanasaurus]

Yeah, given that I don't know you, I feel that I'm not quite in a position to hound you about work. I'm just here to read, and offer comments about grammar and such. I don't really know much about storytelling.

[Celticbear]

And I appreciate you so much my free editor my good friend.

[Celticbear]

Chapter three, my readers, tells of Leto and Mereth exploring their new city of Carastes, meeting new fun plot devices people.

Spoiler: Chapter 3

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The day the litany if horse drawn carriages arrived at Carastes, Leto finally made Mereth’s presence known to Altus Gregorian. Leto, on the road, had used immense guile and mystical trickery to keep Mereth’s hidden. It was not hard, Gregorian never bothered to check the carriages often, but it was trying on the mind. The entire venture from Minrathous to Carastes Leto worried sick about Mereth. He did not converse with her often but did bring her half of every meal he ate, and often times more than half. He wished he had more time with her, more than anything else in the world, but he could not draw more attention to the wagon that hid her than he already did.

Leto waited until the group of wagons and carriages had landed at the foot of the estate before going to Gregorian. As he did so, he felt as if he were a child about to confess that yes, it was he who emptied the glass jar of cookies all at once one night prior to his cross parents. He expected punishment, he expected that he and Mereth would be whipped and dragged through the streets. Leto feared more for Mereth than he did himself. He brought her here to protect her, but now he realized that maybe he brought her here for her doom as well.

Gulping and blushing, Leto walked to the carriage doors that Gregorian sat behind, opened them, and muttered in a single breath, “Master Altus, I have something that I would wish to confess.”

Gregorian viewed Leto with a curious eye of skepticism, but asked, “Speak up, Laetan, what did you say?”

“I said I wished to confess a misdeed I had performed!” Leto practically shouted.

Gregorian put his hands to his ears, and uttered, “Quit stammering like a half caught nug, and tell me what you’ve done already.”

“When we left for Minrathous, I… smuggled Mereth along for the ride,” Leto answered, his head hung in disappointment.

Gregorian rushed out of the carriage in a fury and demanded, “You did what? Show me where the elf girl is!”

Leto lamented, and led Gregorian off to the wagon wherein Mereth skulked. Leto brushed the paraphernalia aside to reveal the huddled elf, dirty from days on the road. Gregorian deeply inhaled as he inspected her. Leto had been apprentice to the Altus for some time now and could tell when his master was deep in thought. He could practically see the options weighing against each other in Gregorian’s head. Leto gulped again, a facet of habit that he always did when nervous, some might call it a tick. Gregorian stepped inside the carriage and extended a hand towards Mereth.

“You are incredibly filthy,” Gregorian commented, “You will inspect the estate, and then draw a bath for yourself.”

“Then I can… I can stay?” Mereth asked.

“I never said that,” Gregorian frowned, “I said your filthy presence displeases me, and I wish you to be at least presentable.”

Mereth bowed her head, rushed out of the wagon, and went into the manor. Gregorian and Leto’s eyes followed her as she went inside, a soft wistfulness in Leto’s, a cold annoyance in Gregorian’s. Leto waited for Gregorian to follow Mereth out before he closed the wagon doors and looked to Gregorian with pleading hope. Gregorian scoffed, and beckoned Leto to follow him. He walked the streets of Carastes down to a sizable tavern. The pair quietly entered the establishment and sat at a table for two. An elven serving man walked to their table, ready to take an order, but the Altus waved him aside.

“Do you know what you have done?” Gregorian asked Leto, of whom was sweating and gulping like a stuck pig.

“I brought Mereth with us to Carastes?” Leto posited.

“You smuggled stolen property to Carastes,” Gregorian started, “and it will cost a fortune to bring her back.”

“Wait, please, I can explain- “

“I will have to pay a guardsman to keep Mereth on the road to Minrathous. I will have to pay for both their food, drink, horse feed, and their inns if they choose to dwell in one. I will have to pay reparations to Altus MacKaye for the inconveniences you have caused. Last but not least, I will have to pay for the water Mereth is using to draw her bath at this very moment.”

Leto bowed his head as Gregorian continued, “Of course, I can pay all of these sums quite easily, but the paperwork will be annoying. No, the entire process of this whole catastrophe is annoying, but it is my solemn duty to watch over this household.”

“Please, master, do not send her away!” Leto begged.

“Be quiet! I never said I would,” Gregorian stated, “Leto, have you not been listening to a single word I just spoke? Bringing Mereth back to Minrathous would be annoying to me, and I care for my household, I am duty bound to care for my household. You are a part of my household.”

A strange, oddly romantic, light kindled in Leto’s eyes as he asked, “Then… then Mereth may stay with us in Carastes?”

“She may. Aside from the fact that buying her from Altus MacKaye would be cheaper than sending her back to Minrathous, you clearly have a sort of familial bond with her,” Gregorian started, “I should not have tried to keep you from her, I admit that much. I should’ve known that you would have tried something for her favor. You showed skill and guile, I give you that, and as you are my apprentice, I have a certain appreciation for your skill. Yes, the girl can stay. However, between your studies you will work with the elven slaves as an indentured servant until you pay Mereth’s price in sovereigns.”

Leto bowed his head once more, and muttered, “I understand master Altus.”

After this initial discussion, Gregorian and Leto conversed about many things, most prevalent among which was Leto’s studies. Leto was adept at magic concerning water and frost, and Gregorian was convinced that if Leto continued his studies into the natures of water, he might become the greatest frost mage of the age in Tevinter, a crowning achievement to be sure. While Leto did wish to please his master by following this path, he also wished to write a piece called the “Compendium of Locations in the Fade and Bestiary of Their Denizens”.

The Fade is a dream realm wherein all species except dwarves go to dream. It is a place filled with spirits and demons and reputed to be the source of all magic as well as the seat of God, or His other name the Maker. The Fade is ever-shifting, the floating islands that encompass it can never be found in the same place twice. Attempts to map the strange reality have been tried, failed, and the would-be cartographers have, more often than not, gone horribly mad.

Nevertheless, Leto has always possessed the thought that the Fade has a definite pattern. He had spent his teenage years beginning to start his Compendium slash Bestiary, culminating his notes mostly on the denizens of the Fade as well as their patterns of location. He had started with the absolute basics, such as the classification of demons to spirits, the classification of non-sapient to semi-sapient apparitions, and, a previously unchecked facet of the Fade, the ratios of all previously mentioned groups in relation to each other. His notes, and occasional ramblings to Mereth, had indeed found a faint pattern, one which Leto had spent all his free time elaborating upon.

But, true to his word, Gregorian ensured Leto had not time to work on his Compendium. Leto, after his morning studies were completed, was sent to the elven prefects each day, and ordered about much like the rest of the slaves were. It was a base and degrading job, and the elven servants took great pleasure in ensuring that Leto was given the most menial labors. The work gave Leto more time to spend with Mereth, however, as she was often grouped with Leto in his many tasks. They suffered together, but they enjoyed each other’s presence.

Leto was commanded to work with the elven slaves for a period no longer than a year, but Leto found the work gratifying, and enjoyed Mereth’s prolonged company. He decided upon a new schedule, wherein he studied with Gregorian in the mornings, worked on his Compendium until a little after luncheon, and returned to work with the elves to the late afternoon. Gregorian was slightly annoyed that his punishment had turned into a hobby for Leto but did not comment on this often.

At times Leto dined with the elves instead of the Gregorian, much to the Altus’s chagrin. Gregorian voiced his concerns for Leto’s involvement with elves the first time he dined with them but halted his efforts once he realized Leto’s involvement was rapidly increasing the elves’ morale. The “Beggar Lord of Tevinter” dining with elven slaves was quite a humorous prospect. Even if this raised morale of the elves and increased their work output, Gregorian was put off on the fact that his star apprentice, in fact his only apprentice, was dining and consorting with what he considered little more than swine.

Leto worked this way near on another year before a stranger came to Carastes. Supposedly he came in the late afternoon through the south gate and walked straight to Gregorian’s estate. Gregorian sent word for Leto, who was currently dining and enjoying the company and revelries in the servant’s quarters with Mereth. An elven missive came to Leto like a flash, and quickly uttered a scared message to him, barely comprehensible to even the keenest of ears.

Leto set down his mug of mulled wine upon a nearby table and put a hand on the missive’s shoulder as he spoke, “Calm down friend, speak softly.”

“The lord Altus sent me here to ask you to greet the foreign dignitary in his stead,” the elven missive spoke between breaths.

“The foreign dignitary?” Leto questioned, “What foreign dignitary, I was never told such a meeting would take place?”

“Neither did the lord Altus,” the missive answered, “A dwarf from Orzammar has come to Carastes unannounced. The lord Altus was furious, he had predetermined engagements you see, which is why I’m here in such a hurry. No one makes it away from an angered mage, no one!”

“Please calm down, you have nothing to fear. I will meet with this dwarf, and you shall take my place at the dinner table,” Leto responded.

The missive nodded and took the seat Leto gestured towards. As Leto reached the doors, he found that Mereth had been following him, and on the hilt of her sword to keep it steady. Leto commented, “You know Gregorian does not like other Tevinters to see you, let alone diplomats from Orzammar.”

Mereth frowned up at Leto and put her hand on her hip as she spoke, “I can look after myself, Leto, and besides, the dwarves treat everyone who goes up to the surface as outcasts. I’ve never heard diplomats leaving Orzammar, only going in.”

Leto put his hands up in surrender as he responded, “Fine, fine, come along, I was just speaking my mind.”

Mereth smiled back to Leto a she softly spoke, “I know, and I appreciate the concern. Now then, the Altus is in a fury, we should do what he says.”

Leto and Mereth quickly made their way up the streets of Carastes to Gregorian’s estate. Winter was in its death throes, but a thin sheet of snow still blanketed the streets from the last freezing night. The pair, having grown up in the cold temperament, were quite used to the cold, Leto especially due to his innate mystical attunement to it. Mereth still clutched her sides at times, end even though the long-sleeved tux she wore protected her avidly against the climate, the freezing winds still bit at her face.

The pair quickly made their way indoors and were greeted immediately by the face of the dwarf. As their race’s name suggested, the dwarf was a short squat thing, barely four feet in height. His face was a mess of unkempt hair, both beard and noggin. Her wore a thick set of what Leto could loosely describe as goggles. The artifice seemed to have many small intricacies about it, with multiple lenses, and some form of miniature lantern, attached. The lantern was lit, and firelight danced from the dwarf’s eyes as he looked up at the pair from his book.

“Are you Altus Gregorian? I was told I would meet him soon,” the dwarf asked.

“Altus Gregorian had a previous engagement, I am here in his stead,” Leto responded.

“Ah, I see. Well, may I ask about the elf over there?” the dwarf asked looking towards Mereth.

“She is my personal assistant and bodyguard,” Leto exclaimed, “Introductions, yes, I am Leto, and this is Mereth.”

The dwarf went into a deep bow, and spoke, “I am Lem, shaper of Orzammar’s shaperate.”

“Shaperate? You are a dwarven scholar then?” Mereth asked, giving Lem a quizzical eye.

Lem seemed to gain a wide grin as he answered, “Ah, you’re familiar with dwarven traditions, interesting. Yes, I am a scholar of sorts. I spent my time in Orzammar studying the production of golems, and their origin, as well as the battles they participated in against the darkspawn during the first blight.”

“The creation of golems has been lost to the dwarves, no?” Mereth questioned.

“Yes, that’s why I study their art. I seek to recover the dwarves’ greatest invention: life in stone. I came here to ask Gregorian about his studies,” Lem explained.

“Gregorian studied golems?” Leto asked, feeling a bit left out in the conversation, “I never heard of this.”

“In Minrathous, your capital city, there are golem-like artifices you call Juggernauts guarding the walls and ramparts. Gregorian had been reputed to have studied their composition on orders from my predecessor, but his findings had never been submitted to the shaperate,” Lem stated.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like Gregorian. I’ve known him my entire life, and he’s been meticulous with his notes,” Leto commented.

“How long ago did the shaperate ask Altus Gregorian to send in his findings initially?” Mereth wondered.

“Near on sixty years ago, before I was born,” Lem answered, “I understand if the Altus has grown weary over the years.”

Leto and Mereth looked at each other with a strange eye as they looked back to Lem. Leto said in a worried tone, “Altus Gregorian is not a day above forty. Perhaps you have him confused with another member of the magistrate?”

Lem frowned back up at Leto as his eyes returned back to his book, scanning it furiously, and retorted, “No, no the shaperate cannot have failed in their records, I swear to you in Andraste’s name that this is the correct Altus.”

Leto and Mereth waited for Lem to find his page, exchanging glances at each other with a confused and slightly worried glint in their eyes. Lem eventually thumbed through the book, and lifted it up to Leto, gesturing for him to read. Leto took the book and gestured for Mereth to read it over his shoulder. She came to his side, and they both looked down on what appeared to be a ledger, with numerous dates painting Altus Gregorian to have lived before the current Steel Age. Under the Chantry Calendar, every hundred years is an Age, and the Steel Age was scarce thirty years past. As the pair read the pages, they realized that the book painted a terrifyingly accurate description of Gregorian’s life. The ledger had written that Gregorian had been stationed in Minrathous and had been studying the Juggernauts as Lem had said he had been. After a period of five years, Leto read that Gregorian had stopped submitting his notes to Orzammar entirely. The dwarves still kept record of his activities, a fact which seemed to give Leto quite a fright, and as Leto read on things started to become more and more familiar.

The Altus had sent a formal request to the Tevinter Imperium some sixteen years ago to acquisition an infant recently interred into the Circle of Magi, a place where all mages are sent to study their craft before being sent out into the world. This had been Leto, or at least that is what Mereth and Leto thought, but as they read on, they realized that this was one of several infants repositioned from the Circle. Eventually, Gregorian had started to purchase a surplus of elven servants, most of them extremely young. Mereth was listed as one of the elves he had bought during this period, being recorded that she was three years old at the time, the same age as Leto. Two years after this event, one Laetan Leto had been stated as Gregorian’s official personal apprentice. The rest of the ledger was just random business dealings Gregorian had made, but one of the most recent etchings was that Gregorian had been stationed from Minrathous to Carastes.

“This can’t be right, Gregorian isn’t older than thirty, this paints him as living well before the Steel Age,” Leto harshly counterposed as he thrusted the book back into Lem’s hands.

Lem returned Leto’s glare as he retorted, “The shaperate is very precise in these recordings. If you wish, I have the documents signed and dated that accord with the ledger if you’ll give me but a moment to procure them.”

“No, no I believe you, it’s just… I cannot believe that the Altus lied to me for all my life, and about something so trivial,” Leto assured.

“Well, seeing as he did not tell you of these past engagements, I do not think that you are able to help me with them,” Lem replied back.

Leto considered, and spoke, “Well, this seems like a longer standing engagement than whatever Gregorian seems to be doing at the moment, probably some paperwork. If I lead you to his quarters, I can probably convince him to hand over the notes in relatively little time.”

“Are you sure the master Altus would not mind our intrusions?” Lem asked.

“He shouldn’t, I don’t remember anything too important on the official schedule today, do you Mereth?” Leto posited.

Mereth shook her head, and Leto motioned for the other two to follow him upstairs. They walked through the creaking and aged hallway with haste, and a little fear. Though Leto assured himself that Gregorian would not mind his intrusion, after all he was his apprentice, it worried Leto of the distance Gregorian kept away from Lem. He had avoided the dwarf like the plague, and all Lem had wanted was what Gregorian had offered them sixty years ago. This time frame also worried Leto, for all he knew Gregorian was in his early forties. The number of infants he had also requisitioned from the Imperium also made Leto afraid, for what purpose had Gregorian for babies? Leto would seek answers for this question after Lem had his notes, and left Carastes happy.

Leto made it to Gregorian’s door, knocked on it, and opened it, calling out, “Master? I’ve come with the dwarf scholar Lem, he wishes some notes you had promised Orzammar some time ago.”

The scene they entered in was a strange one. The room had an odd lighting, and an elven servant had collapsed on the floor. Gregorian was above the still figure, hands extended to the air, muttering a soft chant. Leto noticed that the elven servant’s neck was red with blood, and it seemed to drip upward to the ceiling, almost in tune with Gregorian’s movements. Mereth, gasping at the scene, rushed into the room, pushing Gregorian aside. The lighting and the chanting halting, and as they did so, Mereth started to apply first aid to the elf. Leto could see he was barely alive, but he would die before the hour was up.

Gregorian rose from the ground, a furious glint in his eyes, as he extended a hand towards Mereth’s back. Leto, realizing what he was about to do, erected a wall of ice between her and Gregorian that parted the flames from his extended hand. Gregorian’s eyes swirled towards Leto, and he let out another gout of fire towards him. Leto put his arms before him, and created another wall of ice, parting the flames once more. He then broke it with a thought, walked into the room, and shouted, “Everyone be calm!”

“Stay with us, please stay with us, Leto, do something!” Mereth begged to both the dying elven man and Leto.

“Take another step towards the knife-ear, boy, and you will regret it,” Gregorian threatened.

“Master explain what is going on here right now,” Leto ordered.

“You interrupted Tevinter business, you have no right to see this ritual, nor does anyone but me,” Gregorian retorted back indignantly.

“Leto, please, do something,” Mereth whimpered as she pressed the makeshift bandage she had made into the elf man’s throat.

Leto looked back at Mereth, and said, “Mereth, the man is beyond healing magic, I’m sorry.”

“This is what I mean when I say you have grown too close to the elves, Laetan,” Gregorian spoke as he rose to his feet, “You’re starting to show them pity.”

Leto interjected himself between Mereth and Gregorian, saying, “Master, I cannot allow you to do this, it is wrong. Blood magic is foul- “

“Blood magic is powerful, Leto, the Tevinter Imperium was created with it,” Gregorian growled, “You need to be shown its power? You need to be shown its strength? Behold, Leto, learn of it, see it in action!”

Gregorian raised his hand, and clenched it, and as he did so Leto could feel the control of his own body leave him. He watched, unable to do anything as he walked away from Mereth, leaving her unprotected before Gregorian. The Altus walked forward, hand still extended to Leto to keep him still, and Mereth looked up in utter horror. She backed away, hand on her sword’s hilt, from Gregorian, who at the moment was smiling. He did not speed his advance, he only slowly made his way towards Mereth. Mereth, however, did speed her withdraw, but as she made it to the door, it shut behind her as a sudden gust of wind blew it closed.

“Leto, you are mistaken with your infatuation with the elves, it is disgusting. I will show you how they are to be treated,” Gregorian spoke as his other hand rose to motion towards Mereth. As he did so, Mereth rose from the ground, breathing heavily. She had lost control of her own body as Leto had. They were both nothing more than puppets to Gregorian now, and as realization reached Mereth’s eyes, seemingly the only thing the pair could control, Gregorian’s smile widened. Leto looked out, wishing he could do something, wishing his power was greater than that of Gregorian’s. With a force of will backed by mystical might, Leto called out a bare whimper.

“Pardon, Leto, what did you say?” Gregorian asked, turning his head towards his apprentice.

“L-let her go… please,” Leto muttered.

Gregorian looked from Leto to Mereth, and back again. He sighed, shook his head, and released them both. The pair fell to the ground, gasping for air as they did so. Gregorian lamented, “I am duty bound to care for those I have claimed as part of my household… I cannot do anything to either of you. But out of presence, you both. Learn never to interrupt me again.”

Leto went to help Mereth back to her feet, but she pushed him away with a scowl on her face. She frantically made her way back to the elven corpse, but Gregorian held up a hand and ordered, “Leave it. It is still useful.”

“This was a person!” Mereth shouted back at Gregorian, “He had feelings, he had dreams, and you took them away from him with your gods-damned magic!”

“Out! Out of my presence before you join him as well!” Gregorian shouted, pointing at the door which swiveled open with a gust of air, revealing a very frightened looking Lem. Leto put a hand on Mereth’s shoulder, letting her see his stern face. Mereth returned it with one of her own, but she walked out with Leto nonetheless. Mereth slammed the door behind them and stormed down the stairs with the two men following behind her. Lem seemed to go between stoic silence and wanting to ask something, Leto showing similar expressions.

“I suppose I can converse with the master Altus at a later date,” Lem posited, trying to break the silence.

“Yes, I will ask Gregorian about it on the morrow, I’m sure he’ll have a time open,” Leto commented, trying to keep up with Mereth.

Leto had no need to, however, for at his last statement Mereth had spun on her heel to glare at Leto, demanding, “That’s it? ‘Oh, I’ll look into your business dealings with the murderer later, have a nice day?’ Leto, you are better than this!”

“And what am I to do?” Leto asked back, “Incite open rebellion against Gregorian? You saw how he was in the room, he could kill anyone with a thought if he cared.”

“You could at least care- “

“I do care! I feel sorry, immensely sorry, that the elven man died. I wish I could do something to save him, something to change how things went, but I can’t. I am powerless against my master, as are you, and everyone else in the estate, Maker, the city!” Leto screamed back, dejectedly.

“I have no place in this discussion,” Lem spoke as he backed away from the door, “If you should have need of me, come to whatever tavern is closest to here.”

“It’s called the ‘Fox and the Hound’, it’s just around the corner from the smithy,” Mereth replied, still glaring at Leto.

“Ah, many thanks,” Lem said as he practically ran out of the doorway.

Mereth sighed, and sat down at the bench nearest her, and Leto followed. They both were tired from the ordeal before, both still shaken that their bodies could be taken over so easily. They were not angry at each other, they were not even angry at Gregorian. They were terrified of him. If Leto’s will had not been strong enough to surpass Gregorian’s spell, they both knew they would be dead by now. Leto leaned his head against Mereth’s shoulder, a broken look on both their faces.

“I will never turn into whatever Gregorian has become,” Leto swore to Mereth.

“I know you won’t. When your apprenticeship is complete, will you leave him?” Mereth asked, looking down at him.

“Definitely,” Leto answered.

“Will you leave me?”

“Never.”

[Celticbear]

Next up in the Exalted Marches, we get a look into the Saarebas, the qunari mage way back in chapter two we kinda met.

EDIT: Oh crap I got my geography wrong. Don't mind me >_>

Spoiler: Chapter 4

Show

Cold. Cold was all the Saarebas knew. It was trapped within itself, though not just in its material bonds, or the cage deep underneath the foreign country he had just helped conquer, but in the mind. The Saarebas always heard voices when he slept, and they were not those of the Qun. They were foul voices, voices that were to be ignored with the upmost urgency, for listening to them meant death to the Saarebas. Demons hounded him all throughout his dream, horrific demons. They took the form of all the wants in life, all of the desires that Saarebas felt. Freedom was chief among the visions the demon sent him, but the Saarebas did not care for freedom. He cared for the Qun.

He banished the spirit with his thoughts, he sent it away from his astral body with nothing but his will alone. His will was strong, stronger than most of the dreamers in this continent, if the demon was to be believed. It was for this reason he could do this, to shun the demon in its own domain, and make it his. He could overpower most things in the real world with a scarce thought, why not in this false one that demons seemed to rule and plunder? The Saarebas had enough of this realm, he had enough of this dream, so he banished the creature that hounded him, and the dream it dwelt in. The Saarebas awoke in his restraints with a start.

He, for despite the other Qunari’s opinions he was a man, looked around. The Saarebas was still locked in its restraints, head to foot. His mouth was still gagged with the steel threading, and moving his lips made him feel like the threading was being sewn once more, for it hurt to high heaven and hell. The Saarebas was locked in a cage, as he remembered he had been, after the siege of the human colony on Par Vollen. The Saarebas had been a hero, he had almost single handedly stormed the castle walls and saved dozens, no hundreds, of Qunari lives, and this was his payment for valor? A life spent in a cage?

“You awake, good, I didn’t like your stirring,” the Arvaarad spoke to the Saarebas. The Saarebas’s lifetime protector had been sitting in front of his cell, sharpening the blade of his axe.

The Saarebas only grunted in reply, but the Arvaarad continued, “You did good out there, blew a lot of things up. I don’t think anyone except me will tell you that, though.”

The Saarebas looked up at the Arvaarad, and through great pain responded, “Thank. You.”

“Our jobs may be less than desirable, but you seem alright enough. Usually from the others of my caste I’ve seen have switched from Saarebas to Saarebas, forcing to cut their charges down like lambs to the slaughter. How long have we been at it?” the Arvaarad asked, switching to the opposite end of his axe to sharpen.

“Much. Time,” the Saarebas haltingly responded.

“Yeah, much time. Here we are now, on another world, new world,” the Arvaarad commented, looking around at his surroundings.

“Strange,” the Saarebas spoke, skulking to the back of his cell.

“Yes, it is strange. I went touring the pointy eared ones that we locked in the… well it looked like a tavern. They spoke weird things, word that weren’t words. They’re probably thinking the same thing about us whenever we talk,” the Arvaarad chuckled.

“You. Left. Me?” the Saarebas questioned, worry in its voice. He did not always appreciate the company of the Arvaarad, but he always had it whether he wished it or not.

“Relax, I had permission from the Arishok. He did not wish to disturb your slumber, you can thank me for that by the way, but he wanted someone who knew things about magic to look at one of the elves,” the Arvaarad explained.

“Who?” the Saarebas asked.

“She was a little thing, well all of them were. She was the one that came out of the big house with the head, threw it out, and sparked the elves to riot along with us. She was coated in a purple aura of light, but the light’s died down since yesterday. She wears an amulet around her neck, it seemed that was the source of the magic,” the Arvaarad answered.

“She. Is. Like. Me?”

“No, without the amulet she seems to be normal, or as normal as the little ones seem to be. However, when I did take it off, a huge wound in her midsection opened up, and started bleeding horrifically. I put it back on her, surmising that she needed it to survive.”

The Saarebas looked down. It had met others that were like it, but those were on rare occasions, or when he had to teach the younger generation of Saarebas how to resist the demons that would always torment them. The Qun made it a clear point not to have the Saarebas in great numbers in close proximity, and the Arvaarad, the Qunari who watched over all Saarebas, made sure that they did not converse with each other for too long. Their job was a grim one, the trained alongside the Saarebas, noting its weaknesses, and killed them in case they succumb to demonic possession. Most Arvaarad kill a Saarebas whenever the mood struck him, or if it were acting even slightly against the norm, which for the Saarebas it was doing just by walking. The Arvaarad that watched over the Saarebas in Par Vollen was not like this, he had guarded the Saarebas as valiantly as any other Qun might have their brothers in the beresaad.

“However, the Arishok asked me to tell him whenever you woke up, he seems to have a plan in mind for how to break the language gap. I won’t be gone long, I’ll probably just get one of the runners to go off and tell him you’re awake. Sit tight, I’ll be right back,” the Arvaarad consoled as he picked himself up from his chair, and quickly made his way out of the room.

The Saarebas did not wait long, just as the Arvaarad had promised, and when he came back, the Arvaarad told his charge, “The Arishok is coming. You’re to be on your best behavior, no sudden movements, no sounds, and no talking. Pretty soon whatever business he dreams up will be done, and we can get back to idle conversation, how does that sound?”

“I. Un-der-stand,” the Saarebas annunciated.

The Arvaarad grinned, and commented, “Your words are getting larger. This is good.”

“Why?”

“Well, it means you’re learning things quickly, which I think is very go- “

“Saarebas. Have. No. Need. Speak. Saarebas. Only. Need. Serve. Qun,” the Saarebas corrected himself, through great pain.

The Arvaarad frowned at this, and answered, “Well, yes, you have no need for speech. But I have a need for someone to talk to. People look at Arvaarad with as much disgust as they do Saarebas, thinking that your bad magic will rub off on me or something. You’re the only one I can speak with, if I have a care, and talking to you back when we first met was like talking to a brick wall. This way, we don’t die of boredom. Does this make sense?”

“It. Is. Not. Against. Qun. To. Speak,” the Saarebas thought aloud.

“No, it is not, which is why I’m teaching you.”

“I. Un-der-stand,” the Saarebas nodded to itself.

Until the Arishok came to the Saarebas, the Arvaarad did not make any more small talk, too deep in thought himself to pick it up. The Saarebas was deep in thought as well, but only thinking of more freedoms that other Saarebas may have been denied because their Arvaarad was stricter than his. It sickened the Saarebas to think that his brethren could not even be allowed to speak even though the Qun held no qualms against this, at least when taken at face value. The Saarebas calmed himself after these thoughts, thoughts of revolution. It was not his place to question the Qun, or his betters. He would placate the Arvaarad because he was his keeper, and he would still faithfully serve the Qun in doing so.

The Arishok, flanked by ten men of the beresaad, entered the prison the Saarebas had been kept in. He was tall, his horns and dress regal. Instead of armor covering his legs, he wore a long robe like covering that seemed to glitter in the torch light. It was clearly enchanted and was meant more for freedom of movement than it was protection. The Saarebas had studied the Arishok’s fighting style the two times he had seen him do combat. The Arishok employed a rather large oaken stick as his main weapon, but with his cat like speed and brute Qunari strength was a nightmare with the improvised weapon. He had clearly trained all his life into finding ways of making the quarterstaff lethal and had perfected his art immensely. The Saarebas pitied any man who went against the Arishok in single, or now that he thought about it, any kind of combat.

The Arishok went up to the very bars of the cell, and began to pace it length, seeming to gage the strength and weight of the bars that held what he viewed as a demon locked away. After his calm pacing, he asked the Arvaarad, “How much can it speak, if it can speak at all? I know some Arvaarad train their charges in speech.”

The Arvaarad grunted, caught by surprise that the Arishok did not engage in any formal greeting, but quickly regained himself, “It can speak a wide range of words, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I asked if it had the knowledge of language, this is so,” the Arishok retorted, “I have a theory of how to bridge the language barrier of our new converts. The Saarebas, they travel to some form of dream realm when they sleep, I understand.”

“That is correct, from my charge’s accounts of the place, however, it is extremely dangerous to travel there. This is why the Saarebas only sleep when necessary,” the Arvaarad explained.

“Can it bring others with them into this dream realm? Latch on to another to bring them with it?” the Arishok wondered aloud.

The Arvaarad looked to the Saarebas, for only he could answer the question, and he calmly spoke in his halting words, “I. Can. Try.”

At the sounds of his words, the men of the beresaad hissed, and drew their blades, advancing upon the cage. The Arvaarad interposed himself between the door and the men, his axe held in a defensive stance. The Saarebas crept to the back of cell, fearful for his life. As the first man of the beresaad started to attack the Arvaarad, the Arishok wacked the man upside the head, and yelled in a primal tone to bring the attention of the room. The men of the beresaad quickly stood to attention and looked to their Arishok with fear and worry.

“I brought you here because of your battle-hardened steel and drive, and yet you cry like dogs at the first sign of trouble? The Saarebas cannot hurt you or anyone else, it serves the Qun just as you do! You will go, now, and pray at the foot of the priests to pay homage to the Qun, of which you have disgraced this day. Go, now!” the Arishok ordered.

The men of the beresaad put away their blades and hung their heads in shame. They walked out of the prison, up the stairs, and left the Arishok, Arvaarad, and Saarebas alone in their cell. The Arishok let out a soft sigh and put his quarterstaff upon a wall as he leaned against it. The Arvaarad set his axe against the chair he once sat upon and looked to the Saarebas. The Saarebas stood, and walked to the edge of the cage, looking the Arishok in the eyes. The Arishok looked back, hiding the fear that the men of the beresaad had perfectly.

“Thank. You,” was all the Saarebas spoke.

The Arishok nodded his head, looked to the Arvaarad, and spoke, “Bring the Saarebas. We are bringing him to the converts.”

The Arvaarad unlocked the cage door and gestured for the Saarebas to follow him. The Saarebas walked unevenly behind as they to went up the stairs and out of the prison. The Qunari who saw them walk out kept their distance, they did not wish to get too close to the Saarebas. They walked in silence until they got to the tavern. The Arishok ordered the men who guarded the entrance to open the doors for them, and guard them as they went inside. The men obliged, and followed the trio inside, wherein there were many huddled elves, though the Qunari only knew them as “short people”.

The Saarebas hissed and drew back as he saw the glowing elven woman. The Arvaarad backed to him, and asked, “What is wrong, Saarebas?”

The Saarebas pointed his head, for his hands were bound, and spoke, “Wrong. Short. Is. Wrong. Magic. Wrong.”

The Arishok ordered the men that had followed them in to gather the elven woman, one by the name of Jasaslan, though the Qunari did not know that. The Arishok had the men bring her to a table, as well as the Saarebas, and they all sat, mostly quietly. The elf girl seemed to keep asking questions, her tone seemed a questioning, if indignant. The Arishok put his hands up, and spoke in calming tones, but the Saarebas did not listen to him. He kept his gaze locked onto the amulet the elf girl wore around her neck, for it had an air of pure wrongness to the Saarebas. It felt unright, he didn’t have the words for it. It was both subtle and huge, small and extravagant.

“Saarebas!” the Arishok said for seemingly the tenth time. The Saarebas snapped out of his trance, and looked to the Arishok as he continued, “I asked if you could send both of us to your dream realm. Will you do so?”

“Yes. Need. Unbound,” the Saarebas instructed.

The Arvaarad sighed and looked to the Arishok for permission to unbind the Saarebas. The Arishok nodded, and the Arvaarad started the work of taking the many straps and chains from the Saarebas’s arms. Once his work was done, the Saarebas extended his hands to either side of him, and they began to glow with blue energy. This seemed to give the elf girl quite a scare as she tried to stand from the table, but the men of the beresaad kept her down. The Saarebas extended one of its claws to the forehead of the Arishok and extended a claw to the head of the elf girl.

“Sleep,” the Saarebas intoned, and somehow both understood even though he spoke the Qunari language. They each, the Saarebas included, drifted off to sleep right there on the table, and as their bodies fell, the Saarebas still grasping them both, their minds seemed to fly. Up, up and up, yet down. They seemed to go in all directions, swirling in a mass of unimaginable possibilities. The Saarebas seemed to send away these thoughts and kept the Arishok and the elf girl close. The Saarebas knew these thoughts were demons, spirits, wisps, and other things he did not yet know of. One of these thoughts, however, clung to Jasaslan like a vice, and the Saarebas could not send it away without killing her.

The Saarebas had successfully warded the spirits away, well most of them, from his unsuspecting passengers. Now all he had to do was deposit them somewhere, anywhere, with a floor. The Saarebas willed a space into being, or maybe willed a location to his position. He could not say for certain how his will and magic worked in this strange land, but ground he willed, and ground there became. He let go of the Arishok and Jasaslan’s heads and deposited them on the soft dirt ground below. It appeared to be a pathway set in trees, but Saarebas knew this was only an illusion. The spirits in the Fade, for that is where they were, could be kept at bay, but the illusionary nature of the realm could never be staved.

“Where are we?” the elf girl spoke, in what sounded like fluent Qunlat, the language of the Qunari. This was another illusion of the realm, they were not speaking, not truly speaking. They were sending thoughts at each other, and thought had no language but its own.

“This is the Fade,” the Saarebas calmly explained, as if he were fluent in speech, “It is the place of dreams where demons and spirits lie. I’ve brought us here to share thoughts, and to see if I can get that off of you.”

Jasaslan looked behind her and found that a creature was clutching her shoulder. It was a seemingly placid thing, it did not inspire fear merely surprise. It seemed like a cross between a cat and a lizard, with frill like hairs covering its body with feline eyes peering out of its wide head. The Saarebas was unsure of what exactly it was when he had been in the real world, but now that he was in the Fade, he could see it more clearly. As Jasaslan screamed in surprise at its presence, and the Arishok gripped for a weapon that was not there, the Saarebas raised his hands to order silence. The two obliged, and the Saarebas approached Jasaslan with his hands raised just as they were to placate Jasaslan, and show he meant no harm.

The Saarebas poked and prodded at the creature, which seemed to have little more intelligence than the kitten it tried to emulate. It was a base creature, serving only one purpose on the girl: to help. It was some form of wisp that heralded from Par Vollen, perhaps conjured into existence by the very elves they had captured? No, it seemed far too esoteric for their styles of civilization the Saarebas had seen. Spirits, such as the cat-lizard wisp that hung on Jasaslan’s shoulder, were called into being by the thoughts of whatever mage invoked their presence. Demons were the offspring of negative thoughts, and spirits, such as this one, were of positive ones.

“She is possessed by a demon, she is Saarebas?” the Arishok growled.

“She is neither possessed by a demon, nor is she like me,” the Saarebas explained, “If she were possessed, the spirit would have its own domain like a fortress, and we wouldn’t see its presence unless it drew us to this fortress. Spirits and demons possess people from afar. If she, however, crafted a spirit to act as a protective sheathe against dangers both spiritual and mundane, such as this one, her magical power is invisible to me, and in the Fade, invisible power is impossible. No, this creature seems to have been bound to the amulet around her neck, and then the amulet bound to her. To remove the spirit now would kill her, but it has no will of its own. Give her to the Ben-Hassrath, it is their jurisdiction to deal with mystical artifacts, and since that she is one of the Qun, we cannot kill her.”

“One of the Qun? What are you talking about?” Jasaslan asked, eyeing the Saarebas.

The Arishok answered, however, saying, “The Qun is what our people believe, what we have come to- “

“Noble and mighty Arishok, we do not have time for a history lesson,” the Saarebas explained, “I can input information to her in a more direct manner, if she is willing.”

The Saarebas pointed to a stone on the ground path, and it raised to meet his hand. It glowed bright orange for a few seconds, and then it started to float away from his hand towards Jasaslan. “This stone will show me what your people are about?”

“It will not give you the whole story, it will give you all you need of us and our language. To overload your brain with all the history I know of the Qunari peoples would… not be pleasant. The stone is heavy enough as it is,” the Saarebas explained.

Jasaslan looked to the Arishok and the Saarebas, and hesitantly touched the stone. Saarebas had never seen enlightenment before in his eyes quite like he did with Jasaslan, but as he did his eyes widened. They were filled with fear, respect, approval, pride, and awe. Flashes of light seemed to pour through Jasaslan, and the Saarebas could see that she was seeing what the Qun was, seeing how it worked, seeing how their glorious purpose in life could come to fruition, and he could see that she was accepting it. She saw that is was better, immensely better, than whatever came before in her life, and she saw that her people would accept it almost as quickly as she did when she told them of it. It was a happy day for the Saarebas, a happy day. He had been influential in beginning the conversion process for an entire race, and he was so proud, so greatly proud, that the Arishok himself was there to see this achievement.

Then, as quickly as Jasaslan’s enlightenment began, it ended. The stone fell, dead again to the earth below. Except, as Jasaslan, the Arishok, and the Saarebas’s eyes followed it fall, they could see the stone kept falling, kept falling through and through the ground. Kept falling for an immeasurable distance, it fell to a place that had no ending, and they saw that they were falling too. The Arishok cried a scream of rage, similar to Jasaslan’s cry of fear. The Saarebas gritted his teeth, the demons were coming, and he needed to protect the Arishok and the girl both from whatever horror was about to assail them. The Saarebas willed the two closer to him but found another strong will was fighting back against his. The Saarebas was great in its aptitude of magic, but this will was something else entirely. It reached and bounded throughout the Fade more like a landmass than a spirit or demon, and its hunger was vast.

The Saarebas fought against it and found the will to resist its base need for consumption. He gathered the pair into his arms and shouted against the abyss. The next second, the Saarebas found itself on the ground of the tavern he had initiated the trip to the Fade in, alongside his waking companions. The Arvaarad was already starting to rebind the Saarebas in its many chains as the Arishok picked himself up off the ground and gathered Jasaslan with him. Jasaslan blinked and looked at the many faces that gazed at her, some of the horned giant race that had overthrown her masters, some of her familiar elven race.

“May I guide them… Arishok?” Jasaslan haltingly said in the Qunari language she had just learned.

“Tell them the ways of the Qun, tell them of our might and freedom. Tell them that we will bring the Qun to the others of this continent, and tell them that they are expected to follow,” the Arishok commanded.

“I do not need to tell them to follow. When I tell them you will overthrow Tevinter, they will bring up arms in your name,” Jasaslan beamed at the Arishok.

The Arishok nodded calmly and sent the small elven woman away into the throng of her peers. The other elves seemed hesitant at first, but as the Arishok saw Jasaslan speak in their strange language, he saw a light of hope in their eyes. Jasaslan was a natural speaker, and the Arishok could see it as plain as the elves, even though he did not speak their language. Jasaslan, yes that was the name. The Arishok did not understand the concept of names but understood that the other elves called her this instead of her job’s title. This was alien to the Arishok, for the Qun taught its disciples to call each other by what they did. The Qunari were never given names, only titles. To see a concept like a name for the first time baffled the Arishok initially, but he consoled himself with the fact that they would loose their names when they converted to the Qun.

The Saarebas did not look at Jasaslan, the spirit that clutched to her shoulder in the Fade still frightened the Saarebas immensely. He had never seen magic or spirits that did that, only heard of them in hushed whispers and idle fantasies. He, like the Arishok, was foreign to this place, and he could not fathom the many oddities that plagued this place. It was familiar, yet strange, home, yet hostile. The Saarebas skittered back to the Arvaarad and held up its bonds with a need for some form of similarity with its home. It may have despised the bondage that kept it locked away from the other Qunari at times, but it was clarity, and with all the oddities that the Saarebas witnessed in the Fade it could barely contain itself without artificial help.

The Arvaarad wordlessly redid the straps and chains around the Saarebas’s midsection. He then looked to the Arishok for permission to bring the Saarebas back to its cage, and the Arishok relented with a sigh. The Arvaarad picked the Saarebas from up off the ground, and quietly and unassumingly as he could led his charge back through the streets and into the prison cell where it once resided. The Arvaarad quickly opened the door, released the Saarebas, and gestured for him to take his place inside. The Saarebas stumbled back into the cage and rested on its haunches next to the bed.

“The Arishok didn’t kill you for looking at him funny. That’s good,” the Arvaarad commented.

“This. Place. Scary,” the Saarebas muttered.

“Yeah, this place is pretty scary,” the Arvaarad agreed, resting back on his chair, “but that doesn’t mean we have to be scared. You’re a Saarebas, a thing to feared, you’re supposed to inspire terror in the enemy, and you’re doing good on that count.”

The Saarebas nodded, and asked, “How. Does. Arishok. Han-dal. Fear?”

The Arvaarad considered this question, but eventually answered, “His faith in the Qun is stronger than all the others of the beresaad. He truly lives by it, and that is why he was chosen to be Arishok. He overcomes his fear with pride and faith, an image everyone should look up to.”

“Qun. Guides. All,” the Saarebas responded.

“Well, the Arishok is best at being guided. As such, he’s also the best to guide the beresaad in his coming. He will lead us to victory, Saarebas. Have faith in him and the Qun,” the Arvaarad nodded.

The Saarebas nodded along with the Arvaarad, and asked, “Much. Magic. Used. Tired. Rest?”

The Arvaarad nodded, and the Saarebas drifted off to sleep on the cold marble ground. He had the same demon infested dreams, dreams he had had all his life. He did as he always did, resist their words, and shout the scriptures of the Qun to anyone who tried to speak with him. The demons and spirits that tried to contact the Saarebas could not even reach his close proximity. They howled, wailed, and gnashed their teeth against the mental barrier the Saarebas had erected, but to no avail. He was unlike the other mages of Thedas, his power was foreign to the demons, the spirits, and wisps that inquisited about his presence.

And they were afraid of him.

. . .

Jasaslan had finished her shortened version of the Qun to her elven compatriots. She told that under the Qun, the elves would be assigned tasks and jobs that best suited their skills, and that they would know freedom and solace under the eyes of their Arishok, whom was a close approximation of a king amongst the Qunari. After this tale of freedom, which had been an idle day-dream to the elves before the day the Qunari invaded, they immediately hailed Jasaslan as leader and trusted emissary to the Arishok, granted that only she could communicate with him to any extent.

Once Jasaslan had quieted down the elves, she returned to the Arishok’s side, telling him, “They will follow you, Arishok. I tried as best I could to tell them of the freedom of the Qun.”

“It seems you did well. They celebrate,” the Arishok commented, “Tell me, do they hail you, me, or the Qun?”

“I cannot speak for all, but I’d imagine there’s a mix of all three,” Jasaslan answered, returning her gaze to the elves.

“They should only be hailing the Qun, this among other things will be taught in time,” the Arishok grunted, “For now, we need a battle plan.”

“A battle plan?” Jasaslan asked.

“Follow,” was all the Arishok answered. He summoned other men of the beresaad to accompany them as they walked the chilly streets of the Par Vollen town. They strode to the manor wherein Altus Brutus once slept, but now all that marked it as once his was Brutus’s head resting atop a massive spike. Jasaslan took some pride in knowing that she had played an instrumental part in putting it there but followed the Arishok in silence. Part of the information she had gleaned of the Qun was that unless the matter pertained directly to him, no one was to speak to the Arishok under penalty of the lash. Order and discipline seemed to be paramount in the Qun, and it seemed to Jasaslan that their strange social structure worked like a well-oiled machine.

The Arishok walked the stairs of the manor until he finally reached the dead Altus’s study. It was littered with books strewn about the place, clearly the Qunari had spent some time searching the location for something they could not find. Jasaslan saw a scorched pile of still smoking embers, books that the Qunari had probably coined as being too mystical for their tastes, probably. That was another thing Jasaslan had learned of those who followed the Qun, they held a healthy fear of magic, and chained all those who practiced it in their ranks, unbinding them only if it were absolutely necessary. Jasaslan liked that the Qunari had a disrespect for magic, she often shared it, but she knew that the amulet around her neck probably gave them pause when speaking to her.

“I did not unbind the Saarebas to give you the gift of speech, so you could sway your people to the Qun, this had already been done,” the Arishok began, “I unbound the Saarebas, so you could show us the extremes of the continent we have come to conquer and convert to the Qun. We come from across the sea, over many leagues of water, on rumors of great cities of your people. All we see are trees, and decrepit pyramids, yet the architecture of this holdfast is new.”

“Well first,” Jasaslan began, “Par Vollen is a colony of Thedas, the continent to the south. Par Vollen is mostly unexplored land, which is why the Tevinter Imperium sent mages to conquer it as you have done.”

“This word, this mage. It is like Saarebas?” the Arishok asked, “It means the same?”

“Almost,” Jasaslan answered, “Mages are Saarebas that are always unbound, and Tevinter is a place where mages rule like you do.”

The Arishok gritted his teeth and clutched the quarterstaff he always had on his person, “These mages shall be dealt with first. Can you find a map of this Thedas in the library?”

“Certainly, just give me a few moments,” Jasaslan responded, and dashed around the library until she found exactly what she was looking for: an atlas of Thedas that had been updated to almost the current year. She blew the thick layer of dust off the cover, which made her and some Qunari around her cough, and then laid it down on the table. Jasaslan opened the cracked spine of the book to reveal a sprawling land, with lines and sketch drawings denoting trees, mountains, rivers, deserts, and other natural locations. She then flipped to the next page which had each of the nations of Thedas outlined clearly with no markings denoting physical features of the land, but major cities that composed the countries. The Arishok looked over her shoulder at the map, peered at it, his eyes unfamiliar to the Thedasian script that lined it.

“This is Thedas, it is the whole world according to scholars. We never knew of other continents existing outside ours,” Jasaslan explained. She pointed towards a rather large island that jutted off to the far northeast, and continued, “We are here, this is Par Vollen,” she then moved her finger down, to the far southwest, and intoned, “And this is the Tevinter Imperium.”

“It lies behind two other countries, what are their names?” the Arishok asked.

Jasaslan moved her finger north of Tevinter, and answered, “This is Antiva. It is a land filled with pirates and warring merchant kings. And this is Rivain, they’re another trade kingdom, they dominate the eastern sea.”

“So, we must get through these places to get to the Tevinter Imperium and purge the unbound Saarebas off the face of the planet?” the Arishok asked, a hint of bloodthirstiness in his voice.

Jasaslan nodded, and grinned a bit, “Yes, forgive me Arishok but I will not mourn their passing. They have enslaved the elven people for countless centuries now, to see you here to topple them brings joy to my heart.”

“Saarebas are not people,” the Arishok retorted, “They are things, dangerous things. They need to be contained. This Tevinter Imperium is a mockery of the Qun, and must be destroyed, so that the rest of this Thedas can be brought under the wing of the Qun. Tell me, how many fighting men does each country have?”

Jasaslan looked sorrowful, and responded, “I cannot say for certain, but at a guess there are a few hundred thousand able bodies in Thedas put together. How many Qunari did you bring with you?”

“I brought the whole of the beresaad,” the Arishok answered, as if this simple statement should’ve answered her question.

“How many men are of the beresaad?” Jasaslan asked.

“We brought a thousand ships to this Par Vollen, but most of them stayed a distance away from the island. A thousand men of the beresaad came here to conquer those who dwelled here, and only a few over a hundred died. Boarding each of these thousand ships are a thousand Qunari men of the beresaad each, as well as a few workmen and those who follow the Ben-Hassrath. In short, I came here with the one million Qunari soldiers who compose the beresaad.”

“One million… is that number certain?” Jasaslan asked, daring not to believe that so many could come at once.

“You will see the dreadnaughts soon enough, and your eyes will believe what I have spoken,” the Arishok answered.

“I will be going to Thedas with the rest of the Qunari?” Jasaslan asked, puzzled.

“You were instrumental in the taking of this fortress. You persuaded the elves to fight for the Qun with a single sentence. You ensured victory for the Qun. As such, I am denoting you as Tallis, you will go in front of the beresaad. You will infiltrate the cities that hold elven slaves, and you will spread the word of the Qun to them. When the beresaad comes to take the city, your people are expected to aid us, or stay out of our way. You will be my mouth, speaking my words to your people. I trust you in this because you have done it before,” the Arishok commanded.

“I am honored to serve you in this Arishok,” Jasaslan grinned. She had not taken to the name Tallis yet, she held her own with pride. She would not tell this to the Arishok, however, for it seemed unnecessary.

“You will serve me, you will serve the Qun. Victory is in the Qun,” the Arishok intoned, “We will be a swath across the nations, a red tide of death to those who oppose us, a ray of sunlight for those who would join us. We shall walk upon your Thedas, and we shall make it ours. For the glory of the Qun!”

[Celticbear]

Here's chapter five, taking place three months after Jasaslan's revelations about the Qun. We cut back to Lem, Leto, and Mereth our (heroic?) trio as they set the story into full motion.

EDIT: Also, the word document I'm writing this on (times new roman, size 10 font, single spaced if you're curious) has told me we've breached fifty pages. Yaaaay.

Spoiler: Chapter 5

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“More battle reports from Seheron, Altus Gregorian,” Leto spoke, walking into Gregorian’s chamber as he was bidden. His short duel with the Altus, occurring a scant three months ago, was at the back of his mind now. The forefront of every Tevinter mage’s head were stories of grey giants fighting across the borders of Rivain, Antiva, and Seheron, a Tevinter colony that lied directly north of their country. Stories of their presence had reached Minrathous’s ears two months ago, with the beginning of the siege on Seheron. At first the mage lords laughed at these tall tales, too affixed to the idea that they were untouchable, but after report after report reached their ears of the Qunari invaders, they began to take them seriously. An army composed of two thousand fighting men and one hundred mages, both Laetans and Altuses, had been sent to support the troops at Seheron, but the battle report’s grim figures did not seem to change with their presence. In fact, it seemed the casualties were growing with each man Tevinter sent against the Qunari horde.

“More of the same, I imagine, set them on my table I will look at them later,” Gregorian sighed.

“Master Altus, I assure you these carry dark news. Some of the reports state that farming villages on the Tevinter mainland have been attacked by the same beings that are striking at Seheron,” Leto explained.

This garnered attention from Gregorian, as he abruptly stood from his table, tore the battle reports from Leto’s hands, and started to pour through them, word by word, before stating, “There, Matthew’s Ranch, this is too close to Carastes I say, too close. These grey horned savages are practically on my lawn, this is an outrage. Leto, send for an elven scribe, I wish to write a letter to Minrathous asking for any support they can send, as soon as possible.”

“Right away Altus Gregorian,” Leto answered, bowing deeply before exiting the room. There, he spied Lem sitting at the precipice of the stairway. Leto and Lem had grown closer acquainted for the time the dwarf spent at Carastes. Gregorian had scheduled an official meeting with Lem two months after the display of blood magic, but when reports of the Qunari started to reach Tevinter’s ears, bandits and looters had started to spring up from the road and assail any lone traveler that dared cross their path. Lem had received the notes that Gregorian had collected, true to his word, and the Altus claimed that he had misplaced them for some time, and that duty had kept him from speaking to the Shaperate directly. Lem did not wish to leave the safety of Carastes while there were bandits on the road, so he pledged his service to Tevinter until such time as it was safe to return to Orzammar.

Lem first acted as a scribe, much like the elven ones that ran about on Gregorian’s orders, but had spent his free time organizing the mismatched collection of books in the library. Lem’s copious time in the library had interposed his path with Leto’s, as the Laetan was prone to spend time there whilst working on his Compendium. After Lem had heard of Leto’s aspirations of trying to create a roadmap of the Fade, Lem gave Leto what little information the dwarves had collected on the dream realm. The dwarves were unconnected to the Fade, and as such they had no mages and no clear way of investigating its mystery. They had little information on the plane, but their underground cities wherein the dwarves dwelled had given them a closer proximity to magical ore called lyrium, a blue substance that held some connection to the Fade. The dwarves had copious amounts of information on the strange substance, but Lem had spent most of his time studying the lost art of creating golems, and the information he could recall on lyrium was shot at best. There were certain facets of data that Leto found pertinent to his Compendium, but most of the dwarf’s information he had already collected.

Refusing to let the good name of the Shaperate go to such disdain in the eyes of Leto, Lem had vowed that for as long as he had free time with him, he would help organize and study Leto’s Compendium, offering whatever assistance he could to the Laetan. Leto now had a new person to converse with over notes other than Mereth but had spoken to them both whenever he could. The three had become quite close friends during the siege of Seheron and enjoyed many revelries together. Lem’s schedule soon matched Leto’s, save for Leto’s morning studies. During the time Leto spent studying under Gregorian, Lem worked to find more information to add to the Compendium, and when Leto returned from his studies the two often shared quite a wide arrange of notes and ideas, and on few occasions Mereth would find time to sneak away from her duties and converse with the two scholars with her thoughts.

Once lunch was done, and their time working on the Compendium was as well, the three went to work with the elves, often working on the same tasks with each other. Lem had become a fast friend to the elves almost as much as Leto had, joining in their afternoon revelries along with Leto and Mereth like he was an elf himself. Gregorian did not share the minor disdain with Lem as he had with Leto, technically Lem was not a part of their household, and he did not have a reason to care a tear for the dwarf. He had also stopped caring for what Leto and Mereth would do, knowing his display of power had probably terrified them both.

As Lem stood standing on the stairs, he held a grim face to Leto. Leto answered it with a quizzical one, and the dwarf finally responded, “The elves have asked that we do not dine with them tonight.”

“Why?” Leto asked, quite incredulously.

“Mereth wouldn’t say, strange for her, I think. Has she ever held anything back from you before?” Lem asked.

Leto walked the length of the corridor to Lem’s position, and answered, “No, she has never held anything away from me. That she does now is troubling. Was there anything that might have given away her motives, anything at all?”

“There was nothing I could spy,” Lem answered, turning his lantern lit device downstairs as he walked the length of them, “but the other elves seemed push offish as Mereth, if not more so. I’ve never known them to be this way, do you think they have plans for… revolution?”

“Revolution, what in the Maker’s name makes you think they’ll revolt?” Leto hissed in a hushed tones.

“For one, these giants invading the northlands seem to have made everyone shaky and or bloodthirsty, and for another the battle reports say that there are elves seen among the giants in their conquests. Maybe as they pass the Tevinter cities, the elven slaves join their cause,” Lem posited.

“The sources that cited the elves were not official spies, only reports the farm workers uttered in their terrified homes. I do not trust a man who is overcome with fear, he is the next best thing to delusional,” Leto asked as he finished his climb of the stairs.

“I hold a different belief, a man who is overcome with fear has no reason to lie. Sure, if his sanity is under question, perhaps he merely saw what his mind wanted him to see, but if he did see elves it explains why they do not wish us to speak with them,” Lem retorted, catching up with Leto.

“Still, I would not jump to conclusions when all of our evidence is hearsay and conjecture. I have faith in my elven friends,” Leto admonished.

“To you they may be friends, but to them you are but another mage lord in a litany of ones they’ve served,” Lem commented, “Even Mereth may have similar feelings, she’s known nothing but subjugation her whole li- “

“Mereth would never betray me,” Leto interrupted, “We’ve known each other our whole lives, we would not give up on each other now.”

Lem raised his hands in surrender, but spoke, “I will stop our discussion Leto, I just want you to think of the possibilities, where we might flee if Carastes falls.”

Leto hissed a curse, and uttered, “Carastes won’t fall, don’t bring up talk like that Lem, it’s bad luck.”

“We are men of science, scholars, Leto!” Lem retorted, “We must adhere to reality, we must think of all ways we might escape danger. With Mereth if she is as faithful as you claim, or without her if the need arises.”

“Maker, fine. If it will put your mind at ease friend, there is indeed a secret passage the Altus could use in dire straits. Failing that, the stables are not far, and there are many horses,” Leto looked down at Lem, “and ponies as well. Perhaps a riding dog.”

Lem lightly slapped Leto’s shin, and grinned, “Watch it, kid, I can ride a horse as well as any man.”

“Yes, but can you climb one just as easily?” Leto teased.

“Maybe if I knock the ground from under you, and use your winded body as a stepping stool, I might be able to climb without difficulty,” Lem jested.

“Might,” Leto retorted, putting unneeded emphasis on the word. Lem laughed, and so did Leto, but those were the only sounds of merriment that escaped them for the rest of their walk together. They opened the doors of the estate to the warm bearings of the outside world. Spring had begun to turn into summer, and the flowers were coming out of bloom. The ground around them was bright green, however, the low tones of the winter finally far behind them. They walked the crisp pathways of the town until they arrived at the servant’s quarters, and elven prefect issuing orders to a missive. Leto awaited the missive’s tasks to be directed, and finally stepped up to the elven man. The man himself was taller than Leto by nearly a foot and carried an air of authority that most of the other elves did not possess.

Leto presented himself to the man respectfully, even though he did not need to, and asked, “The Lord Altus has requested a scribe to write a letter to the magisters at Minrathous to request aid against the threats to the north. Could you send for one?”

“I could,” spoke the elf in a hushed tone, bearing a slight undertone of disrespect, “but the dwarf has proven himself an able scribe, and the others are all busy with other tasks. You could easily send Lem up to Gregorian to write his letter, couldn’t you?”

“That is ‘Lord Altus’ to you, I, and anyone who bears a lower station to him,” Leto intoned, a look of shattered pride stricken across his face.

“Aye, you are right,” the elven man smiled, though it seemed a wicked thing, “The Lord Altus, forgive me, Laetan, I forget my place.”

“There is no need to be forgiven, I only think of your safety if the wrong ears hear of your nomering of the Lord Altus,” Leto defended.

“My safety is my own to think of, thank you very much,” the elf responded, “Has Mereth told you to stay away from the servant’s quarters during dinner?”

“No, but Lem has carried the word,” Leto responded back, “May I ask why we are not welcome tonight?”

“In these times of trials, the elves look to the creators to grant us mercy from the threats to the north,” the elven man spoke, “Those who once belonged to the dales or follow the elven faith seek privacy to pray in peace, away from the eyes of others. You are most welcome tomorrow, we simply wish to perform certain rituals and acts that might offend you for your faiths.”

“Ah, we would not wish to intercede on proceedings of the elven faith,” Lem interjected himself between Leto and the elven prefect, “Leto and I must be going, we were only stopping by on the orders of the Lord Altus. We must away to other duties now.”

Lem ushered Leto away from the elven man, and back towards the direction of Gregorian’s estate. Leto looked strangely at the dwarf, but Lem kept on leading Leto by the shins back until the entered the estate. “The elven man was hiding something, I think you saw it too.”


“You are too paranoid, Lem,” Leto breathed out with a sigh.

“It is not my only philosophy to take the word of a man in fear at face value, but also that it is better to be prepared for danger even if it does not find you. I want you to show me to this secret passageway the Altus could use for escape, and I want you to tell me how to open it,” Lem ordered.

“And what if I refuse?” Leto responded.

Lem looked up at him with glassy eyes, inhuman eyes. They were almost human, Lem was almost human, but certain features distinguished him from the race. He emboldened those very features, to make his face more alien to Leto, and responded, “I left Orzammar because there were no answers to be had there on the nature of golems. I gave up hope of ever returning for good, condemned myself to a life as an outcast so I could get information back to the Shaperate about my life’s study. I will not die in some foreign country before I return to my home and give the dwarves what was their due. I must go back home, and I will not let strange invaders, elves, or you get in my way of returning there.”

Leto gulped. He could see the threat in the dwarf’s eyes, knew that his mission was all the dwarf had. Leto wordlessly grunted, and began to walk away from Lem, ushering the dwarf to follow him as he walked. They walked down the stairs, and into the basement, of which was functioning as a large ice box. The room was kept magically cool by wards, but the pair ignored the cold and the smell of dead meat as they progressed. Leto opened an iron bound hatch and revealed a number of herbs inside. Leto motioned for Lem to not touch them, for some were extremely volatile. Leto closed the door behind them and walked carefully to the far wall. He touched a hidden rune on it, revealing that the wall was an illusion, and hidden behind it was a dark cavern.

“The rune acts as both an illusion and a barrier spell. When disturbed, it will reveal the passageway. You can leave it undisturbed and invisible to the naked eye for five seconds before the wall closes behind you, and the rune cannot be activated for another thirty minutes after this invocation. It is almost impossible to break, one of immense magical might would be needed for such a feat,” Leto explained.

“Where does that cavern lead?” Lem wondered aloud.

“It goes along the road towards Minrathous, along the coast, and there are many exits inside in case you need to travel far due to an invading force, like the ‘rampaging elven horde’ coming from the north you seem so adamant about,” Leto drawled.

“Safety is bliss, Leto. You’ll learn in your older years that taking precautions never fails to yield you discomfort,” Lem cautioned.

“I still think this whole predicament is preposterous,” Leto intoned.

“Think as you might, but I shall hold my own opinion,” Lem growled as he turned on his heel to walk out of the frozen meat locker. Leto followed suit, closing the iron latched herb menagerie behind him. Lem then walked up the stairs, up to Gregorian’s room, without a word of goodbye to Leto. Leto himself sighed, and returned to his own quarters, eager to forget the strange troubles of the day to work on his Compendium. It was high time that Leto should’ve gone to the elves for his daily tasks, but the elves seemed alienated against him, and Lem’s tall tales of rebellion sparked some fear in the Laetan.

Leto could not find the mental capacity to work on his Compendium, for his thoughts drifted always to Mereth. He could not for a second believe Lem’s warnings of rebellion for his love for Mereth was too great to be overcome by speculation from a dwarf of all things. Leto sighed, and decided to take a nap for the evening. Gregorian would have quite a start when he found he wasn’t dining along tonight, though Leto thought it best if he neglected to mention the exact reasoning behind his absence from the elven feasting. Nevertheless, he was tired, and worried sick about the threat to the north. The unknown always terrified Leto, and this new threat was too vague and shadowy for Leto not to be afraid.

. . .

Mereth disliked everything about the situation that presented itself before her. For one, this elven woman who had approached their city had the smell of the wrong about her. She could not narrow down her feelings on the woman more than that. Her hair was too pretty, her clothes too regal to be a slave, and yet she claimed to be one. She also seemed to glow purple, though whether this was because of Mereth’s imagination or some mystical trick she did not know. She also carried an air of posh rudeness about her, acting as if she knew better than all the other elves put together.

This strange elven woman came to their city under cover of darkness the night previous. She had commanded the elven prefects to bring her into the servants quarters where she could hide. At first, the elves thought she was a slave on the run from the nearby city of Neromenian, but she told a different story. She said that she came from the far away colony of Par Vollen to the north east, and that she came bearing great news for the elves. When the slaves of Carastes made it known to her that her presence would have to reported to Altus Gregorian, the elven girl begged their silence, and that if they did keep silent for her sake, every single one of them would be free.

The elven servants found this talk strange, but this was the first escaped elven slave they had ever seen or heard of, and she filled them with hope. They kept her silence and started to spread the word of her arrival to the servants who were not privy to her presence. When they approached Mereth, they were reminded of the Tevinter lord who worked alongside them and elected that neither he nor the dwarf should be told of the new arrival. News travelled fast around Carastes among the servants, and soon a meeting had been called of every elf and indentured man in the servant’s quarters at dinner. Everyone was expected to be there, and everyone indeed wished to meet this mystery elven woman who had remained hidden for so long.

On the evening of the day wherein the meeting was to have taken place, Mereth had heard how Leto and Lem were pushed away by one of the elven prefects, and it made her hate the new elven woman even more. Her friends were being pushed away by her people on the words and cautions of a stranger, one who Mereth thought had no right to order or ask anything of anyone. She had planned on going to Leto and apologizing for her people’s crass behavior as of late, but she decided against it. She knew that if she did follow that course of action, chances were that she would give away details to Leto that would condemn the newcomer. Even though Mereth did not like the woman, she knew that her fellow elves did, and that she gave them hope. Condemning her would be the same as condemning her people’s hope, and that was something Mereth could not bring herself to do.

Mereth stomached her pride, her anger, and her love for Leto when she went to the servant’s quarters for dinner. Usually the bustling hall was unquiet and raucous with merriment and laughter, but the elves were silent tonight. They had gathered around, all of the elves in Carastes, for one woman to bring her vision of freedom to them. There were many theories as to how exactly the woman became free, of which contained outlandish tales that she was a mage herself, a spirit in disguise as a woman, and even talk that she was lying to all of them and was nothing but Gregorian masquerading as a rebellious elf to test their loyalty. Mereth believed none of these tall tales, probably out of spite for the newcomer.

The elves conversed in hushed tones, wondering if the ears of Gregorian had reached the room despite their precautions. They feared the Altus with much disdain, and it was most likely for this reason they agreed to hear the elven girl of her wild tales of freedom. They wished to be away, to roam free in the world, to make one choice in their lives. Mereth could relate to this, she had often held fantasies of Gregorian dying, and Leto accompanying her as she ventured all the way south in the great plains to join the roaming Dalish clans, the free elves that knew no master. She knew that these were just dreams, however, and to give heed to things such as idle fantasies was disgraceful.

The hushed talk quieted as the escaped elf girl walked into the room, with her fine hair, her silk dress, and her purple aura. Mereth was sure it was not her imagination, the candlelight when it hit this woman shown purple. The elven girl looked around at those present, and asked plainly, “Have all of the servants been summoned here?”

“There are none that would shirk your words,” one of the elven prefects intoned, “Speak now, we all wish to hear what you say.”

“They say Par Vollen has already been taken by the threat to the north!” one of the elves shouted, “How can you be from there?”

“I was there when what you call ‘the threat to north’ came for it. Tell me, what do you know of this ‘threat to the north’ other than rumor?” the elven girl asked impatiently.

“They are demons come from the Fade they are,” one of the elves posited, “Tevinter’s mocked up a blood ritual, and now demons are falling from the sky, that’s what I heard.”

“Demons in the sky, that’s horse****. It’s raiders from the waking sea causing trouble again, nothing more than tall tales,” another shouted.

“I heard that it’s abominations that ran away from Tevinter, possessed by demons,” another elf intoned.

“You are all wrong,” the elven woman interjected, “They are unlike anything this nation has ever seen. They are horned grey giants called Qunari, they come from across the Amaranthine sea, and they freed me from my Tevinter masters.”

This got the elves talking, but the woman hushed them with a finger raised in the air, and continued, “You will answer nothing among yourselves. Ask me questions if you have them.”

“What’s your name?” one of the elves asked.

“My name was Jasaslan, now that I have joined the Qun, they have named me Tallis,” the elven girl responded.

“The Qun, what’s the Qun?” another elf asked.

“It is a moral philosophy the Qunari follow, it separates people into tasks they are best suited for. When you go under the Qun, you loose your chantry given name and adhere to their faith,” Tallis answered.

“Are you saying we will have to abandon our faith in the Creators?” Mereth asked, sickened at the thought of renouncing her gods.

“What have the creators done for you?” Tallis posited, “Born you into a life of servitude, slavery? Subjected you to horrors, blood magic? Am I right, is this what your Creators have done for you?”

Mereth kept silent, and allowed Tallis to continue, “Our gods, whatever forms they may take, are wrong. There is surety in the Qun, victory in the Qun. I have seen the Qunari chant, and I have seen them win against Tevinter, and you can be a part of it too. The tales you’ve heard of them paint them as bloody savages, that they kill wherever they go, but any who pledge themselves and their lives to the Qun will be spared. The Qunari have reached passed Antiva, Seheron, and Rivain, the lands are there’s in all but name. They come for Tevinter next to kill every single mage who dwells within.”

This got the elves talking in hushed whispers, whispers that had tones of hope. Mereth had a feeling of dread come over her, for she suddenly feared for Leto’s life. “When will these Qunari reach Carastes?”

“A front has already mobilized off the eastern road. Tomorrow they will enter the city and claim it for the Qun,” Tallis answered.

They elves went in uproar. There were no more gossiping whispers, but frenzied shouting. Some were fearful for their lives, some were cheering their liberators, and some were screaming because all the others were, and they didn’t want to feel left out. Mereth was silent, the dread she held overcame her shout she was building up. Tallis waited for a moment for the elves’ exultations to subside until she called for silence once more. “When the Qunari come, all I ask is that you do not fight them, and you do not aid Tevinter. These are simple requests- “

“Simple requests? This is Tevinter, the mages here will destroy any man fool enough to try and fight them!” an elf interrupted.

“The Qunari are not people!” Tallis counterposed, “They are death, they are salvation, they are an idea, and they are hope! Tevinter can kill us, they can kill all of us if they wished. They can subject us to torments and slavery, they can do almost whatever they want to us, but they cannot destroy our hope. For years, we have sung the Dalish songs we do not understand, spoke our mother tongue in hushed tones so that we all remember where we come from. We are men and women of the Dales, of the ancient elves who walked Thedas immortal and as powerful as the gods. Tevinter stole that from us, now we steal their civilization from them!

“When they came for me in Par Vollen, it started much as today did. I walked the city streets in service to my Tevinter master. Then, out of the tree line there came this strange noise. It was the sound of nearly four hundred men joined together in a chant in a language I could not understand. It was beautiful, yet terrifying. Then, seemingly out of the ground, they erupted forth from the smithy, the tannery, and other shops, and started to kill the guards, guards I had lived in fear of my entire life killed in an instant. Then, the sky opened up, and began to pour rain and lightning down on the Tevinters as one, one, Qunari mage floated up above the battlements, killing hundreds with its mere presence.

“I ran to the Altus of the city. I plunged a knife in his throat. I watched the blood pour from his neck and onto the floor, and do you know what I felt? Pride. I had struck a blow against Tevinter, and they could not strike back. I cut off the Altus’s head, I ran down the stairs to the front door where the elves were fighting alongside the guards against the Qunari, and I threw my master’s head out into the throng. I shouted for my brothers and sisters to take up arms with the Qunari, and they did. The city fell under the Qun before the day ended. If one city can fall, so can another, so can this city. So, I ask, will you take up arms with Qunari? Will you fight for you freedom?”

The elves were uncertain of their stance before, but Tallis’s speech had rallied the elves to her cause. Well, all except Mereth. She knew that if these Qunari were allowed into the city, allowed to take the city if Tallis was to be believed, then Leto would die by their alien hands. Mereth knew that if she tried to sneak out, at least one of the elves would see her, and know that she was going to warn Leto. Mereth desperately knew that if she did nothing for his behalf, Leto would die, so she resolved to wait until the next day to rush to Leto with a secret warning.

. . .

The next morning Leto woke with a start. It was early, the sun had barely risen beyond the horizon, but Mereth was shaking him awake. “What, what is it, Mereth, calm down.”

“You need to wake up, and we need to find Lem,” Mereth responded, “Well I need to find Lem, you need to pack.”

“What?” Leto asked, sitting up in his bed, “Mereth, what is going on?”

“The threat in the north, the invading people in Seheron? They’re coming south, we need to go,” Mereth responded, pulling the blankets and bed covers off of Leto.

“How do you know this?” Leto inquisited, standing up from the bed.

“I will explain on the road, I do not know when the threat will come, but I do know it is coming today. An elven woman arrived in Carastes a few days ago, she’s sparked the elves to rebel when they hit Carastes. Now get dressed, pack your things, we need to leave!” Mereth shouted.

Leto obliged her, for he knew no reason that Mereth would lie to him. He got dressed in his official Laetan garb and packed some clothes and random articles into a cloth backpack. He also collected his Compendium notes into another pocket of the backpack, and to finish it off tied a bedroll to the top. Leto had often dreamed with escaping with Mereth and exploring Thedas in its entirety, he never knew that he actually would. Leto took his pack, exited his room, and followed the hushed conversation that carried across the hallway which sounded like Mereth and Lem arguing.

Leto threw open the doors to Lem’s room, and hissed, “Do you wish the entire estate to wake? I could hear you from across the hallway.”

“I will be quiet once this dwarf gets fool notions from his head,” Mereth retorted, “He wishes to take the ‘secret’ passageway in the estate out towards Minrathous, but every elven servant knows of it, they’ve probably already demolished it.”

“What do you suggest then, there is no other sure way out of the city with the situation you present,” Lem intoned.

“If we’re quick, and we elude eyes, we can go out through the stables, there are plenty of horses for all of us,” Mereth responded.

“If they’ve cleared the tunnel in your head, then they’ve most certainly posted guards on the horses,” Lem juxtaposed.

“Well at least there I could try to talk the servants into letting you out, if we go down the tunnel then they’ll know for certain that we tried to evade them, it doesn’t work in our favor,” Mereth responded.

“Friends, please,” Leto raised his hands, “We cannot fight now. There is too much at stake to be drawn apart like this. I agree with Lem, the underground escape tunnel is our best chance at avoiding both the elves and the threat to the north. The elves may have it guarded, but I think if we’re careful, stealthy, and smart enough we can avoid them. The passages in that tunnel are winding, and it breaks off into dead ends more often than not. I know the route through that will get us to the next city over, Neromenian.”

Mereth looked at Leto, and asked in a chill tone, “What will we do if we find the elves there in wait for us?”

“We let you talk to them. I’ve done my best to present myself as a friend to the elves, if you reason with them well enough, I think we can get away without any bloodshed. Fighting is always the last option,” Leto answered.

“The boy is right, I suppose,” Lem agreed, “We’ve dined and celebrated with the elves almost the whole time we were here. If they’re good enough to let us get away, then we can.”

Mereth thought the idea over in her head, and eventually nodded in agreement, “Alright. Lem, pack your things, I need to go gather mine. We’ll meet in the frozen cellar no later than ten minutes from now, speed is of great importance.”

The two men nodded, and Lem started to go to his wardrobe, and stuff it into a cloth backpack much like Leto’s. Leto himself started to gather Lem’s various notes, including the ones that Gregorian had given him pertaining to the golems in Minrathous, and putting them into a contained envelope in as organized a fashion as his frenzied hands could manage. When the notes were collected, Leto handed them to Lem, and the dwarf stuffed it into his jacket’s left most pocket. When this act was done, Lem gathered his bedside candle, and lit the miniature lantern that hung from his optical device, and a thin beam of light shone through it. Lem nodded, gathered his backpack, and gestured to Leto that he was ready to go.

Leto and Lem first went to the kitchens, and gathered a few days rations inside another cloth backpack, which Leto wore alongside his other one. Next, they went to the stairs that led down to the freezer and waited for Mereth to join them. Mereth arrived exactly on time, and after a few prayers to various gods, the three went down into the frozen cellar. The three all knew that their lives were on the line, that everything in their known world was about to change. It was the start of an adventure, an epic tale like ones Orlesian bards might sing a hundred years later, if their venture was successful. It was exciting, exhilarating even, but it was also horrifically terrifying to the mind to know that they might meet their ends in the tunnel they were about to traverse, or the road via the bandits that prowled there, or any of a hundred different places that they find themselves in. All they knew is that they had each other, and apparently were ready to put their lives in another’s hands.

At least they thought they were able to trust one another. For now.

[jlvm4]

Celticbear

Since you were kind enough to indulge me and read mine, I have started to read your story. I will say I know nothing of Dragon Age, so I'm starting blind. I'm part way through the prologue and I think I might be finally getting some of the world mechanics straight in my head.

It's definitely a lot of stuff to sort through. I'm usually a character-driven reader, so I kind of wish you had started with The Arishok and back-filled the war info from there, maybe even from his and his people's point of view. To be honest, I didn't recognize any of the names, and until I met some of the people, I wasn't all that interested in the details of the war. But once we met The Arishok it focused things down nicely and started to set the stage for caring about why this whole thing went south into war. I'll be curious to see what happens to him as the Qun depart. There's a lot of language I'm still picking up on, but I figure I'll get the hang of it soon.

Thanks for posting.

[Celticbear]

I know I haven't updated in a while, but I plan to put something up today or tomorrow. To make up for lost time, I leave this!

[Celticbear]

Just like I promised, chapter 6! Jasaslan makes a move on Carastes, but will her small rebellion against Gregorian succeed?

Spoiler: Chapter 6

Show

Jasaslan had held onto her elven name for reasons that escaped her. She had thought she had given herself wholly and completely to the Qun, yet she still clung so fiercely to her name. The Qunari had no need for names, only titles that denoted their status in society, and while Jasaslan openly went under her Qunari name of Tallis, she still thought of herself as Jasaslan. She could not quite explain why she held this illogical attachment, though perhaps it was some form of elven pride that still dwelled in her heart. If this was the case, she would have to converse with the Arishok or another of her new superiors about how she might quell it in service to the Qun.

Jasaslan knew that she once felt at home listening to elves sing and speak elven songs, but now whenever she heard one of the servants in Carastes speak prayers in elvish, she felt only detachment. She had convinced herself of the fact that her elven gods could not have saved her from slavery as the Qun did, so why, she asked herself, did she still think of herself as Jasaslan and not Tallis? Jasaslan put these thoughts aside and focused on making sure preparations for the Qunari’s first blow against the Tevinter mainland to commence. She spoke with many elves in the servant’s quarters about different aspects of how the rebellion would start. She inquisited if the elves had enough small weapons for all of them, whether they could lock down some of the exits to the city, and most of all if the elves could kill the Altus of the city before the siege started in earnest. Robbing Carastes of major mystical armaments was very important in the grand scheme of taking the city, though it would be difficult.

The city had seen elven rebellion before, and in the not too distant past. The last Altus who had dwelled inside Carastes had faced open elven rebellion, and his replacement, one Altus Gregorian Jasaslan had been told, had taken efforts to protect his person. His door was under constant watch by trusted guardsmen who could not be bribed. There were also rumors that Gregorian’s room was under constant watch by spirits in the Fade, but Jasaslan discounted these as wild speculation. More likely, he had set wards around his quarters and spread rumors of demons himself to instill fear in his servants.

Jasaslan was also told of Gregorian’s apprentice, one Laetan Leto, and his close association with one of the house staff, Mereth. At first, Jasaslan was jubilant that one of the Tevinter mages was in close proximity to one of the elven servants and wished to use this to initiate a surprise attack against the boy. Her hopes were dashed when her informant told her that Mereth returned Leto’s admiration, and the two were practically inseparable. Mereth would most likely try to warn Leto of the incoming attack. Jasaslan had been informed of all of this before her meeting with the elves the night previous and decided to use this information to create a cunning trap.

Jasaslan had plotted with the elves about how they could use Mereth and Leto’s bond against them, and figured that if the two would escape, they would escape together. Jasaslan made each obvious exit of the city inaccessible, as well as the secret ones the servants had only heard scant whispers of. She had heard from one of the house staff that Leto and the dwarven diplomat had ventured down to the ice cellar under the estate, a cellar which housed a secret exit. Perhaps Leto was planning to use this exit, and was showing it to the dwarf in case the pair became separated in the chaos? Jasaslan could not guess their motives for sure, but based on the evidence presented to her, this exit was a good candidate of the one Mereth, Leto, and apparently the dwarf Lem would use to leave Carastes before the Qunari came.

Before she could allow herself to cut the trio off from escape, she needed to plan against the Altus, of whom would probably not venture from the household. It was his duty to protect Carastes, sworn under oath in Minrathous, and the servants told Jasaslan that the Altus had some form of honor in this regard. Even if Leto warned Gregorian of the Qunari invasion, which was a prospect that Jasaslan was told to be very unlikely, the Altus would stay in Carastes to the bitter end. Jasaslan admired this in her adversary and took warrant of Gregorian’s apparent rugged determination. Perhaps it was a flaw that she could use to her advantage in the battle she would find herself a part of.

The basic battleplan against Gregorian was simple. Jasaslan would lead elves into his room early in the morning via the windows to avoid the guards, Jasaslan would trigger the wards hoping her mystical amulet could heal her in time, and then the elves would descend upon the sleeping Altus like a pack of rabid dogs. The plan was simple, and Jasaslan had full faith in its execution. For the operation, she chose four other elves who believed whole heartedly in the cause of freedom from Tevinter oppression. She was not worried about dissent from the elves with the promise of freedom dangling ever so near, but it never hurt to have people who truly believed in their cause. To combat Gregorian, she would need men and women whose determination matched his.

The elves were given kitchen cutlery, it was all the elves could gather in form of weapons without arousing too much suspicion. Jasaslan went over the basic plan with the elves one last time until she gathered her small troop and lead them to the side of the estate. She waited for the elves on the upper levels to throw down a rope, and once it was secured Jasaslan went ahead of her charges up to Gregorian’s sleeping quarters. The window was tinted, and the night was dark, she could not make out too many details about the interior space other than basic outlines of furniture. She could not see Gregorian, or make him out through the dark window, so Jasaslan could only assume that the Altus was sleeping in his bed. Jasaslan made out the details of the bed through the tinted glass, and with a small force of motion kicked open the window past it’s lock.

The artifice shattered inside, revealing an unlit room. Jasaslan could no more make out Gregorian when the window was whole than she could now, but she plunged into the room past the shattered glass. As she did so, the wards inside went off, throwing gouts of fire into Jasaslan’s face and body. Her vision was overtaken by the orange, the blindingly bright orange, and she forced herself to close her eyes. As she did so, however, she caught out of the corner of her eye a shimmer of purple, an arcane shield. Could Gregorian be lying in wait for her, just outside of sight? Was he prepared for assassins, and how could he know of her presence beforehand?

Jasaslan’s instincts told her to duck as the flame overcame her, but she thought that the waiting Gregorian would have counted on this. She instead leaped onto the bed and saw that a jolt of lightning had just hit the spot on the floor that she once stood upon. Jasaslan, turned around, and opened her eyes. The room was ablaze, but the flames were quickly dying out. She could see that the writing desk and bookshelf of Gregorian had suffered no damage in the explosion, most likely an enchantment placed by Gregorian to save his writing and books in the event the wards were tripped. Gregorian himself stood to the left of the windowsill, grinning madly as he looked at Jasaslan, bathed in bright purple light from the amulet’s healing quality taking full effect.

“You are not from Carastes,” Gregorian commented, “I think I would’ve noticed a glowing elf.”

“I’ve come to kill you,” Jasaslan retorted, “As you can see, your magic can do nothing against me.”

“Foolish girl, the might of Tevinter cannot be toppled,” Gregorian chided, “You should have stayed wherever you came from. Now you face an Altus!”

Gregorian rose a knife from his billowing robes and made a deep cut along his palm. He was using blood magic, sacrificing his own blood to supercharge whatever spell he was throwing at Jasaslan. Jasaslan jumped off of the bed, and tackled the Altus, baring her knife at his stomach, cutting with all her might. Gregorian simply laughed as more blood flowed from his wound and into his palm, red energy just like on the slave ship Jasaslan had seen growing in size. Gregorian plunged his hand onto Jasaslan’s forehead, and she screamed as red-hot pain entered her skull. She could tell that if she were not wearing the healing amulet around her neck, she would be bleeding from every orifice on her body, but the strange magics on the Fex article warded off all but the pain from Gregorian’s spell.

Gregorian noticed his magic had done nothing but debilitate Jasaslan instead of killing her outright, and at this he seethed in rage. He made more cuts along his arm as he shifted his weight onto Jasaslan, turning her so that now she was on the ground under him, instead of the other way around. Gregorian lifted his blood coalescing hand in the air once more, and plunged it down onto Jasaslan’s face, causing her to feel even more pain, but nothing more. Gregorian shouted a primal howl in rage and pain as the cuts along his arm started to sting. Gregorian plunged his dagger into himself more and more, trying to see how far Jasaslan could go before she died, but her power seemed unwavering against the Altus’s blood magic.

“Why won’t you die?!” Gregorian lamented in a booming tone. Jasaslan only answered in more screams as Gregorian increased the potency of his hemorrhaging spell. Eventually, Gregorian figured out that he could not kill this strange elf girl with normal means. He released the elf girl from his grasp, letting his spell fade away as he gathered more blood for a new one. He could feel his body start to give way to the blood lose, he’d have to contact Leto to rejuvenate him later, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He gathered so much blood and mana for this spell the room’s lighting changed from the orange of the dying embers of the ward to the deep red of Gregorian’s blood magic.

He plunged his hand back onto Jasaslan’s forehead again, and this time instead of flaring with pain, Jasaslan could feel herself… floating? Yes, floating was the only word Jasaslan could use to describe what was happening to her. She could feel her consciousness going away from Gregorian’s as she drifted through empty space, the image of Gregorian’s bedchambers leaving her field of view for a sea of green light. She looked around her and saw a strangely similar landscape that lacked true form. She was somehow back in the Fade, in the same reality that the Saarebas had plunged her in to show her the true meaning of the Qun.

This time the Fade was different. It did not feel tempered or structured like the place the Saarebas had brought her, now to Jasaslan it felt like a battlefield. She had heard that the Fade matched the current emotional state of the person travelling it, perhaps this was true. She could not gawk for long though, for she had lost sight of Gregorian. He needed to be found, and quickly, if Jasaslan had any hope of escaping this brutal struggle. Jasaslan picked herself up off what she thought was the ground.

“This place is dangerous, you should be wary,” a voice cried out to Jasaslan, a voice seemingly so near her ears hurt with the volume of its words. It sounded without gender, and now that Jasaslan considered it more closely it did not speak with words. It was more like she was feeling what it was saying. It appeared this was a standard form of communication in the Fade. She looked out on the barren landscape presenting itself ahead of her but could trace no source to the speaker. “I’m right aside you, Jasaslan,” the voice called out again, and it was then that Jasaslan realized that the lizard like spirit clutching to her shoulder was speak-thinking.

“Bloody Maker, you talk?” Jasaslan asked it, biting back a shriek of fear.

“Well, you’ve never had a care to listen before,” the spirit retorted, “This place houses a powerful creature, we need to get out.”

“What kind of creature?” Jasaslan asked her shoulder spirit.

“A demon. I don’t know if it serves the human or the human serves it. They seem to be constantly at war with each other, yet aid another as well. I sensed the turmoil when we entered the city, but you couldn’t hear my warnings.”

“And you say it is powerful?” Jasaslan asked, looking around her for signs of the demon her shoulder spirit spoke of.

“Yes, even if we weren’t in its realm, it would command forces in the Fade unlike anything I have seen,” Jasaslan’s shoulder spirit answered.

“So, are we in its realm?”

“Yes, the human brought us here because he couldn’t fight past my defenses in your world.”

“Can you still defend me here, in the heart of this demon’s domain?” Jasaslan wondered.

“I can try, I promise nothing,” the shoulder spirit responded.

“How do we get out of this place?”

“We must defeat the one who brought us here, the human. It will be difficult, I cannot lie to you, but if we are careful, we can outmaneuver him. The demon is a chaotic creature, it will send both ill and aid to both you and the human,” the shoulder spirit informed, “We must find our way through the demon’s lair, see if we can’t surprise the human.”

Jasaslan nodded agreement to the shoulder spirit’s words and started to move forward through the landscape around her. It looked at first like a pale brown field, with rotten leaves scattered around it, though Jasaslan quickly made out that the brown of the place was heavily dried blood. She picked up her foot and saw that specks of the stuff had made its way onto the underside of her shoe. She gagged and decided to not look at the ground as much as possible. She kept walking through the unchanging fields, her shoulder spirit whispering strange things to her in the weird thought-speech of the Fade. She could make out that her shoulder spirit was warding something off, keeping something away from her. Exactly what her shoulder spirit was keeping away from her Jasaslan did not know, but she was glad of its presence all the same.

Eventually, the landscape started to shift. Subtly at first, but soon as her steps grew heavy on cobblestone instead of wilderness, she grew wary. As Jasaslan’s mind started to adjust to the shifting landscape, she could make out she was inside a dimly lit castle. Jasaslan’s feet stepped into something with mass that did not ring like the cobblestone floor had, and she looked down. She saw a grisly sight of a human head, dead months past, embedded into the floor. She had broken the nose of the dead man, though it seemed there wasn’t much left to break. She quickly sidestepped out of view of its still dead eyes, but they followed her. Jasaslan ran then, away from the head, at the urging of her shoulder spirit.

She ran into a wall, with more heads, each looking exactly like the one she stepped in. They all were moving, each seemingly of their own accord. They moved over each other, and Jasaslan saw that they did not have necks, but a detached and bloody spine that slithered like a snake. The heads moved over each other, sometimes through each other by eating their way past their partners with ravenous teeth, all closer to Jasaslan. Jasaslan’s first instincts were to run, to be away from the crawling thing that wanted to devour her. She could tell that’s exactly what those ravenous teeth wanted to do. Whatever the thing was, it was speak-thinking at her just like her shoulder spirit was, its desire to consume her, to eat her whole, leaving nothing for the crows except her dried blood.

“It is an illusion,” Jasaslan’s shoulder spirit chided, “It wishes to impose its will upon you, you must fight back with your own.”

Jasaslan was paralyzed with fear at the spectacle, the ravenous teeth slithering ever closer as her shoulder spirit continued, “Your will is as material in the Fade as a sword. Use it, strike down the apparition, it is the only way to defeat the demon!”

Jasaslan clenched her teeth, trying to fight back against the overwhelming fear the demonic entity was imposing on her. She could not at first, her will was too weak. Jasaslan sobbed, silently, her shoulders shaking as her soul was slowly being devoured, feet first. The ravenous teeth had found her, and they started their work. One thought struck against her mind, however. One rebellious thought that resisted death. This thought had a grounded purpose, and as Jasaslan was in the realm of dreams, she could almost hear this thought speak-thinking into her ear like her shoulder spirit. It was a simple sentence that she had heard in Par Vollen. A simple sentence that just by listening to it banished the ravenous teeth from Jasaslan’s feet.

“Victory in the Qun!” Jasaslan screamed with the thought, screamed against the demon that bit at her toes, “VICTORY IN THE QUN!”

The demon howled in rage, its meal swept away by a rebellious thought. Its scream could be heard all across its realm, piercing every ear that dwelled there. Gregorian clutched at his ears, clutched as they like every other orifice on his body began to bleed. He had promised the demon an easy meal when he entered its realm, and the meal he had just promised had stood valiant against the demon as if it had the strength of a hundred men. The demon, in its rage, went after Gregorian, the ravenous teeth slithered to his feet now. Gregorian called upon his will, but it was overwhelmed too quickly before he could react. Jasaslan did not see this transpire, but she knew it to be true.

“Out, out, out, out, out, think out you fool, OUT,” her shoulder spirit chanted to Jasaslan, begging her to free herself from the realm before it ate itself. Jasaslan was happy to oblige this spirit, and before she knew it, she was standing in Gregorian’s dark chambers, the embers burnt out. She looked over to see the Altus, dead on the floor. No apparent lethal cuts other than the ones the blood mage had inflicted on himself were apparent. It seemed he died of some sort of mental aneurism. Jasaslan saw the elven agents she had picked had just made it into the window, the last of which crawling through as she awoke. They stood in amazement at the scene, but Jasaslan gestured they had no time for shock.

She opened the door to Gregorian’s quarters, and found that other elves had already made short work of the guards who had once stood vigil at its hinges. They lay dead flanking the door, blood still gushing from one man’s neck. They did not expect their deaths, and they seemed quick. Jasaslan wished they died slower, wish they could feel a fraction of the pain that every elven slave of the Tevinter Imperium felt on a daily basis, but dead they were. There was nothing Jasaslan could do to prolong their righteous suffering now.

“The ‘Lord Altus’ lies dead in his own bedchambers,” Jasaslan told the elves who had done the deed, “What of his apprentice, is he dead or has he made his escape?”

“We found his and the dwarf’s rooms empty, ma’am,” one of the elves piped up, “We were waiting for you before we gave chase to the cellars.”

“We can still cover good ground if we split up to make up for tactical error,” Jasaslan quickly responded. She looked back to the elves that had accompanied her to Gregorian’s bedchambers, and asked them, “Can you go to the stables in case they were fool enough to try them? If they were, you could perhaps meet them on the road there.”

The elves nodded their assent, and without another word Jasaslan went with the two elves that had killed the guards down the two flights of stairs and opened the doors to the icy chambers of the meat cellar. The preserved carcasses hanging on chilled racks reminded Jasaslan too much of the ravenous teeth of the demon that had tried to kill her. She shivered with something that had nothing to do with the cold of the room. She shook her head, trying to clear it of fear as the Qun had taught her, but she could not. She muttered a curse, closed her eyes, and led her elven band further into the meat cellar.

The other elves could tell of Jasaslan’s discomfort with the meat and made their way through quickly. They opened the door to inner herbalistic sanctum, filled with vicious plants of different macabre origins. The stench in the room was foul, but to Jasaslan it was better than a reminder of her visit to the Fade. She looked up to see that the tunnel to hidden escape route had already been opened, and the trio of Leto, Mereth, and Lem lay on the other side. Jasaslan was told of how the rune operated, that an immense illusionary barrier would be erected if the passageway were to close. She shouted a roar of primal fury and threw the kitchen knife she bore at Leto’s head.

The hilt struck the boy, but still hit him quite harshly, and he fell unconscious to the ground. Mereth shouted back in surprise and took hold of Leto’s body. She started to drag him behind her, but the other elves made their way through the entrance. Lem threw away all pretenses, and started to run through the dark passageway, uncaring of how the other two suffered. Mereth, seeing the elves quickly come towards her, interposed herself between Leto and them, and drew her sword. She moved into a defensive posture, staring daggers at the elven oppressors. Jasaslan held up a hand and walked in front of her elven adversary. A strange understanding of the situation passed through each other’s eyes.

“I’ve killed one mage today. This one should not be too hard. One of my sisters stands before his broken body with sword drawn,” Jasaslan commented.

“Stop, move another step and I plunge this into your heart,” Mereth warned.

“If a Tevinter Altus cannot kill me, what hope do you stand in the pursuit?” Jasaslan asked, though made no move forwards.

“Just back away,” Mereth begged, “Back away so Leto and I can leave, please.”

“He’s Tevinter, he’s a mage,” Jasaslan spoke through clenched teeth, “He is every symbol of oppression in this world, and you defend him? Is his blood magic so strong it has seeped into your mind?”

“Leto is no abomination, no maleficarum, and he is not a blood mage! He is a good man!”

“It is a pretense, he is evil, he is a servant of demons, just like his master was,” Jasaslan posited, “This Altus Gregorian, his master, trapped me into the Fade with his blood magic into a demon’s realm. A demon he served. Who is to say his apprentice does not serve one of these fiends as well?”

“I do,” Mereth cried, “I stand at his defense, as he would stand in mine. He is not evil, he’s just a man. Let him and I go, we’ll leave Tevinter, we won’t strike against these Qunari you’ve allied yourself with. We’ll just go, please!”

“I cannot let you go, but I cannot kill either. I know you can see reason, Mereth, I know all elves can see reason,” Jasaslan begged, “On your face, those markings, they are elven, they are Dalish?”

Mereth raised her free hand to lightly touch her face as she nodded, “They are Dalish, they are of my people. A people you’ve abandoned for this Qunari.”

“But they stand for the same thing,” Jasaslan offered, “They stand for elven freedom.”

“Your freedom is based on bloodshed, mine is based on hope. Hope that more people like Leto exist, and that they can make a difference for us. The right way, not your way.”

“Who is to say what way is right? I offer freedom, concrete freedom. You offer a glimmer of a promise. Which would hold more weight?”

“I don’t know, I only know that I cannot allow you to kill Leto. Never,” Mereth warned.

“Then, we are at an impasse,” Jasaslan answered, “For I cannot allow him to leave. Very well. We shall talk on the boy. Perhaps one of us can be swayed.”

[Celticbear]

The battle for Carastes continues, and many questions are answered about Jasaslan's encounter in the Fade...

Spoiler: Chapter 7

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“That’s weird, my head feels funny,” was Leto’s last thought before he was plunged into darkness, a projectile haven stricken him from surprise. He could feel himself falling to the ground, but the falling sensation never left him. He could feel the air whistling past his face, his feet feeling as if they were higher than his head. He tried to look around, but he could not make out any detail of the inky blackness surrounding him. His concentration left him as well, and soon he could not even bring himself to turn his head. He felt drowsy, deprived of all willingness to continue. Just as his adventure was about to begin, it ended with a thud.

Consciousness returned to him eventually. He could not tell whether he had been sleeping a minute or a hundred years, but he didn’t really care. He looked around and found only more blackness around him. At first Leto thought he was dead, and this thought terrified him to the core. Would he be judged by the Maker now? Had he found his way into the Black City, the corrupted throne which had once housed the Maker, but now lie still ever present in the Fade? The last time a mage had travelled to the Black City, the world was plunged into blight, and the first of the Darkspawn came down from the heavens to reap life from the masses below. Leto could not bring himself to the conclusion that he had found his way into the Black City, it scared more-so than the thought of facing the Maker.

He picked himself up, aching bone by aching bone. He could feel a throbbing in his head near the place where he thought something had struck him. He raised a hand to clutch the back of his skull, and then drew his hand in front of his eyes. He could not make out the sight of blood, nor could he feel or smell it. Minor blessings, at least, that Leto had not contracted a head wound, or he thought he didn’t. Leto, his studious mind ever performing its task of coagulating new and fascinating ideas told him that he may have fallen unconscious and was dreaming this whole ordeal. Yes, that seemed to be the least fear inducing idea he thought of since his time in this strange dark plane. If this was the case, he simply needed to figure out how to escape this prison of thought. Leto began to move.

He walked for a time longer than that which he felt falling, which wasn’t saying much. Time in this strange dream realm flowed differently than in his own world, and he could not bring himself to count the seconds or steps. Something in his mind barred him from keeping track of time. Perhaps it was subconscious still having some unwarranted fear of the darkness in the place, perhaps some strange magic of his mind prevented him from keeping progress, or perhaps even still he had travelled into the Fade itself and was in the realm of a creature who had absolute dominion over it. Leto had catalogued the many signs of a creature’s dwelling in the Fade, but with the darkness around him, he could not make out any detail other than the oblique demeanor of the humble abode he now treaded upon.

Leto could find no other thing to do but keep walking in the direction he chose when he stood, he could not think of anything else to do. However, through the strange hazy miasma that had clouded his mind, a thought occurred to Leto. He could perhaps summon light into this place, if he could find the concentration to incant the spell. Leto halted in his motions and began to mutter calming words to himself. Once he thought he had the solidarity of mind he wished, Leto channeled mana into his hands, and focused on calling a glowing wisp, a minor spirit, to his aid. He opened his eyes and was nearly blinded by the new light his wisp companion shed. The small ball of glowing green luminescence bobbed and twirled around Leto’s head, almost playful in nature. Leto chuckled, finally faced with a familiar face, or more rather facet of the life he had accustomed himself to.

Leto still had to find a way out. He looked around under the new light of his wisp companion and found that he was in some sort of cave. Far above his head, he could spy huge stalactites hanging precariously on the ceiling, ready to drop at the slightest disturbance of their perch. He could see the path of the cave continued ever onward in all directions, a fact that annoyed Leto heavily. His annoyance was quickly shifted to bewilderment when he looked down, however. He could see the green sky of the Fade, the Black City sitting far off on the horizon, a horizon which he was seeing upside-down.

Before Leto could protest to the motion, he found himself falling again, though not for as long as he first fell. He covered his throbbing head, and rolled into ball, to avoid more blunt impacts, but when he came down to Earth, so to speak, he could not feel any impact at all. It was as if he fell into a bundle of pillows and blankets and was ready to go back to sleep… no. Drowsiness was starting to overcome Leto once again, and he would not submit to it. He called upon whatever willpower he had left, and resisted sleep’s call. He stood up, vigilant against lethargy, but the feeling had past, and he was sure he was safe.

Leto looked up into the green sky of the Fade, he was certain he had wandered into the dream realm now. It was not a normal dream, Leto was sure of that as well. The Fade didn’t shift to match his sleeping mind, no, it retained its base and unformed form. Leto’s sleeping mind had been summoned, like he summoned the wisp, into the lair of some malevolent entity, a demon wishing to possess the helpless mage before he regained consciousness. Leto steeled himself for a battle, what he was not expecting was Gregorian approaching him. His old master Altus was dressed in night clothes, and was wandering closer to Leto, a smile on his face.

“You are stuck in this strange realm too? It seems something wishes our presence,” Gregorian commented.

“I don’t understand, I was running away from Carastes and now I find myself here,” Leto spoke, mostly to himself.

“Running away?” Gregorian asked indignantly, “Whatever for?”

Leto considered, wondering if he should tell Gregorian about his true reasons, but lamented eventually, figuring that he would see through any lie, “The threat to the north, Mereth warned me they were coming. She warned me that they were using elves in Tevinter’s service as a surprise attack, that soon rebellions will strike in every city before the threat comes to take it.”

Gregorian halted for a moment, but it wasn’t a regular motion, or more rather lack of motion. He remained perfectly still, like a statue, definitely not like a man as he spoke, “I see… that explains the elf.”

“The elf?” Leto asked.

Gregorian turned away from Leto, peering off into the bowels of the Fade as he spoke, “An elf descended on me just a few minutes ago. I fought it off, but I was driven unconscious after the fray was over. I fear other elves may descend upon my body before I have time to retaliate.”

“Mereth told me the attack was supposed to start today, perhaps you were the first to fall to it,” Leto wondered.

“Perhaps,” Gregorian spoke, as he turned back to meet Leto’s eyes. He smiled, and continued, “Leto, I know this will be hard to accept, but I think they’ve killed my body already.”

Leto’s eyes widened as he asked, “How do you know?”

Gregorian shrugged, and responded, “I just do, I feel its presence waning, waning, and gone. I need a way out of the Fade, we need to get back to Minrathous to warn the Magistrate that the threat is coming. They will never listen wholly to a Laetan, but if you had the soul of an Altus within you…”

Leto took a step back as he asked, “You… you wish to possess me?”

Gregorian took a few steps forward as he agreed, “Don’t put it like that, I need help Leto. I cannot simply die, not now, not when most of my work remains unfinished. You just have to… let me… in…”

Leto saw that drool was coming from his master’s lips. Leto furrowed his brow as the pieces started to fall together in his mind. Leto had spent most of his adult life studying the residents of the Fade, and knew that all demons, no matter their power or cunning, wished a way into Thedas, into Leto’s waking world. Leto knew that these demons would do anything, pretend to be anything, to enter their world in the body of a mage. Sure, any demon could possess a corpse or an object, but if they possessed a mage, they would retain their power through the veil, and absorb the mage’s power as their own. A demon could command vast amounts of mystical energies if they entered Thedas in the body of one such a mage, incredible amounts, leaving the mage’s body a twisted and vile abomination.

Leto backed away from “Gregorian” as he responded to the ravings, “No, I think not.”

The demon wearing the masque of Gregorian tilted its head but did not relent in its pursuits as it spoke, “Laetan, as your superior I command you to open yourself to me, for the greater good!”

“No! I see through your guise, demon, I shall not be tricked!”

Gregorian scowl deepened as he faded away from view. It was not a subtle thing, for first his skin evaporated from his body, and then the muscular system. What remained of his organs fell to the ground, and made a squelching noise as they it, fading from view as well. A voice from all around Leto began speaking in a babble of languages, all at once. Multiple voices, male and female alike, bombarded Leto with words both familiar and foreign. It hurt Leto’s aching head to hear them, but he shouted in primal wordless defiance against them. The voices raised in pitch, tone, base, and treble, all shouting one sentence that seemed to echo through the whole of the Fade:

“I AM THE GLUTTONY, THE PROFANED, THE UNCLEAN, THE VOICELESS MASS, THE UNKNOWABLE THIRST, AND THE FIRST HUNGER OF THE REALMS OF MEN!”

Leto had not realized it, but he had collapsed onto the ground in the cacophony. He picked himself up again, his ears and head ringing with the motion. He put a hand to his head and moaned. He swayed with vertigo, the alien landscapes of the Fade not exactly helping him feel grounded. He looked around for the demon, for any sign of this First Hunger as it claimed to be but could not find it. Leto shook his head and started to gaze out in the island of the Fade he found himself trapped in, but it was as shapeless and terrain-less as any other he had voyaged before. It was a rocky beige dirty landscape that seemed to twist at impossible angles but seeming straight as well. There were no signs of any life in these plains, besides Leto’s of course, and there was no clear direction to go towards.

“Demon, release me from your realm… I know you still skulk here,” Leto intoned, looking warily around himself.

“Poor little boy, in love with a woman he can never have, a country that consorts with evil, and his own selfish life,” the First Hunger spoke, in a single voice thank the Maker, all around Leto, “I almost take pity on you.”

“No more games, no more deceptions, demon, speak the truth,” Leto ordered.

“You are in my domain, in my realm of decrepit hun- “

“You are a spirit of the Fade,” Leto interrupted, “A cheap copy of the mortal realm. You are clever, I would even say you approach true sentience to employ tricks of such guise, but you are a facsimile of evil. Not even truly existing without dreamers like myself. You are a parasite, and I will exterminate you if you do not swear now to speak nothing but truth!”

The First Hunger was quiet for the longest time, or perhaps the shortest, for one could never be too sure in the Fade. It eventually answered, “Very well, mortal. I will speak to you truth, I swear this.”

“First tell me how I came here,” Leto asked, “Did you summon me into your realm when I fell unconscious?”

“I saved your life,” the First Hunger responded plainly.

“What?”

“The knife that struck your head gave a lethal blow, it should have killed you. I worked alongside your master Altus, one called Gregorian he claimed, and I knew of you. I knew of your promise, your knowledge, your power. I sought to gain it for myself, so I interposed between you and what lies beyond. The veil was thin, and I had recently eaten a large source of mortal power, your master. He died by my maw,” the First Hunger explained.

Leto took time to process this information, but soon asked, “Will I awaken normally, or will I die now that I served my purpose?”

“You will awaken, yes. But then you will die shortly thereafter,” the First Hunger explained, and even though Leto could not see the demon, he could tell it was smiling.

“Explain!” Leto shouted, more squeakily than he had intended.

“The elf who threw the knife at your head was not the only elf present,” the First Hunger started, “Others have started to sneak around your lover, and plan to strike you as soon as their leader gives the word.”

“You’re lying, a trick,” Leto retorted.

“What have I to gain from lying?” the First Hunger asked.

“You will propose a deal, you will take over my body to slay my offender to save my life,” Leto responded coldly.

“Ah, so you would be open to an arrangement then?” the First Hunger asked.

“Never, you clearly lie, and I will not fall victim to your tricks,” Leto balked.

“You think I lie, yet I have sworn to tell the truth. You need proof of my words, very well. Gaze from your eyes mortal, I will permit you to do as such, gaze and see I speak the truth then!” the First Hunger incanted, and before Leto knew it, he was back in his body again. Leto tested his limits now that he was back in corporeal form, but he could only sense the area around him. He could not quite explain the sensation, but he could feel the presence of Mereth, the presence of the elf that she was talking to, and the presence of another, creeping behind. Leto resolved himself, thinking this was another illusion of the demon, and tested his will against the boundaries of the picture he felt himself in, but found that either it was too strong, or it was the truth. Leto may have been young, but he had studied creatures of the Fade his entire adult life and knew how to combat their illusions.

“I have spoken my mind about Leto,” Mereth angrily spat at the elf she was talking to, “and my opinion on the matter will not change.”

“I have been told that you have been a Tevinter slave nearly your entire life, that you were taken as a baby from your Dalish clan. Is this true?” asked the elf back towards Mereth.

“It is,” Mereth hesitantly agreed.

“Then you know the hardships your people face from blood mages like the one you defend,” the elf quickly retorted, “Are you perhaps a thrall of him? Is your will your own? If you can show me a sign that you cannot control your actions, show it and I will do my best to free you from his control.”

“Leto is no blood mage! I have told you time and again that he is a good man, and still you persist,” Mereth cried.

“He is a mage, he is Tevinter. That combination cannot make a good man,” the elf shook her head.

“What gives you the right to judge someone you’ve never met?” Mereth retorted.

“I have been a slave of Tevinter my life as well, I have seen their cruelty, and I have seen the very mind of this boy’s master. He consorted with demons, Mereth, malevolent spirits of the Fade. Leto is doomed to follow in his master’s footsteps,” the elf explained.

“You’re wrong, Leto could prove you wrong as well if he were awake, if you didn’t come in here knives slashing and bows shooting!” Mereth shouted, “No better than barbarians, all of you!”

Leto tried to speak but found himself unable to do so. He tried to stand again but gained similar results as his speech did. He seemed trapped inside his own body again, dazed and confused as it were. His head still hurt, the knife that him must have struck something of vital importance for the pain to travel with him wherever he went. Leto inwardly sighed at his grand misfortune but thought of other ways to try and contact Mereth. He tried to extend his magical senses towards her, but as he did so he felt himself falling again.

Leto fell back into the demon’s realm. Leto landed on his feet, but barely so. The sudden motion had spun his head into a direction Leto found most discomforting and lost his balance almost immediately as he hit the floor. Leto looked around at his surroundings, the familiar unfamiliarity of the Fade glaring back at him, but something was different. Before him sat a writhing mass of human heads, their bloody spines still attached, attacking each other, eating each other, and birthing new copies of themselves. The grim spectacle made Leto want to empty his stomach’s contents, but he could not force himself to look away. The writhing mass stopped moving when Leto became affixed to it, and each and every head swiveled to meet Leto’s stare. Leto knew that this was the true form of the First Hunger, or at least an avatar of such. If the demon was being truthful in how much power it held, it was likely much larger.

“You sensed the elf sneaking behind you?” the First Hunger asked.

“I did,” Leto admitted with heavy annoyance.

“And you could see that your lover did not- “

“Stop calling her my lover,” Leto snapped, “We are friends, but she is an elf. I can never love an elf, it against the best judgements of Tevinter to do so.”

“Why?” the demon asked, “Do you not… hunger for her? Your society is breaking down, this incursion, this threat to the north, it threatens your Tevinter, and it has the ability to strike it down. If it were to be stricken… could you and the elf not be joined together as one?”

“So, you suggest that I leave with Mereth, and abandon my country?” Leto asked, “I am appalled at your suggestion, your presence, and your gall to dictate what I think.”

The heads made a bowing motion, each one in perfect sync with the rest, as the First Hunger continued, “I am merely suggesting the possibilities. May I lay them out plainly, as I see them?”

“You may,” Leto offered, crossing his arms.

“The first, and most likely, outcome that I see is one where the elf sneaks behind your… companion and slits your throat. The sneaking elf will probably die to Mereth’s blade, but you will remain dead. Option two, I could allow you to be free of my realm, and send a message to Mereth, warning her of the danger to your person, and we might never even speak again.”

“That service would not come free, would it?” Leto asked.

“Of course not, I shall be allowed… five days, five twenty-four-hour periods, wherein I will possess you, for lack of a better term. These periods need not be consecutive, but they must be taken in twenty-four-hour increments. I will not force on you a permanent possession, for that is not the subject of our arrangement. It is a fair deal in my opinion,” the First Hunger explained.

“Preposterous, I would never agree to such a thing,” Leto scoffed.

“There is a last deal,” the First Hunger quickly piped up, “We could use the terms and arrangements set by Gregorian, a partnership. I can see the land of the living through your eyes, take control only during periods you choose, with at least 42 hours per month according to your Chantry Calendar, and in exchange I give you access to advanced magics, nearly doubling your power as it stands. I could also supply knowledge of the Fade and its denizens, knowledge I know you crave.”

“If I were not to take the first deal, what gives you the impression that I would take that one?” Leto asked.

“Power, so much power,” the First Hunger purred, “You could become twice the mage your master was, you could overthrow the Tevinter magistrate with a glare with me at your command. Think of what you could accomplish!”

“No, I shall not fall victim to you, demon. Release me now, our talk is done,” Leto commanded.

“You have no power over me in my domain,” the First Hunger chided, “Yet I have power over you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The First Hunger chuckled before he began, “It is up to my decision whether or not you die this morning. If you do not take my deals, I have no compulsion to assist your mortal form’s health. Without my interference, you will die. Mereth will not see the elf in time, you see how fiercely she strikes verbal blows with the other one, her focus is not on you at the moment. The elf will slit your throat, and then you will be beyond anyone’s reach. I offer my aid now, I offer life. I even offer you a chance to avoid a permanent possession in memory of your master and the… wonderful things he fed me.”

“I… I…”

“You have a choice. Either suffer my presence or die. You are fully capable of choosing between the two,” the First Hunger offered.

Leto thought himself unready to die, but he thought himself to be loath to accept a demon’s words. Leto thought that he would die a saint, or as close as one could get when you lived in Tevinter. He thought he would be one of the few mages in the country who did not accept a demon’s words, who refused his peers as his rivals, and who stood valiant against the dangers of the Fade. However, one sentence Leto had spoken kept irking at the back of his mind. One simple sentence that halted his willingness to refuse the demon’s satisfaction. He thought back to when he and Mereth had first escaped Gregorian when they found that he was a blood mage, and the promise Leto made to her. A promise that said he would never leave her.

“Your first deal, the one where you don’t have joint ownership of my soul, I choose that one,” Leto quickly barked.

“Five separate or consecutive days you give to the First Hunger, Laetan Leto, former apprentice to Altus Gregorian, and scholar of the realms of men and dreams in exchange for your freedom from my realm, giving you a chance to contact your elven companion Mereth in the effort to save your life? This is the terms of the deal I offer, do you accept?” the First Hunger proposed.

“Maker forgive me, but I do,” Leto muttered.

“The Maker is not with you now, I am. Praise me as your savior, Leto, praise the First Hunger as your salvation,” spoke the First Hunger as each of his now writhing faces began to grin.

“Thank you, now release me, creature!” Leto shouted. The whole of the Fade seemed to shake as Leto said those words, and the writhing mass began to quiver with what appeared to be glee. It made a convulsing noise that sounded like laughter and sighing exultations mixed into a symphony for the mad. The green skies of the Fade turned peach red, and lightning crashed above as bloody rain fell upon Leto’s brow. The blood burned Leto, and he tried to find shelter from it, but could not. The First Hunger seemed to grow with the blood until a maw made from the still rotting corpses of a thousand men with a tongue erected from animal-like entrails snickered above Leto. This was the true form of the first hunger, this was its terrifying splendor.

“I BREAK THE VIEL IN YOUR NAME, LETO! THE DYE IS CAST AND SET IN BLOOD AND WORD, WE STAND WITNESS TO EACH OTHER! I SEND YOU BACK TO YOUR WORLD, LETO, A WORLD THAT WILL SOON BE MINE AS WELL!” shouted the First Hunger above him in a mocking tone.

As soon as the First Hunger finished his proclamation, Leto felt himself falling again. He almost fainted at the sensation, his head throbbed, worse than ever now in fact, and it was near to bursting. Leto fought through the pain, fought through the now too familiar pain, as he fell. After a short amount of time he felt impact, and his whole body shot with agony. He tried to scream but could find no sound escape his lips.

Leto had found his way back into his body, though he felt an extent of control similar to the last time he resided in it. He could sense Mereth and the elf she was speaking to’s presence, but the elf who was sneaking behind with intent to kill was drawing very near. He projected his thoughts and used as much magical might he could muster to send the idea to look behind to Mereth, to see the elf that was coming for his throat. Mereth halted midsentence, and turned around, her sword at the ready. The sneaking elf gasped in surprise, caught red handed standing over Leto, about to plunge his dagger in Leto’s chest. Mereth screamed in rage and plunged her sword into his gullet. The elf muttered a soft phrase that Leto couldn’t make out, and then fell wordless to the ground.

All hell broke loose after that. The pretense of peaceful negotiations had been shattered, and the few remaining elves who were left ran at Leto and Mereth. Leto could still find no will of his own to move, but Mereth’s sword was a swirling fury. She struck a defensive pose, and parried away the first blow struck by Jasaslan, the elf Mereth had been speaking to whilst Leto had fallen unconscious. Jasaslan had a small dagger, but clearly had been working on new and painful ways of using it just as Mereth had done with the sword. Jasaslan’s first strike had not been meant to strike Mereth dead, but to gage her defenses in close quarters. Mereth, having learned to use the sword in hallways and alleyways, was excellent at close quarters fighting, definitely better than Jasaslan herself. However, Jasaslan had one thing to her advantage, the same thing she had fought against since her days in Par Vollen: magic.

Mereth struck back against Jasaslan, revealing why Jasaslan seemed to have a purple glow. As her sword struck her arm, she did not draw blood, but a faint purple energy flashed in the dark caverns as if Mereth’s blade struck metal, and not flesh. Jasaslan quickly threw the sword off her arm, and made a cutting motion with her knife, aiming for Mereth’s sternum. Mereth just barely dodged out of the way, drawing her sword up to protect herself from the other elf’s knives. Mereth thought that Jasaslan may have some sort of magical protection, but the other elf may not. She struck lethally at the other elf’s throat, and as he was not trained in combat at all, he fell to her blade. As Mereth did so, Jasaslan took the opportunity to strike out against Mereth’s extended arm. Mereth shouted in pain, and drew back against Jasaslan, raising her sword to slice at her offender’s head. Her blade struck true, but she only succeeded in giving Jasaslan a glowing purple halo instead of cutting her down.

The game of cat and mouse continued between the pair, Mereth surviving Jasaslan’s attacks, and Jasaslan ignoring Mereth’s. Leto could do nothing but watch the battle for his life. It seemed he had just won some great victory over the First Hunger, drawing the demon down from killing him, but upon examination of his time spent in the Fade Leto knew he was the one who lost. Upon replaying the events in his head, he could tell that the entirety of his encounter with the First Hunger was just the demon testing Leto’s limits. The demon knew that Leto would choose the deal that fended off his death and that he could also placate Leto’s pride by making itself appear defeated. Leto felt so stupid for falling into the demon’s trap, but the past was the past.

Mereth could not stand against Jasaslan forever, even she knew this. Eventually Jasaslan would overwhelm Mereth by her unnatural constitution alone, and Mereth could do nothing but watch. Mereth clenched her teeth at her offender and screamed internally at the hopelessness of it all. Her sword swings became more furious in buildup, more primal in delivery. Jasaslan simply ducked or parried the blows with her hands or arms or simply took the swing when it came to her. Each cut of the sword made her nimbus of purple energy glow brighter and brighter. Occasionally Jasaslan cut at Mereth’s arm when she saw the opportunity, whittling down her strength piece by piece. Mereth finally gave up and saw that her strength was waning visibly. She gathered herself for one grand thrust before Jasaslan’s knife found its way in her skull.

Mereth plunged her sword into Jasaslan’s chest, striking directly at the heart. Mereth expected her attacker to simply laugh at the failed final effort, but instead Jasaslan sputtered. The purple aura of healing around her started to diminish in intensity, and she clutched at her chest. Mereth wondered if she had found some sort of weakness in Jasaslan’s impervious design but decided to think on it later as she twisted the blade left and right. Jasaslan gasped in pain and shock, but still sliced at Mereth’s face with her knife. Mereth shouted and let go of the sword as she felt one of her eyes burst in fluids. She lifted her hand to her face, pressing hard against the wound. She turned from Jasaslan, grabbed Leto, and ran into the cave. Mereth cared no longer if she killed Jasaslan, only that she had delayed her in time enough for her and Leto to make their escape.

Mereth hobbled through the dark, dragging Leto behind her. Mereth did not think to light a torch or other instrument, only to run away from the thing, for she no longer thought of Jasaslan as a woman, that she had just survived. There was no fight, no winner, only two losers running away from each other barely breathing and badly bruised. Eventually, Mereth caught the sense to catch her breath, and laid Leto down onto a rocky outcropping, and sat aside him herself. Mereth reached into her pack and gathered a torch as well as some tinder matches. She lit the torch, put the matches back inside her pack, and put the torch down on the ground as she started to make stock of her injuries. Most of them were superficial, barely nicks and scratches from a dagger’s point, but a few of them were deep. Most of the deep cuts were along her sword-arm, a fact that would prove most annoying in the days to come.

Mereth began addressing the wounds which posed an actual threat to her health, using an injury kit she had the foresight to pack. The process was slow, and Mereth would lie if she told anyone she felt no pain in the experience or did not shout a few times. The rubbing alcohol and the disinfecting of every wound along her body was the most tedious work, and painful, but after she was sure that her wounds were clean enough, she halted the process and put the remaining implements back inside the injury kit. She examined her clothes, soaked in her blood, unusable for fear of being seen as an escaped elven slave covered in blood. When looking at herself, she realized that it was exactly what she was. She was finally leaving Altus Gregorian’s employ, a job she had been forced into nearly all her life. What’s more, she was escaping with Leto, a slave to Gregorian as well in all but name, and a dear friend who made the experience at least half enjoyable.

Leto himself had lost whatever unholy blessing the demon gave him to act whilst unconscious. His strange sensation of the world around him had fallen to nothing after the fray with Mereth and Jasaslan. Mereth thought back to this fray and could not exactly place how she knew of the elven assassin creeping behind her to kill Leto. She eventually attributed it to fighting instincts honed over years of training, but instinct only went so far, and certainly did not make a man or woman omnipotent. Mereth decided that such deliberations could be had later and wanted nothing but rest. She had to find a way out of the tunnels first, of course, and once she checked herself a final time for wounds gone unaddressed. She was satisfied, however, and grasped the torch and Leto in either hand, and began walking through the tunnels of the cavern to find a way out.

It took twenty minutes of walking as such before Mereth eventually found a ladder with glimmers of sunlight shining through a hidden trap-door. Mereth set Leto and the torch down and went inside her pack once again. She gathered rope, another implement she had the foresight to grab, and began tying Leto to her back. She could not climb the quite sizable ladder and carry Leto at the same time, but she thought she could perhaps hoist Leto up alongside her as she climbed. Mereth tested Leto’s weight against her own, and once she was certain that she could carry Leto, she started to make her way up the ladder. It wasn’t exactly trying, Leto was a scrawny man who weighed almost as much as Mereth herself, but it was tedious. While Leto wasn’t exactly the heaviest weight Mereth had lifted, he was still a weight that dragged her down constantly.

Mereth eventually made her way to the top of the ladder and lifted a hand to push up against the trap-door. The door was rusty and required a few beatings against the hinges before it finally gave way. Blue sky shimmered above, and light poured down into the tunnels. Mereth laughed a sigh of relief at the sky and made the last efforts to climb back onto earthen ground. She untied the knots keeping Leto hoisted on her back, and gently put him down on the grass before she started to gage her surroundings. She was in an empty plain, south of Carastes. As she gazed out to the rising sun painting the city in a fantastic image, she saw that Something was wrong. The city had plumes of smoke, massive rings of it rising from homes, businesses, and other locals. The battle for Carastes seemed to have already started, and Mereth and Leto seemed to have escaped it just in time.

Mereth tilted her keen elven ear towards the city and heard the faint sounds of battle coming from inside. The attack seemed to have been initiated by Carastes’s port instead of its gates, which while still defensible was one of the weak points of the city. The threat to the north, no Jasaslan had called them Qunari, seemed to have known of the city’s weak points before attacking, which means they had scouts. They probably got their information from Jasaslan, their elven traitor bitch, or at least that was the title Mereth had given her. Her Qunari probably thought of something more suiting their pet’s self-esteem. Mereth sighed and laid down in the grass next to Leto. The city was far enough away that no one would probably look for them, and the tunnels below winded into so many different directions that Jasaslan could not check all of them. Mereth had time for some rest, just an hour or more.

. . .

Leto awoke in the Fade. It was a strange sensation, waking into a dream, but he was used to it from his many travels there. He looked around and saw that he was in the First Hunger’s realm once again. Leto looked around for the demon and found himself staring back at him. The First Hunger had taken Leto’s visage, and grinned at him wearing it. The demon did not wear the noble Tevinter robes as suited a Laetan, but the black travelling robes Leto had packed to go undercover. The First Hunger walked closer to Leto, slow agonizing steps that lightly shook the ground as he walked it. Leto scurried back a few feet, responding in a chuckle from the First Hunger.

“Relax, boy,” the First Hunger laughed in Leto’s voice, “You have nothing to fear from me. I merely wished to show you the disguise I created while you were sleeping to ask if it was adequate.”

“Adequate? Where is Mereth, why am I still in the Fade?” Leto asked all at once.

“I admit, my greed is greater than my pride. I have elected to take the first of five days now, I have not been in the mortal realm since the last time Gregorian allowed me to do so, and that has been quite some time indeed,” the First Hunger explained.

“This is how it will be then?” Leto asked, dejectedly, “I will sometimes find myself waking up in the Fade?”

“Of course not,” the First Hunger chided, “If I choose to possess you during the day, you’ll have a seizure. It will hurt.”

Leto scowled at the demon, but the First Hunger only grinned back at him. Leto looked around again, eventually asking, “So you’ve taken possession of my body already?”

“Yes, I command it from afar. I merely wished to be here when you awoke to inform you of the situation and explain how the extent of our deal will work.”

“Is there some way where I can view what you are doing while you possess my body?” Leto asked the demon.

“If you wish. Some of the activities I may entice in may seem… gruesome, but if you have the stomach for it, I will allow to watch my progress,” the First Hunger offered.

Leto stood up quickly, and growled, “Do not harm Mereth, or allow her to come to harm! I know your kind’s tricks, how you hide things in fine print. I command you to protect her!”

The First Hunger laughed, and retorted, “I knew you would care for her, one of the reasons why I did not snap her neck and devour her flesh when I awoke next to her. I am willing to make a deal about Mereth, if you are?”

“Name your price, you cretin,” Leto muttered.

“Another day,” the First Hunger plainly stated, “I will be fair. Another day according to our previous arrangement and I swear upon my power that I shall act in the best of my ability to defend Mereth if she falls into danger, and that I shall inflict no malice upon her.”

“Deal,” Leto immediately spoke, “I accept.”

The demon extended his hand with a grin, and Leto shook it with a grimace. He could feel his soul slipping further and further down his fingers and into the First Hunger’s grasp, but Leto was powerless to reject it. The First Hunger was a creature of guile, a subtle thing that played at his mind like a cat does with yarn, unravelling it piece by piece. Leto was as defenseless as the yarn against it, and all he could do was outlast the demon’s days of controlling him. Leto’s will was strong, and it would be tested against the First Hunger at each and every turn. Leto needed to find some form of weakness against the creature, some fault in its logic, or else, he feared, he would become nothing more than a puppet of the First Hunger, dancing on his strings.

“Show me what you are doing,” Leto muttered, “I wish to see.”

The Fade around Leto shimmered out of existence, and he could see out of his own eyes again. His body was not under his control, and it was on the move. He was running, moving rather quick actually, and the motion immediately made Leto’s head spin. It appeared the concussion he had suffered in the caves under Carastes would follow him wherever he went, even to his spirit. Leto looked around and tried to see what his body was doing. He realized that he was chasing after a white hare, running quickly through the fields. Leto had no idea how he was keeping pace with the animal, but his legs sprinted after it.

Eventually, Leto’s body stopped, and he saw his hand extend before him, towards the rabbit, in a clutching motion. The rabbit suddenly stopped in its tracks and began to convulse. It’s head started to twist behind its neck, its feet began thumping against the ground. It started to levitate, higher and higher and higher until suddenly it was thrown to the ground by an invisible force. When it came to the ground, Leto’s body rushed towards it, and started to tear the beast apart, ripping out bits of flesh, fur, bile, and intestine, stuffing it inside his mouth. Leto himself thought he was going to be sick from the image, but before he could think to gag, he felt a presence next to his.

“I hunger,” the First Hunger whispered in his ear, “Your body will feed mine, your world will feed mine. I want to eat everything I see, everything.”

“Do this, whatever it is, away from the eyes of sentient beings,” Leto begged, “I need to keep a good appearance if I am to approach the magistrate.”

“Be still your heart, boy,” the First Hunger hissed at Leto, “You need not make a deal at something so trivial. I am aware of your templars and your warriors who fear mage-kind. I know they would kill your body on the spot if they saw my activities, and I need your body to feed. I shall keep face with the outside world, but for my sake, not for yours.”

“Thank the Maker,” Leto breathed.

“I told you before, and I shall tell you again: the Maker is not with you now,” the First Hunger chuckled as his presence moved away from Leto’s.

After the First Hunger finished devouring the rabbit, he went to a nearby stream and washed himself of its blood. Once that was done, he walked Leto’s body back to where Mereth had been sitting, eating some jerky. She smiled when Leto came back, and he smiled too, if a bit too wide. Leto sat down next to Mereth, and asked, “Mind if I have some? I fell like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“Of course,” Mereth responded through chewing, “I think I still have some.”

Mereth went down into her pack and produced a slab of meat. Leto could feel the First Hunger resisting the urge to drool as he quickly snatched the jerky and started to wolf it down. Mereth silently chuckled, going back to silently eating her own. The two sat in silence like that, eating their morning meal so unfamiliar to them, but for different reasons. Mereth had been used to eating a droll bowl of porridge for breakfast every morning, while the First Hunger hadn’t had mortal food for so long. When Leto’s body eventually finished eating the meal of jerky, he wiped his lips, and sighed in pleasure.

“So, where shall we go now?” Mereth asked.

“Minrathous of course,” Leto’s body quickly piped up, “We have to warn them the threat to the north has reached the mainland.”

Mereth was silent for the longest time before asking, “Could we not go somewhere else?”

Leto’s body looked quizzically at Mereth as he responded, “We have to warn the capital of this, Mereth, otherwise the threat to the north would take the whole of Tevinter in surprise.”

Mereth looked away from Leto as she quietly questioned, “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Mereth, if Tevinter falls, then whatever is coming south will have access to the entirety of Tevinter’s magical armaments, lyrium, and fortifications under their control. That power needs to be used against this threat, not for it. I know why you don’t want to save Tevinter, the slaves they keep, but it’s necessary to protect them for the good of Thedas.”

Mereth sighed as she responded, “I understand, I shouldn’t have went against you like that.”

“Besides, where else will I gain the documents to free you?” Leto’s body asked in a jovial tone.

Mereth blinked as she looked back to Leto, “Free me?”

“I’ve seen Carastes, the fires, I don’t think Gregorian survived. I’ve seen his will, he leaves his estates and properties to me. You’re one such property. If we go to Minrathous, I can create an appeal to free you,” Leto’s body explained with a smile on his face.

Mereth went to Leto and wrapped him in a hug tighter than a vice as she cried, “Oh Leto, you have no idea what that means to me!”

“Air required,” Leto’s body gasped, “please loosen!”

Mereth laughed as she let go of Leto and kissed him on the forehead. Leto’s body laughed along with her, but Leto himself was confused. He turned his strange astral presence to face the First Hunger, who was grinning like a madman. Leto dejectedly pointed at the picture before him and tried to form a question in his mind to posit to the demon, but he could coagulate no clear question for it. Eventually, all Leto could do was utter “Huh?” to the First Hunger’s laughter. The demon slowly approached Leto, his laughter dying down piece by piece.

“You said I mustn’t allow the elf to come to harm, and being a slave is quite trying on the mind I should think,” the First Hunger posited, “Besides, now there’s a good chance she’ll talk off one of the Tevinter magisters and die before I have a chance to do anything.”

Leto sighed, and uttered, “Of course you find some negative outlet to Mereth’s freedom.” Leto returned his gaze back to the real world, wherein Mereth had let go of his body. She smiled, and perhaps it was the morning sun’s red tilt, but Leto could swear she was blushing. He could feel himself chuckling softly. The pair sat staring like that for a moment too long to be counted as superficial.

“So, if we are to go to Minrathous, then our first stop will be Neromenian?” Mereth asked.

Leto’s body nodded, and responded, “Yes, from Neromenian we could take to their ports, and sail the rest of the way to Minrathous.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Mereth agreed.

“Well then, if there is no more to discuss upon- “

“Lem, what happens if we run into him?” Mereth said, her tone dead.

“Oh right. He did just leave us, didn’t he?” Leto’s body deliberated.

“He left us to die against the elves, I can’t believe he’d do such a thing,” Mereth spat.

“His motives were to get back to Orzammar, and the dwarven city lies far to the south. Minrathous is to the northwest, we are travelling in opposite directions. If good fortunes smile upon us, then we will never see the coward dwarf again,” Leto explained.

“But if we do?” Mereth asked.

“We will cross that bridge when and if we get to it,” Leto responded.

Mereth nodded along with Leto’s sentiment, and began to gather her things. Leto mimicked her motions, making sure his pack was full of things as well as some of the heavier objects from Mereth to ease her wounds suffered in the caves. The pair, once they had taken inventory of their possessions, began to walk along the road, away from Carastes burning with the morning sun, from what Mereth now referred to as the traitor elf bitch, and the still warm corpse of Altus Gregorian. The pair was leaving a whole life behind in pursuit of another, walking along the road to Minrathous.

[Celticbear]

Just wanted to say that the chapter's taking a bit longer to write as finals are approaching, eek me >_>

ALSO DRAGON AGE 4 WAS TEASED. AHHHHHHH