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Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

"Want to see history happen? Don't take your eyes off the Inquisition."

0 · 2,008 views · located in Thedas

a character in “The Canticle of Fate”, as played by Kurokiku

Description






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Full Name: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel
Titles/Nicknames: She'd really, really prefer Khari.
Age: 27 (9:44)
Race: Elf (Dalish)
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.
Class: Warrior
Specialization: Berserker

Hair Color: Rosy-red, visible from a long way off, at that.
Eye Color: Kind of a hazel-tinted green.
Height: She's all of 5'4".
Build: Ropy muscle and sinews all the way around.

Appearance: Kharisanna is, as most elves are, a rather small person. Short, and none too broad, she nevertheless manages to give off the impression of someone supremely at home in her own skin. Her general build isn’t much bulkier than any other elf, in all honesty, but a little compact muscle tissue goes a long way. Stout she may not be, but the woman is quite sharply-cut, from the lines of her biceps to the angles of her face. A pointed chin, thin nose, large peridot eyes and a full mouth compose her face, which is nice enough, though not really the stuff of paintings and romantic poetry. Like most everything else about her, it lacks a certain aristocratic refinement or delicacy, being vivacious more than elegant or graceful. She’s got an infectious smile, though, and there’s a spark to her that’s easy to perceive.

It’s a quality that carries through to the rest of her. She’s a little more generous where most elfish women are willowy, muscle rendering her thicker in most places, especially the thighs and hips, and trimmer in the abdomen. She’s always on the move, and her body has adapted to facilitate that, giving her a lean, hungry look to her, a sort of nothing-extra efficiency from head to toe. That said, she still looks like a little wisp of a person next to a human warrior, male or female, and she hates that; Khari is constantly trying to conform herself to the standard fighter's build through conditioning regimens of one kind or another. The observant will note that she cringes slightly if she happens upon a reflective surface, and her casual clothing is all extremely loose.

Her hair is worn rather long, usually braided and tucked up into her hood, so as to stay out of the way. It’s a very bright, very obvious red color, and riotously curly unless she takes steps to make it otherwise, formed into big, loose, slightly frizzy ringlets. Chances are it’s a mess at any given time, and she admittedly doesn’t put that much effort into trying to tame it. She’s relatively sun-touched, her face, shoulders, and back all dotted with a truly impressive number of freckles. Her brow and cheeks both bear the marks of vallaslin in charcoal grey, those corresponding to Dirthamen specifically.

9:42:
Spoiler: show
The last year has seen Khari knocked around quite a bit—though not really any more than she expected. She’s picked up a couple new scars to show for her battles, though nothing debilitating or all that disfiguring. Though she’ll never really gain any more height than she already has—and apparently has trouble gaining weight either—her angles have sharpened and her contours firmed up. Any excess she might have been carrying, little as it was, is pretty much gone by this point.

9:43:
Spoiler: show
Khari was never meant to be a warrior. Her height and natural build simply aren't suited for it. But she's walking proof that, with enough work and enough desire to succeed, even a waifish elven girl can become a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield—and she can do it with the slant-smiling swagger of someone much larger and more daunting. For once, she almost feels like she belongs in her body. There's no mistaking that she's in excellent condition, dense muscle packed onto her small frame in a way that leaves plenty of room for motion. But there's no mistaking her for what she used to be. Trim? Yes. Willowy? Never again. She's strong, swift, powerful, and there's nothing else she'd rather be.

Her growing mastery of herself and the way she exists in the world around her shows up in more subtle ways, too. Gradually, she's losing the inclination to swamp herself with too much fabric, losing the sense of shame that came with not being right. Not being on the outside the way she felt inside. She's always carried herself tall, but now it's less bravado and more genuine confidence. It's quieter. Smoother. More graceful, even, because power doesn't mean taking up all the space or drawing all the attention. She's found herself lots of role models in this respect, but she's also learned that she doesn't need to be just like any of them. That she can be herself, as she is, and as she's becoming, and both of those things are good. Both of them are really her.

9:44
Spoiler: show
Not much changed about Khari's appearance over the past year, save the acquisition of some truly epic scarring on her legs, evidence that they were once more shards than bone. Compound fractures are a bitch, and so is red lyrium. Otherwise, she remains as she always was, save that her wardrobe has now firmly transitioned to clothes that actually fit her. It's nice, to feel like she's got the skin she wants to live in, at long last.

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“I'm pretty badass, right? I mean, I wouldn't wanna pick a fight with me.
Okay, that's a lie. I totally would.”

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Apparent Demeanor: Subtle and discreet are words that apply to Khari about as well as they apply to a bereskarn, which is to say, quite poorly. She is, to all appearances, an open book, her emotions worn clearly on her face, her foot semi-permanently in her mouth due to what would seem to be the complete absence of a mental filter. She’s a force of personality, really, and there’s an odd charisma about her—one that allows her to perhaps escape the more dire consequences of her trademark irreverence.

She has little issue talking back to authority figures, and indeed feels free to question people when she either thinks they’re doing something stupid or doesn’t understand why something is the way it is. She’s caught a lot of flak for this over the years, and was the bane of Keeper, Hahren, and craftsman alike back when she still lived with her clan. She’s so straightforward that it’s almost impossible to imagine that what one sees isn’t what one gets with her, and to be fair, that’s most often true.

Khari is the soul of confidence and independence, able to stand on her own and capable of looking out for herself through most any circumstance. Despite her fundamental lack of need for the company of others, however, she seems to enjoy it when she gets it. It’s not obvious at first, but she has an intuitive feel for personalities and emotions, enough so that she’s actually become quite accomplished at “reading” others, even those she does not know well, from small details in their facial expressions or body language. She may not be book smart, lacking much by way of education, but she is quite people-savvy in this way. Open, friendly, and generally honest to a fault, there’s also no mistaking the fact that she generally does her best to do right by people, even those that would not so quickly extend her the same consideration.

That said, from the boisterous, lively way she presents herself, many people infer a lack of intelligence or skill. Because she laughs too loudly and talks too much and smiles a little too often, she can be perceived as lacking some better qualities, someone likely to succeed only because she has a way of making friends of superior talent. She is, in truth, quite happy to be underestimated. By now, she knows that her demeanor leads some to fill in the blanks with a rather ungenerous brush, and she’s come to relish surprising them when she has the bite to back up her bark.

9:42:
Spoiler: show
The trials of the Inquisition’s first year have done little to dim Khari’s vibrancy and less to wear on her spirit. Despite all she’s been through, and all she’s learned in the process, she remains down to her core an optimist and an irrepressible ball of fire, so to speak. By this point, pretty much everyone around her knows what she’s about and what she wants out of life: while she made no particular effort to spread the word, she doesn’t mind that it happened. It saves her the trouble of explaining it a million times. And if no one ever asks her why, well
 that’s okay too. She's comfortable with the Inquisition, and it shows quite obviously: she's often to be found in the practice yard with the regulars, or hanging out with Stel in the main building, or tucked in a corner of the barracks common room with her new favorite book. If she's not with Rom, that is.

9:43:
Spoiler: show
Time is slowly conferring upon Khari the deliverances of wisdom. She will never be a guileful, reserved sort of person, but she is learning a certain kind of cunning, and more than that a certain kind of thoughtfulness that she has previously eschewed. In some ways, it's been necessary: she's found herself in the position of wanting to help people who need something more than just an angry woman with a sword, and she's wanted to help badly enough to become more. And she's also found that sometimes the direct approach isn't the best one, or doesn't work at all. Before, she would have just... avoided things that didn't respond to that kind of approach, but now she has reasons not to.

She has reasons to want to be better, at more than just the fighting stuff. Friends who rely on her, at least sometimes, and at least as much as she lets herself rely on them. There's no mistaking that she'll never quite lose her boisterous demeanor, the sort of lively vivacity with which she comes to everything she chooses to confront. And perhaps she'll always be a bit obnoxious, too, but she thinks, or at least hopes, that those things are part of her charm, part of the reason her friends might want her around in the first place. It's hard, to think about herself in relation to others first and foremost. She's lived largely by her own rules for a long time. But she likes this—likes being the kind of person other people can depend on.

It's maturing her, but it's not jading her. She's pretty happy with that.

9:44
Spoiler: show
Khari's life is trending up, and she's gotten happier and more satisfied with it accordingly. If anything, her experiences in the last year have let her really settle into and solidify the life she has now—the person she is now. Her confidence has grown, but at the same time, she's tempered. Life experience will do that, she figures, and though her experiences have been on the whole good ones, some of them have also been very difficult, and required that she look inwards and find the strength right at the heart of her. She's found it, and the results are undeniable.


Hangups/Quirks: Khari’s relationship with her Dalish heritage is very fraught, and she doesn’t really like to talk about her clan or family, or really anything that happened to her before she left. There’s a lot of old pain buried back there, and thinking about it makes her uncharacteristically melancholy, so she avoids doing so. On the other hand, she’s extremely fond of human martial culture, especially the chevaliers of her home nation of Orlais. She aspires to one day be the first elven chevalier, and believes wholeheartedly that this is possible, if only she works hard enough and becomes skilled enough that she cannot be refused. She has even taken to wearing a mask in battle, a steel thing that fastens over the lower half of her face, but leaves her eyes unobstructed. She will also either wear a half-helm or a hooded cloak, making her elvish descent entirely unclear in the midst of a fight.

9:43:
Spoiler: show
It's a little easier now, to talk about her family. About The People and her hopes for them. But they're unconventional hopes, to be sure, and not widely accepted among either the elves themselves or humans. Khari has ambitions the like of which might, in the wrong circumstances or spoken to the wrong people, get her killed or at the very least harmed. But she doesn't keep her goals close to her chest out of fear. In truth, it's mostly from habit, and the desire not to open too much of herself up to people she doesn't like or trust. Perhaps that's fear of a sort, but it's a different kind from the obvious.

9:44
Spoiler: show
While she's still not the kind to get easily attached to others, she has no reservations left about letting the bonds get as deep as they can. The people she knows and loves now have changed her life, and if that sounds schlocky or unlikely, she doesn't damn well care. She's giving herself and her support to them in the same way she lends her body and soul to the goal they're trying to accomplish: everything she has, and then some, whenever it's needed.

She's even made a lot of progress accepting her family history, and the fact that she's become the kind of person who can do that is probably the best evidence there is that she's changed. Become stronger and better as a person.


Strengths: She’s really good with people, in the sense that she can get a pretty good read on someone just from a first impression, and also in the sense that she’s usually found to be quite likable, by a diverse variety of others. There are always going to be exceptions, of course, but her gregariousness and verve have served her well in the past, and will likely continue to do so in the future. In terms of combat, she takes her dream very seriously, and as a result, is a disciplined, vigorous fighter with quite a lot of latent talent still waiting to be tapped. Also surprisingly good at tactical things, like chess, though it’s not like she plays often. Perhaps her biggest strength, however, is her ability to withstand pain. It’s a core tenet of the berserker discipline, and she’s always been pretty good at shrugging off things that should have hurt a lot more than they do.

9:43:
Spoiler: show
No longer quite so raw as she once was—in any sense, really—Khari is discovering in herself strengths she wouldn't have thought to find before. It turns out, for instance, that she's a pretty good listener, or at least she figures she must be, given that people tend to tell her important things. She still doesn't think her advice is that great; mostly she just asks obvious questions to try and help herself understand what's going on, and that seems to do something useful. At least for Rom and Stel. Maybe for Astraia too, even.

These days, she's working on turning her penchant for games of strategy into a real strength as well. Leon's helping her develop her leadership skills and ability to command people on a battlefield, which is honestly just about the most terrifying thing she can imagine. But she supposes if anyone can teach her how to lead, it's him. She's not sure how well she's doing, but she is making progress.

9:44
Spoiler: show
She may not quite be aware of it yet, but Khari has acquired the skills and know-how to be an effective leader and strategist. Her personal proficiency on the field of battle only continues to improve, even despite physical setbacks. If there's a limit to what she's capable of, she hasn't found it yet, because she's learned how to grow past her mistakes. How to turn them into not only motivation, but effective lessons.


Weaknesses: Kharisanna has been independent for a very long time. While this does enable her to look after herself quite well, it means that she doesn’t really know how to ask for help, or remember it’s an option at all, really. There’s also the fact that she possesses a startling naĂŻvetĂ©: for instance believing that sufficient skill is all it will take her to achieve a place in the chevaliers, when in fact the biggest barrier is her race. The world is still a fundamentally shiny place for her, mostly because she hasn’t really been shown the tarnish yet. Combatively, she’s physically inferior to a large number of people she’ll have to fight, at least in the strength department, and her training is still only rudimentary.

9:42:
Spoiler: show
For all her easy rapport with others, Khari has a persistent inability to make herself genuinely vulnerable to them. She’s perfectly happy sharing a fair amount about her circumstances and her history—as well as her goals in life. But when it comes to her fundamental motivations, the ‘whys’ of her choices, and the way she really feels about some of the things she’s done or been through
 she’s considerably less talkative. Khari tends to deflect those kinds of lines of conversation, or divert them elsewhere, and for someone without much subtlety, she’s pretty good at it.

9:43:
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Khari's still more than a little naïve, more than a little optimistic, but at this point, it's mostly intentional. She knows enough to understand that the road in front of her is a long one, and she might never reach the end of it. The people around her, too, are deeply imperfect and struggling almost to a one, and perhaps the objective chances of any of them really succeeding or ending up happy at the end of all of this are slim. But she chooses to believe they will. Chooses to believe that what's good and worthwhile in all of them, what's strong and resilient and brave—these are the things that will win, in the end. And that they'll win, even when what they're stacked up against seems so much more powerful and inevitable than they are.

Her weaknesses are becoming her strengths, but that is opening her up to new kinds of vulnerability. Because words like those are no longer just lip service, expressions of confidence too generalized to have any meaning. They come with actual understanding of her comrades and what they're fighting, both inside and outside themselves. And more than that, they come with investment. Stakes in the fight, so to speak. She's attached, and she can no longer just extricate herself if everything goes wrong. She wouldn't want to. A blow against her friends is a blow against her, now. And that's a lot more weak spots than she's used to.


Fears: She’s basically petrified of spiders, from the little tiny ones to the giant creepy cave ones. It’s irrational and pointless, but that doesn’t mean it’s easily-overcome. Also, she’s very, very afraid of coming to depend on anyone else, because she has learned from experience that rejection hurts a lot more when someone you’re attached to is doing the rejecting. She doesn’t want to be in a position where there’s something in her life she couldn’t stand to lose, because with her luck, she’d lose it, and she doesn’t want to endure that.

9:44
Spoiler: show
The dependence is real, and it makes the fear more acute. More dangerous. Throwing her lot in wholeheartedly with the Inquisition on the personal level as well as the professional one means she's a lot more vulnerable than she used to be. As far as she's concerned, that just means she has to work all the harder—to be strong enough to protect the things and people she loves. So she never has to watch them fall.


“I don't believe in halfway. Not anymore.
Not about anything.”



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CON:⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [7/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [8/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [7/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [7/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [5/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [0/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [9/10]

⎧ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ⎭ [6/10]

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Weapon of Choice: Khari’s never exactly had the funds for expensive equipment. Her sword is a very old hand-me-down from someone she once knew, and it does, to some extent, show its age. There are nicks and scratches all along the surface of the thing, which must once have been quality steel, probably of dwarven make. It is technically a bastardsword, but the blade is much broader and thicker than most of its thinner kin. As such, it can function just as much like a cleaver as a more elegant sword proper, and Khari deploys it about equally often for each function. She has learned to use its weight to her advantage without wearing herself out, though most warriors would doubtless disdain the graceless hunk of metal. The hilt is decorated with feathers and small bone charms, her own additions to its already-crude aesthetic. It might get her laughed at by more conscientious fighters, but the fact of the matter is, the thing is well-suited to her purposes. She needs something that will stand up to the berserker fury with which she swings it; something that can clang off armor a few times and not snap. She calls it Intercessor, and has surprised a number of people more for knowing the word than for the joke behind it.


9:43:
Spoiler: show
The Inquisition's trip to Dirthavaren spelled the end of Intercessor. The blade was so old that even as carefully as she maintained it, it was bound to break eventually, and it did. Khari mourns the loss, in a way—her sword was her last tangible connection to a part of her life she still remembers mostly with fondness. Nothing she's tried to wield since has quite felt right in her hands, but she makes do as well as she can with claymores, zweihanders, and other assorted two-handed blades from the armory. Maybe she'll get lucky and strike upon something she likes eventually.

9:44
Spoiler: show
The solution to Khari's persistent weapon problem was delivered into her hands from her family, actually. She and some of the others slew a Revenant early in the year, and Vareth later brought its sword to Skyhold, the enchantments maintained and the entire thing made ready for battle. It has a heavy, thick blade like Intercessor did, but it's a strange, iridescent green color, and enchanted to deal nature damage. She's named it Inga, the elvish word for "claw".


Fighting Style/Training: Much like her armor, Khari’s fighting style is a very strange, cobbled-together assortment of elements, scavenged from different pieces of her life and hammered, tied, and welded together into something that serves its function well enough. There is nothing elegant or pretty about the way she navigates a battlefield, unless perhaps one finds aesthetic value in brutal efficiency. She moves fluidly enough, to be sure, and indeed much of her effectiveness is predicated on the fact that she is always moving—to fight Khari to a standstill is to put her at a major disadvantage. Without strength enough to match larger people, she needs leverage and momentum, and she’s very good at getting them.

Her early years in the forest have taught her how to keep track of her environment and use it to her advantage, as well as to move quickly and lightly over many kinds of terrain. More recently, her berserker training has given her the ability to withstand a great deal of pain before it even properly registers, which will keep her pressing forward when others would have grown sluggish or weakened. There’s a fierce energy to the flow of battle, and she can and does move with that flow, maximizing her advantage by staying aware and staying mobile.

9:42:
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Training with other people has always been something Khari enjoys—it helps her smooth out rough spots in her own abilities. Plus it’s good to know how to react to a variety of different situations. Over the last year, she’s made a point of training with both Stel and Rom, and each has added something worthwhile to her repertoire: from Stel, she’s learned to improve her speed and accuracy even in a berserk state, and from Rom, she’s learned a lot of groundwork, and more ways to defend herself without her sword. Both have made her a much more effective fighter than she was before.

9:43:
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It's official: Khari is once again being trained by a chevalier. That means really, really early wake up times, drills in armor heavier than she'd ever actually wear to battle, and pushing her body and her psyche to the outermost limits of strain.

She loves it.

In fact, she makes it even harder on herself. Besides what Mick teaches her, she also runs in the mornings with Stel, trains with her, Cyrus, and Ves in the afternoons, and manages to find time to keep up on her groundwork lessons with Rom, who is still infuriatingly much better than her at wrestling. That's not counting the odd match with anyone who seems strong enough to beat her silly—Khari still does and will always throw herself at challenges like those with an enthusiasm that borders on worrisome. Every bruise is a lesson, every fall another mistake she won't make again. And it's turning around. She is getting better. Much better. And very quickly. She was always a font of barely-touched potential. Now that she's learning how to forge that into actual skill, she's becoming undeniably formidable.

The principles she relies on are still the same: utilize the power in motion and momentum. Strike first, fast, and last. And never, ever give in.

9:44
Spoiler: show
Minus a setback after major injury in Kirkwall, Khari just continues to get better at what she does. Lots of practice and very tough sparring partners will do that for a person. Perhaps the most noticeable change in her style is that she relies increasingly upon her wits and tactical knowledge to help her, only entering the berserker state when she judges that to have the most overall utility for her goals.

“Fighting isn't easy, but it's simple:
stay moving, stay aware, stay mad.”

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Place of Birth: The Emerald Graves, the Dales, Orlais.
Social Status/Rank: Future chevalier, and that’s that.

History: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel is the daughter of Hawen, Keeper of the Genardalia Clan, one of the few clans that still wanders the Dales, and Enania, the clan's most respected craftswoman. Generally speaking, the children of Keepers themselves become Keepers, because magic is a heritable trait, but quite rare among the Dalish, as it is in general. Unfortunately for all involved, Kharisanna did not inherit her father’s magic, and that was probably her first major failure to contribute anything of use to her clan.

She remembers her childhood as a series of similar disappointments, mostly adults being annoyed at her because of her incessant curiosity and lack of much talent at any of the traditionally Dalish things to do. She wasn’t a mage, she couldn’t bend ironbark to save her life, and as far as hunting went, she lacked the required subtlety. Still, she wasn’t a bad survivalist, it was just that she couldn’t shoot a bow for anything, and everyone knew it. She was quite the laughingstock, and only earned her vallaslin on a technicality. No one could fault her then, though—she made not a single noise as they were applied, and honestly doesn’t even remember them hurting that much.

She was perhaps twelve when she first encountered a chevalier, as a contingent of them passed through the Exalted Plains while the aravels were there. They didn’t stop to talk or bother the Dalish in any way; it might be the case that they didn’t even notice them. But Khari noticed the chevaliers, to be sure. The masks, the plumed helmets, the meticulously-bred warhorses, the bright red armor—she was fascinated, and wouldn’t stop pestering the hahren until he told her all the stories he knew of them. There weren’t a lot, so she started to ask around for more, picking up as much information as she could via traders and travelers the clan happened to encounter. Her obsession with these human knights was just one more eccentricity as far as her clan was concerned, and though it was nominally discouraged, somewhat more strongly by her father than anyone else, most everybody had given up on her by that point, and preferred to leave her to her own devices.

This fostered a fierce independence within Kharisanna, who learned quickly that the best way to be able to disregard the disregard of others was to be able to make do for oneself. Needing people was a mistake, even if there was nothing wrong with keeping company.

It was shortly after receiving her vallaslin that she left the clan. A terrible row with her father, perhaps his last attempt to make her fit the demanded conventions of her people, precipitated her retreat, but she might have run off for no more than a night had she not encountered a small party of humans. The man at the head of them claimed to be a chevalier, and she ate up his stories of battle and training for an entire night, happily picking up and joining his entourage when the sun rose the next morning. He called her his page, and taught her how to hold and use a sword, much larger and heavier than anything her people had ever crafted.

She spent several years with him and his travel party, as he was an itinerant knight. When they weren't traveling or ridding the countryside of bandits, she was training or listening to more of her mentor's stories. Eventually, however, he declared that he was done teaching her, that it was time for her to go make her way on her own, and grow into her strength. It was considerably more difficult than she had anticipated, and Khari found it hard to be taken seriously enough. She couldn’t prove herself in tournaments if she wasn’t allowed to enter, and so she had a blacksmith fashion her mask, took to wearing a hood, and entered various competitions that way.

She wasn’t doing too badly for herself, but she wasn’t getting anywhere fast. She idolized the likes of the Lord-General Drakon, his son the Crown Prince, and Michel de Chevin, the Empress’s champion, as well as her teacher, of course. If she was to have a chance of reaching that level, she needed to be able to provide incontrovertible proof of her competence and worth—and her adherence to the chevaliers’ code of honor.

When the Inquisition formed up, its stated goal finding a way to close the breach in the sky and save the world, well
 Khari didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that the best thing to do was join up. It was the opportunity she needed, and the right thing to do besides.

9:42:
Spoiler: show
Joining the Inquisition was definitely a good decision, Khari thinks. The cause is obviously a good and necessary one, but also the experience has been good for her, in and of itself. She volunteered in the early days, and not once has she regretted it. Not when she was sloughing through the rain or snow, not any of the dozens of times she got into a fight with people bigger and badder than her—not even when she nearly got eaten by a lyrium dragon and had to drag herself and Rom out of a hole in the ground and into several more weeks of almost dying.

Actually after that, getting back to Skyhold and settling into the new place was pretty easy.

9:43:
Spoiler: show
It's been a year of major upheaval for Khari, some of it direct and some of it by proxy. It began, in essence, with her best friend's fall from 'blood of Andraste' back to... something else. Khari thinks calling it a fall implies something stupid and wrong, but in any case she knows it was a big deal. And increasingly, anything that's a big deal to her friends is a big deal to her.

Not nearly so significant in the grand scheme of things was her own personal upheaval: when she'd thought to turn to the most reliable person she knew for help, she discovered that everything she'd built her dream upon was sand. Ser Durand, her mentor and the first person who ever believed in her, forsook his honor, and another chevalier paid the price for it. The betrayal—which she could not help but take personally—shook her deeply, and left her wondering if she hadn't been deceiving herself all along about what she wanted and what she could have.

But with a little help from her friends, and a little time, she renewed her resolve, and Leon saw to it that she was able to do so with proper chevalier training, under Ser Michaël. Mick, to Khari. She's been finding her footing again ever since, and has come to terms, of a sort, with her thoughts and feelings about Ser Durand in the process.

Coming to terms with her blood family isn't quite the same, but she quite unexpectedly found herself taking steps in that direction as well. She ran into her once-friend and clan's First Vareth by happenstance, early in the year. He sought her aid and that of the Inquisition several months later. That chain of events took her back to her clan and her parents for the first time in nearly a decade. She wouldn't call what happened there a reconciliation. But it was the start of one. The beginning of a mend, like when an infection is lanced and the blood flows fresh so the wound can heal in time. Maybe, someday, it will.

But more than anything, the year has given her insight into something she didn't really understand before: she has friends now. Real friends, who like her because of who she is. Not who they want her to be. Not who she might be someday in the future. And that realization—that she is liked and even trusted—has shaken loose a great deal of other revelations as well. Chief among them the knowledge that she can trust in return. That she might finally, finally, have a place in the world to belong. Just maybe.

She really doesn't want to fuck this up.

9:44
Spoiler: show
Khari's year didn't get off to the greatest start, since she probably did worst out of everyone as far as helping the cause at Halamshiral, but it turned out okay in the end. More importantly, she got to meet her hero just before he became an Emperor, too—and she honestly couldn't be happier that he seems to like her. She quite likes him, too, which is a pretty big relief after the Durand debacle.

Her bonds with her friends deepened a lot over the year, and she finally worked up the courage to spit her feelings out to Rom, which was surprisingly even harder than figuring out just what the hell they were in the first place. For a while, she was honestly worried about how that was going to go—but considering how they did, she couldn't be happier about it.

The battle at Kirkwall was probably the biggest single event of the year for her personally; Khari wound up facing down a Red Templar behemoth alongside Lucien, and taking a really hard hit in his place that nearly killed her. It did crush her legs, and only with a lot of healing, persistence, and time was she able to recover from that. Looking ahead to the next year, the Grand Tourney looms large in her mind, and the last few months have been devoted to pretty much nothing but preparing for it.

She sees it as her chance to show, in an undeniable way, what she's been trying to convince people of since she left home: that an elf can have what it takes to be a chevalier. It's her chance to make an inroad for her people that history won't be able to forget; and her chance to show herself that everything she's done has been worth the blood and the sweat and the tears she's endured to get to where she is now.


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Spoiler: show
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Credit| Cyrus Avenarius |

9:44: Cy's been through a lot. Anyone even slightly aware of what's going on in the Inquisition knows that. And Khari's been able to pick up on the fact that it really gets to him on some days. She's not sure how she'd react if she lost something she thought was basically the core of who she was. As far as she's concerned, he gets to take as long as he wants to deal with that. In the meantime, he makes for a good sparring partner and a fun chess opponent. He's also got a wicked sense of humor, when it surfaces, which is something she enjoys. He also gives way more of a damn than he lets on, and she kind of likes that about him. The fact that he doesn't want or need recognition or congratulations for the way in which he's improving himself, little by little. She counts him among her friends without hesitation.

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Credit| Asala Kaaras |

9:44: Though their personalities will always be nearly opposites of each other, Khari has found that there's a lot to like about Asala. Some of it has to do with how willing she is to push herself to heal their wounds and the like, of course, but that's not even most of it. There's something kind of refreshing about being around someone who's experiencing so many of the things they encounter for the first time. Khari's often new to the things they come across, too, and with so many experienced hands around, it's nice to know she's not alone. It's pretty fun to tease Asala, and watch her react in that hilariously-literal way she has. Also, she's a riot when hammered, as people often are.

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Credit| Marceline BenoĂźt |

9:44: Khari feels like Marcy doesn't really get what she's about. The awkward gift exchange was enough to prove that, to be sure. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the gesture, because she did, but the fact that Marcy kept insisting after Khari had tried to make herself as clear as she could felt kind of... uncomfortable. Like Marcy wanted to be generous, but didn't really understand that the word has more to do with her attitude towards people than the material things you bestow on them. Maybe that's just the very different upbringings they have making things weird, though. She does appreciate that Marcy has a hard job to do, balancing the task of making the Inquisition stronger with protecting it from hidden threats. It can't be easy, but it seems like she can generally handle it well, so it's good that she's there to do it.

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Credit| Leonhardt Albrecht |

9:44:Leon's definitely family to Khari at this point, and it's a relationship she treasures in part because her actual family has never exactly been all that supportive or healthy. It's not that she doesn't love them, or that it's not getting better, because both of those things are true, but with Leon, it's natural. Easy. Like it was always meant to be that way. She considers him a kindred spirit to herself, and she'll always have his back, come hell or high water. He's an awesome person, but she gets the feeling that he doesn't always see that. So Khari makes a point of opening his eyes to it whenever she can.

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Credit| Zahra Tavish |

9:44: Some of Zee's humor still goes right over Khari's head. She was a little bit sour at being laughed at so uproariously, but at he same time, she doesn't really mind. It isn't hard to tell that she has everyone's best interests at heart, even if she's all bluster and bravado about it. Khari likes that about her, actually—both parts. The bravado is fun to be around, and the genuine goodness underneath it is easy to like. Maybe some people might think there was a contradiction in there somewhere, or at least an instability, but Khari thinks it makes her interesting. She was pretty happy to be able to replace Zee's broken bow, particularly in a pirate-approved manner.

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Credit| Vesryn Cormyth |

9:44: Khari didn't always understand just how good having a friend like Ves was for her. In the beginning, he was an obstacle to throw herself at, a doubter she couldn't quite ignore in the way she could drown out other people who just didn't get it. Figuring out how to deal with that gave her a better sense of what she really wanted, why she was really putting so much of herself into what she did. And as their relationship lost the harshest edges and gained a lot more warmth, he was still there: training buddy, moral support, and someone she could look up to in terms of skills she still needed to develop. It was only natural that when things got tough for him, she wanted to help him out in any way she could (and by her lights succeeded at least a bit). They seem to have settled at a comfortable equilibrium now, friends with that little touch of rivalry remaining to keep things interesting, and she couldn't be happier about it.

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Credit| Romulus |

9:44: Khari never really used to get what the big deal was with romantic love and all the stuff that goes with it. Sure it seemed nice and all, but the way people centered so much of their lives around it when they could be doing other things instead seemed outright bizarre, if not occasionally contemptible. But she gets it now. How it can feel, for someone else to be the most important person in your life, even when that life is filled with great friends and a healthy self-respect. What it's like to just have an intuitive, instinctive read on someone else's moods, and to just automatically adjust to them. And also what it's like to feel like another person makes her better, the best version of herself, and to feel that she does that for them.

Rom is literally her best friend and favorite person, and he's pretty much stuck with her now. Fortunately, he seems to be absolutely okay with that.

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Credit| Rilien Falavel |

9:44: She doesn't interact a lot with the Spymaster, but she's seen him with Estella sometimes. He'll occasionally supervise one of their training matches. It's kind of weird, actually—watching him with Stel is a wildly-different experience than seeing him with pretty much anyone else. There's something there, between those two. Something really subtle and deep and peculiar. Whatever it is, there's no way she believes he doesn't have emotions. And if Stel likes him that much, then Khari figures he must be pretty okay, underneath the rest of it. The impression only gets stronger with time.

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Credit| Estella Avenarius |

9:44: It's hard to say enough nice things about Stel, in part because she doesn't really seem inclined to say them about herself, even if the worst of her self-flagellating tendencies are behind her. But maybe it says enough about their friendship that even three years later, they still run together every morning. Stel is the first female friend of any closeness Khari's ever had, and it's been interesting leaning the ways in which it's a little different from being friends with men. Not better or worse, necessarily, just... different. In any case, Stel's always been supportive of Khari, and in turn, Khari makes a point of looking out for Stel where and how she can.


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“We were always waiting for something to change,
or worse, just being sad that it wouldn't.
I'm done waiting.”

So begins...

Kharisanna Istimaethoriel's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leonhardt awoke with a small start, looking down at the parchment he’d been writing on and sighing. He supposed he could be forgiven for dozing, considering he’d barely slept in the last week. Predictably, attempting to run the logistics of an Inquisition was extremely difficult, even for someone with not-inconsiderable command experience. This wasn’t quite the same as leading people to battle, after all, and for the past four days, he’d let the three Lions' lieutenants run the drills with the troops and shut himself in this side office, taking care of not only his own tasks, but most of those that would be better suited to someone with a more diplomatic bent.

Rilien had helped some, of course, but the Tranquil was busy with his own matters, those involving espionage, the scout regiment, and who knew what else. Leonhardt trusted the fellow, to a point, but it would be foolish to believe that the elf had been completely straightforward with him. He was, after all, a Bard, at least of a sort.

Frowning down at the ink-splattered draft letter he’d been working on, he crumpled it up and brushed it off the desk into a garbage receptacle, and started again. If all went according to plan, he could at least leave answering all the inquiries from curious nobility to someone else, starting as soon as possible. But in order to do that, he had to arrange to rendezvous with the person who’d be taking over that task.

Lady Marceline,

His hand remained steady even with the sudden knock on his door, but he sighed again and put the quill back in its inkwell. If this was about the supplies again—

“Lord Albrecht, you have a, uh
 visitor.” That was Reed, one of the guards on shift for the Chantry building at the moment. “At least, I think they’re here for you.”

Leon felt himself make a face. How, exactly, could that be uncertain? Setting his current work aside, he stood from his chair, unsure what to expect, but also undeniably curious.

“All right, Reed, send in my mysterious guest.”

The door swung open, to reveal that Reed was wearing a very skeptical expression, mixed with a bit of caution, as though he weren’t quite sure what was going on, which wasn’t entirely unreasonable, considering that the visitor marched in right after him, looking not entirely put-together in any recognizable fashion. They were quite short, wearing a scarlet cloak with a large, cowl-like hood, and some kind of steel mask fastened over the lower half of their face, with several small, vertical slits, presumably to allow them to breathe. Their armor was a strange assortment, clearly scavenged from several different sets, leather and chain and a few plates, scratched and scuffed with use.

The sword—if it could be called that—on the figure’s back was held there with a series of straps rather than a proper scabbard, and appeared to be bladed only on one side, but very thick on the other, giving it the appearance of a rather large, oddly-shaped cleaver more than anything properly used as a tool of warfare.

The figure stopped not more than two feet from the edge of his desk, and from the flash of white visible in the gaps of the mask, they were grinning, tipping their head quite far up to meet Leonhardt’s eyes with peridot-green ones.

“That Maker of yours must really have liked you, because it looks like he could have made two people from the same stuff instead.” The voice was feminine, though not especially so, and carried a certain rasp to it. She reached up towards her face, unhooking the mask and pulling it away from her, making it evident that she was tattooed over the whole of her visage, in the distinctly-Dalish fashion.

“I’m here to volunteer for your Inquisition thing.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, this—she—was not it. “My
?” It admittedly took him a second to process all of this, from her strange appearance to the incredibly blunt way she’d stated her intentions. He supposed he could appreciate that, in a certain way, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the comment about his height; surprisingly, it was not one he’d received before, probably because of politesse.

“Right. The Inquisition.” After a few seconds’ delay, Leon got his wits about him and resumed his seat. He would have offered her one as well, but he didn’t really have anything else by way of office furniture, so that tactic was not an option.

They’d received a few volunteers over the past week, often those drawn by rumors of the mysterious abilities of the so-called Heralds of Andraste. Apparently, the popular interpretation of the story Romulus and Estella had told was that the woman in question was the Bride of the Maker, and though he didn’t think they should endorse such speculation, silencing it was all but impossible, and probably detrimental to the cause, so they’d left it be. But this woman didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d be here for a reason like that.

“If I may ask
 what is your name, and why do you want to volunteer?”

She scrunched her nose, almost the expression a person would make if they’d smelled something foul. “Kharisanna Istimaethoriel. But if you could do me a favor, don’t ever tell anyone that, and just call me Khari.” She pulled her hood down, apparently quite content to make herself more comfortable despite the lack of seating, and yanked a long, almost equally-red braid out from underneath it, throwing it over her shoulder.

“And I want to volunteer because the massive spooky green thing in the sky is a big deal, and you lot seem to be the only people doing anything about it. It’s really not complicated, is it?” She shrugged, and placed her hands on her hips, though it didn’t seem to be an attempt at aggression, merely a way she felt comfortable holding herself.

“If you’re worried about me being useful, you’re welcome to put me through my paces. Wouldn’t mind fighting a guy like you.” She grinned, jagged and feral, and it brightened her eyes.

Somehow, he had no trouble at all believing that. Leonhardt gave it some consideration, but the truth was at this point they were so desperately in need of manpower that they were taking farmers with pitchforks, if they wanted to join. Everyone was put through some training, anyway, so it wasn’t really her ability to fight that he was worried about. He had a sense that she knew what she was doing in that respect, but they were in need of more than just soldiers, and he wondered if she might not serve some other purpose just as well.

“I
 don’t believe that will be necessary,” he replied, though part of him did wonder if it might not be worth it just to get himself out of this office for a little while. “That said, if you have any particular training I should be aware of, that might make a difference.” She was clearly Dalish; perhaps she knew some of the things they were traditionally known for? She didn’t look much like someone to put under Lia’s watch, but appearances had fooled him before.

If possible, her grin widened. “Special training? Yeah, I’ve got some of that. My mentor’s a chevalier-errant; I know a lot of what they do. Oh, and I get mad and hit things, in sort of an
 organized way, I guess. Like those nutty dwarves in the whatsit—the Legion, or something. I dunno. I’ve only ever actually met one dwarf, and he was drunk at the time.” She waved a hand, as if this were unimportant to the point, then suddenly seemed to realize something.

“Oh. Oh. You’re talking about elfy stuff, aren’t you?” There was a pause. “That’s not really my area. I can survive fine, and find a trail if I have to, or move
 kind of quietly. But none of that sneaky-sneaky arrow business, no.”

Leon supposed this was a very good lesson in not supposing too much from what he could see. Still, chevalier training was definitely unusual, even from an errant one. Still, it was just believable, though he’d definitely have thought her insane if she claimed to have received instruction at the Academie. He considered her for a moment, then nodded to himself.

“All right then. I don’t see any reason to decline your offer of assistance. I’d normally tell you to go see the Quartermaster about the standard kit and a bunk somewhere, but actually, if you’re amenable, I think there might be something you’re better suited to.” That would indeed require a bit of testing, but if she proved up to the task, he thought she’d do better working outside the rank-and-file. There was a distinct sense of
 independence about her, and he wasn’t sure how well she’d fit in with the main body of the army.

“Of course, your wages would be scaled appropriately.”

Khari snorted. “As long as I have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, I don’t care about that stuff.” She shrugged carelessly, her demeanor wholly reflective of her words. “But as long as I’m out in the field, you can put me wherever you damn well want, uh
 ser? Milord? Serah? Sorry, I’m not good at the title thing.”

Now that was something he could sympathize with, and Leonhardt smiled slightly. “If you have to use one, Commander is fine, but you’re welcome to just call me Leon, Miss Khari.” He held out his right hand.

She shuddered. “As long as you don’t call me ‘Miss’ again, you have yourself a deal, Leon.” She gripped his hand with surprising strength for one so small, and nodded, the solemnity broken when her grin reappeared.

“But I’m serious about that field test. Anytime you feel like a spar
”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind, but I think I’ll throw you to our Lions, first. After that, we’ll see. Welcome to the Inquisition.” He settled back into his desk as she left, unable to keep the slightly bewildered half-smile from his face. Either he’d just found them a diamond in the rough, or he was really, really going to regret this conversation. He found that he was actually looking forward to discovering which. He shook his head and returned to his writing, quill scratching mindfully across parchment.

Maybe he was getting used to this Commander thing, after all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
It did smell a little bit like dog.

Which was actually kind of weird, since there wasn’t a lot by way of civilization out here, but Khari didn’t much mind that. Someplace called the Hinterlands probably should have a bit more of a rugged, wild feel to it, right? It was mostly hills and valleys, with the occasional cluster of trees, but according to Leon’s pretty maps, there were forested areas, too, and some big old fortress to the southwest. Also bears. They’d been told to watch out for bears.

Khari wasn’t worried about bears so much—growing up in an area with the really big ones had made the normal ones seem less impressive.

They’d been going downhill for a while now, herself at point of the formation mostly because she’d insisted and no one else had argued with her. They were a pretty quiet bunch, and maybe even a smidge boring, for a really tall Qunari and a couple of Heralds of Andraste or whatever, but she reminded herself that it wasn’t smart to conclude anything before she’d gotten to know them, so she reserved her final thoughts on that for now at least. Plus the really quiet one with the big knife seemed like the kind of guy who might stab you in your sleep, which reminded her of all the things Ser Durand had said about Bards, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to piss him off if so.

The scouts thankfully weren’t that hard to follow, presumably because there wasn’t really any need to be, and so even her remedial skills could keep them on the right track, and it wasn’t too long before they crested a hill and saw the small encampment laying ahead of them.

“Splen-diferous. We’re here.”

The camp was well situated, set into the hill side with an excellent view to the north. It was a small hub of Inquisition activity, with a group of soldiers performing routine drills outside the tents, while others stood watch over all of the entry points. Two of these guards quickly noticed the approaching group led by the two Heralds of Andraste. One whistled loudly, turning back towards the camp.

The watchmen escorted the group into the camp, where an elven woman, quite young, dressed in light Inquisition leathers and mail, came to greet them. A finely made bow was slung across her back, along with a full quiver of arrows. Curling away from her eyes and down each of her cheeks were dark green tattoos, easily recognizable as Dalish vallaslin. Hers were the marks of Andruil, goddess of the hunt.

"Good to see you made it," she greeted, nodding to Estella in particular. "Hope you didn't find any trouble on the road." Her eyes settled on Khari, specifically upon the redheaded elf's own vallaslin, marks of a different god. "Don't think we've met. I'm Lia, the lead scout."

Khari was unexpectedly silent for a moment—she hadn’t encountered any other Dalish in a number of years, and now that she had, wasn’t sure exactly what to do. In the end, though, she decided not to do anything in particular, instead plastering her wolfish grin over her face and holding a hand forward.

“Khari. I guess I’m the hired thug.” She said it with a fair amount of pride and no little humor, which would hopefully make it obvious she wasn’t completely serious. It was surprising how many people couldn’t tell a joke from a dragon’s ass.

"Yeah, but you must be a pretty good thug, if they stuck you with the Heralds," Lia shot back, with a grin. She caught a glance from Romulus, and then returned to a more businesslike manner, clearing her throat.

"We've been doing what we can out here, but it's a mess. Commander wants you guys as the vanguard, with us backing you up. We set up camp here, above the refugee town below." She thumbed over her shoulder, towards the smoke that could be seen drifting from the small valley below. "They don't have any room left down there. We've made contact with Revered Mother Annika, she's the one leading the refugees. Tough one, for a Chantry woman. She wants to meet the two of you." She nodded her head towards Estella, and Romulus.

“Right.” From behind Khari, Estella nodded, stepping forward slightly. “Rilien mentioned she’d expressed some interest in the Inquisition. He
 also said there’s still active conflict in the area. Should we expect any of it on the way?”

Meanwhile, there was a shuffling, and Asala's horns descended into Khari's view, eyes looking at her with no small amount of trepidation. "Are... Are y-you truly a h-hired thug?" Asala sputtered.

Was this lady serious? Khari’s grin widened, becoming quite nearly uncanny. “The baddest bandit between here and Val Fermin, serah.” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but it was unclear if even that would be of any help. Asala's cheeks reddened and brows furrowed, and she slowly slipped back out of view and away. It appeared... not.

"Uh..." Lia said, a little slack-jawed. She blinked, and then looked back to Estella. "Yes. A lot of it. We tried to reach a horsemaster in the area, a man named Dennet. Leon wanted us to see if he'd be willing to provide horses for the Inquisition. We couldn't reach him, though. To the northwest," she pointed, "through the tunnel, there's a battleground. Rebel mages and templars turned an entire village into burning rubble fighting each other."

"Where are they coming from?" Romulus asked, direct and to the point.

"Our best guess, the mages are somewhere in the forest to the north, and the templars somewhere along the river to the west. There's bandits of some kind along the eastern road, a cult of some sort to the south, and while we don't know who's occupying the fort in the southwest, they sure don't seem friendly. Basically, expect trouble anywhere you go."

“Sounds like fun.” And about that, she was completely serious. Khari felt the first little tingles of an oncoming adrenaline rush starting to buzz around in her fingertips, and glanced back at the rest of them. Maybe they’d be ready to go soon? Lia seemed swell, as far as people went, but she’d come this far looking for challenges, not small talk.

"It certainly isn't dull. Come on, we'd better get--" Lia's words were cut off by a loud, clear horn, echoing through the hills but almost certainly coming from down below, in the village. "Shit," Lia cursed to herself, turning and running to a cliffside, to get a better view. "Someone's attacking the village. I think it's the templars. Donnelly's leading the defense, they can hold them off, but I don't know for how long. Get going! We'll be right behind you."

No need to tell her twice. Khari had yanked her sword out of its makeshift harness before Lia had even finished speaking, and she was down the side of the hill like a shot, her feet sure and steady over the precarious terrain. Ordinarily, she might have been more mindful of the fact that she was in a group, but this was an emergency situation, and the faster they could get there, the better, even if they didn’t arrive all at the same time.

Her breath was as steady as her footfalls, even as she launched herself off smaller ledges on the way down the cliffside, in order to shave off time. She took a couple harder landings when the ground proved unstable underneath her, but they fazed her not at all, and it wasn’t long before she was charging down a dirt path, impressed into what had once been native grass from long years of wagon travel and the passage of horses. Her feet dug little furrows in the ground every time she pushed off into the next step; the last rain here had been recent, and the earth was still soft.

She knew all of this, in the same way she knew how to run. Eventually, her stride brought her to the Templar flanks, and she dove right into a knot of them, swinging her heavy sword with what other people would probably call ‘extreme prejudice.’ Khari preferred to think of it as getting her muscles warmed up, finding the right rhythm of battle.

Clearly, the Templars hadn’t expected to be flanked, least of all by someone like her, who just jumped right into their formation like she’d never had a tactical lesson in her life. That surprise lasted long enough for her blade to bite deep into one’s clavicle, and then she sawed it backwards, slamming the pommel into the stomach of the next, who’d come in behind, catching him just where his plate ended and weaker ringmail began.

She ducked under another swing, but focused on the one she’d just hit, arcing her blade over her head and bringing the graceless hunk of steel down on his helmet, where it sounded a dull rapport, and he reeled to the side long enough for her to punch the point of the blade into his guts. “Pick on someone who can fight back, you damned cowards!”

If any of them had failed to notice her before, that certainly got their attention.

Of course, there were advantages to that, such as the fact that Estella, next to reach the group, though looking a little more winded than Khari herself, was able to flank them a second time, the bright silverite of her own thinner sword flashing in the sunlight as she used it to slide between a pair of plates in another templar’s back, felling him as well. Unfortunately, the woman beside him had noticed this, and drove the Herald back with a series of heavy hits, each parried, but clearly more than a match for Estella’s strength.

A well placed arrow from above struck the templar in the sword arm, piercing between two armor plates and offering Estella a solid opening to take advantage of, which she did, plunging her blade into the Templar's armpit.

More Inquisition troops arrived to attack the flank, both in melee and from range. The templars seemed to realize how they'd overstepped, and almost immediately began a measured retreat, giving ground to try to consolidate their line. Behind them was a well lit tunnel dug through the rock. It was towards this that they backstepped.

In the center of the fray stood a woman with sandy blonde hair, wearing ringmail and leather armor over her Chantry robes. She wielded a mace and tower shield, deflecting blows left and right and covering the retreat of an injured Inquisition soldier. The blows she struck back with were debilitating, aimed at the limbs rather than major organs or killing blows. She had a commanding presence on the field, even the Inquisition soldiers seeming to rally around her.

"There are no apostates for you here, Templars!" she bellowed, above the din of battle. "And nothing for you to loot and plunder, either! Turn back from this madness!"

The comment about apostates however, was soon rendered false. The conspicuous appearance of white locks and a pair of horns stood out amongst the Inquisition soldiers at range, the woman's hands alight in blue Fade. In turn, barriers began to spring up from the battlefield, separating pockets of Templars and aiding the push back.

The Haze, as Khari preferred to call it, wasn’t like most people imagined. She didn’t lose her senses—she could still hear and register what was going on around her. It just
 mattered less, in the same way pain mattered less. She could steer clear of allies with the precision of a finely-tuned instrument, at least when she was doing things right, but it was all instinct, not really consciously-decided on her part.

Khari swung her arms upwards, catching an incoming halberd by dint of that same instinct, angling it off her sword to avoid a pushing contest she’d probably lose, then took a hard step forward, lowering her shoulder and knocking into her foe, off-center so that she’d put a little spin on him, then leaped back and swung while he recovered, chopping into his abdomen like a lumberjack swinging an axe into a tree, and he fell just like one. That meant the last one in her immediate proximity was gone, and she considered chasing down some of the others, but there was no honor in felling a fleeing foe, and she backed off, joining up with the rest of the Inquisition’s forces and applying pressure on the few too stubborn to cede as much ground as they ought to be.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fight ended, the last of the remaining templars turning tail to flee. Khari took a deep breath, slowly relinquishing the Haze, and came to covered in blood, most of it not her own. Slowly, she shook out each of her limbs, testing for injuries she might not have noticed, and finding nothing more devastating than a couple nicks and scratches. That was some backup; normally when she did things that stupid, she came away with at least a few deep gashes or a broken something.

Confident that she was still in fighting shape, she lowered Intercessor and glanced around, seeking the other three.

The templars fled back through their tunnel, licking their wounds, and the Inquisition forces moved quickly to re-secure it. Undoubtedly they would be more cautious about attacking the refugee camp in the future, given the staunch defense they'd been met with. The air smelled heavily of blood, as much of it had been spilled, on both sides. The crows feasted well here, but if the looks of the refugees emerging were any indication, they were not sharing in the bounty. From within the throngs of soldiers dispersing after the fight the Chantry Mother, Annika, emerged, her bloodied mace leaning against her shoulder. She slid her arm from the shield grips and set it at her feet.

"Bloody rogue templars, no better than common thugs," she muttered. "I doubt even they know what they fight for at this point."

Estella slid her blade home in the sheath at her hip, stepping forward to greet the armored cleric. “Not a flaw only they have,” she said quietly, then took a deep breath and spoke with more confidence. “Mother Annika? I’m Estella, and this is Romulus, Khari, and Asala.” She indicated each in turn.

Annika smiled, exhaling as though the weight of her armor had been lifted. "And the two of you are known now as the Heralds of Andraste. Come, walk with me. There is much to discuss."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus walked behind the Revered Mother, Annika, and pulled back his hood. The Hinterlands were anything but warm, but here at least the sun seemed to have some warmth, and the winds did not swirl with drifts of snow. It was no closer to Tevinter, but it was at least a little more bearable.

"Your timing was excellent," Mother Annika said, leading them back into the center of the makeshift village. It looked to have been simply a crossroads at some point, with a lone watchtower and a small guard house, probably manned by the Arl's men before the mage-templar war resumed. Now, it was manned by volunteers and Inquisition soldiers. The rest of the buildings, or more often just pitiful canvas tents, had sprung up with little organization all around it.

"The people here have little to offer for the Inquisition's assistance," she continued, leading them to the right and up a flight of old stone stairs, past a small wooden house. "But of course, the Inquisition's greatest need currently isn't soldiers, or swords. It's support of the people you need, something the rest of the Chantry would see denied to you."

The observation that was easiest to make for Romulus was that this woman was a part of the Chantry, but clearly did not share a mind with the rest of her organization. That she wielded shield and mace was odd enough; he'd rarely seen anyone in Chantry robes, Tevinter or otherwise, pick up a weapon.

They came to a small area set aside for the wounded, makeshift cots holding injured refugees and Inquisition volunteers alike. Annika surveyed them briefly, before approaching a young man, no older than twenty, with a bleeding stab wound to the side. He pressed his hand against it. Annika carefully set down her shield and propped the mace against it, before crouching down beside the boy.

"There is a mage here, a skilled healer. She can assist you, if you'll allow it." She looked back, and pointed to Asala. Her tone was comforting, devoid of any trace of the anger she'd carried in the fight. The boy, however, laid eyes on the Qunari, and they were filled with fear, though it was unclear if he was made apprehensive by the horns, or the magic.

"No, Mother Annika, please. Don't let an apostate touch me. Their magic..."

"Her magic," Annika corrected, "for she is her own woman, and she has chosen a nobler purpose than banditry in the woods. Now be silent, and allow her to ease your suffering." He looked at Asala a moment longer, before reluctantly easing up, and nodding. Annika smiled, squeezed him on the shoulder, and turned to the newly arrived group, her eyes finding Asala.

"You are the healer I've heard about, yes? The one who tended to the Heralds? News has spread from Haven of more than just those touched by Andraste. There are a great many here who could use your skill."

"O-Oh," Was all she could manage. Whether it due the boy's initial reluctance, the attention placed upon her, the news that she was known along with the Heralds, or a mix of it all that managed to overwhelm her, it was not clear. However, with a subtle shake of her head, her eyes focused and she turned toward the boy.

She fell to her knees and hiked her sleeves up past her elbows to reveal a pair of slender arms, holding her hands out over the boy's injury. "It will... tickle. At first," she offered him with a gentle smile. A moment later, a green glow enveloped her hands, evident of the healing magic they wielded, and the boy twitched at an unfamiliar sensation.

She spoke again, this time directed toward the Revered Mother, though she did not turn away from the boy placed in her care. "I will see to all those that I can."

"Excellent," Annika said, nodding in approval. She allowed Asala to go about her work, turning her attention next to Estella and Romulus. She spent a moment in silence, as though studying them, and Romulus thought perhaps to open his mouth and speak, if she were waiting for him to do so. She saved him the trouble, however.

"Before we go any further, I have a question for both of you." She paused, perhaps to see if there was any objection. "This title, Herald of Andraste. I would ask how you feel about it. Your honest opinion."

Estella glanced at Romulus, perhaps recalling their previous conversation on a related topic, but then moved her glance to the Revered Mother. “I think
 that there is an awful lot I don’t know,” she said, pursing her lips. “It seems so unlikely to me that I’d ever be chosen for anything like that—part of me thinks it must be nothing but a coincidence
 however strange that coincidence really is.” She paused, sighing softly through her nose.

“But then I hardly think I’m qualified to guess at what the Maker or Andraste are thinking, either. I don’t want to lie to anyone, to tell them I’m a Herald without knowing that I am, but
 it’s not like I could possibly set straight every person who already believes it.”

"Humility is a good place to begin," the Revered Mother remarked. "I'm sure the confidence to use what you have been granted for the greater good will come with time. For whether or not you believe, many of those that follow do, and will look to you for example. Perhaps, when you have an opportunity to raise flagging spirits with a few small words, you will begin to believe." She turned her head to Romulus. "And what about you? Admittedly I've heard a bit less about the man with the marked face."

Romulus shifted uncomfortably, not eager to be judged. But that was the way the world would treat them, wasn't it? Judging them based on word of mouth, on glimpses of them and their actions, on the words they spoke. People across countries that didn't even know them would judge their actions, with heavy weights on their opinions.

"I have only ever believed in what I've seen," he began, uneasily. "But I've seen things recently that I cannot explain, and felt them. The title has its uses, as you've said. From nothing, in a short time, a force has been built capable of bringing order back to lands like these. The title has power behind it, enough to stop wars, or begin them. As for it's meaning to me..." He faltered. "I believe allowing myself to think I'm meant for something greater is dangerous. But the more I've thought on it, the easier it is to believe."

"A wise sentiment, to recognize the danger. Many a movement has blindly turned away from their original intent from how zealously they believe. Our dear rogue templars are a fine example." She quieted, taking a step past them to overlook the village below, where she watched the progress of the brief battle's aftermath.

"I hoped to speak with you because I am aware of the Chantry's denouncement of your Inquisition. I am experienced enough in these ranks to know those that are behind it." She curled her lip up slightly, an expression Romulus interpreted as disgust. "Some of them have followed Roderick for the purpose of grandstanding. They feel tempted by the possibility of being the next Divine, something unthinkable for them before the Conclave. Some... some are simply terrified, from what the stories told of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, or what remains of it." She looked to Estella.

"I have not seen it for myself yet. The refugees of war have occupied my time. Tell me, was there nothing but horror following the explosion? What stood out to you most, in the hours after you awoke?"

Estella took a long pause before answering, the gap in conversation much longer than those normally permitted. Then again, it wasn’t exactly a light query, so perhaps that made sense. When she answered, there was a distinct sense of reserve in her tone, as though she were withholding something—not particularly difficult to detect. “I suppose
 what I noticed most about everyone else was that none of them had lost their composure. Everyone I met had understood just as much as I did about what happened, but they hadn’t given up. They had a plan, even if they disagreed about what it was, and they did everything they could to make it happen.”

"It's the mindset of a well-disciplined soldier, is it not?" Annika said, with a small, knowing smile. "Even when things go so terribly wrong, a good soldier knows that allowing fear to control will only make matters worse. My Chantry brethren, for the most part, are not soldiers. Their fear makes them desperate, and then drives them from reason. And the stories they have been told, of the events at the Conclave, have given them nothing but fear. Fear of the terrible destruction, and fear of the Inquisition that rose from it."

Romulus scowled, mostly because there was little other way to take a discussion such as this. He stood with hands folded in front of him, beside Estella, and listened carefully to the Revered Mother's words.

"I believe you should go to them, in Val Royeaux. Convince them that you and your Inquisition are no demons to be feared. Convince them of what I learned, during the Blight: that times like these bring out the best in people, not just the worst. Do you think you can do this?" Romulus felt that the question was specifically asked to Estella, for her gaze did not wander to Romulus during or after the asking.

Estella’s did, though, darting to him and then back, and then she bit down on her lip. “I’m not
” she sighed. “I don’t know if that’s possible.” Her eyes fell to the ground in front of them, and she shifted her center of gravity.

“But I can try.”

"You don't need to convince them all in one fell swoop. You just need some of them to doubt their certainty in branding you and yours as heretics. They only have power in unity. Take it from them, and they will flounder, giving the Inquisition the time it needs to brace itself." Finally, her eyes found their way up to Romulus, and clearly they saw the question within them. He wondered why this conversation was seemingly between the two of them, Estella and Annika. Why the task was solely hers.

"It must be her that goes to Val Royeaux. I would advise that you stay here, in the Hinterlands, for the time being. When I look at the pair of you, when I think of what I have heard... Estella is a known entity in comparison. A member of a respected mercenary organization, especially in Orlais. It already lends evidence that she is a woman with a good heart, and a capable hand. I will not say that you lack these..." She paused, studying him, his demeanor, his posture, the expression on his face, or lack thereof.

"But any noble or Chantry official of Orlais will see that you are a man who has known only servitude. It's in the way you carry yourself, how you position yourself near others, how you speak. They know nothing of you, and the unknown is something they greatly fear. Perhaps you can bring Andraste's wrath to the Inquisition's enemies, and Estella can bring Andraste's hope to those you would see become allies." Romulus pondered the words... and found them agreeable. Tactically, if nothing else. Speaking to a crowd, of his superiors no less, while refusing to renounce his loyalty to a magister of Tevinter... the less he spoke on behalf of the Inquisition, the better. Even if he wanted to, which he didn't, it simply wasn't wise. He didn't doubt Estella would dislike the experience as much if not more, but she was better suited for it, of the two of them.

Romulus nodded that he understood. Annika returned the gesture, and sighed. "I honestly don't know how I feel about the two of you. If you've been touched by Andraste and sent to help us... I hope it's true, though." She took another long look out at the refugees, pausing before she spoke again. "I will go to Haven, if the Inquisition will have me, to provide your leaders with the names of those in the Chantry that would be most amenable to a gathering. It isn't much, but hopefully it will be something."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
When he was away from the camp, and his only thought was the completion of his goal, Romulus felt much more at home.

Today, the goal was the destruction of the apostate mages hiding in the woods, attacking anyone like power-mad bandits. These were not members of the organized mage rebellion, those residing in Redcliffe, it had been determined, and thus they were free targets for any wishing to make the region safer again. Lia and her scouts had succeeded in locating their hideout without being detected, and before the end of the day, a small strike was planned.

In this case, small consisted of two people. Romulus would have gone alone, had the others allowed it, but they decided against it. Perhaps they thought him incapable of dispatching scared, unskilled mages fresh from a tower, or perhaps they just thought him too important to be thrown at objectives solo. Thus he was given a partner, in this case the elf woman, Khari. He knew her by no other name, and didn't care to ask for one.

It did not take him long to wonder if their methods were going to contradict one another. Some early trouble was encountered just outside the village on the western side of the tunnel. A group of mage scouts came across them, some so unskilled with their spells that they chose to fight with looted swords instead. Romulus had intended to allow them to pass, and then strike them from behind, but a fight had broken out before he could relay his intentions. When the scouts were all in bloody heaps upon the ground, they moved on.

Romulus loaded another bolt into the handheld crossbow he had acquired, an excellent little tool that could be effectively holstered upon his back when he didn't need it. He'd used a similar weapon in Tevinter several times before, and found it easy to adapt to. It wasn't used at long ranges, making aiming only a secondary priority.

The mage hideout was located in a cave deep in the woods, but the evidence of mage activity wasn't difficult to find the closer they got. Magical ice still lingered in small pillars on the ground, refusing to melt, and scorch marks seared the grass in varying sizes. The very air had a different smell to it, like burned clothes, but more acidic. Romulus checked his supply of tonics, rummaging a hand through the pack behind him. He would need several for this, he was sure.

“What’s in the satchel?” That was Khari, of course, but she’d at least lowered her voice, presumably due to their obvious proximity to the mages’ hideout. Her own preparations didn’t seem to be anything extensive; she’d taken her sword in hand and was sighting down the edge, one eye closed. Apparently satisfied, she lowered it back to her side and cocked her head at him, one eyebrow slightly elevated over the other. The question seemed to be one born of honest curiosity and nothing more.

"Tonics," Romulus answered. He pulled one free, a small clear vial containing a light red liquid. "This one makes fire wash over the skin like flowing water." He pulled the cork free, downed it in one gulp, and shook his head. It was not unlike a strong shot of a powerful drink, albeit with an instant kick. Chryseis had shown him the key to brewing such things, but warned him, both of the taste, and the mental effects.

He pulled another one once he'd returned the now empty vial to the satchel. This one was a light blue. "For ice... melts it away on contact." He swallowed that one as well, ignoring the foulness, instead focusing on the rush. Already he could hear a mage ahead in the distance, practicing some ice spell and wasting his energy. They were still far enough away to speak safely, though.

"Have you fought many mages before?" he asked. His eyes were alive, meeting hers directly, brimming with a strong and barely restrained energy, devoid of any of the deference he seemed to offer in the presence of those he deemed superior to him. It was not an insult to Khari, as he did not think her a slave, but her manner was... easier to be around than he'd expected.

“Not as many as you have, apparently.” There was a smile in her voice, and sure enough, it bloomed over her face a second later, ragged but reaching all the way to her eyes. “Some, though.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head to hear something, maybe just the practicing mage he’d already detected.

“You’re uh
 a lot quieter than me. Probably I’d just screw this up if we both tried to sneak in there.” This didn’t seem to dim her mood, however, and she cracked her neck to either side. “But. I’m a pretty damn good distraction, if you’re in the market for one of those.” The way she said it suggested that she very much hoped he was.

He smiled then, a morbid thing, as he pulled up his hood and secured his shield in place on his arm. "Get their attention, then. I'll be around. Try not to die too quickly."

“Don’t worry, I’m too stubborn for that. Like a damn rash, and twice as irritating.” She kept low, fanning to his left, and despite her words, she was at least quiet enough not to draw attention until she wanted it.

Then, well
 there was nothing quiet about her then. “Hey apostate! My grandmother can sling a spell better than you! Were they teaching you magic in that Circle, or landscaping? Because this ice is pathetic!” Predictably, the next several shots of the ice in question were aimed for her, and she laughed, though it was closer to a gleeful cackle than anything, and charged forward, sword in tow, dodging each projectile with a rapid sort of mobility.

An unarmored mage wasn’t going to be able to stand up to her at close range, and one swing was all it took before his guts were spilling onto the ground. Her shouting had been loud enough to alert most of the other residents of the hideout, most likely, and roughly another six mages emerged together, dashing out of their relative protection in the cave, perhaps interested in the prospect of an easy kill.

Khari ducked under several more thrown spells, though one did catch her in the left shoulder, frost appearing on the piece of armor she had there. She narrowed her eyes. “That all you got, stickman?”

Well, they were certainly distracted.

Romulus observed, and heard, all of this as he flanked around the edges of the clearing, unnaturally blasted free of foliage by the work of these mages, spewing spells about likely just because they could. Romulus had little opinion on their rights to freely spellcast or not, he only cared that they had chosen to cast spells for the purposes of terrorizing the people. In truth, this concern didn't cross his mind in the moment. Only the prospect of blood did.

He clambered his way atop a rock formation jutting up along the edge, where the group of clustered mages had come forth from their hidey-hole to sling magic at Khari. Most were resorting to frost magic, hoping to chill her to the bone and make her stop moving so damnably quick. One of them managed to create a fairly powerful cone of frost that threw itself a good distance forward from his staff at her, wide and difficult to dodge.

The mage in question received a crossbow bolt to the forehead for his trouble, and instantly dropped dead. Quickly exchanging the weapon for his dagger, Romulus dropped down on the next in line before he could determine where the shot had come from. His blade punched through the top of his bald head, a solid crack ringing out with the puncturing of the skull.

The woman next to him shouted in alarm at the surprise attack, turning to aim a spell at Romulus, but she hesitated, perhaps due to the presence of her allies so nearby, even if they were already dead. It was a moment too long. Romulus wrenched the blade free and pushed the body over, lunging forward and swinging the rim of his shield into her jaw. His shield hand found the base of her neck after she'd spun around and pulled her back with significant force. He punched his blade right into her spine, and she stilled.

The leader was next closest, judging by his more regal look. Black feathers adorned his shoulders and legs, along with light, looted pieces of armor. He did not hesitate to attack once he'd switched targets from Khari to Romulus, and he opened up with a gout of flames, consuming both the still breathing but paralyzed mage, and Romulus. The mage shrieked briefly in the flames before she was silenced, while no sound came from Romulus. When the flames had dissipated into just thick black smoke, Romulus hurled himself forward out of it. Only his clothes and armor were singed.

The mage leader backed up in wide-eyed surprise, and managed to dodge the shield strike that had doomed the woman before him. Romulus landed a kick to his gut next, forcing him back into the mage behind him. Before he could press the attack, the mage leader's body burst into a number of shadowy tendrils, which twisted through the air across the clearing, settling on the far side of Khari, where he reformed into his human shape.

She reacted with alacrity, evidently not having exaggerated when she said she’d fought mages before, and she was on him almost as soon as he’d reconstituted, swinging downward in an inelegant, but admittedly quite fast, motion, blocked by the metal pole of the man’s staff. A short bark of laughter on her part followed, and she flowed with her momentum, transitioning into a body-check which she led with her hip, sending him reeling backwards from her superior leverage if nothing else.

The blunt side of her sword hooked around the back of his leg as he staggered, and that was enough to send him to the ground. Reflexively, it seemed, he blasted her point-blank with another ice spell, this one powerful enough to coat her chest and abdomen, nearly freezing her armor in place. Indeed, her next motion produced a loud cracking sound, followed by the telltale squelch of something sharp finding its way into someone’s soft parts.

“Maker’s ass, that’s cold!” Khari was visibly shivering, even as she took a few steps back, leaving her blade staked into the ground and the mage’s lungs while she broke icicles off herself, starting with her arms. She glanced up to where he was, still smiling despite her complaints. “Nice work.”

Romulus withdrew his blade from the throat of the deceased mage he still had in his grasp, and the body slumped to the ground on its back, leaving the pugio dripping red. He couldn't help but return Khari's smile, wiping the blade clean on one of those he'd felled, and loosening the shield strapped to his arm.

"These were like children," he commented, with some hint of disdain in his tone. "Consumed by the little tricks they could perform." Crossing the distance to Khari, he briefly inspected the frost spell's effect on her. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her slightly, finding a large chunk of ice solidified on her right side, at rib height.

"Hold still." He flipped his knife backwards and carefully worked the point of it into the ice, taking hold of the back of her armor, and then breaking it away with a crunching sound. The armor behind it appeared undamaged, if chilled. Ice magic had a way of shattering even sturdy metal armor, he had learned, if it was strongly hit by a physical blow after being frozen.

Khari remained compliantly unmoving throughout the process, though she clearly felt it when the ice cracked away, because she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. Would’ve had some trouble with that one.”

"What are you, anyway?" He asked, finally taking the time to inspect her assortment of armor. "I mean no offense. Just never seen an elf like you before."

“I’d be surprised if there were any others.” She stood on one leg and kicked with the other one at the knee, breaking off a few bits of frost here and there, then repeated the process with the other, stepping away so as to have room to shake out her arms as well. Once apparently satisfied with this, she pulled her sword out of the ground, making a face at its condition, which at present was quite wet with blood.

She swung it a couple of times, flicking off the better part of the ichor, but it was clearly still in need of some maintenance. “But me? I’m a chevalier. Or rather, I will be, one day. For now, I’m just someone who likes to fight. And does a lot of stupid things for the challenge.” Her smile was different this time, a little softer.

“And you’re apparently an alchemist as well as a fighter. Not even scorched, are you? That’s really impressive.” She seemed to mean it.

"All from the teaching of my instructor," he said, turning his head away. "The ingredients are rare, and the constant fighting recently has used most of them up. Soon you'll have to pry ice from my back as well."

He didn't know much of the chevaliers, but he had the intuition to know that there weren't many elven ones. Or... well, any. But there were no slaves that could close rifts in the Veil with their hands either, not until recently. Maybe what she said was true. He didn't know if his mostly good mood was from the drugging effect of the tonics, or the rush of the fight, or the fact that he felt more comfortable out here than he did surrounded by people and unfamiliar attention. Likely, a little of all of it.

"Should I call you ser, then?" He looked back up, a hint of mirth in his eyes, and a small smile returning.

She laughed, an unabashed sound not dimmed by any sense of reserve or decorum. “One day. But not until I’ve earned it.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and she stuck out a hand.

“You know what I think, Rom? This right here might just be the very first day of a pretty excellent friendship.”

He clearly reacted to the shortened form of his name, opening his mouth halfway as if to speak, all while still holding the little smile, but in the end he just closed it, and clasped her forearm in his hand, nodding his approval.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Since the bridge was broken, they forded the stream upriver of it. The water only rose roughly to Khari’s knees anyway, which meant it was even less of a pain for the people behind her, who were both considerably taller. The water was cold enough that she could feel it even through her boots, but they kept it from dampening her socks, at least, which was more of a mercy than a person might think. Wet socks were right up there with minor stab wounds in terms of annoyance, particularly when they still had quite a bit of walking to do.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be quite so much of that after they talked to this horsemaster. Apparently, he’d used to breed them for Arl Eamon, which wasn’t quite as excellent as being Orlesian and doing it for the chevaliers, but Khari liked horses so much she didn’t even care that much. She’d never had one, though; but Ser Durand had taught her how to ride his, a big old cranky warhorse called Neige, presumably due to his coloration.

The first couple days had beat her up worse than Ser Durand usually did on the practice field, but by the end, she’d loved it. It was an experience she was eager to repeat, and that simple thing put an obvious spring in her step as they retread familiar territory before pushing further on than they’d yet had cause to explore. Even the scouts hadn’t been this far, but they’d told her to be on the lookout for potential new encampment locations, which was something she actually knew how to do, so she kept it in mind.

Seeing as how there was no special need for quiet, she hummed as she walked, some tune she couldn’t remember the words to, one she’d picked up a long time ago when spying on a trader’s caravan that had stopped close to her clan’s location at the time. Having never been much of a singer, she’d surprised herself as much as the next person when she learned she wasn’t totally tone-deaf. She thought the song had something to do with boats, or something. What were those called?

She stopped humming it. “Either of you know what those boat-songs are called? The ones sailors sing and stuff? I think it begins with an ‘s.’”

Asala glanced at Romulus first, and then back to Khari. "I..." she began, shaking her head. "No? I d-do not. I am s-sorry," she stuttered. It appeared Khari's little hired thug comment was still in Asala's mind.

Khari waved a hand carelessly. “Eh, it’s not important anyway.” She lapsed into silence for a while, focusing on navigating their path. They didn’t know exactly where Dennet was, so she was actually having to attempt a combination of tracking, navigation, and sort-of-educated guessing. It seemed to be going okay, but she couldn’t guarantee they were doing anything more effective than picking a direction and going in a roughly-straight line. At least they knew quite a few places he wasn’t, by this point.

After a bit more tricky negotiation of some significantly-hillier areas, the path she’d chosen spat them out near what seemed to be a very still lake, about waist-deep if she had her guess. As it happened, there was a flat, dry spot that wouldn’t do badly for a camp; she’d have to tell Lia about it later.

More importantly, the area also seemed to have a large occupied property on it, and—point for Khari, there were horses in a corral! “Looks like this must be the place.” Pointing that out was probably unnecessary, but she did it anyway, then picked out a series of bridges that would take them over the lake without any swimming. As they got closer, it became clear that there were both a barn and a house with a nearby workshop on the grounds, as well as several more fields, probably paddock, extending out behind that.

Well: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Khari approached the house and workshop. “Hello? Inquisition here; we’re looking for horsemaster Dennet?”

There was a woman in the garden, who glanced up at their approach. From her age and clothing, it was a fair guess that she was Dennet’s wife, probably. “My husband’s in the house; just go ahead and go in.” She didn’t seem to have any issue with them being present, which was probably a good sign, right? So Khari shrugged and did as she’d suggested, opening the door to the house and stepping in.

Dennet's home was spacious, with two stories and multiple cozy rooms. It was all constructed out of wood, but looked to be well-maintained, and judging from the outside, neither the templars or mages had really struck out at the place. Across the massive red rug in the center strode a dark-skinned man in a leather vest and a green scarf, to meet his three guests. His head was shaven clean, and a greyed goatee and stubble lined his jaw and mouth.

"I'm Dennet. You're Inquisition? I've heard your people have been looking for mounts."

"We have," Romulus answered, his hood removed. He checked his boots briefly, careful not to track any unnecessary mud into the man's house. "Can you supply them?"

"Not at the moment. I can't just send a hundred of the finest horses in Ferelden down the road like you'd send a letter. Every bandit, or rogue mage or templar, between here and Haven, would be on them like flies on crap." The way he delivered the words, it was as though he'd been expecting the Inquisition to come knocking for quite some time, and had prepared this. "You'll have mounts once I know they won't end up as a cold winter's breakfast."

"But... Winter is not for several more months," Asala said behind them. Confusion sat in her face before she turned to Romulus. "Is it not?"

“He means we need to kill the bandits and stuff,” Khari pointed out, speaking slowly, mostly because she was unsure if that was supposed to be a joke or not. She was guessing ‘no’, but she’d been wrong before. “Which, actually, we’ve done. Rom and I took out the mages a couple days back,” she ticked her list off on her fingers. “Cyrus and some other people killed all the Templars down the road, and we got the bandits within a couple days of getting here in the first place, I think. Plus, well, we can send people to escort them, right?” She wasn’t actually sure about the last one—and it wasn’t like she had the authority to just decide, so she shrugged.

Dennet appeared to give that some thought, then shook his head. “That’s fair enough, but there’s more mages and Templars and bandits in the world than you got rid of this week. If I’m to work with you on a long term basis, I need to know that my family and my herds will be safe while I’m gone.”

“Uh
” Khari frowned, thinking back over all that stuff they’d talked about over the pretty maps before they’d deployed here. She hadn’t been paying the most attention, because most of it didn’t really seem relevant to someone whose main purpose was ‘go here, kill this,’ but she had kept half an ear on all the stuff Leon was saying. And half of one of her ears was practically all of someone else’s.

“Watchtowers.” The word was said with a tone of aha, and she snapped her fingers. “Leon said we’re planning on building watchtowers and stuff, to reinforce the Inquisition’s control of the area. How about we go set markers down, make sure they put a couple up near your place?”

"Sounds agreeable enough to me," the horsemaster said, nodding. He crossed his arms. "Tell you what, I'll loan the three of you horses to speed you on your way, and see this done faster. You deserve something better than whatever knock-kneed nags you've got, or Maker forbid, going it on foot. Go find my daughter, Seanna, she's probably out near the stables. She'll pick out the horses for you and see them properly prepared."

Seanna wasn’t hard to find, and once they’d relayed everything, she gave them a warm smile and nodded, returning with three large horses, a bay, a grey roan, and a sorrel. Khari bounced a little on the balls of her feet, clearly excited if the huge smile plastered onto her face was anything to go by. They really were nice-looking horses, and she was tempted to do all the usual things Ser Durand had taught her: feet and teeth, mostly, but that would be rude, and she was sure someone called a horsemaster would know what he was doing anyway.

Since they were both redheads, she went ahead and approached the sorrel, reaching a hand out and letting him sniff her, rubbing his white-striped face with her palm. She glanced back at the other two, and a question struck her. “Er
 you guys know how to ride, right?”

Romulus mounted the bay, a little uncomfortably, but by the way he moved, he wasn't riding for the first time. The third or fourth time, perhaps. He shrugged.

Asala had approached the roan and gently caressed the side of its muzzle with one hand, the other running through her mane. She whispered something to the horse, but what could be made out did not sound like Common. She then looked Khari, and then Romulus as if to see how they sat upon their horses. "Uh..." she began, before turning back to the roan. Surprisingly, she found the saddle without much difficulty. As if surprised herself, she beamed back at the other two...

Until the horse began to move forward. "Wh-what? Wait," she said to the horse, but it did not, continuing a lazy pace out of the stable. "Please stop?" she pleaded, but the horse continued to ignore her.

Khari was glad she hadn’t mounted yet. Leaving the sorrel where he was, she stepped to the side and took hold of the roan’s reins. “Okay. So these are how you steer.” She placed the reins in Asala’s hands. “Be sure to give her enough slack that she can move her head, okay? Then when you want her to slow down, pull back gently and gradually. She’ll be able to feel it. Move the reins in whichever direction you want her to turn, further for a sharper angle.”

She grinned up at Asala, remembering when someone had to teach her all of this stuff. “If you want her to move forward, just give her a squeeze with your legs, and a tap with your feet will speed her up. But maybe don’t do that until we’re outside and I can ride next to you. Keep your spine straight, but try to relax into her motions. She knows what she’s doing, even if you don’t.” She patted the horse’s neck. “Ready? I’ll be right next to you, so you don’t need to worry.” Asala nodded, but the worry remained in her face. It wasn't clear if she didn't believe Khari, or in herself.

Making good on her word, Khari padded back over to the sorrel and vaulted up into the saddle with the ease of long practice, steering the horse to sidle up next to Asala’s. “Mind leading us out, Rom?”

He looked to be concentrating quite heavily as he did so, slowly walking his horse out in front of them, and heading towards the nearby hill, where he could already spot a clearing that would excellently serve with a watchtower on it.

It took longer than it probably should have because of Asala. They did make progress however, despite the sudden starts and stops. Fortunately, the horse never broke off into a sprint, never going faster than a gentle trot. Eventually however, they made it to the clearing. "So, h-here?" Asala asked, clutching the reins with rigid arms, and a ninety degree bend in her elbows.

“Mm.” They’d crested a ridge, and the spot they’d found offered a pretty good view of the surrounding landscape, which meant it should work pretty well as the location of a watchtower. Plant an archer up here, even just one, and bandits would have a serious problem.

“Works for me.” Now they needed something to mark the spot with. There was a dead tree nearby, so Khari steered her horse towards it and leaned over sideways, holding on with her legs and cracking off a likely looking branch. It was pointy at one end and the ground was soft, so after a few blows with the side of her fist, it was staked in there decently enough, an obvious irregularity in the landscape. It’d do well enough for a marker, probably.

They turned their horses and headed back down the incline, looking for the next likely spot. There were a few minutes where no one said anything, and then Khari broke the silence. “So, Asala
 I was joking when I said I was a thug. You know that, right?” Well, she was kind of like one, in the sense that she wasn’t much good for anything but hitting stuff, but she wasn’t actually a criminal or a thief or whatever.

"I sus-suspected," Asala said, staring at the back of her horse's head. "You are... Not so bad as you s-said," she added. There was a certain tilt to her head, as if something came to mind, but she straightened and kept it to herself.

Romulus laughed softly to himself, before veering slightly to the right, gesturing towards a clear spot along the side of the road, with clear sight lines in both directions.

Khari laughed considerably more obviously. “’Not so bad,’ she says. I can live with that.” She followed Rom off the road again, and repeated the process of marking the spot clearly, this time dismounting, gathering some loose stones, and arranging them in a large ‘x’ shape on the ground. As long as she told the others what they were looking for, it shouldn’t be too hard to find.

Swinging back up, she put them back on the road. They should probably form the watchtowers into a rough triangle that included Dennet’s property, but more than three seemed excessive, so they only really needed one more. “How do you reckon the others are doing in Val Royeaux? Never been there, but I hear it’s really fancy.” She also did hope to go someday, obviously, but it might be a little while yet before she did.

Probably not well," Romulus answered. "I've never known Chantry people to be reasonable. A few here and there, but those are drowned out by the rest that have never been outdoors."

Khari snorted. That seemed about right. They found a third likely spot and marked it as well, meaning that it looked like their work here was done. “Guess we should get back to Dennet,” she said, probably unnecessarily. “And then let the others know they have a pickup to do.” Getting that many horses to Haven probably wasn’t going to be fun, but it would be a big help. Cavalry never hurt anyone
 er, well, now that she thought about it that was a terrible way to put it. But they’d done something important, anyway, and she was feeling pretty good about it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The weather was absolutely dreadful. Once the salt from the coast began to permeate the air, it started to rain and it never stopped. Ugly gray clouds hung high above them and seemed to stretch from eternity in every direction. A dark purple cloak draped over Lady Marceline's shoulders, the hood up so as to not subject her hair to the terrible conditions. Marceline was miserable but she did not allow that to play out on her face. She would not show weakness, not even to those she called allies that rode with her.

She was not unarmed, as only a fool would be when traveling through the country. A thin, silverite basket-hilted rapier tapped against her saddle as she rode, a small main-gauche waiting in the small of her back, currently hidden by her cloak.

She did not lead the procession however. That honor would go to the dalish woman called Khari, and she seemed to take to it with a certain zeal. The woman wore a mask, not unlike her own. However, Marceline was without her mask during this time, having opted to discard it upon leaving Orlais and instead show her face. The masks were an Orlesian tradition, and meant little outside of her homeland. That, and it would be better to allow the people to see her.

They had broken from the road some time ago as they approached the coast, the scent of salt on the air intensifying as they grew closer to their destination. The elements would play havoc on Marceline's hair, she knew it, and she did not know how long their venture to the coast would take them. She, however, said nothing and rode in silence.

If Khari cared a whit about what the elements were doing to her hair, she had a terrible way of showing it. Wisps of it stuck out from underneath her hood, curling into a rather impressive frizz once exposed to the open elements. Her eyes were good-humored from over the top of her half-mask, and she rode as though entirely oblivious to the conditions of the Coast.

At several points, she seemed to turn her attention vaguely southwest, though each time she did, she’d shake her head and return to navigating her horse down the slope shortly afterwards. It was a good half-hour of riding in the rain before anything changed. The Dalish crested a hill first, then shifted in her saddle to call back to the other two.

“Heads-up, you two. I think we found ‘em.”

Romulus put his heels into his horse and rode ahead, to catch up with Khari. His shield found its way onto his arm.

A great flapping flag could be seen in the distance, bright red against the miserable sky. It was attached to an anchored ship dipping and swaying near the rocks, far from the dancing figures on the beach: a battle between two groups, from the looks of it. On the outskirts of it stood a woman holding a bow, foot planted on a boulder. Her fingers smoothly drawing back and loosing arrows into shoulders, bellies, and hips, though if she was bothered by any of it, the sordid weather, the mewling cries as they stumbled onto their arses, she gave no indication. If anything she seemed delighted. Tossing her head back and laughing. She called out encouragements, and pointed a waggling finger at the mismatch of individuals grunting below.

The largest of the group—a Qunari, bashed his forehead into the nearest man's face, then grappled onto his leathers and tossed him aside. Unlike the woman, he was not smiling. There was a fine distinction between the fighters. One group wore unusual plates, garb reminiscent of Tevinter mercenaries: all human. Difficult to tell from the crest, but it was easier to distinguish the motley crew of pirates. Dwarf, Elves, Qunari, and a roaring woman. None of them seemed to notice anyone else happening on their exchange.

Khari fidgeted in her saddle, looking quite a bit as though it was physically difficult for her not to join the fight below, but her eyes were sharp as she surveyed the goings-on, moving from one fighter to the next, and she leaned forward slightly on her red horse, her head tilted to the left.

“They’re pretty good.”

"Mhm," Marceline agreed. "It is a coarse display, but that is not necessarily a terrible quality," she added, watching the battle intently. While she did not command the Inquisition's armies as Ser Leonhardt, she had been around Chevaliers her entire life and could deduce the effectiveness of the fighters. "They would not fit in with Ser Leonhardt's main body, but I am positive that they could prove their usefulness elsewhere." she added, her eyes rising to look out toward their ship. Of course, that's provided the Inquisition signed them on.

While they may have been a decent fighting force with their own ship to boot, that meant nothing if they asked too much from their fledgling organization. A deal had to come at a right price, as it was with most mercenaries, and she was there to ensure that. They would need to see what else they could offer first, and toward that end, Lady Marceline patiently waited for the battle to conclude.

It did so quickly, and none too softly. Blasts of blue shot from an elven lass's hands, sending a man tumbling head over heels. It was the dwarf who ended his cries, smashing her mallet into his skull. Stragglers were being pushed backwards, and cut down against the boulders and the skeletons of old boats littering the coastline. One particular man gurgled for the others to retreat back up the crest, and without helping any of his mates, began scrambling up the hillside himself. He jerked to a halt when he spotted horses pawing at the ground: and riders, simply watching. His mouth gawked open and the only thing that came out was the tip of an arrow, silencing whatever words he'd been trying to say. The man shivered and jerked, tumbling back down the hill.

In the distance, the wild-haired woman lowered her bow and stared up at the riders. She bared her teeth in greeting and put her fingers to her lips, whistling a sharp tone. She made another small movement with her hand, and her crew scattered amongst the remains, picking at discarded weapons. Others slumped down against pieces of driftwood and turned their attention towards the newcomers. Only Aslan walked to the woman's side, exchanging a few words, before her smile cracked into a grin and they both turned to begin their approach.

For someone so small, stature wise, she seemed to encompass a lot of space. She climbed the hillside without much trouble and stopped short of Khari's horse. Aslan rounded up at her side, crossing his arms over his barrel-chest. Although no words were exchanged, and he did little more than survey the new arrivals with narrowed eyes, it appeared as if he was just as much a weapon to her as the bow she'd already begun strapping to her back. The woman rubbed her hands together and arched her back, hands planted on her hips. Several cracks sounded and a long sigh followed, “So, this is the fabled Inquisition. I've heard good things about you, and I hope we haven't disappointed. Either way, I'm glad you could make it.”

She paused and clicked her tongue, “Right on time.” The woman motioned for them to follow her down the ridge, and towards the beach where the others were. Someone had already started dragging the bodies into a pile, pilfering whatever they needed into another one. Those who'd been injured lingered beside a scruffy-looking man, wrapping sopping wet bandages around proffered arms and legs. “I'm assuming you'd like to get straight to business. Serious bunch as you look. I'd like that too, honestly.”

Marceline nodded and swung off of the Orlesian charger's saddle in a single fluid motion. She landed on soft feet, though her black boots sunk into the sand with a squelch. Dreadful, she thought again, but her face betrayed nothing. In fact, her face was unreadable save an easy confidence on her brow. A neutral expression, this Zahra was a business woman, and would not take kindly to any air she may have put on. If she wished to speak business, the Lady Marceline would speak business.

She turned and pointed out her companions as she said their names, "This is Ser Khari, Ser Romulus, and I," She said, turning back to face Zahra, "Am Lady Marceline. And you are the good Captain Zahra Tavish." It was a curt introduction, but they were not in Orlesian courts, but on a beach among fighters and mercenaries. Social graces were unnecessary and the game that was to be played was not the Grand one, though she remained unfailingly polite.

"We were told that you were in search of your latest contract, and that you may possess some piece information that may be of value to the Inquisition," Marceline steepled her fingers and let them rest on her belly, taking on a relaxed posture. "So I shall cut through the pleasantries and get straight to the matter at hand. What is it that you are willing to offer, and, if you will excuse my forwardness, what are your terms?" She asked as a dark brow rose.

The Captain inclined her head to each new person that was introduced. Her eyes lingered on each one, then fell back on Lady Marceline, clearly unaware that her scrutiny might have come off as unsettling. She idly scratched at her chin but listened intently, eyebrows flagging when her name was mentioned. Aslan stared off into the distance, glancing at their horses and adjusting his stance, occasionally stepping out of the sucking sand into more sucking sand. Zahra seemed as comfortable as a cat stretching out across a bed. Even in the Storm Coast's miserable weather, rain pattering down her cheeks, whereas Aslan stood as still and silent as a wall. A formidable one.

“Yes, you're right,” Zahra tossed her head towards the ship, still bobbing up and down in the distance, “And much more besides. You see, we're in the business of information. We've traveled near everywhere, haven't we?” There was a boom of cheers and clattering weapons coming from her crew mates littered about. “That is to say, we hear more than rumors, and secrets are worth their weight in gold. If there are no little birds to whisper in our ears, we compensate in battle. You won't find a tougher crew than us, that's a guarantee. Front line, and fearless. It wouldn't matter where you intended to take us. Once a deal is struck, we're loyal-bound. To hell and back.”

Her mouth curved into a smile, “Did I mention we have a boat?” Pleasantries cast aside, Zahra threw her arms out wide and took another deep breath of the ocean spray, “Our terms are simple. We've both got something to gain. You and I. Strong alliances. What we're asking for is a place to stay. Food, warm beds. Gold, of course. We come at a fair price, but I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Though she didn't let it show, Marceline's interest was piqued. If her interest bled through, then it may cost them later in the negotiations. It was safer to regard them with a nominally impressed expression. It would be rude to do otherwise. "Your offer is intriguing," she conceded, though she turned quiet afterward. She regarded this Captain, her crew, and even her ship with a critical eye. There was nothing that would refute anything the woman had said, and if what she had said was true to the letter, then it would be unwise to simply let this opportunity sail away.

However, she was not going to simply hire them on the spot. They would need to be gauged first, to ensure what they say and what they offer were up to the standards they desired. "The Inquisition is willing to offer you and your crew a probationary contract," Marceline said, an inviting smile creeping into her lips.

"If what you say is true, and we find your services satisfactory, we will renegotiate the terms of your contract for a longer period of employment, and the pay to reflect the services you provide. Of course, food and board will certainly be provided within the deal as well. The Inquisition is kind to her people," Marceline said with a nod. It was a fair offer, she felt, and there were many potential opportunities to be had with a crew with their own ship.

"Do you find these terms fair, Captain Zahra?" Marceline asked with a raise of her brow.

The woman-Captain took another deep breath and sucked at her gums, glancing over her shoulder at her gathered crew. She was silent for a moment, as if she were considering her options, though the wild brightness in her eyes spoke volumes. And abrupt as any of her movements seemed to be, Zahra whipped back towards Lady Marceline and held her hand out for a sealing handshake, mouth twisted in a toothy grin, “You have a deal, Lady Marceline, and it's not one you'll regret making.”

"I would hope not, Captain Zahra," Marceline replied with a smile of her own, before taking her hand and shaking it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
It wasn’t more than thirty seconds after they shook hands on the deal that they heard a loud screech, almost impossibly loud, and a corresponding rumble. The ground tremored slightly beneath their feet, and from the east, it was possible to see the masked woman, identified previously as Khari, approaching on horseback. She must have left at some point during the negotiations, but her horse trotted back towards them, its rider holding herself high off the saddle, standing in the stirrups.

“There’s a dragon here!” Her tone was excited, almost gleeful. “A really big blue one. It’s fighting a giant over there!” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

With little more than a handshake, the deal was struck and Zahra stood as pleased as a coddled kitten. Albeit sopping wet and forced to keep readjusting her feet in the sucking sands beneath them. She'd much prefer being inside her ship, or else somewhere dry, but by the looks of this Inquisition of theirs, with lady Sunshine bringing up the front, it appeared as if they still had business to do on the Storm Coast. She'd truly meant through hell and back again, so questions were useless. Besides, their group looked just as motley as her own. Her smile did not wane, only bellied the relentless energy swirling in her belly. She didn't doubt that they would be just as interesting.

A shriek cut through their nice little congregation. Loud enough to rattle her skull and make her ears ring. Certainly not a sound she'd ever heard before, and she figured she'd seen many things in her travels. Aslan's meaty fists clamped down across the curved blade hanging at his hip, though Zahra placated him when she placed a hand on his shoulder. The one introduced as Khari rounded up on them. Fiery-haired and pointing off in the distance, rattling on about a dragon and a giant. She'd admit to being just a little bit distracted by her hair, bright as fire. She turned the words over in her head and clicked her tongue again, “Two things I never imagined I'd see in one day.”

It seemed as if staying anchored in these parts would be both unwise, and foolish if there was a dragon circling the coastline, even if it wasn't interested in their ship. From what little she knew of dragons, and their ilk, they were damnably large and capable of felling their mast as if it were a toy. And she'd just commandeered that thing months ago, she meant to keep it in one piece. Her hand slipped away from Aslan's shoulder and she leaned closer to him, hooking her thumb towards her gathered crew mates, already springing up to see what Khari was talking about. “I'll be traveling with these guys for awhile, but I want you to get our girl out of these waters. I'll be damned if it gets torched after coming all this way.”

Aslan nodded. His voice was a gravelly pit when he said, “Where to, Boss?”

She rubbed her knuckles against her nose, and sniffed, “Head back to that little fishing village we passed. Anchor there. Feed the boys and girls. Get some rest while you can. Keep your ears open.”

With that said, Aslan stomped down towards the pirates, and gave rumbling instructions to get their arses in gear as quickly as they could manage. Fantastic crew as they were, she'd rather see them all safe on their ship. Besides, she could prove how useful their company was while they were gone. Zahra joined Marceline at her side, and placed her hands back at her hips, fingers drumming a beat, “Besides my ship and my crew, you're also getting me. I'm a good shot. They say I never miss. Course, you'll see that yourself. A sharp eye, an arrow in the dark—whatever you need of me.”

She didn't wait for her response, only slipped back up where Khari had been stationed. She saw it for herself. Two great beasts, entangled. A giant and a blue dragon as bright as any jewel. Her heart hammered in her throat, and if she didn't have any better sense, she would have crept closer.

“Well, look at that, Ginger's right.”

Marceline noticeably kept her distance with a deep frown marking her face. "If I may make a suggestion," she began with arms crossed. "I suggest we give them both a wide berth and allow them to finish any business they may have with each other." A deafening roar from the dragon caused the air around them to shudder, and Marceline's eyes narrowed. "A very generous berth," she added.

There was a glimmer in the eye of Romulus as he pulled his horse up alongside Khari. The excitement was clear in him, but it was heavily tempered, reduced down to a small upward curl in his lips, and a gaze of wonderment towards the two battling behemoths across the bay.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" he asked, the question directed at Khari.

“Only once.” Her tone was reverent, her enthusiasm for the experience more than apparent. Her eyes stayed fixed on the spectacle, drinking it in the way other people watched sublime artistic performances, or whatever it was that fascinated them in a similar way. “And not this close.” Her eyes narrowed, clearly from pleasure rather than anger.

“This is absolutely worth it.” What the ‘it’ she referred to was wasn’t clear, but the words seemed to mean something to her, anyway.

From where Zahra was standing their business may last a long time, though it looked as if the giant was faltering against the dragon's advances. Difficult to tell, really. She let her gaze drift away from the carnage below and she turned to consider the two riders at her side with much of the same fascination. She watched their reactions, took note of the small things. An upturned lip. The brightness in Ginger's eyes, leaning forward in her saddle as she was. Minute gestures, like the fluttering of fingers. She didn't think it would be very difficult to convince them that taking up their arms would be the better course of action. Then again. Perhaps, she was wrong and they were looking on in wonder and not with the tickling sense of violence and glory.

“It'd be a shame, just to bypass them,” Zahra shrugged her shoulders, and glanced back to Lady Marceline. The most sensible one, it seemed. Even so, she couldn't help but wonder how much those scales would sell for or what that giant was carrying for that matter. Opportunity could be had if they waited around long enough, but she supposed that Marceline wasn't the patient type. Already seeking out another route. Fighting off a dragon and a giant seemed foolish enough but she'd be hard-pressed to deny that her blood wasn't already boiling. Besides, she wasn't sure who, in fact, was in charge of this expedition. “I'm assuming you have some sort of destination in mind,” Zahra arched her eyebrows, “which isn't over there.”

"A pair," Lady Marceline answered. She returned to her steed and remounted it. She pulled in behind the three of them, still warily gaze out toward the dragon and giant. "Along with you, we were to make contact with a cult that goes by the name 'Blades of Hessarian'. Judging by the name they have given themselves, it is a highly religious organization. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage," Marceline added, her gaze lingering on Romulus for a few moments.

She then shifted attention to the path ahead, "The other destination is far more nebulous. We are to investigate the disappearance of the Grey Wardens. Our source says that they were last known to be in this area." Marceline looked out ahead for a moment before turning to look at the others. "I suggest that we meet with these Blades first, and should they prove amiable, inquire what they know of the Wardens and then proceed from there." With that Marceline nodded as if pleased with the plan of action.

"Agreed?"

“You can ride with me, by the way.” Khari had waited until Marceline had done all the necessary explaining before making her offer, but now she was holding an arm out and downwards, with the clear intention of helping Zahra up behind her. The horse certainly looked strong enough to take two, especially considering that the first was a fairly small person.

A group of religious arseholes, and some Grey Wardens. There it was, an adventure already to be had. She certainly wasn't complaining. Besides, Lady Marceline wasted no time explaining where they were going and that suited her just fine, though she was curious what made her tick. Surely, she wasn't all prim and proper. There must've been some fun buried underneath all of orderly business. “Fine by me,” Zahra bobbed her head. Now that she thought about it, she'd never actually met a Grey Warden before. Sounded like they'd have their pants in twist. She hoped not.

She followed the voice and was pleased to find out that it was Ginger who'd offered her a ride—not that she would have minded any of the others, though Ser Romulus was quiet enough to make her wonder whether or not he'd talk at all. Perhaps, she intimidated him. Wouldn't have been the first time. As for Lady Marceline, she doubted that she'd want to close the distance between them anytime soon. Not before having a few drinks. So, Zahra turned towards Khari and took up her proffered arm, boosting herself over the horses rump and settling in behind her as best as she could manage, “Thanks for the lift.”

“Not a problem.” Khari grinned, then faced forward, urging her horse to begin moving. The others did, too, and the small group was off, turning back towards the north, avoiding the dragon as advised. The slopes were fairly steep, but the horses seemed to be solid, hardy creatures, and not once did any of the legs under Zahra and Khari falter, the elf’s deft hand guiding him to the best places on the narrow, rocky paths.

They’d been riding for another fifteen minutes or so when something resolved ahead of them. It looked to be a small group of people, grouped on one side of the path. From the way they were all looking down towards the approaching Inquisition, it would seem that they awaited their arrival, and Khari slowed the horse down to approach with a little more reserve.

Most of them were armed, but with a few exceptions, they were women, younger teenagers, and older people, and none of them looked particularly well-fed, the hollows of their cheeks perhaps more sunken than was warranted. Still, there wasn’t a one that was bowed over or hunched; each held themselves tall, and tall most of them were, even the children. There were about fifteen, it looked like, though most of them were set back a ways from the road, sitting in a rough circle, but two stood right next to the road. One was a thickset man with meaty arms and a head of wild, copper-colored hair. He held a staff in one hand; it looked to serve as a walking stick more than anything, for his face showed age, especially around the eyes and mouth.

The other was perhaps of an age with Zahra, or thereabouts, and shared the man’s hair color and most of his height. Her armor was mostly leather and fur, and had nothing by way of sleeves, dark blue tattoos encircling her right arm all the way to her neck, the patterns foreign and strange—not Rivaini, not Antivan, and certainly not Dalish. Her skin was dark, much darker than that belonging to any of the others, but it was the way that she stood in the front which perhaps differentiated her the most.

“Hail, Inquisition. If you seek the Blades of Hessarian, you will not make it far.” The words were not a threat; indeed, she spoke them with a hint of amusement underneath the contralto timbre of her voice.

Lady Marceline bowed slightly in her saddle, more out of appreciation it seemed than greeting. "If I may ask then, why is that?" her tone wasn't one of contention, but genuine. Her eyes glanced between the other individuals before returning to the one that had addressed them.

The woman smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth. “They are a strange lot, with many rules that have little purpose.” She shrugged, then raised both of her hands to her neck, tugging until what seemed to be a necklace came free and dangled from one hand. The blue color of the gem in the middle suggested serpentstone, and the rest of it looked to be made of granite and some sort of scaly hide. “Such as this: without one of these in view, your group will be attacked by them on sight, something we discovered the hard way.” There was a thread of malice under her tone, but it seemed to coexist with the same amusement that had accompanied her words thus far, making her feelings on the matter difficult to pin down.

“I, therefore, find myself in a position to make a deal with you, and that is something I would like to do.”

Marceline's head tilted to the side, but likewise she betrayed nothing, making it difficult to feel out her own thoughts. She looked at the amulet for a moment before she spoke. "Hmm," she hummed to herself, as if thinking it over. "We would hear the deal before we are to commit to anything. Know, however, that we wish to negotiate with these people." Her eyes then went to burly man beside her, and then to the rest behind them.

"We will not be able to condone any retribution you may have in mind unless they instigate hostilities themselves," She said, with a sigh and subtle shake of her head. She did not seem overly surprised to hear that the Blades were hostile to strangers, only tired by it.

The woman shook her head. “You misunderstand. Perhaps I should have been clearer.” She lowered the amulet to her side, and then glanced back at the others further away from the road, the gesture inviting them to do the same. “It is partly an insistence on retribution that has whittled us so. That, and famine, and darkspawn, and any number of other disasters over the last dozen years. The gods do not answer, and so it is I who must decide.” The man at her side shifted, but said nothing.

She returned her gaze to them. “I choose to save them, whatever others may say of my honor for it.” She smiled again, sharply, like the edge of a knife. “Retribution is uninteresting to me. My terms are this: you have the amulet, which will enable you to negotiate. You have us, who are capable survivors and hunters, when there is game to be found. You have me, and the weight of my clan’s good name, which is leverage you will not be able to get elsewhere, and will carry much meaning should you have cause to deal with Avvar. We have food, and shelter, your word that we will be tolerated outside your town, protected by your troops. That is the deal.”

"Is this what remains of your clan?" Marceline asked, indicating to the others a ways away from the road.

“It is. Once we were many, and our hold large. But hunger is an enemy that cannot be fought.” Her answer was even, but any trace of humor had vanished from it.

She looked toward them for a moment more, as if internally debating something before turning her gaze toward the woman addressing them. There Marceline seemed to internally gauge her worth. Finally, she spoke. "What is your name?"

The question seemed almost to perplex the woman, as though it seemed irrelevant and she was unsure why it was being asked. “I am Signy Sky-Lance, Thane of the Wyvernhold. This is my father, Svavar Earthspeaker, our shaman.” The older man inclined his head, politely if a bit awkwardly, as though he weren’t used to that form of greeting.

"I expect Ser Leonhardt would benefit from the scouting expertise you and your clan will bring, and the medallion you hold will see to it that our business here goes smoother than without," she said with a nod, before Marceline dismounted her horse and offered this Signy an outstretched hand. "I will have to requisition hardier tents from Ser Leonhardt, but your people will have their shelter and their food. You need not starve any longer."

Signy took the proffered hand, grasping Marceline’s forearm, then nodded and relinquished the medallion. “Then we will make our way to Haven and find this Ser Leonhardt. We will be of little assistance with religious cultists, beyond what we have already provided, and without the crest, we are no longer safe here.” She released Marceline’s arm, then stepped back and whistled sharply. Almost as one, the other members of her band stood, and she gestured them to the right.

“You’ll want to go left from here. And watch out for their leader—he’s unpopular, and for good reason.” With that, she and her father turned to depart, soon disappearing down a different path.

Certainly not what she'd been expecting to see on their travels, though she'd seen enough starving folk in her travels to understand the need for powerful allies. She only shifted sideways, so that she could properly see the unusually tattooed woman at the front. Lady Sunshine was proving be an awfully good conversationalist and so, Zahra offered no words. She hadn't been hired for that anyhow. Shamans, Avvar, Thanes and hollow-cheeked tribesmen already—things she had never encountered before.

A chuckle bubbled from her lips, and she looked much like Khari had observing the dragon and giant, “Worth it.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
The Blades of Hessarian kept their camp a fair distance inland, nestled into the steep hills and cliffs that zig-zagged along the coast. The people of the region were scarce, only a few outlying fishing villages and mountain communities, tough people that looked on strangers, especially armed ones, with suspicion. While they made their way towards the bandit encampment, or cult, or whatever it was, they preoccupied themselves with following up on some clues as to the Wardens that they sought in the area.

The people of one particular fishing village remembered them, but provided little information, for they only had little to begin with, or so Romulus believed. He was fairly good at spotting lies, and these villagers spoke none, concealed nothing. The Wardens that had passed through were a group, led by an elf, apparently. They were not received with hostility, for the locals were still grateful to them for the speedy end to the Blight, years ago. The group of Wardens inquired after other Wardens, an Orlesian man and an elven woman of the Free Marches, but the villagers could tell them nothing.

Khari led the tracking effort, for the most part. Romulus wasn't too experienced in following signs in the wild. A city would've been preferable, honestly. He was often more successful at prying information from broken fingers than broken twigs. Khari was the one most comfortable with this sort of work, and so she was best suited to find where the Warden group had gone.

It took the better part of a day to find a discarded camp, well nestled between steep rock formations on a secluded hillside. There they found, among few other things, a discarded journal, mostly soaked through, but with a few legible lines through which information could be gleaned. The camp had indeed been made by the Warden group they sought, but there were no names available, either for the searching party, or the two that they pursued. They worried over a whisper in their minds, had difficulty sensing darkspawn, and ultimately determined that their objectives had since departed the region. It could only be assumed that they themselves had left soon after, and there was no indication as to where.

The search for the Wardens having proven fruitless, they were left with one more task on the Storm Coast, dealing with the Blades of Hessarian. The camp was not far now. Romulus occasionally spied shadows moving behind bushes and trees, but none ever approached. Perhaps the openly displayed medallion that the redheaded woman had presented them with was truly enough to keep their arrows and blades at bay.

He studied their new companion, the sea-captain, as they descended down steep terrain. She handled herself well, on and off land, and carried herself with confidence. He didn't doubt she was capable, and a worthwhile addition to the Inquisition, especially considering their lack of influence at sea. What interested him more was her appearance. She shared a similar tone with him, the rather distinct features of one with Rivaini heritage. Given her own profession, and the manner in which Romulus had been told he was first found, he determined her to be worth prying into.

"You are Rivaini, Captain Zahra?" he asked, the answer obvious, the question probably more in what to call her. Titles felt annoyingly necessary when a person such as him ventured to address someone. "May I ask how you acquired a ship and crew?"

Zahra leaned backwards, slightly further from Khari, and tilted her head to examine Romulus. Her mouth curved into a smile. It pulled at the scars banded across her lips, twitching back to bare her teeth, “Perceptive of you.” She readjusted herself across the horse's rump, possibly to keep herself from slipping off as they rode. Her movements were languid, thoughtful. She drew a hand up to her face and traced her fingertips across her cheekbone, trailing it down below her eye, “And so are you. Must've come from a wealthy family with those.” A rhetorical question, it seemed. Or rather, a statement. With her, it seemed difficult to tell the difference.

“Now, that's a tale that I'd gladly share,” she clicked her tongue and raised an eyebrow, watching him as a hawk might, “but I'm not in the habit of giving without taking anything so, if you'll answer a question of mine, I'll answer one of yours. Deal?”

Romulus ignored the comment about his tattoos. He knew not what they signified, or where he had acquired them. If they were some symbol of his belonging to a wealthy lineage, it hardly mattered now. "I'll answer as best I can. Ask."

Zahra made a small noise in her throat and dropped her hand back down to her side, seemingly lost in thought. She rolled her eyes skyward. There was a pause, and only the clopping of hoof beats and rattling weapons filled in the spaces of her silence. It took her a few moments, but her eyes fell back to Romulus and held his gaze, “Alright then. How is it that you came to be with the Inquisition? I'm sure you all have your own stories to tell.”

Romulus was aware that the circumstances regarding his joining were less than ideal for the Inquisition's public image, hence why they'd been largely swept under the rug in favor of Estella's more palatable background. Briefly, he tried to catch the Lady Marceline's eye, to see if he had permission to answer truthfully. Marceline nodded her consent.

"I came from Tevinter, on orders from my domina to spy on the Conclave. Somehow, I was caught in events, I don't remember. The Breach was created by the explosion, I helped stop its spread three days later. The Inquisition requested that my domina allow me to remain and help close the Breach entirely. She agreed." It was delivered without much emotion, despite the enormity of everything that had happened. Perhaps it was because Romulus always seemed uncomfortable discussing the details of his slavery with these southerners. In Minrathous, his position was not something that was looked at twice. Many magisters had favored slaves, and he was fortunate and skilled enough to be one of them. Here, they seemed to think the idea worse than death. He did not know what to make of it.

"My question still stands, if you're satisfied. The short version, maybe. We're getting close." He could see wisps of campfires in the distance. They'd be in sight of the bandit camp soon.

Her eyebrow occasionally shot up when Romulus said certain words, though she did little more than nod her head. As abrasive as she seemed to be, she was a polite listener. Her shoulders straightened when he was finished and she seemed to consider his words. If she had any questions, she thought better of voicing them aloud. It seemed as if she had many of them, tapping at her knee as she was. Her smile simpered into a flat line. For all of her bluster, she hesitated. She followed his gaze and her grin returned, kindled like fire, “So we are.”

“Short version it is. This particular ship was commandeered. Borrowed indefinitely, you might say. If you're all for justice and fairness, you might not want to hear that story. As for my crew, I picked them all up along the way. Like I said, I've been around the world, mostly. Took some of them in. Except for Aslan. He's always been at my side. Hell if I know why,” Zahra used her hands, stroked the air in broad gestures, as if it explained anything at all. She paused and crackled a rough laugh, “But I'm sure you'd be more interested hearing it from them.”

The camp belonging to the Blades of Hessarian actually looked more like a small fort, complete with a large wooden wall, watchtowers, and a gate. Blue flags were unfurled over the towers, and Romulus got the distinct sense they were approaching a military encampment rather than a bandit hideout. Their little formation of horses left them appearing quite exposed, but even when more of the Blades came into sight, they did not attack. Those who manned the gate pushed it open upon seeing the medallion.

"You come to challenge our leader?" One asked, disbelieving. The other shrugged.

"All others have failed, but you're welcome to try."

They rode through the gate, Romulus with his hand ever on the hilt of his dagger, and already with shield in hand. His eyes watched the places an ambusher might hide, but for all their strength, these bandits seemed interested in this approach, which they perhaps saw as more honorable. It would certainly be easier than fighting all of them, he supposed.

There were many tents and little fires scattered throughout the interior of the camp, but some of the structures were actual houses, well-made and seemingly well-lived in. They had been here for some time, unchallenged. It made sense, he supposed. The Blight would have had no cause to travel through this place, and after it the darkspawn would've retreated and remained underground. The region was too far from Highever for Teyrn Cousland to do anything about it, not when darkspawn threatening more populated regions took priority. No, the Blades of Hessarian were masters of this land, and had been for some time. Removing them would not be easy. Controlling them would be more profitable.

"Who among you challenges the Blades of Hessarian?" demanded a man, standing in front of a throne carved from wood and stone. He was a large brute of a man, lightly armored and armed with a hand axe and round shield. His beard and hair were both thick and blond, in all a very Fereldan appearance. At his sides, a pair of mabari hounds clad in spiked plates of armor growled at the approaching strangers.

Marceline had dismounted her horse and stood straight as the man spoke. She was not cowed by the installation the Blades had, nor did she seem fearful standing in front of the man. As she spoke, she kept her head level and her arms crossed. A relaxed stance. "We represent the Inquisition and would ask to parley. We need not resort to violence," she said.

The rest dismounted in turn, and all approached the leader of the Blades on foot. He crossed his arms at Marceline's words, narrowing his eyes at all of them. "You carry the Crest of Mercy. This earns you the right to a challenge, no more. The Blades of Hessarian will not negotiate with outsiders, not under my command." He took a threatening step forward, his two hounds behind him drooling with anticipation. He pointed at Marceline and the others with the spike atop his axe.

"Name your two champions. One for me, and the other for my dogs. That's how this works."

When it seemed like words get them nowhere, Marceline's eyelids dropped and she stared down her nose at him. Instead of addressing the brute anymore she turned and looked toward the others to listen to their comments.

“Me. I volunteer.” It was spoken immediately, probably before anyone else had a chance to get a word in edgewise. From the way Khari sat, though, tense as a bowstring and tall as she could make herself, she’d been anticipating this from the very start. As if to match actions to words, she tossed her leg easily over the side of the horse, hopping to the ground in a fluid motion that left Zahra behind her undisturbed.

“Don’t care what, either. Those dogs look vicious and mean, but the big man looks more vicious and meaner.” Her eyes glittered, and she turned them towards Romulus, perhaps because he was, after all, the Herald here. Or perhaps just because she anticipated him being the other party, it was hard to say for sure. Her hand was already reaching back for the hilt of her sword.

Zahra sucked at her gums, and slid off the horse as well, eying the Blades of Hessarian with little more than a crinkled nose. Her fingers, however, twitched at her sides. One of them lingered slightly behind her back—closest to her bow, fingering the string as if it were a musical instrument to be plucked. Her stance bellied a readiness that was often seen in warriors, and her eyes danced not with the wariness that any of the others might have had, but excitement, “Let them have their way then. I don't doubt any of your abilities.”

Romulus stepped forward beside Khari, drawing his dagger, wordless in his intent. It was obvious what he was planning on doing, and that was volunteering. He was trained for killing important targets, mages or otherwise. Killing this man and his dogs would make killing the rest unnecessary, and would possibly make them pliable to the Inquisition's will. But, it was ultimately Marceline's duty to direct the mission, and so Romulus glanced again to her for her approval.

She looked at the three of them in contemplation before she turned back to the Fereldan and his hounds. She held them in her gaze, sizing them up before she closed her eyes and sighed, apparently having decided on something. Marceline then began to undo the clasp to the cloak around her shoulders. "Khari," she began, "If you would handle the hounds?" Once the cloak was free, she approached Zahra and handed it to her, giving her an appreciative look. Zahra, in turn, folded and tucked the cloak underneath her arm and grinned at the others, obviously pleased by the outcome.

"I shall answer his challenge," she said, reaching into her pocket to produce a length of black fabric. As she used it to tie her hair back into a bun, she looked to Romulus somewhat apologetically. "Your position in the Inquisition is far too important to risk on something I can handle myself, Lord Herald," she explained. By her tone, it was clear that her usage of the title of Herald was not so much meant for him, but for the Blades. Romulus did not move at first, looking briefly at Khari and then back to Marceline. His face was stone, more so than usual, but eventually he sheathed his dagger, and stepped back, deferring to her.

Turning back to the Fereldan, her arms free and her hair out of the way she drew the rapier at her side with one hand, and the main-gauche with the other. She held the rapier horizontally at eye level, while the dagger waited in the shadows.

"Begin."

It was probably only meant to commence the match between Marceline and the leader of the Blades, but it seemed to serve well enough as a signal for Khari, as well. She still wore her cloak, and the steel mask, as well, and the hounds leapt for her as one. She immediately jumped backwards, positioning herself a fair distance behind Marceline, but still at her back, obviously to prevent the mabari from flanking her. One of the dogs landed short, but the other had taken an extra step before jumping at her, and she was forced to block, swinging her fist around to punch it directly in the nose.

That didn’t seem to do much, perhaps due to the armor plating it had, and though it failed to get a good hold on her, it did knock her to the ground. Chances were, it weighed about the same as she did, maybe a little more with the armor, and the ground was muddy and slick. Khari fell, but she did so easily, almost as if she’d been expecting it, and she laughed as she slid backwards on the mud about a foot before coming to a stop, rolling onto her feet quickly and bringing her sword around for the next exchange.

Marceline simply shook her head most likely at what was Khari's laughter. When it was clear that it was not her that going to make the first move, the Fereldan made his own instead. With his first step forward, she took her first backward. Likewise for the second. The slow retreat seemed to have angered the man, because a scowl leapt into his face before he threw himself at Marceline.

Instead of rushing forward to meet him, and instead of retreating backward and risk tripping into the fight Khari was in, she danced to the side and out of the way, carefully watching his weapons with each step. Marceline carried herself with practiced steps and honed grace. It was becoming clear that she was no stranger to a duel. The rapier never dropped below eye level, at least until it bobbed upward, as if to entice him to try again.

Khari, meanwhile, wasn’t particularly graceful at all. She was all motion, a constant back-and-forth, push-and-pull, like the flow of the tides, and the part of the field she and the dogs occupied was swiftly becoming even more of a mud pit than it had been before, as she and her four-legged foes churned it up with the strength of their strides. It seemed to be ankle-deep, in most places, but their vigor had splashed large portions of it onto them, until the dogs were gaining a coat to their chests and Khari was just wearing it everywhere. She repelled their attacks mostly by swatting them away with large, sweeping strokes of her sword, but she never overshot, never left herself open for longer than she could recover.

One of them dove low, going in for her ankle, most likely, but she went low, too, diverting to the side and pivoting, the force of the motion carrying her through the next stroke, which cleanly severed one of its legs, just below where the armor protected. It went down on its side, so she opened up its belly with the subsequent blow, ending its life with celerity.

"It appears as if you overestimated your hounds," Marceline taunted after the hound that Khari dispatched cried aloud. The leader of the blades simply grunted angrily and charged her again. This time, she did not retreat, but she never let her eyes move away from his shield and axe. He came in hard for a horizontal swipe, but Marceline apparently had seen it coming and took a step backward to let it pass harmlessly in front her. She had also seen the backswing coming, and parried it with the main-gauche, pushing it away from her.

A fierce shield block followed, but Marceline easily dipped under it and spun away, coming out unscatched on the other side of him. She put a few steps between instead of pressing an attack, before resetting the positioning of her rapier. "It also appears as if your hounds were much more competent," she taunted again. The mounting frustrations on the Fereldan's face was visible to all, and it was easy to see that his motions were becoming more and more wild with each miss and each taunt.

In the aftermath of the death of its counterpart, the second mabari fought all the harder, seemingly confirming the rumors about their intelligence and loyalty, and it was certainly well-trained for battle. It snarled at Khari, and lunged, this time from too close for her to merely duck away, and they both hit the ground with a wet squelch. It was a bit hard to see exactly what happened after that—a great deal of rolling was involved, as both tried to get the necessary leverage to finish the other off. With a half-yell, half-snarl of her own, though, Khari hauled the dog off her and threw herself onto it, planting a knee in its chest and a hand beneath its jaw, tipping its head back too far to bite her and rendering most of its powerful muscles useless, since it couldn’t get leverage to push her off.

With a grunt, she brought her sword towards her with her second hand, laying the blade over its throat under her first, then leaning into it. Given the lack of armor there, it bit in easily, and the hound went still beneath her. She climbed to her feet, coated almost head to toe in wet earth worn proudly, almost, glancing towards Marceline and her foe, and her teeth flashed at him from under the mask, though it it was a smile, a grimace, or something else wasn’t evident.

“Waste of good dogs, on your pride.” Her tone was clearly derisive, and the jab played off Marceline’s like taunts surprisingly well, for someone who’d been wholeheartedly engaged in her own confrontation.

"She is correct, you know?" Marceline said, with a brow raised. Her answer was immediate, a rage induced yell and the Fereldan threw everything at her in his next flurry. However, even in the mud, Marceline proved quicker, stepping out of the way of errant strikes and batting away the weaker ones with her main-gauche. Despite the ferocity, it was clear that the fight was beginning to strain him. The wide angles, the wild slashes, the ferocity, even in the rain it was easy to tell the Fereldan was laboring.

She backstepped one more time before the man barked at her, taken over by his rage. "Fight Ba--urk," he was never able to finish the sentence. Marceline siezed the opportunity provided by the man opening his mouth to speak to drive the tip of her rapier into his throat. He was choking on his blood before he fell to his knees, his weapons quickly sinking into the muck beside him.

"We could have just spoken," Marceline said, the man tipping over into the mud, lifeless. She sheathed main-gauche and produced a linen hankerchief from a pocket. She then proceeded to wipe the beads of blood from the tip of her rapier, before she sheathed it as well. Turning to face Khari, she looked her up and down before she offered the woman herself the handkerchief.

Khari only laughed, waving the offer away with a good-natured grin. “Gonna take more than that, I think. Rain should do for most of it." They were quite the contrast, one of them as neat as it was likely possible to be out here and the other wearing muck from the crown of her head to the toes of her boots, but they'd both been successful.

It was Zahra who first stepped forward to congratulate them on their victories. Arms held out wide as if she might embrace them, though she did not. Instead she stood in front of Khari and settled her hands on her hips, smiling broadly, “Now that was a damn good fight. I'm glad the brute was stupid enough to challenge you.” Her eyes flicked from Khari's mud-speckled face, to Lady Marceline's sheathed blade and back up to hers, which was noticeabl cleaner, “It might've been easier to talk, but less fun, you must admit.”

Whatever her idea of fun was, it obviously lied in the more violent aspects of their journey. Her expression shifted as she looked between the two, sizing them up before she circled around Khari. Glancing over her shoulder, Zahra looked mildly apologetic as she held out Marceline's cloak, “Forgive me, but I think I'll be riding with her the rest of the way. At least until the rain does its work.” Khari only shrugged.

“Suit yourself."

As Romulus mounted, one of the Blades of Hessarian approached. "You'll be hearing from us, Inquisition," he said, not at all in an unfriendly manner. "You've proven yourselves worthy, and earned the right of command. In the Storm Coast, your will is our own." Romulus pulled his hood up over his head, as the rain began to come down ever harder.

They were not unlike slaves, he thought. Serving without question at the whim of the most dangerous person they could find.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
It felt better than it perhaps should have to be out of the damn office for a while.

Leon was grateful, actually, that his duties included supervising the training of the troops as often as possible. The Lions' lieutenants, and, if he were being honest, even their non-officer members, were exceptionally well-trained even for professionals, and so they could do a lot of the teaching and drilling in his absence, but he refused to shut himself away in a building all day out of the reach of most of his people and pretend like being here, where they could see him, wasn’t important. He much preferred dealing with soldiers to dealing with either diplomats or spies anyway, and that was in part exactly why he had the role within the organization that he did.

Currently, he was only observing drills; he suspected he might be coaxed into some kind of informal spar later, but for the moment, it was more important that he get a better sense of how they were doing. Down in the ranks, Hissrad and Donnelly were shouting drill commands, which the men and women under their supervision followed with varying degrees of competence and accuracy. They were already looking better than they had a month ago, and he told Cor, standing to his left, as much. To his right, Reed nodded an agreement.

“Well
 they’ve been working hard,” the young elf replied, shifting his weight slightly from one leg to the other. Another thing that seemed to hold fairly universally of the Lions was that they were quick to give others as much of the credit as they could for anything, be that shifting praise between themselves or putting it at the feet of their trainees. It was an admirable sort of humility, but almost disconcerting to find so universally over what was otherwise a very diverse group of people. He wondered if they’d all picked it up from their own commander or if he’d simply selected them in the first place because they had it. Still, sans Estella, there was a quiet confidence to each of them, a sense that they knew that they were skilled and valuable, but refused to make any noise about it.

It made them incredibly easy to work with.

“They have,” Leon agreed with a smile. It was hard not to, perhaps, when the Breach was still there in the sky and no one else in the world seemed to have half an idea what to do about it. “But they’ve been instructed well, also, else their hard work would not have achieved so much.” Cor pursed his lips, but nodded with what appeared to be some reluctance.

“We’re working hard, too,” he admitted, glancing over and up at Leon. “She’s one of ours, after all; we can’t not help her. Plus, Lia’s with you guys now, and after that whole thing with the scouts...” He grimaced. It was obvious that Cor held a great deal of affection for both of his friends, and the sentiment was more than likely shared by the other two as well.

Leon hummed thoughtfully. “I know our supplies yet leave much to be desired, but is there anything in particular you think you need?”

Cor exhaled through his nose. “Help?” Thinning his mouth, he explained further. “Our squads can help a little, when they see a line-mate doing something wrong, but we don’t want to disrupt your command structure too much by having troops ordering each other around. And if you take our twenty out of the equation, there’s only three of us, some spare people with previous mercenary or military experience, and
 well, that’s it. It’s fewer than ten people running drills for what’s eventually going to be an army.”

And that was indeed where the personnel problem was hitting them the hardest: mid-level officers. Leon himself was doing most of what he’d usually have captains and up do, but the burdens of lieutenants fell on the scarce volunteers they had with command experience, and it was bound to wear them as it wore him. Thinking of that brought to the forefront again the massive migraine he could feel building in the back of his head, and he sighed. “You’re right. Start picking out troops with a knack for the drills. I at least need to promote you some sergeants.” He couldn’t ask them to keep doing all this work for the pittance he was currently able to pay them.

Nearby, Leon could hear the telltale clacking of two wooden practice swords bouncing off of each other. Not too far away, but away from the main body of troops, a man was practicing with a boy. The man, Ser Michaël, a Chevalier and Lady Marceline's husband, was sparring with their son, Pierre. Michaël bore his full plate backed by a purple and black cloak that seemed to be the Benoßt house colors. He easily held off his son with a single practice sword in one hand, while the boy struggled with two hands.

Michaël had been giving his son encouragement and guidance, but had quieted when Cor spoke. Though his attentions seemed to be held on the conversation they were having, the spar with Pierre continued, though he was still able to effortlessly hold the boy off. At least, until Leon finished his last sentence. A surprised yelp cut the air then, and Pierre's sword was in the snow, with Michaël's own pressed gently against the boy's shoulder. The man gave his son an apologetic look, before he laughed.

"I will make a Chevalier out of you yet. Come," he said, tusseling the boy's hair and shouldering his sword. His hand fell to the boy's shoulder and they finally made their way to Leon.

"Commander Leonhardt?" He asked, "If I may suggest something?"

Leon turned his attention to MichaĂ«l in full at that point, rather than half-observing the training as he had been before, and lifted a brow. “Of course, Ser MichaĂ«l. You have a recommendation?” While technically speaking, the chevalier was outside the Inquisition’s command structure, Leon had never seen the harm in a second opinion, especially one from someone well-trained in martial matters, as was all of present company, excluding, of course, the lad.

Michaël smiled and nodded before he began "Perhaps I may be able to allievate your problem somewhat. I am a Lieutenant for the Chevaliers, with knowledge of their tactics and training methods. Methods I sometime see the Lions utilize in their own regiments," he said with a warm smile for Cor. Michaël then placed a hand on his hip, and noticably puffed his chest out, though a playfulness remained in his green eyes. "I would offer my services, if you have need of them, Commander."

The boy next to him simply shook his head, and looked to Leon with a wry smile. "Please. Let him help. When father gets bored, he uses me as an excuse to train," Pierre explained. Michaël said nothing in turn, but his chest sagged in response to the comment. The sword on his shoulder then shifted however, and reached across to tap the boy lightly on top of the head, a smile on his lips the whole time.

Leon’s violet eyes picked up a glimmer of amusement at Pierre’s words, and he spoke partly to both of them. “It would seem I have little choice, in that case.” His gaze shifted up to MichaĂ«l. “In truth, I would be grateful for the assistance. As, I am sure, would the Lions.”

Cor’s smile was much more obvious evidence of the fact that he was entertained than anything on Leon’s face, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know about that. To hear the commander tell it, Ser MichaĂ«l, your methods haven’t improved much since your days of tripping in formation when there were pretty girls around.” It was clearly an inside joke of some sort, a reference that Leon didn’t have, but from the sounds of things, the Lions would work quite well with Lord BenoĂźt’s help, which, while it would not alleviate the growing pains the Inquisition experienced, would at least go partway there.

Cor's joke however, took the rest of the air out of Michaël's chest. Instead of puffing himself out, he hid his face with his hand, and rubbed his eyes. He said nothing at first, only muttering, "Lucien," under his breath. Pierre also laughed at the joke, but turned away from his father so that he could not see, no doubt lest he risk another tap to the head.

Michaël waved his hand in the air, and said, "I deny everything."

"You can try, love, but that does not mean it is not true," a voice cooed from behind them. It was Lady Marceline's, who came from the road leading back to Haven proper, with Larissa close beside her. Larissa carried a clipboard in hand, but was currently not writing anything. She was, however, laughing gently. "I apologize," Marceline told Cor as she pulled up beside her husband. "I believe I am cause of that," she added, leaning up against him.

Michaël for his part, said nothing and continued to look out over the horizon, as if trying to pretend nothing was happening.

“No fault of yours, Lady Marceline,” Cor replied easily, with a modest bow. It was clear enough that he and she had met on a previous occasion, probably through the Lions’ commander. “And it does seem to have worked out for the better, no?”

Leon’s attention was temporarily drawn away from the byplay by the approach of another, however, and he found himself straightening a little bit unconsciously. He wondered if she was here to
?

Khari, who’d been marching not unlike a chevalier herself, slowed slightly upon spotting the group, or perhaps the size of it. At one point, she almost stopped, but then seemed to think better of that and soldiered on until she was standing in front of the lot of them. There was a moment where she looked like she was thinking, and then she dipped herself at the waist. “Uh
 hey commander
 everyone.” She grinned, nodded to Cor and Reed, glanced back and forth between Marceline, MichaĂ«l, and Pierre, and then settled her eyes on Leon himself.

“I had a question: does anyone around here have like
 glassware and retorts and alembics and stuff? Like for potions? Fancier than the local alchemist, I mean?” She raised a hand to scratch at the back of her head, pulling her red braid over her shoulder on the way back. She was without most of her usual gear at the moment, which made her take up a lot less space than usual, and she seemed conscious of the fact that discounting Pierre, she was by far the shortest person in present company.

Leon wasn’t sure what the purpose behind the question was, but he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to ask. The smile on Khari’s face always looked like trouble to him, and while he was mostly sure she wouldn’t do anything damaging, there were perhaps things he’d be better off knowing about only in the event he needed to do something about them. “Rilien would have equipment like that, if I’m not mistaken,” he replied. The Tranquil was an alchemist of surpassing talent, among his many other virtues and useful skills.

A thought struck him, then, and he angled himself slightly differently. “Khari, I don’t believe you’ve met the other BenoĂźts. Lady Marceline you know, but Ser MichaĂ«l is a lieutenant with the chevaliers, and Pierre here is their son. MichaĂ«l, Pierre, this is Khari. She’s one of our irregulars.” That was what he’d settled on calling the volunteers and recruits who didn’t work inside the usual armed force structure.

At precisely the moment Leon had enunciated the word ‘chevalier,’ Khari had stood ramrod straight, her full attention clearly fixed on the introduction, and if possible, the haphazard grin on her face widened, until she may have been showing a few too many teeth. “Chevalier, huh?” To her credit, she acknowledged Pierre to a greater extent than most would note the presence of a child, but it was clear where the majority of her attention had diverted. “Bear mauls the wolves or tower in a storm? Because if you’re a tower person, we’re gonna have a problem, you and I.” The way she said it gave the lie to the last sentence; she was clearly extremely excited to be talking to a chevalier, apparently to the exclusion of taking to the rest of them.

"Bear mauls the wolves, of course. Shields just get in the way," Michaël said chuckling with a grin of his own. Then he stopped and glanced over to Cor and Leon, his face settling into an awkward look. "Er... Not literally of course. I understand the value of a good shield wall," he explained.

Pierre simply rolled his eyes and huffed, which earned him another tap to the top of the head with the practice sword.

Leon sighed softly, shaking his head and leaving the two of them to their tactical discussions, as it were. He diverted his attention to Marceline, who probably wasn’t out here in the cold to watch the troops practice. “Is there something I can help you with, milady?”

"Yes, Ser Leonhardt," Lady Marceline replied. If she seemed at all perturbed by the tactical discussion being carried on by her husband, she did not show it. In fact, by the way she carried herself, it seemed as if she dealt with it often enough. Glancing first at Khari, and then the rest of the troops, she turned back to Leon. "I would ask for access to detailed personel reports on the individuals serving the Inquisition," she said.

Larissa then went to her clipboard and began to write something, though Leon could not see what. "In return, Larissa and I will pen letters to some of our contacts in order to obtain more experienced soldiers to fill your needs," She said, glancing to the woman beside her, already hard at work.

There were far too many individuals to assemble more than basic dossiers based on the standard forms each volunteer had dictated to Reed or Tanith upon his or her entrance into the Inquisition, with things like next-of-kin information and the like, but he supposed more than that might be in order for the officers and irregulars, at least, so with some reluctance, he inclined his head. It would probably mean even more hours in the office, but the idea had relevance, and they really could use any more people those letters might gain them.

“Very well. I will see what I can assemble in the next few days to that effect. Cor, if you would be so kind as to poll the others and get names for likely sergeants, I’ll try to run a round of minor promotions within a fortnight.” The pressure at the back of his head felt like it was ratcheting up to become a full-blown tension headache, but he ignored it for now. Rilien would have something for that, or else he’d just work through it. He had before.

There just usually wasn’t quite so much at stake.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Mornings in Haven were ass-numbingly cold.

As it happened, this fact had both advantages and disadvantages. One of the advantages was that not too many people were up at the crack of dawn, which made it an ideal time for training, if she happened to want to use any of the equipment usually taken up by people running drills or whatever. The cold was also something Khari considered to be a training obstacle all its own—if she could get used to moving around and really working herself out in this, she’d probably be able to withstand just about anything, and that thought appealed to her a great deal.

Khari, like most of the members of the Inquisition that weren’t holed up in the Chantry or one of the sparse available houses, slept in a tent, and so when she stepped out of it, still pulling on her boots, dawn hit her full in the face, temporarily blinding her and almost making her stagger back a step. She might believe in the efficacy of morning training, but that didn’t mean she was at her best first thing. Grumbling under her breath, she finally got the damn boot on and stepped down into it, working her foot from side to side to settle it. She figured it’d be good to run first, for a warmup, before she got into anything too strenuous. There were some good hills here that would make for tough intervals, too, and she was pretty sure she had seen some trees that would work well for pull-ups


It was at that point that she spotted someone else jogging by her tent, though jogging was perhaps too mild a word. It was definitely a run, and the runner was definitely quick. The swish of a very dark ponytail, as well as the person’s general height and build, tipped her off to the fact that it was actually Estella, the second Herald, or whatever they were called. “Hey Stel!” She loped up to the other woman, flagging her down with a hand. “Warmup run? I was just about to take one myself.” Training with someone else had always been a far better motivator to Khari than training alone, even when it was something as simple as running in the morning, and she wondered if the other woman would mind.

Estella paused to let Khari catch up, half-smiling a bit, but then shook her head. “Cooldown, actually. But you’re welcome to run with me anyway, if you’d like.” From their closer proximity, it was easy to see that it was, in fact, a cooldown run; Estella’s brow was beaded with sweat, and several pieces of her hair were loose, indicating that whatever training she’d been doing before was quite vigorous. She was outfitted for it, in full gear except armor, which really just meant one of the maroon-and-silver tunics all the Lions wore, and dark grey breeches tucked into her boots.

That
 was pretty impressive, Khari had to admit. She’d already been up long enough for an entire training set, and the sun was only just rising. Did she train in the dark or something? Khari contemplated that. Maybe she should start training in the dark, too. Might make her eyes better for it if she had to venture into a cave or something


Shaking her head, she grinned the couple inches up at Estella. Fortunately, the other woman was built even more slender than Khari herself, so there was no twinge of discomfort in the difference. “You read my mind; let’s go.” The two of them started back down Estella’s initial path, and it didn’t take them too long to find a pace that was comfortable for both of them. Stel ran like a halla, Khari thought—with one of those graceful, long strides that made her feel a bit like a nug in comparison. But there wasn’t anything wrong with that; she was more than capable of keeping up, and found herself settling into the pleasing feeling of having her muscles warm up, chasing the cold away.

Their breath puffed out into the air in front of them as they rounded a corner, Khari taking the outside, and she used the opportunity to strike up a conversation. “Do you do intervals, or not on cooldown?” Not everyone was fond of pushing themselves up really tall hills at maximum speed, strangely enough. It was great for lung capacity though, Khari firmly believed.

Estella’s lips pursed. “Sort of, but it’s less intervals than obstacles. I’ve set some up on my usual route; I’ll point them out as we get to them.” There was a pause that lasted a couple more strides, and then: “But, uh
 they’re nothing too fancy or challenging, probably, so please don’t laugh.”

Khari shrugged, keeping her stride steady. “That’s no problem—anything can be made into more of a challenge if you think about it the right way.” She’d used to do something similar, once, with logs and stones and the like, back before she’d left the clan. She actually had a makeshift training ring, far away from the summer encampment, where she’d set up a lot of that stuff, but alone and young, she hadn’t been able to do much, nothing that could even approximate what the Inquisition had now. Her training dummy was a dead trunk on one of the sides of the clearing.

“I’m used to simple setups.”

Estella nodded, seeming somewhat reassured by this, and as they rounded the next curve, they came upon what had to be the first obstacle: it was a log, set long ways along the side of the path. The thing was fairly thin, and had twiggy branches sticking out at the occasional odd angle, meaning that it was by no means a smooth journey across. Estella hopped up onto it first, clearly making effort to break her stride as little as possible, and ran her way over it, occasionally swaying to the left or right as she was forced to account for one of the protrusions in the log. She jumped off the other end and turned around to jog backwards for a while, likely mostly to observe Khari’s own progress across the obstacle.

It was trickier than it looked, but then, Khari had spent the first part of her life in a very dense forest, so she didn’t have much trouble navigating it, and the two picked up speed by unspoken decision as they approached the next setup, which consisted of a few old boards arranged as hurdles, again set off the main road. Here was a place where Khari’s lack of height didn’t serve her too well, but her momentum more than made up for it, and the two crossed in rough synchronicity, before their path took them up a hill.

“So you’re a Lion, huh?” Khari had attempted not to launch into this line of questioning immediately after meeting Estella, but there was only so long she could contain her curiosity, and this honestly seemed like an excellent time to ask. “They made me fight Cor, when I signed up. He’s a tough bastard. I wanted to try my luck with Hissrad, but apparently one fight was enough, or something.” She pulled a face that matched her incredulous tone, though it shouldn’t have been too hard for Estella to tell that she was joking. Mostly.

Estella laughed, slightly breathlessly due to the pace at which they were running. “Yeah, they told me about that. Cor was very impressed, actually. I think Hissrad wants to fight you, too, but they’re all pretty busy training the troops at the moment.” She frowned a moment, then seemed to shake it off and smiled instead. “He said you hit like a warhorse at full gallop, which I’m guessing you’d realize is a compliment.” There was a glint of humor in her indigo-colored eyes, one that suited her face quite well.

She did, indeed, take it to be a compliment, and her answering grin was ragged and a touch wild. “They’re good people.” There was a pause, and then she decided to go ahead and ask. “What’s the commander like? Everyone’s heard of him, of course, but I can’t even imagine what people that
 important are like on a daily basis, you know?” It wasn’t like she regularly met nobles or anything, and even the few she did know certainly weren’t princes of whole countries, and chevaliers to boot. Khari might be willing to admit that Lucien Drakon had attained near-mythical status in her mind, and here was someone who actually knew him well.

Estella’s smile softened. It was a while before she answered, though, as if she were trying to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. “I don’t know him quite as well as some of the others do, but
” she paused again as they crossed a frozen stream, careful of their footing on the ice, then resumed when they were back to crunching over the snow with their boots. “He actually
 I forget, sometimes, who he really is. He has a way of doing that, of making you forget that you’re supposed to be formal around him, probably because he’s so casual with all of us, you know? He prefers his name to the title commander, even, and he doesn’t let any of us call him milord.”

It didn’t seem to be all she could say on the subject, but she lapsed into silence after that, as though it were nevertheless enough.

Khari absorbed the tidbit carefully. All of her contact with Orlesian social structure had been through the bottom, trying to burst up through the floor, so to speak, down in the dirt where she was with every other elf, though she rarely enjoyed thinking about herself as such. It was surprising, actually, when she’d first even heard of the company. After all, while some mercenary groups employed elves on occasion, those groups weren’t usually the really prestigious ones, certainly not the ones that occasionally rubbed elbows with courtiers and the like.

Not that Khari wanted to spend a lot of time with politicians, exactly, but the point was that it was possible for the Lions, something that no one with ears like hers would ever have been able to consider before. It made her feel like other things were possible, and that, more than anything else, was why she admired them so damn much. She didn’t want to be a Lion—she had her own ambitions. But she was damn grateful they existed.

“That’s good. That’s really good, actually.” It was hardly a scintillating judgement of the situation, nor was it a novel one, even, but she felt compelled to say it anyway, and she didn’t often bother to censor her thoughts. That did no one any good, and it only tended to piss her off if she felt like she had to.

“My mentor was kind of like that, too. Well, I did call him ‘milord’ sometimes, but part of learning to be a chevalier was learning the social norms of stuff like that, so I kind of had to, you know?”

“You’re learning to be a chevalier?” Estella sounded surprised, which was perhaps understandable, considering that the only two people who knew or might have inferred that thus far weren’t exactly the gossiping type. “That’s
” Her tone indicated that she wasn’t precisely certain what to say about that. There was a little bit of hesitance in her voice, but in the end she shook her head. “That will be quite a challenge, I expect.”

Khari laughed, unreservedly so. “You can say it, you know. I won’t be offended. It’s a ridiculous thing for someone like me to try and do.” It seemed to her like Stel was trying to be polite about it, which was kind, but Khari’d been subjected to far worse ridicule for it in the past than anything she thought this woman would ever throw at her. After all, Estella was at her core a good person, she figured.

Stel shook her head again, more emphatically this time. “It’s not ridiculous,” she countered. “I don’t doubt for a second that it will be extremely difficult, and honestly I’m not sure it’s possible, but then
 people said the same thing about women, once, and in the end, all it took was one woman trying hard enough and being good enough to make them change their minds, eventually. Who’s to say one elf can’t do it, too? And who’s to say it couldn’t be you? Stranger things have happened.”

Oddly enough, she’d never thought to compare herself to Ser Aveline before, which was kind of funny in a way because the stories said that Ser Aveline had been trained by the Dalish, of all people. Khari was inclined to call bullshit on that part of the story, because the Dalish didn’t train people in anything that would do much good towards winning a tourney, especially not a melee, and she would know. Then again
 living in a forest for sixteen years had taught her a thing or two about keeping her feet, which never seemed to stop being useful. Until she was face-down in a mud pit wrestling with a dog, anyhow.

“Huh. You know, I guess that’s one way to think about it. Another way would be like this: with all this insanity going on and demons falling from the sky, elf chevaliers don’t really seem like such a big deal, do they? I mean, I’m running next to a girl who can seal up a hole in the world with her hand, so I’m pretty normal by comparison.” She moved slightly sideways to knock Estella lightly with an elbow, an indication that she was only kidding, at least on some level.

Not that part where everything was crazy, though. That was completely true.

“Stranger things,” Estella repeated, knocking back. They finished the rest of the run in relative quiet, but as they rounded the bend back into Haven, she spoke up again. “Uh
 no pressure or anything, but
 I usually train starting a couple hours before sunup. I could come get you, if you wanted to do that with me?” She sounded unsure, perhaps more because at that hour, she was almost certainly one of those people who trained in complete solitude than because of the fact that making the offer itself was uncomfortable.

Khari contemplated that for all of about half a second. “Deal.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
It was a beautiful, cold, clear day, and the champion in his shining armor was enjoying himself, as always.

Vesryn was a self-proclaimed champion, of course; no city that still existed would claim him as their protector. He preferred to see himself as a champion of the lost, the forgotten, the ruined places that no one but him could find. This, he had discovered, was one of the few things Saraya liked about him, and not even in a grudgingly admitted sort of way.

The clash of the dulled training weapons rang out through the crisp air, as the rank-and-file soldiers performed their drills and bettered themselves. Vesryn had been engaging anyone who wished to challenge him all morning, and what had started as a few private duels had turned into a bit of a sideshow, distracting a fair bit from the main body of drills and probably giving the Lions running things a headache. It was proving good for morale, though, as a fair number of soldiers were gathered around in a circle and enjoying themselves. They placed bets, not on the winner of the fights, but on how long any soldier would be able to keep his feet against Vesryn, or if they'd land a single hit or not.

For a man who spent much of his time alone in the isolated corners of the world, Vesryn had a knack for showmanship, and played wonderfully for the crowd, like he'd been trained in arena fighting or some such. This sort of thing had been a near daily ritual for the Stormbreakers, but back in that period of his life Saraya had been very interested in teaching Vesryn some hard lessons. How to survive on his own chief among them.

Now, he could tell she was immensely enjoying this, putting human after human into the snow using a seemingly unwieldy blunted axe. Vesryn's motions were graceful, without hesitation or doubt, but with an undeniable strength behind them, applied in exactly the right way. The presence in his mind did not control his actions, but Vesryn could feel her instincts, and allow them to become his own. Sometimes, he felt a bit of sadness while fighting. How beautiful it would be, to watch her move in her own body, what he considered to be perfection in fluidity, grace, and controlled power. He was a poor imitation of what she could do, he knew this. No one in Haven would be remotely able to challenge her.

The crowd groaned when another was whacked across the upper back and flew face forward into the snow. The soldier in question rolled over, spitting and wiping his face, and Vesryn offered him a hand up. The man slapped his plated hand angrily away, and clambered back to his feet himself. "The elf's a bloody demon!" someone in the crowd shouted. Vesryn bowed, grinning.

"Would anyone else like to try their hand?"

“Couldn’t turn down a challenge to save my life.” The reply was actually almost a grumble, as though the thought had caused some grouchiness in the one who spoke it, and she looked around her for a minute until she spotted someone holding what looked like a heavy practice bastardsword. “Hey Wulf, can I borrow that?” The man in question shrugged and handed it over, and Khari tested the weight with a few swings before she stepped into the makeshift ring across from him.

“Put me down for
” She grimaced, her eyes flicking up and down Vesryn, or rather, his gear, most likely, and a short huff escaped her. “Ten minutes. If I can’t make it that long, I’ll eat my sword, because I won’t deserve it anymore.” Despite the dry tone of her words, there was a very steely glint in her jade-green eyes when they met his, and her mouth curled up at the corner. Whether she thought she could achieve it was not certain, but all the same, she’d entered the ring with the intention of winning. "Give him hell!" A voice called out, belonging to MichaĂ«l.

Saraya's judgemental nature immediately sprang into action, something which Vesryn tiredly endured. He could feel her analyzing every inch of the poor girl, and finding every last one wanting. Vesryn had heard about Khari, but they'd yet to have the chance to properly speak, or even introduce themselves. As was his custom, he refrained from making any assumptions long after Saraya had already made hers. What was obvious to Vesryn was that she did not intend on letting Khari stay standing for two minutes, let alone ten.

Vesryn, however, gave her a welcoming smile, his arms outstretched. "There's no one I'd rather dance with, lovely. Best give us some more room, everyone." The circle gathered around them wisely shuffled away from the center, offering the two of them a larger dance floor of snow, packed down from countless feet smashing it day in and day out. "Whenever you're ready," he said, briefly beckoning her to him, "you may throw your storm at my tower." He smiled, with a confidence that had already goaded more than one opponent this morning into recklessness.

Though she might have seemed the type to be exactly the same, she did not immediately spring into offense. Instead, she shifted her grip, using both hands to hold the bastardsword at an angle equally well suited for either attack or defense. She appeared to, at least initially, be waiting for something to happen, but then she shifted her stance, increasing the bend in her knees and rising onto the pads of her feet, bouncing on them a couple times as though to test something.

When she did move, she telegraphed it very little. It was sudden, and neither her eyes nor her feet had given away that she’d be going for the left, which she did, with enough force to kick up snow behind her. She swung in low, which made some sense, since her center of gravity was a great deal below his.

Vesryn, however, was a great deal stronger, and almost impossible to catch off guard. Perhaps he'd taken some of the rank and file soldiers lightly, but he knew Khari was in the same bracket he was, and he knew she had far too much raw talent to be treated the same way the others were. But she was horribly outmatched in terms of experience. His instincts were bolstered by those of a warrior who had lived in a time when elves far outlasted humans in years.

He blocked with the head of his axe low, stopping the blade cold only a short distance from his body, but it was all he needed. His face lost all of its humor as he forced their weapons upwards, turning over their weapons to the other side in front of him. The bottom of his axe head hooked around the blade enough for him to pull forward and manipulate her momentum, and suddenly he brought the haft of the two handed weapon to smack across her jaw.

He sidestepped immediately, extricating his weapon, which he whipped swiftly over his head, aiming a swift, strong blow once he was around her back, aimed for the left side of her ribs.

The blow to her face had stunned her, that much was quite clear, but her own instincts weren’t so bad, for someone so young, and she threw herself into the snow almost immediately afterwards, as far away as she could jump, so while the second blow hit, it didn’t do so with nearly all the force he’d put behind it, and she rolled back to her feet, shaking her head. To her credit, perhaps, she didn’t seem to fear a repeat of the painful experience, and she attacked a second time, this time aiming for his arm itself, before abruptly switching her stride at the last possible second and trying for a cross-slash. A feint, it seemed.

She came close again, but again Vesryn's axe handle was there to solidly block her slash, the clash of weapons ringing out loudly through the air. The crowd had mostly silenced for the fight, knowing the two participating were among the Inquisition's best. Perhaps it was simply because Vesryn appeared to be focusing for the first time all morning. He shoved upwards hard, to move Khari's sword away from her center, before he launched a swift straight kick for her abdomen.

"Faster!" he commanded. "A chevalier would at least make me sweat."

Khari actually outright snarled at him, her face twisting into a sneer. “If I were a chevalier, you’d bleed.” He appeared to have succeeded in drawing out a more aggressive version of her, however, because the next series of attacks she leveled at him were harder to block. She wasn’t especially strong, but Khari was quick, and she did seem to understand how to make momentum work on her favor, because though she didn’t get any hits in on him, she was striking hard enough to vibrate both their weapons for multiple seconds after the impacts themselves, and the clanging was loud.

She appeared to know better than trying to block him, however, because her own maneuvers were overwhelmingly of the dodging variety, and he wound up hitting a lot of nothing when he went to retaliate. It was beginning to look very much like a storm assailing a tower: she only seemed to pick up speed as the fight wore on, throwing herself wholeheartedly into her offense and relying on her own sense of the flow of motion to keep her out of the way of his axe.

"That's better," he growled, when another swing of his axe missed, causing a section of the onlookers to back away from the follow-through of the swing. Vesryn's own blocks were often placed excellently, to deflect the weight of Khari's sword as much as halt it, and indeed, it was a necessary skill, for he rarely dodged her attacks entirely. His footwork was precise, in the way it carefully positioned him on the defensive. He could quite literally do this almost all day, and had in the past. His brow did indeed work up a sheen, but if anything, he seemed to be enjoying the exertion.

Finally he parried one of her blows away and rapped her on the back with the axe handle, creating a brief moment of separation. He ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, eyeing her and walking sideways, circling. "What does a title give you? What do you lack, that being called chevalier would grant you?" He was actually curious as to what would drive her so powerfully just to join the ranks of an all-human group. Saraya didn't care. She just wanted to hit the girl more.

“What makes you think it’s just about me?” The reply was snapped back—Khari was clearly not as capable of separating her demeanor from the inherent aggression of the spar as he was, at least not at the moment. She eyed him warily, moving with him, mostly, and certainly not presenting him with her back, rolling out her shoulders and settling back into her initial stance. She clearly wasn’t going to give him any more than that, though, and she drove forward again. Her endurance was nothing to sneeze at, even if her patience perhaps left much to be desired, and she was just as aggressive on this pass as she’d been on the last.

Ten minutes was swiftly coming upon them, but for all that, she didn’t try to stretch it out, placing herself at just as much risk as she had before, and she paid for it, catching the haft of the axe full in the stomach, sliding backwards on the snow, though she yet retained her feet, closing one eye perhaps from the pain of impact but rebounding with uncanny quickness, swinging, of all things, her fist, in what looked very much like a wild lunge, but was pulled short as she drove the point of her blunted blade forward instead.

Vesryn couldn't make sense of her, and he wondered briefly if she weren't a little bit unhinged. Perhaps it was just the fight that was making her seem that way, as she wielded her aggression as much as she did her blade. Perhaps he should have simply chalked it up to the fact that he knew only one thing about her, and that one thing painted her as a foolishly optimistic, even naĂŻve, person. Her feigned punch, flowing into a stab, was about as effective as it could have been, the point of her blade scraping across plate armor briefly before it was pushed aside by the haft of his axe. Not the wisest attack against someone with armor easily strong enough to withstand a sword point, but successful in its own way.

Saraya's instinct was to grapple with her, use his superior strength to stop her from getting away again, and Vesryn obeyed, snatching her wrist on the follow-through of the lunge. He pulled her into his reach, and then landed a solid, heavy punch to her cheekbone. Restraining the wrist that held her blade, he kicked hard to the back of her leg, to put her down on a knee. Rather than finish the fight, he let curiosity get the best of him. "Are you not already what you want to be? For yourself? For others?" His eyes were searching, confused. Saraya raged in his head, demanding a blow that would end the spar.

Her reply was extremely simple: “Is anyone?” It was a surprisingly lucid question, which perhaps made what she did next all the more bizarre in contrast. She seemed well aware of what would happen if they went into a grapple, and so she pushed herself off the ground, yanking downwards with what was possibly all the strength she had on the wrist he held, though her aim was evidently not to get free. Of all things, she headbutted him, the hard part of her skull hitting him right where his nose met his brow.

Saraya, as she had a tendency to do in these moments when she was displeased, abandoned him when he least expected it. Perhaps he should have begun expecting it, but he was still caught off guard when suddenly his reflexes weren't as sharp, his instincts not as lethal. His nose broke, blood immediately flowing down over his mouth, some of it ending up dripping on the responsible elf's already red hair. He recoiled, but then he felt Saraya return, with grim determination. Before Khari could follow up on the hit, he'd pulled her by the arm into him, kneed her strongly in the ribs, elbowed her in the jaw, yanked her to her feet, and swept her legs out from under her with a swift low swing of his axe. When she was horizontal in the air in front of him, Vesryn gave her a parting boot to the chest, snow crunching and spraying into the air. Yet more of it was kicked up when Khari was thrown across the makeshift arena, sliding and rolling through the snow until she came to a stop near the far side on her back.

Vesryn turned and spat a glob of blood into the snow, reaching a hand up to feel the shape of his nose. "Very funny," he murmured to himself, the words most likely unheard since the crowd had also livened up, excited by the exchange of blows. By the time he turned and walked back to Khari, a smile had once again worked itself into place, many of his pearly white teeth now red.

"What was that you said? A chevalier would make me bleed?" He extended a hand down, to help her up.

She sucked in a breath, one hand up at her jaw. “Should have worn the mask.” She muttered it more to herself than him, then narrowed her eyes up at him, contemplating the hand for a few seconds before she took it, pulling herself back up to her feet. “Hm. Apparently I get to keep my sword after all.” In a display of good sportsmanship, however, she inclined herself in a combatant’s bow, then gestured in his direction, to a swell of applause.

In the wake of the fight's completion, there was a fair amount of both cheering and grumbling among the soldiers, undoubtedly the result of bets won and lost, but in all, they seemed entertained by the fight, and perhaps a little relieved that it had ended peacefully enough, without the need to be broken up by the spectators.

Vesryn bowed back to Khari, his best opponent of the day by a long shot, and nodded his thanks to the crowd. "Perhaps we should visit the healer," he suggested to Khari. "Hopefully she can mend our lovely faces."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus felt a constant burn in his arms and across his chest. Sweat dripped from his brow, down the side of his face, as he looked up at the bar above him, and the stone ceiling. Even in the Chantry cellar he could not escape the noise of activity. Haven had become an extremely busy place of late, even more so now that it was widely known that they would have forces departing for the Hinterlands again in a few days time. Romulus would be going with them, to meet the mage rebellion in Redcliffe, and... likely do nothing.

He grunted with each time he pulled his chin above the bar. The cellar, the very place he had first woken up following the explosion that had marked him, was naturally dark, only lit by a few torches set into sconces along the support pillars and the walls of the hallway that led inside. They were used for storage, since the Inquisition had no need to keep prisoners yet, and that meant that very few people came down here. Romulus was one of the few, making use of the privacy to have something of a personal place. It was known by anyone important that he sometimes ventured down here.

His thoughts drifted, until he was thinking about rats, and how similar he was being to one at the moment, and he growled, pulling his chin above the bar again. The sweat ran down his bare back and chest; he savored the warmth of working right next to a flaming torch. Thinking about the freezing cold outside only served to annoy him. Finally he dropped from the bar onto the ground, breathing heavily, and shaking out his arms.

Worst of all was that he couldn't figure out what bothered him more: that he wasn't finding the kind of experience in this Inquisition that he'd wanted, or the fact that he'd wanted it in the first place. He coiled his right hand into a tightly balled fist, and thought about striking the wooden pillar in front of him.

The sound of metal-girded boots clanking unceremoniously along the stone floor to his left was obvious, and heralded the approach of Khari, though she probably didn’t rank highly enough on the list of important people in the Inquisition to have known he’d be here without needing to ask someone. Even so, it was clearly him she was looking for, because as soon as she was far enough into the room to be seen in the warm glow of the torchlight, it was obvious that she was looking right at him, and she smiled. “Evenin’, Rom.” She seemed pleased to have found him, and stepped out of the doorway into the chamber proper. “I’d say I like what you’ve done with the place, but it’s actually making me feel a little
 cagey.”

He turned to look at her out of the corner of his eye, still for a moment, before he uncoiled his fist, turned around, and laughed softly, stepping away from the wooden support.

She grimaced. “Gods, sorry. That sounded much more clever in my head.” She appeared to be carrying a large sack over her back, and a smaller satchel in her other hand. The big one, she set down with a soft clink, but the second one, she kept hold of, opening the drawstring mouth of it and fishing out what seemed to be a piece of jerky or something. She held the bag out to him, clearly in offering.

“Don’t mind if I say so, but you look like you could use some. It’s elk, but they brined it in apples. Might be my favorite food ever. I was saving it for a celebration, but
 don’t foresee many of those in the future.”

He was hungry, the workout only making him more so. When the light hit him more clearly, especially from the ceiling above, it lit up the multitude of scars that lined his body, all across his chest and back, blade and magic scars in equal measure. There were old burns, puncture wounds, slashes, too many individual ones to count. He was able to see Khari a little better when she came close, and he noted the bruises on her jaw and cheekbone.

Romulus took a few pieces of jerky from the bag, trying out the first, and humming his approval as soon as he'd chewed a few times. "Thanks." He gestured up at her, frowning. "What happened to you?" The question was asked casually.

She was clearly making an inspection of his inventory of scars, though it was for once not plain on her face exactly what she thought. His question, though, brought her eyes back to his, and she huffed. “Got into a fight with the taller, stronger, prettier and more charismatic elf in the group. Got my ass handed to me.” She frowned; it was hard to say for sure, but there seemed to be something worse than a simple lost match underneath the expression, but she shook her head.

“I really hate feeling like a redundancy. The lesser of two, even.” She bit off another piece of jerky with more force than was perhaps strictly necessary, mumbling something around her food that sounded suspiciously like ‘stupid shiny bastard’, but it wasn’t completely clear whether that was the right interpretation.

Romulus wasn't too surprised. From what he'd figured out, Khari was more than willing to fight anyone, even if the odds were vastly in favor of her opponent. Hell, he figured she'd fight the commander if he ever had the time. She didn't seem to care about whatever was stacked against her, and simply tried anyway. He liked that about her, a great deal.

As for Vesryn... Romulus shrugged. "He seems like an ass. And there's something not right about him. He's... too well put together, or something. At least you're genuine." He didn't have the slightest clue what he felt was off about the elven man, other than he didn't know it was possible for an elf to have the kind of demeanor he had. That alone put him on guard. Romulus tore off another piece of jerky.

"You're not redundant, or lesser. Not to me." He might've said some other things, about her strength, her charisma, her prettiness, even. The tallness thing wasn't really up for debate. But he felt he'd said enough already.

That seemed to lift her spirits considerably, and she smiled again. “Thanks, Rom. That means a lot.” Her eyes wandered to the larger sack she’d brought with her, and lit up, almost as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh! That’s right. I got you something. Kind of. Don’t suppose your birthday’s anytime soon, is it?”

He half smiled at the mention of a gift, and his eyes wandered to the sack. In fact, he was a bit unsure how to feel at the prospect of being given something. Suddenly, he was quite intensely unsure if it was acceptable for him to take whatever she offered... since nothing he had was actually his. Not even, to an extent, his life.

At her question, he shrugged. "I have no idea when I was born."

Khari seemed stunned for about two seconds before she appeared to do a bit of mental calculation and most likely came to the correct conclusion. “Oh, right. I’m stupid sometimes, aren’t I?” she huffed, but then her face brightened again. “But the best part of not having a birthday is that you get to choose one, and on that day, everyone gives you free stuff and has to be nice to you. It’s great.” She shrugged.

“If I were you, I’d pick something like
 a couple weeks out and tell everyone about it so they had some time to pull some good presents together, but in my case, I already thought about it, so.” She nudged the sack towards him with a foot, but she did it carefully.

“Happy birthday, or something. At least I’m not late, right?”

He understood the gesture, and he was appreciative of it, truly, but it would be plain to see that she'd made him uncomfortable with this. Whatever smile he formerly had faded while she described birthdays to him. He knew what a birthday was. Just because he didn't have one himself didn't mean he hadn't watched those more fortunate than himself celebrating theirs. Specifically, they were the people he had served his entire life.

Some of the slaves he had known knew their birthdays, but any celebration was kept to a minimum. Any gift had to be something terribly small, or otherwise consumable; most slaves would prefer a good bit of food to a worthless trinket that was only going to arouse suspicion in a master. The bag in front of him now was big, much too big. And Romulus had done little other than think of his status as a slave lately. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

He backed away a few steps, eyeing the sack warily. "I shouldn't. Whatever it is, I shouldn't take it."

She looked at him with some clear consternation, but then shook her head. “It’s not
” Khari sighed softly. “It’s not a big thing, really. I know I talked it up a lot, but I
 can I lend it to you? I’m serious, you can give it back whenever you don’t want it anymore. It’s not a personal thing, I’m not
” For once, she seemed less-than-sure of her words, like she was struggling to frame the nature of the exchange.

He was overthinking it, he knew he was, but it seemed important to him, especially with how she had presented it. She was his friend, and he knew she considered him the same. He also believed that she wouldn't understand that anything he touched, anything he called his own, was immediately tainted, and automatically inherited by the one that owned him. A Dalish girl who had left her life behind to try and become a chevalier of all things? No, she wouldn't understand. She'd never seen any place like the place he came from.

Carefully, like he expected to find a poisonous snake inside, Romulus crouched down, and opened the sack.

Inside of it were several pieces of glassware, mostly: an alembic, a retort, several vials with stoppers, and a few flasks, as well as all the pieces of wood and metal necessary to set everything up properly on a desk or table, for the work of an alchemist. At the bottom lay a wooden case, well-made and fitted with a red iron lock. None of the pieces were obviously elaborate, but they were very well-made, and well-suited for the tasks they’d been designed for.

“It’s
 it’s stuff for your tonics.” Khari sounded much more tentative than she previously had, and her mouth pulled to the side, as though she were unsure what expression she should be wearing. “I remember you telling me that they protected you from magic, and that you were running out, so I talked to Rilien about what you would need to make them, and he said this would be what you ought to have for it. The box has reagents.”

Romulus examined a few of the set's pieces with the utmost care, kneeling down and taking the alchemical equipment with steady hands. It was not as horrible a feeling as he'd thought, especially once he realized that these things were not hers to begin with. She'd worked with Rilien to acquire them. They were probably the Inquisition's more than hers. It was simply her own thoughtfulness that led them to his hands, since he was too unaccustomed to asking for anything of his own.

Satisfied with the examination, he put everything he'd removed back in the back, and closed it up. "I can't keep it," he said, with a little more certainty than he'd managed to muster before. "But I can use it. At least until the Breach is closed, and I have to go back." He picked up the bag, carried it over to the rest of his small pile of things, mostly consisting of his clothes, armor, and weapons, and set it down. He donned a light linen shirt on his way back to her.

"You know I'll have to go back, right? To Minrathous?" Things would be a great deal more simple, and also more complicated, if he didn't have to go back. But there was no sense thinking about that. While he was yet owned, he was still bound to Tevinter, and allowing himself to entertain other possibilities only led to pain. It was something he'd learned as a child, and didn't want to have to learn again.

Khari rubbed at the back of her head, inadvertently fluffing up a few more rambunctious curls from her plait, and sucked on her teeth for a second. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but
 do you have to?” She seemed honestly curious, rather than upset or contrary or anything like that. “I guess I’m just
 trying to imagine what would happen if you decided you didn’t want to, you know? You’re here, and there’s this big army between you and anything anyone in Minrathous could send your way, and I don’t really see anyone forcing you to leave on this end, exactly.” She sighed.

“But really, what the hell do I know? I’m just a fool with a sword and a side of crazy. I can’t pretend like I understand how any of this works.”

"An army is just an inconvenience to an assassin," Romulus said, somewhat sadly. If he were a different person, someone who had been placed much more by chance than by design at the Conclave, this would likely be much simpler for him. He probably could just escape from his past. But he was not a different person. "Chryseis Viridius, the woman that owns me, invested a great deal to make me into the weapon that I am. To make an enemy of her would be unwise, even if I wanted to." He sometimes felt he didn't use her name enough, and he wondered which way was better. Was it better to be reminded that a real person, someone made of the same stuff he was, owned his body and mind? Or was it better for her to simply remain as domina, a simple, controlling force, to be followed without hesitation?

"She has powerful allies, and a personal interest in my loyalty. To betray her would bring pain or death... but probably not to me." Killing him would be an abandonment of her investment. Killing his cause for betrayal would be the answer. At the very least, proving that it was in danger would give him reason to return to her service. In essence, any cause he had would be in immediate danger, until he no longer had it. There was no way out. He had accepted this.

"This... whatever this is, with the Inquisition. It's nothing more than a diversion for me. When it's done, I will leave with her, like nothing ever changed." The thought obviously weighed on him, but he seemed set in stone in the way he thought about it.

“Well
 shit.” Khari apparently thought this was a sitting-down kind of problem, because she plonked herself rather gracelessly onto the floor after saying that, crossing her legs and propping her elbows on them. She rested her chin in a hand, rubbing at the bruises still on her jaw with her fingers, prodding them, almost. Her brows knit together over her eyes, darker than usual in the gloom of the cell block, and creases appeared at the corners of them. When she spoke again, it was slower and with more deliberateness than she generally had, and less certainty. Clearly, this kind of thinking wasn’t her usual element, but she was putting the effort into it.

“I mean
 I guess it sounds like any way this gets sliced up, she’s your problem, then. So
 without ruling anything out yet, seems like there’s three obvious options for that. One, you convince her somehow that she’s better off if she doesn’t
 keep
 you.” The last few words were awkward on her tongue; very clearly, she wasn’t used to using terms like that when talking about people, but she didn’t comment on it. “Seems unlikely, from what you’ve said. Two, you could make some kind of
 exchange, I guess? I don’t know how much she thinks you’re, uh
 worth, or how that works, but theoretically there’s something she’d be willing to accept in your stead, maybe?” Khari frowned, then shook her head. “And three, well
 get her before she gets you.”

She made a face, then regarded him speculatively over her knuckles. “But that all assumes you’d want to stay. That you’d have a reason to want that. I mean, if it were me, I would, but it’s not. It’s you, and only you can decide what you want. Only you can possibly know, even, unless you tell someone.” Those words were perhaps the most uncertain of all, giving away the fact that his mental state was likely quite opaque to her, though she appeared to be trying to understand him as well as she could.

"What I want is rarely relevant. And Chryseis is only my problem if I make her into one.” It was obviously difficult for many to grasp, especially in the south of Thedas, why a slave would ever want to remain a slave. And that wasn’t necessarily something Romulus wanted, but he did think it was probably for the best. For him, and for everyone else. His status actually afforded him a fair bit more than the vast majority of enslaved in Tevinter, and undoubtedly a great many free people living in other lands. If he had to sacrifice several personal freedoms to maintain that
 well, he’d proven already that it was a sacrifice he was willing and able to make.

He took a seat against one of the wooden supports, leaning his head back against it and momentarily glancing up at the torch hanging above him. "I may have painted her as an enemy to me, but I also owe her, and her father, everything. I am who I am because of them. This
 excursion, whatever I should call it, has already been more than I expected. I should be satisfied with that.” Humbling his desires was something Romulus had worked many years to do, and since being roped into the Inquisition he’d allowed them to wander, inappropriately so.

He regarded the way she sat, how she looked so thoughtful, with a smile of his own. She was putting a lot of effort into this, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. "I will miss you when I have to go, of course.”

Khari was quiet for a while, clearly digesting what he’d said, and though the look she fixed him with then was measured, she did smile a bit. “I’d miss you too, naturally. Haven’t had a friend in a while; managed to forget how nice it was.” A pause, and then: “This might sound weird, but
 if you ever get the urge to tell someone something irrelevant, not for advice or to do anything about it, but
 just to say it, then I’m here. Used to be that what I wanted was pretty irrelevant, too, not that I’m saying it was the same situation. Just
 I still wanted stuff, and I remember sometimes being almost choked, feeling like I couldn’t talk about it with anyone else.”

He scratched the side of his head a bit awkwardly, but his smile didn't disappear. "I... thanks, Khari. I'll keep that in mind."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
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Those who had been cast down,
The demons who would be gods,
Began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth.
And the men of Tevinter heard and raised altars
To the pretender-gods once more,
And in return were given, in hushed whispers,
The secrets of darkest magic.
—Canticle of Threnodies 5:11
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The journey up to Redcliffe proved mostly uneventful. Considering the effort that was going into these negotiations, most of the Inquisition’s leadership would be showing up at one point or another, but in order to minimize risk and maximize efficiency, a multi-stage arrival plan had been put in place. A small team had been sent in first; Donnelly’s squad of Lions, to be exact. Their reputation would get them in the door with no troubles, and they’d been doing much of the Inquisition’s work in the Hinterlands anyway, which meant it was no extra effort to get them that far.

Following behind them was the first party of the Inquisition proper, and that consisted of an even smaller group: both Estella and Romulus, as well as Khari, Asala, Meraad, and Leon, which was a group that would make a statement, if nothing else, simply by being who they were. They’d run into no trouble up the road—presumably any there would have been had been cleared out by Donnelly’s team on the way up, though that had been couple of days ago. Even bandits were usually smart enough not to repopulate an area that quickly, after all.

Unfortunately, the calm was not to last, and they were climbing the incline towards the gates of Redcliffe when Estella first saw the greenish cast to the area ahead of them, and grimaced. That could only mean a rift in the Fade had opened there, and that wasn’t good news for anyone. How long it had been there, she didn’t know, but obviously there wasn’t anyone in the town itself that could close it. As they approached, the crystal shifted and crackled ominously, before doing exactly what she knew it was going to do and spitting out half a dozen demons onto the ground before them. Mostly terrors, but it looked like at least one of them was a Despair demon, as well, and the brief burst of crushing sadness that threatened to claw its way up her throat seemed to confirm it.

The quick staccato of footsteps behind her was not difficult to predict, and as usual, Khari breezed right past any attempt to coordinate an approach or strategize as such, in much the same way she breezed past anyone still walking at an ordinary pace, charging the line of demons with palpable enthusiasm. Then again, strategizing might not have helped much anyway—their approach had clearly been noticed. Possibly even less surprising was the fact that she angled herself right for the Despair demon, the most obvious threat on the field, and she brought her unwieldy sword up and over her shoulder, swinging it down to cleave right into the monster’s head.

But the demon, as their kind did, leaped backwards with supernatural agility, and Khari’s sword met empty air. Pulling the strike back with a look of surprise, she blinked, followed its trajectory with her eyes, and grinned, ducking to the side to get out of the way of the ice magic it hurled for her. “You wanna dance? Let’s go, fiend!” And then she was off again after it.

Romulus charged for the terrors, pulling his crossbow free and loosing a bolt into one's shoulder. It wailed and dove straight into the ground, disappearing in its magical pool. Paying it no mind, he continued his charge for the one behind it, which screamed at him, baring claws, before beginning the same spell, about to disappear into the earth. Romulus replaced his crossbow onto his back and closed in.

Before it could vanish beneath the earth, a strange circle of yellow-green light appeared around it on the ground, and the air within the circle's perimeter gaze off a subtle shimmer. The terror's movements suddenly slowed to a crawl, as it slowly spread the magical pool beneath it in an attempt to relocate. Romulus disregarded the strange sight and closed the gap, using the slow movements of the terror to get in close. He made a dive for the terror once in range, looking to plunge his knife into its chest.

When he crossed the edge of the circle, Romulus slowed remarkably as well, though he was entirely suspended in the air. He simply moved at an extremely slow rate towards the terror, as it steadily sank further into the ground. The world around them proceeded at its normal pace.

Estella had no idea what was causing that, but she noted that several other circles or areas of shimmering gold had appeared as well, on the ground around the rift, and she nearly stopped her own progress into the fray, before she shook herself out of it and continued forward, making a note to avoid them where possible. Keeping pace beside her, Leonhardt didn’t seem to care quite as much, and when he stepped into one himself, she observed the opposite effect: he suddenly accelerated, seeming to move at triple the speed until he emerged on the other side, now far ahead of her and looking almost perplexed, which she could see because he was neither helmeted nor armored.

In spite of that, the hit he aimed at the terror nearest him cracked up into its jaw with a resounding crunch, the creature staggered from the blow, unable to retreat inside the voidlike darkness it had been forming at its feet. He was so tall that he simply reached up and took hold of its head, wrenching hard to the side and breaking its thin neck in what she guessed was several places. He flinched a little when it hit the ground, but she couldn’t see what happened after that, because another pool of darkness was forming underneath her, and she had to dive off it, much more prepared for the horror than she had been last time, and the end of her sword stabbed into its back, puncturing a lung before it could shriek and send her to the ground.

She pulled the blade out and thrust her hand up towards the rift, seeking to disrupt it and give her allies ample time to finish off the other demons.

"I hate these creatures," Meraad stated. He was not too far from Estella, just close enough to see smoke rising from his fingertips, and the after affects of a lightning storm around him. Not long after however, darkness began to form underneath his feet. "Asala!" he called, back stepping out of the cloud and was summarily replaced by a sheet of translucent energy-- one of Asala's barriers.

The terror erupted from the ground and met the barrier instantly, the force of which bowing the shield outward before shattering outright. The act stunned the horror long enough for Estella to disrupt the rift, sending it further into confusion. Meraad began to rush the terror, his hands crackling with electricity. Before he was able to strike however, a barrier formed in front of him, slamming into the terror first and putting it on the ground.

Meraad finished by driving the lightning infused fist into the mass of flesh that was its face.

“Ha!” The sharp cry of victory, however, belonged not to him, but to Khari, and the soft burst of a demon being forced back into the Fade followed, a testament to her success over the Despair creature. The lingering hint of oppressive melancholy lifted as well, and it wasn’t long before Khari could be spotted diving back into the fight, hewing another one of the horrors almost in half with a mighty swing of her cleaver.

Meanwhile, Romulus had finally reached the still-diving horror with his diving attack, his blade plunging into its chest at an incredibly slow rate, but still producing a strong spurt of black blood, and still driving the demon out of its hole. The circle steadily began to shrink around them, and when they eventually passed outside of it, the two tumbled around swiftly, back at normal speed, with Romulus ending up on top, where he ended the terror with a swift stab. He looked up at the rest of the fight, blinkly rapidly, obviously confused.

That left one, until it didn’t, because Leon had gotten to it in the intervening time and taken it down, as well. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to end up standing on its back, pressing its face into the dirt, but he did, and a well-placed stomp snapped its neck, stilling it permanently. It, like the others, faded away into nothing, leaving them with nothing but the rift itself. Once more, Estella raised her hand towards it, the ribbon of green light bursting from her palm to connect her to the disruption in the sky. She felt the familiar tingling in her arm, but she must be getting better at this, because it was no longer painful to do, exactly, only a bit uncomfortable.

With a muted bang, the rift disappeared, and Estella breathed a sigh of relief, sheathing her saber and glancing between Romulus and Leon. “What
 happened? It looked like you were moving so slowly, but you seemed to be going much too fast.” She shifted her eyes along with the descriptions, and so they ended on the commander, who was frowning thoughtfully.

“At a guess? That rift specifically was somehow able to create localized distortions in time. Though it’s nothing I’ve ever even heard of before, and I’m not sure how it’s possible.” His expression briefly became a grimace. “A question for Cyrus, more than any of us, I should think.”

She had to agree with him about that, and nodded, but anything further was interrupted by the sound of the gate, and she immediately turned her attention towards it. From inside Redcliffe emerged two figures, walking side-by-side, and they were both familiar to her, though one of them was extremely unexpected. The first was Donnelly, who looked at the spot the rift had been and whistled softly under his breath.

“It’s really just gone, isn’t it? Hard to believe before I saw it, honestly.” He smiled briefly at her before his expression sobered again, and he addressed the group at large. “So, uh
 you’re sure the mages were supposed to be expecting us, right? Because we managed to secure the inn for negotiations, but
 the situation’s not at all like we thought.” He turned to the woman beside him, expectantly, as though inviting her to continue.

Estella hadn’t known Aurora very well, but she did recognize her, though it had been some years since she saw her last. “Aurora? I didn’t realize you were in Redcliffe.” She must have been the contact here Rilien was talking about. Which meant she knew who the other one probably was, too. But that was a thought for another time.

Aurora's face was not a happy one, though she did allow a smile to slip through when she recognized Estella. "We'd heard you were the Herald, and I guess that settles it," she said, indicating to where the rift had been only moments before. "That was good work, though I'd expect nothing less from the Lions," she said with a grin angled toward Donnelly, who shifted slightly awkwardly. Aurora opened her mouth in order to say something else, but closed it and raised an eyebrow. Something seemed to have distracted her.

Or someone rather. "Asala?" she asked, the smile on her lips widening.

"Hi Aurora," Asala replied, stepping by Estella and toward Aurora, only stopping when she wrapped the smaller woman into an embrace. "It is good to see you, Ash-Talan," she added, though apparently she was unaware that she was lifting Aurora off of her feet. Aurora did not complain, and returned the embrace until she was finally set back down.

"When we heard about the Conclave we were all so worried. We were so glad when Meraad got your letter," Aurora said, gripping the woman's hands tightly. Her gaze then drifted over her shoulder to the grinning Meraad. "Ah, I see you found her rather quickly," she said with a wide smile, though Meraad seemed confused by something.

Donnelly seemed to catch on quickly to what the issue was, which was good because Estella had no idea why Meraad seemed confused by anything. “Everyone in Redcliffe is like this,” he said, grimacing slightly. “It took talking to Aurora for me to really understand, but
 no one’s expecting us here, and as far as I can tell, they all think the explosion at the Conclave was very recent. Meraad’s been gone for a few weeks, by our understanding, but somehow
 it’s only been a couple of days here, or everyone thinks it’s only been a couple of days, or
 something. I don’t really understand, but the point is, we weren’t expected."

“Not even the by Grand Enchanter?” That was Leon, and Estella nodded to second the question.

Donnelly only shook his head. “No, not even by her. And it’s former Grand Enchanter now, if I’m understanding things properly.”

That caused Aurora to cover her face and gently rub at her temples. "It's a... it's a huge mess," Aurora said, clearly not happy with whatever had transpired. "No, for some foolish reason or another, Fiona thought we would have more of a chance if we pledged ourselves to a Tevinter Magister. So no. Fiona is not in charge any more. A magister named Cassius Viridius is," Aurora said, unable to hide the upset tone.

Asala covered her mouth in surprise, and Meraad's brow raised. They exchanged glances before they looked back to Aurora. "I tried to warn anyone I could, but it was our only option," she said, apparently parrotting something someone else had told her. "I really hope the Inquisition can help. I will not follow a Magister. If it were my choice, I would follow you," she said, her eyes falling on Estella.

Estella’s eyes went wide, but not from Aurora’s declaration of support, surprising as she might otherwise have found it. Rather, the name triggered a memory, and she glanced immediately at Romulus, then back to Aurora. This
 this probably wasn’t good. She wished Cyrus were here—he’d be arriving shortly, of course, and as soon as he did, they’d need to talk about this, because she wasn’t sure under what terms he’d left his teacher or whether his presence might prove of help or detriment to them in negotiating with the man. The fact that southern mages had pledged something to a Tevinter Magister was unusual, for sure, but Estella couldn’t exactly muster the same obvious disgust that Aurora felt, not without understanding the situation further.

“This is quite a bit of information. We ought to get inside, await the rest of our party, and then decide what to do.” The declaration was more order than suggestion, which made sense, considering it was coming from the commander. Glad to have something more productive to do than sit around and speculate, Estella nodded.

“Right. This
 will make things complicated.” Perhaps more complicated than most of the others here would know.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus could not calm the storm in his mind.

Chryseis Viridius was in Redcliffe, and he hadn't known it until she walked into the room with him. He'd only barely managed to avoid ruining the cover she wanted him to have, thanks to the intervention from Cyrus. Thankfully, Cassius had paid him little mind after that. He was, after all, still just a runaway slave to him, beneath worry or consideration, especially next to his lost apprentice. And Estella had forced him to make a quick exit.

He could have managed well enough if it had just been Cassius. He was just another magister, despite their history. Romulus had only ever called the man dominus for a period of a few short years, before he was transitioned fully into the service of his daughter. Chryseis was running her own affairs almost immediately after the first attempt on her life, and it was not long before she was split off from her father almost completely. Even when he had been in the man's service, it was as one of a much larger group of slaves. Chryseis was the one to have seen the worth in him, and made him into her blade.

Her being here just seem to muddle an already confusing situation. He expected to be glad to have her direct presence again, commands to follow, a side that he knew he could be on, a return to his old ways of not needing to think, or decide anything. But she was having him pose like a runaway slave, and he knew not why, or what she was doing here. He trusted her, but also knew her to be a woman capable of many things.

That... and he couldn't shake the dislike he felt for letting others see him around her. Perhaps he wasn't any different here than before, but he found himself ever so slightly ashamed, of himself. A feeling nagged him, telling him that he should want more, even if he knew it to be a dangerous path. Could any of them understand his difficulties? Was he capable of explaining?

For now, he didn't much want to. The waiting was proving agonizing, so he occupied himself with walking instead, and listening. Very few people recognized him for who he was, even with the marks on his face. He wore no identifying clothing, nor did he openly display the mark on his hand. He watched people, conversations, peculiarities, and learned a bit about this mage rebellion to keep his mind busy, until the sun could set. He learned several things. Very few Tranquil not already out of the Circles had survived the initial rebellions. One of the Chantry sisters remaining was a smuggler, but currently out of work. An elven man was trying to find a traveler willing to bring flowers to his wife's grave. And few of the people present were happy about anyone from Tevinter being there.

Eventually, Romulus found himself wandering up towards a broken old watchtower, hoping to get a better view of the castle fortifications from there. Cassius and his guards had no doubt moved in and secured the place. Knowing more of it could only benefit them.

The watchtower had a ladder which led up to what was now a wooden platform of solid, if only partially intact, construction. The wall that was supposed to be there had fallen away at an angle, meaning that, essentially, the platform looked out over the area uninhibited by architecture. It would seem, however, that Romulus was not the first person to arrive there, or have the thought of using it for the view, because Khari was already present, her legs dangling over the edge of the platform, knocking her heels occasionally against the stone and mortar of the fragmented outside wall. Her sword lay flat behind her, within easy reaching distance, though she clearly didn’t expect to have to use it, from her relaxed posture.

She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the old ladder, her expression pensive for all of a moment before she recognized him and grinned. “Hey, you. Did you come for the view, or the solitude? ‘Cause I’m bound to ruin the second one.” As was quite common, she appeared to be eating, this time from a loaf of bread fresh enough that it still steamed, from which she periodically tore pieces.

Despite himself, Romulus snorted slightly, and grinned. He stopped near the base of the ladder, turning towards Redcliffe's castle and crossing his arms. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, at least, currently throwing light directly at him. He squinted and gazed out at the fortress beyond.

"Scouting. The castle looks difficult to get into. The walls would be the best way, but it wouldn't be an easy climb." This was not an uncommon task for him, finding ways to get into a place that where he didn't belong. He'd infiltrated the Conclave, after all... though he didn't quite remember how.

Suddenly, he remembered Khari had not been present for any of the proceedings in the tavern, and quite possibly didn't know what was going on. She didn't seem the type to inquire, either, if it was complicated magical business that in general was above her head. Romulus couldn't help but think it was good that she wasn't there. She might've caused an issue that they really didn't need.

"Have you been told what the situation is, with the mages?"

She hummed a bit, keeping her eyes out on the castle. “Not really. But I heard a name I recognized. Seems
 complicated.” She leaned over in her position, looking down at him directly with an arched brow, a clear invitation to elaborate, but she didn’t seem inclined to press otherwise. “View’s better up here, you know. Also, there’s bread in it for you if you come sit with me, and this stuff’s delicious. In case my excellent company’s not enough incentive.” She patted the platform next to herself with obvious exaggeration.

He looked away from the castle, up at the bread Khari held. Soon enough, he was scaling the ladder, skipping a few rungs, and climbing up on the platform with her, though he looked down at it warily when it creaked slightly under the weight of both of them. The repair efforts on the tower, if they could be called that, had clearly been halted some time ago with all of the region's upheaval, Redcliffe especially.

Romulus split the bread with Khari, exhaling deeply through his nostrils as he chewed. He was silent for a while, and no longer really focusing on the castle. He was a bit tired of it all, tired of worrying about every move and every word. It felt much better to simply do as Khari seemed to, and not be bothered by any of it. If only he were in a position to do so more permanently.

"It is complicated," he finally said, between bites. "But there's no point making any judgements on it until I know more. We'll be speaking tonight." For now, he didn't mind enjoying good bread and a good view.

“Fine by me.” The reply was accompanied by a shrug, and she leaned back on one hand, holding her food in the other, apparently quite content, for the moment, to do the same.

A smoky voice called up from below Romulus and Khari's position, “Partying without me?” Coming from the side of the ladder they had both used. It belonged to the smarmy pirate-Captain, already flashing a toothy grin. When exactly she'd managed to creep up on them was anyone's guess, but she had already taken her own post against the tower's base, arms neatly folded over her chest. And if she'd been eavesdropping on their conversation, she gave no indication of embarrassment or guilt. From the smile plastered on her lips, it was clear that she was pleased by something. She occasionally lifted her chin and stared across the rolling waves, tilting her face as if relishing a lover's caress.

There was a short pause, and the sound of shuffling leathers, as Zahra moved further away so that she could see them properly. One of her eyebrows flagged up inquiringly. Whatever attempts at wrestling down the excitement she obviously felt was reflected in her eyes, dancing like the frothy waves. She held her hands out wide, and waggled her fingers, “I wasn't sure if you'd be interested. But fancy a walk along the docks?”

Romulus hadn't expected a visit from the pirate captain, but it wasn't unwelcome. She seemed like a good woman to kill time with, putting Romulus in the company of two of the best, then. He shrugged at Khari, and then nimbly slid down the ladder to the bottom, landing lightly on his feet.

"Don't see why not."

Khari crammed the rest of the bread she was holding into her mouth at once, though fortunately she seemed polite enough to finish chewing before she spoke, at least. It took her a few seconds to strap her sword properly to her back, and then she slid down the ladder after Romulus, landing surprisingly lightly for someone wearing armor.

“Sure. Didn’t have anything more exciting planned, anyhow.” She flashed her usual ragged grin and shrugged.

The Redcliffe docks were fairly active, though this was no city, and could not possibly be mistaken for a port. The lake had no real ships, as they were all contained to the Waking Sea, though there was a way to slip through, at the northernmost point, close to the now-empty Calenhad Circle tower. Currently, the docks were a site of trading, the rather unique conditions of the village meaning that all sorts were currently passing through, setting up makeshift stalls, and doing their unique form of preying upon the Circle mages, some of which were still a bit fresh to the outside world.

In busy places like these, Romulus felt a bit closer to home. The sounds of voices were easy to get lost in, and both Zahra and Khari did no small amount of talking on either side of him. Most important of his crowd-oriented skills was to pick out the other individuals that were a part of it, but not participating in it. The other people that would rather watch, and listen, than speak. One of these in particular stuck out fairly obviously to Romulus.

He was an older man, probably in his fifties, wearing a long coat of a red-orange leather, with a thick, wide collar. His skin was dusky, evidence of either Rivaini or Antivan heritage, though Romulus hadn't gotten a close enough look to determine which. His hair and beard were a soft brown, both long and full. He had the look of a seafarer about him, judging by his light, loose clothes under the coat. He'd been keeping his distance while they moved through the docks, but unmistakably watching their group. Well, unmistakable to Romulus at least.

"There's a man following us, watching," he said to his two companions. "Behind me, at the dock's edge. Long red coat. Either of you know him?" He wondered if the man wasn't there to see Zahra. She seemed like a woman that would make a fair amount of both friends and enemies.

Khari turned very obviously to look over her shoulder, clearly either unaware that it would be incredibly easy to spot or just not caring. When she noticed the person in question, she lifted a hand, and waved, wiggling her fingers and smiling a little too widely for the situation. She turned back though, her expression dropping back to something more ordinary, and lifted a shoulder. “Never seen that guy before in my life. We could just ask him?" Despite her emphasis, her statement rose at the end to become a question, and she arched a brow.

Zahra sauntered down the docks, as content as a rat might've been skirting down a rusty pipe. She seemed far too busy scrutinizing the boats, dipping in the waters, to notice anyone watching them. Lips pulled into a permanent smile. She halted in mid-trot when Romulus indicated that someone had been actually paying them more mind than was necessary. There was a brief pause, and a murmured curse, before she followed Khari's example and simply turned on her heels to face whoever was rude enough to follow them. She wasn't, however, particularly surprised. One had to wonder whether or not this was a common occurrence.

“Bloody hell,” were the first words hissing from between her teeth, “No need to ask him. His name is Borja. Captain Borja. What the hell does he want?” From the way her smile faded into a tight-lipped frown, Zahra certainly recognized the man Romulus was pointing out. Her expression seemed a few shades more sour, though she did offer bearded man a cheeky smile, one that did not quite reach her eyes. She turned back towards Romulus, and Khari both, and let out a soft sigh, “We'd best ask him what he wants. He's not one to simply walk away.” She shuffled towards Borja, steps a little heavier this time.

"Fair enough,” Romulus said. He supposed he should have been put more on edge by the fact that they had another captain, apparently a man to give Zahra some pause, on their tail. Really, Romulus was just a bit relieved that he was there for Zahra, in all likelihood, since the two apparently knew each other. Perhaps it would also be interesting to meet someone else from the northern seas.

"I’ll follow your lead.” Zahra was the captain here, the one with experience dealing with these types. Romulus preferred a way to get through this without saying anything at all, if it was possible. Thus, he followed a half-step behind Zahra as they walked directly towards Borja, not giving him any option to quietly slip away. His fingers fumbled together near belt-level, and he didn’t turn his head towards them, but from the way he’d centered his hips, it was obvious he knew they were approaching. If Romulus had to peg it as anything, he’d guess the man was actually a bit shy.

He glanced up at Zahra first, offering a brief flash of a smile, his teeth whiter than Romulus had expected. He spared a glance for Khari as well, before his eyes lingered on Romulus a bit longer than he preferred. He was a tall man, around six feet, but from the way he carried himself, he actually seemed a bit shorter than that. “Zahra Tavish,” he greeted, his voice a low growl, but quiet, almost tentative, like the words weren’t easily forced from him. “Captain, of course I should say, forgive me. Didn’t expect to see you in Redcliffe. A
 pleasure, as always.”

Zahra's mouth twitched up at the edges as if she were trying to conjure up a kinder, well-intentioned part of herself and failing horribly at it. She seemed to decide on something less friendly. A small, mirthless smirk. As soon as they came to stand in front of Borja, she rustled her fingers through her messy hair, and eyed him through the curly strands that fell back into place. Her eyebrows pinched together for a moment. An expression passed. Perhaps, irritation. But as quickly as it had come, she smothered it back down, “Captain Borja. Likewise. This it the last place I expected to see you.”

She stood like an immovable stone, far too close to Borja than was comfortable for either of them. Shoulders slack and hands sliding back to take their posts on her hips. Even though she was looking up into his face, it appeared as if her presence towered over his own. She clicked her tongue and glanced over her shoulder, regarding Romulus. It seemed as if she hadn't missed the unusual attention Borja had been giving him. “I'd love to say that this is just a pleasant coincidence, but we're hardly in the business of those.” Although she posed no questions, they lingered there just the same.

He cocked his head sideways a bit, his eyes holding somewhere near Zahra's shoulder. "Coin's no coincidence, and there's plenty to made here. Mages... always need lyrium." Romulus was immediately prompted to look around for boats, or whatever means the pirate captain had used to transport the lyrium he'd mentioned. There were a few boats of varying sizes around the dock, none suitable to be manned by a single person. Borja had to have crew members around.

"Nice marks you have, boy," Borja said, the words half grumbled. Romulus snapped his gaze back onto him, aware that he was being spoken to directly now. He narrowed his eyes at the man. Unlike with the others, Borja looked him right in the face when he spoke. "You know what they mean?"

The way he said it... to Romulus, it implied that Borja knew, and was merely testing him, wondering if he knew as well. He pursed his lips tightly together, stepped forward past Zahra, and reached to grab Borja by the front of his coat. He hardly reacted, even when tugged forward half a step.

"What do you want?" With me was the unneeded addendum, and Borja seemed to get the message clearly enough. He simply looked down at Romulus, as though the other people present no longer existed, or anyone or anything on the dock, for that matter.

"I heard about a Herald of Andraste, a Rivaini man with marks on his face. Came to have a look myself. Now I've had it."

Zahra had stumbled back a few steps, away from Borja and Romulus. She now stood beside Khari. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and whatever veneer of patience she'd been demonstrating fell away. Replacing it was a molar-crunching temper rearing its ugly head, indicated by the way her face contorted. Lips pulled back like a snarling hound, teeth flashing. Her eyes twirled like two hard pieces of flint. “Who told you? Don't tell me you'd come all this way just for a look.”

Her hand brushed across her leather belt. She was obviously uninterested in wasting anymore breath. Her fingers tickled the dagger that hung there, threatening as ever, “Tick tock, Borja.”

"I've done nothing to you," he stated flatly. "You wanna carve me over nothing, in front of these people you're trying to win over, be my guest." Now that he noticed it, their exchange had drawn some attention, specifically the rough grabbing of the coat, and Zahra's snarling. Romulus released Borja's coat, shoving it back against him. He let out a short huh in reply.

"Might be I have some interesting things to tell you," he said, taking a step back, "but I'm not in the habit of giving anything away for free. And you've got... other things to worry about right now. I'll be in touch, Herald." He turned, heading out onto the dock, an Antivan man who had been conversing with a local suddenly falling into step with him. The pair headed towards one of the smaller boats.

Romulus gave no pursuit to the pirate captain, for he was right in that there were more immediate things to be concerned with. Something about him, though... Romulus wasn't used to being recognized, to being sought out by men from across the world. He stroked his forehead as Borja and his compatriot set out from onto the water.

"This day can't be over quick enough."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Despite all the personal ties to the mission they'd found themselves in, Romulus continuously reminded himself that this wasn't, in fact, personal.

Chryseis was here because her father was, not because he was. That part was merely an uncomfortable coincidence. Regardless of what happened in the aftermath of their trip to Redcliffe, the mission there remained the same: sever the link between Cassius and the Free Mages, and secure their aid for the Inquisition. The rest was of no consequence. He wondered if he could make that true by repeating it enough.

The same group that had attended the initial tavern meeting with Cassius was headed to the Chantry, with the addition of Khari. In truth, Romulus didn't want her to come along, but as usual, he felt he had no place in telling her to stay behind, and hid any form of displeasure behind his stony features when they made their way, armed and armored, for the Chantry. The streets cleared out nicely at night, and there was a sort of tenseness to the chill in the air, as though the village knew that its fate would be decided sooner rather than later.

The way to the Chantry was clear, but as they approached the steps leading to its doors, several clergy members in varying states of undress burst out from within, terrified. From the brief moment the doors had swung open, Romulus could hear the familiar sound of a rift, and see the ominous green light reflecting off of the ceiling. They hurried inside.

The rift had appeared right in the center of the main hall, spewing forth shades and wraiths. A hooded woman in Tevinter robes, clearly Chryseis, was the only one currently battling them. The bottom end of her battle staff was sharply bladed, and she stabbed down into the shoulder of the nearest shade, causing it to roar in pain. Before it could move any more, runes along the handle of the staff glowed a bright, hot red, and suddenly the shade exploded from within in a fiery blast. Chryseis pulled her hood back, and looked to the newcomers.

"I could do this all night," she twisted, leaning back from a slash, and stabbing her staff's blade into the chest of the next shade, "but I'd really rather not!" The runes turned an icy blue, and then a massive chunk of jagged ice burst through the shade's body, shattering against the back wall. It slumped to the ground, with the large hole clean through its chest.

Romulus charged forward without hesitation, his shield and blade immediately in hand. He absorbed a magical projectile from one of the wraiths in the back, the attack bouncing off his shield. His blade was cutting through the offending demon before it could charge up another.

Khari wasn’t far behind him, splitting off from his trajectory near the end of the run to lunge into another shade, her cleaver slamming into the area between its neck and shoulder, the telltale crunch of its bones breaking within the containment of its flesh. One of them, what might have been a clavicle on a human being, punched through the skin, exposed to open air as it fell, and then she was off in pursuit of another, a bloody trail following behind as ichor dripped from the blade of her sword.

The distinctive crackle of lightning was audible even over the din of the rest of the battle, and Cyrus seemed to materialize on the far side of the rift, the glowing blue blade belonging to his spatha erupting from the chest cavity of a shade even as the one immediately to his right went down in a bright conflagration of flames, turning its dark flesh black and filling the air with the stench of burning meat. Ripping his sword out to the left of the first shade, he cast again, lightning arcing from his fingers to lance into one of those at the front, headed for Estella and Marceline.

“Don’t tell me you’re not having at least a little bit of fun, Chryseis!” His reply was lighthearted enough to be at serious odds with the situation, but then again, he seemed not at all perturbed by the enemies present.

One of the shades pushed itself as quickly as it could along the floor towards Chryseis. She lazily flicked a few fingers in its direction, and ice sprang up around it, freezing it solid. "Everything's more fun with you around, Cyrus," she said, with a hint of a smirk. "But you already know that, of course."

The ice at her fingertips suddenly sparked into flame, and she casually tossed an explosive spell beneath the new ice sculpture. It ignited a moment later, sending small fragments of frozen shade body raining down onto the Chantry floor. It appeared to be the last of the demons. Chryseis turned her head towards Romulus, pulling a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Go on then, blade. Show me your new power."

He nodded, and lifted his shield arm towards the rift. The arc of green energy snapped into place, building and intensifying until the rift exploded. The air where it had been appeared scarred momentarily, but soon cleared altogether, as though the portal had never been present at all. Chryseis smiled in wonder. "Fascinating. And you do that on instinct, then? Do you command it to close?"

"Maybe, domina," Romulus answered, head bowed. "I don't know if will is a part of it. It closes rifts in proximity, when the demons are dealt with."

"And that alone makes you an immensely valuable asset, my dear. You've no memory of how you acquired it, though?"

He shook his head. "No, domina."

"And the same for you, Estella?" she asked, turning away from Romulus. "Nothing of the Conclave?"

Estella sheathed her sword, which had clearly seen some use, if not perhaps a great deal, and stood a fraction straighter, folding her hands behind her back. “No, milady,” she replied, her tone quiet, but not timid. “I can recall why I was there, but nothing that happened during the Conclave itself.”

"Shame," Chryseis said, frowning, "the knowledge of how to recreate such abilities would be immensely powerful, in the right hands." She held the thought a moment, before shaking her head, and returning her focus to the group at large. "No matter. We're here to stop my father, before he accidentally ends the world. At least, I'm hoping it's accidental. He can't be so power-mad as to intentionally jeopardize the stability of time itself." She seemed to realize the gravity of her last sentence, and glanced up at Cyrus.

"That's how we arrived here so quickly, of course. By distorting time. Makes me glad I didn't often see what the two of you got up to while you were his apprentice."

Lady Marceline simply sighed a short distance away, polishing the last of the ash off her rapier with a handkerchief.

Cyrus’s smile was enigmatic. It didn’t seem to be a particularly pleased expression, but nor did it qualify as sheepish. It was unclear if he were even capable of the latter. “Yes, I rather expect it does.” He looked up at the place where the rift used to be, and his expression became obviously calculating. “I hadn’t thought he’d attempt such a large-scale use of the magic without completed stabilization formulae, but I suppose I hadn’t counted on his desperation reaching quite these heights, either.”

He took a moment to brush off the front of his tunic-styled robe, which had acquired a bit of dust, from the look of it, before he moved forward again, descending the stairs to properly join the group, his hands clasped at the small of his back. “Now. I do believe you expressed an interest in stopping him; have you some specific method in mind?” From the way he asked, it seemed he expected that she did.

"You might first want to know what he's here for," Chryseis said, the first words that left her lips that could be described as uneasy. "I'm afraid it's far more than a powerplay in the Magisterium. He's gotten himself mixed up with a cult. Tevinter supremacists, a group called the Venatori. Sadly, I'm little more than an honorary member at this point, despite my cozying up to them. Father's not so easily swayed by me anymore."

She turned to gaze at Romulus, instantly making him uncomfortable. Conversations between his domina and other Tevinter mages were things he was only ever meant to listen to, not become involved in. "What I do know, is that all of this madness, unraveling time, has been to get to you." He looked up only long enough to know that Chryseis indeed meant him with her words. Her eyes then flicked to Estella. "And you. He's become very interested in both of you, that much is clear."

Estella frowned slightly, reaching up to rub at the back of her neck, and rocked back on her heels. “If the cult and his interest in us are connected, it’s probably a safe guess that what they really care about is the Breach,” she said, her dark brows knitting together. “And since we’re already working to close it, a reasonable guess would be that he—or they, rather—want it to stay open, if he went to so much trouble. Do you know why that might be?”

“Well, if these Venatori are in fact a Tevinter supremacist cult, then they want it to stay open because they believe it serves Tevinter.” There was an obvious thread of disgust in Cyrus’s voice as it lilted over the word cult, one that remained at slightly less emphasis throughout the rest. “I can think of half a dozen reasons they might surmise as much, and in each of them is a motive for wanting the two of you out of the picture
” He seemed to drift out of the present for a moment, as though his thoughts were carrying him elsewhere, but then his eyes cleared and he shook his head.

“But none of them would be enough reason for the Cassius I remember to do something quite this
 extreme. Gaining control of the southern mages is one thing. But the use of incomplete time-distortion magic to do it—that suggests something much larger at work.”

"Somehow I doubt the Venatori are the ones behind the rifts, or the Breach. But they're strong, no doubt about that. My father doesn't lead them, but whoever does knows what they're doing." She crossed her arms, brow furrowed in concern. It was not often that Romulus witnessed her displaying concern over another, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. The bonds of family were difficult to break, even in an environment as strange and caustic as the Magisterium.

"Domina, if I may," Romulus said, gently. Pulled from her thoughts, Chryseis met his eyes.

"You have something in mind?"

"Knowing your lord father intends to remove the threat of the Heralds, we can turn his plan against him. Appear to fall into his trap, only to spring one ourselves."

A small gleam of a smile appeared, and she turned to face Romulus in full. "I'm intrigued. Go on."

Romulus folded his hands together before him, lowering his gaze once more. "Magister Cassius has retreated to the castle. Requesting an audience will seemingly place us in his hands. While one party enters the castle directly and absorbs his attention, another infiltrates the fortress and eliminates the danger before it becomes an issue." Chryseis hmmed in thought, before shaking her head.

"And you would lead this infiltration? No. I'm confident you could, but for once your absence would be noted. Father would suspect something, and Estella would be lost before we could reach her."

"I would go with Lady Estella, domina. Both Heralds before your father's eyes. Choose another to lead the attack, and seek information about the castle. A Revered Mother now with the Inquisition, Annika, once served Arl Eamon. She may know of a weakness in the castle." Chryseis studied her slave, her blade, for some time, her smile growing the longer she did so.

"I could see if anything can be done about my father's magical defenses. He has fortified the castle in other ways by now. But this could work." She turned to the others. "Thoughts?"

“Magical defenses, if there are any, won’t be an issue.” Cyrus said as much with obvious confidence, as though it were simple fact, rather than an estimation of how their magic would fare against Cassius’s. “As for who should lead the infiltration party
” He turned to Estella. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Stellulam. That teacher of yours, the Tranquil. He’s quite inclined to moving about unseen, is he not? And perhaps your lovely little scout-captain, as well.”

Estella nodded. “Rilien and Lia are both quite good at that sort of thing, yes. If we wanted to spring a trap within the trap, they could certainly accomplish it.” She didn’t seem to doubt that in the slightest. Her eyes moved to Marceline, though, an obvious question there. “But that’s only if the three of you would commit the resources to this.”

"We have no choice," Marceline relented. She had since sheathed her rapier and had seemingly listened to the conversation being had with Chryseis. Now that she was addressed, she spoke. "I shall have Larissa seek out a weakness in the castle walls for Lord Rilien and Lia to exploit, and I will speak to Mother Annika personally." She paused for a moment and thought pensively before continuing. "I will also speak to Leon about drafting a contingency in case we have need of one."

"Then it's settled," Chryseis said, with no small amount of excitement. "We'll dismantle this madness, and Father will return to his more sensible schemes. Blade, remain for a while. The rest of you had best be off. Much to prepare for, yes? I shall eagerly await your arrival at the castle."

For the first time in the entirely of the conversation, Khari drew attention to herself, though whether it was purposeful or not was hard to tell. She had quite clearly been content up until that moment simply to listen, rather than speaking, but now there was a look of something distinctly disgruntled on her face, and she made eye contact with Romulus, frowning slightly before she shook her head, as if to herself. “See you later, Rom.” She gave half a smile, then turned to exit with the general stream of departure.

Cyrus lingered slightly longer, saving his own departure for after the others had taken theirs. “While I am sure you have machinating of your own to do, and that your father expects you soon, should you find yourself with some spare time, I would very much enjoy catching up, Chryseis.” The slight smirk on his lips and the ambiguous tone of his voice could have meant any number of things. He bowed at the waist, though it was playful rather than truly reverent, and winked as he turned to leave.

"Likewise, Cyrus," Chryseis said, returning the smile in kind. "Minrathous is hardly the same without you." Once all had left save for the magister and her slave, she turned and planted a finger under his chin, her smile carrying some small amount of amusement. "Rom, is it?"

"Merely your blade, domina." The words were delivered with no emotion, something he found especially easy to pull off around her. Her smile faltered for a brief moment, as her eyes fell down to his chest, where she placed her hand.

"Good. You remember." Forcefully, she shoved him towards an open doorway in the back, and Romulus took the hint, leading the way inside.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella swallowed thickly, pulling in a breath and trying to loosen the constricting feeling winding around her heart like climbing ivy, and push down the rising taste of bile on her tongue. She was nervous, for a lot of reasons. First among them, of course, was the fact that they were planning to spring a trap on a magister, one cunning and powerful enough to have taught her brother, regardless of whatever Cyrus thought of him now. It was a serious risk, and she understood that everyone here was taking it, just by entering this room. But even that wasn’t it—she knew that Rilien and Lia and the others with them, including Zahra, if she understood the plan properly, were capable of doing what they’d decided to do.

She wasn’t even especially concerned that she would fail, exactly, because in the end, her role in this was simply to be present. That, and not give away the plan by revealing what they knew of Magister Cassius’s intentions too soon, or letting herself look at where she knew the ambush party would be. She could do that much, she knew—she’d been hiding her thoughts from people more powerful than she was practically since she had any thoughts worth hiding. But more than any of that, this was making her remember things best left forgotten, and there were parts of it that were strong in her memory, things dredged up in response to who the Magister was, and where she knew he was from.

Part of Estella had never left Tevinter behind, not even after six years of physical distance.

Watching her brace herself was indeed an act of perception: she straightened her spine, eased the expression on her face until it was nearly blank, settled her shoulders back, and tipped her chin up slightly, because it defaulted to let her eye the floor, something she should definitely not be doing as part of the Inquisition in an audience with a Magister. They could smell weakness, and fear, and Estella was both weak and afraid. The trick was pretending she wasn’t well enough to fool him. Glancing to Romulus beside her, she offered a thin smile and nodded, pushing the door to the throne room open, allowing the two of them and their company—Cyrus, Vesryn, Lady Marceline, and Khari—to enter.

A red carpet runner guided a straightforward trajectory to the dais on which the throne sat. The path itself was flanked by columns on either side, and in front of each stood one of the magister’s guards. There were about two dozen in total, which was a large number, but not entirely unexpected. He probably had more troops, hired or brought with him, elsewhere, else he likely would have had difficulty holding the castle for long, magical defenses or not. She was reluctant to put her back to any of them, but that was required to advance far enough for an audience, and so she put her trust in the people behind her and kept moving forward.

The throne itself was occupied, and Magister Cassius looked quite comfortable upon it, one ankle crossed over the other knee, and his jaw leaned on a fist, the corresponding elbow braced on the armrest. If anything, he seemed a bit too put-together for the accouterments of Fereldan nobility, which were generally much more rustic than those one would find in older lands like the Imperium or Orlais. His daughter stood beside him, and it would seem he’d been in conversation with her before the party entered.

When they stopped close enough for an audience, he smiled slightly, the expression deepening the existing lines around his mouth, the whole of his face thrown into sharper relief by the intermittent torchlight of the chamber. It gave him a more hollowed-out aspect, so that for a moment, his face appeared nearly skeletal, until the flames shifted again and he regained the aspect of an older, but still very much living, man. “Inquisition, welcome. I take it from your presence here that you are still inclined to bargain. Perhaps your terms will be more
 agreeable, this time.”

Estella knew that all she really had to do here was stall for time, and not give away the fact that she knew this was a trap. She also knew that it was usually true of people in power, people with egos worth talking about, enjoyed hearing the sound of their own voices more than anyone else’s. So ideally, the best way to go about this would be to get him to talk, with as little input from her or anyone else as possible. Suppressing her nervous tendency to chew her lip, she put on a small smile, one that couldn’t have made it even halfway to her eyes, but looked convincing enough for someone in what her position was supposed to be.

“That is my hope, milord,” she lied softly. “I’m afraid that, considering the brevity of our last meeting, there was little opportunity to ascertain which terms you might find agreeable. You know what it is we need—what is it you would want in exchange?” She chose her words carefully, framing him as the one with all the power in the situation, and they as the ones who were in need of something from him. It wasn’t far from the truth, though this was not the method they’d chosen to get it, in the end. With a little luck, she’d stroked his ego and prompted him to speak at some length with a few sentences, but she didn’t trust much to her luck, in truth.

The Magister was intrigued at such an open question, it was clear. He leaned farther forward, his brows arching up towards the edge of his hood and a slight smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “A question with a great deal of relevance, my dear.” He did indeed appear pleased at the situation, not entirely unlike a cormorant, full-bellied but still hungering voraciously, more out of habit than necessity. “What I propose is simple: I will release the southern mages from their indenture, provided I receive two things in return: firstly, my daughter’s slave returned to her.” He made a careless gesture with his free hand at Romulus. “Hardly asking for much, I should think, considering she owns him already anyway.”

He sat back then, and the smile grew, a deep satisfaction evident. “Secondly, a trade: all the mages now in my service for just one—you.”

It was Marceline's turn to step forward. A far cry from the saccharine smile she wore during their last meeting, Lady Marceline's lips were drawn in a tight line, and her face wholly unreadable. She held her arms crossed and her elbow propped, her hand gingerly rubbing her chin. "A sound trade," Marceline agreed, looking down upon Estella, then glancing back at Romulus for a moment before returning her gaze back to Cassius.

"You are correct, what Lady Chryseis owns is hers. We are more than willing to relinquish him," she said, her head tilting to the side. She spoke it with no emotion, only a matter-of-factly demeanor as one would use during a business discussion. "The Inquisition would also find the trade agreeable, the mages for Lady Estella. However, I would ask what you had in mind for the young woman," Lady Marceline asked, a look of curiosity seeping into her features. "Out of pure curiosity of course," Marceline said, before a smile slipped into her lips and she allowed herself a light laugh.

"It sounds as if we are getting the better deal, after all."

Cassius raised a brow, then shrugged lightly. “Who knows? I’m sure I’ll find some use for her. I’ve had great success with one apprentice from the family; perhaps one who cannot leave will prove even more beneficial.” From the way he said it, his tone light, careless even, it wasn’t entirely clear whether he was being serious, though a fair guess would be that he wasn’t. “There would be much interest in the mark, of course, but once the research possibilities were exhausted, well
” He paused, looking Estella over dispassionately, as a buyer at an open market.

“A face that exquisite will always draw its own brand of interest, no?”

Though she couldn’t say she was unused to being talked about like she wasn’t even there, she had managed to forget exactly what it felt like, for the most part. Estella wound up doing what she’d always done in such situations before—she tried to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else, and did her best to deaden her feelings to what was being said. She couldn’t let herself lose focus entirely, however, and she knew this was actually a good thing. For every moment Magister Cassius availed himself his considerable advantage over them without actually springing his trap, they were a moment closer to being in position to turn the tables.

So really, the implication that she’d be sold into a brothel or private ownership or something wasn’t bothering her as much as it could have. Especially considering that, in the absence of other options, she likely would have agreed to it anyway. She only prayed that Cyrus would be able to hold his temper in check long enough to get through this conversation. She knew her brother, and knew he wasn’t taking any of this conversation very well, though his face didn’t change much.

Marceline's eyes dropped and she sighed heavily. It was as if she expected something of the like, because didn't display a moment of surprise. When she looked back up, her eyelids were at halfmast and any emotion she may have allowed to show were long gone, replaced entirely by her matter-of-factly demeanor. Instead of responding immediately, Marceline's hand fell on Estella's shoulder, and patted it encouragingly, almost like a mother would a child. "Tell me, Lord Cassius, as a man with a family of his own," she began.

Her gaze then went from Estella to Cyrus, the frown tight on her lips. "How do you believe her brother will take this news?" she asked, the curiosity remaining in her voice. "And what do you intend to do about him? she finished, looking back to the Magister.

"Out of curiosity. Of course."

Cyrus was doing a rather impressive job remaining blank-faced, but something in his eyes was very hard, almost crystalline. Cassius laughed. “I know better than any one of you what that boy will do for the sake of his sister. In fact, I’m rather counting on it.” He seemed to shift his demeanor, however, and raised a hand, waving it in a lazy motion. “But enough talking. I grow bored with this charade. I will have the Heralds, and I need not give up anything to obtain them.”

At the signal, the guards posted around the room were immediately at attention, drawing their swords, spears, and axes almost as one unit. “Capture the Heralds, and my wayward apprentice. Kill the rest.”

It would seem that Cyrus could contain himself no longer, and the first thing that happened was a massive bolt of lightning flying from his fingertip, crashing with a thunderous rapport into the shield Cassius had conjured, shattering it, but also expending the spell. He summoned a familiar blue sword to his hand, and ran right for the dais.

“Finally!” That was Khari, who ducked under a horizontal swing from another guard and swung her cleaver, which bounced off his shield with a forceful clang. She pressed forward, however, and her next hit was delivered from inside his guard, punching into a spot beneath his protective chestplate.

Romulus passed by on her left, blade drawn, running right through glowing orange magical glyphs that had been quickly inscribed upon the floor by a white-clad Venatori mage. They were triggered by his step, a burst of fire engulfing Romulus, but he came out the other side unscathed, the flames washing over him like so much wind. His blade found the mage's throat, and painted his white robes a bright shade of red.

Vesryn had his helmet down over his face, the tallhelm giving him the visage of a man made mostly of steel, save for the proud white lion on his back. His tower shield was locked in front of him, and soon a pair of arrows clattered off of it. He lowered his spear and awaited the first attacker to step forward. "Always running off, these people!" he shouted, mostly for Estella and Marceline to hear. "Bloodthirsty and angry. Stay behind me! Watch the flanks."

Estella honestly wasn’t sure any of them had experience fighting as part of a unit. Khari might have, but then, with the way she tended to fight, she probably had to break ranks usually anyway. Cyrus had certainly never been part of an army or anything, and Romulus was, as far as she could tell, a solo agent, so in a way, she understood why they acted as they did. She, however, was quite accustomed to group tactics, and so she took Vesryn’s right flank, the harder one to defend, given the absence of the shield.

Indeed, the majority of those who tried to get at the three of them came for her, at least when they could get around behind the spear-wielding elf, but she had expected that, and to the extent the could be, she was prepared for it. The first two came in as a pair, and there wasn’t really room for any more than that at once, a blessing she noted gratefully. The first swung, and she parried, angling her sword quickly to force his off it. Her mobility was reduced by the tighter quarters, so she’d have to rely a lot on angles and the geometry of a fight, since her ability to dodge was considerably hampered.

Reacting more quickly than her foe coming off the clash of blades, she drove her own forward, seeking and finding his throat, which she sliced across with a neat stroke. The arterial spray that resulted informed her she’d found the mark, and just in time to twist herself away from the incoming axe the second had aimed for her shoulder. It clipped the very edge, biting into her leathers, but tore away without meeting her flesh. She swung low, slashing at his thigh, where another vital blood vessel was located, this one not known to as many people, by any means. That one hit, too, and he collapsed beside the other, still alive, but barely. Estella grimaced, and thrust her sword down, puncturing his windpipe and ending his life quickly.

From over her shoulder behind her, Estella could not see Marceline on Vesryn's left flank. However, every now and then the noble brushed up against her to remind her of her presence. There was the sound of flesh being pierced, and the gurgling of someone getting stabbed in the throat before armor clattered to the ground. Though no warrior, Marceline sounded as if she held her own.

Meanwhile, Chryseis observed the approach Cyrus was making, and immediately readied a swift entropy spell in her hand. Rather than cast it at him, she instead aimed down at her father, immediately to her left, the sleeping spell leaving her fingers even as she drew her bladed staff into her other hand.

The spell was met midair by another, a dispel magic, from the way both fizzled out upon mutual contact. Cassius turned slightly to regard his daughter, an almost sad smile upon his face. “While I can’t say I’m surprised, Chryseis, I am rather disappointed.” The Magister drew his own staff, several of the white-robed Venatori breaking off from the main assault to assist him. “Don’t kill them. Render them unconscious or bloody if necessary, but do not kill them.”

Two of the cultists turned to face Chryseis, while two more and Cassius himself went after Cyrus, attempting to bring him down before he could close to melee distance, which would no doubt provide him with a tremendous advantage. A volley of fireballs flew in his direction, but he pulled himself into the Fade, and they struck only afterimages of where he had been, a trail of them between his former position and halfway up the stairs, where he wound up. Another quick spell from Cassius landed there, but he brought his spatha around, the low thrum of it sounding as he used it to slice clean through the stonefist, the halves of it flying off to either side of him.

And that, as far as Estella could tell, was how the fight generally proceeded. Cyrus and Chryseis put heavy pressure on Cassius and the most elite of his Venatori, while herself, Lady Marceline, and Vesryn weathered the storm at the center. Khari and Romulus ranged more freely around that center, their aggressive styles keeping too much from concentrating on the center. The problem was, there were a lot of Venatori and guards, and probably unless the ambush team arrived very soon or Cyrus somehow managed to get at Cassius himself, they would simply be worn down by sheer numbers.

She’d acquired several wounds by this point, but they were mostly minor, and thankfully her stamina wasn’t failing her just yet, but it was growing tedious, and she knew that this was the part of the fight where she risked serious injury, because if her focus flagged, she might make a mistake. So she did her best not to let that happen, keeping herself aware of Marceline behind her, Vesryn to her side, and as much as possible, the positions of her enemies and other allies.

Her arms were burning with the effort of fending off multiple blows from people of superior strength, but she raised them again for another necessary parry, hoping they would stand up to the force with which the next guard swung his axe.

A bugling roar came from Zahra's mouth. And her hands moved remarkably fast as soon as the ambush began, though it appeared as if she'd been ready the entire time. She plucked arrows from her quiver and loosed them as quickly as she notched them back across her cheek. Several whistles could be heard as the arrows sailed through the air, more so over Estella's shoulders, and bit into their marks.

Her arrows were marked with brightly colored feathers, speckled with blood as the shafts sunk into gawping holes in Venatori faces. She danced around the meaty portions of the ambush, away from clanging swords and flashing fireballs. It appeared as if she were concentrating her attacks on those who were having trouble, causing her own version of chaos by crippling and maiming the opponents her companions faced.

More arrows came from Lia, fearlessly throwing herself into the mix, as the Inquisition scouts and agents flanked the Venatori force on either side, throwing the previously desperate fight's outcome into doubt. Chryseis and Cyrus had nearly broken through to Cassius, when a shield bearing guard surprised Chryseis from the side, slamming her to the ground with the heavy metal plate. From her side she unleashed a blast of arcane energy, sending him staggering back. Romulus appeared behind him, opening his throat and spilling his blood down his front, allowing Chryseis the needed time to get back to her feet.

The scouts freed up Vesryn to make some moves of his own, and began a bit of an advance, burying his spear in the guts of a Venatori mage who had been forced into the center of combat by the pincer attack of the Inquisition. "Push!" he shouted. "We'll have him! Don't let up!"

Recovered from her near-miss, Estella figured Vesryn’s advice was good enough, and pushed. Now that there wasn’t quite the same need to simply weather, her mobility was back to providing the lion’s share of her advantage, and she utilized it, keeping herself light on her feet and darting between opponents in an attempt to reach the front of the room, where the fighting was beginning to concentrate as more and more of the guards and Venatori closed ranks on their leader, in an attempt to shield him from the wrath of his own former apprentice and his child as well. The magic flew thick and heavy through the air, enough so that even Estella tasted it on the back of her tongue, the tips of her fingers tingling with a familiar, but long-suppressed itch to dip into the Fade and claim some of it for herself.

An empty promise, if ever there were one.

She dashed past a guard, flaying into his sword-arm on her way, causing him to drop the weapon he was holding and clutch at his wound, which made him an easy target for those behind her. She wasn’t far from the dais now, and mounted the first step, blocking an overhead strike from one of the guards, nearly brought to her knees with the strength of the blow before she managed to angle it away, forcing another step forward and up and burying her saber in his neck. Blood gushed down the blade to her hands, but she stepped to the side before his body could fall atop her, gaining another two stairs before she was made to halt again, her hip clipped by a fireball that left her armor smoking but her flesh thankfully only mildly burned.

By this point, Cyrus was basically dueling Cassius, though with several bodies in the way, which prevented him from closing range. The magic was especially dense in the air between them, and it seemed almost that each of them was casting several spells simultaneously, to keep the volume of fire and earth and ice so thick, to say nothing of the shields and Fade cloaks and the rest. The spell-volley was interspersed with more raw blasts of force, though those were issuing only from Cyrus, and it was hard to tell if they were intentional or not, as they tended to arc away from their initial trajectory, doing more damage to the throne room's furniture than anything. One of them crashed into the stairs, chipping several large chunks of stone off the dais, a pair of them careening into some nearby Venatori and crunching bones with their momentum.

Cassius was clearly tiring faster, whatever the reason, and when he turned to see the others approaching the dais, abandoning the effort to focus on his apprentice for just a moment, he paid for it, a glistening bolt of raw lightning slamming into his chest. He lurched for a moment, then threw himself into a Fade-step not unlike the ones Cyrus so commonly used, reappearing on the other side of the fight, behind everyone pushing for him, both arms outstretched.

Not far from where Estella, Chryseis, and Romulus fought, an almost deafening ripping sound issued from the air, the ground beneath everyone’s feet trembling as the space over their heads seemed to twist and distort, at first like heat waves and then like a window opening to some other place. The pull towards it was strong, almost like it contained its own gravity, and the three nearest the tear were lifted from their feet, pulled upwards toward it.

“Stellulam!” Cyrus’s shout reached her at about the same time he did, his shoulder slamming into her with almost enough force to break a rib, the space she occupied clearly the end point of his own Fade-step’s trajectory. She was knocked a dozen feet backwards, and out of the range of the tear, which picked him up instead, pulling he, Romulus and Chryseis into it within seconds, before the sound crescendoed to an almost agonizing pitch, then ended abruptly, as the tear closed.

But the three it had taken did not reappear.

Estella hit the ground hard, rolling several times before she came to a stop in just enough time to watch three people disappear into the rend in the air, both like and entirely unlike a rift, and though she was forced to cover her ears, she regained her feet as she did, such that by the time it stopped, she was standing again.

For a moment, there was utter silence, or perhaps she’d simply lost the ability to register sound. In any case, she waited what seemed like an eternity for them to reappear, to drop back from the spot like it was all one of Cyrus’s grand jokes, something they’d laugh about later while she insisted she hadn’t been fooled.

But though she counted her heartbeats, her breath still in her chest, they did not return. “Cyrus
” It was hardly more than a whisper, but time seemed to snap back into place as she said it, and suddenly she could hear again, and the fight was back on. It was extremely difficult to make herself care in just that moment, however.

“Cyrus!” It was a ragged shout that time, raw and agonized, and she was halfway through a step towards the dais when she remembered who was responsible for this. Surely, if Magister Cassius had caused this, he could put it to rights. Estella clenched her jaw, her grip tightening on her saber, and whirled around to face him, lunging into a sprint. She’d have to get all the way back across the room, and through all the fighting, but honestly, the plausibility of that was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

All she knew was that if she could get to that Magister, she could get her brother and the others back. There was no need to think about whether she could. She simply must.

"Estella!" The voice was Vesryn's, from behind Estella, and soon a strong hand had clamped down on her upper arm and wrenched her backwards. Vesryn pulled himself in front of her, another arrow clattering loudly off the face of his shield, the projectile originally aimed for the Herald. The elf's eyes were wild, bewildered, but he seemed focused enough on keeping her close to him.

"We have to get out of here!" he said, trying to hold her back. Perhaps due to the fact that the Venatori were simply more prepared for such a stunning feat of magic than the Inquisition, they had instantly turned the tide again, and several of the flanking force had fallen in pools of their own blood. Lia struggled frantically with a Venatori swordsman on the ground, having abandoned her bow in favor of the knife. Rilien was juggling a trio of opponents, but they were slowly backing him up against a pillar with their shields.

“What? No! We can’t just abandon them!” She referred to her brother and Romulus and even Chryseis, of course, but also to anyone else they’d be leaving behind in such a retreat. Those who couldn’t disengage fast enough, or the injured. She tried to tug her arm free, but his grip was too strong for that. Gritting her teeth, she slashed at a guard who went in low for her unprotected side, kicking him square in the chest where she’d cut him. That would keep him down for a while, at least.

"We have to leave! Else we risk everything!," Marceline barked over the din of battle. Her hair was disheveled, and the fatigue was quickly seeping into her face. Her rapier and main-gauche flashed in her hands as she fended off a Venatori swordsmen, her back pressed up against Khari. "We must get back to Ser Leonhardt!" She called, her rapier biting deep into the shoulder of the Venatori. It stumbled him for a moment, but he replied with a backhand and opened up a cut under her chin. Her rapier went for the killing blow at his neck, but he batted it away and pulled back to drive his sword through her.

Not before she drove her own main-gauche into his belly, disemboweling him. "Now!" she demanded. Vesryn released Estella's arm, out of necessity more than anything, but still stood between her and Cassius.

Not more than a beat of time passed after that before Cassius gathered more magic to him. This time, the spell was a firestorm, recognizable as such only for the faint scent of brimstone on the air before flaming rocks began to crash down upon them from the ceiling. Each landed in an almost-explosive burst, clearly a very advanced and very powerful version of the spell. With almost casual ease, he threw a bolt of lightning right for where Vesryn and Estella stood, summoning a shield in another and then detaching it from his hand, letting it orbit freely around him. It caught half a dozen arrows with precision, and more importantly, left his hands free to hurl spell after spell at them—his ability to do so seemed almost inexhaustible, and his forces were clearly drawing from his apparent superiority and control of the field.

“Escape is beyond you!” He shouted the words over the din, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Help is beyond you! The Elder One rises! Surrender the Herald, and the rest of your Inquisition may yet live to see tomorrow!”

Vesryn locked his shield into the ground, angling it up, and crouching low, so as to get himself somewhat under it. "Get down! Or get out!" he called, as the spells rained down around him. Powerful lightning spells blasted against his shield, little arcs of electricity snapping through the air around his body, until he was shaking violently with the absorption of it. When it became clear he could take no more, he flipped the grip of his spear in his hand, stood, and hurled it at Cassius. One of the shields deflected it aside, and the next bolt of lightning hit the elf square in the chest. He flew back, smashing into Estella along the way and tumbling to the ground face down and unconscious.

Vesryn in full armor was quite a lot of weight, and easily took Estella to the ground as well, where she slid on her back for quite a distance before she ran out of momentum and tried to scramble to her feet, only to be hit by an ice spell, one that pinned one of her legs to the ground. She attempted to lunge out of it, but it held fast, creeping up the length of her leg to her waist, locking her joints. A second one followed, striking her square in the chest, and try as she might, she couldn’t fight free of it.

Within moments afterward, she was surrounded by Cassius’s guards, who leveled weapons at her, one ambitious lance even flirting with the skin of her throat. She couldn’t so much as lean away, able only to glare at the Magister as he advanced towards her. This was it—she was in his custody now, at his mercy, and she knew far better than to expect him to have any of that to spare for her, or her comrades.

If only Cyrus were still here, instead of her, he could have stopped this.

It was the last thought she had before one of the guards cracked the haft of his axe over her head, and she fell into unconsciousness.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
It was all too much for Romulus to comprehend, but at the same time, the reality of it was so intense, so all-consuming, that he had no choice but to face it. It was the worst nightmare he'd ever had, because despite all of the appearances and all of the horrors, this wasn't a nightmare. This was real, and there was a distinct possibility that this would be the reality he was stuck in.

Cyrus and Chryseis talked about undoing the damage, going back and making sure none of this ever happened, but there could be no guarantee for that, could there? What if Cyrus couldn't figure out how to do it? What if the materials they needed, if there were any, were missing, or what if Cassius was dead when they reached him, and they needed him alive? It forced him to confront the very real possibility that they could be stuck here.

Here, in this place where the Inquisition was crushed, most were dead, and those that survived were tortured, maimed beings. He feared every new sight, around every corner.

Vesryn explored it with the purposeful gait of one who knew where he was going, and one who wasn't tentative about witnessing the disturbing. He carried a Tevinter sword and shield now, taken from the body of a slain Venatori guard, and led the group through the fairly labyrinthine Redcliffe dungeons. The castle was immense, and much of the ground it stood upon had been hollowed out as well. Romulus wondered if any of these routes were ones that Mother Annika had shown them. If the now dead scouts and agents had crept along these passageways.

"Asala?" Vesryn called, turning a corner into another cell block. "Asala, it's Vesryn. Don't be alarmed, I've brought some friends. We're getting out of here." Romulus followed, looking into each of the cells Vesryn passed for any sign of other prisoners, or even just the dead.

It was in the last cell that he found what he was looking for. In the far corner of the cramped room, a familiar white haired figure leaned heavily against the wall. A large vein of red lyrium was present on the opposite wall, oppressively looming over her unmoving form. Asala's white hair was matted and dirty, stained with dirt and crimson, but most noticable was the absence of her horns. Instead they were replaced with massive holes where they should've been, the broken roots just visible under the sea of dirty white.

She hung limply by her arms, held high above her head by shackles bolted to the brick behind her. Her knees were bent, as the shackles were clearly meant for someone shorter than her. She wore the same sleeveless unwashed tunic that Vesryn did, though hers faded with red from blood spilled long ago. Along her arms were a number of surgical precise scars, and they continued through her tunic. Even some of her veins possessed the strange orange hue that Vesryn's did.

She did not acknowledge his voice, and were it not for the steady shallow rise and fall of her chest there'd be no evidence that she was even alive.

Cyrus, his mouth compressed into the same grim line, re-summoned the glowing blue axe he’d used before, this time cracking through the lock in a single swing. Throwing open the door, he stepped inside and spent a moment examining Asala’s chains, his expression deepening into something like a scowl. Reaching up, he took hold of one of them with his free hand, wrapping it around his palm to absorb the weight from both sides and hold it in tension. Another few strikes with the axe broke the chain, and he eased her arm down very slowly, perhaps aware of the fact that a sudden rush of blood to her limb would be extremely painful.

“Easy now.” He repeated the process with the other side, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her as she grew accustomed to freedom of movement.

Asala would've fallen to her knees, were it not for Cyrus catching her. The sudden rush of activity seemed to have jarred her out of whatever numbness she had been in before. Her eyes snapped wide to take in the visage of Cyrus, and the others on the other side of the cell door. Her eyes also held the red tint. She seemed confused as her face twisted in appearance and she opened her mouth as if to say something.

However, a realization struck, and her mouth snapped shut into a snarl. Her once weak hand snatched Cyrus's collar and forced him back with an uncommon strength. She slammed him hard into the iron bars and even lifted him a few inches off of the ground. She braced him there with her forearm while a familiar blue light flickered into her other hand. A barrier rose where the cell door had been, blocking the others from reaching them.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, her voice trembling with rage and desperation.

Vesryn was next to move towards the door of Asala's cell, and he made to put a hand on the Qunari's barrier. "Easy, Asala, it's not their fault." Romulus was perhaps more alarmed by the situation. Despite his sympathy towards Asala, he knew that above all, they needed Cyrus. He didn't actually think Asala could really hurt him in her current state, but still... there were so many individual things that could wrong and leave them stuck.

"It was Cassius's time magic, they were caught in his spell. I didn't even think they were real at first." He glanced back at Romulus, with a hint of a smile. "At least she's past that part already." Romulus didn't find much humor in it.

"Let him go, Asala. We need your help to undo this."

“He has the right of it.” There was a bit of a roughness to Cyrus’s voice, though from looking at him, it had less to do with pain or distress and more to do with restraint. He was clearly suppressing whatever instinctive reaction he would have had to being bodily handled in such a fashion, his legs hanging still beneath him, his hands flexing, fingers closing over little flickers of electricity that disappeared a second later. “If you would like the long-form explanation, I can elucidate the principles of time-distortion magic to you, but the important point is that I’m rather necessary to correcting the error, which I will not achieve if you strangle me first.”

The outburst seemed to have taken a lot out of her, because only a moment passed before the arm holding Cyrus against the bars began to waver. The rage and pain was still vivid in her features as she looked between him, Vesryn, and Romulus before she weakened. The anger and rage shifted to pained anguish. She let Cyrus slip through her grip, and the barrier with him, before she stumbled a step backward. Her hands went to her eyes first, before pushing upward through her hair and passing by her missing horns, before finally alighting on her ears as if to drown out all sounds.

"Undo this?" she asked, her arms still hanging around her ears. "You cannot undo this!" Asala cried, throwing her arms wide to reveal the countless scars that weaved across her body. Now that they were much more visible, it was clear that they served only one purpose: To inflict pain.

"You do not know what I have been through," she muttered, anger seeping back into her voice, but not before she brought her arms back to her ears.

“Actually, I believe I do know.” Cyrus said this quietly, rolling out his shoulders before tilting his head at her. “They attempted to make you into an abomination, did they not?” He turned, exiting the cell with one hand on his opposite shoulder, prodding at it with a grimace. “Make them pay for it.”

"I intend to," Asala growled as she followed him out of the cell, her hands throbbing with a now violet energy.

The group fell back into line, allowing Vesryn to lead them down several more hallways, and then up a slope of some kind, at least a perceptible grade in the floor. One hall looked markedly different from the rest, lined with wooden doors rather than iron bars, though they were reinforced with metal. One of them hung ajar, and a quick glance inside was all that was necessary to confirm that this hall was filled now with chambers of torture, whatever had been in them before.

Romulus and Vesryn led the way forward side by side, the elf wearing a near constant sneer of disgust at the plethora of torture racks and hideous devices. Romulus simply kept his eyes forward, and listened. He knew full well what many in Tevinter were capable of, and doubted highly that these all of these instruments of torture had been in the castle to begin with.

As they proceeded, voices became audible from ahead, to the right. “You will speak!” The first was male, accented with the Antivan purr, which had become rather harsher with increased volume, and, it seemed, frustration.

“Fuck you!” That snarl was more familiar, and could only have belonged to Khari. It was followed with the sound of something striking flesh, and then harsh, hoarse feminine laughter. “Death before dishonor. Try harder, filthy son of a mabari bitch!”

“And what if I cut your friend instead, hm? Would you be so defiant in the face of her pain, too?”

“Emma bellanaris din’an heem, you piece of shit! Break me first, I dare you!” The rattle of chains was sudden and obvious, as though someone were actively fighting their restraints. Weapons up, Vesryn was the first to round the corner into the room they sought, Romulus close on his heels.

What met them was certainly not a pretty sight. Khari—or someone who had to be Khari—was suspended from the ceiling by chains, her feet shackled to a metal ring embedded in the stone floor. She’d strained forward as far as her bonds would allow, producing the characteristic rattle-and-clank. Someone had hacked most of her hair off; what remained fell to her shoulders in a scraggle, covering half her face and leaving her to glare at the man in front of her with one bright green eye. Her ears had both been docked at some point, though probably in stages, since one of them was still at least an inch or two longer than the other. She seemed to show fewer of the red-lyrium-induced damages than the others, but made up for it in the sheer amount of physical mutilation. One of her arms was missing from the elbow down, so she’d been cuffed around her bicep rather than her wrist on the right side.

Whatever torment she’d endured was not near as precise as what had been visited upon the others—her belly was crosshatched in jagged lines, as though she’d struggled through the infliction of each and every one of them, causing some to bite too deep and others to skitter away entirely. She was yet decent, but barely, outfitted in what amounted to a breastband and breeches torn off below the knees. Her visible eye flickered to them upon their entrance, but then abruptly back to what was happening in front of her, which was that the interrogator was sharpening a knife with the rasp of a whetstone.

“Nothing to say now, asshole? Lost your chicken-shit nerve already? We both know this won’t achieve anything. It didn’t yesterday, or any of the days before that.” It was clear that she was talking now mostly to prevent the man from noticing the intruders in the room, and her volume was indeed sufficient, if the provocation didn’t accomplish that on its own.

“Listen here, you knife-eared bitch—”

His words were cut off by the rim of the shield Romulus carried crunching against his jaw. The bone clearly shattered, distorting the entire shape of his lower face, and he staggered away, dripping blood from his mouth. Romulus wasn't of a mind to let him get any further. He reached out, grabbed the torturer by the hair and pulled him back, forcing him to stand up straight. His blade then came down diagonally on the base of his neck, cutting down more than across.

It was enough to send a torrent of blood down to the already stained floors, and left the man choking and gurgling, but Romulus wrenched his blade free and sliced again, and again, raggedly hacking the man's head off on the fourth strike. He roared, shaking, and let the body fall headless to the ground on its back. He clutched the head tightly in his palm for a few seconds before tossing it away, and beginning to pace around the room.

Chryseis watched from the doorway, holding a closed fist under her nose, while Vesryn moved to the headless body, picking a set of keys the belt. "Let's get you down," he said, his tone gentle. He stepped up on a stool that had been placed so the shackles around her wrist could be reached. "Romulus, if you don't mind catching her..."

Romulus did not seem inclined to look at her, and spent a few more moments pacing, before he finally sheathed his blade and walked over to her, carefully taking hold of her hips while Vesryn worked on the locks. One came free, and then he unshackled the other attached to her upper arm, and she was allowed to return to the floor. Romulus made sure to support her if she proved unable to stand, which seemed likely given the circumstances.

Khari did indeed struggle to get her feet under her for a moment, but after a chance to shake out her legs, she was standing firmly enough. For a couple of seconds, she stared hard at all of them, particularly Romulus, with her visible eye, rolling out her shoulders and cracking her neck from one side to the other. In the end, though, her face worked into a grin. It was obvious from this close that her tattoos had been cut out of her skin, leaving scarring in the same pattern, save where occasionally there was an extra line or something, less deliberate.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it! Quintus owes me ten sovereigns; you’re alive! Ha!” If anything, she seemed genuinely, fiercely delighted to see them, and clapped Romulus on the shoulder with her remaining hand. “This is excellent—I don’t know how you got in here, but getting out’s going to be a trick. Leon’s not gonna know what hit him when we show up
” She trailed off, her brows knitting.

“You don’t
 uh
 look any different from how I remember you. Any of you three. I feel like I’m missing something.”

Romulus didn't seem to have any words, judging by the way his mouth hung open, and when it was clear she was standing well enough on her own, he backed away from her a few paces as well. He still seemed a bit stunned by all of it.

Vesryn, meanwhile, had crouched down to free her feet from their shackles. "What he means to say, little bear, is that he's very sorry for how late he is, but magical time warping is a bitch. They only just left the throne room, when we were captured."

“Huh.” Khari didn’t seem quite sure what to make of that, and shook her head, finally casting the hair away from her second eye, not that it made much of a difference. From the milky color of it, she couldn’t see out of it anymore regardless. “Well
 better late than never. We should get Zahra, too, she’s back here somewhere
” She turned towards the far side of the room.

In the furthest corner of the torturer's chamber lay a trembling mess of rattling bones. From the looks of it: a woman. An iron collar kept her anchored in place, though it was apparent she had not moved in awhile. Heavy chains trailed up the muck-encrusted wall, occasionally jangling together whenever a shudder enveloped her. The woman's thin arms were wrapped around her knobby knees, pulled tight against her bare chest. The remnants of an old shirt barely clung onto her emaciated frame, ripped and torn in many places, and clutched in her fists like an ill-fitting cloak. Her hands gripped onto the fabric as if it was the only thing keeping her in place. Several clumps of her hair had fallen out or been removed. Red, molted patches were left in their place. Old and new burns alike. Initially, she made no movements at all, except for the occasional quiver. She wriggled her toes. Or what was left of them.

A low, nasally hum wheezed from the woman's throat. A broken tune, hissing off into an exhaled breath. At the sound of approaching feet, the woman's face peeked above her knees. Revealing who she was, or who she'd been, an old husk of the seafaring creature: Captain Zahra. Bright, wild eyes swam in deep sockets. She appeared to startle at the sight of them. Though she remained where she was, blinking rapidly. Her sharp cheekbones warped whatever expression she was trying to demonstrate. Cracked lips pulled back to reveal several missing teeth. She made another garbled sound in the back of her throat.

“They, uh
 they cut out her tongue.” Khari grimaced, her brows knitting together, and held a hand out for the keys, which she used to undo the captain’s restraints. “We’re getting the hell out of here, Zee.” The collar came away first, followed by the rest, and Khari offered her hand to the other woman, so as to help pull her up. “Sounds better than staying, right?”

Another low hum sounded, apparently forgoing the garbled speech she had been attempting earlier. Zahra's thin fingers immediately itched at her neck when the collar clattered on the ground, freeing her from the wall. She only paused in her scraping when Khari mentioned leaving. Her head bobbed in a fervent nod, and she flashed another horrid, toothless grin. She snatched up Khari's hand and staggered back to her feet, unsteady as a colt. With her other hand, she maintained her death-grip on the shirt draped across her bony shoulders.

From behind them, Asala was hard at work pulling the bloodied coat off of the corpse of the interrogator. She was not gentle in her method, using her foot to rip it free from his arms. She then moved toward Zahra, a shoulder hitched up to an ear to block out some sound that only she seemed to hear. She glanced at the bloodied garment before she wrapped it around Zahra's shoulders and fastened it at her neck. The small act of kindness did not come with a smile, only a grim determination.

"You will want both hands," Asala explained, offering Zahra the interrogator's knife with one hand, the other covering one of her ears. "Come. They have gone unpunished for too long," she added with darkened eyes and made her way first toward the exit.

Romulus touched Vesryn lightly on the shoulder, pulling the elf's attention away from Zahra and the others. "Are there any others we can find?" he asked, cautiously, for the answers clearly were capable of causing pain. Perhaps this wasn't real for Romulus, or Chryseis or Cyrus, but this had been the reality of their companions for many months. "Is Estella here?"

Vesryn's eyes wobbled between Romulus and Cyrus momentarily, and he opened his mouth, struggling to speak. His eyes fell. "Ah... no. She is not."

Cyrus scowled. “Let’s go. While we’re walking, tell me everything.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
No one really seemed to want to linger anyway, so they followed him out without issue. After a pause in which Khari secured herself a loose black shirt and a sword, much lighter than the one he’d seen her with to account for her missing hand, they were moving again, generally heading up as often as the architecture would allow. Cyrus was simply attempting to contain his impatience—there were many reasons he wanted to know as much as possible about what had transpired in this world, many of them strategic. But all the same, he knew he had not been thinking about strategy when he’d made the demand. He’d spoken from whatever poor excuse for a heart he had.

He pulled in a deep breath. “Start right after we left, if you would.” He reminded himself that these people, these versions of people he knew, had never been separated from this reality, that even in the act of reversing the damage, he would be unmaking them, unmaking this timeline, and so, in once sense, effectively destroying them. It didn’t change his mind in the slightest, but it helped him remember to soften the way he said things, at least.

Khari sucked her teeth, then blew out a soft breath. “Right. So, you guys got dragged up into that weird
 thing, and then it disappeared, but the rest of us were still there. Cassius’s people overwhelmed us. They captured Stel pretty soon after that.” She frowned, shaking her head and disturbing several near-matted curls in the process. “It was pretty clear from where I was standing that our best chance of saving her was to get out, warn Leon and the rest, and try to retake the castle, so Marcy and I fought our way out.” Her eyes flicked to the others, clearly pausing to allow them to explain what had happened to themselves.

"I stayed behind," Vesryn pitched in, his eyes watching their surroundings rather than any of his companions. "Not by choice, obviously. Your insane former teacher caught Estella and I in a firestorm, while ranting about this Elder One. I held out as long as I could and then... nothing. They'd tossed us in the dungeon." Though his gaze kept wandering about, his eyes were distant, clearly remembering things that he was utterly haunted by.

"We weren't in the best position to know what was going on. The Venatori arrived in force, and used the castle as their base of operations in Ferelden. There weren't many of us imprisoned there, at first. Estella, myself, Lia, Zahra, some of the scouts..." His voice trailed off for a moment, and he swallowed. "Everyone went through it differently. Their mages experimented on my head when they found out what I carried. The Elder One had some interest in Saraya, they said. As for Estella... they studied her mark, tried to remove it. Experiments, interrogations... the mark eventually started to consume her again." Relaying the information was clearly causing him a great deal of pain. He looked to be struggling to hold himself together.

"We were in cells across from each other. She'd have these horrible nightmares. The Elder One, darkspawn, war and death. We talked... a great deal. I'd like to think we kept each other alive for a time down there." There were tears evident in his eyes now, and he finally looked at Cyrus, ignoring the surrounding halls for once. "She never gave up, you know? And she spoke often of you. She really did believe you'd come for her, and set things right. I will admit I didn't share her optimism... but here you are."

"Do you need to torture yourself like this, Cyrus?" Chryseis asked, clearly made uncomfortable by all the things she was hearing. "The world won't remain this way. The horrors visited upon these people will be erased." Ahead, Romulus had drawn up his hood, making it impossible to get so much as a reading of how he was reacting.

"In your eyes, perhaps," Asala replied sharply. When she rolled her head toward Chryseis, the others could see her pointed gaze.

"I did everything I could to care for her, Cyrus," Vesryn said, his eyes practically pleading. "Some nights my mind was hardly my own, but I tried. You have to believe that."

He did. Of course he believed it—how could he not? He’d always found it difficult to suppose that anyone could mean Estella any harm, even people who were, like himself, more or less without moral compass or concern. Her goodness was evident even to people usually blind to it. Another person who was fundamentally decent, as Vesryn seemed to be, wouldn’t be able to ignore that, and a situation such as the one he’d described
 Cyrus let a breath hiss out from between his teeth. Ignoring the byplay between Chryseis and Asala, he gave Vesryn a tiny nod, more a jerk of his chin than anything, which was about all he could muster at the moment.

Khari, her eyes flickering between the two for a moment, set them forward again as they searched for the next staircase. “It wasn’t too long after that battle when the Elder One made his big move. In one night, several high-profile assassinations were carried out. They got Marcy, for her spot in the Inquisition, but Rilien and Leon got theirs first. The bigger deal was that he also managed to get pretty much anyone in Orlais who could possibly hold the country together. The Empress, the Crown Prince, even the Lord-General...they couldn't have seen it coming. With no one to hold the throne, the entire country broke apart, even worse than the civil war. He set up a puppet of his, and suddenly they had the biggest army in the world, with most people unaware he even existed. Not until it was far too late.”

She was clearly getting to the worrying part, though, because her strides were suddenly more clipped, less sure, and she spoke with a hesitation uncommon in her. “About
 about four months later, we—what was left of the Inquisition—heard they’d set an execution date for Estella. It was, um. It was going to be public. Sort of a way to, uh
 demoralize us, and the rest of the world.” She looked back over her shoulder at him, but Cyrus’s expression as yet betrayed nothing.

“And you tried to save her.”

“Of course we did.” Khari’s voice was heavy with sorrow, and she shook her head. Asala quietly nodded, gently reaching up to cover her ears once more. “They said
 that if she claimed to be Andraste’s Herald, she could have Andraste’s demise.” She closed her eyes for a long moment, and took in a deep breath. “They burned her at the stake, Cyrus. We attacked, but they were prepared for us. Rilien, he
 he tried to reach into the fire and pull her out, but all he got for it was burns and arrows in the back.” She shuddered. “By the time anyone else got to her, it was too late. I got captured, and so did Asala, and a few of the others. Leon got the rest out, I think. They’re still out there somewhere, fighting.” She looked away, apparently unable to meet his eyes.

His sister. His little star—they’d—

Several of the torches lining the walls of this hallway exploded, raining ash down around them. Cyrus could feel, in a distant sort of way, that he’d caused it. His entire frame trembled with the force of his rage. “I’m going to kill him.” His voice shook with the same, his vision clouding. Lightning started to crackle around him, contained for the moment, though he was throwing sparks within a short radius around him as well. He didn’t bother to specify which him—it had become a generic term for anyone responsible, though the easy and obvious target was Cassius. Zahra made another mewling noise, an agreement. She straightened her shoulders a few inches and gripped her dagger all the tighter.

“Slowly.”

“He’s in another part of the building, from what the guards say.” That was Khari again, presumably under the assumption that he did indeed refer to his former teacher. “They say the best way to get there is actually to walk outside for a while, on the wall. Quintus tended to bitch about the cold a lot.” She paused a moment, then took a decisive left. Supposing that she probably knew better than the others where to go, Cyrus followed.

Eventually, the hallway they were in opened into what looked to be a lesser dining room, probably once used for servants or men-at-arms. Unfortunately, it was also occupied, with perhaps a dozen Venatori, by the look of their garments. Well
 unfortunate for the Venatori anyhow.

Cyrus didn’t even wait for them to be noticed before he flung a hand forward, a massive fireball crashing into the table at the far left, immolating four of the cultists, though two managed to at least survive it. Clearly his aim had been off. Well, he’d just have to get closer then. Wrenching himself through the Fade, he summoned to hand a simple punching dagger, a weapon that would, he knew, give him maximal contact and proximity with his foes.

Leaving the burning ones alone, he aimed himself at another grouping, throwing his fist up under the chin of one, punching right up into his brain matter at an angle, before he shifted his grip on the weapon and tore it out the left side, dislocating the dead man’s jaw and not even pausing to watch him fall. He didn’t bother to contain the magic any longer, and some of it spilled over, crackling lightning wreathing him from head to toe, a stray bolt occasionally lancing outwards at anyone who drew too near.

Without much finesse, Zahra wove in around Cyrus, careful not to stray too close to the crackling bolts. She slammed her bare foot into the nearest guard's chestplate. The man reeled backwards, into the burning men, possibly surprised by the rattling mess of bones weaving between them: wild-eyed and nearly silent. She snarled like an animal and struck out at any Tevinter close enough to reach, though her strikes often bit air. Her matted hair hung in front of her face, drawing a curtain against her lopsided expression.

As soon as her companions moved forward, Zahra ducked beneath a sword and stumbled to his side, gnarled fingers flashing the dagger Asala had given to her. She caught hold of the man's shoulder and swiveled around, plunging the dagger straight up through his chin. Into his mouth. Her own breath whistled from her lips, fluttering her ribs out like bellows. With an ugly squelch, and an uglier snarl, she retrieved the blade and hunched down behind Asala.

If the woman expected her to hold back and focus on protective barriers, she would be rather disappointed. Asala's golden eyes flashed wide, and the orange in them seemed to intensify for the moment. The now violet magic engulfed both her hands and arms, stopping only at her upper arm. A large violet bubble was thrown up around the two guards that had survived Cyrus's immolation and the one that Zahra had kicked into them. Immediately they began to beat against their prison, the words they tossed at her muffled by the solid barrier.

However, their scorn soon turned to fear as the walls of the dome began to collapse in around them. It grew steadily smaller and smaller until each were beginning to get crushed by the shrinking bubble and the body of the man next to them. Bones began to snap and crack as their muffled wailing added to the din of battle. One by one though, the wailing began to die down. The barrier shrank until it could shrink no more and shattered with force, leaving only a crumpled mass of flesh and shattered bones behind.

As that bubble had constricted, Asala directed another dome with her remaining hand. A sharp movement in Cyrus's blindside revealed a another Venatori who'd apparently attempted to brave attacking the man. Currently however, he was far more preoccupied with the bubble that appeared around his head. It was small, just big enough to fit the man's head inside, and by the way he clutched at his throat in an attempt to find purchase under the barrier, it was suffocating him.

Unlike the last barrier however this one did not shrink, but rather was content in allowing the Venatori to suffer.

Romulus had mounted one of the long tables the Venatori had been using, firing off a crossbow bolt into the throat of one of them before replacing the weapon on his back. He vaulted off towards the rear of the group, coming down on an archer and breaking the man's wrist with a slam of his shield. He kicked hard into the archer's knee, cracking it bending the limb grotesquely against its will. When the archer was forced down, Romulus firmly gripped the front and back of his helmet, and twisted his head sharply until the neck snapped. With a slice of his dagger he removed the quiver from the archer's back. Taking both that and the bow into his shield hand, he turned.

"Zahra!" He tossed the weapon and its ammunition forward, allowing them to slide along the ground until they came within reach of the silenced woman. Vesryn moved into place beside her to cover her while she moved. He looked none too eager to throw himself into the fray, content to allow the other rage-filled group members their moment of bloody retribution.

It was a moment that Khari took too, though not with her customary verve. Her face twisted halfway into a snarl, she focused her attention on anyone trying to flank the others, hewing them down with quick, efficient sweeps of her borrowed sword. It clearly took her some time to accustom herself to fighting one-handed, but once she was settled into the rhythm of it, she just kept moving, swinging from one hit smoothly into another, giving Cyrus a one-finger wave from the hilt of the weapon when he blasted down another Venatori trying to come in on her blind side.

All told, it wasn’t long at all before all the cultists in the room were dead, the largest portion of them clearly having succumbed to magic of one kind or another, Cyrus and Asala by far the battle’s most active participants, though no few bore the slash-marks of a knife or sword, either, and by the end, one or two even had an arrow sticking out of some body part or another. It was a bloody mess, the room filled with the stench of burning skin and hair, and perhaps that, more than anything, snapped Cyrus back into the present.

Burning.

The electricity around him fizzled out, and he swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Visibly shaking himself and blinking rapidly, he located the door to the outside and threw it open, stepping through and out onto the wall. A blast of cold air hit his face, but at just this moment, he welcomed it, for it chased the burning away from his eyes, and though the air even out here smelled stale, it did not have the scent of a pyre. He lingered at the doorframe for just a moment, one of his hands closing over the wood, before he gritted his teeth and forced himself forward, leaving five blackened cracks behind when he dropped his arm away to continue onto the parapets.

The world over the wall was nigh unrecognizable. He couldn’t say what time of year it was, only that it was chill, and the grass was a dull, dry red-brown-black, like all the life had been sucked from it. The sky was uniformly an ill gangrene, the color of disease, and he had no doubt that disease was as accurate a word as any. This was the worst parts of the Fade and the material world made manifest, all in the same place. Forks of sickly lightning speared amidst the smoggy clouds seemingly at random, and when some of them parted and he lifted his head, he could see it: the Breach.

It dominated the skyline, impossible to deny, and what was below it was nothing short of a wasteland. None who saw it could mistake that this was irreparable—without doubt, it could be seen from any country in Thedas, in the known world, with perfect ease. For a long moment, it held his attention, and his thoughts were somewhere else, sometime else, but nothing could deter him from his aim for long. Cyrus leveled his eyes back to the wall, peering down the length of it to the next door. In front of the entrance, a duller green even than the Breach, stood a naked rift, its crystals shifting sluggishly, almost as though it were spent somehow, exhausted of something. It barred their way about halfway down.

When he spoke, it was softly, almost flatly. “If you would, please, Romulus.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus wondered what would happen if he attempted to close the entire Breach at this point. Likely, it wasn't possible, and it would simply kill him. From how things looked, nothing could stop the destruction of the sky, and the death of the land below.

He nodded at the request Cyrus made, and moved to close the rift blocking their way. It wasn't spewing forth any demons. Perhaps they'd all come through already, and were now off wandering the forests of the Hinterlands or beyond. When he raised his mark to it and connected to the rift, it hardly seemed to resist, and in only a few moments he'd burst it into nothingness.

"It's clear," he said, to the group behind him. "They will know we're coming."

"Let them," Asala muttered. After she spoke, the glowing red veins under her skin seemed to pulse and both hands shot to her ears. She winced heavily and swayed where she stood, clearly fighting against something. "Parshaara!" she hissed to herself quietly, before mentally pushing whatever that something was back. She looked back up, the orange glow still present in her eyes. "We should hurry," she said, her hand lingering around her ear.

The door inside led into a room that, architecturally at least, mirrored the one they had just been in. There was no one inside, and it seemed to be mostly unused. It was a decent guess that any of the Venatori who’d seen or heard the rift close had gone straight to Cassius, and would be waiting with him when they arrived. By now, they were back in the parts of the castle they’d at least been near before, in the past, and so Cyrus took point, leading the way rather decisively through the hallways, bypassing most of the doors without looking twice. It was hard to say exactly, but he seemed to be aiming them generally towards the throne room, which must have been where he thought Cassius would be.

Khari lingered near the back, looking rather uneasy for her. Her lips were pressed together tightly, and her eye moved occasionally from Cyrus to Asala, but she shook her head, apparently choosing not to spit out whatever thought troubled her. She matched her pace with Romulus’s, shifting her grip often on her naked sword, as though she were uncomfortable holding it.

“So, uh
” She spoke quietly, and a fraction hesitantly. “I get that the general idea here is ‘kill the nasty Magister and fix time’ or something, which I’m fine with, but
 how exactly are we supposed to do that? Will we just, er, go back if he’s dead, or what?” She fixed her monocular gaze on Cyrus’s back.

“No.” His tone was clipped, but not sharp. “What happens to Cassius is, in the grand scheme of things, incidental. He will die so that he does not interfere with my own casting, but his death in and of itself will change nothing. What comes after will be a feat of delicate spellweaving that has, frankly, never been attempted before.”

“Wait. You mean you don’t know if this can be done?’

Cyrus turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes cold. “It can be done. I can—and will—do it. You have no need to doubt that.”

"So how is this going to work?" Vesryn asked, uncertainly. "When we go back with you... everything just reverts to how it was, when you left?"

"You're not coming back with us," Chryseis cut in, sternly, but by her standards gently. Romulus had seen her in both rage and sorrow, and knew that currently, she at least understood what was going to be asked of those they'd freed. He'd figured it out himself, only a few moments earlier, and was entirely accepting of it.

"Only those that were displaced from time should be sent back," Chryseis explained. "Nothing will be forgotten for us. The three of us will be the only ones in Thedas that remember this day, if all goes to plan. If you were to go back, you would carry all of your experiences since we left with you. And besides, this magic in untested, and very dangerous. We have no way of knowing the damage it might cause, the damage it has already caused."

"You shouldn't have to suffer like this," Romulus said, little above a murmur, delivered to Khari at his side. "The three of us will go back, and ensure the fight ends in our favor."

Chryseis nodded. "The rest of you must remain here. I'm... sorry."

Khari’s brows knit, but in the end, she just sawed a gusty breath in and out. “It’s kind of weird, to think that I won’t exist. Not like this, anyway. Feels
 like more than dying, somehow.” She looked like she was struggling to take hold of the concepts and bring them under her grip, and then a bit unsure. “Kind of the opposite of how I wanted to go out, not having had an effect on anything.” Her half-arm moved, as though she’d intended to gesture with the part of it that wasn’t there, and she grimaced down at it.

“But still. World like this? We’re all bound to die anyway. Just make sure to tell past-me that even if the future fucks up this bad, I’m still this awesome.” She grinned, with a fair amount of humor, even, but it faded quickly, and she continued under her breath, mostly to herself. “She forgets, sometimes.”

Asala simply grunted. The news didn't seem to phase her. Rather, it seemed to have the opposite effect as a grim determination set in her brow. "We will send them back. That will be our effect," Asala stated.

Crooked and hunched over, Zahra hobbled just behind Khari and Romulus. Her trembling fingers absently fluttered over the blistered skin around her neck and dropped away whenever someone's gaze strayed too close. She remained silent for the majority of the conversation, as the extent of her language only involved hand gestures and soft hums. It seemed as if she had already deemed it irrelevant to try and communicate, though her lips twitched up into a ghost of a smile when they spoke to each other.

The latter half of the walk was quieter, little but the sound of their actual motion to fill the space. Eventually, though, Cyrus pulled up short in front of a familiar set of doors—these ones led into the throne room. Oddly, there was still little sign of guards of any kind. If the Venatori here really did know they were coming, either they were doing a poor job of preparing for it, or else they had some kind of plan for such an eventuality that did not involve much by way of defending the Magister himself. Perhaps he was elsewhere, but when Cassius’s former apprentice flicked his fingers and threw open the door with magic and a bang, they entered to find that the old mage was indeed present, and appeared to be expecting them.

“I’ve had nightmares about this day.” He said it almost with a trace of good humor, though the small smile he wore quickly faded. “I have both dreaded it and anticipated it for a year and a half. The tear was unstable, and I had no idea when I’d sent you.” He sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. “You, Cyrus, I rather hoped had been propelled far enough into the past that I never had to deal with you, but in some way that possibility was even more alarming than this one. Chryseis, on the other hand, well
 I’d hoped for something a bit sooner.”

Cyrus’s face was thunderous, but he hadn’t moved yet. Instead, there was an element of clear calculation to his expression, as though he were trying to decipher something.

Chryseis's expression reflected more venom than anything else, and she stood before the rest of the group, studying her father after so much time. Romulus believed he didn't actually look all that different, something he found fairly insulting. How could anyone not be drastically changed by living in this wretched world he'd created?

"Did you find it easy, Father?" Chryseis asked, her eyes narrowed. She leaned on her staff, the blade hovering inches away from her face. "To cast my life away to the whims of chance? You had no idea what you were sending me into." Romulus recognized the hint of grief in her voice. He adjusted his grip on his shield and blade.

"I came to Redcliffe for you, Father. More than anything else. Despite whatever differences we had, I still worried for you. What did you do this for? What did you destroy everything for?"

“If I could have done what I did without involving you, than I would have.” Cassius seemed to reflect her grief back at her for a moment, the lines near his mouth deepening. “But I also remember which of the two of us attacked the other first in this very room, daughter. It was not I.” He stood from the throne he occupied, seeming to expend some effort to do so, as though his joints did not cooperate quite as smoothly as they had in the past. But when he reached his full height, his spine was straight and proud as it had always been.

“I did what I did so that House Viridius would weather history. So that we would survive. With or without us, the Elder One would have risen. Because I helped him do it, I run a nation. Had I resisted, as everyone else did, I’d have been crushed under his heel, as everyone else was. I have not the youthful arrogance necessary to believe that one mortal, however exceptional, can change the world that much.” His eyes slid to Cyrus, and he wore an ironic smile. “Even if I am wrong in that, I am not such a person.”

A breath hissed out from between the young Lord Avenarius’s teeth. “Your house may survive, but you will not.”

Cassius smiled sadly. “I rather expected as much, yes. I have committed the one crime you cannot overlook, haven’t I?” Despite his expression, there was a knowing, almost malicious undertone in the way he said it. “Imagine, had the Herald been anyone else
”

The sharp hum of weaponry being pulled from the Fade removed the need for a conclusion to the sentence, and Cassius raised his staff in preparation. Within the space of seconds, he needed it to fend off Cyrus’s assault, and the steel clashed with a keening note off the bastardsword the dreamer had drawn from the realm of magic. Sparks flew, but Cyrus buckled down, refusing to let the weaponlock relent, and slowly, the steel warped and twisted, the relatively thin pole of the staff snapping in two.

Cassius staggered back, throwing ice that cracked off a shield, then fire, which went wide, but struck Cyrus in one of his shoulders, burning away his left sleeve and scorching the skin underneath. In retaliation, he pressed forward, knocking Cassius in the head with the pommel of his summoned blade, which sent him sprawling backwards down the stairs of the throne’s platform. He smacked his head against the stone, clearly dazed, and struggled to stand. Cyrus descended after him with clear deliberateness, almost casually plunging the blade into the Magister’s stomach, letting go of the Fade-weapon and leaving it there.

There was a distinct pause, during which Cyrus’s eyes bored into his former teacher’s, and he seemed to struggle mightily with something. “Mercy is more than you deserve.” The words were as much spat as said. “She would have shown it to you anyway. I, on the other hand, will let you bleed out.” Another gesture produced a bluish knife, and he used that one to stake Cassius’s right hand into the stone as well. A third immobilized his left.

“You can watch while I change the world.”

As if heeding Cyrus's tall claim, the walls shuddered around them. Small rocks and dust rained down across their heads. Window panes rattled and shook and finally burst inwards, scattering glass across the floor. A great gust of wind whipped through the chamber, snapping the curtains like wild flags. There was a palpable sense of heaviness, but with no apparent source. Another tremor shivered across the floors like a great wave: the ocean violently slapping across the shore. With it came another sound not unlike the clapping of thunder, rippling in the distance.

Closer this time, a quieter, throaty rumble filled the air. It carried itself through the open windows. Besides the luminescence of red-lyrium playing on the walls in the courtyard below, nothing else could be seen outside. The rumbling died down for a few moments, and Zahra took the opportunity to snatch up Cyrus' elbow, attempting to pull him away from Cassius. Her bright eyes had gone wide and her mouth worked for words she could not speak. Instead, she pointed back towards the window, insistent that he turn his attention towards it. That was when a deafening roar bellowed from the skies, clamoring into a high-pitched shriek strong enough to bring them to their knees.

“Shit.” That was Khari, her expression dropped into a scowl, and she picked herself up from the floor, using her sword to leverage herself off her knees. “I remember that sound. The Elder One’s here. Whatever you’re going to do, Cyrus, you have to do it quick.”

The mage himself, using the fact that Zahra was still attached to his elbow to pull her back to her feet as he reached his, narrowed his eyes. “I believe I can create a tear of the necessary stability and destination in
 ten minutes, perhaps.”

Khari barked a hollow laugh, sounding more strangled than anything. The sound of the wind outside grew louder, and she shook her head. “You don’t have ten minutes. If we’re lucky, you might have two.” She readied her blade, lips pressed into a thin line.

“You want me to tear open time and space, stabilize both entry and exit points, and carry three people more than a year into the past, in two minutes? Would you also like me to just march out there and kill this Elder One while I’m at it?” For the first time, his tone, sarcastic though it was, seemed to betray a lack of confidence, though his expression was stony.

Khari took a deep breath, and fired back not with a verbal jab, but something else entirely. “She forgave you, Cyrus. She forgave everyone. Us for not saving her, you for not showing up in time, even the bloody Elder One, for causing this mess in the first place. You know what her last words were? Tell my brother I believe in him. You have two fucking minutes, and you’re going to succeed, because this is not how it ends.”

Cyrus’s jaw tightened, a muscle in it jumping, but she appeared to have silenced any attempt at protest he might have made. “Keep them off me.” He turned his back to the entrance and shook out both his hands, his fingers and palms slowly limned in opalescent light.

"I'll tell... you, what you said," Romulus said quietly, to Khari. "And if we can't stop this, I promise I'll be there to go through it with you this time." He wasn't a man that often made promises, of any kind. They were not words spoken lightly. If this was truly the world's fate if the Inquisition cracked and fell, then he didn't much care if he was supposed to remain a slave. There would be no point to any of it, and in that case, he wanted to see it through to the end, this mad quest he'd gotten himself caught up in.

"Rather morbid words, don't you think?" Vesryn cut in, wearing a half-smile.

“I’ll be glad to hear it. Both parts, even.” Khari grinned, savage and wide, strongly reminiscent of the version of her that he knew. Raising her good arm, she mock-saluted with her sword in hand. “Goodbye, Rom. Don’t make me say it again, okay?” With nothing more than that, she turned away, drawing herself tall as she could and heading for the doors, where soon the enemy forces would arrive.

"You'll fix this," Vesryn said. "You're a powerful little trio, you time-travelers. Oh, and... tell past-me that future-me is sorry, will you? For spilling the secret. I realize now that I was quite invested in keeping that from all of you at the time." Romulus nodded, prompting Vesryn to pat him on the arm once before he turned to head for the door. Romulus wasn't quite sure what the elf had been speaking of, something in his head, but if they did all survive and change the outcome here, certainly it would be inquired of some point soon.

Asala was hesitant at first, but eventually she stepped forward to stand in front of Romulus. Her hands left her ears and she gripped him by the shoulders, gently, and arched until she was eye level with him. The gold of her eyes were beginning to be replaced by orange, but her brow remained staunch. "Do... Do not let this happen. Do not force us to go through this again," she pleaded. Then she paused, and an uncertainity worked into her face.

For this first time since they'd arrived, Asala showed shades of the woman they knew before they were sent forward. "And Romulus? Keep... Look after me. Please?" she asked. Even underneath the dirt on her cheeks, a small blush could still be seen. She then pulled him in for a hug before pushing away, where she turned to follow Khari and Vesryn to the door.

Since Zahra had no voice to speak, and therefore no instructions to give, she simply clapped a hand across Romulus and offered a thin-lipped smile. Her hand drifted down to his elbow, where she gave a quick squeeze. There was an imploring look to her bright eyes, as if she were trying to say something through her expression alone. Whether or not it conveyed anything was another matter altogether. A soft hum sounded from her throat: imploring victory. It might have been an old Rivaini chanty of sorts, or simply Zahra's own raiding tune. Her eyebrows pinched together for a moment and she clasped his forearm instead, huffing out a breath. She held it briefly before offering another lopsided grin. It was a shade of the proud woman she'd once been, only a brief flicker, before she released his hand and turned away, trotting behind Asala.

With that, the four of them headed outside the throne room, shutting the door behind them, though how long it would hold after they'd been overwhelmed was hard to say. It would seem that Khari had been correct—there was not much time at all before they were simply outdone by strength of numbers. The faint glimmer of a protective barrier gave away that Asala had reinforced it as well as she could, which would help considerably on that score.

In the end, the clash outside, followed by the aggressive beating-down of the door itself, lasted somewhat longer than Khari had predicted. They were nearly five minutes in when the Venatori entered the room.

Romulus instinctively directed his gaze to the fight that had occurred beyond the doors, and what was still taking place. Their four protectors had made the Venatori pay dearly for their entrance, and the room beyond was practically painted red, with Tevinter bodies and parts of bodies strewn about the room. Among them, his eyes caught both Vesryn and Zahra sprawled on the ground, hacked down by a dozen weapons, already dead. Khari and Asala still lived as they were forced back through the door, but only barely. Several arrows protruded from Khari, and a Venatori sword had skewered her through the abdomen. The hand that wielded the sword still clutched the handle, severed from its arm. She fell to the ground shortly after the door burst open, another Venatori blade soon ending her life.

Asala was grievously injured as well, but managed to throw up a strong barrier in the doorway, temporarily keeping the Venatori from getting all the way inside, and covering Cyrus in his final spell preparations. They raged against it with their weapons, steadily wearing it down, until it began to glow red, near the breaking point. Cracks began to form in the barrier, as the red veins hatching Asala's body intensfied and pulsed. The effort of keeping the barrier solid drove her to her knees and she began to scream. Slowly, the barrier was pushed back out of the door and encroached on them. Asala's screaming paused for a moment, before starting again, this time far more intense. The blood red barrier then slammed forward and pushed the Venatori back out of the door and some ways down the hall.

The barrier then shattered, leaving a bloodied Asala wailing and writhing on the throne room floor. Soon, her screams distorted and became something monstrous, as the woman's body mutated and altered into something else entirely. The screaming never stopped, even as the Venatori approached once more.

Cyrus suddenly grinned, and a bright flash of light threw his shadow long across the chamber before the tearing sound from the past incident repeated itself, and a rend, similar to the last one save that its shape was a defined oval rather than jagged at the edges, appeared in front of him. It was at roughly ground level, stretching six feet high or so. “Go through, now! I must be last!” His brow and upper lip were dotted with beads of perspiration, and his already-fair complexion had whitened almost to the color of a sheet, but the hands held in front of him were steady, and he spoke without waver.

Chryseis tugged harshly on Romulus's sleeve. "We must go!" He was smart enough not to resist, and aware enough to know that if he stayed any longer, the sacrifice he'd just witnessed would be rendered meaningless. But he turned and looked back as he was pulled towards the rend that Cyrus had created, just in time to see Asala's last screams cut off by half a dozen swords, preventing her from fully transforming.

The rend in time then swallowed him, and the nightmare was consumed by darkness.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella hit the ground hard, rolling several times before she came to a stop in just enough time to watch three people disappear into the rend in the air, both like and entirely unlike a rift, and though she was forced to cover her ears, she regained her feet as she did, such that by the time it stopped, she was standing again.

For a moment, there was utter silence, or perhaps she’d simply lost the ability to register sound. In any case, she waited what seemed like an eternity for them to reappear, to drop back from the spot like it was all one of Cyrus’s grand jokes, something they’d laugh about later while she insisted she hadn’t been fooled.

But though she counted her heartbeats, her breath still in her chest, they did not return. “Cyrus
” It was hardly more than a whisper, but time seemed to snap back into place as she said it, and suddenly she could hear again, and the fight was back on. It was extremely difficult to make herself care in just that moment, however.

“Cyrus!” It was a ragged shout that time, raw and agonized, and she was halfway through a step towards the dais when someone answered.

“Now, now, Stellulam. No need to shout; I can hear you just fine.” From one of the sides of the room, her brother himself, alongside Romulus and Chryseis, stepped out from behind the line of columns to the right. He wore a broad, almost triumphant smile, and that and the glint in his eyes was rather rare, because it seemed tempered by something, not as haphazard as such expressions had been before. With an almost lazy flick of his fingers, he blasted away the few Venatori standing between themselves and her, and then crossed the intervening distance with a quick Fade-step.

“Cy? What—?” Estella had no idea what had happened, but it would seem that in any case her unvoiced prayers had been answered, and she sent fervent thanks to whoever was listening to begin with. If it hadn't been the middle of an armed confrontation, she’d have hugged him, and she wanted to anyway, but restrained herself for the sake of necessity. She did smile at him, though, shaking her head faintly at his usual lofty mannerisms and his very unusual expression alike.

“Remind me to tell you how I did this, when it’s all over.” His tone was light, but his expression was not, and it was easy enough for her to tell that something was really getting to him. This was clearly neither the time nor the place to discuss it, however, and he turned his eyes towards Cassius, where he stood now near the entrance to the room.

“You’ve failed, old man. I’ve outdone you. Again.” What under other circumstances could have been anything from factual to arrogant to possibly even lighthearted sounded much graver, in the sonorous modulation he used to deliver it, and Cyrus stepped slightly away from Estella, materializing a weapon in his left hand. “Call off your dogs. There need only be one more death here.” It wasn’t hard to guess whose he meant, either.

At the sudden reappearance of those he’d banished but moments before, Cassius seemed to know he was defeated. The strategy had been a good one, unfortunately thwarted by the ill luck of his former pupil being caught up in it instead of the second Herald, but it was clear that he had less left than he needed, that opening the tear had taken a good deal out of him. The Venatori were dying around him anyway—the reappearance of their Herald and his allies had put the wind back in the Inquisition’s sails, and they were rallying, regaining the advantage that had been theirs with the ambush.

And yet despite the obvious disadvantage this had put him at, Cassius was apparently reluctant to surrender. In the end, however, he did. “All right, then. Have it your way, Cyrus. You always did insist upon it. Cease!” The command, he shouted to his men, who were trained and obedient enough to do just that, abruptly stopping and sheathing their weapons, though they were generally prevented from doing much more than that by the equally-trained blades of the Inquisition, which predictably did not see the need to trust the Magister at his word, and reinforced the Venatori submission with edges and points skirting throats, backs, and similarly-vulnerable areas.

It was now, effectively, a hostage situation in addition to a near-rout.

“Give me one reason, Cassius. One reason I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.” Cyrus’s glance shifted to Estella for only a moment, but then he tightened his jaw and moved it back to his teacher.

“Don’t.” The response, swift and sure, came not from Cassius, but Estella, who reached forward and laid her right hand on Cyrus’s left forearm, a gentle and entirely surmountable barrier to him raising his sword. Despite that, she believed he’d stay his hand if she asked him to, assuming she could ask in the right way. He seemed particularly intent on this, and she didn’t know why. “Cyrus, there’s nothing else he can do. You’ve defeated his magic, and the Inquisition has defeated his soldiers. We came here to free the other mages, remember?” She hoped the reference to his own accomplishment would put him in a better frame of mind—for lack of a better phrase, she was playing to her brother’s ego, hoping that he’d take it as enough of a victory that he’d done that much.

She would have thought it’d be unquestionably enough—Cyrus liked to win, of course, but she’d never known him to be a violent person. She could only assume that something was really bothering him, which meant that if he acted from that now, he’d regret it later. Besides, there really wasn’t any reason to kill Cassius, not really. All he’d done was try—unsuccessfully, now—to indenture some people with terms they’d agreed to, and then attacked the Inquisition, which was admittedly part of what the Inquisition had come here prepared to do to him. Looking at it that way, she wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong, whatever his intentions might have been.

“Please.”

“You haven’t seen what I saw.” His reply was soft, perhaps even hollow. The arm under her hand slowly relaxed though, and he let her guide it back down to his side, the Fade-weapon flickering a few times before it disappeared entirely, leaving him empty-handed. Cyrus shook his head slightly.

“Do what you will, Stellulam, but do not underestimate the danger he still poses you.”

That was well enough for him to say, and she was relieved that he’d apparently abandoned the notion of actually killing Cassius, but what exactly they should do with him instead was still a pressing question, and not one she felt qualified to answer. Instead, she turned to Lady Marceline and Rilien, expecting them to have a better idea than she did of what should be done. Chryseis observed the exchange with obvious interest, from where she stood nearby. She'd visibly relaxed when Cyrus had refused to decide her father's fate himself, but if she had a strong desire to sway the Inquisition's decision, she clearly wasn't acting on it.

Lady Marceline, tucking her bloodied hankerchief back into a pocket, raised a hand and signalled for Lia. When the woman approached, Marceline spoke. "If you would be so kind as to fetch Ser Leon and a contigent of guards, I would see Lord Cassius placed into our custody for the time being." As she spoke, her clean rapier rested on her shoulder, Marceline appearing uncomfortable with the idea of returning it to its sheath. "Agreed, Ser Rilien?"

Rilien, who’d already tucked his knives away at his lower back, nodded in the sanguine fashion typical of him. “For the moment.”

Cassius himself seemed disinclined to resist, perhaps even a little relieved now that his immediate death seemed to have been taken off the table, though there was no mistake that the look he shot Cyrus and Estella was one of calculation. “As you wish, then.” His tone was carefully neutral, almost as bled of emotion as Rilien’s own. Cyrus’s lip curled, but he protested no further.

Chryseis exhaled, stepping over towards Marceline. "I appreciate your ability to remain sensible, Lady Marceline. This is not a decision to be made so close to the heat of battle." She turned, nodding briefly to Estella. "You as well, Estella. Your brother and I went through... a great deal, to return here." Romulus, having finished wiping the blood from his blade, returned to her side. The look in his eyes was enough to confirm her words, if nothing else. It shared the same hollowness that Cyrus carried.

Another reference to the fact that something important had transpired while they were gone. Estella wasn’t sure she could make sense of it—though the moment had seemed to stretch for minutes to her, it hadn’t really been that long. Then again, it was time magic of some kind—she had no idea what might have passed for them while so little did for her. In the end, she only smiled thinly and nodded. “It’s, ah
 don’t mention it.” Her mouth thinned, her eyes flickering to Romulus, before a noise from behind drew her attention, and she turned to see Leon entering, with a contingent of Inquisition troops. They must have already been on their way up, to be here now. Perhaps he had anticipated something going wrong, or perhaps they’d simply taken more time than he was comfortable waiting.

Whatever the case was, it didn’t take much more than a few minutes before Cassius was being led away in irons by the troops, with particular attention paid to the bonds so he couldn’t cast, though from the look of him, she wasn’t sure if he had the energy left for that regardless.

Also among those who had entered was Fiona, who looked around at the room full of dead Venatori and blanched slightly. “You’re, um
 well, you’re not indentured to Magister Cassius anymore,” Estella explained, though maybe that was already obvious.

Fiona recovered quickly, to her credit, and nodded. “I
 yes, thank you. But this does present a new set of problems. I doubt very much the king will allow us to remain in Redcliffe after a Magister chased out the Arl. We cannot stay here, either.” She made careful eye contact with Estella, who sighed under her breath, but inclined her head.

“Well, ah
 with regard to that, I believe the Inquisition is in a position to give your people somewhere to stay, if you’re willing to help us close the Breach.” Honestly, she was inclined to offer as much regardless, but she had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well with, say, Lady Marceline.

"It is not as though you possess any other option." Marceline still had not sheathed her rapier, instead she held it point down into the throne room's stone floor, her hands resting on top of the basket. Her facial expression was even and hard, that of a woman who would get what she desired, no matter the cost. She glanced at Estella, whom she held in a gaze for a moment, before returning to Fiona with a hard stare. "The mages will recieve room and board in return for aid in closing the breach, as the Lady Herald said," However, there was an implied but at the end of the statement.

"However, considering the quality of your recent judgements, the Inquisition will take command of the Free Mages. You shall be relegated to an advisory position," Marceline said with authority. Eventually, her stoney exterior cracked a bit with a sigh and a tilt of her head. "I can assure you, the Inquisition is fair in its dealings, and the mages will face no such mistreatment from the rest of our forces. It is a much better option than your previous employer." A polite term for master.

"Agreed?"

“It is as you say,” Fiona replied, heavily. “We have no choice.”

As if the end of the matter were some kind of signal, Cyrus slumped heavily against Estella’s side, a soft groan escaping him as he struggled to keep his feet under him. Whatever had been propelling him up until this point had obviously run out, and now that the immediate danger had passed, he was in clear danger of collapse. His eyelids fluttered, but thankfully, he didn’t quite pass out, having apparently enough strength yet to aid her in supporting his weight.

“Are we done, then?” He muttered it almost incoherently, quietly enough that probably only she could make out the actual words.

Estella immediately pushed back on his weight, solidifying herself under him, maneuvering one of his arms across her shoulders, and wrapping one of her own around his waist. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of magic it had taken to reverse Cassius’s spell, but still his state was alarming to her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him look so utterly spent before, and felt a spike of worry spear its way into her chest. When she spoke, though, she kept her tone gentle, reassuring.

“Yes, Cyrus. We’re done now.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The Inquisition’s leadership and much of the main body had departed in advance of the mages themselves, who’d doubtless take longer to make it all the way back to Haven, but a small rear guard had been left behind to guide and protect them on their way up into the mountains. Khari was not part of that team, which was probably for the best because it sounded tedious and annoying. She didn’t have anything against mages, but the majority of this lot had been in Circles most of their lives, and watching them bumble around in the real world was kind of like watching a baby halla try to gain its footing, only much less cute. Not something she wanted to be dealing with all the way back to the base camp, anyway.

Most everyone was still getting settled in or else off doing something they hadn’t bothered to inform her about, and so with the exception of the usual morning training with Estella in the wee hours, Khari had been alone for most of the day. For someone so exuberant in the company of others, she took solitude quite well, she thought—probably because she was used to it. But it was one thing to be alone and have something to do; it was another thing entirely to be alone and bored, which was the unfortunate condition she presently found herself in.

At the moment, she just sat on a retaining wall on the south side of Haven, kicking her feet idly and watching people go by. She’d volunteered to help move things, but most of that was basically done, and to be honest, she wasn’t great for the really heavy stuff anyhow. It was embarrassing, actually, but thankfully no one had said anything about it. Probably they hadn’t even really noticed; it wasn’t like she was particularly noteworthy unless she was expending conscious effort to be. She still wasn’t sure if that bothered her or not.

All such abstract musings were immediately chased from her thoughts when she saw the commander go by, head bowed over some documents or a book or something—she couldn’t say for sure from this distance. Even this far away, his silhouette was unmistakable as belonging to anyone else, both for the size and the carriage. Now there was someone who never had to worry about being invisible, for better or worse. Unfortunately, he was heading right for a staircase, and she wasn’t entirely sure he knew it. Raising a hand to her mouth, Khari curved it around the side to amplify her voice and shouted over the intervening distance. “Oi, Leon! Watch your step!”

His head snapped up as soon as she called his name, and fortunately, he also stopped walking forward. He seemed confused for a moment, looking around as though seeking for the source of the voice, but then he saw the stairs, and turned his head in her direction. He gave a wave and what might have been a smile, lowering his hand slowly and pausing for a moment before he diverted his course from its previous track and headed in her direction.

Leon was currently sans any of his armor, his hands just layered in those leather gloves, the rest of him clothed in plain brown robes, like a monk might wear, including the hood in the back that he wasn’t using. For all the utter unremarkability of his wardrobe, however, he still definitely stood out, cutting an imposing figure as he drew closer. It was an impression somewhat tempered by the slightly-sheepish look on his face, though, and while it could have just been the cold, he also looked a bit flush, as if from embarrassment.

“I really must thank you for your timely intervention, Miss Khari. I am afraid I’d have rather embarrassed myself if I’d managed to break my nose falling up the stairs.” He shifted the book he was carrying under one arm, marking his place with what looked like a scrap of fabric or something, and rubbed at the back of his neck with his now-free left hand.

“What did I tell you about that ‘Miss Khari’ business?” She groused the words, but it was clear enough from her expression that her irritation was only jesting. She thought it was pretty absurd for anyone to call her miss—that was the kind of title you gave to young ladies of genteel demeanor, and Khari didn’t qualify. Asala, sure, and probably Estella, too, if there was some reason not to call her ‘Lady Herald’ or whatever, but not her.

She leaned back further on her hands, which was necessary so she could actually meet his eyes, even at the polite distance he was standing. He really was damn tall—well, and she was short, but that part wasn’t anything extraordinary. She wondered how hard he’d had to work to get a musculature like that one. It was beyond the capability of most people of course, probably even beyond most tall men, but that didn’t mean he’d cultivated it by natural gifts alone. She wondered if he had any pointers for putting on mass, and if they’d even apply to her twiggy elf person.

Well, okay, ‘twiggy’ wasn’t true. Khari personally thought she had okayish leg mass and a killer set of abdominals, but then again, it was all relative. She pursed her lips and crossed one leg over the other, raising a hand to shade her eyes. He was standing with his back to the sun, and it was damn bright out. “How much do you reckon you can dead-lift, Leon? Because those are really fantastic arms you’ve got. Actually, your whole body is pretty incredible. Most people can’t get good proportions like that.” A large chunk of the bigger warrior-types she’d ever met wound up looking slightly unbalanced to her, but his ratios were really spot-on.

Leon’s face had done this weird contorting thing through most of her query and explanation, and at one point, he’d actually dropped the book, which he now bent over to retrieve, clearing his throat. “Ah
 well, I can’t say exactly. Last time I checked, I deadlifted, um
 thirty-five stone? That was several years ago now, though—I don’t often take occasion to actually measure.” Dusting a bit of snow off the book’s cover, he tucked it more securely under his arm and smiled mildly. “I’ve been training a very long time, though, Khari, and I need that strength a great deal more than anyone else would, considering my
 tendencies.”

She was technically aware of the things he’d said after ‘thirty-five stone,’ but to say that she’d paid attention to them was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. Mostly she’d just stared right at him with obvious admiration. “Fight me, please.” Despite the fact that it was a challenge, it was delivered in a near-reverential tone. And why the hell not? His so-called 'tendencies' were to take down people fighting with weapons with his fucking bare hands: she thought a little awe was perfectly justified. More importantly even than the awe, though, was the fact that she wanted to test herself against that kind of mettle and see what happened.

Khari held no illusions whatsoever that she’d stand a chance. But it would be damn fun to try her luck anyway. “I mean, come on. It’ll be easy for you. Probably won’t even take that much time. But it’s not the office, and it’s not paperwork, and it might even be a little bit of a workout.”

Leon sighed slightly through his nose, taking a few steps forward and to the side, turning around so that he, also, could sit. Needless to say, there was no space for his legs to dangle off the ground—he actually propped his heels on the ground a ways in front of the wall. He turned his head to look down at her, though distinctly not in the uppity kind of way. “May I ask why you’re so enthused by the prospect of sparring with me?” he inquired, his tone kind. It would seem to be an honest question, so to speak.

For all the simplicity of it, though, Khari wondered if it weren’t some kind of trick. What kind of reason did she need? “Uh
 because it would be fun? And help me improve? Isn’t that kind of the point of training?”

Leon tilted his head to the side, pushing a strand of fair hair behind one of his ears. “Setting the amusement aside for a moment
 is this the way you trained in the past? Simply fighting anyone you could? Or were there other elements to it?” His tone never lost the patience and deliberateness that seemed to characterize a great many of the things he said and did.

Khari frowned a bit, then shrugged. Was there supposed to be something more to it than that? “I mean
 sure, I run and do lifting and stuff, but
 mostly when Ser Durand trained me, it was just hitting me with a practice sword until I got what he was trying to teach through my thick skull, yeah.” She chuckled a bit. She hadn’t been the easiest student, she was sure, but she’d picked it up with practice and work, just like everyone else. She learned something from every spar, even if it was just a new place she could be bruised.

For some reason, Leon’s expression changed then; his brows knit together, and he frowned slightly, compressing his lips into a thin line. It was clear something she’d said had struck him poorly, though what exactly the problem was, he didn’t say. Reaching up, he scratched at one side of his jaw, then shook his head. “I fear you would gain little from sparring with me, Khari. The way I fight, it’s not
” He exhaled heavily through his nose and grimaced. “You would obtain much more of use from what you do with Estella.” That seemed to be the answer he’d settled on, because he said nothing further on the subject, and from the way he ended, it was a fair guess that the topic was closed, at least for the moment.

He made no move to leave, however, and indeed a few moments later, he shifted the topic somewhat. “This chevalier that trained you—you said his name was Durand?”

She was definitely disappointed that he seemed unwilling to even consider it, but she suspected that something about her approach had gone awry, and so she left it be for the moment. Though she could be as tenacious as a hound when the mood took her, she liked to think she had a fairly good read on people, and she knew to let this go right now. At the question about her teacher, she let herself grin brightly. “Ser Jean-Robert Durand, of the Collines Vertes region of the Heartlands. Pretty sure it doesn’t get much more Orlesian than that, does it?” She shook her head, clear amusement showing through.

“He’s a mean old bastard, but he’s he only person I know crazy enough to teach a little stick-figure elf girl how to fight like a knight. Wouldn’t have made it half this far without him. Without him believing in me, you know? He said I had something special, something that none of those fancy nobles who come out of the Academie have.” She cut a glance at him from the corner of her eyes, humor glinting in them.

“Utter shamelessness?” Leon’s guess was dry, but his own expression conveyed some amusement as well.

She barked a laugh, deep from her belly, wrapping her arms around herself and for a moment rocking precariously close to falling off the retaining wall, not that it was that far down. Righting herself, she still wore a toothy smile, and nodded vigorously. “You can count on that. Though honestly, some of those nobles are pretty shameless, too. No, he said I want it more than anyone who just gets to have it for free because of who their family is.” Her expression sobered a little, and she tilted her head to the side. “And I do, you know? I want it so damn bad it hurts sometimes.”

Leon nodded a bit. “That, Khari, is a more admirable thing than any amount of skill. Or, indeed, any amount of muscle.” He arched his brows, calling back to the beginning of the conversation, and half-smiled. “It will carry you much further, as well, through things that people with skill and build alone would not be able to conquer. You need them all, to some extent, of course, but that desire, that passion—that will serve you, when the odds are slim and the time comes to do or die.” He said it not like a platitude, but like he had a real sense of what it was like to be in such a situation.

She was hardly accustomed to being praised much, and she found herself feeling a slightly awkward about it suddenly, coughing a bit. It was just that, coming from someone who was clearly so accomplished, the words really seemed to mean something. It sounded almost like he actually respected her, which was pretty novel to her, really. “Thanks, Leon.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He stood then, brushing his robes clean of any extra snow, and then turned to face her one last time. “And, just so I’m being clear: I didn’t mean I’d never spar you, only that now isn’t the time, I think. I’ll give you a little longer to train for it, shall I?” His eyes narrowed with his mirth, clearly readable.

She jerked her chin in a sharp upward motion. “You’ll regret it when I kick your ass.” That was definitely mostly bravado, but it was in good fun.

“I hope I do.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Several days after their return to Haven, Khari still hadn’t seen much of Rom.

It wasn’t exactly unexpected; he didn’t tend to be the most active of social butterflies, to put it one way. But he wasn’t usually completely absent, either. Before she decided if this represented some kind of problem or not, she figured she’d just take the direct approach, and go see him. Even if he wasn’t around, it wasn’t difficult to guess where he’d be, and so that afternoon, she elected to head for the Chantry basement again. This time, she had bounty in tow, so to speak: a couple of cloth-wrapped sandwiches were tucked under her arm, and she gripped a three-quarters-full bottle of wine by the neck, because someone had left it laying around after a meal and she figured they probably wouldn’t miss it. He seemed to be okay with sharing her food, and Khari just liked to eat anyway, so it was in some sense the best of all arrangements: the kind where everybody won.

As ever, she made no secret of her presence, though in the absence of the need for armor, she wasn’t wearing any. Her plain grey shirt was loose enough that she was nearly swimming in it. It fell halfway down her legs, though she’d cut and hemmed slits in the sides to allow her free motion. She’d also bound down the loose fabric at her forearms, to keep it out of the way, and tied a sash at her waist, but it was still almost comically-proportioned. Which made sense, since it was made for a man, a human one at that. Her hood was gone, too, her thick braid pulled over one shoulder, and her boots were softer, well-crafted, but not armored. Her mother had made them for someone else, but they were the right size, at least.

Rom was slightly bent over a worktable, the complex setup of alchemy equipment a dead giveaway as to why. She smiled to herself at the sight of the various brightly-colored liquids. She didn’t know what any of them were, of course, but that wasn’t important. “Hey, stranger. D’you have time for a lunch break, or should I leave the mad alchemist to his concoctions?”

Romulus held up a vial to the torchlight, which was probably not adequate for such work, but by the way he'd been deftly maneuvering both the ingredients and the equipment, he hardly needed any light at all for this sort of thing. The liquid inside was turquoise, and seemed to radiate its own light. He frowned at it, shaking it in the vial gently and waiting a few seconds. Grunting to himself in displeasure, he took hold of the vial's bottom and discarded the liquid inside with a flick. It hissed quietly when it splashed against the hay strewn across some of the floor, but soon fell silent.

He set the vial back down on his worktable, stepping away from it a few paces and removing the thin leather gloves he wore. He tossed them onto the table, and then rubbed at his eyes, blinking obvious weariness. "Not here. Upstairs, at least. I... should probably take a break."

“Yeah, you look like it.” Her reply was blunt as ever, but then, she didn’t think he cared, which was nice. “Come on then, let’s get you some sunlight or something.” She turned neatly on her heel and led the way up the stairs, pausing for a moment to allow him to take up his cloak, which he might need. It was a comparatively warm day in Haven, which just meant that she didn’t feel like she was going to lose her fingers every time she braved the outdoors.

By lucky circumstance, the tent areas immediately in front of the Chantry weren’t currently occupied, though the campfire still burned, which Khari had to admit would help with the chill, so she headed over that way and parked herself on one of the roughly-hewn logs that served as a bench, and tossed one of the sandwiches in his general direction. He had good reflexes, so she couldn’t imagine him not catching it with such an easy lob. “I know you hate the cold, so. Fire, and wine.” She held up the bottle and swished it from side to side, before taking the cork out with her teeth and setting the thing down in between them. She didn’t have enough hands for glasses, too, but she wasn’t picky enough to be bothered by sharing, and she’d be surprised if he were, either.

Stretching her feet out in front of her towards the fire, she hummed her contentment at the sensation of it warming her toes first, then unwrapped her sandwich in her lap. “Didn’t know what you liked on yours, so I made it like mine: a bunch of everything. Hope that’s okay.”

"I've never been picky with food." Romulus sat down, a slight groan escaping him, evidence that he'd been standing too long, likely in one spot. Rather than sit on the log, he sat on the ground, and put his back against the log, which he propped an arm upon, while the other raised the sandwich to his mouth for a first bite. Once it was down, he switched the food for drink, and took a long swig from the wine bottle. After he'd put it back between them, he decided to pull up his hood, and sink a little lower against the log.

"Thank you," he said, a bit late, if it was the food he was thanking her for. "I don't think I remember to say it enough. You're thoughtful. I needed... I don't know. Dealing with Redcliffe has been..." Evidently tired of cutting off his own thoughts, Romulus silenced himself, and took another bite instead, staring into the fire.

He exhaled through his nose, taking several deep breaths. "I'd never seen a friend die until recently."

Khari finished chewing over her own bite of sandwich before replying, though she might not have done quite enough, because it hurt a little on the way to her guts, and she grimaced, reaching for the wine bottle and washing the food down with several deep swallows. She liked the little bite on her tongue that alcohol had, though since she’d been introduced to the concept of imbibing, she’d preferred her beverages a bit stronger than wine. Still, it was lunch, not a night at the bar, so this was fine. She set it down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, which also gave her some time to think about what he said. Khari didn’t really believe she was all that thoughtful, exactly—that seemed like an adjective for more complicated people. But she didn’t try to deflect his thanks, either.

“You want to talk about it? Can’t say I’ve got a lot of experience with that, either. Never had a lot of friends.” It was a mere statement of fact, and she delivered it like one. Nobody had really told her much about the whole ‘future’ thing, which was fine by her because it had to be way above her pay grade, but it sounded like it had been a pretty nasty business, if someone had died. Good thing it wasn’t the real future. Or, well
 whatever.

Romulus cocked his head to the side, watching the fire but seeing something else in his mind. "The magister's spell sent us a year and a half or so into the future. I don't claim to understand it, but... imagine the worst nightmare you could possibly place yourself in, and then make it entirely real." He paused, long enough to get some more of the wine. He wasn't draining the entire bottle or anything, but most of his bites were chased by it.

"The Venatori controlled the castle. Many were dead, some had been prisoners for months. You were one of them. We found you and Zahra in a torturer's chamber." Another pause. It was possible he was deliberating whether or not to continue, or perhaps he was just working up the strength to do it. "You'd lost one of your arms at the elbow. One of your eyes was useless. Every inch of you, carved into carelessly. I don't even know what they could have wanted from you. Perhaps they simply enjoyed inflicting pain." He spoke the last words with disgust, as he did for the next that followed.

"You distracted the torturer when we entered. I ambushed him from behind. Hacked his head off in four strikes. Inaccurate cuts, so he'd feel it before the end." He rolled his neck around until it popped, and he rubbed at his eyes again.

"Despite all of that, you were still you, for the most part."

“Huh.” If there were words made for this kind of situation, Khari sure as hell didn’t know what they were. Instead, she let it sink in for a while, making her way through her sandwich. For the most part, she stared into the fire while she ate, trying to get a sense for what he’d seen. It was probably impossible—maybe that would just be something only the three of them would ever really understand. Hopefully, she wouldn’t learn it because it came to pass, at any rate.

She was a bit happy to learn she’d still been mostly herself, though, even after all that. It might have even been reassuring. Khari had always been fierce in her independence, and in her desire to stay true to who she was, though figuring that out had been quite difficult at various points in her life, and she suspected it would be again, someday. “Good to know I was still an angry nuisance even after the world went to shit. Less good to know that it went there in the first place. Probably we oughta, I dunno, not let that happen this time, or something.”

She frowned for a moment. “Did I die, then? In that future?”

"None of you could come back with us. So while Cyrus prepared the spell, you held off the Venatori with Asala, Zahra, and Vesryn. Kept them out of the throne room." He brought his hand up, touching two fingers to a point on his stomach. "When the door burst open, you had a sword in your guts. Whoever put it there lost an arm for it. But you fell after that. All four of you died, so that we could leave." He swallowed another gulp of wine, grimacing as though the drink or maybe the words had left a bitter taste on his tongue.

"You asked me to remind you, that even if all of this goes wrong again, that you're still... awesome, I think was the word. Said you forget that occasionally."

Despite what was perhaps a grave situation, Khari laughed, completely unashamed of it. Who would care, anyway? And if someone did, well, they could fuck off. She took in a hard breath afterwards, trying to regain the air required to breathe normally, and slid off the log to plant her rear on the ground. “Sounds like me, all right.” Her eyes narrowed with evident mirth, and the grinned at him. “Really kind of weird when you’re the one saying it, though.” It was definitely the sort of word she’d throw around carelessly, where as he seemed so much more deliberate than she was.

She sobered herself as well as she could though, the second bit striking her only when the humor from the first had receded. Then her breath transmuted to a sigh, and she shook her head. “Must’ve been pretty dire, if I was bothering you with that crap, though.” She wasn’t in the practice of making her self-evaluations a public matter, to anyone, and frankly, she was slightly ticked that she, or some version of her, had done it. Though it wasn’t like that was his fault.

“But
 thanks for reminding me.”

"You're welcome." Rom's reply was a bit subdued, but then again, he'd been growing steadily more subdued for some time. He'd reacted slightly to a few of her laughs, showing the tiniest signs of his own smile, but they were soon enough smothered away. He clambered to his feet, brushing the dirt and snow from his legs.

"And thanks for lunch. I should get back to it." What exactly it entailed was unclear, but probably had something to do with chemical experimentation by torchlight.

“No problem.” Her reply was easy, and she lifted a hand by way of parting gesture. “Good luck down there.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Yonbibuns
Haven was less chilly than when Zahra had first arrived. Not in the sense that all the snow had melted. It hadn't become a tropical oasis in her absence. Much to her disappointment. These changes, however minute, were welcome things. Her presence was expected. Her face was recognized. People were growing accustomed to seeing her snooping around the buildings or finding some hidey-hole to curl up and snooze. If she wasn't exploring the mountains surrounding the small village, she was in the local tavern causing trouble with the locals. Or creating just a bit more fun. Besides, the brown-haired bard had a voice that could make her legs weak, if she was so inclined to indulge in it. However, she was not in the tavern today, as it so happened.

Instead, she'd chosen to walk around Haven and found an outcrop of rocks overlooking the frozen lake below. She'd been told that the first tear in the sky had been closed in the mountains. And only the Heralds of Andraste had the ability to close them: Romulus and Estella. Effectively saving them from whatever hell-beasts would rain down on them. It was almost too much to chew on. Whether or not it made any sense didn't particularly matter to her. As long as the Inquisition had her under contract, she and her crew would go through hell and high water to fight for them. Through beasts, demons, and humans alike. Land or water. She'd never thought about it before, so why now? A soft puff of white blew from her lips.

She'd chosen heavier garments this time. Things she'd procured from the holdings of Riptide's belly. A white linen shirt with a leather bodice, with leather pants and knee-high boots. She wore an old cloak made from several furred animals, pulled tightly across her hunched shoulders. She hadn't drawn the hood over her head, so that she could still tip it back and look at the swirling clouds. Zahra leaned back against the boulder, fingers wrapped around the copper clasp keeping her cloak in place. Even if she felt unusual being so far from the sea, she had to admit that there was beauty in unexpected places. Even in bloody cold places.

Some time later, after at least a good ten minutes of uninterrupted silence, there was a pointed “Ah-ha!” from somewhere below, and then the sound of someone climbing up the face of the rocks. Well, actually, it could have been more than one person, but the one was making enough noise in her passage upward that it was hard to tell. Indeed, a head of bright red hair soon popped up over the stone, and the rest of Khari followed, grinning as usual and pulling herself up onto the outcropping with what seemed to be little by way of effort, even considering the fact that she was wearing her armor. Romulus climbed quietly up behind her, clad in his warm clothes and heavy cloak as always upon going outside in Haven. By his general look he'd been persuaded to come along, but he didn't look particularly grudging about it.

With little ceremony and not so much as a by-your-leave, the Dalish lass plopped herself down next to Zahra, tipping her head back as well to look at the clouds overhead. The Breach still dyed much of the sky a vaguely-ill green, and Khari frowned at it, sticking her tongue out in its general direction for a moment before she tilted her gaze back down and to the side, to meet the pirate captain’s eyes. “Hope you’re not too bored yet, stuck on solid ground with the rest of us
 what’s the word? Land-lovers? Whatever it is.”

Zahra nearly jumped out of her skin when a familiar voice cried out from below—not that she would ever admit it. For a woman who bustled through the bush like a drunken bear, she'd been eerily quiet up until she'd revealed herself. She'd been growing weary of the silence that cut through the mountains, only offering soft whistles through the pines glowering beside her. Nothing like the sea at all. The rhythmic slapping of the waves was capable of lulling her to sleep on any given day. The leering silence put her on edge. While she hadn't expected anyone to find her, any company was welcome. She pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled sharply, willing her skipping heartbeat to slow back down.

She scooted to the side to give Khari and Romulus more room and pointed a waggling finger up to the sickly-looking sky, letting it fall back against her chest. Swirling plumes of white mingled with the shade of green a sea-sick land-lover might turn when they settled their legs back on land. Zahra tilted her head to the side and stared back at Khari, lips pulled back into a grin, “How do you all bear it? It's suffocating. Might sound strange coming from a pirate, but spending so much time on this rock feels like you couldn't sleep without waking to a knife at your throat.” She laughed. It wasn't a harsh laugh, just one that was acknowledging how ridiculous that sounded. Living on the sea was no less dangerous after all, “Land-lovers, that's right.”

Khari seemed to contemplate that for a moment, and then she shrugged. “I dunno. It’s ugly as shit and spews demons everywhere, but other than that I guess it doesn’t bother me much. Probably because I don’t spend an awful lot of time thinking about it. It’ll go away eventually; that’s what we’re all here for.” She closed an eye and reached up to scratch the back of her head, apparently doing a bit more thinking on it now that she subject had been brought up in that way. “Seems like you’d hear a demon coming anyway, right?”

She pulled her legs up underneath her, leaning back until her palms hit the stone, bracing herself at a slight incline. “Truth be told, life’s not that different for me right now than it would be if the thing weren’t there. Either way, I’d be fighting stuff. Bandits or demons—can’t say it makes much of a difference to me. I guess this is all a bigger change for you though, right?”

Ugly as shit accurately described what was happening in the sky at the moment. It was difficult trying to remember when the sky hadn't looked so ill. She hummed a soft tune and turned her gaze skyward once more, “Fair enough. I've seen a lot of things in my line of work. But the Inquisition and demon-shitting tears, those are things you don't often see.” She was certain she was leaving out far more things, like their mottled crew, and an awfully cold destination for their headquarters. A laugh bubbled up from her chest and ended with an unladylike snort, dark eyes twinkling mirthfully, “You're right. Suppose I would, if they're as noisy as you are.”

She rolled her eyes up at the third one, standing so silently. From what little they'd spoken about, Romulus was a mystery. One that she'd like to pick apart, if he was willing to entertain her curiosities. Zahra patted a hand above her head, indicating that he could scoot beside them if he so wished to join in on the conversation. He took a seat and drew his cloak tightly around him. She had no sense of personal space, anyhow. She, too, drew herself back up and readjusted the cloak around her shoulders, arms hidden within it. Bandits and demons seemed awfully different from where she was standing, but she supposed there was an inkling of truth there. Weapon in hand, it hardly mattered what it was that you were fighting. She wondered whether Khari had wanted anything else in her life, or if she'd simply return to fighting bandits when this was all over. A question for another time.

“Much bigger,” Zahra sighed and quirked an eyebrow, bumping Khari with her shoulder, “I suppose I'd rather fight bandits than demons.” She laughed again, softer this time. “It's much more simple at sea. You, your crew, on a ship. Sail anywhere, see anything. There's freedom there, and responsibilities of a different sort. No one to tell you that you can't do something.”

“Sounds kind of nice.” Khari furrowed her brows for a moment, as though thinking of something mildly troubling. “Though I’m not sure how well I’d do on a boat. Even the aravels used to make me kind of motion-sick, if the terrain was bad. Horseback is much better for that.” She sighed, the gusty breath stirring a few loose ringlets of hair, and flopped backwards onto the stone beneath them, letting her legs dangle over the edge.

“You’re a pirate, right Cap’n Zee? What kind of pirate?”

Zahra bobbed her head. It was nice. Her mouth pulled up at the edges and settled into a dreamy smile. She could have described it with hundreds of flowery words. It was mostly something she hadn't believed she would find: a home. One she dearly missed whenever she ventured too far way, as sentimental as it sounded. Everyone had one of those, even if it meant being astride a snorting, pawing creature. She tilted her head to the side, and glanced over her shoulder so that she could see Khari's face, “Aravel?” It came out as a slowly-pronounced question, because she'd never heard of such a thing. She made it sound like it was a land-traveling ship, which sounded impossible. These days, she'd believe anything.

Her small smile widened and broke into a grin that was hardly innocent. It dimpled her cheeks as she turned back to face the sky, already glazing over with different hues as the sun settled across the horizon. Zee was a fair exchange for Ginger, she supposed. “Wasn't aware that there were certain types of pirates,” she replied offhandedly, pausing for effect, before flopping down beside her, “Why don't you ask what you really want to know—do I peddle in flesh, slaughter spice-runners, steal from the rich and poor alike?” Her tone hadn't changed, it remained good-natured with furtive undertones. As if she were sharing childish secrets.

Khari shrugged from her position on the stone. “I don’t know a lot about piracy. Seems like the kind of thing that could have types. But if you want to answer that question instead, be my guest.” She grinned, but there was something faintly serious about it all the same.

Zahra settled deeper within the confines of her furred cloak and clicked her tongue, “Well, then. I don't do any of those things. We're an off-branch of the Raiders of the Waking Sea. No preying on sea-traffic. Got our differences, us. We're mostly a group of mercenaries. I'd be lying if I said we haven't gotten our hands in any dirty business, but who hasn't?” She knuckled her nose, and blew another puff of white from her lips, watching as it whisped up and disappeared, “I guess I'm the type of pirate that does right, sometimes.”

"Are pirates hunted often?" Romulus asked, breaking his silence with clear interest in the conversation. He leaned forward where he sat, placing his elbows on his knees and peering out at her from under his hood. "Do you ever come to violence with each other? Are there any rules to the engagement, if that happens?"

“Oh-ho,” Zahra's snorting laugh spoke volumes, though she wriggled her shoulders and turned to face him all the same, “You'd be surprised how awful we are to each other. You'd think that being fellow pirates would count for something. It doesn't, unless outsiders attack one of our own. We're like hounds fighting over a bone, on a great expanse of water. It's never made sense to me, but that's just the way it is. I guess, pirates aren't fond of sharing.”

She hummed another low tune, and chewed on his next question for a moment. Mercenaries certainly had regulations when it came to contracts, and how they would conduct themselves, but pirates were a different breed altogether. “No. I suppose there aren't any. The last man standing earns the right to breathe another day.” She drew her hands in front of her lips, and blew on them, “But we all operate differently. Squabbles are a waste of time.”

Khari frowned, though it was difficult to tell exactly why that was so. At least, until she spoke. “Waste of time and people.” She scrunched her nose somewhat, distorting her valaslin a bit, and moved her hands up to fold them behind her head, placing them between herself and the stone. “It’s damn foul, that people die because some asshole wants more for himself. Or herself, I guess.” There was a small pause. “Not that I’m accusing you of anything. You said you’re different, and I believe you.” It was unclear where this belief came from—quite possibly she was choosing to take the words on faith, so to speak.

“If you’re going to have friends, or family, or a crew or whatever—seems to me like you shouldn’t ask them to risk death unless what you’re after is worth dying for.” Clearly implied was that she didn’t think whatever they fought over out there on the ocean was likely to count.

Zahra's expression shifted. Perhaps, imperceptibly. A fraction of an inch less amused, mouth forming a smaller smile, if that could at all be perceived as seriousness. She took a deep breath and scrutinized Khari from the corner of her eye, not quite turning to face her, but simply listening. Sure, raiders sometimes operated as individuals, and hardly mourned the loss of their own, specifically if their band was too large. People became numbers. Disposable, expendable. Pirates were different. Especially if they only had one ship, and one crew; less so if they had entire fleets. That's when people lost sight of what was important. She'd made a promise long ago that it wouldn't happen to her. While she thought Khari's viewpoint was a tad naive, she agreed with the sentiment, “To hear you talk, you'd make a fine captain yourself.”

She arched her back in a cat-like stretch and sighed softly, plopping back against the boulder. She settled into her cloak once more, and rolled her eyes up towards the sky. Stars had already come up against the darker smudges, illuminating the eerie green tear in the distance. “There's not much I wouldn't do for them,” it came out as a soft whisper, a truer declaration that often frightened her. Just how far she'd be willing to go.

“Good to know.” Khari seemed satisfied, though what she’d been seeking in the first place wasn’t obvious, and the conversation mostly lapsed into comfortable silence thereafter, the three of them watching the sky slowly darken into night.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Vesryn and Saraya both left the rift feeling a bit disturbed.

He'd definitely heard whispering, light and airy, but it was as though some foreign force was preventing him from comprehending the words, or even recognizing words at all, no matter how hard he strained. Like a voice that was perpetually just out of earshot. He was half-tempted to move himself closer to the rift, but at Saraya's apprehension, he kept his distance. She knew far more of magic than she did, and while there was uncertainty that accompanied her hesitance, he had no wish to take any chances.

Experienced and knowledgeable mage though she was, there were still things about their bond to each other that neither understood, mostly due to the fact that this sort of result for them was never supposed to happen. In fact, Vesryn had never managed to glean the exact purpose for Saraya's imprisonment, her stasis. For even if it had been meant as preservation, it had become a prison for her. Without consciousness it might have been akin to a long, deep sleep, but she'd been forced to endure every last moment of those years awake and aware, though at some point the senses likely just gave up with nothing to focus on. It was not something Vesryn could properly imagine.

The sound of clashing arms pulled him from his troubled thoughts, and Vesryn looked upon the training groups of Inquisition infantry, drilling and sparring as they constantly were. They were improving clearly, but new volunteers were often arriving, and these still needed to master the basics. This need would only increase as the Inquisition grew in size and attracted more members.

A still green-looking soldier approached Vesryn as he neared, an excited look upon his face. "Taking up challenges again today, er... Vesryn?" The abrupt hesitation in his speed was undoubtedly caused by an unsureness in what to call him, despite his repeated assertions that simply Vesryn was quite fine. He was no ser, no brother, certainly not a messere to them, despite all appearances. Besides, men calling an elf any of those would be positively scandalous.

He shook his head, patting the recruit on the shoulder. "Not today, I'm afraid. I'd rather not be a disturbance again." There was a time and place for matches with spectacle, when the soldiers needed to blow off steam. This was not one of those times, and distracting the men from their drills would do more harm than good.

The recruit looked clearly disappointed, and was perhaps about to plead, when Vesryn turned his attention further ahead of him. "Khari! A word, if you've a moment?" The elf woman was working vigorously, as she always did, up ahead. In fact, the only reason Vesryn knew she was there was from flashes of bright red hair between the helmets of other soldiers. "I'll spar you another time, if you're so inclined," Vesryn said, to the recruit. He nodded, looking a bit spurned, and jogged off to resume his drills.

“And if I don’t?” The question, half-growled, was followed by several more clashes of steel on steel, the heavy whistle of a practice blade through air accenting the exchange, which was then brought to an abrupt halt by a furious-sounding growl and the sound of someone being hit with something blunter, which sent one of the other soldiers sideways and several feet laterally into something else with another thud.

It turned out that the ring proper was currently occupied by Khari and what looked like her triad of opponents, one of which had just been shoved into the fence by her foot. One of the others was just picking himself off the ground, and the third, a lightly-armored woman with blue vallaslin, was apparently realizing that flanking was far more difficult when there was no one there to distract the target. Khari whirled to face her and charged at full speed, knocking aside her defenses with a hard stroke of the oversized practice sword and bodychecking her to the ground.

That seemed to be the signal for the match to end, though, because she lowered her blade immediately after, bending to offer the skirmisher a hand up. “Pretty cutthroat, aren’t you, Thalia?” The one so named smirked a little, nodding.

“Only sometimes literally.” Khari laughed, trudged over to make sure the other two were doing all right, handing off her practice arm to the one she’d nearly put through the fence, nodded to the dark-haired chevalier in the crowd, and then at last turned to seek Vesryn, the other drilling soldiers letting her through easily enough.

She didn’t look thrilled to be talking to him, and her lack of enthusiasm was clear from her expression. Cocking an eyebrow at him, she crossed her arms over her chest. Her posture wasn’t hostile, exactly, just wary, as though she were expecting him to say something she didn’t particularly like. “Well
 I do now, I guess. But I’m supposing you have more than one word.”

Saraya still didn't like Khari, not in the slightest. Considering that they'd had no real interaction since their last, rather harsh spar, that was unsurprising. Vesryn knew her well enough to know which qualities of the woman rubbed her the wrong way. Khari was obstinate, even in the way she fought. She wasn't naturally built to be a warrior, but she'd forced herself into the shape of one anyway. She fought without an ounce of grace, but instead with pure ferocity and energy to make up for it.

Her life decisions and obvious abandonment of Dalish ways thrown in, and she was the epitome of the square peg trying to fit into a round hole. While Saraya found it a waste of her obvious talent and passion, Vesryn had always found it endearing when someone displayed such an unquenchable passion for something. Not that he yet understood the particular direction of her passion.

For the moment, however, he found the chilly disposition somewhat tiring. A small white cloud ascended from him with his sigh, and he turned to look for a relatively private spot, all while Saraya tried to bore through the smaller elf with eyes she did not have. "I do, yes, but not here. I'd rather get out of earshot. If you'll follow..." A spot along the base of the wall, past the stables, looked good enough.

He didn't want this to be unpleasant. If he'd disliked Khari, he wouldn't have approached at all, certainly not with his intended topic. In fact, he'd never intended to get off to a poor start with anyone. If it was merely a side effect of how good he was...

Vesryn reminded himself not to think that way. Not too often, at least.

She followed him easily enough, in any case, apparently deciding that whatever her reservations might have been, they weren’t worth the trouble of voicing any further than she already had. Since she didn’t seem like the kind of person who ever had a problem saying what she thought, that was probably because she didn’t actually have many. Her expression changed, actually, and she raised a hand to tug on one of her ears, something that must have been a thoughtful or unconscious habit. Perhaps even a nervous one, it was impossible to tell. She didn’t otherwise seem apprehensive, only puzzled.

“Uh
 okay. So no people then. What’s so important we have to talk about it with no people?”

"Well..." Vesryn propped his spear against the wall, shrugging off his shield as well and doing the same. "We obviously didn't get off to the best start, you and I." It was possible that Vesryn actually looked a bit uncomfortable. He knew that the root of this was that this particular conversation was not one he had often, at all. The number of people that knew of Saraya was a small one indeed, and as far as predicting reactions to the information went... Khari was easily the most unknown to him. That Cyrus had been intrigued and Estella had been understanding and cooperative was entirely unsurprising. From Khari, he expected anything from laughter to a right hook, or a headbutt, as she was clearly capable of.

"Since Redcliffe, some information about me has come to light, something only a few of the others know as of yet. It's bound to get around the irregulars eventually, so I thought it best to tell you myself, since it might explain the result of the little spar we had." Vesryn had been bracing himself for the violent reaction from Saraya, but it did not come. She actually seemed accepting of his intention, maybe even a tad curious. Like someone expecting to be disappointed, and perhaps hoping to feel superior as a result. This was something Saraya had displayed before, he knew.

"Tell me, do you know what an Arcane Warrior is? The real variety, not that Knight-Enchanter imitation they practice now."

Khari grimaced, though her reasons for doing so were unclear. “Sure. I might be a shitty Dalish, but I’ve always liked stories.” She shrugged. “They were like
 the knights of Elvhenan, basically. Mages like the rest, but more inclined to physical combat, or something like that.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You weren’t holding out on me, were you? Because if you can do magic too and didn’t sling a few fireballs at me, I’m gonna be really mad.” She placed her hands on her hips, and unless the light was playing a trick, there was a tiny little uptick to the corner of her mouth. It seemed the kind of anger she was referring to was a lighter kind than whatever reduced her to snarling inelegance in an actual fight.

Nevertheless, there was a distinct element of seriousness to her words. It would seem she would have preferred to be on the wrong end of the magic, too, if he’d had it.

"If only," Vesryn said with a laugh, loosening up. Perhaps this wouldn't go as poorly as he feared, if her bristle towards him was merely from being bested, and not anything personal. He'd said a few things as taunts in the fight, after all, but it was the Champion's way. Any opponent worth the effort would receive the same treatment. "No, the one moment I held back on you, you broke my nose with your forehead." A rather unpleasant memory; he'd be helmed the next time they fought.

"But yes, you have the right of it. I'm no Arcane Warrior myself, but..." he trailed off. This was more difficult to do when the person hadn't simply come before him, asking what lived inside his mind. "This may be a lot to take in, but the remnant of one such woman exists in my mind. The ancient elves had ways of prolonging life, or existence at least, of individuals, by placing them inside mundane objects. When I was a late teen, I stumbled into a ruin in eastern Ferelden, and... absorbed one such individual." His facial expression was halfway to a wince, and indeed he found it nearly impossible to describe the significance in so few words.

“You
 what?” Khari’s mouth pulled to one side, red brows furrowing over the clear light green of her eyes. She shook herself slightly and seemed to ponder that for a second, tipping her head to squint up at him. “You’re actually serious.” She breathed out what might have been a sigh, as though trying to decide what to do with that. The ear-tugging resumed, at least until she encountered a stray curl, which she tucked behind it. “So
 there’s someone else living in your head or something, and she’s an arcane warrior? Or was, I guess.”

She frowned. “That’s uh
 sure, okay, fine. Weird, but whatever.” Khari nodded, more to herself than him, but she still looked quite perplexed. “But I mean
 what does this have to do with you beating me in a fight?”

The confusion part was to be expected. Vesryn had taken several weeks to actually comprehend what had happened to him, and even then the full extent didn't actually settle in until he had learned a thing or two about the place he'd stumbled into. To ask anyone to get it in a mere instant was laughable. "Very weird. Quite possibly the weirdest thing here, and there are weird people all over this place." In fact, him having Saraya in his head made Romulus and Estella stumbling out of a rift at the site of an explosion that killed everyone else nearby much easier to swallow.

"It... wasn't exactly me that beat you. Saraya--that's what she goes by, mind you--I can feel her instincts, her reactions, in my mind, to the point where I can allow them to become my own. Saraya had centuries of experience in the craft of war before what happened to her. I can't access her magic, but with her... I could read your moves practically as you made them. Without her, I doubt I'd have lasted five minutes against you." Saraya was not fond of that assessment, but Vesryn firmly believed it. Her attack was vicious and unrelenting, and without the knowledge of how precisely to weather her, and when exactly to turn her attacks against her, he'd have simply been battered on until he broke.

Khari must have found that amusing in some way, because she laughed, the sound clear and ringing. “Ha, you’ve got your teacher hanging out in your skull? That’s got to be interesting. I’m not sure whether mine wishes he could have done something like that to force some sense into me, or if he would have been horrified by the very idea.” Her eyes were bright with amusement. “I’d say you were a dirty cheater, but if you’ve got a resource, I can’t blame you for using it. Or well, accepting her aid, or however you’d put it.” She waved a hand as if to brush aside the semantic question.

“So I pretty much lasted ten minutes against an ancient elven knight
 and here my parents thought I’d never amount to anything worthwhile.” She snickered. “Makes me feel better about losing, I’ve gotta say. But not that much better.” Her expression morphed back into what was swiftly becoming recognizable as her trademark jagged grin. What exactly the thought was that had provoked it, she didn’t say.

Vesryn laughed, clearly relieved that she was taking this well, all things considered. "Ah, well, yes... I do believe that if Saraya could speak, she would declare that you would not have lasted half as long against her. Magic thrown into the mix, and all." As expected, Saraya agreed with him, though not entirely. She still believed he was being entirely too generous to Khari's chances. He'd grown rather fond of that feeling, the irritation. Saraya could be infinitely superior to everyone around her all she wanted, but by the Gods, Vesryn was at least going to make her pay for that attitude. Even if he agreed with it, underneath it all.

"Just between you and me," he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward slightly, as though that would prevent Saraya from hearing him, "she doesn't like you. Not in the slightest." He grinned as he said it, evidence that he felt quite the opposite, and garnered no small amount of amusement from the situation.

"She's not fond of many people at all, really. You can imagine what she thought of me when we met. I was a thin, awkward, lanky flat-ear from the slums of Denerim at the time. With arms like twigs." A bit of an embellishment, but not by much. Truly, he was not proud of the physical state he'd been in. But it wasn't something to hide from. He'd worked, at Saraya's urging, and forged himself into something else. Something surely Khari was capable of as well, even without the help of an ancient guide in her head.

“Yeah?” Khari replied, apparently indifferent to the declaration of Saraya’s feelings towards her. “Well she’d get along great with my clan then. They hate me too. As you can see, I’m completely devastated by their disdain.” The sarcasm was practically dripping from her tone. Really, she might as well have said ‘Saraya can shove it.’ She paused a moment, perhaps attempting to imagine him with twiggy arms.

“Huh. Well, whatever she made you do, it worked.” She shrugged with evident nonchalance. “Good for you. But if you don’t mind, some of us have to muddle our way forward as well as we can without
 remnants in our head, and for me, that means more practice, as often as possible, so
” She used her thumb to jab the air over her shoulder, indicating her plans to go back the way she came.

"Of course, and I apologize for the interruption," Vesryn replied, with a short bow of thanks. He raised a finger, however. "One more thing, though. Very few people currently know what I just told you. Most don't need to... so if we could avoid spreading this among the troops, I would appreciate it." Perhaps they'd find out, sooner or later, but from an unreliable source, it would probably just turn into rumor, and become warped to the point of unbelievability. But who was he kidding? It was already there.

"And perhaps we can practice together some other time, on more even footing." He trusted she would know what he meant. "I suspect there is much I could learn from a superior opponent."

“Compliments are like molasses, Vesryn. They’re sweet if you go in for that kind of thing, but you’d better not lay ‘em on too thick or you’ll get stuck someday.” Khari snorted, seemingly taking the implied status of her abilities to be a bit disingenuous, but it didn’t appear to bother her overmuch. She mock-saluted with her first two fingers and turned on her heel, picking up into a swift jog back towards the practice ring.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Image

Then the Maker said:
To you, My second-born, I grant this gift:
In your heart shall burn
An unquenchable flame
All-consuming, and never satisfied.
From the Fade I crafted you,
And to the Fade you shall return
Each night in dreams
That you may always remember Me.
—Canticle of Threnodies 5:7
Image

The air still smelled like burning flesh.

It was probably a good thing that it was a memory from the Fade, and so the others present would not be able to smell it. Well, the mages might, but not until they’d taken the lyrium, anyway. Between they and the templars and his own estimations, the need had been for an entire cart of it, several crates stacked on top of each other and pulled towards the temple by a draft animal. The templars required it, and it dramatically increased the efficacy of the average mage, to the point that he believed it was actually possible to do what he’d been asked to devise a way of doing.

History, which so dramatized action over thought, was unlikely to remember his contribution to this, but for once, Cyrus couldn’t really say he cared much. Let it be forgotten, so long as it was done.

He stood now on one of the edges of the drop-off that led down to the floor beneath the Breach itself, though even at his height, he was still angled somewhat below it, such that he had to tip his head up to regard the thing. He’d not stood in its presence before, and he had to admit that he felt the keen temptation of allowing it to remain. It was a tear in the Veil of massive proportions, and even standing beside it, he felt like more than he was. When he dreamed, Cyrus could achieve nearly anything his heart desired. The Fade itself bent and twisted to his whim, answering his demands with little more than a thought from him. Here the distinction between the Fade and the mundane world was so blurred it was almost no distinction at all—he was smelling what was in the former while still fully conscious in the latter.

The prospect of being able to shape and mold this world in the same way he could sculpt and define that one was staggering. If he’d only put himself to work figuring out how to expand the Breach instead of how to close it, perhaps he could have had that. But the Breach was sick, ill, distorted—only the darkest reflections of the Fade were nearby it. And it threatened not only to collapse the distinction between worlds, but to utterly destroy this one. And the risks of expanding it without knowing the consequences—even he knew when something was too dire to chance.

But still, gooseflesh prickled along his skin, and he could almost feel the crackling of magic beneath it, yearning, almost, to be loosed, to be put to purpose and change what was into what had been dreamed. He tightened his hands together behind his back, suppressing the strange, giddy mix of nauseous vertigo and the sudden influx of power, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again. Let it be assumed that he was nervous—that, unlike what he felt in truth, would be acceptable.

The mages fanned out to the left of where he stood and the templars to the right, taking up positions on the mid-level ledge. As he’d requested, Leon stood closest to him on the templar side, and Asala on the mage side. The most necessary individuals of all, Romulus and Estella, were moving into place directly beneath the Breach. A breeze picked up from the north, feathering over his face, and Cyrus let his muscles relax. Several more Inquisition troops began to carry in and distribute the lyrium—scraped together from personal stores, whatever the Riptide’s crew had been able to secure in the last few weeks, and the amount the spymaster had been able to accrue from more land-bound smuggling and trade routes. It was quite a lot, but each mage or templar would still be getting a minimal dose, given how many ways it had to spread. Cyrus himself was abstaining, of course, and as a Seeker, Leon didn’t need any, either, but everyone else would be taking at least some.

He signaled for them to do so, and waved the rest of the Inquisition back, as it was rather difficult to predict just what effect this much concentrated effort would have on the area, and it was better to minimize the risk of unnecessary casualties. Injuries, that was—he didn’t anticipate any deaths unless everything went horribly wrong, but then if that happened the entire world was doomed anyway, so it would hardly matter in the long run.

“Let it never be said that I avoided doing things of consequence.” He murmured the words to himself, a wry twist of his lip and a shake of his head accompanying the statement.

When at last it looked as though everyone were ready, Cyrus inhaled deeply, releasing his hands from behind his back and raising the right one. He held it there until he knew it was seen, then dropped it, the signal for the templars to begin.

“Templars!” The Commander’s voice boomed out over the ranks, and as one, they took a step forward, genuflecting with their armaments in front of them, bowing their helmed visages over the pommels of swords or hafts of axes, or else leaning them against the poles of spears and halberds, lapsing as one into reverent posture and calling to themselves the peculiar lyrium-fed abilities to cleanse a particular area of hostile magic. Where once they would have turned such force against the mages not far from them, now it was directed at the Breach, and the green light in the sky seemed to shudder and dim as each one spent their resources attempting to wrest it under control. Leon alone remained standing, his eyes clearly fixed on the rift itself, imperceptible words forming on his lips, his stare a thousand yards away.

At the conclusion of their efforts, however, it remained perceptibly magical. Clearly, they had weakened it, but the task of closing it was far from over.

Catching Asala’s eye, Cyrus raised his left hand, and then brought that one down as well, in a sharp motion much like the last.

Though she visibly trembled and her knuckles were white from the grip she held on her staff, Asala still raised it high and called out. "M-mages!" The mages stepped forward in a wave, enveloping their staves in a dispelling green glow before slamming them into ground. As more mages added their spells to the whole, the reflections of the Fade felt by Cyrus began to dwindle as magic around it started to ebb away by the mass dispelling. Asala's eyes darted back and forth over the breach and every now and then a blue glint could be seen in the sky, evidence of her effort to concentrate and corral straying spells.

As soon as the last of the dispellings had run its course, Cyrus stepped forward himself, right to the edge of the drop-off. With a deep inhalation, he reached for the magic, easy to his hands even still, even though he could feel the Fade retreating from this place. He reminded himself that it was good, that it was what he wanted. That it was the right thing to do, and they were the only people who could do it. When that wasn’t enough and his willpower faltered, he reminded himself also of all the reasons he had to do the right thing for once in his life. Of all he needed to make up for, all he needed to repent. And then he glanced down, past the ranks of templars and the less-organized throng of mages, to where the Heralds stood, and he thought of her as well, and all together, it was enough to turn aside the lure.

He raised his arms, a white light gathering around them, spreading until it covered the whole of his body, thin like a mist, and then growing denser as more of it billowed outwards, still contained around him, until he almost seemed to be encased in a sphere of roiling fog. Little scattered sparks of electricity jumped around inside the clouds, occasionally lighting them from within. When the mist had thickened to the point of obscuring his view completely, he finally released it, sending it towards the Breach like a slow-rolling ocean wave. Struck by the light as it moved, it threw tiny prisms of refracted light onto the ground below, glinting off templar armor and the polished staves of the mages.

The Breach, which had begun to distort and destabilize at the edges as it fought against the attempts to neutralize it, almost recoiled from the wave, as though it were half-alive itself and sensed danger. But it was, ultimately, immobile, and the spell hit it like a tidal force, the pearlescent cloud clinging to it, dulling the green to a washed-out verdigris hue, and stopping its motion entirely. It simply hung there, pulsing faintly, a tumor in the sky.

“Now!” His shout echoed as it descended towards the Heralds, his eyes flicking between where they stood and where it remained, yet to be defeated.

Romulus nodded, looking to Estella to see if she was ready as well. She appeared to gather herself for another second, then inclined her head.

As one, they stepped forward and thrust their marked hands at the Breach, the left of Romulus beside the right of Estella. Twin arcs of the green lightning-like energy shot forth and connected with the sickly tear above them, which began to pulsate violently. It shook the arms of both Heralds to maintain the connection, and soon a blindingly bright white light began to emanate from within the Breach's center point.

It was enough to force some of the mages and templars to look away, distracting them from their task, and for a brief moment it seemed as though the Breach was strenghtening, fighting back against the forces trying to shut it for good. It swelled and expanded in front of them for an unknown reason, bulging from within while the light grew stronger still. The Heralds did not relent, each knowing that to stop now could spell disaster far beyond the confines of the temple ruins.

The Breach gave out a great moan, twisting and pulsating as it was steadily filled with the energy from the marks, until at last it could hold itself together no longer, and it exploded, the blinding light becoming all-encompassing, forcing any sane person to shut their eyes. A strong wave of force washed out over the temple grounds, throwing anyone not already bracing for it onto their back. The Heralds received the worst of it, the blast enough to throw them several body lengths away, the green crackling energy still pulsating from their palms.

Cyrus, even despite being prepared for backlash, staggered backwards several steps, his eyes shut against the bright light. As soon as it dimmed, though, he opened them again, running to the end of the ledge and dropping down to the next level, then moving through a few dazed-looking mages to do the same thing a second time, putting him on the ground with the Heralds. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, both of you!” He reached down to Estella first, knocked prone by the blast, and offered a hand to Romulus as well once she was back on her feet.

Whoever or whatever the Elder One was, it had to know they weren’t going to take this lying down now. Behind them, once it was confirmed that both Heralds had survived the effort, a cheer began to swell, dozens of voices adding to the exultation, the celebration of what had just been accomplished.

The sky overhead bore a greenish scar, a remnant of what had loomed so dire, but the Breach was closed.

The Inquisition had succeeded.



Needless to say, the tavern in Haven was packed to the rafters that evening. All the tables had been pushed to the side, and it was standing-room only, still incredibly full due to its proximity to the alcohol. He’d initially entered seeking libation, as most of these people had, but the din of all the voices was incredibly loud, and he wasn’t sure how people could even hear themselves think in the space. So once he’d secured his tankard, he headed for the door immediately.

The Captain of the Riptide busied herself at the bar and knocked shoulders with her large, Qunari-companion. She'd chosen lighter garbs, forgoing her restrictive leathers for softer linens. It seemed as if she was always in the tavern, especially if there was cause for celebration. She occasionally drifted away from her stool to twirl around in the middle of the dance floor and always had a tankard held in her hand. Somehow, she managed not to spill a drop. She arched her back and stretched her arms over her head, as content as one could be in good company. She leaned towards Aslan and tossed her head back, laughter crackling from her belly. Though she was obviously amused, Aslan's tight-lipped frown betrayed none.

Most of the people in here were not those he knew to any degree, though one of the Lions he’d met earlier, Donnelly, was leaning heavily against the bar, apparently in less-than-sober conversation with a much more lucid-looking Aurora, the little redhead who led the mages in these parts, or at least the ones that didn’t answer to Fiona. He gestured upwards with his cup at both of them, the mercenary returning it with a broad grin and the same, sloshing a bit of ale over his hand and then eyeing his handiwork with exaggerated trepidation, frowning for all of a moment before he shrugged and grinned again. It would appear that there was little dampening his current mood. The corner of Cyrus’s mouth turned up, and he passed through the exit to the outside without issue.

The rest of the Lions weren’t far away, standing in a cluster not too far from where the bard played and Larissa sang. They looked to be a bit under the influence on average, but none among the three of them seemed especially so, particularly not considering the chaos around them. Completely sober were Estella’s Tranquil teacher, Rilien, and his assistant. Tanith, Cyrus believed her name was—she was speaking to him with an amused look on her face, but he, of course, wore no expression at all, though he was tuning a lute. That was bound to produce an interesting result, in any case.

He spotted Thalia weaving into and out of the crowd, but of course she rarely talked to him when she didn’t have to, and he certainly didn’t expect to see much of her tonight. She’d probably be spending it with some pretty little thing or another, as was her wont.

Most of the rest of Haven and the Inquisition seemed to occupy the area close to a bonfire, which burned high and bright against the night sky, bathing those around it in an orange glow more than sufficient to stave off the chill of the evening. Asala and Meraad danced in the light of the fire, both laughing freely and easily as he spun her in a wide circle. Nearby the BenoĂźt child watched with a light smile and clapped along to the beat. Even the commander seemed to have been persuaded to join in the festivities, admittedly with much less abandon than anyone around him. He was talking to Marceline, who had her arms around the man who’d been introduced as her husband, MichaĂ«l. For once, Leon's expression was relaxed; open, even. He appeared to be rather enjoying himself, despite the absence of a drink in his hand. Marceline's hand, however, was not likewise unburdened, but held a goblet of wine, no doubt from the same bottle that hung from MichaĂ«l's.

Sparrow herself was lounging on the outskirts, for once. She'd found a barrel to perch on and was idly tapping her fingers across her knee, looking across the tavern. It wasn't immediately apparent what, exactly, she was looking for, but by the expression on her face, she was mildly annoyed.

Estella was nearby the fire, looking a strange mix of happy and uncomfortable. Happy, perhaps, because of the general festivity. The discomfort was likely due to the fact that a new person seemed to crop up to shake her hand or speak to her every few moments. No few of the exchanges were likely either high praise or requests for a dance, from the way she so often looked surprised and then embarrassed in quick succession, a result he suspected both types would have produced. In any case, she tended to smile politely and shake her head a fair amount, which was unsurprising, given what he knew of her tendencies towards reservation and the deflection of compliments.

She met his eyes, shooting him a look that conveyed something between disbelief and panic, as though she weren’t quite sure what to do with herself.

Cyrus merely met her look with a much more mischievous one and shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. Frankly, he thought she should get used to the attention. It wasn’t like she’d be able to avoid it forever, no matter how little she thought of herself. He raised his tankard to his lips, drawing several swallows down in rapid succession. It tasted almost unbearably cheap, but accomplishment had a way of making anything sweeter.

From out of the swirl of dancing people came Vesryn, devoid of most of his armor, though his cloak, a lighter one than the garish white lion, was still tied around his waist, and several of his leg plates were still attached. His tunic was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, as it always seemed to be on the occasions when he got out of his armor. Evidence suggested that the heat of the fire, the warmth of the bodies, and the pace of the movement had warmed him up enough to risk shedding layers, though he'd have to preserve the momentum to stay that way.

Currently he wound his way over to Estella, the latest in her line of visitors, pausing only to take a breath that needed catching. "Might I succeed where the others have failed?" he pondered, offering an upturned hand in her direction, attempting his most charming smile. "My night is not a victory until I have danced with a Herald. The other one has already cruelly spurned me in favor of another." By his delivery, it was entirely true.

Estella was nothing if not consistent, though she looked slightly less surprised this time, something that said perhaps more of Vesryn than it did of her. Her embarrassment, however, was just as evident, though it did seem accompanied by a shade of amusement. “I should hate to hand you a ‘loss’,” she replied, considerably less dramatically, if lightly all the same. “But this particular Herald doesn’t dance, and it really is better that way.” The declination was offered kindly and in good humor, but it was still a refusal, and she smiled apologetically. “I’m sure there is no shortage of people who will gladly take advantage of my lapse in judgement, however.”

"As you wish," Vesryn said, accepting the rejection quite easily. He withdrew the hand into a flourishing bow, and stepped away. "This is not a retreat!" he called, stepping back into the throng of dancers. "Merely a tactical withdrawal!" The swirling bodies consumed him, though it was not long before the telltale sound of his laughter was heard again.

Cyrus didn’t bother suppressing his snicker, but over the noise, it wouldn’t be audible anyway. He was willing to bet that didn’t happen too often to Vesryn, but from Estella, it was entirely predictable. Skirting the edges of the crowd himself, he attempted to find a way to maneuver closer to the fire without getting caught up in the mass of whirling bodies. His path took him by Romulus, and Khari, who was halfway through a tall glass of something golden in color and looking a bit flush in the face because of it, though that might have just been the firelight. He nodded to both as he passed them by, spotting an ideal perch atop a barrel, one that looked to be empty now but had probably contained beer at some point earlier in the evening.

He stationed himself upon it, for the moment, resting his tankard on his knee, his fingers loose about the handle. If he looked up past the fire, he could still see the faint green scar left by the Breach, and try as he might, he couldn’t avoid thinking about it. They celebrated like everything was over, and perhaps for most of them, it would be. But for him at least, he knew things had only begun. There was still the matter of the Elder One, whatever it was, and the magic that had been used to tear open the Veil in the first place. He could recall with unsettling clarity the feeling of power he’d had from just standing close to it, how intoxicating that had been.

Shaking his head and forcing his eyes down, Cyrus lifted his tankard to his lips and downed half of what was left. He should probably make sure he had a few more of these before he slept. For now, though, he tried to let himself get caught up in the merriment of others, washing around him like water around an island. And for a little while at least, it was good enough to be so near to it.

Tomorrow was another day. But tonight didn’t have to be only a prelude to it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
It was a good night. Despite the fact that it was marking a very specific occasion, Romulus had managed to forget most of it.

Not that everyone didn't constantly try to remind him. He was the hero, or rather one of them, and though it might’ve seemed strange to an outsider, the slave was actually a little more used to being looked up to in these settings than the Avenarius was. Nights like these were not an affair for masses of nobles, sipping wine while they plotted and schemed about what would happen tomorrow. These nights were for the common man, or elf, looking to celebrate something they’d achieved, without a single thought to what was going to happen tomorrow.

Indeed, Romulus did not want to think about tomorrow.

He accepted congratulations with silence and nods, little polite smiles without parting his lips. He shook hands firmly with soldiers, found respect in their eyes. He wasn’t known to them in the same capacity Estella was, not by a long shot. She was a mercenary, accustomed to their company, if not always their praise, and she often spent time with them. Romulus kept largely to himself, for the very reason he was not doing so tonight: he did not intend to know these people, since his time here was so short.

The mark remained on his palm. He never really expected it to leave, but was disappointed all the same when it remained. He didn’t know if other rifts still existed now that the Breach was gone. If they didn’t, then there truly was no good use for such a thing, was there? He would return to Tevinter, and Chryseis would study it, try to learn everything she could about it, and use it for her own ends. It would elevate his status, he supposed. If it didn’t kill him.

More immediately concerning was the impending death the Revered Mother Annika was about to deal him. It was their third game of Mills in a best of three, and both sides were growing thoroughly intoxicated, having agreed to take a strong drink every time one of their pieces was removed from the board. It was late at night, though how far past midnight Romulus could not say. The festivities still carried on strongly, though the more weak-willed of the masses had slipped away to sleep. Romulus was using the distraction and opportunity to drink to work up some courage. He normally became rather irritable when drinking, but this was because his mind was usually in a poor place. Tonight was blissfully different in that regard.

“Has it been as long as I think it has?” Annika prodded. “Your men are going to fall asleep, Romulus.” He studied the pieces on the grid before him, before shifting one across a gap, breaking up Annika’s three-in-a-row. A gaggle of Inquisition soldiers had them more or less surrounded in the tavern ever since they’d entered. Romulus had been convinced to start drinking more effectively once Vesryn had managed to dance with him in the throng by the bonfire for a few seconds. An embarrassing scene, to be sure.

The soldiers had wanted to play all kinds of games with him, from dice games to stabbing knives into the table between their fingers. Romulus was particularly good at that one, and left no few soldiers with new cuts and empty shot glasses. Now, those still interested watched the battle of wits between the Herald and the Revered Mother, while those less patient turned to their drinks and their conversation.

When at last the game ended, Romulus found his pieces reduced to two, and conceded defeat to the Revered Mother. He was surprised with how well she held her drink, but had to constantly remind himself that she was once a soldier, too. Still was, judging by some of the things he’d seen.

The door to the tavern swung open again, admitting a gust of chill air and a gale of laughter. Khari was still pretty steady on her feet, but not as much so as Reed, who entered with her. Apparently, he’d said something she found hilarious, or perhaps she simply found everything hilarious at the moment, it was hard to say. She smacked him in the bicep with the side of her fist, then shoved him towards the bar. “That’s a sovereign if I win—don’t forget!” She nodded with false sagacity, then turned her attention to the rest of the room, her lopsided grin growing when she spotted the game and its players.

Without much care for who was standing where, she shouldered her way through the cluster of soldiers gathered around, and they let her for the most part, a few of them steadying her when it looked like she might tip a smidge too far. “Oooh, Mills!” She was apparently familiar with the game as well, and her eyes were sharper than they ought to have been when she swept them over the board, if she was as intoxicated as she acted.

“You’ll have to play me one day, Annika.” She didn’t seem particularly inclined to play now, however. “You two gonna have a rematch?”

“No, I think she has me figured out at this point,” Romulus admitted, rising from the table. He’d actually been about to go search for Khari, but it seemed she’d found him instead. The Revered Mother offered him a smirk from the other side of the board.

“Well spotted. Finish that there, and I’ll accept your surrender.” She pointed to the last of the glass upon the table still with drink in it. Romulus snorted with a laugh, realizing that he had forgotten. He scooped up the glass and downed it, setting it roughly back down upon the table. Stopping beside Khari, he offered a squeeze of the shoulder in greeting, though they’d not been split up for all that long.

"Mind heading back outside? There’s something I want to show you.”

Khari blinked, but then shrugged. “Sure.” She looked a little curious as to what he was talking about, and for a moment, almost a bit wary, like she was expecting something she wasn’t sure she’d like. That faded quickly, though, and she made short work of her excuses to those among the larger group she knew, exiting the cluster with more ease than she’d entered it and pushing the door to the outside open with her shoulder, standing in front of it to keep it propped open until he’d exited as well.

After it had fallen shut behind them, she tilted her head to the side. “So, where’re we headed?”

"Just outside the walls,” he said, seeing no real reason to hide it. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him. It was of course quite cold, but the spot he’d found was actually quite sheltered from it, especially the damnable wind that cut so much more than the temperature itself.

The tavern behind them, they passed by the largest of the bonfires, those around it having settled down a fair amount, allowing the emanating heat from the fire to keep them warm. Many directed their eyes towards the scar across the sky above the temple, where the thin clouds still swirled around, not yet recovered. Even against the dark of the night sky it was possible to make out the sickly green color, which still hadn’t faded from the spot. He hoped it would return to normal, eventually. It was at least more peaceful than it had been.

They chanced upon the lead scout, Lia, at the main gate, which had just been left open for the time being, the two guards grudgingly performing their duty at the post, but poorly hiding the wineskins they carried. The young elf woman offered Romulus and Khari a smile and nod in greeting, before she jogged out down the road, her bow slung across her back. Another of the scouts met her outside, and the two departed together.

The spot Romulus led Khari to was situated upon a small hill, overlooking the frozen lake and the forested mountainside beyond. It wasn’t the most picturesque spot in the world, but it was outside of the walls and away from the people, and Romulus didn’t really want to do this around either, and certainly not in any of the dismal, underground hidey-holes he’d subjected himself to for the duration of his stay in Haven.

Up a short path through the snow, they could see a few trails of footprints, roughly matching the Herald’s size and shape, evidence that he’d been out this way several times throughout the day, since the occasional snowfall covered most older tracks quickly enough. Upon reaching the top, a small inlet in the rock face was revealed, not quite large enough to be considered a cave. Most importantly, it was both protected from the wind, and devoid of snow on the ground. A firepit had been meticulously pre-prepared, such that Romulus only had to stoop and briefly strike flint against steel, and soon a warm flame had sprung up, quickly heating the little space.

A substantial rug had been laid out beside it, the centerpiece atop it a large bowl, entirely covered by several warm blankets. Romulus hadn’t been uncomfortable before, but as he gestured out with his arm at what he’d assembled, he felt quite nervous, and it obviously showed, though he transformed the feeling into a sheepish grin.

"I, uh
 I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought I’d do something. A thing. For you.”

“A thing? For me? You shouldn’t have.” Khari seemed to be all easy humor, her smile firmly in place and her eyes carrying the glimmer of mirth that was often to be found there. She wasted little time situating herself on one side of the rug, lifting up the corner of the cover on the bowl with more care than she usually demonstrated with such things. When it came away to reveal an assortment of foods, she barked a laugh. “I should be alarmed by how well you know me after a few months, Rom.” The selection on offer was indeed from what he knew to be her favorites, and she popped a dried fig in her mouth with little ceremony and a short hum of satisfaction, chewing it over and patting the spot on the other side of the rug.

“C’mon then. No way I’m getting through all this by myself. But you knew that already.” She stretched her feet out towards the fire, sliding off her fine leather boots with her feet and wiggling her toes a little ways back from the flames. “And for the record, you were thinking ‘you know, that Khari is pretty great, and she really likes food. I should give her some food.’ You were completely correct, of course.” The words were playful, light, and intentionally exaggerated, from the way she said them. Somewhat more serious, however, were the next ones.

“So
 thank you.”

"You’re welcome. I stole all of this, by the way,” he added, his grin not wavering as he moved to take a seat, more beside her than across from her. "While the others were all worried about the mages and the templars, and closing the Breach. Guess no one really minds when I slip away.” He hadn’t meant for the sentence to end that way, but the words were out of his mouth, and he regretted them, even if he didn’t mean anything by it, in a larger sense.

He was quite hungry, and helped himself to some of the jerky, before he suddenly realized he’d forgotten the wine. Of course, his line of thinking was that both of them would’ve had enough to drink by this point in the night, and wouldn’t really want any more, but who didn’t want to drink after eating? He grimaced at himself, and then put it behind him.

"I do want you to know that you’re great, though,” he said, unable to keep himself from it any longer. She would know, surely, that he had a point to this, more than just opening up a bit and putting a stop to the moping for a night. "I don’t really want to joke about it. I don’t think I’d have made this far with this whole marked business if you hadn’t been here. I’ll probably forget a lot of the others over time, but I won’t forget you.”

Khari’s smile dimmed a little, and she swallowed, chasing down the fig with a large bite from a hunk of jerky, chewing slowly. It was an effort to give herself some time to think, and not a terribly subtle one. In the end though, she ran out of jerky before she ran out of thoughts, and so when she spoke, they were half-formed still. “You
” She grimaced. “You’d have been fine. And I’m not joking about that.” She reached up and scrubbed her hands up and down over her cheeks, sighing gustily.

“I hate endings.” She muttered the words, almost, then looked over at him and shook her head. “I’m no good at them. I only ever seem to leave when I’m angry, and when I get left, I’m
” She paused, shifting restlessly in her spot and huffing softly. It seemed that she was uncertain about something, awkward, even, which was unusual.

“I’ll miss you. And no one’s going to forget you, because I’m not going to let them.” A thin smile curled her mouth then, and she shrugged. “You were here. You were part of this. An important one—no matter what happens now, and no matter what you were before. So
 if that means anything to you, there it is, I guess.”

"It does mean something to me. Maybe I didn’t want it to, when I realized this would happen, and maybe I wasn’t supposed to let it. If it didn’t mean anything to me, this would be easy. Leaving.” He made sure he had her eyes. "It’s not easy.”

He didn’t plan to say so much as a goodbye to the others. It would be simplest if he were just gone come morning, and that was how he planned it. The rest would go to sleep with their warm bellies from the drink, warm thoughts from the victory, and when they woke, they wouldn’t need him anymore. He’d played his part. It was an important one, yes, but it was over now. He’d allowed himself to think for a few moments, much earlier, that he’d been chosen by something, that Andraste was somehow wrapped up in all of this, in him, but now he recognized that as simply something that he’d wanted to believe. And like many of the things he wanted, it was best if he never got them.

"This doesn’t have to be a bad ending.” The rock wall wasn’t far behind them. He snagged a warm blanket, scooted back against the rock until his back was up against it, then draped the blanket over himself, with room to spare. He held out an arm and half the blanket, hoping Khari would scoot under it. "We can
 I don’t know, tell stupid stories about the weird places we came from, and the dumb things we did. For as long as we can stay awake.”

She seemed to consider that suggestion for a moment, but then situated herself in beside him, pulling her knees up so that her feet would fall under the folds of the blanket as well. “Okay, but you’d have to have been pretty fucking dumb to come anywhere near half the stupid things I did when I was a kid.” She eased back against the stone wall behind them with an exhale, letting her muscles slacken. “My entire clan called me Da’Enfanim, which means ‘little terror,’ basically. Nicest nickname I had. Still shorter than my actual name, too.”

Romulus let out an honest laugh at that. He believed it, too, and believed it would only have encouraged her, let her know that whatever she was doing was working. He found himself relaxing, too, the alcohol in him doing enough to drown out his thoughts about the next day, the sounds of the festivities dying down in the distance


It wasn’t enough, however, to drown out the sudden sounds of a struggle, not far from them. It took Romulus a moment to comprehend that the clash of steel and the sudden cry weren’t simply in his mind, subconsciously springing up to haunt him of his memory or warn him of his future. He turned to Khari, frowning. "You hear that?” He waited another second. A definite cry of desperate effort cut through the air.

A breath hissed out from between her teeth, and she nodded sharply. “I heard that. Let’s go.”

He shoved the blanket off of them and stalked to the edge of the little hilltop. Turning back, he grabbed the metal bowl by the bottom and tipped out the food in it. He then slid down the face of the hill, bowl in hand, towards the lake of ice, Khari, back in her shoes, right behind him. At the bottom, he heard heavy, weary footfalls trudging as quickly as possible through the snow. He looked right, and saw Lia staggering towards him, a bloody knife in one hand, the other clutching a wound in her side. The blood leaked through her fingers and down her leg.

“Two behind me,” she managed, running past Romulus a short ways before she stopped, and fell to a knee. At the treeline, two archers in dark garb and armor appeared in pursuit, the first immediately firing an arrow that Romulus was forced to intercept with the bowl. It clattered off the metal to the ground. He scooped it up.

Though she hadn’t been anywhere near fully-armed during the party. Khari had been wearing a dagger at her hip, and she brandished that now, the blade about seven inches from the hilt. The way she held it suggested that she knew how to use it properly, and she was off across the ice, surefooted despite the slick terrain, making a beeline for the archers. Another arrow was loosed, whistling by her ear before striking the frozen surface of the lake behind her. She’d nearly reached the treeline by the time the first shooter had nocked a second, and that one struck her in the arm just as she reached him.

She shifted the knife to the other hand and jumped, tackling him to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He scrambled to get out from underneath her, throwing her off before she could stab him, but Khari worked with what she had, lashing out from where she landed and catching him in the calf. He yelled hoarsely, momentarily seized by pain, and she used the opportunity to stab him again, this time in the throat, which abruptly cut off the noise.

Romulus charged the other, and had to block a second arrow with the bowl on the way, before it could pierce his throat. By the time the archer had nocked the third, he was in range, and Romulus hurled the bowl away from him, striking his enemy in the upper body and forcing him to abandon his aim. Romulus reached him before he could draw a secondary weapon and smashed his shoulder into the man’s gut, driving him back until he struck a tree trunk. He groaned from the hit, but Romulus cut this short as well by plunging the arrowhead into his temple, and leaving it there. He sank slowly down the tree.

Immediately he turned back for Lia, checking and confirming that Khari had handled the other threat on the way. He stopped beside her to scoop up one of her arms and help her walk. Khari slung the other over her own shoulders and added a hand to the pressure on Lia's most obvious wound. "Who are they?” Romulus asked. "What happened?”

“Scouts, I think,” she mumbled, wincing with each step. “Venatori
 they’re—” Her words were cut off by the sound of an ominous horn, not one Romulus had ever heard before, coming from the woods behind them. On the mountainside, firelight from torches was starting to dot the shadowy trees, moving ever closer to them. An army was on the way. Romulus swallowed, all thought of leaving before morning immediately set aside.

"We need to get back. Now.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leon rarely slept well, and he never slept early, so even after more than half of the troops and citizens of Haven had sought the warmth of their beds, or one another’s, as the case seemed frequently to be, he was still awake, standing a little closer to the dying bonfire than he’d been before. Periodically, he’d throw a few more scraps of wood on it, to keep it burning for those who weren’t quite ready to call the celebration quits yet. Some remained in the tavern, but most of those who were still awake had moved outside by the time the foreign horn sounded down the mountain.

It seemed to draw everyone to a temporary stillness. His own head whipped towards the source of the sound, and he stepped out from around the fire to peer up the mountainside from whence it had issued. He could see faintly the glimmer of hundreds, possibly thousands, of torches, and his heart jumped in his chest, a wash of mixed dread and anticipation flooding his system. He did the necessary strategic calculations without even consciously deciding it, and every outlook was grim. Grimmer, the longer it took them to respond.

He took quick stock of who was in his immediate proximity, and found that there were yet a fair number of people he could use immediately. Haven had three trebuchets built within its defenses, and those would be their best chance of softening up this force, whatever it was, before it reached their doorstep. He was under no illusions that an army of that size was here to negotiate or offer assistance. It was here to kill them, and it was his job to make sure that didn’t happen, impossible as the task now seemed.

“Reed. Get the Lions, have them take command of their units. They’re on the southern trebuchet. Go with them.” The corporal saluted and hustled off towards the cluster of tents where the officers on loan made their camp. Nearby, Vesryn was stepping into his gear about as fast as anyone could don full plate, whilst Cyrus stood from where he’d been sitting, also peering at the incoming force. Asala had a bit of a shellshocked look to her, but he feared that much worse was to come.

“Cyrus, Vesryn, Asala. Take any troops you can get on the way, find Estella, and get to the near trebuchet.” It was the closest by a lot, but they’d probably have to wake the Herald before getting there, which meant they’d need the time they could save. “Rilien—please go to the Chantry and inform Marceline and MichaĂ«l. Prepare a retreat and find us a way out of here.” In truth, the way he saw the largest number of them surviving this was to get out of Haven, but preparing that would take time, time in which they would be forced to fight. The Tranquil dipped his head, speaking too low to hear to Tanith, who nodded as well and remained behind as he headed up towards the top of the hill Haven sat on. Sparrow lingered near the gates, balancing herself on the pommel of her ridiculously large flanged mace, eying the horizon with narrowed eyes and pinched lips. Though she said nothing to the bypassing soldiers, nor to Rilien or Leon's assembled group, it was apparent she was readying herself for combat.

“The rest of you are with me. We’ll be going to—” He stopped at the sound of the front gate being thrown open, and when it was, it admitted Romulus, Khari, and what appeared to be a severely injured Lia. Leon’s brows drew down over his eyes, and he remembered that she’d been sent on a routine patrol earlier in the evening. From the looks of it, the other scout she’d gone with hadn’t made it back.

“What are we looking at?” Though he’d have much preferred to insist she get her wound looked at before reporting, it didn’t look fatal and they didn’t have the time. He needed as much information as he could get as soon as she could get it, and so he silenced his expression of sympathy in favor of bare efficiency. Asala produced a red vial from the satchel she seemed to always carry with her, and pressed it into Lia's hand with a deeply apologetic look before she took leave to follow Leon's orders.

“Venatori,” the elf managed, as Romulus and Khari helped her into a seat. Immediately she drank a small amount of the potion Asala had handed her, swallowing with a grimace. “And templars. The red kind. Together.” Vesryn buckled on his second gauntlet, drawing his axe.

"Well, that’s just wonderful.” He jogged off, to join the others he’d been assigned to.

He couldn’t say it made no sense. Both groups had made reference to an Elder One, and, at least indirectly, an assassination plot. He hadn’t expected there would be near enough of either to constitute an army of this size yet, but it would appear that this was a grave miscalculation on his part. Leon’s jaw tightened. “When you’re done with that, Lia, wake as many of the troops as you can find. Gather them at the gate and position them as well as you know how. Tanith can help with the formations.” He glanced to Rilien’s aide to confirm the order. She was also a mage, so she should at least be able to fix the wound well enough to finish what the potion would start. Lia nodded wordlessly, getting to her feet before half the potion was through, and downing the rest as she ran off, Tanith on her heels.

That left him with Romulus, Khari, SĂ©verine, a few regulars, and whoever was still inside the tavern for the last trebuchet. He was accounting for the possibility of advance troops in sending so many to each of the machines. Hopefully, he was wrong about that, but Leon had learned to plan for the worst and leave the best for hoping. Gesturing for those that were around to follow him, he pulled open the tavern door. Inside lingered Captain Tavish, her first mate Aslan, and a few other soldiers, no few of them blearily waking to the sounds of organized chaos outside.

“We’re under attack,” he informed them curtly. “Get up, arm yourselves as well as you can, and follow me.”

Zahra was on her feet as soon as Leon swept into the tavern. Geared appropriately in her flexible leathers, and swinging her bow from her shoulder, tightening the buckle connected to her quiver. Aslan stood at her side, though he held an impressive axe in his hands, arms bristling with corded muscle. If he was worried about the outcome of their impending battle, he showed no indications. It might've been just another walk in the park. Small, flinty eyes regarded the other soldiers, dwarfed in his presence. She took a deep breath and flashed Leon an encouraging smile, if the small twinge of her lips was anything to go by. She tottered away from the stools, followed closely behind by the others inhabiting the tavern and wove around a few soldiers, rounding up on his side, thick eyebrows raised in question, “We're ready when you are. I don't mind, but mightn't we know what we're facing?

“Venatori.” The reply came from Khari, who’d leaned around Leon’s impressive presence to peer into the tavern. “And Red Templars. We’ve gotta go load the trebuchets, and, you know, be on the lookout for anyone trying to climb the palisade from the flanks and stuff.” She sounded as though she expected subterfuge of that kind, which wasn’t entirely unreasonable. This army was bound to contain shock troops of some kind, and the walls, while sturdy and tall, were not unassailable.

“Can't say I've ever been in a fight this large, but I s'pose it's like anything else,” Zahra wrinkled her nose and reached back into her quiver, tickling her fingers across the feather. Counting off arrows, from the movement of her lips, until she was satisfied, and also drifted to Leon's side in order to see Khari properly. If Aslan's ears could have perked up, they might have, as interested as he appeared in the conversation, drifting closer. He held the axe aloft, inspecting its bladed edge, and finally broke his silence, regarding Leon with a leveled stare, “Where would you like us to go?”

“Follow me.” The words were terse, clipped, and Leon moved away from the doorway, twisting to avoid a collision with Khari and leading the group towards the farther trebuchet. It was in an unready position, being that they’d not foreseen the need to use it yet. The crank behind it would turn it in the proper direction, but doing so wasn’t their only task.

The sound of wood splintering in a burst drew Leon’s attention, and his head snapped to the wall, part of which had just been caved in by some kind of controlled explosion. Several red Templars were the first through, followed by half a dozen Venatori, and further dull booms indicated that this breach of the defenses was not the only one. The Seeker ground his teeth, particularly when one hulking creature filed in behind the rest, its body, perhaps once human, now a towering mass of red lyrium more than anything else. It couldn’t have been any less than ten feet tall, by his estimation, its arms heavy clubs of blood-colored crystal.

“SĂ©verine, turn the trebuchet! The rest of you, keep them off her!”

Leon took a deep breath, feeling the shift inside himself, the way his every sense seemed to expand, and a primal violence welled in his chest, urging him forward, suppressing his tendencies towards gentility and flooding him with the unquenchable desire for blood. A red mist fuzzed the very corners of his vision, but the rest of it only grew sharper, the colors more vivid and defined, and his nose flooded with the scent of iron and fire and fear, thick and pervasive in the air over Haven.

He charged.

Despite her lack of armor or her usual weaponry, Khari was the next one off, charging after him and peeling off to the left, where she rolled out of the way of a heavy swing from one of the other templars, springing to her feet and planting her knife in the armpit he exposed with the swing. He went down, and she scooped up his battle-axe, bounding back into the fray with a snarl.

Romulus was also underprepared for the fight, but managed to grapple one of the Venatori to the ground, where he drew the man's sidearm, a short curved dagger. After ending the zealot's life by cutting his throat open, Romulus withdrew and kept watchful eyes on the unfolding melee. SĂ©verine had begun working to turn the large trebuchet towards the enemy masses beyond the wall, her templars throwing themselves into the conflict against the army that faced them. The Red Templar behemoth crushed the first unlucky templar to attempt facing it, crunching the man into a distorted shape of metal and torn flesh.

Aslan bulled ahead with a startlingly loud howl. One that might've given fleshy men pause, if they weren't out of their heads with red lyrium. He dragged his axe behind him and planted his feet, swinging the axe around to shear a man's head clear off his shoulders, flicking a clear spray of blood behind him. Shouldering the body aside, the bulky Qunari faced the Red Templar behemoth and danced away from a disfigured fist swinging towards his head. For someone so large, his experience in battle was evident by the way he danced to the creature's glowing side, hunkering under another nasty blow and coming up behind him with a response of his own.

Bows were best utilized on the outskirts, so Zahra took her position at the rear and bounced around their own soldiers, who were all barreling towards the Venatori and Red Templars. She notched the first arrow and drew it back against her cheek, eyes feverishly bright, and loosed it into the closest Venatori's head. The man didn't seem to know he was dead, because he stumbled ahead a few paces, blinking rapidly and fell at Khari's feet. The Dalish woman barely seemed to register his presence, stepping over him without noticing him, as such, driving her pilfered axe into the leather chestplate of one of the Venatori in much the same way she swung her cleaver-sword on any other day. Zahra turned her attention towards Aslan and the hulking mass of crimson gems, loosing three arrows in quick succession, though they did little more than ricochet off its grotesque body. One, at least, thumped into its fleshy elbow. A glowering snarl sounded, accompanied by more arrows hissing by her companions head, aiding them in felling oncoming enemies.

Though Leon had initially charged the behemoth, landing a blow heavy enough to issue spiderweb cracks through part of its lyrium surface, he’d been quickly surrounded by others, templars and Venatori alike, as they rounded on the largest, most immediately threatening target, and they were proving much more tenacious than the average man, perhaps an effect of their morale. He only barely registered the tactical thought, which sounded in some part of his mind that was distant now. Much more immediate was the sound of his heart in his ears, and the immediate action-and-reaction taking place in front of him.

An incoming longsword left a bloody slice on his unarmored shoulder, and his hand snapped up, closing around the wrist attached tightly enough to turn his knuckles white under his gloves. They bled again, from impact with the jagged lyrium crystals, but he didn’t notice it as more than a minor inconvenience, one that might cause his grip to become slicker than he liked. Twisting, he wrenched the Venatori’s arm out of its socket, and, unburdened by plate, shifted his weight to kick another square in the chest, sending him back onto his rear for someone else to end. An arrow whizzed by over his shoulder, but he remained unflinching, dismissing it as a non-threat and driving his fist up into the throat of the man with the dislocated arm. He fell clutching at his crushed windpipe, and Leon flowed forward to the next foe, kicking a third in the back of the knees while she was distracted with her efforts to engage Romulus.

The hiss of displaced air followed by the sound of squelching and a wet crack signified the end of another red templar slightly behind him, Khari having taken up a position at his flank, though not too close. She breezed past him after that, though, bringing the battle-axe over her head and heaving it down upon the behemoth, who turned at the last moment and raised a stony arm to block, sending her blow aside with a ringing clang. Khari staggered backwards, her momentum momentarily halted, and leaving her open to the Venatori shield that slammed into her side, taking her to the ground.

The Venatori engaging Romulus didn't live much longer, as he brought a knee swiftly up into her helmet, rattling the woman's skull around with a dull clang. His knife found her throat as she fell back. Romulus had earned himself a few new scars from slashes from the battle, undoubtedly a result of his poor armament and perhaps even his inexperience navigating battlefields with this many combatants. He did manage to pick out Khari upon the ground, and rushed to assist, tackling the Venatori warrior from behind, the two of them collapsing to the ground in a murderous struggle.

"It's lined up!" came a cry from behind them. SĂ©verine drew her sword and moved swiftly around to the trebuchet's release, slicing it with a chop and releasing the counterweight of the siege engine. Though they were the ones currently besieged, the trebuchet hurled a large stone chunk out. There was a heavy thud in the distance, and cries of agony echoing over the battle, but if the attack had any significant effect, their enemies weren't showing it. SĂ©verine scooped up a second sword from one of her fallen troops and waded into the fray, slicing through several unaware enemies with ruthless efficiency.

"That thing needs to fall!" she called out, referring to the Red Templar behemoth, still smashing anything that came too close, barely discriminating between friend and foe. SĂ©verine stabbed her sword into the back of the Venatori entangled with Romulus, allowing him to get back to his feet and move away from the tower of muscle and red lyrium before them.

The hulking Red Templar swung its scythe-like arm down in a wide, clumsy circle, growling more like a beast than a thing that had once been human. It shivered and stepped into a corpse, crushing it beneath its foot. Unheeded in its pursuit of bodies to crush and maul, it lumbered towards Khari and Romulus, mouth agape in a red, glowing socket. Though its movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, it hardly reacted to the blades clattering off its contorted limbs, occasionally swinging its smaller arm like a claw. Zahra continued pelting arrows into its shoulders, knees, elbows, and one that thudded into its neck, seeking any weakness, without much success. Like a drunk stumbling for purchase on the ground, the Red Templar behemoth bumbled forward and appropriated its momentum to swing its lyrium-encrusted hand against the ground. It bellowed once more, and turned abruptly, hefting its arm towards Leon's unprotected back.

It was Aslan who shouldered Leon aside, raising his axe in front of his face, palm planted against the flat of the blade to present the brunt of the blow. As far as preventing the lyrium-scythe from rendering him as dead as that contorted soldier, he'd managed to hold his ground. The upper portion of the blade had curved itself into the Qunari's broad shoulder blade, deep enough that both seemed pinned in place, with the axe biting into the creature's shoulder. One of his meaty fists maintained the hold on his axe, while the other had snaked out to grappled onto chain-links clanging through the creature's chest. Portions of the lyrium crystals bit into his mauve flesh and bled freely down his forearms, and the top of his head. His horns had prevented them from going straight through his cheeks.

A rippling scream sounded over the din of battle, “Kill the fucking thing.” Zahra's fingers moved in meticulous, practiced movements, sending arrows into chests and foreheads, a clear attempt to pave a path towards the immobile pair.

The deadlock broke quite savagely, when Leon leaped atop the behemoth, wrapping one of his arms around its neck, still much softer and more vulnerable than the rest of its body. He flexed the muscles in his arm with tremendous strength, pulling his hooked limb back towards him, using both his strength and his considerable weight to cut off its air supply. As it turned out, even mostly-lyrium monsters still needed that, and though it took several moments, its hold on Aslan eventually slackened, its arm withdrawing and its body collapsing ponderously to the ground, Leon still atop it. He didn’t relent until he knew it had died, rather than simply falling unconscious, at which point he rolled off it and to his feet, breathing heavily and deeply, like a blacksmith’s bellows.

The Behemoth's arm retreated from Aslan's shoulder with a sickening suck and nearly took the Qunari with him in a tumble of limbs, though he sunk to his knees instead. His breath came in wet gasps, sifting from bleeding lips. There was a moment where it appeared like he was trying to stand using his axe as a brace, but his shoulders hunched forward and slumped. Bright eyes swam upwards, searched for something far off. His axe clattered from his twitching fingers. It didn't take long for Zahra to find herself scrambling to his side, fingers smoothing over his skin in desperate strokes, as if she were trying to hold in his wounds, and prevent the inevitable from happening.

A sort of breathlessness overtook him as Zahra babbled against his shoulder, “No, no no no. Aslan. Aslan. You're okay. You're fine. They'll patch you up. Asala, she can—” His answer was a hacking cough and a slow nod, followed by a small, knowing smile. His ragged breath drew out in a long sigh and as suddenly as he'd been there, Aslan slowly slumped to the side, dragging Zahra along with him. The howl that escaped her sounded as inhuman as the Behemoth's roars, an ugly, poignant sound that muffled itself into the Qunari's jawline. If she had any inkling of impending danger, it appeared as if she didn't care.

There were several seconds of poignant silence, pervasive somehow even despite the fact that battle continued around them. For a thick, heavy moment, the only noises in the area were the ones Zahra made, but they could not remain to mourn. Haven was still under attack, and all their lives still at risk.

It was Khari who stepped forward first, approaching the captain much as one might approach a wild animal, cornered and wounded—cautious, but resolute. She swallowed thickly, laying a hand on Zahra’s shoulder and flexing it in a soft squeeze that became an insistent tug. “We can’t stay, Zee. They’re still coming.” She hesitated, pushing a gusty breath out between her teeth. “Your crew can’t lose you, too.”

At that moment, a sound not unlike scraping metal, amplified hundreds of times, ripped through the air, and a fine tremor shook the ground, just enough to be felt beneath their feet. Khari’s eyes went wide, and she glanced back down at Zahra, grimacing and shifting her grip to bodily pull the petite captain, no bigger than herself, to her feet.

“Hate me later. We don’t want to meet that like this.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
Panic set in immediately and clutched Asala's heart. The deafening roar of something terrible doubled her over and forced her hands to her ears to try and drown out the sound. It didn't help, of course, she could feel the ferocity of the cry in her bones, she could feel its hate. Eventually the roar subsided, but the dread she felt did not. Slowly Asala took a step back, but her foot caught something and she was thrown backward. She landed on top of something, and when she turned to see what to what it was, the dead eyes of a Venatori soldier stared back at her. She cried out in surprise and scrambled away from the charred corpse.

She reached the trebuchet and used it to pull herself to her feet. All around her, the scene was the same. Bloodied and charred Ventori, broken and shattered red templars, and even some of the Inquisition soldiers lay dead around them. But all of that only garnered her attention for a moment, as the sound of the massive wing beats drew her eyes upward. A great black dragon with leathery jet wings flew silhouetted against the night stars. Asala's eyes went wide in fear and terror, causing her to slip back down to the ground, her back pressed against the trebuchet and her gaze pinned upward.

She watched it descend and sink its talons into a another trebuchet, wrecking it like it was made of nothing but rotten wood. Panic seeped in again, this time with a shot of adrenaline, and she pushed herself up from the ground and quickly took a few cautionary steps away. Over the din of everything, she could still hear the cries of battle and the ringing of metal against metal. She turned and found Cyrus, her eyes wide and confused. She didn't know what to do any more, and she looked to him for direction.

His attention too was pinned on the dragon, but he wore no expression of fear. Rather, Cyrus seemed to be studying it, a sharp stare following its wheels and turns in the sky carefully. He was mouthing words, though it was impossible to tell what they were, or if they had any volume at all, over the din of battle. When the dragon passed temporarily out of sight, his eyes fell back down, and only then did he seem to observe the chaos around them for the first time, flicking his gaze back and forth between each component of their situation rapidly, absorbing the information and processing it.

A muscle in his jaw jumped, and his scrutiny fell on her briefly, before skittering to Estella and then the rest. He looked like he was about to say something, loud enough for everyone to hear this time, but it was at about that point that a small cluster of other soldiers stumbled upon the site, all in various states of woundedness. “Fall back to the Chantry!” The words were hasty and slurred, but nevertheless effective. “Commander’s orders!”

“You heard him, let’s go.” That seemed to be mostly directed at Estella and Vesryn, but then he glanced to Asala, gesturing up Haven’s hill with a sharp tilt of his head as he turned.

Vesryn withdrew away from the thickest fighting, his spear coated in blood, and much of his armor spattered as well, though he was moving quite efficiently, a sign that he hadn't suffered too much in return as of yet. His axe as well was dripping dark red, and even small bits of red lyrium crystals clung to the blade of the weapon, from where it sat upon his back. He moved back swiftly, always keeping his shield towards the enemy, his helmet darting left and right to watch his path as he moved.

"I'll watch the rear," he stated, leaving no room for argument. A reckless Venatori found himself skewered upon the spear, and Vesryn shoved him off onto his back with a kick from a metal boot. "No time to lose, we can't get cut off." He was clearly referring to the fact that elsewhere the Venatori and Red Templars were finding more success, and starting to break through into Haven, where they could run rampant. It would get very messy soon, unless they could fall back and find a better place to hold them off.

Estella was covered in cuts and scratches—they’d pulled her out of sleep and she hadn’t had time to don much more than a leather cuirass and boots before they were off again, and the lack of protection had hurt. All things considered though, the wounds were light, and it was obvious enough that she’d somehow avoided the worst of all of them. Looking between the others, she nodded, leading the way forward. Their path took them towards the gate first, after which they’d be able to go up the hill, past the tavern again, and then to the Chantry.

The scene that met them upon approaching the gate was not a pretty one. There were fewer corpses here, but the gate itself was clearly but a few blows from caving inward. Spotting Lia and Tanith in the crowd, Estella shouted out. “Fall back to the Chantry, everyone! The Commander’s called a retreat!” As if to punctuate the statement, the heavy wooden gate groaned in protest again as it was struck from the outside—presumably, they were using a battering ram.

Most of the soldiers looked quite glad to be going along with that plan, but Tanith looked at the gate for a long moment before turning back to Estella. “If we don’t hold them here, you won’t have enough time to get out before we’re overrun. Some of us must stay, and I will stay with them.” Quickly, she turned to the soldiers. “Men and women of the Inquisition! Who among you will remain, that your Herald, and your brothers and sisters in arms, might live to fight another day?”

There was a moment of heavy silence, but then a woman stepped forward, her shield to the fore, and saluted Estella with her sword. “For the Inquisition.” Several of those who’d been standing closest to her followed, with various affirmations of for the Inquisition, for the Herald, or even for Thedas. No few of these people had been wearing broad grins earlier in the evening, celebrating with joy and abandon, but there was no trace of that now. In the end, Tanith had two dozen footsoldiers with her, and they all rearranged hurriedly so as to be in front of the gate itself, forming a wall of shields and spears, those in the back line drawing bows and pointing them for the door. In front of the rest, Tanith lit a flame in one hand, a dagger held in a reverse grip in the other, and glanced over her shoulder.

“We’ll hold. The rest of you—get to the Chantry. And tell Rilien I’m sorry, would you?”

Estella’s face twisted into an expression of clear pain, and she looked almost as though she intended to protest, but in the end, something stayed her tongue, and she nodded solemnly to them. “I will. Thank you, all of you. Fight well.” Her voice nearly cracked, but she managed to hold it steady. The need for haste was still apparent, however, and she turned from them then, jogging up the hill with the rest of the group and the remainder of those who had been posted at the gate.

Asala quietly followed, her eyes wide in shock. It was all too difficult to process what was happening, and she didn't truly understand it all. There was smoke and blood in the air, and deeper into the town the crimson of fires burned. She felt empty and numb, her feet moving on their own behind Estella and Cyrus. As they drew closer to the Chantry, the clash of steel reached her ears, and she looked up to see a small cluster of Venatori. They must have found a breach somewhere within the wall. Their armor was covered in scarlet and around their feet lay multiple bodies-- not all of them soldiers of the Inquistion. Amongst the pile, Asala recognized the face of Adan, the alchemist who'd aided her.

Her hand covered her mouth and she choked back a sob. Her legs trembled and threatened to buckle under her own weight. So distraught was she, that she didn't see the Venatori archer draw his bow, his arrow aimed at them.

The arrow flew from the end of the bow, its trajectory straight and unerring, at least until there was another body in front of it, Cyrus leaving afterimages behind as he pulled through the Fade to the spot, the luminous sword in his hand swinging in a controlled arc that snapped the arrow in two, the halves of it flying off in different directions. The bolt of lightning that he shot from his free hand cooked the archer in his armor, and the cultist dropped heavily to the ground.

“Asala! Focus! We’re not done yet!”

She shook her head, hard, and her eyes focused. Closing her eyes she forced everything to the back of her mind and drew her hands up. A Venatori with a large sword rushed them, and in a moment, the fade lit up in her hands. A barrier formed feet in front of him and surged forward. He attempted to hew through the shield, but the sword bounced off and left hairline cracks in it, but it continued to bowl forward regardless. The barrier struck the man at full force, throwing him back first into the ground hard. The wheezing he let out caused Asala to wince, but otherwise she did not back away.

The fight was a short one, in total, and the last Venatori soldier fell before Estella, a saber-stroke opening a broad gash on his neck, gushing arterial blood onto the snow. Her expression was grim, but resolute. “It’s not far now; let’s go.” She took point again, leading them up the last staircase and onto the highest level of the town itself, where they could glimpse ahead of them several others standing by the Chantry doors.

There were a lot of maroon tunics in the mix—it would seem the Lions had made it this far as well, and from the prominent scorch marks on their clothes and the soot-covered civilians that they herded inside the building, their progress here had been no easier than anyone else’s. As the group approached, they drew the attention of the mercenaries, who looked quite relieved to see them.

“Thank the Maker,” Donnelly said as they approached, breathing a heavy exhale. “Commander Leon’s lot are inside already, and we’ve got most of the civilians and remaining troops as well. You should hurry—he’ll want to speak with you.” He gestured for the group to head inside ahead of himself and the other Lions.

The small Chantry was brimming with people, civilians and soldiers alike. There was a loud clamor of multiple voices all speaking at once, and in various states of panic. The unrest felt within the building was palpable, and Asala wanted nothing more than to close her ears and drown it all out. But she didn't. Instead, she threw herself into work. As they approached the leaders of the Inquisition, Asala stopped and began to heal all of those that needed it. The work helped take her mind off of the panic in her heart, and the focus helped drown out the dread.

As she helped a soldier with a large gash in his side, she watched as the others approached the Inquisition's leaders. Marceline stood with her arms crossed and a thin frown on her lips as she spoke to Leon and Rilien. It seemed she had just been roused from bed, as she still wore a black nightgown, though she also wore a thick coat that was far too big for her and a pair of thick leather boots. Nearby, her husband rested heavily against a pillar, a thin line of blood falling from his temple, and a pair of swords hanging limply from his hands. Larissa comforted Pierre with a firm grip on his shoulders and whispering something into his ears. Leon was fully armored now, his arms crossed over his broad chest, but when they entered, his eyes were immediately upon them, and a fraction of the tension left his frame.

Rilien looked the same as he ever did, still unerring in his calm, though not too far away, Khari seemed considerably more agitated, pacing restlessly. She too was fully armored now, and wearing her familiar cleaver-like sword. Her expression brightened for a moment upon seeing them, but then her eyes moved to the cluster of the Inquisition's leaders, as though she were waiting for something.

Leon said something to his fellow Inquisition leaders, too low to hear properly, and then nodded shortly, drawing in what seemed to be a very deep breath indeed, before he gestured to Asala and the rest of the irregulars, both those who’d just entered and the ones who were already there. Once everyone had assembled in a rough circle, he began to speak, his voice low enough not to carry much further than their ring of people.

“There isn’t much time until they reach us, as I’m sure you're aware.” He glanced up, towards the doors, where several Inquisition soldiers were at work fortifying the entrance to the Chantry with whatever was available, setting up an inverted ‘v’ of pews, a traffic control tactic that would likely do no one any good in the end. “I don’t know who this is or where they got a dragon, but we’ve no hope of holding Haven.” He shot a glance to Marceline.

She shook her head and drew the coat tighter over her shoulders. "We have our essential supplies packed into carts and the horses are ready..." She said before she hesitated. She threw a wary glance over her shoulder and toward her son and husband, before she returned it to the group. Marceline sighed heavily before she continued. "But, we have nowhere to escape to. We would not make it out the front gate before we were cut down." Though her face betrayed no emotion, her grip on the coat noticably tightened. "And I do not know of any other way out of Haven."

The group was interrupted at that point by an approaching Reed, who half-carried Chancellor Roderick, one of the clergyman’s arms slung over the corporal’s shoulders. Roderick’s white vestments bore a very obvious red stain, though it would seem he wasn’t currently bleeding. Rather, his face looked wan, bleached of all color, and a healer as experienced as Asala knew he was dying from blood loss.

“He said he had to talk to you, Commander,” Reed offered to Leon, whose brows drew together over his eyes.

Asala quickly moved to Roderick's other side and gestured for Reed to gently lower him into a sitting position on the ground. Once there, Asala's hand lit up in a healing spell and she moved it over the wound. She tilted her head toward Leon and gave him a curt shake of his head. It... did not look good, and she doubted that he was within her power to save, but it would not stop her from trying. She focused in on his wound and began to try and help as much as she could-- at the very least, she could dull the pain.

"Charming girl," he said, having apparently caught the look she gave Leon. Roderick patted her gently on the head before he weakly turned her head toward Leon. "Ser Albrecht," he began, before wincing in pain. "There is a way. You wouldn't know it unless you've taken the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape. She must've shown me," he said weakly, but still tried to reach his feet. A steadying hand from Asala and a constant healing spell at his said, she helped guide him up.

"Andraste must have shown me so I can-can tell you."

“What do you mean, Chancellor?” Leon’s tone seemed to waver between gentle and stern, as though he could not quite resolve the tension between the urgency of their situation and his evident sympathy for the cleric. “Shown you what?”

“It was whim that I walked the path,” he replied, his mind clearly not at its usual alert capacity, which was probably the result of the wound he’d taken earlier. “Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one that remembers
” He wheezed, a sound that might have been a rueful laugh, had he the lung capacity for it. “If this simple memory can save us
 then this could be more than mere accident.” He turned his head, clearly making an effort to fix his eyes on Romulus and Estella. “You could be more
”

“Will it work?” Estella asked urgently, training her gaze on Rilien and Leon. The commander turned to the Tranquil as well, perhaps trusting his instinct in clandestine retreat better than his own.

It did not take him long to consider. “Possibly. If you can show us the way.” His expression remained devoid of any readable traces, until he turned the scant bit needed to move his citrine eyes from Roderick to the others. “But it will take time, and the opposition must be occupied while it occurs.” The gravity of what he was saying was apparent in his pitch, somehow, though he didn’t modulate much at all. He was saying, clearly enough, that some group of people would need to remain behind and distract the encroaching force while the rest escaped. And the prospect of those people escaping was near to nothing.

"So we give them something they’ll be drawn to, as bait,” Romulus cut in, buckling on the second of his bracers. Estella looked as though she’d been about to speak, but yielded the floor when the now battle-geared assassin spoke up instead. His weapons were soon in his hands, making his next words perhaps less surprising. "I’ll go, with a few others maybe. I could try to reach one of the trebuchets, turn it towards the mountains behind us. Hit the right spot, and
” He pushed his hands down, a gesture symbolizing an avalanche as best he could make it.

"Bury them in the village they want to take?” Vesryn said, grinning slightly as he leaned on his spear, though he appeared largely uninjured. "Not a bad plan for our escape, but that doesn’t leave you with much of one.” Romulus had a look of steel in his eyes, and yet at the same time it had softened. Aggression towards the enemy, out of desire to help friends, perhaps.

"I was going to be gone in the morning anyway,” he admitted, glancing at Khari. "But this is a choice I can make. One choice of my own. I want it to be a good one.”

“I’m going with you.” That was Khari, and she said it with iron in her voice, a tone that left no room for protest. It didn’t take long, though, for that impression to almost dissipate, subsumed under her usual carefree demeanor, complete with reckless smile. “Can’t well run away while my friend goes off to fight a dragon and fire a trebuchet at a whole mountain, now can I?” She put one fist in her other palm in front of her chest, cracking her knuckles and shaking her hands out, shifting deliberately from one foot to another, as though to make sure everything was working the way she wanted it to.

Romulus simply nodded, offering no objection, and smiling slightly, as though unsurprised.

Estella glanced back and forth between them, still looking a bit like she’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with her, something tightening around her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Leonhardt didn’t seem especially pleased, either, but clearly he believed that the suggestion made sense, and he nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said at last. “Give me a moment; I’ll see who among the others would join you—skilled as you are, the distraction needs to last, or it will be for naught.”

He left them there for several minutes, during which he made a short circuit of the room, returning with four Inquisition regulars, looking nervous but resolute, and, surprisingly enough, Grand Enchanter Fiona. She nodded to the group, smiling grimly. “I failed to protect my people once,” she explained, “I will not do so again.”

A pair of horns muscled their way toward the group and Meraad emerged with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. After a moment of him glancing between them, he nodded. "I will join you."

"No." The healing spell in Asala's hand cut off abruptedly and caused Roderick to wince as the pain rushed back. She shifted his weight so that Reed was left holding onto him again, and she moved toward Meraad. "No, you will not," she stated firmly as she stood in front of him. The frown she wore was deep and wide and she held his wrists as tight as she dared.

He simply smiled and shook his head. "I am, and I will." A muscle tightened in her jaw and she was about to refuse him again, but he silenced her by pressing his forehead gently against her. "For you, Kadan. I have to make sure you escape safely." With that said, he withdrew and threw a glance back at Romulus and Khari. "Someone has to make sure they come back," he said still smiling. "We will be fine. I promise," he said, kissing her forehead.

She was quiet after that, her mouth open but she didn't know what to say. She stared at him long and hard before she spoke again. "You... promise?" she asked, to which he nodded. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she went into the pack at her side. She retrieved a container and pulled the lid off to reveal a white, paint-like substance. She dipped a pair of fingers into it a scooped some out.

Without needing her to ask him, he leaned forward and she drew a pair of lines across his forehead with the vitaar, and another pair down his forehead, across his brow, and all the way to his jaw. He then offered her his arms, and she drew another pair of lines down each of them. When she was done, she replaced the lid, slipped the container back in her pack, and took a step backward. She was on the verge of tears, before she threw herself into his arms.

"Come back, Kadan," and with that, she returned to Roderick's side and resumed the healing spell, throwing herself back into her work.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
It was chaos outside the Chantry.

Romulus was resolved to make the most of it. The Inquisition soldiers and other volunteers that had remained behind to delay the Venatori and Red Templars were making them pay dearly for each inch, but the army assaulting Haven appeared endless, at least from the vantage of the Chantry steps, the highest point in the village. There were screams everywhere, clashes of steel, the smell of ash and burning, and blood. The snowy ground was stained red with it, or rather a deep maroon in the moonlight. Romulus had no idea what time it was, but the darkness suggested there were still several hours to go before the dawn.

The Herald assumed the lead of the small group, consisting of himself, Khari, Fiona, Meraad, and several Inquisition regulars. The way the soldiers looked to him might have made him awkward and uncomfortable days before, but now it gave him purpose. If this was to be his last night, it would be as a free man, and a free man was allowed to feel some measure of pride in the respect he had earned. They were all willing to follow his lead.

His lead was to avoid the Venatori as best as he could, taking a somewhat longer side route left out of the Chantry and around the still standing buildings on the village's perimeter. They were a small enough group to avoid significant attention, and between Romulus's crossbow and an archer among the regulars, they were able to quickly put down the few enemies they came across. Most of the Venatori were drawn to the greatest point of conflict, the rear guard still holding near the gate.

Only one of the trebuchets was still a feasible target. The dragon had obliterated one like a child would to a poorly crafted toy, and the other was too close to the battle still raging. They had to go for the farthest one, closest to the palisade separating them from the Venatori army. It was turned, of course, to face the enemy. They would need to turn it towards the mountains behind the village, raise up the counterweight, and load it with some of their scarce ammunition. It would take a good deal of time, and it was bound to draw attention, especially once the Herald's presence was called out, vulnerable and separated from the bulk of his forces.

The few Venatori around the trebuchet were dispatched quickly, leaving them with a brief moment to prepare. Two of the regulars stepped to the task of turning the siege weapon, while the rest formed a perimeter around them, preparing to intercept the first of the enemy forces to see the engine shifting, and be drawn to investigate.

It didn’t take too long. Though their efforts at avoidance had bought them time, and the rear guard were still fighting furiously at the gate, the turning of the trebuchet was bound to be noticed, and first on the scene were a group of Venatori, perhaps a dozen, a small unit that must have been on its way up to the Chantry, or else to flank the soldiers at the gate. Whichever it was, they were here now, and upon spying the Herald among the other soldiers, diverted their course immediately, charging right for the line of defenders in the way.

But the line stepped forward to meet them, the clash sudden and vicious. The archer among the regulars immediately fired on the Venatori with ice in her hands, and she dropped, fletching blooming like flowers from her chest and abdomen. The others seemed to have a preference for direct confrontation, which suited just fine.

Khari moved forward with the rest, but it wasn’t long before she was a bit out of formation, as her first swings forced the cluster of three foes she went for backwards quite far comparatively, and her third stroke hewed one down when he wasn’t fast enough in his scrambling backwards. It was hard to tell under the mask and in the semidarkness, but a fair guess was that she was grinning like a madwoman, and she bounced easily into the next hit, her cleaver clanging off a shield with a grating rapport and then the scrape of metal along metal. The other swung at her with a broadaxe, but she twisted, turning her whole body aside and darting away like a howling gale, diverting only to crash against the next foe before her with all the ferocity of just such a wind.

The scent of ozone began to hang heavily in the air then, as electricity crackled and arced across Meraad's arms and fists. He held a shield of a Venatori warrior with one hand, while the other repeatedly struck him in the face and sent a jolt of electricity through his body with each strike. When he finally let go, the shield held a scorch mark and smoke rose from the body.

A pair then rushed to greet him. The first approached with a sword drawn, but caught a heavy foot to the chest for the effort. Meraad's strength was great enough to put him on his back, but left the other rushing forward with a battle-axe. Meraad stepped forward and caught the haft at as the Venatori drew it back to swing and delivered a hard right, wrenching it free. He returned it by driving it deep between the man's neck and shoulder, cutting all the way to the spine and then some.

The axeman, however, had seemed to distract him from the swordsman, who now came in from the side. He never reached Meraad, however, as a heavy fireball caught him in the facemask, cooking his head inside his helmet. Following its trajectory revealed Fiona at the other end, a smoking staff in hand.

Romulus remained near the edges of the fight, more than once saving the lives of the regulars that fought with them from Venatori that sought to flank. Whenever he drew attention he retreated back, deflecting blows and rolling away, swifter to change directions than any of them could hope to be in their plate armor. They were being torn to pieces by the small, elite group, and clearly it was affecting their morale.

The Red Templars among the attackers were drawn more slowly to the battle, but indeed they seemed to carry more weight literally upon their backs. Two creatures, once human, staggered forward along the path back towards the gate and the main fight, their backs swollen and protruding from their armor, punctured with glowing red spikes. They had not the size of the behemoth that had crashed through the wall originally, but their faces and bodies were twisted horrors, and they roared with a fury upon spotting the fight before them.

The first of them to come in range began to writhe in what appeared to be pain, hunching over and clutching at his head. He shook violently, and small shards of red lyrium shot with velocity from his back, whistling through the air in clusters at the massed combatants. Romulus crouched down and lowered his targe in front of him, catching several of the shards, though one found his lower leg, and he grimaced as he stumbled backwards. Wrenching it free, he retreated behind the more durable, including the Venatori, whom the horrors did not seem to care if they wounded or killed in the process of their attack.

"Almost there!" cried one of the regulars from the trebuchet, as she and her partner worked tirelessly to aim the weapon. In the fighting, the first of the Inquisition in the group was cut down by a lyrium shard punching clean through his throat, a wound beyond the skill of any healer to mend.

The barrage of red lyrium spikes appeared to have torn several holes in Khari’s cloak, which she’d taken refuge behind, but doing so had taken enough force out of the projectiles that they’d just clanged off her armor afterwards, and she bounded back to her feet, lunging for the red templar on the right, only for her trajectory to be intercepted by a shield, welded to his arm more than held as such, also spiked with crimson crystals. It was swung a great deal faster than an ordinary man would be cable of, and tossed her back several feet, where she landed in a crouch, springing up again and trying a different angle, this time meeting his sword with her own.

They clashed several times, the echoes from one ringing blow not even dying away before the next followed, and he managed to get a good hit in on one of the gaps in her piecemeal armor, punching a hole in her abdomen right around the left side of her waist. Khari didn’t even seem to notice, actually stepping farther forward and pushing the sword deeper to get the reach she needed to bury the cleaver at the juncture of the templar’s neck and shoulder. He fell, and only then did her glance move down to the blade partway in her guts. She scowled and yanked it out, tossing it with no particular finesse at another Venatori trying to drive past the line of regulars. It didn’t do much by way of damage, but it was a distraction, one that the Inquisition soldier took advantage of, hefting his axe into the cultist’s head with a loud crunch and splitting it like a log.

Meraad dropped the Venatori into a heap at his feet, his back littered with red lyrium spikes. Apparently, he'd grabbed the man moments before as an impromptu shield. While the red templar that had fired the spikes at him slowly waded toward him, Meraad apparently grew impatient and rushed to meet him instead. The electrical currents running through his arms faded away, and were replaced by a thin layer of stone. Once within distance, the templar swung a spike of red lyrium, more akin to a club than a sword, and struck Meraad in the side.

The force was enough to push Meraad out of his angle, but the Qunari proved stubborn and clung hard to the spike. With a great heave, Meraad drew the templar close enough to deliver a punishing headbutt, shattering some of the crystals from what used to be a man's head. He continued and pushed forward, taking the templar to the ground all the while summoning more stones to his arm. By the time Meraad sat atop the templar, his arm looked like a club, which he used to bash the rest of the red templar's head off.

Letting the stone peel from his arms, Meraad stood winded, a thin line of blood coming from his forehead, and quickly tried to make it back to their line. Another fireball flew past him from Fiona, and from behind him an explosion rang out.

"Herald!" one of the regulars called. "It's loaded, we just need to--" Her words were cut off by a powerful bolt of lightning from a Venatori spellcaster, throwing her away from the siege weapon, where she collapsed onto the ground in a smoking heap. Romulus put down the mage with his crossbow, loading another bolt swiftly as he ran towards the trebuchet. There was a question of time to deal with here: had they given the others long enough to get free? If this worked, they'd be buried under a literal mountain of snow.

It didn't matter in the end, however, as an ominous beating of wings upon the wind preceded a powerful explosion in the palisade, a ball of fire erupting and sending large chunks of wood and earth everywhere. A shockwave of force punched Romulus back, tossing him through the air, and leaving the rest of the combatants at the very least momentarily stunned. Romulus hit the ground painfully, tumbling to a stop, blinking the bleariness from his eyes. Through the intense haze of the flames, he could see figures beginning to emerge, striding confidently through.

From the look of them alone, these were the very cream of the crop when it came to the Venatori. With but a single exception, every last one of them was garbed in blindingly-white robes, accented with silverite armor pieces, and armed with a staff. They marched in lockstep, regimented like a highly-disciplined military force, quite unlike their lower ranks, or any known group of mages in Thedas. If they resembled anything, it was the way the Qunari beresaad moved—confident, assured, and utterly as one.

At the front of the march was one figure noticeably different from the rest. Tall enough to distinguish himself from the others, he was also clothed head-to-toe in sable, a hood drawn up around his head. His shoulders and chest were protected by a metal so dark a red it was nearly black itself, some kind of bloodstone, maybe, for it lacked the glow of tainted lyrium. Where his troops marched, he prowled, with the kind of feral grace that belonged almost exclusively to predatory cats. The entire left half of his face was covered with some kind of mask, so white it could have been made from porcelain, bone, or pearl, which reflected the scant light with noticeable brilliance.

The uncovered half of his face was quite well-structured, one dark brow set over a darker eye, his skin smooth and unlined, stretched taut over a patrician bone structure. The half of his mouth that could be seen wore a pensive scowl, one that deepened when Fiona and the remaining regulars stepped forward, the first to recover and pick themselves up from the shockwave.

Together, they loosed: two arrows and an impressively-sized fireball flew towards the formation. The Venatori reacted immediately, a couple near the front throwing up barriers to protect the ranks as they continued forward. The man in black, however, met the magical flames with a sneering indifference, raising one hand and summoning his own flames, which flew outwards and made contact with the Grand Enchanter’s, engulfing and consuming them before continuing forwards to smite Fiona herself, who fell to the snow with a strangled cry, her unmoving form smoking copiously as flames licked at her hair and clothes, blackening her flesh. There was simply no way she’d survived.

The regulars fell swiftly after, as the Venatori lowered the barriers and volleyed magical projectiles at the group.

In their wake strode a monster, a humanoid form easily outmatching even the likes of Leon in height. He regarded the flames as though they were nothing, even as they licked at his tattered robes and threatened to catch fire. He had not the commander's density, however. His arms and the fingers upon his hands were overly long, and somewhat spindly, each tipped with black pointed nails of several inches. His body was lined with small plates of red lyrium, as though it were fused into his very skin, but that same skin did not feature the same kind of corruption present in the other red templars. No, it was paler, more akin to a corpse or even...

Darkspawn. The thought occurred to Romulus just as the black, hideously twisted dragon screamed again and flew overhead, bending around to land with a cataclysmic shaking of the earth nearby. Its attention, and that of the tainted giant striding ahead, were focused solely on Romulus, on the Herald. He tried to move, but looked down to find a sizable piece of splintered wood from the palisade impaling his lower leg, another smaller one protruding from the right side of his abdomen. His shield was on the ground nearby. He rolled over and grasped for it, though he knew not what use it would be to him at this point.

Someone stepped into Romulus’s line of vision, between him and the oncoming forces. The hem of the red cloak and the pattern of metal banding over the person’s boots was enough to mark that person as Khari. She rose up onto the front pads of her feet, shifting her center of gravity lower, and he could hear her draw in a ragged breath, letting it hiss out again between her teeth. She lunged into a sprint, sword trailing out to the left of her, and several bright flashes of fire or lightning were hurled for her path, forcing her to dodge each time with bounding leaps and swift trajectory changes. Most struck the ground instead of Khari herself, throwing up clouds of snow and dirt that made it difficult to tell what was going on, but a few sounded like they hit something different.

An enraged yell preceded the heavy whistle of a cleaver swing, but it was cut off by the sound of a blunt impact, a great crash, and Khari was ejected from the swirl of snow and smoke, thrown like a rag doll into the trebuchet itself, where she bounced off one of the thicker wooden beams that comprised it and landed to the side of the siege weapon. She did not stir.

A fireball then flew the other direction, angled upward above most of the human combatants, but eye level with the great black dragon. The fireball struck the creature in the nose and blossomed, but if it was anything other than annoyed, it certainly didn't show it. "Ataashi basra!" Meraad cried in Qunlat, flinging another fireball at the dragon's face. It had the same effect as the last, only serving to irritate the dragon further.

The creature, obviously tired of the Qunari flinging spells at it, strode forward a step, the ground shaking under its weight. Its neck craned and it loosed a deafening roar directed at Meraad, the force of which took his feet from under him and drove him onto his back. The dragon reached forward with its mouth and took Meraad in between his teeth. Meraad cried out in pain, but still fought defiantly. Stone and fire formed around his fist, which he used to assault the dragon's snout repeatedly. "Vashedan ataashi! Nehraa Asala!" He yelled.

The dragon had had enough. He shook his head viciously, causing Meraad's body to ragdoll sickeningly and ceasing his yelling. It snapped its jaws once more before discarding the now lifeless body by flinging it into the distance.

Romulus had staggered to his feet, shield in hand, throughout the efforts of Khari and Meraad to delay the inevitable. He wasn't even thinking anymore, incapable of comprehending what appeared to be his impending demise. It would be a good end, if only he could set off that trebuchet, which still somehow stood intact. He took a pained step towards it, clutching his side.

"Enough!" came a voice, oddly familiar to Romulus. It came from the giant darkspawn abomination, accompanied by a push of his hands that send a wave of magic over him, weak but still able to knock Romulus back onto his rear in his pitiful state. He recognized the tone, from the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, when they made their initial attempt to seal the Breach. There could be no doubt about it: this man, this thing was responsible.

"Pretender," he uttered with contempt. "You and the other toy with forces beyond your ken. No more."

"What is the meaning of this?" Romulus found himself asking, perhaps desperate for some kind of closure to the mystery surrounding his final months, before he died. He rolled and clambered painfully onto his knees. "What are you?"

The darkspawn's face was blank, void of emotion. "Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus!"

Corypheus. The name meant nothing to Romulus. Was it supposed to? Everything in the way the creature presented himself demanded it to be so. Instinctively, Romulus believed him to be insane, the result of red lyrium or the fact that he looked like a darkspawn of all things, and yet he spoke. He spoke with clarity of mind, intellect, purpose. He commanded an army, and they had long since encountered men and women that whispered of him, the Elder One. Romulus placed one foot upon the ground, trying to force himself to stand. The other managed to follow.

The Elder One shook his head. "You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not. You will kneel." It was then that Romulus noticed the object that he carried in his left hand. A metallic orb, heavy in appearance and intricately engraved. Romulus did not recognize its design as anything like what he'd seen Chryseis use. Corypheus lifted the object and it began to glow red from within, as did his opposite hand as he drew power of some kind into himself. He thrust the hand forward.

Instantly the mark upon Romulus's hand lit up, crackling with green energy that rippled all the way up his arm, sending stabbing pains into his chest, and he was soon forced back down to his knees, as the Elder One had predicted. Romulus gritted his teeth, bracing himself with his unmarked arm upon the ground. "I am here for the Anchor," Corypheus declared. "The process of removing it begins now." The pain intensified, until Romulus let out a roar of combined anger and agony.

"It is your fault, Herald. You and the girl interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose." He drew more energy from the orb, and Romulus could feel his hand, his whole body, being pulled in the darkspawn's direction. His red eyes stared down at him, unfeeling. "I do not know how you survived. But what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens."

Behind him, the dragon hissed hungrily, closing in, and eyeing him like so much meat to be consumed. Romulus knew not what force stayed it from devouring him. He did not think it possible for a creature like a dragon to be tamed and commanded by any being. "And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!" He then strode forward, glaring down at Romulus, until he came within arm's reach, at which point he thrust his free hand down, seizing Romulus by the arm and wrenching him up, easily lifting him entirely off the ground. He held him by the arm there, so that the mark on his palm was at eye level.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more." Truthfully, Romulus was in no state to comprehend anything he was saying, nor did he think he would understand it even were he in perfect health, but the words seemed to burn into his mind anyway, such was the force with which Corypheus spoke.

He leaned his face in closer, offering Romulus a brutally detailed look at the deformities of his skin, his face, his entire body. "I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world." Tevinter? But... "Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!"

After one last glance at the mark, Corypheus scowled, and proceeded to hurl Romulus away. He smashed against the stone side of a well, several pieces of the rock falling some distance below. Romulus gasped for breath, and was rewarded with a severe stabbing pain that informed him of broken ribs, damaged organs. He only blearily heard the words Corypheus continued to speak.

"The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling. Perhaps the girl's can be removed. If not, so be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation, and god, it requires."

From the angle he’d landed at, Romulus was able to see the spot Khari had fallen—specifically, that she was currently struggling to rise to her feet, and doing so rather quietly, considering. Her expression was twisted into a grimace of pain, and one of her hands held her side, but she lurched to her feet, outside the peripherals of Corypheus or any of his followers, whose attention was focused exclusively on him. The darkspawn advanced several more paces forward even as she stepped to the side, closing in on the trebuchet, ready to fire save that it was yet to be triggered, held in place by several ropes expertly tied.

“And you.” Corypheus sneered down at him even as Khari struggled to pull herself up onto the trebuchet’s platform, her sword held almost limply in the hand that wasn’t pressed to her abdomen. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

“Yeah, sure. Good luck with that, you ugly fuck.” Khari grinned savagely when the attention diverted to her, the expression looking rather macabre considering the fact that she was bleeding from the mouth, crimson smearing from the corner of her lips, visible even under the steel mask, and staining her teeth. With very little fanfare, she raised her sword and chopped through the ropes holding the trebuchet in place, triggering the mechanism and firing the munitions at the side of the mountain. They landed a few seconds later with an ominous boom, low like thunder, and she huffed a sound like laughter, only much more pained.

“The looks on your faces—completely worth it.”

Perhaps predictably, her words were answered with force: several of the Venatori flung spells at her, but she seemed to have been prepared for this, because she jumped off the platform, landing hard in the snow but keeping her feet, whereupon she bolted for Romulus, repeating something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like fuck, fuck, shit damn fuck! She zig-zagged frantically, narrowly avoiding most of the spells, at least until a lightning bolt went off too close to her feet and pitched her forward. She slid for several feet through the snow and scrambled up again, no longer using her hand to hug her abdomen, which now bled freely onto the ground, leaving a red trail in her wake.

“Sorry Rom!” She didn’t specify what the apology was for, but then, the rough way she grabbed his collar with her now-free hand might have had something to do with it. The projectiles had stopped as their enemies scrambled to get free of the impending avalanche, and Khari took the opportunity to drag him behind her, more or less, as she dove into the well he’d come to a stop beside.

For a moment, they were weightless, and then they plunged into the dark below.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari woke first to the sensation of pain.

It was hardly unusual, in itself, but this pain was particularly bad, and she knew immediately that it was due to the fact that whatever was causing it was still a problem. Of course, narrowing that down any further was going to take a little more work: there was pain in her abdomen, pain in her ribcage, pain in her arm, and definitely pain in her left knee, too.

She tried to crack her eyes open, but only one responded—something was keeping the other one shut. She was met at first with only white, and realized then that she had to be laying, front side down but her head turned to the side, in snow. Why she’d decided to take a nap outside was slower in coming to her, but with a few moments of start-and-stop thought, she was able to piece together what the hell had happened, or enough of it to realize that she needed to get up, anyway.

But before she could do that, she needed to understand exactly what she was working with. With a groan, she got her not-in-pain arm underneath her and used it to roll herself over onto her back, dislodging quite a bit more snow in the process. Her eye met a natural cavernous ceiling, on the low side but definitely taller than she was standing up. More importantly, the effort of moving herself differentiated some of the pains: the one in her lower abdomen was on the left, and from the way it pulled, it was a stab or slash wound of some kind. Probably a stab—the pain radiated from a small area. The pain in her upper torso, however, was definitely a broken rib, snapped cleanly off and now sort of floating free of the rest of the ribcage. Not too far off, though; thankfully it had not punctured her lung, or she might be dead already.

Her arm felt heavily bruised, but not broken—she could still move her fingers, which was a good sign. Raising her head to glance down at her legs, she found that one of them was in perfectly good working order. The other didn’t respond to her attempts to move it, but she was pretty sure from the angle that it was dislocated rather than broken, and that was an easier fix. With a breath as deep as she dared risk, she gradually pushed herself up into a seated position, hissing past the needling of the stab wound when she leaned forward, drawing her injured leg up and taking hold of it.

“Shit!” The oath almost concealed the uncomfortable sound of her knee popping back into place, and she muffled the sound of another groan by leaning into her own shoulder, breathing through gritted teeth for several moments until the worst had passed. Testing it proved fruitful, but it would be tender for quite some time. Reaching beside her, she did the best she could for her other injuries, pressing a hunk of snow into the stab wound and molding more around it, both to delay the bleeding and numb it. Another handful helped her clean the dried blood off her second eye, which had run down from a cut in her brow she didn’t remember receiving.

Once she could see out of both, Khari scooted back so that the wall was behind her and used it to help herself get back to her feet, pulling herself upright and remaining there until she felt steady enough to try moving. She couldn’t see Rom, but she had a suspicion he hadn’t fallen far, and was probably half-buried under some of this snow. An avalanche would do that, and some of it had indeed cascaded into the well behind them.

Her painfully-slow trek to the heap of powder that had fallen in through the structure was made only slightly better by the fact that her boot struck something under the snow on her way. In hopes that it might be her friend, she crouched, digging furiously with her hands, but what she discovered was her sword. “Could be worse. Could be a Venatori.” She strapped it to her back and resumed her way forward.

Shoveling through the big pile was a rather gargantuan task, made only more laborious by her current state, but Khari was persistent, scooping snow behind her long past the point that her hands, gloved though they were, had gone completely numb. She wasn’t liking her chances, but then that was nothing new, and she kept digging anyway, picking up speed when she could make out a soft green glow some distance below where she’d reached. “Come on, come on.” She hurled aside larger heaps of the stuff, no longer bothering with breadth since she knew where she was headed, and focused on getting deeper into the drift.

With about twenty minutes of work, she finally reached him. Immediately, she yanked one of her gauntlets off with her teeth and pressed freezing fingers to Rom’s equally-chilled wrist. She wasn’t sure if she was just too numb to tell or if there was actually no pulse there, but she didn’t feel one, and so she panicked, adjusting her position and digging some more, until she’d basically excavated him.

He’d landed spread-eagled, and likely already unconscious, if he hadn’t made any move whatsoever to protect himself from the incoming snow. She had no way of knowing how long ago that was, because there wasn’t much, if any light filtering in from above—she’d basically dug sideways and then down, the snow being packed enough to maintain structural integrity despite her efforts. If it’d been too long and he’d suffocated
 but now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Picking her way to his feet, she grasped his ankles and dragged as carefully as she could. She wasn’t in any shape to be carrying him, and moving him at all was a risk, but if the hole she’d dug caused the snow to collapse again, all her work would be undone, and that was probably worse for him than being moved a few yards. She hoped.

Easing herself onto the ground next to him, Khari leaned over, placing her ear just above his mouth, hoping to hear or feel some indication that he was breathing. She held her own still in her lungs, and for several long seconds, she feared the worst. But then something stirred the hair near her ear, and she sat bolt upright.

He was alive.

“Okay. Uhh
 okay, good. Alive. What now?” If he’d hit his head, he shouldn’t be sleeping, she knew that much. But was it better to wake him up if she didn’t know whether he had a concussion or not? Whatever the case, they needed to get moving soon if they had much hope of surviving this in the long run, so she decided to risk it.

“Rom. Hey, Rom. Wake up.” With her bare hand, she tapped the side of his face a few times, not hard, but insistently. She didn’t want to shake him somewhere he might have a broken bone or something, so this seemed like the best idea.

Suddenly Rom coughed violently, hacking up a glob of blood that spattered over his own face. Several more wheezing coughs and groans followed, with his limbs beginning to move soon after. He was obviously just as disoriented as Khari had been after she had come to.

Rom's first reaction, however, was to aggressively lash out with an open hand, which immediately found Khari's throat and constricted, his face contorting with effort. He made an attempt to shove her to the side, before his eyes finally saw what was in front of him, and he seemed to register the rest of the pain in his body. An uncomfortably loud shout of pain followed, with his hand going straight to where the splinter of the palisade still impaled his side. A larger, more alarming piece was straight through his lower left leg. They couldn't have been down here all that long, or else he would have bled to death already.

For the moment, Rom could only grope blindly in the snow, trying to turn himself over for some reason, or perhaps get up to his feet, while a line of blood ran from his lips down his cheek.

“Hey, hey, hey, whoa, stop.” Khari frowned when the words came out more raspy than she’d meant them to, probably due to the fact that he’d been quite intent on crushing her windpipe there for a second. She should have expected something of the kind. Reaching behind her, she pulled her mask loose and hooked it quickly on her belt, setting her other arm firmly on Rom’s shoulder. “Rom, it’s just me. It’s Khari. You’ve got to stop struggling; you’re only gonna hurt yourself more.”

Worst case, all this motion would dislodge those splinters before they should come out, and he’d bleed all over the place. “You’ve injured your side, and your leg. Try not to move them yet. Does it hurt anywhere else?” She kept her voice level and as calm as possible, hoping to induce the same in him. She still wasn’t sure if he’d hit his head, and so knowing whether this disorientation was to be brief or more enduring wasn’t yet possible.

He ceased his motion, and judging by the way he was leaning on one arm underneath him, and trying to push off the ground with the other, those at least were in working order. Although, the mark on his left hand was crackling every few seconds, still glowing green, spitting out bits of lightning or energy or something. He shook it, as though trying to put out a fire, to no use.

"It hurts everywhere else..." he grumbled. "We need potions. I've got..." He reached behind him, into a pouch on his belt, before he hissed in pain and pulled his hand free, one of the fingers now cut and bleeding. He unbuckled the belt and tossed it away a few feet; shards of a broken vial or two fell into the snow, along with the remains of frozen health draughts, rendered useless by now. "Shit. Ugly bastard would've killed us quicker than this." He smiled at her, a bloody grin similar to what she'd given Corypheus. He appeared to be regaining most of his clarity, at least. "We never do anything the easy way, do we?”

“Wouldn’t be any fun if we did.” She sat back on her legs for a moment, scratching at the back of her head, then wincing when her nails scraped over a lesion she hadn’t known was there. Grimacing, she rolled her eyes and shrugged Intercessor off her back, staking it into the snow for a moment while she unfastened her cloak.

“We’re gonna want to get those bits of the wall out before they absorb too much blood and swell.” They could get stuck that way, and cause one hell of an infection. Wood was, after all, a porous material. Her cloak in her hands, Khari grasped it in a couple places near the bottom, holding tension in it, then looped her arms over the sword, pulling the fabric forward towards herself against the edge of the blade, which sliced through it fairly easily. Once she’d discarded the hem, which was dirty, and reached the part that was in better shape, she repeated the process a few times, laying out the resulting strips of scarlet fabric near him. She took her best guess about how many she’d need, and wound up using about a third of the cloak, but warmth wouldn’t be an issue if they bled out first. It had holes in it now anyway.

“Which one do you want me to do first?” She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him as she scrubbed the strips of fabric down with clean snow as well as she could. “’Cause they’re both gonna hurt like
 well, a lot.”

Rom groaned, rolling carefully back over onto his back, and taking a few deep breaths, before he pointed to the piece lodged in his side. Judging by the way he prepared himself, this was not nearly his first time doing something of the sort.

Khari didn’t bother giving him a count. It was the kind of thing that would hurt a whole lot worse if he was tensed for it, so she tried not to give him time to do that even involuntarily, reaching forward and ripping the splinter free with a sharp, strong tug. Thankfully, she used enough force that only one was necessary, and she discarded it to the side, immediately pressing her other free hand, which held a considerable amount of snow, up against the wound. It occurred to her that if she were Asala, this would be a hell of a lot easier—she wasn’t sure she’d felt the lack of magic in her repertoire quite so keenly before now, when there was no such individual around.

When the snow was red, she tossed it away and proceeded to bandage him as well as she could, peeling back his leathers and linens to do it. First a strip folded several times into a square, to go right over the wound, and then a few more, wrapped around to hold it in place. She tried not to tie too tightly, but a bit of excess snugness was better than the opposite, so she erred on the side of caution. Rom, for his part, weathered the intense pain quite well, focusing intently on the cavernous ceiling above, pressing his lips tightly together and refusing to shout or scream when prompted by the agony.

“Okay, leg now.” She moved herself and her supplies down a little further, eyeing the large piece of wood in his muscle with some trepidation. She was going to have to break one side of that and then pull it back through, or she’d leave a dozen splinters behind, she was sure of it. “Please try not to kick me.” It was a joke, though that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything genuine to the sentiment.

Leaning forward slightly, Khari took a deep breath, holding his leg near the ankle with one hand before she changed her mind and used that one to hold the piece of wood steady, trying to cause minimal movement when her hand tightened on the bloody end and snapped it off, whereupon she yanked what was left back through his calf, hissing sympathetically. Rom writhed in response to that one, smashing the snowy ground with a closed fist several times. It was actually more straightforward to bandage, as his leg was a lot easier to move around, and she managed to get the cloth tied off quicker, breathing a heavy exhale.

“Right. So I don’t know about anything broken, but at least you probably won’t die of blood loss now. Hurrah for us, and so on.” She grinned, but it was a little shaky.

His eyes were watering from the ordeal, and he wiped them, steadily slowing his breathing. "Okay. Help me up." Once his arm was over her shoulders, they began their way up, and Rom struggled to get his feet under them. "We need to get away from--argh!" The wounded leg gave out, his weight taking him to a knee and her along with it. He braced it with a hand, shaking his head. "I can't walk."

Khari grunted against the pain in her ribcage, lowering herself as his leg gave out from under him, then shifted her positioning, pulling his arm further around so that he was braced on her back as much as her shoulder. She took a lot more of his weight that way, but at least he wouldn’t have to use the bad leg. “Yes you can. Just keep that one off the ground—we’ll be fine.”

Slowly, they rose from the ground a second time, and though they weren’t going to be getting anywhere fast, the solution was workable enough—Rom sort of hobbled along on his one leg, and Khari took heavy, short steps with both of hers, one arm around his back and the other holding tightly to the forearm she’d tugged down over her far shoulder. She made sure to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth, preventing any nausea with the enforced deliberateness of it, and they managed to find their way forward.

The ground underfoot was not kind to them. The well had let out into what seemed to be a cave system, which was a bit of luck, considering how difficult it would have been to climb back up through the snow, which had been what she planned to do when she dragged them both down here. If they could find another way out, though, that would be better. A few places presented them with ledges, ones that would have been laughably easy to jump off were they in good condition, but now constituted obstacles that nearly drew them to a halt. She did carry him over those, shrugging his weight onto her back and hopping down.

The first one saw them landing facefirst in the snow—or, well, she did. He landed on top of her, which was probably for the best but definitely not that comfortable. The second one wasn’t as bad, and they managed to keep their feet. After what felt like hours, they finally started moving upwards, and lo and behold, the cavern system spit them out some distance from Haven, onto a blank, snow-driven landscape. She could see the sun, though, and that gave her a little bit of hope.

Less encouraging was the fact that she soon heard the crunching of snow from their left, and she worked the both of them backwards into the cavern’s mouth, planting them against a wall. Khari held her breath, straining to hear. It could just be a wild animal, but


“—don’t understand why the general wants us out here. No one could have survived that.” The voice was punctuated by the sound of chattering teeth.

“Unless they were already gone, you idiot.” The second voice was sharper, more feminine, and Khari grimaced, bending at her knees to lower Rom to the ground, so he’d be sitting with his back to the wall. He wasn’t perfectly concealed back here, but they’d be caught in an even worse position if she didn’t act soon. The voices were getting closer.

“I’ll just be a minute.” She huffed softly, smiling with customary ease, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. She wasn’t in good shape, and she knew it. She didn’t know how many of the Venatori there were, but if it was more than the two she’d heard, she was in serious trouble. Rom offered a mumbled resistance, but she was already off.

Khari crept forward to the edge of the cave’s mouth, loosening Intercessor and then drawing it free completely, crouching with the blade beside her and peering out past the wall of the cave. Fuck. There were half a dozen, coming right this way, and there wasn’t any way in hell they were going to miss a cave opening this obvious.

It occurred to her for the second time since the attack on Haven began that this really might be the end of the line for her. She could run, she knew. Hide. Survive. But in order to do that, she’d have to leave Rom behind—he couldn’t get out near fast enough.

So it wasn’t an option. Death before dishonor.

Glancing back down the way to where he sat, she raised all five fingers on one hand, and the thumb of her other, grinning jaggedly and shrugging before she closed her hand over her cleaver’s hilt, the bone charms on the end clinking almost imperceptibly softly. She could hear the Venatori’s footsteps coming closer. She had to go now, or risk exposing him. Using Intercessor for assistance, she pushed herself to her feet, taking a deep breath and reaching for that angry place in her heart, the little knot of pain that would help her ignore the rest.

The Haze descended, and Khari lunged from cover with a shout, slamming the blade of her sword into the first unsuspecting Venatori’s head. He dropped like a stone, and she gritted her teeth, pushing away her body’s reminders of how injured she was, ripping the cleaver free of the first and swinging it into the second, catching the pole of the woman’s spear with a clang. Another one, similarly armed, forced her backwards several steps, towards the cave opening, and she dug her feet in, feeling keenly how unsuited she was for defense and so leaping into the attack again.

She swatted aside one spear and drove the point of her sword through the woman’s guts, but the second caught her in the shoulder, the impact strong enough to send her to the ground, sliding backwards several feet. She landed right in front of the cave entrance from which she’d emerged, but she dared not let her attention betray them by shifting it inwards. An axe cleaved into the snow where her head had been a moment before, but Khari forced herself to roll, lashing out with her tired legs and catching the second spearman in the knee. There was little force behind the blow, though, her strength pushed to its limits already and rapidly depleting. She had the will to continue, just not the power, and it was showing.

There was a muffled cry of "No..." behind Khari, and suddenly, a bright green light exploded from thin air in the middle of the grouped Venatori, unmistakable for its similarity to the rifts they had been working to close for months. This one was spherical and tugged everything around it towards the bright center. Behind Khari, Rom had crawled forward into view, reaching out with his marked hand, which had erupted in that same light.

The Venatori barely had enough time to scream before they were pulled straight into the rift, disintegrated as they went, no trace of them left behind. Khari was right on the edge of the pull, enough that her legs started to slide across the snow, threatening to take the rest of her with them if she couldn't find something to hang on to. She scrabbled frantically for something to hold, finding nothing and choosing instead to drive her sword as deep into the ground as she could and grip both hands with the hilt.

Intercessor traced a deep gouge in the snow as she was slowly pulled towards the rift, feet-first, and she strained to dig it in further, hoping to catch it on a root or a stone or anything that would anchor her in place. Her arms trembled with the effort of keeping her hold, her injured shoulder screaming at her, and she felt her grip beginning to slip, several fingers sliding off the end of the hilt and closing over empty air.

Just when she was sure she could hold on no longer, the force stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Khari fell heavily onto her stomach upon the ground. The impact whited out her vision for a moment, and for several seconds, she had to catch her breath, dropping her remaining hand from her blade.

“Oww
”

Romulus simply stared at the rift that had vanished, dumbfounded, before Khari's groan pulled his attention back, and he half-stumbled, half-crawled over to her, wincing every step of the way. He tried awkwardly to help her get up, though he was the one that could hardly hold any weight.

"We need to go... could be more."

“Yeah. Yeah, you got it, Rom. Just lemme
” Khari trailed off, closing her fist around a handful of snow and blotting her new stab wound with it, glad at least it was on the side she supported less of him with. It was the little things.

At great length, she managed to regain her feet, partly by use of his shoulder while he sat, and then they pulled him up behind her, Khari wedging herself into his side like before. She’d never been happy about the fact that she was short until it turned out she was a decent height for this particular task. Probably would have been better with another couple of inches, but it was workable, which was all it needed to be.

Of course, going was one thing. Having a direction to go was quite another. In the end, Khari just aimed them further away from Haven. Maybe they could find a copse of trees or something else that would do for shelter. If they were lucky, they might find some signs of the others. If they were unlucky, well
 they’d cross that bridge when they got to it. She heaved a sigh as they started forwards.

“You know
 I think dying might actually have hurt less than this. Not that I’m complaining.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
On the sixth night, in the most brutal of his fevered dreams, Romulus heard his mother.

"Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay."

Perhaps it was a memory, that of a child of not yet two years, a time so early in his life that all he remembered were images, washed over like a soggy painting, once clear but now distorted, elongated in the colors, and all the while still beautiful. The other senses pitched in as well. There was the smell, salt of the sea and the sweat on the brow and across the body of the woman that held him. There was the sound, that of the crashing waves, beating against a wooden hull, the terrible, terrifying crack of lightning somewhere overhead, leaves flashes of light that blinded his young eyes. His owns screams echoed in his skull, the pitiful mewling of a helpless child.

"See how the rain has washed away
The tears that you were crying?
Though the darkness calls me down
You know we all are dying."

She sang to him, and her voice cut through the chaos with ease. He buried his head against the base of her neck, clutching her with his little hands. When he focused hard enough, he could hear only that voice, that sweet, soothing voice, and there was nothing else to be afraid of.

"Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay."

The words, they meant nothing to him, neither then nor now, for his mind in either place was too scattered, too pained to comprehend. He just needed to focus on her voice, and the rain, the thunder, the storm and shouts of men and women outside would be washed away. That voice was sad, it was scared and perhaps even hopeless, but this was not something he knew how to recognize, or knew how to deal with. It was his mother's voice, and that was all that mattered. He would not let it go.

"Birds reel across the endless sky, above a house upon the plain.
In memory she sings to him of a time before the rain.

Sweet Andraste, hear our song
For his road will be ours too.
Before darkness claims our souls
Let us see that shred of blue."

A door was kicked open somewhere above, and suddenly the rain became too loud, the shouting, the screams, not his own. His mother whispered something directly into his ear, her voice becoming his entire existence, but Romulus could not hear, not over the echoing of the words of the song, repeating endlessly in his mind.

"Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay."

The dream faded, at the insistent shaking of a hand upon his shoulder. He felt a tear on his cheek. His mother's? No, his own. Or perhaps it was sweat. He was drenched, but freezing. Shivering, but burning alive. His eyes shot open, saw the night sky, a wall of jagged rock blocking half of the stars from view. It was a clear night, cold and crisp as always, but for once they found a place to stop without snow on the ground.

Khari and Romulus had descended as best they could from the mountains, heading for the Hinterlands, where they hoped to find refuge and some news of the state of things. For days the only people they'd come across were Venatori, hunting for them after one of their patrols vanished, leaving no trace other than a small amount of bloodshed from the brief conflict that had ensued before Romulus had forcibly pulled their bodies into a rift spawned from his own hand. Only delirious need to keep Khari alive had somehow triggered the ability of his mark. He had not been able to replicate the act.

Then the fever had set in, an unfortunate turn of events despite Khari's best efforts to keep his injuries cleaned. They had to move too often, their meager supplies were stretched too thin, and acquiring more meant conflicting with the Venatori patrols, and thus drawing more attention to themselves. Romulus had to believe the Venatori did not know who it was they hunted, else the entire army would be searching for them. He tried each time Khari left to make her stay, but he had not the power to stop her.

And he did not want to die.

“Hey.” Khari’s tone was quiet, bereft of the usual level of projection it normally had, something that had been true for the majority of their time out here. It only made sense—there was always a chance that more Venatori would find them, and most nights, they’d not even been able to risk a fire. From the pile of brush and small branches slowly growing into a conflagration behind her, however, she’d elected to build one this time.

Over the last near-week, she’d left him almost nightly, presumably to carry out one-person raids or scouting endeavors of some kind, and a few times, she’d returned with useful items: a small pot made of iron, actual bandages, a utility knife, some metal wiring, and a pair of blankets. The wiring had apparently gone into the improvisation of a snare, because they’d had a couple of rabbits over the course of their time, food at least being something that they weren’t immediately in danger of lacking.

It had taken two days, but after a few failed attempts, she’d also managed to carve a needle out of one of the decorations on the end of her sword, and had unraveled more of her cloak for thread. Too late to prevent his fever, but soon enough, it seemed, to stitch herself back together so she could range from camp in search of more supplies.

She knelt beside where he lay, pressing a chilly palm against his head, grimacing and drawing it away a moment after. “I got potions, but I don’t know which ones do what.” Reaching down to her waist, she untied a small satchel at her belt, laying out the vials inside within his range of vision. “I got one of everything—if you can tell me which one you need, I’ll know to look for it next time.”

Khari shifted, then winced. A new gash was clotting on her temple; it probably wasn’t the only one she’d acquired today.

Romulus regarded the gash with obvious concern. Khari wasn't suited for this sort of thing, and she was the first to admit it. Hiding, stealing, evading enemies rather than going through them. She'd obviously looted the potions rather than stealing them cleanly, judging by the injury. Whatever Venatori she'd taken them from were dead now, but not before they'd gotten some hits in on her, as they often seemed to. One of these times she'd come back so badly injured she wouldn't be able to save herself, let alone him.

But not if he could beat this first. He blinked, trying to focus, lolling his head to the side where Khari had set down the potions. He grabbed the first, his fingers almost constantly shaking, from weakness or cold or a combination of both. Holding it up in front of his eyes, he frowned, before setting it aside apart from the others. "Lyrium..." The world barely escaped his throat, and he cleared it.

The second was contained in a yellow glass, the color of the liquid inside unclear, but dark. Romulus carefully pulled the small cork from it, holding it somewhat close to his nose and sniffing. He replaced the stopper. "Strength tonic," he murmured, disapprovingly. "Temporary, and weak."

The third was more orange than yellow, and the potion inside had a more obvious red color to it, lighter than blood by several shades. "Healing. This will partly mend the injuries at least. Help me sit." There was a wall nearby he could put his back to, at least, and though it was made of rock and not soft at all, it would do.

She nodded, shifting herself around with a suppressed grunt and wedging a hand beneath his upper back. Her other went to his shoulder, steadying him as much as she could, and some combination of effort on their parts got him into a sitting positon with his back against the stone. She looked like she wanted to collapse next to him herself, but instead she pushed into a stand and threw a bigger log on the fire, which burned steadily by this point, and dragged the spare blanket over, though she didn’t do anything with it quite yet.

Romulus drank the potion slowly, hoping it would stay down. He'd eaten what he could, but it hadn't amounted to much, and he believed Khari was in far greater need of it, with how much more physical work she was doing. It was wasted on him anyway if it just came back up. He let his head fall back against the rock, scratching briefly at the stubble lining his neck and face. They were fairly filthy, both of them, surviving in the woods like this, like savages. Honestly, if the sickness and the injuries and the Venatori would just go away... it wouldn't be so bad at times. Ferelden was beautiful when it wasn't miserably wet, and he imagined that at some point, constant exposure to the cold would render him more resisting of it.

"Here," he said, holding out the half-drank potion. "Take the rest. You need it." They'd done a similar dance a few times already. Romulus was not willing to budge on it. If she didn't drink it, neither of them would.

"Trade for that tonic there, at least." He pointed to a clear vial with an orange potion inside. "It might help with the fever a bit. At the least, it'll help me survive if I get hit by a fireball."

She sighed, another familiar component of the exchange, and accepted what was left, knocking it back in a couple of swallows. Setting the empty vial down carefully, she picked up the one containing the orange liquid and took the cork out with her teeth, handing it over to him before setting about the process of cleaning the other one out. At this point, they wasted absolutely nothing. She contemplated the other two, clearly trying to decide whether they were more valuable to her empty or full, but in the end she just picked up the strength tonic and rolled it around between her fingers for a moment.

“Might be enough to get me through my next run-in with the Venatori, eh?” Khari huffed, apparently finding some humor in that, dark though it was, and the vial disappeared into a pocket. She picked her way the short distance to the fire and took up the pot, disappearing for a few moments, after which she returned, the object now filled with snow. This, too, was familiar. By now, he had two sets of makeshift bandages, and she rotated him between them, boiling the others clean before she changed them, and using the hot water to keep their wounds as clean as possible as well, though it was far too much effort to spend on the rest of them. Her face had enough dirt on it that her tattoos were hard to make out, most of the time, and her clothes were far worse off.

“If that fever doesn’t break soon, we’re gonna have to try sweating it out.” She fixed him with a measuring look from where she crouched next to the fire. “Might need more blankets
” Wrapping her arms around her legs, she tucked her chin between her knees and moved her eyes to the flames.

Romulus stared at the fire for a while as well, and for a bit, the shaking seemed to subside, just a bit. It seemed cruel to die now, of some sickness, after being cast aside by a creature that spoke of himself as a god, after somehow escaping being buried by an avalanche, and after evading bloodthirsty zealots for days. He'd accepted the fact that what had occurred to him might lead to his end, ever since the day in the temple, but with how remarkable all of it was, he thought that his end would have to be something more meaningful than dying in the wilderness.

Khari would have a much easier time of it if he died, it occurred to him. Physically, at least. But for whatever reason, despite his body's attempts to make him leave, one way or another, he found himself remaining. Trapped here, unable to go, even if he wanted to. And he no longer wanted to.

"I dreamed of my mother," he said, somewhat suddenly. "Might've just been the fever conjuring things in my mind, but it felt like her." He smiled to himself, an expression tinged with sadness.

That drew her attention back in his direction, and she paused in the task of adding red fabric strips to the now-boiling pot of water on the fire, her brows knitting over her eyes, the unfaded brightness of their color a stark contrast to what layers of dirt had done to the rest of her. “It probably was, then.” The words were slow, and something about her cadence was unsteady, lurching. “Nobody else in the world like your mother
 no matter
 well.” She shrugged, clearly having either lost the thread of thought she was following or consciously deciding not to say anything else.

“You, uh
 you don’t know who they are, right? Your parents?” She moved the bandages around in the water with the knife, careful not to damage them.

"No," he stated, unable to keep the downtrodden note from his tone. "Tevinter marines found me on the deck of a Rivaini trading vessel. I was around two. There was damage to the ship, blood, but no bodies. Probably at the bottom of the strait." It certainly wasn't worthwhile for the soldiers to investigate, and by the time Romulus was old enough to care about it, he was sold into slavery, and any evidence or clues were undoubtedly long gone.

"I've thought a lot about it, why I was on the ship, why I didn't die. If my parents were traders, or worked on a ship, pirates could've attacked them, or Qunari maybe. A ship is no place for a young child, though. Makes me think I was there for some special reason, but... how am I supposed to know?" The question wasn't meant to be answered, for it didn't have one. He couldn't know why he was there, why he wasn't dead, why he still existed at all. But he had always believed there was some reason, something slightly more than chance. Being marked as he had only increased the strength of that belief. Even if he would never find out. Not until he passed on, anyway.

"What about yours? Seems like something I should know about you by now." She'd hinted at it every now and then. Her Dalish descent was obvious, as was her departure from it, so he had to assume her youth was anything but idyllic with the elves.

“Enania and Hawen Istimaethoriel, of clan Genardalia, of the Dales.” Her expression was caught somewhere between amused and annoyed, and she shook her head. “My father’s the Keeper, which is like
 kind of the leader, I guess you’d say. They’re the ones that do the magic, and keep the memories of what the Dalish used to be.” She moved the pot off the fire by its handle, fishing the first of the bandages out with the flat of the knife and wringing it of the excess water before laying it carefully out on a nearby mostly-flat stone.

“My mother’s a craftsperson. She shapes ironbark and hide, mostly. I can’t do that, either, as it turns out.” Her tone was hard to read, but from the excessive intensity with which she was focusing on her task, it wasn’t the easiest thing for her to talk about. “She gave up on me pretty early in life. Dad stuck it out a while longer, but then he got a real apprentice and didn’t have the time to bother, so I pretty much just did whatever the hell I wanted.” She grinned, but it was comparatively lackluster.

Gathering up the bandages, she returned to where he sat, lowering herself to her knees and sitting back on her legs. “You know the drill. We get through this, then I can make food.” That, at least, she sounded somewhat enthusiastic about.

Romulus began the work of getting out of his shirt so the bandage around his torso could be changed. It was the more annoying of the two. "Listen," he said, somewhat softly. "If I survive, I wanted you to know I've changed my mind. About going back." He'd had his mind made up for a while, but for some reason couldn't get the words out until now. It was strangely difficult to admit, that he was willing to just take the chance, despite all the reasons he'd thrown at her why it was not a wise idea.

Shrugging off his shirt, he lowered the blanket over him and shuddered from the cold. The sweat covering his skin didn't help much, and indeed, the bandage was just as damp with that as it was blood over the still healing wound. "I figured I have enough enemies at this point that my time's probably short anyway. And if that's the case... I'd rather spend it here, with whatever we have left."

That seemed to surprise her, and for a moment, she only blinked at him, but then she smiled, just half of one, a quirk of the lip and a narrowing of the eyes. “Have you, now?” She ducked her head to get to work on cleaning and rebandaging the wound, but the smile remained as she loosened the ones already present and pulled them carefully away.

“Happy to hear it.” She met his eyes for just a second. “Really.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari shifted her weight slightly, careful not to disturb the branch in which she was crouched. It was still cold out, but thankfully the cloak was no longer strictly necessary, which was fortunate since she’d discarded it a week ago—red was too bright a color in the daytime. She scratched at the drab wool scarf covering her head and resisted the urge to sigh.

This was the problem with ambushes, really. They were boring.

It was, incidentally, the same problem she’d always had with hunting. Traps and snares, fine, but stalking a deer through the woods for five hours? So tedious she’d almost rather actually be in pain, just for something to care about. Fortunately, this one probably wouldn’t last much longer.

From her position, she could see a fair way down the path. They’d left small signs of their presence intentionally, to lure the Venatori this way; better than knowing they were being followed but not exactly having the locations of their stalkers. It was basically set a trap or fall into one, and the choice had been obvious, in those terms.

The Hinterlands were easier to hide in, at least. Not as much gradation in the landscape, but a great deal more trees, which was comfortable for Khari, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Peering between a couple of the other branches on her arbor, she caught sight of the white uniform of the Venatori they were after. They blended much worse out here than they had in the snow, certainly, but unlike she and Rom, hadn’t bothered adjusting much for this fact. She squinted, counting heads, then nodded to herself, glancing down and across the trail to where Rom was hidden, lower to the ground but concealed in brush and scrub, at least from the angle of their pursuers’ approach.

She raised five fingers, waiting for confirmation that he’d received the sign before adjusting herself, sinking further backwards into the boughs of the tree. As long as she was still, she wouldn’t be seen—that much, she could judge from experience. Of course, the moment she moved, all bets were off, but that was why she was the distraction and he would do the flanking.

It took another two minutes for the bastards to get into the position she wanted. They were being cautious, perhaps understandably. A month of missing patrols and looted corpses was probably enough for them to figure out that the responsible party or parties were dangerous reckoning. Thankfully, she was still pretty sure they didn’t know Rom was involved—the place would have been damn near swarming if they did. She’d done most of the attacking, too, but thankfully they were both in better shape now than they had been after Haven.

After entirely too much waiting, the Venatori were finally where she wanted them, so Khari fixed the metal mask to her face and ran to the end of the branch, jumping off and landing directly in their midst, hacking one down as she fell. The first to react threw a fireball at her, just catching the end of the scarf, and she pulled it off and discarded it before it burned her, swinging Intercessor around to knock the knife out of the hand of the second to get his bearings. Snarling, she lunged for the mage after, impaling him clean through the chest and swinging him round, still on the blade, only to fling him off in the general direction of one of his compatriots.

“You can’t tease me like a fight’s coming and then not deliver!” She twisted out of the way of another hit, knocking a woman with an axe to the ground when she staggered from the missed blow.

The man disarmed of his knife turned to retrieve it, but his head only found the plated edge of a round shield; a sharp crack accompanied the shattering of his cheekbone as he was spun around, and Rom lunged in, the shield hand grabbing the top of the man's head and pulling back. His blade slid across the throat, spraying crimson forward as the dying Venatori stilled.

The woman knocked down by Khari rolled swiftly back to her feet and rushed forward for Rom this time, raising her two-handed weapon high over her head. Rom turned swiftly, taking the Venatori corpse with him, the blood spraying the axewoman straight in the face. She charged forward anyway, swinging the blade down, and Rom ducked away from his human shield, which was soon cleaved from the shoulder all the way through the ribcage.

Rom shoved the body to the side, and it pulled the axe with it before the woman could withdraw it. Thrown off balance, she was tugged to her left, while Rom leapt around the side of the falling body, making clean downwards plunge of his blade into the neck, piercing vitals and causing the two bodies to fall to the ground in near unison.

Behind them, the last was getting to his feet from under the body of the impaled mage, but no sooner had he reached his feet than a bolt from Rom's crossbow pierced through his breastplate and struck his heart. He stood still for a moment, before collapsing in a heap. Nodding to Khari, Rom immediately began loading another bolt.

From out of the trees some thirty yards away came a horse, unarmored and carrying a spear-wielding Venatori rider. He pulled a horn from his belt and blew, briefly but loudly, before kicking his heels into his horse and charging right at them, spear leveled towards Rom.

A horse! Now they were in business.

There was the annoying matter of its rider, but Khari firmly believed that where there was a will, there was a way. All she had to do was make the way.

She peeled off to the side a bit, trusting Rom to be able to deal with the incoming spear, and waited, bouncing anxiously on her toes, drawing the short knife she’d looted from a Venatori soldier weeks ago and replacing Intercessor at her back. The rider’s charge carried him past her, and that was when she moved in, bounding into a sprint that took her perpendicular, timing it so that she reached the horse and rider just past the effective angle of the spear. With a running jump, she hurled herself onto the animal’s back, grabbing the rear of the saddle to haul her front half over its haunches.

The ride was predictably bumpy, but she knew what she was doing, and rather than trying to fight the rider off or something like that, she reached down with the knife, slicing through the girth strap of the saddle itself. If this fool had been a chevalier, he’d have been able to keep his seat with no problems, of course, but he wasn’t, and one hard shove from her sent him, saddle and all, careening off the side of the horse, and enabling her to swing one leg over and pull herself up to proper riding position using the animal’s mane.

Once she was settled, she wheeled the creature back around and urged it into a canter. If that horn meant what she was pretty sure it did, they were going to need to get out of here—and fast.

Rom was rising from a roll after she turned around, returning his crossbow to his back, and stalking towards the downed Venatori rider, who'd broken his leg quite severely in the fall. He crawled on his back towards his spear, but his progress was slow, and he seemed preoccupied with Rom's visage. Even with the now filled-in beard, he recognized him.

"You..." Rom's face was set in stone, and he kicked the horseman in the chin viciously, snapping his head back and leaving him writhing on the ground for but a moment before the short sword plunged down into his chest.

A sheath of three light javelins had fallen from the man's back; Rom scooped them up on his way over to Khari, tossing them up to her as she neared, obviously expecting them to come in handy. That done, he grabbed her offered hand and pulled himself up onto the back of the horse, drawing another crossbow bolt and clamping down on it between his teeth.

Without a saddle to fasten the javelin sheath to, Khari had to do some improvising, and wound up just tying the thing to her belt. They’d be easy enough to reach there, anyway. “Whatever you do, don’t fall off.” She’d seen him ride before; while he’d obviously done so more than once, it hadn’t been much more than once, by her estimation, and this was going to be a lot trickier without the saddle for stability.

Urging the horse to faster motion, Khari wove them through the trees, trying to avoid taking a direct path, because that would be a lot easier to follow for horses not burdened with two riders instead of just one. The forest would serve them well, though, because it would whittle down any group of cavalry in pursuit, forcing them to break formation to navigate.

Khari chanced a look over her shoulder and swore under her breath. Four of them had already started chasing. They must have been nearby to begin with. Spurring the horse into full gallop, she veered left, into a more densely-wooded area. The animal beneath them almost didn’t want to go, but it didn’t balk in the end, and she steered as well as she knew how, sliding them through gaps in the trees with precision. The blunted thudding of the horse’s hooves was steady over the forest floor, and she angled them further into it, hoping to lose the tail before they closed to dangerous distance.

Rom hung on tightly with his left hand around Khari's midsection, sparing the right for his crossbow. Turning he held out the weapon and aimed, though riding so quickly made such a thing very difficult, especially from his position just trying to hang on in the back. Two of the Venatori behind them were archers, another wielding more javelins over his head, and the last carried a spear, charging the fastest of them, trying to get up on their flanks. Rom prioritized the archers, loosing the first bolt, but missing by a hair, the Venatori ducking just under it. Rom uttered a muffled curse under his breath.

He turned back, taking his hand away from Khari for a moment to pull the string back again, though he had no sooner done this than he almost fell, and he latched back on to Khari. Chancing a look back, he saw the two archers, much closer than they'd previously been, lining up their own shots. Rom turned back and braced; one arrow whistled over their heads, the other thudded right into the shield on his back. Swiftly he dropped the bolt from his mouth into his hand, and reloaded. He turned again and loosed, catching the closer of the archers in the chest. She went limp and fell from her horse, which careened off to the side without its rider to direct.

Next the javelin-thrower came in too close behind them, and Rom was left with no time to counter. "Down!" He pushed down hard on Khari's shoulder, both of them ducking as low as they could, and the javelin whooshed through the air just over them, splitting into the trunk of a tree on the far side. Meanwhile, the spear-rider was coming up on their left, gaining ground swiftly.

Moving the reins into one hand, Khari drew out one of the javelins with the other, shifting her grip until she was sure she had it the way it needed to go. She was better with swords, honestly, but she’d practiced this enough times that she knew when push came to shove she could do it. Nudging the horse sharply to the right, she got them just out of range of the spearman’s first attempt to stab, and while he overcompensated and then tried to recover, she half-turned herself and hurled the javelin.

It struck him in the shoulder, far from fatal on its own, but enough to knock him from the horse, considering his imbalance. Another horn sounded, this one from almost directly in front of them, and Khari grit her teeth. If they went further into the forest, they’d be intercepted for sure, and she had no idea how many friends these fools had. Probably a decent number, and there was no way they’d give up, now that at least some of them had seen, and presumably recognized, Rom.

“We have to leave the forest!” Fair warning, though he’d probably already figured out as much. This would be much, much harder out in the open on the plains, but if she could find a rock formation or a hill to lose them behind, there was still a possibility they got out of this unscathed. They’d been through far too much to die like this, by her reckoning.

Adjusting their course, Khari guided the horse out of the treeline and onto the plains, running perpendicular to the hills whenever possible—going up or down would make them easier targets, for different reasons. She drew the second javelin out as well, but for the moment simply held it in her free hand, leaning further over the horse’s neck in an attempt to urge every bit of speed out of it that she could.

Another javelin came in for them, skimming off the face of Rom's shield. He snapped another bolt into place, turning and firing without hesitation. The projectile cracked straight through the helm and skull of the rider, and in his death he tugged hard on the horse's reins, steering the beast sideways until it tangled right up into the horse of the second archer. Both animals went to the ground, the horses screaming as they kicked up mounds of dirt, and the riders were tossed to break among the rocks at high speeds.

They had only a moment of freedom, before more horses than before came charging into view, again with a wide assortment of weaponry, this time led by an obvious mage wielding a long black staff. He hurled a massive fireball in their direction, the spell sailing over their heads but exploding against a boulder in front of them, flaring outwards with an intense heat that Khari had to swerve to avoid. Rom sent a bolt in the mage's direction, but missed and hit a horse behind the robed man. The beast wasn't killed outright, but immediately had to slow, eliminating the rider from the chase.

"We can't take this many," he warned. There were at least twice the number of Venatori on their heels now as before, and with very little cover as well.

Much as she hated to admit it, he was obviously right. They were rapidly running out of options, and the horse beneath them was tiring of the frantic pace at which she was pushing it to run. She had to risk a slope, and she chose the downhill, giving them breakneck momentum but also making them a great deal easier to aim at. Another fireball careened by, close enough that Khari felt uncomfortable heat on her left side. It slammed into the ground some distance ahead, throwing up a spray of dirt and flaming debris that she charged them right through. If they could make it a bit farther, there were more rock formations and cover ahead.

Taking the shortest possible route there, Khari guided the horse into a jump over a fallen log, up another small slope, and right through a shallow river crossing, water splashing upwards and saturating their legs up to the knees. There was an outcropping just ahead that they might be able to get behind—

Without warning, the horse lurched violently beneath them, simultaneously with an unmistakable wet thud—someone had shot it. It stumbled on its next step, and Khari threw herself, and consequently Rom who was still holding onto her midsection, to the side, so they didn’t end up under the horse. She hit the ground hard enough to see stars, thrown from Rom’s hold and skidding several more feet until her back met a bare tree stump.

Her still-tender ribcage flared with pain, and Khari gasped, forcing herself to her feet as soon as she could, drawing Intercessor again, her eyes seeking her friend.

Rom was dragging himself out of the river bank when Khari located him, dripping wet from the chest down. A saber-wielding Venatori rider splashed through the river behind him, slashing down swiftly. Rom managed to get his shield in hand just in time to deflect the blow, but he stumbled and fell again as the horse went past. Several arrows came their way, near misses. The horse they'd been riding had fallen in the river, and it no longer moved. There was no hope of running anymore, the amount of cover was too small, and there were too many projectiles coming for them.

From behind Khari, however, projectiles began to return towards the Venatori in greater numbers, arrows fletched with white feathers whistling into man and horse alike. From the rocks emerged a number of archers on foot, their clothing bearing the sunburst brand of the Chantry on dark red fields, though they clearly weren't templars, judging from the utter lack of heavy armor.

The Venatori were caught by surprise and thrown into disarray, their attacks on Khari and Rom faltering as they tried to address the new foe. The mage among them tried to throw up a barrier, but he was struck in the chest by a bolt of lightning from the other side. The mage among the supposed Chantry forces was a woman with bright orange hair, with crossed swords on her back in addition to the spells she wielded from her fingertips. The lightning arced from cavalryman to cavalryman several times, throwing them from their horses in spasms and fits, into the river. The arrows launched against them were relentless, and eventually the Venatori were forced to scatter and flee, the surviving members vanishing behind cover as quickly as they could.

"It's him!" one of their saviors called. "The Herald of Andraste lives!"

The redheaded woman dropped down lightly from atop a large rock, jogging forward past Khari to Rom's side. "I knew he lived. I knew it!" There was an intense satisfaction in the delivery of her words. "Are you injured, Your Worship?"

She helped Rom to his feet, and though he looked a bit bewildered at the title thrown upon him, he shook his head. "I'm alright. How did..."

"We've been battling Venatori hunting parties for weeks now. They range across the Hinterlands, but they're separated from the main force. I suspected they were looking for something most valuable. I was right." Suddenly, she took a knee before him, unable to keep the smile from her face. "It has been my honor to serve you, blood of Andraste."

Rom seemed hardly to comprehend the end of that, instead watching several of the others take a reverent kneeling position as well. One young man, after bowing deeply to him, came to Khari's side, acknowledging her at last. "Do you require assistance, friend?"

“Uhh
” Khari scrunched her face slightly, pulling her brows down and wrinkling her nose. “I’m okay, thanks.” She replaced Intercessor, pulling out the broken javelin from the sheath still tied to her belt and discarding it in favor of the one she still held, which had somehow remained intact despite her fall. She had no idea what the hell everyone was on about, exactly, but they didn’t seem to be hostile—pretty much the opposite, really. At least where Rom was concerned.

“So, Rom.” She moved towards him, coming to a stop a somewhat awkward distance away, mostly because she wasn’t really sure what to do here. “Who are these people?” They certainly weren’t Inquisition, and they weren’t Templars or Seekers either, as far as she could tell.

Rom seemed to struggle to properly describe the group that had saved them, but the leader was quick to step in, rising from her kneeling position and smiling cordially at Khari. "We are friends of the Inquisition, and more specifically to the chosen Herald of Andraste. He sealed our loyalty with a demonstration of his command over the rifts some time ago. My name is Anais, and I speak for the Herald's Disciples." When Rom did not refute any of that, it seemed that all of it was indeed truth.

She turned to her troops, if they could be called that. "See to the bodies, quickly." They set about removing the arms and salvageable pieces of armor from the Venatori, as well as any other useful supplies. Anais smiled again, her gaze shifting between Rom and Khari. "This area is not safe. We should return to Winterwatch immediately. There is much to discuss." She could not contain the excitement from seeping into her words as she looked at Rom, with an obvious expression of what could only be adoration. "And there is someone who would very much like to speak with you."

Khari might have pointed out several things here, like that there were two Heralds or something, but it seemed like a detail currently not worth bothering with. These people were making her want to remain at least five feet from the nearest one at all times, but she couldn’t quite pin down why, except that they seemed far more reverent than one person should ever be towards another, in her estimation. Still, if Rom was like their hero or something, she figured it might be minor, as far as overreactions went, and she chose to ignore her lingering unease, for now.

She looked to Rom himself and shrugged. Food and shelter would be pretty damn welcome, honestly, and at this point she’d probably take it from anyone who wasn’t a Venatori or a darkspawn.

Rom seemed to be of a similar mind, and he nodded, clearly a bit unsure why the group was acting this way as well. Anais nodded in return. "Come. We will prepare a feast for your return to the world of the living."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Blood of Andraste.

The words hung in Romulus's mind for the entire walk back to Winterwatch, the fortress occupied by his Disciples. That they had named themselves such was immediately strange to him. As Herald, he'd won no followers for himself, having left that task to Estella, and neither of them seemed noteworthy enough for the idea. They taught nothing, did what they could, and tried not to die, which was more than enough challenge on its own.

Anais informed them of what she could regarding the state of the Inquisition and the territories on their way. The Venatori army, and the Red Templar forces accompanying them, had vanished as swiftly as they'd come, taking their Elder One with them, the one Romulus had heard identify himself as Corypheus. He informed Anais of that much, and while the information troubled her, as it was troubling to anyone, she did not seem to know what to do with it. There was more important information to exchange.

The Inquisition survived the attack and would recover from its losses thanks to the efforts Romulus, Khari, Fiona, Meraad, and many others had made. The remaining Herald had led them north, through the Frostbacks, to a place quite nearly lost to time, and word of this Skyhold was quickly spreading. More support was rallying for the remarkable turn of events, beginning the process of replenishing those that were lost at Haven. But Anais had refused to believe that Romulus had perished, despite all evidence. The presence of the Venatori arriving in the Hinterlands had only spurred her on.

It was excellent time for supper as the gates of Winterwatch closed behind them, and rather than press Anais further with more questions, Romulus allowed the ache in his belly to still his tongue, for Khari's sake as well. Scouts had evidently been sent ahead, and a great deal of food was prepared for them. A place of honor at the long table in their great hall was set aside for Romulus, with Khari presented a seat at his right hand, Anais taking up the left. He did not complain; the smell of cooked meat was overwhelming, and he dug in.

There was chicken and ham, fresh loaves of bread and an abundance of fruits, dried or otherwise. And there was wine, and ale. Romulus made some effort to remain polite, but indeed, it seemed nothing he could do would upset these people, and so he ate to his heart's content, and his stomach's. There was little time for talk when his mouth was so full, and the various disciples almost constantly offered him more, every time his plate was allowed an open spot.

When at last he could stomach no more, and waved off the next person that tried to bring him more potatoes, they politely cleared the plate of food, and Romulus groaned in satisfaction. Anais stood, her smile rarely faltering. "Baths are prepared for the both of you, should you wish. Your guest awaits, Your Worship, but he has requested that you be given the opportunity to eat and wash before he troubles you." She gestured to a pair of those she commanded, two young women, standing in the doorway behind them. "Your disciples will show you to your quarters. When you're ready, please, meet me by the main gate." Romulus nodded, prompting Anais to take her leave. He glanced back at the waiting servants, and then at Khari, shrugging.

“Haven’t been clean in a month.” Khari’s observation was dry, followed with half a grin, and she returned the shrug. “And you sure smell like it.” She lazily waved her hand in front of her nose, her good humor obvious, and apparently more comfortable than she’d been through the course of the dinner. She’d eaten with nearly as much gusto as he had, but occasionally would throw glances over her shoulder at the servant that lingered there, only one compared to the several attending him, which might have been for the best.

“Guess I’ll see you later?”

"Yeah..." Romulus was still getting around to understanding the idea. He was to be shown to a bath. He couldn't say that had happened to him before. Even Chryseis didn't pamper him in that manner. Sometimes others among her house slaves would begin preparations for one while he attended to a task in Minrathous, but judging by the clothes these servants of his wore, they intended to bathe him themselves. That was an entirely different idea to wrap his head around.

Finally Romulus pushed his chair back and stood, reaching to give Khari a squeeze on the shoulder. "Enjoy it." He half-smiled. He had to assume they would be on the road come morning, if the Inquisition was still going as strong as Anais made it sound. They believed him dead... the sooner they understood that it was not so, the better. Both Heralds still lived, alive and unbroken. If anything, his experience since Haven had only hardened his resolve, and given him the necessary push to fully commit, damning the consequences.

The servants led him from the main hall and across the central little path that ran through Winterwatch. Everywhere they went the other disciples bowed deeply to him, some even kneeling, murmuring "blood of Andraste." He said nothing to them in return, not knowing what sort of thing was proper to say, not knowing what they expected him to say. He settled on just nodding to them, and it seemed to be enough.

He was led up the stairs of a building that could only be the main quarters for the majority of the disciples living here. Winterwatch was set up to be more of a defensible outpost than an actual fortress or castle, and so it seemed to Romulus that they were living in tighter conditions than was preferable. Still, he supposed they weren't doing much but sleeping in these rooms, spending the rest of their time outside. He was led past an open, empty room in which he could see the bath prepared for Khari, down a hall, and into the significantly larger area prepared for him. It was remarkable what they were able to do on such short notice. Unless Anais had suspected so strongly that he was alive, which was certainly possible as well.

What followed was a strange sequence, though none of this was normal to him. He was attended to by four women; young, though none uncomfortably so, and judging by their appearances, probably hand-picked by Anais. A warm bath had been prepared in the center of the room, a touch of Romulus's fingers into it revealing that it was near perfectly heated. One of the servants offered to take his clothes from him, so that they might be washed. The others waited patiently, wordlessly, for him to enter the bath.

He found that he did not particularly desire to refuse, and undressed.

The one that departed with his clothes soon returned, but by then Romulus was clad only in skin and dirt and caked blood, which was scrubbed away after he entered the tub. He rarely shied from physical contact, especially when offered freely, and his attendants were thankfully not overly eager in their duties. They simply cleaned him thoroughly, more effectively than he could on his own, and most strangely, they seemed to take pride in the task. A haircut and shave were offered, he accepted, but only a trim. He'd actually grown somewhat fond of the beard, and slightly longer hair.

By the end of it all, the bathtub was filthy, and Romulus felt downright strange without the layer of grime and filth covering him. After he dried himself, he was given a choice of a number of fresh clothes for the night, and settled upon a white linen shirt with loose and soft breeches. The fresh socks were perhaps the best to put on, dry and warm inside his boots, which were the one item of clothing not replaced. His weapons remained with him, though most were looted save for his crossbow and supply of bolts. Still, he was not fond of being far from them.

One of the servants led him back outside and to the main gate, where Anais was already waiting for him.

Khari was there, too, looking substantially different than she had just a short time before. Her hair was loose, still dripping a bit from the ends, but clean and already beginning to curl as it dried. She’d apparently elected not to cut hers, if it had been offered, because it still stopped at the same point, just above the base of her spine. The clothes she wore were somewhat loose, but actually seemed to have been made for a woman of approximately her actual dimensions, and she picked uncomfortably at the soft blue shirt, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She still carried her sword.

When she heard his approach, though, she glanced up, then made an exaggerated show of squinting at him. “Have we met before? You remind me of this friend I have, only you look a lot less like someone put you through a cheese grater and then shoved you into a pit.”

Romulus couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face, soon blooming into a full-blown grin back at her. "I'll take that as a compliment. You don't look half bad yourself." He'd thought that from the start, though he'd never mentioned it. She was obviously not overly concerned with attempting to impress with her appearance. Looks weren't even a shred as important as skill and tenacity, for someone in her position.

"If you'll follow me, Your Worship," Anais said, bowing her head slightly. She opened the door of the right tower next to the gate, leading them inside, and they spiraled up the staircase around the wide interior of the structure. Romulus glanced out of the arrow slit windows at the Hinterlands, seeing the last glimpse of the day's fading light in the sky, and the miles of quiet woods below them. It was a very well situated place for an outpost, defensible not only for its position against the mountain wall, but also for its height relative to the land around it, enabling their guards to see any movement for miles around.

Anais opened the door at the top of the winding staircase, leading them out onto the top of the watchtower, which was covered by an angled wooden roof that looked recently refurbished. There were four chairs situated around a low-burning firepit in the center, one of them already occupied.

Romulus didn't know who he was expecting to be waiting for him, but he found the pirate, Captain Adan Borja, the man that had been following him in Redcliffe, curious about something. He smoked a pipe and sat with lazy posture, still clad in his long overcoat. He'd set down his sword in its sheath beside the chair, and looked up upon seeing the three new arrivals. Anais swept out a hand. "Captain Adan Borja, of the Northern Sword and her fleet. He tells me you've already met, in Redcliffe."

Borja stood, slowly, using both of the armrests of his chair to push himself up. "Aye, we met. You look like you've been through a lot since then." He glanced at Khari next. "Don't think I got your name, though."

She shrugged. “Don’t blame you, since this one—” she hooked a thumb in Romulus’s direction—“was in your face and our pirate was practically growling at you.” Her face broke into a smile, then, and she offered the same hand towards him. “Khari. I’ll spare you the horror of trying to pronounce the rest.”

He clasped his hand firmly with Khari's, nodding in what was perhaps approval. "Many thanks. Never was much good with names. Come, why stand when we can sit?" He stepped around the firepit, the first to sink in a chair, and Romulus soon followed suit, taking a seat directly across from him. Anais took the one to his left, leaving the one on the right for Khari. Romulus watched Borja almost without blinking, trying to determine the man's intentions before any words were spoken. Words had a way of clouding things, when they fell from the right tongues.

"Would you like to begin, Captain, or shall I?" Anais asked, but Borja deferred with a grunt and a wave of his hand, taking another puff on his pipe, the contents within flaring slightly. "Very well..." Anais did not seem altogether pleased with the man's mannerisms, and adjusted her seat to face Romulus. "There are several important pieces of information you must know. First, and the less notable of the two, is that Captain Borja here is your father."

There was a moment of complete silence, which of course Khari broke. “Less notable? Are you joking?” She looked back and forth between Romulus and the pirate, for once considerably serious herself. Perhaps it was something residual, from their conversation on the topic, but she hardly seemed happy that it had been mentioned in so offhand a manner.

"It bears importance in the way a hill does compared to all the mountains of Thedas," Anais stated matter-of-factly. Romulus spared her a glance, but his eyes then settled back down on Borja, who seemed disinclined to look at him anymore, focusing intently on the contents of his pipe. He didn't feel particularly surprised, was the oddest part. The physical relation was not obvious. They were not mirrors of each other, but he supposed, if he looked carefully, he could see bits of himself in the man. Or was he only seeing that now that the words had been spoken?

"You knew in Redcliffe," Rom stated, making the easy jump to the fact. "Why did you say nothing of it then?"

Borja finally looked up, wincing. "You ever have any kids?" Rom made no movement of his head or lips, believing his stare answer enough. "Kids you lost when they were too young to even remember you? Kids you thought were dead, until you found out they became slaves, and lived in misery because you couldn't protect them?" He allowed an uncomfortable silence to fall over them, his fingers anxiously rubbing over themselves. "A man lives with his shame as best he can. I wanted to see my son once. I found you, you were healthy and strong. You looked like a free man to me then. You look even more so like one to me now."

"And that was all? Why are you here now, then? Why not disappear again?"

"I found your father in Redcliffe," Anais declared softly, "sometime after you had earned the loyalty of those that now call themselves your disciples. He proved instrumental in providing support for a theory I developed about you."

Borja shook his head. "I wanted to leave the father bit out, but the lady thought there'd be no way of properly explaining without it being obvious."

"Explaining what?"

"You are the only known living descendant of the Maker's Bride, Andraste," Anais stated proudly. "That, or you are Andraste reborn in the body of a man. But I believe the former to be truth. You are the first son in the line of daughters, and the Maker and Andraste have chosen you to put this world to rights."

“Well. This isn’t awkward at all.” Khari cleared her throat, scratching the back of her head with a hand, bringing a large chunk of hair forward over her shoulder when she moved her arm back down. “I mean, I guess surviving Haven was pretty miraculous, but I thought that was our stubborn refusal to roll over and die more than anything. Woulda called in the miracle a bit sooner, if I were you.” Her tone suggested a healthy degree of skepticism, or at least some vague confusion.

Romulus appeared skeptical as well, though the words did not come as easily to him. Borja's obvious lack of reaction implied that he was on board with Anais and her theory of his divinity, if that was the right word. Was it right? Romulus had always imagined himself worthy of something greater, even if this fantasy was something he'd beaten down within his core day after day, year after year, convincing himself that he would never be anything more than a slave. Only recently had he declared that he would not return to Tevinter, that he would see the Inquisition to its conclusion, and only if he lived that long would he decide what to do afterwards. But... descended from Andraste? The first son in the line of daughters?

"The first son," he repeated, frowning, looking between them. "Then my mother, she..."

"She was born Rosamara Abeita, but died Rosamara Borja," the Captain stated, setting down the pipe finally. He folded his hands in front of his face, still resting elbows upon the arm rests of the chair. "You were born with the name Tavio, but the Vints branded you Romulus."

Tavio. It felt as foreign to him as anything else, and it was just a name. Did it matter what he was called? He did not feel compelled to abandon the name Romulus if it wasn't his. He wasn't particularly fond of it, but Rom had always come across to him well, even if only a few used it. He liked it that way. "Did she know, then? My mother. Did she know who, what she was?" He couldn't help but ask the question skeptically, still unable to swallow this.

"She never told me," Borja answered, lowering his eyes for a moment. "But I believe she knew. She was drawn to a life at sea, isolated and yet always in good company. Quiet, but filled with the best kind of noise. When you were born, she... she spoke often of how she knew you were meant for something greater. I thought every parent believed that, but... I wish I'd seen it then."

From beside him, Khari dropped her hand onto his forearm, giving it a squeeze over his sleeve, but she chose not to say anything, only remind him of her presence. Even after she relaxed her grip, she didn’t lift the limb away, but let it stay there, a silent bit of solidarity, perhaps.

He needed the touch, to help anchor him from the way his mind was spinning off in a hundred directions, overwhelmed with not only the family knowledge, the family he'd never known, that had been taken from him, but the nearly absurd revelation that he was somehow descended from a woman who had become the bride of the Maker himself.

"History is repeating itself," Anais said, unable to contain her excitement, her eyes darting to the hand on his sleeve before it shot back to his face. "A slave of Tevinter, able to escape and coming into a position of power while the world is still in the wake of a Blight. Tevinter forces hunt you, declare you their mortal enemy. Before I had not known, but you have even bonded with an elven ally, perhaps even as a lover?"

Romulus's eyes snapped to Anais, suddenly uncertain. "Ah, we're not..." He quite suddenly flushed red, and Borja raised an eyebrow in what was possibly amusement, appearing for once across his grouchy features. "We haven't... I mean, I... it's not that... well." He cut himself off, finally leveling wandering eyes at Anais. "No."

“What he said.” Khari’s words were jocular, but the expression on her face was strange, hard to identify exactly. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be embarrassment, and he’d never seen her wear it before. It appeared to be caught somewhere between consternation and bewilderment, like she found the inquiry exceedingly bizarre for some reason.

“You’re pretty blunt, aren’t you, Speaker?”

Anais laughed nervously, clapping her hands together once. "Forgive me, I overstepped. I am excited is all, as many will be when they come to see the truth. And, given all the rumors that existed regarding Andraste and Shartan... but! Enough of that. Rumors they shall remain."

"In Redcliffe," Romulus said, in Borja's direction, eager to change the subject, "you asked if I knew what these meant." He touched one of the lines tattooed upon his face. He left unsaid that he didn't know, for why should he? These things were obscure, especially in Tevinter, especially for a slave, who had no resource to ask these questions, and no one that cared to answer.

"Family markings," Borja explained. "Most know the meanings behind their own. Rosamara, though, she said she didn't know, she'd long since left her own family behind when we met, but when we had you... she wanted them passed on."

"The markings are unfamiliar to me as well," Anais cut in, "but the Captain's words do not dispute the theory. There is much that is unknown of what became of Andraste's bloodline. I had the honor of studying under Sister Galenna of the Augustan Order after her departure. Few had learned so extensively of the details of Andraste's history, and what few, hard to find facts there were regarding those that followed in her bloodline. The widely known pair is of course Vivial and Regulan, going into exile, Andraste herself concealing them for their protection."

"How did my mother die?" Romulus asked, aware that the question had been burning within him not only for a few moments, but for every year of his life separated from her. "What happened?"

Borja swallowed, obviously uncomfortable with the retelling. "We were young. I had no ship yet, no crew, only aspirations. Rosamara comes to me one day, and says we must leave, we must smuggle ourselves from the country. I tried to pry, but she would not tell me. Said it was safer for me not to know. And... because I loved her, I agreed. Called in one of the few favors I was owed, and we were smuggled out of Llomerryn by a friend of mine, man named Conrado. Few days out, we were caught in a storm... and attacked." He gazed into the fire, biting his lower lip for a moment.

"I don't know who attacked us, or how they found us. Best guess is Conrado sold us out. I was caught unarmed, took a blade to the side, fell from the ship. I should've drowned, but the storm carried me back to shore. I thought everyone was dead." His eyes came up to meet with Romulus, and the firelight gleamed inside them. "You believe that, don't you? I thought you dead, until I heard of the Herald of Andraste, one of two, a man with a marked face. Marks I'd never forget."

Romulus likely didn't need to answer that either, but he nodded, shakily. The history lined up, it was hard to refute. His being descended from Andraste was still so hard to acknowledge, but... the idea that it might be true was far easier to grasp now than it had been at the start.

"What do you think?" he asked Khari. He honestly didn't know how closely she still held to her own people's gods, if at all. She seemed more likely to be skeptical than any of those present, but he felt that might be needed at the moment. Someone to keep him grounded in this. And she'd always been there to pull him up when he'd been sinking before. She could be there now to tug on his feet, and prevent him from flying away.

Khari rubbed at the bridge of her nose with an index finger. “I think this is all a little over my head.” She shrugged, and sighed gustily. “But you know, and maybe this isn’t the smartest thing to say in present company, but
” she flicked a glance to Anais, half-smiling almost sheepishly before returning her eyes to his. “This isn’t the thing that decides who you are, Rom. Whether you’re descended from Andraste or not, whether you believe it or accept it or don’t—that’s not what’s going to make the difference.” She pursed her lips and let her eyes fall half-closed, clearly parsing her words more carefully than usual.

“You decided yourself that you were going back to the Inquisition after Haven—the fact that you were once a slave didn’t dictate that for you. This shouldn’t dictate anything, either.” The smile returned, ruefully this time. “If you’re going do something, do it as yourself, because you want to. That seems like plenty of reason to me.”

Romulus found her words to be reasonable, just what they needed to be. Others may have criticized her, an elf aspiring to be a chevalier, for just the opposite, but he had always found that she rarely had her head in the clouds. And she was right about this. He was still the same person after this conversation, only with more experiences thrown on top to better inform him of who that person was. It did not erase anything he'd done in the past, even if he wanted it to. It did not change any of it. And for the moment, it did not change his plans.

"We'll set out to rejoin the Inquisition tomorrow at first light, then." He stated, confident that Anais would accept any wish of his as an order. "There's a lot of ground to cover. And a lot the Inquisition needs to know about, not only about me." He and Khari had knowledge of the enemy that could prove valuable, to start.

"It's not something to be taken in over one night," Borja agreed. Anais nodded as well.

"Very good, then," she said. "We make for Skyhold come the morning. Come, I will show you to your quarters. You are no doubt quite exhausted. It has been a long day."

She stood, and headed for the door. Before Romulus followed suit, he made sure to place a hand over Khari's, and nod. It would be all she needed to know he was thankful.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
It was a few days after Estella sat on Skyhold's throne for the first time. Marceline and the other advisors stood with their Inquisitor around a long table that held maps of both Orlais and Ferelden, as well as many other papers spread across them. A model figurine of the Inquisition's Heraldry stood in a specific place on the map, the location where they resided in Skyhold. Other, smaller figures were spread out across much of the map, each set belonging to a specific advisor. Currently, Marceline found herself in the middle of a strategy meeting with the others. They had established Skyhold as their base of operations and named Estella their Inquisitor. Now was the time to plan the next step.

Marceline stood a step away from the table, a glass of wine in her hand. Unconsciously she swirled the dark purple liquid in her hand as she looked down at the table. They knew very little of their enemy, only someone or something called the Elder One had gathered enough Venatori and Red Templars in order to fashion an army. Other than that, they were reduced to guessing. The location of the Elder One's base was unknown to them, along with the numbers in his army, and other rather necessary items. Marceline simple sighed and took a drink from glass, before going back and swirling the liquid again.

Estella’s eyes were fixed on the map, her expression pensive. “We know a few things they might try to do,” she mused, “surely our best chance is to catch them out in something underhanded. If we can get an agent or two, we might be able to start unraveling the skein.” She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head. She’d been holding up quite well since her official appointment, at least externally. She seemed to be quite against the finer armor and silk, but had consented at least to trade her maroon and silver Lions’ linens in for the russet and gold of the Inquisition. How she was beneath the face she wore was harder to say—she wasn’t entirely ineffective at hiding her feelings, it seemed.

“The common thread, the one that both Cassius’s future contained and Envy’s plans hinted at, was the assassination sequence. Either it’s something they really want to do, and will therefore probably attempt even despite our survival, or
 it’s a trap.” He sighed, then glanced across the table to Rilien.

“What does Lord Drakon have to say?”

“We have his support.” The tranquil’s reply was brief, but he elaborated. “He will pay the Lions himself from this point, which allows us to appropriately salary several new officers. He has also officially contracted with us for their services, and given his permission for us to promote them within the hierarchy as we see fit. You have leave to make Corvin a captain, and Lia as well.” He paused a moment, blinking down at the representation of Val Royeaux on the map.

“Ser Lucien has taken our warning seriously, but there is little he can do about it without more concrete information. Nevertheless, he will be in contact with Lady Montblanc, and my agents in the capital, and coordinate a search for such. It will be difficult, with the war, but he reports that the fighting in some regions has begun to abate. The chevaliers are uneasy with how things are changing while they are asked to fight amongst themselves.”

"Correspondance with my father corroborates this. Though he cannot offer his official support due to his standing with the loyalist Chevaliers under Empress Celene, Marshall Lucas LĂ©cuyer wishes us the best and will send us reports on the Orlesian civil war," she said, pausing a moment to take another drink from her glass. Though she didn't display anything outwardly, she was worried for her father, having been drawn out of retirement to fight against their countrymen. The regular correspondance set her heart at ease a little, but the fact remained that her father still fought in a war. They both did, she supposed.

She tilted her head back down to the maps, but shook her head once more. "Even if were were to discover this Elder One's identity, and were able to accurately pin down what it is that he or she plans to do, there lay other issues that will surface in our near future. Issues that are no less important," Marceline said, tapping the stem of her glass. She did not envision it necessary that the Inquisition expand so quickly. "Currently, we operate off of donations from our noble allies-- some of which you may have noticed touring the castle. However, if the Inquisition is to grow in order to combat all threats, then charitable donations will soon not be enough." A thin frown lined her painted cherry lips.

"I fear that we may have to begin taking loans in order to be able to pay for the expenses that arise. My mother, Comtesse Gabrielle, has agreed to one such loan with a very generous interest rate. However, we will need much more if the Inquisition is to survive," she said, solemnly. They can not fight against this Elder One if they did not have the resources necessary.

“When you put it like that
 I should write my sister.” Leon had spoken very little of his family, but it was obvious enough that he was from some form of noble stock. He grimaced, though whether at the prospect of this communication or the news itself was hard to say.

Before anyone could contribute anything further, the door burst open, the usually-composed Reed barreling through like demons were chasing him. “Inquisitor, Commander. You’re—that is
” he paused long enough to gulp in a breath, then shook his head, an expression on his face far beyond his usual skeptical assessment of the strange happenings around him. “It’s Romulus. He’s alive, and at the gate.”

Marceline looked about as shocked as her even expression could manage. For a moment, the room was silent from what they had heard. Marceline's own eyes were wide and her head taken on a slight tilt. A beat passed before she looked to the others. "We should go," she understated. Like the others, she had thought Romulus and the others had died in the attack on Haven, having sacrificed himself for the rest of the Inquisition. To hear otherwise, well, it was a surprise to put it mildly. The others began to file out the door behind Reed, while Marceline took a moment to down the rest of her wine, before setting the glass on the table and following.

The news had already reached the rest of the castle, but the sound of the clamor echoing through the halls. Their steps quickened until their path brought them to the double doors that led outside to the front gate. A pair of Inquisition soldiers opened the door for them to pass through and deposited them onto the stairwell that led to the ground below. From their position, they could see a crowd had gathered around the gate, in hopes no doubt to catch a glimpse of the Herald they thought they had lost.

He did not make any attempts at hiding himself, standing unhooded among the center of armed individuals bearing the sunburst brand stitched upon their clothing. His cloak was new, only dusted from light travel it appeared, and Romulus himself looked quite different, in addition to his clothing. His hair was longer atop his head, and a filled-out beard covered the man's jawline and upper lip. There were a great many speaking, trying to get the Herald's attention, or just chattering excitedly to each other, but Romulus appeared to be waiting for the Inquisition's leaders to appear.

He stood alongside the immediately recognizeable visage of Khari, sans mask or hood and grinning broadly. She waved as they approached. Another redheaded woman, this one human, flanked him on the other side, bearing the group's suburst brand and wearing more polished pieces of armor than the rest. She stood proud and tall, hands folded before, though they soon sweeped out, when she noticed the obvious Inquisition leaders, coming down towards the gate.

"Good people of the Inquisition, I give to you your Herald, who survived the events of Haven, despite all the forces of darkness threw at him. He has fought through cold, sickness, and Tevinter pursuit to rejoin you now, and tell you, that he is the blood of Andraste, the first son in the line of endless daughters!" The crowd erupted in murmuring and talk, the utmost amount of mixed reactions, while Romulus turned and whispered something to the woman, obviously displeased with something. Very few knew what to make of the woman's introduction, but plenty just seemed happy to have the second of their Heralds back, especially considering all he reportedly went through just to stand there.

The pronouncement seemed to catch Leon off-guard for a moment, but he recovered swiftly, and as usually happened when he wanted to go somewhere, people got out of his way as he advanced forward. Estella moved in his wake, until they were both directly in front of their returned comrades and the newcomers. It was difficult to tell what the newly-minted Inquisitor was thinking, at least until she smiled.

“Welcome back, both of you. I’m so glad you made it.” And clearly, she was.

Khari didn’t let her get away with just the words, however, and took half a dozen steps forward, more at a run than a walk, to half-tackle her in a tight hug that drove them both backwards several more paces. “What a coincidence! I’m really glad we made it too!” She actually lifted Estella several inches off the ground, apparently having no reservations whatsoever about doing any of this in public with much of the Inquisition hanging around. Estella actually laughed, a bright sound that lacked most of her customary reserve, looking a bit surprised to be so enthusiastically greeted, but not at all unhappy about it. Even after she was put back on the ground, she wore a grin, her eyes a tad wet, though whether that was because she was overwhelmed by the good news or because Khari had hugged her tightly enough to squeeze a few tears out of her was rather unclear.

"It is so very good to see that you both are alive and well," Marceline said, a genuine smile even on her lips. The cheer that had developed over them was infectious and even drew her in. She stood beside Leon, taking the sight of Romulus and Khari backed by an armed escort in. "We had feared the worst," she explained, before her gaze shifted next to him, to the redheaded woman that had announced him. She beheld the woman for a moment, her smile wavering. What she had just announced was best left for a later discussion between all involved, but the mere fact that they had returned safely seemed to have flooded any negative impact such a proclamation could have.

"It seems that there is much to be discussed," she allowed a pause into her words while she returned her attention back to Romulus, "But, that will come in good time. Until then," she said, stepping forward and extending a hand for Romulus to take, "Welcome home, Lord Herald." There was an arch to her brow as she spoke the word, as if asking him if home was, indeed, the correct word to use.

"Thank you," he replied, taking the offered hand, though his eyes and his smile could not help but be directed at the sight of Khari attempting to swallow Estella with her limbs. "I plan to see this through with the Inquisition, to the end."

"That is exceptionally wonderful to hear," Marceline answered, inclining her head in a show of respect. No doubt his presence would help to take some of the weight off of Estella's shoulder, as well as do wonders for the Inquisition's morale. Her smile brightened as she laid a gentle hand on Romulus's shoulder, and gestured toward the castle proper. "Come, the sooner we speak, the better," she said, allowing Leon to lead the way back. Amongst all of the faces cheering for the return of their Herald, Marceline saw the back of only one person's head, a familiar mane of white hair framed by a pair of horns heading away from the crowd.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leon drew a deep breath into his lungs, holding it and counting to five before he let it out again. The large, semicircular chamber they’d chosen for the war room was nearly full to capacity, as he’d been rather liberal with his summonses, unsure what expertise would be necessary and what would not. Besides himself, Estella, Marceline, and Rilien, the room also held Romulus, Khari, Vesryn, and Cyrus. Reed and Larissa were present as well, situated in one corner of the room, both supplied to take notes on anything significant. He suspected they would not stop writing once they began.

The Inquisition’s commander cleared his throat softly, having prioritized the order in which he’d make his queries, doing his best to account for the fact that at least some of the others were bound to interject with queries of their own. He’d decided getting an accounting of events, and any consequent intelligence, was first priority.

He smiled mildly at both Romulus and Khari. It truly was good to see them well, but for the moment, there was too much else to be done to linger on that. He would leave the celebration to the troops outside, who were almost certainly doing so at this moment. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, we’d thought you both lost after the events at Haven.” They had, essentially, volunteered to give up their lives for the rest. Fortunately, it would seem that at least the two of them had not needed to pay that steep a price after all. Leon folded his hands together behind his back.

“What happened?”

Romulus took a moment to get acclimated to the new meeting room, which was far grander than what they'd been afforded in Haven. It even had windows. And these offered a breathtaking view to the mountains that surrounded Skyhold's position in the Frostbacks. When he was ready, he leaned forward, placing his hands upon the edges of the table.

"We held our position at the trebuchet for as long as we could. Venatori and Red Templars were drawn to it. Eventually, that dragon made a pass, and obliterated a section of the wall. Everyone was thrown back. I was the closest to it, and was severely injured. The dragon circled around to land inside the wall, and the army's leaders came through the flames."

“A bunch of people, actually.” Khari picked up the thread of the explanation there. “The first lot were Venatori, probably the elites. Mages, but ones who moved like
 like an army, a real one. Their leader was this man—he seemed to be human, but
” Her brows furrowed for a moment, but then she shook her head. “Anyway. He was tall, definitely a mage, and wore a mask over one side of his face.” She raised a hand to cover the left half of her own.

“He and the Venatori, uh
 they seemed like a vanguard or something. The leader, he killed Fiona, like it wasn’t even an effort for him.” Considering who Fiona was, that news boded extremely poorly, to say the least. “Behind them came
” She struggled for the right words for a moment. “It looked like a darkspawn, I guess. But
 there were also chunks of that glowy red lyrium on him, and he talked. A lot, actually.” She scratched her head, glancing briefly at Romulus.

“He was really tall, taller than you, Commander. But kinda weirdly spindly, like someone took all his parts and stretched them out. He had magic, too. By that point it was just me, Rom, and Meraad against this guy and his dragon and his army.” Her voice, usually at least slightly good-humored or light, was heavy, thick. “I, uh
 charged them. Aimed for the big Darkspawn.” She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, instead fixing her eyes somewhere near Leon’s shoulder. “It—he, I guess
 he just kinda gestured, and then this force picked me up and flung me into the trebuchet. Hurt like hell.” Her gaze came back into focus on the last part, at least, and she managed a little smile, more self-effacing than anything.

Romulus nodded somewhat gravely, not refuting anything Khari had said. His own voice had constricted somewhat since he'd last spoke. "They were only interested in me. The bait worked as well as we'd hoped. Meraad tried to stand up to the dragon on his own..." He left unsaid how well the attempt had gone. It was not difficult to imagine.

"The darkspawn Khari described is the Elder One we've been hearing about. His name is Corypheus, and he was responsible for the Breach and the deaths of everyone at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. In fact, he spoke a great deal, believing his victory complete." He shook his head at the thought, either from bewilderment or the darkness of the memory that the particular night in question carried with it.

"He spoke of championing Tevinter, assaulting the heavens. He said we interrupted a ritual," he looked to Estella, "the day we received our marks. He called them Anchors. 'Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty,' he said."

He delivered the line with no attempt at impersonating the Elder One, this Corypheus, though by his tone, he found a great deal of confusion in what the creature spoke of. "He tossed me away like I was nothing, and I hit the side of a well or something. He wanted to remove the mark from my hand with some sort of magical tool, but determined that it couldn't be done. I was to die, but Khari managed to set off the trebuchet, and dragged me into the well before the avalanche crushed the town." He half smiled at her briefly, as though he still couldn't quite believe they lived despite all of that.

"That's what we know of the enemy. The rest of the time was spent just trying not to die, and... discovering some interesting things." He did not actually look eager to enter that particular discussion.

Fortunately for him, he didn’t yet have to. “It called itself Corypheus?” Cyrus spoke with obvious surprise, and more appeared on his face when he glanced about the room only to find that no one else shared his shock. Blinking several times, he decided more explanation was prudent. “Corypheus was the name of the Conductor of the Choir of Silence. He was the Old God Dumat’s high priest at the time all of them entered the Fade physically. It was more than a thousand years ago.” From the sounds of it, he wasn’t sure whether he believed the implication of the darkspawn naming himself such, and he snorted softly.

“Elder One, indeed.”

“The Grey Wardens had this creature sealed in the Free Marches, bound by blood magic ritual.” That contribution, perhaps more immediately relevant to their interests, came from Rilien. “Several of those I knew in Kirkwall broke the seal and killed it. Or believed they did. I will contact them immediately—there may be more they can tell us.”

It was almost too much information to process. But Leon knew from experience that when something seemed overwhelming, the best way to handle it was to break it down into its parts. The part about Corypheus’s possible origin, he left aside for the moment, focusing instead on Rilien’s contribution regarding a recent previous encounter. “Please do,” he replied, inclining his head in the Spymaster’s general direction. Anything else they wanted to talk about regarding that should probably wait until they could talk to one of these friends of his, anyway.

That left several other choices: the marks, their enemy’s goals, the other man who’d appeared with him, who was likely a general or right hand of some sort, and then the elephant in the room—what the woman who had appeared with Romulus had said about him. The marks, he thought, were probably a matter for Cyrus and Asala to do some work with, and that would be later than this meeting, anyway. Corypheus’s goals were unclear, beyond what Romulus had already said, and the while they might be able to get somewhere informationally if they knew who his prominent underlings were, the description Khari gave wasn’t enough to work with yet.

That left one more thing they could likely address in this meeting, and Leon turned violet eyes on Romulus. The Herald’s unease hadn’t gone unnoticed, but it was surely an important-enough matter that it bore explanation as soon as possible. “Romulus, the manner of your return did raise a number of questions. Would you please explain to us what it is that you have discovered?”

He grimaced slightly. "I'm sorry about that. It wasn't how I would've made my return, but... there are no subtle ways to enter this place." He half smiled, as much making fun of his own tendency to hide as he was complimenting the Inquisition on the new fortifications. He cleared his throat.

"The woman who spoke is named Anais. She leads a group that operates out of a place called Winterwatch in the Hinterlands. I traveled there with Asala and several of the Lions, and earned their loyalty by closing a rift. Her people rescued Khari and I from a mounted group of Venatori that nearly caught us." That seemed to be the easiest part of the explanation, and Romulus swallowed, taking a moment to formulate what came next in his mind. "Anais had studied under an order that devoted themselves to the history of Andraste, and her bloodline. She'd been researching a theory since Redcliffe."

He placed his palms back upon the table, as though to steady himself. "She believes I am a living descendant of Andraste herself. She introduced me to a man I met in Redcliffe, who turned out to be my father. I don't know if it can be proven, but she claims to be working on a way. From what we have, between Anais and my father... it seems right." He practically shook when he admitted that, effectively giving away that he believed it himself. The idea seemed to scare him more than anything, though there was a glimmer of something in his grey eyes. Hope, perhaps.

Well. That did, in fact, sound even stranger the second time.

Leon’s relationship to his faith had always been a great deal more nuanced and complicated than that of most people he knew. It didn’t bother him to acknowledge the mortality and the humanness of most of the figures involved in the Chant, and he’d never been one to, say, condemn outright the actions even of Maferath or the Archon Hessarian. Those were, naturally, unpopular positions, as was the common Tevinter belief that Andraste was not so much an exalted Bride of the Maker as she was foremost a human woman and a mage. He’d never seen the tension in saying she was both.

So it was perhaps easier to swallow for him than many faithful that her descendants were still very much alive. It wasn’t something everyone believed, nor something everyone liked to think about, but it was well within the realm of possibility, though as far as most knew, the line had disappeared a long time ago. Harder to believe than the fact that her descendants existed was that someone had managed to track them down. But he didn’t know this Anais or what she knew, and so on that, at least, he chose to suspend judgement.

“That, I think, is something best dealt with when she proves it or fails to do so,” he said at last. “In the meantime, I think it may be most prudent to prevent further declarations of the kind that accompanied your arrival.” His lips twitched into a rueful smile. “It’s not impossible that you are who she says you are, and if so, that will have implications. But those implications will go more than one way. Some will react as Anais and her group have. Others will deny it, and hate you for so much as suggesting that it could be true. Everything you’ve done, your entire life, will fall under the kind of scrutiny we have hitherto tried to divert from you. If you choose to make this information public, you will have to be prepared for that—to own your history and everything you do from now on as well. It will not be easy.” He didn’t mean to sound to dire about it, but he spoke the truth as he saw it. Being a public figure, especially one propelled to it with a claim like that, true or not, was very different from being anyone else.

"If I may, Ser Leonhardt?" Marceline interjected. Up to now, she quietly listened and kept her thoughts to herself. Her face was impassive, nearly impossible to glean any information on how she felt about all of this through her body language. Until now, she watched Romulus with a hawklike gaze, at least until her facade broke away with a smile. "Even if what this Anais says was true, and you must understand that by no means am I implying that it is not. There are far too many possibilities to discount it completely. But, the Inquisition cannot officially declare you Andraste's heir."

The smile on her lips remained, though, as she leaned forward, her arms crossed at her chest, "However, rumors have a strange way of propagating. Amongst the crowd that witnessed your speaker's declaration, a number of the nobility were present. Whom no doubt will spread news of what they have heard when they return home," Marceline's head tilted toward Leon, "The Inquisition will neither confirm nor deny these rumors," it was not as if they had many options. Either stance would anger someone. "With luck, those who wish to believe shall, and those who do not, simply will not."

Romulus nodded, taking a moment to absorb their reactions to the news. "Whatever you believe is best. I'm... still not sure what to do with the information myself." He then looked to Estella, and offered a reassuring smile. "But I do know that I'm here to stay, and serve the Inquisition in whatever manner it will have me. That's my choice now."

She looked a bit unsure in response, halfway raising a hand as though to stave off some part of what had been said. Likely the serve part, considering her nature. In the end though, she sighed a little, half-smiling back. “We’re happy to have you, in any case.”

That, really, seemed to be the bottom line here, and Leon nodded. “Exactly so. Thank you—both of you, for the information as well. By all means, get some rest. We’ll sort out what to do about all of this as soon as possible.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari was the kind of woman who took the stairs two at a time, despite the fact that her legs really weren’t long enough for that.

She figured someone more inclined to metaphor would probably make a big deal out of this fact, say it was representative of her whole life, how she’d spent most of it trying to push beyond boundaries that were just impossible to breach and suffering for it. Societal boundaries, racial ones, even the physical ones imposed on her by her generally small frame and short stature.

Khari was also the kind of woman who thought those people could go take a long walk off a short ledge.

She’d rarely ever met anyone who worked as hard as she did to get past limitations of that kind. Mostly because she’d rarely ever met people who had as many of them to contend with as she did. People just didn’t get it, usually, why she threw herself at absolutely every challenge she could, why she took every opportunity to make things harder for herself than they needed to be. Why she wanted the specific things she wanted in the first place.

But she thought that maybe, if anyone understood, it was Stel. They’d fallen so easily back into their routine of training together that it was almost like they’d never left off. She’d gotten up the morning after they arrived at Skyhold, not really sure where the new Inquisitor would be, or if she would even still be able to or interested in running around before dawn and doing pull-ups till their arms shook. But Stel had been right there, at the bottom of the castle stairs, dressed as usual, and apparently waiting for her to show up as well. It was exactly Khari’s favorite kind of coincidence, and she’d felt an unexpected happiness, like a little shot of adrenaline she hadn’t been expecting.

After this morning’s workout, Stel had mentioned that she should come by the library later, because there was apparently something there she might be interested in. Khari had never had the opportunity to spend a lot of time in libraries; she figured it would probably surprise most people that she knew how to read, but she did. It didn’t seem to surprise Stel, though. So, curious as to what this could all be about, she made her way up to the library at the appointed time, her boots falling more lightly than usual on the stone underfoot, the soft leather currently without the metal plating of her greaves.

“Hey Stel? You up here?”

There was a soft rustling sound, and a few moments later, Stel’s head and shoulders appeared around one of the corners of a shelving unit, a little smile turning her mouth up at the corners. “Hello Khari. I’m just over here, if you want to come join me.” The library was on a lower level of one of the circular towers, and so it wasn’t laid out in what might otherwise be the logical fashion, with rows of shelves and the like. Instead, periodically along the sides of the room, deep alcoves had been carved out and squared, so that all three walls of them could be lined with shelves, and there was enough room in each for cozy clusters of armchairs and thick, plush rugs.

Into the third one of these down, Stel had obviously quite comfortably settled. Several thick blankets were around, one of them currently in use, from the way it was rumpled on a squashy chair near the corner of the alcove. The low table in front of the chairs had a small stack of books on it, and a couple glasses of something golden were sitting on it as well, one of them partially consumed already.

“That one’s yours,” Stel said, pointing to the still-full one. “It’s apple cider, but with cinnamon in it. It’s not bad, if I can say that about something I made.” The smile inched wider for a fraction of a second. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The cider smelled delicious, but Khari had always been extremely fond of apples, so that was hardly a surprise. She stepped out of her boots, glad she was only wearing one of her old, very loose shirts, and soft breeches. Even she didn’t need the armor in a damn library, surely. Settling into one of the chairs, she pulled the glass into her lap, pleasantly surprised to find that it was still warm. The scent of cinnamon wafted up to her, and, admittedly curious, she took a sip.

The balance between the flavors was subtle and delicate, extremely well-done, if she was any judge. The extra little kick from the spice only enhanced the warming effect, and Khari wondered if it mightn’t end up making her sleepy. It’d be rude to nod off, right? Mentally shrugging, she glanced around her at the books on the shelves. Many of them had titles she couldn’t decipher, though she figured that was because they weren’t in the trade tongue. The few she could read seemed to be primarily historical, from the titles.

Somehow, it didn’t really surprise her that Stel’s idea of a pleasant afternoon was reading stuff like this, but Khari couldn’t help wondering if she’d miscalculated somehow and thought Khari would also prefer to spend her time in that kind of way. It’d be hard to think, probably, considering exactly how much reverence she ever showed to history, elven or otherwise. “So, uh
 not that I don’t like spending time with you, Stel, but
 why the library?”

A glimmer of amusement entered Stel’s eyes, and she reached forward from where she’d settled into her own chair, picking up the top book on the stack of them and handing it over to Khari. It was bound in simple red-dyed leather, the lettering done in some kind of gold-colored leaf, probably not actual gold. The book itself was slightly less than a foot tall and eight inches across, thick enough to fit her grip quite well, and heavy. Stamped across the front were the words: Tales and Songs of the Orlesian Chevalier: The Unabridged Collection.

“I found that yesterday when I was looking through what we have on folklore and such,” Stel explained. “I thought you might be interested.”

Khari cracked the book with a reverence usually reserved for sacred objects, picking a random page and grinning widely when it revealed an illustration on the left, of Ser Aveline locked in combat with Kaleva. Ser Durand had told her the story, and so she recognized the scene very well. Carefully, she ran a finger down the page, closing it over carefully and looking back up at Stel.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re basically the nicest person in the world? I’m serious.” She wasn’t joking, even though her tone was amused. Khari hadn’t met a lot of people who took the time to think of others the way Stel did. She didn’t have to. She certainly had enough things to deal with on her own—hell, she was leader of the whole bloody Inquisition, now; she could easily be forgiven for not taking the time to do something so simple as this. No one would have known. No one would have thought less of her. But then, she didn’t do things like this because she cared what people thought. She did them because she wanted to, because she genuinely gave a damn. And that was really, really rare as far as people went.

“Um.” Stel cleared her throat, breaking eye contact and reaching up to fiddle awkwardly with the end of her ponytail. “It’s not anything so great like that. I mean, it’s not even mine—I just.” Her complexion was turning a soft shade of red, and she pulled a face. “I mean, you’re welcome. But um.” Stel sighed, returning her eyes to Khari’s. “Sorry. I’m—you’re welcome.” She cut herself off there, likely tired of not quite being able to say what she wanted to, and took several swallows from her glass of cider.

“I really like folktales and epics, too, actually,” she continued, apparently interested in changing the topic. “I spent a lot of time in libraries, when I was growing up. Once I got through all the stories in the Trade Tongue and Tevene, I bothered Master Horatio until he taught me to read them in other languages.” Her smile was fond, and her nervous fidgeting eased considerably.

“Wait. Master?” Khari’s brows furrowed, and she regarded Stel with a slight frown. “You weren’t a slave too, were you?” She was really going to be pissed at Tevinter if both her new friends had been subjected to that. Not like she needed another reason, but still.

Stel’s eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head emphatically. “No, no. Nothing like that. Um. How to say this
 the word ‘master’ means the same thing for people in the Imperium as it does elsewhere. It refers to the master of a trade, like an armsmaster or a master carpenter. It’s actually what the Tevene word ‘Magister’ means, though because of the implications that one has elsewhere, we only use it as the title for someone in the Magisterium, usually. We might call our teachers or craftsmen Master so-and-so whether or not they’re also Magisters, you see?” She paused, pursing her lips.

“Servants might also use it for those they serve, if they serve a merchant or something instead of a lord. It’s very general. Slaves, um
 the most common practice is for them to use the Tevene word dominus for a man or domina for a woman. Those carry the implication that the person has, well, dominion over the speaker. I was never a slave.” Something about the way she said it suggested something more than was being said, like maybe the last fact was a near thing or a technicality rather than obvious, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

“Huh.” Khari thought she understood the difference now. Still, it wasn’t too hard to make the inference from the word 'master' to slavery, probably because it seemed to be one of the only two things people talked about whenever Tevinter was mentioned, the other, of course, being the mage-lords. She glanced down at the book in her hands, then back up at Stel. Clearly there was something else there that she wasn’t quite saying, but Khari figured Stel could decide for herself whether it was too uncomfortable, and so she chose not to push it.

So she changed the subject a bit. “What does Tevinter have folktales about, then? I don’t know much about the place, but it hardly seems like the kind of culture to tell stories about knights and stuff.” And of course, those were the best stories.

Stel’s smile reappeared on her face, then, brightly so. It would seem Khari had struck upon a topic she quite liked. “Every culture has folktales. And actually, I’ve found that they’re very revealing of the general contours of the country they come from. Especially, believe it or not, the romances.” Her expression morphed into something quite embarrassed, and she coughed. “I’ve, um
 I’ve read a lot of those.”

Khari, rarely one to pass up an opportunity to tease somebody, ran with that. “Estella Avenarius. Are you telling me you read salacious, trashy serials? The Randy Dowager, even?” She’d heard of that one in a Val Chevin pub once. Someone had been drunk, and there was a dramatic reading involved. She hadn’t laughed that much in a while.

“Maker, no!” Stel’s usually-fair face was the shade of a ripe tomato, and she buried it in her hands. “Nothing like that, for goodness’ sake.” Her tone was utterly mortified, a sure sign that Khari’s teasing had been extremely successful in getting the expected reaction. Stel rubbed at her flaming cheeks, casting a baleful look in Khari’s direction. “I said folklore and epics; it’s not the same at all!”

Khari, of course, knew the difference. That didn’t stop her from cackling at Stel’s reaction—poking fun at her was quite entertaining, and she probably could have made it worse if she continued, but she decided to exercise a bit of mercy. “Okay, okay. If you say so.” She grinned to show that she did, in fact, believe her. Part of what was funny about the joke, after all, was that it seemed so extremely unlikely in the first place. “Don’t die of shame on me, Stel. Why don’t you have some more cider and tell me about this theory of yours, with cultures and stories and all that?” She was genuinely interested, after all. Khari had loved stories since she was a little girl, but had eventually tired of the ones the Hahren told.

Apparently deciding this was sound advice, Stel took a few deep swallows, and by the time she set the glass back down on the table and sighed, her color had almost returned to normal. “I swear, Khari, if I ever hear a rumor to that effect, I’ll never forgive you.” From the expression she wore, it was a joke, at least mostly. Her features softened, though, and she nodded to the book Khari still held.

“Orlesians love tragedy. They also have a penchant for both extremely noble heroes whose foibles come back to haunt them and very clever trickster characters with ambiguous morality. Not really that surprising for a culture that both has a knightly order preoccupied with honor and a nobility that plays a constant game of wit and manipulation, is it?”

She settled back into her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Fereldans have stories about more humble things. Their heroes are more pragmatic, usually, and the themes of the romances often involve family and duty and loyalty. Without ever having been there, I guessed that they were a much more practical culture, and in general, that’s not wrong. Everything has exceptions, of course, but there’s a sort of, I don’t know
 spirit of the place that’s like that. They’re very fond of tales where people overcome trials together, and they like happy endings a lot more than Orlesians tend to. Draw your own conclusions about that, if you like.” She half smiled and shrugged.

Khari could see how that made sense. “I think the Dalish like tragedies even more than Orlesians do.” She frowned when she spoke. “That’s all any of the stories are ever about: how we were victims of this or that, or how humans have done terrible things to us. It’s never our fault. Everything we talk about, everything we do, is just one endless dirge.” No one where she was from ever talked about honorable heroes overcoming long odds or anything like that. It was always nostalgia for how great elven civilization used to be, or how a bunch of people had died. Even their knights just died, their skill and daring rendered utterly useless against the tide of humanity.

She hated the People’s stories.

“How about everywhere else? I can’t imagine people in the Anderfels tell really fluffy stories.” If they made people like Leon and the Grey Wardens, it was probably quite the opposite.

Stel was quiet for a moment, head tilted curiously, regarding her with steady eyes. In the end, though, she didn’t pursue what Khari had diverted her from, instead answering the question. “They don’t. Every folktale I’ve ever read from Anderfels has at the very least a dark twist to it. There’s always a struggle, and their heroes are more likely than anyone else’s to be common people, rather than nobility or others with status. Most of them are deeply flawed, too. Faith is also a big theme, of course, and sacrifice.”

She paused, then smiled slightly. “Some of the Antivan tales are maybe a little scandalous. Master Horatio didn’t let me near most of those until I was old enough by his reckoning.” She laughed softly. “Or so he thinks, anyway. They’re
 colorful, certainly. Lots of them have to do with the Crows, and they favor guile over straightforwardness in their protagonists. They and the Rivainis also have a lot of stories about the ocean.”

Well, that made a lot of sense. It was hardly surprising, considering. “And Tevinter?”

Stel seemed to consider that one carefully. “Most people think that the Imperium is composed exclusively of evil Magisters and downtrodden slaves,” she said gently, her eyes somewhere else. “And I won’t pretend that there aren’t significant numbers of both of those kinds of people. But the thing to understand about Tevinter is that it is, first and foremost, a culture of rigid structure. Hierarchy is just as significant to them as it is to the Orlesians, sometimes moreso.” She exhaled, something melancholy in the sound.

“But
 I think also that of all the places in Thedas, Tevinter is the one with the most volatile spirit. Rebellions are crushed swiftly and brutally, always. Sedition has a penalty of death. And yet
 there are rebellions and sedition still. And there’s an extent to which moving across boundaries, shattering expectations, rejecting the idea that something is impossible
 there’s a sense in which that is part of the ethos as well.” Stel shrugged slightly, as though she didn’t really expect to be believed. “The stories are often about just that. People transcending their established place in life. Forbidden romances, that kind of thing. There’s also a pattern of stories about people taking very big falls, if they start with a lot of status.”

“I’d never have guessed that.” Khari meant it, too. She supposed she fell into the category of people who thought only of slaves and wicked Magisters when someone mentioned Tevinter, but she believed what Stel was saying. She was from there, after all. If she really believed there was something redeeming in the culture, something beyond the two-dimensional representation everyone had, then, well, Khari believed it too. Maybe she'd even seen parts of it. Rom and Stel weren't anything like the sterotype.

Crossing boundaries, shattering expectations
 that all sounded really appealing, actually. Maybe she’d have to read some Imperium folktales someday. After she was done with the ones about chevaliers. “Then
 I hope that one day, when they tell the story about us, about the Inquisition
 it’s more like a Tevinter story than an Orlesian one.” Khari grinned, her eyes glittering with mirth.

Stel smiled back, and nodded. “I certainly hope that, too.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Skyhold’s bridge had exactly three gates: there was the big main one that led into the fortress, the one at the very edge on the other side, and one in the middle. It was before this one that Khari now stood, weighed down with full armor and gear, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms. She tipped her head back to get a better sense of what she was working with; her last few attempts had been less than impressive in part because she’d simply failed to plan ahead. Which was ridiculous; she hadn’t learned all those strategies and tactical games for nothing. She needed to tackle this more like chess and less like an enemy—that would make the difference, she was sure of it.

Exhaling a controlled breath, she backed up about ten paces. A running start could get her up to that irregular stone there, and after that, the pattern of the arch might help. The gate was extremely tall, and the part that actually moved was quite sturdy, but that didn’t mean it was impossible to breach. Seemed like a good thing to know for sure.

Bouncing up and down on her toes, Khari lunged into a run, counting the steps out carefully. She didn’t jump, exactly—it was more like she started running up the wall, and at the moment she felt gravity begin to shift against her, she pushed against it with all the strength she had, reaching upwards. Her fingers just caught the jutting stone, and she pulled herself up mostly by the strength of her arms. She didn’t have a lot of that, compared to some people, but crucially, she did have enough to deadlift herself, even in the armor.

When she’d pulled herself up far enough, she swung one of her legs out, the toe of her boot catching on the fringe of the archway. Grinning, she shifted her weight gradually from her shaking arms to her leg, giving herself the leverage to push off the rest of the way and swing herself up to the next likely hand-hold. Just like everything, if she made it about momentum and motion, she could do things that would otherwise be impossible. It took her a while, but when her hands at last grasped the upper edge of the gate and she pulled herself up onto it, she let out a short bark of triumphant laughter and sat herself on the edge, letting her feet dangle over it. Heights had never been among Khari's fears.

She faced outwards, away from the castle, leaning back on her hands and allowing herself to relish in her sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t any big deal, really, but she’d set herself a task and figured out how to do it. Besides, climbing was a good skill to have, and she couldn’t let herself get left behind because she couldn’t hack it next to someone like Rom, who probably climbed castle walls and stuff pretty regularly back in Tevinter. After everything in the mountains and the Hinterlands, Khari wanted to make sure she’d be of some use in any situation that might come up—and Haven had expanded the list of possibilities by a lot.

A group of four approached from the far gate, clad in standard Inquisition scout gear. All four peered up at the elf perched atop the middle gate, exchanging a few muffled words and looks among themselves, the tone of which was beyond Khari's hearing. The head scout, Lia, was in the front of them, a warm-looking fur cloak wrapped around most of her upper body. A heavy pack full of gear hung from her back, and a few climbing axes and hooks dangled from her belt. By the looks of her, it had been a long day of work in the mountains. She looked up at Khari, shielding her eyes with a hand from the sun, which sank fairly low in the sky.

"You need any help getting down?" she called, smiling amicably.

Khari hadn’t really considered her descent as much as the ascent, but these gates were meant to be manned, which meant there was probably a way down. A quick glance behind her revealed a trapdoor, long-unused by the look of it, in the roof, and she shook her head. “Well, not yet. If this staircase has gone to shit, though, I’ll be asking to borrow your grappling hook.” She grinned, then pushed herself up, moving over to the trapdoor. It took several tugs to lift, and came away from its closed position only with a heavy creaking and groaning, but aside from the dust, the stairs looked useable, having been hewn from stone.

The trip down was pretty short, and put her out near the lower gate controls, unnecessarily since it was open for the scouts’ return anyway. She moved around to stand in the archway and waved a hand lackadaisically at Lia. “And now I can say I made a gate inspection. Functional, but really old.” She shrugged. “Where are you guys headed back from?”

"Today? From the west." She waved a hand in the general direction, vaguely indicating the mountains. "We don't know much about the specifics of the area, and considering the army that snuck up on us, Commander wants us to learn this area like our hometowns. So far, that means climbing mountains and checking out caves. Nothing so far that a force of much size could use. We're pretty isolated here, for better or worse." She tugged on the strap of her pouch before gesturing for Khari to walk with her, as she made her way through the gate.

"I never got a chance to thank you before," she said, as they passed under the shade that the arch offered. "The night we were attacked, you and the Herald saved my life. I guess I'm lucky you two decided to head outside of the walls."

Khari blinked; she recalled the event, of course, but she couldn’t say she’d ever particularly expected to be thanked for it. People generally didn’t thank her for things—maybe she’d have to get used to it. The Inquisition was pretty polite, on balance. “No problem. I mean, there was a problem, obviously, but it definitely wasn’t your fault. Thanks for warning us.” Unfortunate as it was, Lia’s arrival had tipped them off to the oncoming forces, and even the little warning they’d had ended up being pretty useful. Khari supposed that was the point of having a scout regiment.

This was the part where she usually would have asked something relatively benign, but interesting, like how it was that Lia had joined up with the Inquisition exactly. Unfortunately, she already knew that bit, specifically that she was a Lion. Which left one other conspicuously-obvious query, and it was one Khari really didn’t want to ask, mostly because she’d probably find the conversation that followed really uncomfortable, and that wouldn’t be Lia’s fault, either. So she was left in the unusual position of not really having anything to say, her brain-to-mouth filter kicking in for once. How did other people do this so often?

Lia, however, was quite perceptive to Khari's struggle, and after the silence became a bit uncomfortable, she broke into a fairly knowing grin. "I'm not actually Dalish, by the way. Probably worth mentioning." It wasn't obvious just by looking at her. Her clothes and armor weren't Dalish in appearance, but then, none of the official Inquisition forces were allowed to keep wearing what they had before, so she could easily have been. Her vallaslin was legitimate, something that was plain for Khari's eyes to see. They were for Andruil, Lady of the Hunt. Very Dalish choice. She was a good shot with a bow, and the Lead Scout for the Inquisition. In fact, everything pointed to her being Dalish other than her word.

"It's just..." she hesitated. "You're not with a clan, and you're... not at all like the Dalish I've met. Like, at all. It's cool, is what I'm trying to say. Everyone finds their own way, right?"

“It is?” That was something she’d never been told before. Khari blinked several times, regarding Lia with a very confused expression. “Uh
 that’s new. Usually when I meet other Dalish, or well, people with the vallaslin, they either don’t ask or don’t approve, honestly. My clan weren’t, uh
 they think I’m a fool, more or less.” Some of them had been a little kinder about it than others, but in the end, none of them had approved of her dreams or the direction she wanted her life to take. “The truth is, even if you don’t have a clan, you’re probably more Dalish than I am. I’m len’alas lath’din, by this point.”

She hadn’t intended to say quite so much, but she pushed down the burgeoning sense of shame, reminding herself that she had nothing to be ashamed of, really. Funny how that didn’t always work. Maybe because it wasn’t really shame she felt.

"Loads of groups seem to think that way, though," Lia countered. "Casting off people who disagree with them as incorrect or fools. The Chantry, the Dalish, the people who want freedom for mages, the people who don't, Fereldan people, Orlesian people, every other kind of people. Just because you were born in a clan doesn't mean that's what you have to be, right?" She shrugged, and they passed through the last gate together, entering Skyhold properly.

She stopped, ruffling the back of her hair, freeing some of it from a strap that had caught it. "I was raised in Kirkwall's Alienage, which is about as dirt elf as it gets. But I got lucky, and a clanless Dalish took me under his wing. Really Dalish, this guy, you two probably wouldn't get along real well. But he taught me a lot about how I could be better than a dirt elf, groveling at the feet of humans. I'd... been through some things, so that appealed to me." There was obviously a lot more to it than that, but it didn't seem to be the sort of thing she was willing to divulge in casual conversation.

"I'm guessing you had a pretty good teacher too, right? I mean, my teacher fought angry, but not like I've seen you, and very few elves fight with big weapons like that." She glanced over at the tavern. "Well, except that fancy elf. And he's... weird."

Khari snorted at that, but she also let it go, shrugging slightly. “Well, I’m biased, but yes. My teacher was great. The first day we trained, he handed me this exact sword. I could lift it, but definitely not hold it for long. He told me that by the time he was done with me I wouldn’t even feel it anymore. He was right.” She grinned, but her expression sobered quickly.

“I think I know what you mean though. About how good it was to feel like someone believed you could be more than everyone else thought. Me, though
 I’d always felt that way. Not just about myself, but
” She shook her head. There was a persistent, uncomfortable feeling there that she didn't want to address quite yet. “Well, anyway. He kind of laughed at me, at first, when I told him I wanted to be a chevalier like him. But it didn’t take him long to figure out that I was serious. And when he did, he trained me just like he would have trained anyone else. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.” It took a pretty special person to give someone like her a real chance, she thought. Khari wasn’t stupid—she knew what most nobles, most chevaliers, even, thought of elves. She hadn’t set her sights on being one of them because she imagined she’d be welcome.

“But I guess the situation’s not quite as weird as I figured. The Lions have elves with two-handers, too. Or at least the one, right?” She’d fought him, in fact. It wasn’t quite so stinging a defeat as Vesryn had dealt her, but she’d still lost. Yet that one had been a reminder that she needed more practice at what she was doing, and so not discouraging at all. “Must be nice, that no one looks twice at you guys for being elves where you are, and how you are.” Or no one in the company, anyway.

"It is," Lia confirmed, obviously wanting to avoid looking like she was gloating or anything. "The cities try to make the elves there feel that way all the time. Like they don't belong if they set foot outside their hovels. The common people, that is, and sometimes they don't even mean to. Joining the Lions was one of the best choices I've ever made."

She titled her head towards the tavern. "Want a drink? I'll buy."

“Don’t think I’ve ever turned down a free drink before.” Khari rubbed her hands together with intentional exaggeration. “What’s the most expensive thing they serve?” She grinned to make the joke obvious, and ducked into the tavern after Lia.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
While Zahra couldn't entirely rid herself of all those lingering fears, nor could she rightly face her crew until she pieced her words together properly, she'd been able to distract herself enough by exploring Skyhold's many hidey holes. Hidden alcoves, dusty spider-infested rooms, a crumbling window leading out into the open clouds, and a frumpy garden that had the potential to look splendid with the help of green thumbs. Whoever had made this their home before hadn't spared any expenses. She couldn't profess to understanding the complexity of brickwork, but she'd been around enough boats to know that carpentry of this magnitude would have taken skilful hands. She'd run her hands along the bricks and plodded underneath great statues, feathering fingers across their toes, before exploring the endless rows of books in Skyhold's library. Never had she seen so many books, but it was the scenery that seduced her back to the battlements.

And why waste such beautiful sights alone? Zahra made a stop in the kitchens and pilfered braided pretzel doughs coated with cinnamon and sugar. Fresh from the ovens, and neatly tied in a cloth bundle, tucked into the hem of her billowy white shirt. Fortunately for her prospective companions, she'd bathed herself and smelled every part of the dilettante, sauntering pirate-Captain of the Riptide they'd met on the Storm Coast's shoreline. Perfumed to the bones, as fragrant as a rose petals. She'd donned appropriate clothes as well. There were similarities between Haven and Skyhold. Both were cold as tits, and she'd rather not shiver around the keep as if she were stark naked. Heavy leathers over a loose shirt with a sash wound her waist. Leather trousers, patched at the knees and finished off with knee-high boots. She'd forgone wearing her cape. Instead, she'd found a soft pair of gloves and a checkered handkerchief to bind her exposed throat. For now, that was fine.

She rounded into the barracks and swept around tables, winking to the nearby soldier who'd looked up from whetting the pointy part of an axe. A laugh crackled from her lips, tipped them into a smile that felt unfamiliar. Like a long-lost friend who'd decided to visit. How long had it taken her to shake off that miserable stupor? Weeks. But someone had told her that that was all it took. Taking one day at a time. It was something she was willing to try. She didn't linger long enough to see whether she'd incited a reaction. Instead, Zahra tiptoed up the stairs and grinned between the wooden railings, waggling fingers creeping between them, “Khari. Khari. Are you awake?”

Of course, it was fairly early.

Despite the hour, the response was quick enough that she must have been awake already, and one of the doors at the hallway the stairs landed on cracked open, a head of red hair poking out around it, the particular wild combination of curls and waves unmistakable for anyone else. Khari grinned when her eyes met Zahra’s, and stepped out beyond the door, closing it with deliberate care behind her. Probably whoever else occupied it was still in bed.

It looked like she’d already been out and about—her face had the slight pink tinge of someone recently scrubbed, and her plaited hair was drying still, but her clothes were the ones she donned after her morning exercise routines: loose, dark, held to herself only where absolutely necessary, the wide neck of the dark blue men’s tunic nearly reaching out to the edges of her shoulders. She had freckles everywhere, it seemed. “Mornin’, Zee. You smell like breakfast. Don’t suppose you’re looking for someone to help you eat it?” She crossed her arms over her abdomen, hiking an eyebrow. Clearly, she thought that was precisely the case.

Curiosity itched at Zahra's elbows, flagging eyebrows high on her forehead. She pouted her lips, and thought better of it. She'd already jumped to the conclusion that Khari had someone lounging in her room. In her bed, more like. Even if she was mistaken, she'd like to think she wasn't. Besides, she could tease the details out of the flaming-haired lass later. Deft fingers fished inside her shirt and produced the still-warm bundle of pastry-goodness. She hefted it in her hands, mischievous eyes alight in the soft darkness. From the large window spanning the other side of the staircase, orange shades were already casting themselves off in the distance. A pastel glow of rouge, not unlike a painting. The sun would rise soon, so they would have to hurry.

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” she crooked her finger and indicated that she should follow her down the stairs, “but first we should creep down to Rom's chambers and smuggle him with us. Honestly, I'm not sure where he sleeps. I've found the perfect spot for a morning snack. I promise you won't regret it.” Zahra wiggled her eyebrows, plopped her elbow down on the landing and cupped her chin into an upturned palm. Bundle balanced on her hip. She looked every part a willing conspirator in a dastardly plot. Or else, a giggling gossiper with a penchant for plucking her fingers in everyone's pies. “Unless your bed-warmer is better company. But, I must say, these are the best smelling sweets I've gotten my hands on yet.”

Khari had looked like she was just as happy to be involved with the plan, and had parted her lips as if to speak, but then her brows furrowed, and she looked a bit confused, reaching up to run a hand over some wayward curls. They didn't get any neater. “My what, now?” It would appear she didn’t know exactly what to make of the last statement. Perhaps the term bed-warmer was somehow unfamiliar to her.

A moment of silence passed between them before Zahra pulled away from the landing and possibly looked just as confused. If Khari was acting coy or pretending as if she didn't know what she was talking about because she wanted to keep her bedroom liaison a secret... she was doing a mighty fine job. She slid her tongue on the back of her teeth and tilted her head to the side, eying the door Khari had carefully closed behind her, “A tussle. Making the beast with two backs. Shaking of the sheets. Boarding someone's ship.” She counted off the euphemisms with her fingers and looked mildly surprised when Khari's expression hadn't changed. She'd always been presumptuous about people, but she supposed she'd been wrong before. Not often, mind you. “You're not sleeping with anyone?” Her question was as frank as the wibbling smile twisting at her lips.

“Oh.” Realization dawned on Khari almost as slowly as the sun rose outside, and she met Zahra’s eyes. “You’re asking if I’m having sex with anybody.” For all the frankness of the question, its rephrasing was half again as blunt, and Khari didn’t say it with any embarrassment, just a lingering remnant of confusion. Her fingers moved to one of her tapered ears, and she tugged on it a bit. “Why are people suddenly so interested to know that?” She sounded perplexed more than annoyed, though, and shook her head, dropping the hand.

“Nope. The only person sleeping in there besides me is my bunkmate. Widget. Nice girl. Works with mechanics, if I understood her properly.” She shrugged, already unconcerned with the whole thing, and raised both eyebrows at Zahra. “If you want to see if Rom’ll join us, I know where he’d be.”

A laugh chortled from Zahra's throat. Far too unexpected to stifle down. It ended in an ungraceful snort before she managed to regain her composure. Coupled with Khari's utter disregard for sultry eventides, and a candor that rivaled her own... it was too much to take. Even without the toothy grin tipped across her lips, it was easy to tell how amused she was. She offered a simple shrug and appeared mildly disappointed by the news, “Who knows. I've always been the curious sort.” She licked her lips, and raised another eyebrow, already speculating on her words, “I do wonder why I'm not the only one who's asking.”

She let the subject die. For now. Organizations this large would never be without succulent scandals. Interesting buzzes, whiffed from careless mouths. Perhaps, someone in the kitchen would know about such meddling disclosures. Taverns often parsed traces, but nothing that would sate her palate. As a Captain anchored to the lands, she had to find things to amuse herself with. This would do, in between night-time explorations. Aside from her own dwindling prospects amongst the Inquisition's residents, her bed was disappointingly cold. She supposed that was partially her fault.

“Let's fetch him then. You lead the way. I would suggest scraping up something warmer.”

Khari shrugged. “Nah, it’s practically summer. I’ll live.” She bounded down the stairs, surprisingly light on her feet for someone who usually charged into any given situation, and led them out of the barracks building. The fabric of her shirt was thick, and the cold didn’t seem to bother her overmuch in the time it took them to cross the bailey, and then they were ascending the stairs to the main building, the castle proper.

A very small number of people were around for breakfast already, though at this hour, most of them sat by themselves and ate while still trying to wake up. One fellow even looked to have nodded off next to his plate, and Khari snickered, diverting a moment to bring her hand down on the table beside his head. The collision rattled tableware and shot him right up in his seat, to blink rapidly while she cackled at him.

It didn’t take him long to recognize her, and he scowled. “Oh, sod off, you.” He waved a hand as though she were a fly he could swat away, but Khari only grinned at him and flitted off in her own sweet time.

“Good morning to you, too, Goram. You still owe me twenty silver, so don’t forget to cough it up next time we get paid.” Returning to Zahra, still wearing the grin, she steered them through the main hall and to a door on the immediate right as they faced the dais.

“Rom sleeps in the undercroft.” The door led them down a short hallway to another, which Khari rapped on with bare knuckles, loud, but not alarmingly so. “Hey Rom! I’ve got Zahra, and she has breakfast. You wanna open up?”

“And an unforgettable sight,” Zahra catcalled from behind Khari's shoulder. She kept the bundle of sweets balanced across her hip like a wicker basket teeming with fish. Old habits died hard. She flagged her eyebrows up, and leveled her voice a little lower, “The Undercroft, hm? Skyhold's full of surprises.”

From the other side of the door, they could hear heavy footfalls thudding to the floor, before the room's sole occupant unlocked the door and allowed it to swing open. Romulus stood just inside, bare-chested but obviously not just sprung from his bed, revealing scars, old burns and other damage. He'd worked up a sheen of sweat all over his dusky skin, most likely from the weights and somewhat rudimentary workout equipment he'd acquired and assembled along the wall to their left.

"We eating here, or elsewhere?" he queried, turning away from the door and obviously allowing them entry if they wished. He made his way over to a metal bar suspended horizontally out from the wall, snatching a towel from the back of a nearby chair and wiping at his face and neck. A water skin had been laid upon the seat; he scooped it up and squeezed a drink into his mouth, swishing the water around momentarily before swallowing.

It wasn't a bad spot, if they wanted to eat there. Fresh air was constantly coming in from the outside, keeping the place cool but not uncomfortably cold, and the scenery visible made for quite the view. There wasn't a great place for a group to eat yet, but the floor was clear further in, and clean enough to lay a blanket down upon.

Zahra let herself in as soon as the door swung open and laughed as soon as she spotted the Undercroft's spacious opening into the wide world Skyhold sat upon. Stalagmites hung from the mouth's opening but mountains could be seen pebbled in the distance, creating an illusion of a grand city composed of peaks, crags, palisades. Fortunately, the sun had not yet crept up the sky. Despite the mentioned chill whisking into the chamber, it was pleasant. Whoever had been here before had found it prudent enough to build a balcony leading outside. Sturdy, she hoped. She could bring them elsewhere at a later date. She swung around on her heels, and prodded Romulus gently in the shoulder, eyes alight, “Who knew you were hiding such a sight.” Her mouth pulled up at the edges. If she were talking about anything more than the scene outside, she gave no indication.

“What about over there? Where we can see the sky properly,” she fumbled with the knot tied around the bundle and swore under her breath when it did not come undone as easily as she expected. Bloody sailors' knots. Perhaps, too effective. It took her a moment before she unraveled the damned thing, though she kept it closed. Her stomach flopped and made an unseemly grumble. After all that slinking around, even she had been growing hungry. Had she brought her cloak with her, she might've laid it down for them. Zahra glanced up and flagged her eyebrows, “You don't have a soft blanket we can use, do you?”

Romulus made his way over to the large chest beside his bed, pulling it open and grabbing a folded grey blanket from inside, which he proceeded to toss in Khari's direction. "It's a bit better than the last basement I lived in," he agreed, pulling out a shirt next and draping it over himself.

Khari snatched the blanket from midair with a short laugh. “A bit, he says.” With a snap and a deft motion, she flicked the blanket open to its full size and guided its descent to the floor, spreading it over the most obvious spot for their breakfast before taking her boots off with her feet and setting herself down on a corner. “All right, Zee, you’ve gotta stop holding out on us. Gimme.” She made exaggerated grasping motions with both hands, but clearly her demanding attitude was farcical. Romulus took a seat next to her, his feet already bare to begin with.

The Captain's laugh sounded more like hawking bird than anything else. It usually came unexpectedly. Her curiosity had already been piqued at the sight of Romulus's chambers. Weights strewn about on the walls. A place fit to train the most disciplined fighters. She'd taken note of the scars riddling his body. A flicker of a glance, barely perceptible. She'd seen such things before in her travels. Rivain rubbed elbows with its neighboring realm, Tevinter. All too common to have some of her own people snatched up and whisked away. Onto boats, into shackles. And now, there was mention of another basement? Much worse than this. She had no doubts that his past held many stories. Difficult ones to recall, no doubt. Another time, another place. As nosy as she was, wheedling him with questions was hardly appropriate breakfast conversation.

She, too, kicked off her boots and flopped down beside them. “Ladies and gents,” she carefully folded down the corners, revealing the aforementioned breakfast she'd been carrying around. Immediately, the smell of cinnamon, butter and nutmeg wafted up to meet them. Spices she recognized from her own village. Warm, gooey spirals of bread, drizzled with sugar. She'd brought six of them in total. Now that she thought about it... something this fancy might've belonged to someone else. An important figure. A visiting lordling. It was a strange thing to happen onto, in a chilly fortress. She shrugged to herself and studied their faces, “may I present breakfast. We can toast to the cooks of Skyhold.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Khari, hardly one to stand on ceremony, plucked one of the treats from its spot in the basket, electing to eat by unwinding it, breaking off chunks, and then chewing those. She hummed with approval in between bites. “I’m not normally much of a sweets person, but these are something else.” Refined she was not, but at the very least she didn’t stuff her face, and managed to avoid dropping anything in her lap. “Thanks, Zee. This was a great idea."

“Delicious, no?” Zahra's fingers danced a few inches from the warm swirls of cinnamon bread and stopped on one that had a large spattering of sugar on top. She tore her own into mouth-sized bites, and leveled Romulus with a stare. She'd brought this for everyone. Unless she'd chosen poorly. Given the state of his chambers, and whatever drills he ran himself through... perhaps, the breakfast was not up to par. She'd always assumed soldiers dined on gruel. Things scrounged up from the forests. Romulus, however, did not look like a soldier. Maybe he just didn't like sweets. She licked her fingers and leaned back on her elbows. Propping herself up just so.

“I didn't get the chance to say,” she began to say, staring out into the open space cut into the Undercroft. Already, the sun was crawling up the sky and peeking between the mountain peaks, casting smears of blistering red. At this time of day, even the sickly green tears couldn't rob the sky of its beauty, “that I was happy to see both of you. After Haven.” Zahra snorted and shoved the remainder of bread in her mouth. Stifling the awkward laugh bubbling up from her guts. Of course, she'd heard of their return but hadn't immediately sought them out. To see her in such a sad state, she wouldn't have that. Now that she was doing better, she could face them properly. “I'm glad both of you survived. Wouldn't be much fun without you.”

"I'm glad we made it, too," Romulus said, testing this cinnamon bread for himself, and clearly finding it to his liking. He leaned back, propping himself up with a hand on the blanket while the other carried the delectable treat. "I'd thought the Inquisition was almost done before," he said, chewing through a mouthful, "but now it seems like we've only just gotten started." Khari hummed an enthusiastic agreement, but she was clearly busy chewing.

“A dragon, a crazed tall man and an army of bejeweled Templars,” Zahra said as she smacked her lips and let herself flop entirely onto her back. If she didn't know better, it sounded like the beginning of an awful tale. Something a bard would sing around a campfire. An unlikely happening that children sniggered at. Though it was anything but funny. She might have once said that the seas were tumultuous. Far more dangerous. An arbitrary ocean of privateers, pirates and smugglers alike. But these lands were surprisingly treacherous. The dangers, thus far, spanned Thedas. The world seemed much larger in the Inquisition. She looked up at them from her vantage point and smirked. “Let's make a pact to stay alive until the end of this, then.” She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes skyward, “It's a pirate thing. Sacred as a spell.”

It was a lie. An obvious one. Though she doubted that they'd know the difference. She'd made one with her crew. Each and every one. And while she could not guarantee any effectiveness, it meant she cared for their welfare.

“Why not? I’ve got no plans to die.” Khari grinned, holding up a hand like one might swear an oath or something. “Still have other important stuff to do when this is done, and all.” By now it was common-enough knowledge that this particular elf fancied herself a knight-to-be, or something of the sort; she didn’t go around shouting it from the rafters, but she didn’t hide it, either, and rumors did tend to circulate, especially the bizarre ones.

“So I won’t get offed if you two don’t. Seems fair to me.”

Who could argue with that logic? Pleased to hear Khari's enthusiasm, and fool enough to continue on with her embarassing tradition, Zahra raised her hand beside hers and swung an expectant gaze towards Romulus, lips still quibbling with a smile.

Romulus had to swallow his food first, but then he grinned. "Deal."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella was tired.

She couldn’t properly recall the last time she’d had what she would consider a full night of sleep, but she knew she wasn’t alone in this. Leon was busier still, and she had no idea if Rilien slept at all, though if he was missing any, he didn’t show it. Lady Marceline probably didn’t let such nonsense as work get in the way of her health, but even so it was unlikely that she accomplished any less than the rest of them.

The most of it right now was just trying to establish themselves. Before, when the Inquisition had been based at Haven, they hadn’t actually done much to root the organization, so to speak. Everyone had assumed that they were there to close the Breach, and once that was done, so would they be. When that proved so utterly false, they were left with few long-term plans, and the ones they had had needed a great deal of work yet. It turned out that on her part, this mostly involved writing letters to send along with Lady Marceline’s, and doing some of what had been Tanith’s duties, helping Rilien organize intelligence reports until he could find someone he trusted enough with that kind of sensitive information.

And then of course there was answering inquiries directed for her specifically, which she wanted to do as much as possible, and then hearing the various matters that members of the Inquisition wanted brought before her attention. Occasionally there was a dispute, but mostly they just asked her to decide certain things for them, like when the architects had asked her what to do with one of the unused towers they were trying to renovate. Review plans, ask for modifications, try to determine which of many possible purposes would serve the best—it had occurred to her that the things she was to decide might really matter, in a way that her decisions had never mattered before. It was daunting and overwhelming and terrifying, but she did it as well as she could, leaning heavily on the recommendations of others where she was able.

She knew her fatigue was beginning to show, so she’d taken steps to conceal it as well as possible, mostly for the sake of appearances, which she’d been told repeatedly now were often just as important as reality. Estella found it difficult to agree, but
 if it would help even a little, it was worth doing, and so every morning now included a few minutes’ worth of work to cover the dark circles beneath her eyes, and she tried to remember to dress a little better, though most of the time, she probably failed. It was hard to justify wearing silk and silverite to herself when she still wasn’t sure where they were going to get the funds to pay for food the next winter, so she generally elected not to bother.

Now though, they were slowly putting down the roots they wanted, and that meant she’d received more than one invitation to meet someone she’d written, usually at a salon or other small, but still relatively public, event. She’d blanched the first time, and asked Lady Marceline what to do. Apparently, the answer was: accept, when she had time. But Estella was not a noblewoman, not really, and integrating well into any group of the landed and titled was not something that came to her instinctively.

And if it didn’t come to her instinctively, she needed to be taught. Repeatedly and at length.

So they’d set something up, and she was apparently going to be getting the right kind of lessons from both Lady Marceline and Rilien, which she appreciated, knowing how busy they were, but also dreaded, for obvious reasons. When she’d expressed her reservations about it all to Khari a few mornings prior, her friend had offered to take the lessons with her, for support if nothing else. Estella wasn’t sure exactly why Khari would want to do something like that, or why she’d need to know any of it, but ultimately she figured it wasn’t about that—it was about helping out a friend, and for that, she was extremely grateful. Somehow, facing this with someone else made it a little more bearable, in theory.

When the two of them entered Lady Marceline’s office, however, she felt herself growing uncomfortable almost immediately. The center of the area had been cleared, and a small table was set to one side, in what looked like utensils for a full Orlesian many-course meal, sans only the food itself. Commander Lucien had never made her go to anything where dinner was involved, and she had to admit it all looked far too complicated already.

As promised, both Rilien and Marceline were present, the former standing beside the room’s desk, a wrapped bundle having replaced most of the paperwork thereupon. Marceline was in one corner, seated, with a full-sized harp set against her shoulder. Estella blinked, and her eyes found the last person in the room: Pierre Benoüt, Lady Marceline’s son. He was about fourteen, if she had her guess, dark-haired like both his parents, and clearly much more comfortable here than she was.

Khari stepped into the room behind her, sweeping bright eyes over the whole setup and huffing a soft laugh. “It’s like a dinner party, only without the best part.” She nodded with her chin towards the empty plates. It didn’t seem to bother her much, though; her demeanor remained quite sanguine, lacking any of Estella’s tension at all. The elf hooked arms with her and dragged them both down to the slight recession in which most of the office really lay, bringing them both to stand roughly in the center of the cleared floor.

“All right everyone. Do your worst.” She grinned easily, jostling Estella in a companionable fashion. “You can be the noble lady, and I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”

Estella felt a fraction of her unease abate, a smile creeping up her face. “How chivalrous of you,” she replied dryly.

"Even a knight would know better than to barge toward the table with a lady in arm," Pierre chided Khari. From the corner of the room where Marceline sat, a soft melody began to play from the harp signfying the lesson was beginning. "The chevalier would instead allow the lady to lead them toward the table calmly and politely," he continued, stepping around the table so as to get a better look at them. "Unless, of course, it is crowded. At which point, chivalry dictates that the chevalier would lead her through the crowd," he lectured. It seemed that It wasn't Marceline who was to teach this lesson, but rather, her son.

Now that he was close enough to get a better look at, he was dressed in the colors of his family, black, silver, and with accents of purple. The summer found him in a clothes of lighter make, but still fine. Most apparent, however, was his height. Even at his age, he stood closer to Estella's height, and it was clear he had more yet to grow. In a couple more years, he would most likely stand as tall as his father, who himself stood almost as tall as Lucien. Pierre then gestured toward the pair of spots that had been laid out on the table. Two place cards had been set up, each bearing one of their names written in fine calligraphy. "The chevalier would then kindly pull out the chair for the lady."

Khari blinked at Pierre for a few moments, a poorly-contained snort becoming an exceptionally undignified cluster of boisterous laughter, but she reigned it in more quickly than she usually did, clearly fighting to straighten out her face. “Someone get Pierre a cane, so he can rap our knuckles when we get it wrong.” The laughter remained in her eyes, even despite the fact that she managed to otherwise smooth her expression to a respectable degree, and she cleared her throat, approaching the setting with at least some dignity and pulling the chair out partway for Estella to sit. Estella thought that it was probably better no one did, else they’d both walk out with tender hands.

“Milady Inquisitor.” For a moment, she smiled, and it looked like she might lose the battle with her own sense of humor, but in the end she suppressed it, if only just.

Estella smiled herself, resisting the urge to shake her head at the mannerisms which were quite unlike Khari, and remembered that she should probably return with ones that were quite unlike herself
 though maybe by not quite as much. “My thanks, messere.” She slid into the chair as gracefully as she could and let Khari ease it closer to the table for her, keeping her hands in her lap until she knew what to do with them.

"In this case, the correct term to refer to the chevalier would be 'Ser'. Were the individual in a higher social standing than yourself, it would, indeed be Messere, but as the Inquisitor, the chevalier remains in a social standing equal to or lesser than yourself, in which the individual should be refered to as Ser." Pierre leaned slightly against the table as he spoke, his arms crossed over his chest. "Were the chevalier also nobility, milord would also be an acceptable honorific, but in this case..." Pierre continued, trailing off with pursed lips. A quick smile lept into his lips for a moment as he winked at Khari, "Ser will do."

Pierre's gaze fell back down to Estella. "We will create cards bearing the aristocratic titles and their appropriate terms of address for you to memorize later. It is... rather complicated to explain in words," He said apologetically.

Actually
 that might not be a terrible idea. Estella was usually pretty decent at remembering things, so memorizing the distinctions instead of just trying to practice them a lot might be of some help. She nodded slightly. “I know some of those already, thankfully. Commander Lucien always said that if I can’t remember exactly what to do, ‘milord’ and ‘milady’ work for everyone who isn’t royalty, so I guess that’s what I’ll do if I forget.” She grimaced a bit, but the expression disappeared shortly thereafter.

Her eyes fell to the place setting in front of her, and it almost returned. “Ah
 the only rule I know for this is that utensils are used from the outside in.” She had a feeling it was a great deal more complicated than that.

“Uh
” Beside Estella, Khari had already picked up the innermost set of silverware, and now looked back and forth between the two of them with confusion. “Why wouldn’t you use the ones closest to your plate first? Why are there so many anyway? It’s not like the metal keeps the taste of whatever was on it
 unless you suck at eating and don’t use it right.” She eyed the array of forks and knives with suspicion.

“Unless these extras are for throwing at people who say stupid things at dinner, I don’t really get why you need them.”

“That... would be a very different type of Game," Estella replied wryly. Maybe an improvement, in some respects. At least you could duck a flying fork.

"A look will usually do," Pierre replied. Amusingly, Pierre was shooting Khari a very similar look. "Now, if the chevalier would kindly stop handling the utensil like their sword, we can continue." Though he was quick to quash it, Estella still managed to recognize a wisp of a smile. "Moving on. Yes, Lady Estella, that is the general gist. The utensils have very specific purposes, and once done with, the utensils are taken with the plate they were used with so as not to contaminate the next course, and to also keep the table clean."

With that, Pierre pointed to the outer most fork. "This is your salad fork. Often, it will be chilled so as to not warm the salad," Continuing, he began to gesture down the line. "This is your dinner fork, it is the largest one, and over here," he said, gesturing to the other side of the plate, "You have your soup spoon," he said, starting at the utensil furthest away from the plate. "This is your teaspoon, and this," he finished on the largest knife on the table, "is your dinner knife."

Pierre shrugged, and pointed to the pair of utensils above the plate. "This is your dessert spoon, and your cake fork. Your napkin is over here, he added, pointed to the square cloth next to the forks. "And if used, be sure to fold it back in such a way to hide the dirtiness. We are civilized individuals after all," he added with a quick glance at Khari and another contained smile. "Well. Some of us."

Khari’s eyes snapped to Pierre at that, and she grinned savagely, flashing too many teeth. “You can teach a wolf to walk and dress like a sheep, kid, but it’s always gonna be a wolf.” She put her knife back down where it belonged, though, and moved her hand along the table to rest briefly at the end of each item, as though she were committing their names to memory.

“Or perhaps a bear,” Estella rejoined, recalling a story she’d heard about Khari’s favorite chevalier technique. She did much the same as her friend did though, repeating the names of the utensils to herself in her head so as to commit them to memory. Thankfully, she knew how to eat in a way that would count as sufficiently ‘civilized’ for her purposes, so the fact that there was no actual food here wasn’t so bad. Nodding slightly, she glanced back up at Pierre.

“How does one handle conversation at a setting like this? I, um, don’t want to presume that anyone would be interested in talking to me, but
 I suspect there might be a few interested in talking to the Inquisitor. I don’t have to stop talking to someone if someone with a better title cuts in, do I?” That sounded unpleasant, but also like it might be a rule.

Pierre shook his head in the negative. "To cut someone off is a serious faux pas no matter the title, not to mention rude. Chances are, those with a higher standing are less likely to cut you off, so as to not appear uncouth." Afterward, Pierre allowed himself a chuckle, "Do not presume, there will always be those who wish to have a conversation with you, for one reason or another." It sounded as if he had experience in the area, as if he had been a part of many of these conversations himself.

“Obviously.” Khari looked sideways at Estella, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, let’s be honest here, Stel, even if you weren’t the Inquisitor, you’d still be awesome. And super nice. And you have a really cool job.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she went. “And you’re much smarter than most people, and funny. So
 really I’d be surprised if you weren’t swarmed.”

Estella cleared her throat, not having expected such a response and finding herself surprisingly embarrassed by the praise. Khari wasn’t the kind of person who’d say things from a desire to flatter, and so she presumed that if the elf had said them, she really meant them. She was quite sure her ears were turning red. “Thank you,” she said, if only quietly. She didn’t believe most of it, exactly, but she believed that Khari believed it, and that was still something important. Though it probably said more about Khari than herself.

In any case, she returned her attention to Pierre and nodded her understanding. “I think that all makes sense,” she told him, somewhat surprised by the result. “Is there anything else we should know?”

"One thing," he said, glancing up and across the room to the corner, where his mother sat style plucking a melody on the harp. "Do not try to put on airs. There are those that do, and while there is no unspoken rule against it, there are those that will respect you more if you simply be yourself," he said, apparently returning a nod to Marceline. Returning to Estella he smiled, "Be polite, be courteous, and be yourself. The nobility adore stories of the kind and humble leader."

“See? Nothing to worry about. They’ll love you!” Khari seemed to be a little less serious this time, perhaps because it was still the court they were talking about. It was at that point that Rilien stepped forward slightly and crooked a finger to summon them both to where he was standing. After a brief lesson on how to exit the table, they approached, to find that he was unwinding the bundle he’d set on the desk, which rolled out to cover the whole length.

It proved to be a soft case for over a dozen knives, needles, and other instruments of death and dismemberment, as it were. Most of them were smaller than the ones he typically used, or anything one would trust to a battle proper. “As distracting as court events can be, you must also always maintain an awareness of your surroundings, and the people around you. That distraction is what makes them opportunities for bards and assassins to ply their trade, and whether you like it or not, you will be a very obvious target.” His eyes moved to Khari.

“As will you, in fact, though not as much so.” He declined to elaborate, but it wasn’t too difficult to guess. Khari had declared her intentions to break into the human-only world of Orlesian knights—even if her claims were found to be absurd, there would still be some who would desire to silence her for having the audacity to make the declaration.

Rilien slid a knife from the cloth, still in its sheath, and handed it to Estella. Studying Khari for a moment, he elected to pass her a small bundle of needles. “Attempt to hide these somewhere on your person. I will not look.” True to his word, he turned around and faced the back wall, hands folded into his sleeves.

Estella examined the knife with some trepidation. It wasn’t very long, maybe four inches or so of blade and another several for the hilt, but it was still a relatively large object. Her clothes were relaxed in their fit; nothing clung to her skin by any means, but she also wasn’t entirely sure that she’d be able to conceal anything in them. Tugging at a few spots on her tunic experimentally, she grimaced and decided her best option was probably behind her, at the small of her back, and she went about trying to arrange that, hoping that her belt would make the concealment slightly less obvious.

“Uh
” Khari seemed even less sure, though her clothing was much looser. After some hesitation, she wound up sliding the needles into her boot, wiggling her foot a couple times in what was surely an attempt to make them sit comfortably. Checking to make sure that Estella was also done, she shrugged. “Ready, I guess.”

Rilien turned around, facing them both with a placid expression. Deliberately, he circled them, only once before he came to a stop. “Lower back.” That was addressed to Estella. “Not a poor selection, but you’ll need to learn to actually conceal it.” Citrine eyes flicked to Khari. “Right boot. Better hidden, but it would have been extremely obvious if you’d had to go for the weapon. If anyone’s carrying something there, it is probably only for defensive purposes. Or they are unskilled at subterfuge. Either or both.”

He paused a moment, his attention diverting temporarily to Marceline, still playing the harp. “Neither Lady Marceline nor Pierre is wearing any, but both have an idea of where they would, if they felt the need. I am wearing five.” There was certainly no evidence of that claim to be seen, but then considering who and what Rilien was, it wasn’t preposterous.

“It is safest to assume that everyone you meet is armed.” Rilien blinked, shrugging one shoulder, and a dim gleam appeared near his hand as he moved a dagger into his grip. “And hostile.” He lunged for Estella.

In that moment, the melody lilting from the harp grew heavy and picked up in tempo as Marceline shifted the tune to better fit in with the sudden fit of activity.

Estella reacted as soon as she saw the glimmer, because it wasn’t entirely out-of-character for Rilien to throw things like this at her. Suddenly, the fact that the floor was cleared made a great deal of sense, and Estella sidestepped the initial swing, twisting around to the side on soft feet, reaching back for the only weapon available to her right now: the knife at her back. For all her agility, however, Rilien had more of it, and more precision as well, and he never overcompensated on a miss, meaning he’d be able to take another strike before she could arm herself, and she readied to get out of its way as well as she could, making sure she had enough room on all sides to maneuver. She was useless in a corner, after all.

He did indeed have plenty of opportunity to slash again, but his attempt to do so was interrupted, as Khari finally gained her bearings and charged at him, lowering her shoulder in an effort to carry him to the floor. Rilien dodged the maneuver like it was inconsequential in its entirety, and on her pass, took hold of her shoulder and swept her feet out from underneath her in a smooth motion, redirecting Khari’s momentum and putting her on the floor of the office, prone and spread-eagled.

The move hadn’t done anything to him, but it had bought Estella a bit more time.

It was enough that she could free the knife, anyway, and Estella readied it before her. The weapon was shorter than she would have preferred, but Rilien hadn’t left her untutored in the use of close weaponry like this, and she knew how to handle it at least. The one thing she could say in her favor was that his blade was also short, and so she wasn’t at a significant reach disadvantage or anything. Also, if she could buy enough time for Khari to get off the floor again, then she’d have an ally.

The next series of exchanges had her hanging on by a thread—Rilien was swift, exact, and utterly relentless, as ever. It was a wonder she ever managed to last more than seconds when they sparred, but of course she suspected that was because he took it easy on her so she could learn instead of just losing. She always did both. Estella dodged where she could, and parried where she could not; he hit more heavily than one might expect of someone who used light blades primarily, but then that was normal to her as well. He was slowly backing her towards a corner, and she trying desperately not to let him, but there was a certain inevitability to it.

Khari came in from behind again, this time diving low from the beginning, and though Rilien moved out of her initial grab range, she managed to get a hand around his ankle, forcing him to abandon his effort to back her up and deal with the immediate problem. Khari hadn’t managed to disrupt his balance enough to take him to the floor with her, and so his retribution was swift: he twisted, stepping on her back with his other foot, and brought the knife down to rest the flat of it against the side of her neck.

“Dead.” The declaration was flat, with no note of triumph, and Khari conceded with a groan, pulling herself back up onto her feet when he stepped off of her. Estella had used the opportunity to move in and go on the offensive, but he bent backwards away from her swipe, taking a few steps back. They were back to being near the center of the room, but Rilien’s tactics shifted, the speed of his movements increasing sharply, and with a heavy strike with the blade’s hilt to her wrist, he disarmed her, then stepped into her guard, wrapping his free hand around her neck without pressure and pressing the blade to her sternum.

“Dead.” He said it more softly the second time, pausing for a moment before he released her and stepped back, as the music from Marceline's harp shifted back to a more gentle melody.

“You forgot you were armed, but your idea wasn’t a bad one. Most dexterous combatants are unprepared for a fight on the ground. Assassins and the like most often rely heavily on the element of surprise and accomplishing what they need to do in as few moves as possible. But this is not true of all of them.” Obviously, it wasn’t true of him, for one.

Then he turned to Estella, regarding her flatly. “You are still your own most dangerous foe.” He didn’t elaborate, only shaking his head slightly.

She sighed. He said that a fair bit, of late, and she thought she understood part of what he was getting at, but it wasn’t so simple as that. With a wan smile, Estella glanced at Khari. “Maybe we should practice with close weapons in the mornings sometimes.”

“Only if we get dramatic harp music." Khari arched a brow in Lady Marceline's general direction.

Marceline simply smiled politely and inclined her head slightly into a bow.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
It was a bit like the training he'd done in Tevinter, years ago. Only now, there was no shadow of death looming. It was quite pleasant, actually.

There was always the shadow, Romulus supposed, but it seemed farther out than usual. The Venatori could not threaten him here, Chryseis could not reach him here. Not yet, anyway. The matter of his ancestry seemed the most pressing, but even Anais was not around. She was secretive about her objectives, but claimed she was working on a way to confirm his descent from Andraste. Romulus wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was up to.

For the moment, he was just a sweaty Rivaini trying to teach a fiery elf how to handle opponents up close when she was without her sword. Well, more efficiently anyway. Khari always seemed to get by, but he hoped some instruction might avoid a few future scars. And he enjoyed the time spent with her regardless. Things hardly seemed to change between them with him becoming the first son in the line of daughters. It was nice.

"Get them on the ground, and size won't mean much," he said, from the center of the padded mat he'd had delivered into his quarters. It made for an excellent training space, separated from his sleeping area, close to the waterfall and the cool air relieving them of the late summer heat. Even in Skyhold there could be quite a bit of warmth. "You'll want to attack, you'll feel defenseless. Be patient, react to their move. Counter, and get in close. Many weapons become useless when close enough to touch."

The crease that had appeared between Khari’s eyebrows was a giveaway to the fact that she was focusing intently, partly on what he said and partly on figuring out how to apply it, if her face was anything to go by. There was a slight bend to her knees, and she held her hands loosely beside her, the long sleeves of her shirt wound up to her elbows, her feet and calves bare as well. Her nose wrinkled, eyes moving from his arms to his torso to his legs, and her mouth curved down into a frown.

“Right but... how would I even do that? If I wait until you’re in close, I’m not sure I’d be able to get you on the ground. Where do I hit?” She was not, by any stretch, a large person, and a great deal of the force she was usually able to apply came from leverage and momentum, both of which she seemed to associate with space.

"Usually? Behind the legs. Even a large man will topple easily when he has no way to rebalance himself." Romulus grabbed a blunted sword from the nearby rack, and approached Khari. "Avoid the swing, under or around. Step in swiftly, placing your inside leg behind mine. Then apply force to the upper body, either an armbar across the chest, or even a simple ram with the shoulder. Secure the sword arm as quick as possible. The fall will create distance, space for the weapon. You don't want to descend onto a waiting sword."

He twirled the blade once in his hand, and settled into a more ready stance. "It's a basic move, but effective on most common opponents, and nonlethal until you want it to be. Ready to try?"

Khari rolled her shoulders, lowering her center of gravity slightly by bending her knees, her frown flashing up into a jagged smile. “Always.” When he swung, she went low, stepping in swiftly. She was obviously used to using her whole body as an instrument of force, because she avoided the obvious mistake of separating her movements too much—her motion inward flowed well into her armbar, and her foot was where it needed to be, without throwing off her own balance.

The problem, rather, was in defending herself from the sword as they went to the mat. With no armor and no weapon of her own, she lacked her usual defenses, and her hold was awkward. Rom was easily able to twist her wrist until she was forced to let go of him, and they ended with Khari on one knee, the length of the wooden blade slanted upwards to her sternum.

“Well, shit. Let me try that again.”

Chryseis had paid experts in their own fields to train Romulus in all of them, discreetly and out of sight as it always was. His instructor in this particular area had been a compact but agile Antivan man, who barely spoke a word. Just repetition after repetition of situations exactly like this, where he would struggle to perform a disarming, or a takedown, and inevitably end up dead time and time again. But it was better to die a thousand imaginary deaths in the training room, so they could avoid the real one in battle.

He stood, tossing the sword aside and grabbing a wooden staff instead, to act as a spear. Another method his own instructor had used. No attack came twice in a row in most engagements. One needed to remember and recall each counter the moment it was required. The speed of their reactions was the closest they could get to foresight.

The second time, Khari almost avoided her imaginary death, though not quite. The third time, she managed to disarm him successfully, but in her attention to doing so, failed to hit him hard enough to actually force him to fall. Still, she gave no indication that this frustrated her, simply resetting herself every time and waiting for him to do the same before she tried again.

The fifth time, something clicked, and she moved through whole sequence smoothly—at least until they were both on the ground, at which point she paused, blinking down at him with one brow arched. “Uh... now what?”

Romulus immediately felt that he was reading too much into the moment. Something about the way her eyebrow was cocked at him. He supposed she could just be pleased with herself, for making progress... which she probably was. But Khari wasn't really the type for pride or gloating. So what exactly was supposed to happen now? He'd never run into this particular problem with the Antivan.

"There's, uh... usually a lot of punching. Or choking. Stabbing. Or just, restraining. You have the advantage." He did notice something she'd overlooked, however. Without any warning, Romulus brought his legs up behind her, swiftly swinging one around in front of her neck, and pulling her onto her own back, while he reached and retrieved the dulled knife he'd used for that particular round, and sat back up, leaving Khari temporarily stuck under his leg. He had his choice of vitals to strike at this point. Another imaginary death.

"The legs are the best option for escape, so keep some weight on them. Most will try to strike you in the back with a knee, pitch you forward over them." He'd avoided doing so out of a desire to not actually strike her. He knew she didn't mind such things, but that was his instinct all the same. He twisted off of her and to his feet, and offered her a hand up.

She exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair off her face, and reached up to grip his hand and pull herself to her feet. “Note taken.” Khari took a moment to shake out her limbs, shifting her balance and bending a bit in a clear attempt to make sure everything was still in working order. The results must have been to her satisfaction, because she padded over to the small pile of belongings she’d brought with her and retrieved a pair of waterskins, tossing one to him with an easy lob.

“This setup you have here’s starting to look pretty permanent.” From someone else, that might have been a very indirect way of broaching a topic, but even if the words themselves weren’t as blunt as usual, the fact that she was looking right at him and not at the details she was supposedly remarking upon was a dead giveaway to the intent of the observation. “I was just thinking the other day, how much of a change this whole thing is for me, what with the fancy castle and the big organization to belong to and people taking me seriously sometimes and all that. Then I remembered it must be even stranger for you.” She unscrewed the cap from her waterskin with apparent nonchalance, then her brows furrowed.

“Well... maybe not the ‘being taken seriously’ part. That might just be new to me.” She grinned easily, and tipped her head back to swallow some of the water, swiping a thumb over her mouth to clear away the excess.

He took a long drink from the waterskin she'd tossed him. "I don't think so. Maybe my skill has always been taken seriously. But no one ever cared much about what I thought until recently. Even being the Herald was something I felt assigned to, and the Inquisition did everything they could to push the responsibility of speaking onto Estella." Much to her disappointment of course, though she was devoid of complaints as ever.

"Now some people hang on my every word, like my very thoughts are the truth of the Maker or something. You can probably understand why I've spruced up the cave, then. No one expects me to perform miracles in here." He didn't hardly know what permanent even meant for him, but he didn't imagine this place as such. The Inquisition itself wasn't supposed to be permanent. And if his newfound status was true, he was set for even larger things, and greater conflicts.

"We're still the same, though, aren't we? Overlooking the labels, both demeaning and glorifying." He liked to think so, anyway. She was not who she was because of her race, or her title, or lack thereof. She was just Khari.

She tilted her head to the side, replacing the cap on her waterskin. “Right there in the core of ourselves? Sure we are. But all of this, it’s already changed me a little. And maybe it’ll change me more, being here, knowing you and everyone else, being part of this. I’m kind of interested to see what things will be like at the end.” Crouching next to her belongings, Khari set the waterskin down and rummaged in her knapsack for a few seconds.

“And I think maybe you’re a little bit different, too, or at least I’m kind of betting on it, otherwise this is going to be just as awkward as last time, and we both know how terrible I am at adapting to that.” She rose back to a stand, what looked like a square of cloth in her hand. “See... I kind of figured that, with your decision to stay and everything, that you might be a little more open to the idea of, uh, owning stuff. So I made you a thing. To own.” She grimaced, apparently more at her explanation than anything else.

She adjusted her grip on the fabric, and it unfurled from her fingers, reaching almost to the ground from where she held it. It was a very dark red, in the main, the kind of durable silk that was made to withstand wear and tear and temperature rather than the thin gauzy sort intended for pure ornamentation. The edges of the scarf had a subtle embroidery on them, charcoal grey and almost blended with the red. “Stuck my fingers a lot trying to remember how to do this, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I messed up a couple times, but I don’t think anyone can tell from a distance, so.” She held it out with a shrug.

“Should help you stay warm, anyway.”

Romulus responded with an honest grin, and crossed the few steps it took to come in reach of the gift, which he took without much resistance. It certainly wasn't the finest work, but when had he ever owned something that was? When had he ever owned something at all? He'd never even owned himself really, not until recently. He'd also never been one for scarves, but that was of course the norm for someone from Tevinter, where such a thing was quite pointless. He imagined it would come in handy.

"Winter will come around soon enough," he said, still examining her work with no hint of displeasure, "and I'm sure I'll be right here for it." He tossed half of it over his shoulder, letting it rest there. Indeed, the color seemed to suit him. "Thanks. I, uh... well. Thanks." He was vaguely aware of his slight change in coloration throughout his face. Had he a more pale skin tone it would be painfully apparent, but no doubt she could pick up on it all the same.

“You’re welcome.” The tips of Khari’s ears were a little red themselves, but if she was embarrassed, she accepted it with good humor, one side of her mouth pulled upwards and her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Now let’s quit with the sentimental stuff and get back to the part where you beat me up so that I, eventually, can beat other people up in the same way.” She took up her former spot on the mat, cracking her knuckles with a little more emphasis than was probably strictly necessary.

He could do that, certainly. He almost reverently set the scarf aside and picked up a dulled longsword, tossing it hilt first to Khari. He studied her a moment, trying to decide what would be best to learn next. Something to utilize the low center of gravity she had, perhaps.

"We'll try a straight tackle with a leg lift next. Bit more of an aggressive approach." He took up his own ready stance. "Take a swing, I'll show you."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The fresh snow crunched underneath their feet as Marceline traveled alongside Leon. Winter was upon them now, with new drifts of snow being supplied to Skyhold's grounds daily. Even then, snowflakes lazily drifted from the sky, and provided a stark contrast for the moment that they lingered in her well-kept mane of black hair. She was dressed for the weather with a thick black coat with silver fur lining the collar. The mountains would only make the winter chill all the more sharp, and they could probably look forward to snow for several more months.

“I do hope you have men keeping the roads clear,” Marceline said with her neck arched upward, studying the falling snowflakes. They would depend on those roads in the following months for supplies like food and clothing. A lot of diplomacy went into securing contracts and trade routes for goods. It would be a shame to see all of her work undone by snow blockages. Her words, however, were merely musings. She had faith that Leon had the soldiers doing whatever was required of them.

Her head fell back down and turned toward Leon, “Speaking of the soldiers, there are some things I wish to discuss.”

“I wished to see how you felt using the army in an attempt to bring in a source of income,” Thus far, the Inquisition had mainly relied on donations and loans from across Thedas, though primarily Orlais and Ferelden. However, donations would soon become scarce as the Inquisition established itself, and there were only so many loans they could take out before the debt crushed them. “If you feel they are ready, of course,” If not, then the whole thing was moot.

Leon, perhaps due to sheer size, didn’t seem much bothered by the cold. His own cloak was comparatively light, made of nothing more than roughspun wool with a deep red linen lining. He crossed his arms upon Marceline’s suggestion, causing the edges of the garment to fall forward. His brows furrowed.

“Bring in income?” he echoed, sounding dubious at best. “It’s not a matter of readiness, Lady Marceline, but a matter of ethics. If you’re suggesting that we hire ourselves out to the highest bidder or take sides in a civil war in hopes of getting paid
” he trailed off, shaking his head. “That’s not really the kind of thing an army like this one should be doing.”

“I did not mean for the suggestion to sound so mercenary, Ser Leon.” Taking a side in the civil war would not only be unethical, but would also lead to a conflict of interest and undeniable bias. Her father fought for the Empress however, and she would not condone placing the Inquisition's army in his way. “You understand as much as I that war brings all sorts out of the woodwork. Bandits, highwaymen, plus we now have the Venatori and the Red Templars to contend with. With the majority of the Chevaliers' attention turned toward the civil war, there are not as many trained soldiers patrolling the roads or keeping the holds safe.”

Marceline shrugged and glanced upward toward Leon's face. “I am simply suggesting we fill that need. Now, do not misunderstand me,” Marceline, her own brows furrowed, “I do not want to initiate a protection racket where safety comes at a price, but... The Inquisition will need income to feed and pay her soldiers.”

Leon seemed somewhat mollified by the clarification, but his frown didn’t disappear. “In principle, that’s not a bad idea, but
 the kind of people who would benefit from our protection are not the kind who have much to give in terms of donations. We may end up spending more on transport and supplies than we get back for the effort. Much as I’d like to help, that might be better left to the Lord-General’s chevaliers. Not to mention Orlais is a sovereign nation even despite the civil war. We don’t really have a legal right to—look out!”

Before she could react, whatever it was struck her hard in the face. A freezing cold sensation was immediate as it spread through her face and seeped into her neckline. She halted midstep and gasped, swiping her face and bending over to free the snow stuck in her collar. Snow. It was then she realized that she'd been struck by a snowball. After removing as much of it as she could from her face and clothes, she shot a gaze upward, looking for the most likely culprit. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes narrow, though her face did not hold a look of outright rage instead sitting somewhere at accusing.

The first person she saw was her husband, having himself a hearty laugh. MichaĂ«l had returned to Skyhold from their estate on the West Banks a number of weeks back. Once he realized that she was staring at him however, his laughter stopped immediately. An alarmed expression entered his face as he quickly pointed toward the elven woman beside him. “Her,” he hastily accused.

Khari glared at him, but quickly threw up both hands in a placating gesture. One of them still grasped a second snowball. “Uh
 sorry, Lady Marceline. I was aiming for Leon, I swear!” Apparently she expected this information to make things less bad.

A loud snort sounded above the pin-drop silence, followed by hoarse, uncontrolled laughter. It carried itself across Skyhold’s grounds and belonged to the resident pirate, Zahra, who appeared to be struggling to keep herself on her feet. She was crooked forward with one hand perched on her wobbly knees, and the other planted firmly on the closest building. A breathy intake of breath later and she was rubbing her hands and knuckles across her eyes. If any attempt was made to stifle her amusement, it was a feeble one. “You should see—I can’t believe,” she sputtered between giggles and snorts, “your faces.”

She appeared to have made some effort when it came to dressing for the weather. No amount of pride could keep the chattering of teeth at bay. She’d chosen simpler clothes, though they still appeared unusual. Dark leathers, bound with soft brown linens. A heavy black cloak rimmed with some sort of animal fur hung over her shaking shoulders. Her hair hung free, in a wild mess, woven with small braids and beads upon closer inspection.

“That’s not helpful, Zee!” Khari threw the other chunk of snow she was holding for the laughing woman. Certainly, her aim could use some work—it barely clipped Zahra before spinning off slightly to the right. Zahra’s laugh only grew louder when the snowball careened off her shoulder. She was already ducking down to gather snow in her own fingerless gloves, wolfish grin wild on her dusky face.

Coming up behind the elf and the chevalier was a bundled up Romulus, heavy cloak draped around him and a hood covering his head. He stepped lightly through the snow, but if he was trying to put his particular skillset to use, he wasn't doing it very well. The dusky-skinned Herald still looked far from home traipsing about through the snow, but he at least looked a little warmer than he had the previous winter.

He was rapidly forming a snowball in his own gloves, packing it into a throwable condition. As soon as he had he aimed it for Khari, and his aim was true; it exploded right against the back of her neck, and Romulus showed a toothy grin as he shrugged. "It's only fair, I think."

She pretended to look offended for all of two seconds before cracking a smile just as wide. “Oh yeah? We'll see what's fair." Apology already forgotten, Khari stooped and drew up a handful of snow.

Across the courtyard where the inn sat, a window on the second level popped open and swung outward. The white-blonde mane of Vesryn appeared, his eyes surveying the sudden snowy conflict. "Are you having fun, Herald?" he asked incredulously. "I didn't think you knew how."

"Why don't you come down, then? I'll show you." Romulus was already working on another snowball, eyes watching all those present, his grin unwavering. Vesryn took the bait, disappearing immediately from the window and closing it behind him.

Next to Marceline, Leon chuckled under his breath. “I do believe we’d best either take cover or arm ourselves,” he said, a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. “That’s my official advice as commander, by the way.” Leaning forward slightly, he scraped some snow off a banister to his left, exposing the grey stone and compressing the flakes together between his palms. Taking his sound advice, Marceline quietly took a step backward and slipped into the rather large silhouette cast by Leon.

He eyed the entrance to the inn, apparently waiting for Vesryn to emerge before loosing the snowball. Given his strength, it wasn’t an outlandish possibility that he’d be able to hit someone all the way across the courtyard, either.

The elf swiftly moved out of the inn's doorway, like a child in a pretend game of warfare, which for all intents and purposes, this was. He had an actual implement of war, however. His tower shield led the way, and it was this alone that saved him from a snowy smack in the jaw. With snow sliding down the metallic front of the shield, Vesryn advanced, planting the shield into the ground just as another attack came from Romulus. He began working up a snowball of his own, though his efforts were a little hindered from holding up the shield.

"Is that all? My grandmother has a fiercer attack than this lot."

A soft thud accompanied a snowball striking him in the back; the culprit was soon revealed. Estella stepped out from behind a corner of the inn, one hand holding up part of her cloak, which was for the moment a makeshift basket for what looked like several more snowballs. “Surprise?” She half-smiled, darting away to take cover of her own behind a pile of chopped wood, stacked adjacent to the inn’s other side.

She adopted a steady rate of fire—her accuracy was at least better than Khari’s, though perhaps not by much.

She was certainly, however, not responsible for the volley of perhaps a dozen snowballs that arched onto the field from behind her, pelting anyone unfortunate enough to not duck behind cover in time. From her angle, Marceline could easily discern the cause—Cyrus strolled up behind his sister, wearing a broad grin. With a sharp hand gesture, he levitated another five or six chunks of snow into the air and hurled them as well.

“Asala?” The Qunari woman was indeed not far behind. “Have you ever attempted snow-fort architecture?”

“I have never had snow,” Asala answered cheerfully, the majority of her attention diverted instead toward a decently sized bubble levitating nearby. The bubble was completely opaque, having been filled with snow. “Though, Pierre and I did create a... snow man, back in Haven.” She stared at the snow-filled bubble for a moment before staring at Cyrus with a blank expression for another few moments.

She was quiet, before her eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh!” she exclaimed, and brought the bubble around to their front, morphing and shaping the snow in the air. By the time she sat it down, they had a nice, compressed snow wall between them and the rest of the combatants. With that, she beamed proudly. At least, until she was struck by a snowball.

“Cheating! That’s cheating—,” Zahra cried beneath the hail of levitating snowballs, raining down like arrows. A few had certainly struck their mark. Remnants of snow shook from her shoulders, and hair. If she was at all upset at having clumps of snow mussed in her wild mane, she certainly didn’t show it. Instead it appeared as if she was trudging through the snow and behind Asala’s makeshift wall, hidden from view. At least from the snow-ball churning demon grinning beside Estella. A lone snowball veered over their heads, and Zahra appeared a moment later, further to the right. Arms thrown back. Shuffling through the snow as if it were water. She dipped lower and attempted to tackle Cyrus into a nearby snowdrift, laugh already bubbling from her lips.

They went down in a heap; a pause in the constant barrage of snowballs from the south side allowed an opportunity for counterattack.

With a good deal of the attention turned toward the scuffle between Cyrus and Zahra, Marceline finally peeked out from Leon's shadow. She shot a glance around at the rapidly increasing number of individuals embroiled in their little snow battle. In a one fluid movement, she leaned out from behind Leon and loosed the snowball she'd been holding on to toward Khari. There was a little twist to her lips as she slid closer to her Seeker bulwark. Marceline always got her vengeance.

Above the frosty battle, and across the powdered walls, sat a lone figure. A woman perched across the brickwork like one of Rilien’s cackling ravens, though she hadn’t made a sound. She kicked her legs back and forth and absently fluffed snow from her knees, white-haired and dressed in clothes fit for Skyhold’s nippy weather. A soft brown hood was pulled over her head, but upon closer scrutiny, it appeared as if she was smiling. It pulled against the scar on her face.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Image

Though the fire enveloped her like a shroud, and the heat from the blaze
Reached across the field, Andraste was silent and did not cry out.
And the legionnaires who stood guard nearby
Were shaken, and began to whisper among themselves:
"Is she truly the servant of a god?"
—Canticle of Apotheosis 2:8
Image

The year was almost at its end, and still nothing had been decided.

Snow covered the grounds of Skyhold, and the Inquisition soldiers worked about as hard to keep it clear from the paths as they did fighting in the Hinterlands their first few months. It was relentless, but the fortress refused to be buried. Romulus was improving in the cold, but he still wasn't meant for it. It seemed he could only get away from it in one place.

His quarters were proving to be the best chosen of them all, with ample space and natural warmth from below. It was covered and protected from the snow flurries, but never approached becoming like a cave, as the rough hewn, rocky walls would imply. Perhaps that was just him. Romulus was used to living out of sight, underground if need be.

He and Khari had just concluded another session of training. She was improving quickly, and he was beginning to struggle with finding her new things to improve on. Not that she was a master in hand to hand yet, but Romulus's proficiency as a teacher only stretched so far. Still, he welcomed both the exercise and her company.

He grabbed a towel from a rack on the wall and wiped his face of sweat. He felt tense. Anais had not been back to Skyhold in some time, which to Romulus meant that she felt she was on to something. It would be soon. Perhaps more troubling, his father seemed to persistently avoid him. It wasn't all that large of a fortress, and yet the man was near impossible to find. Romulus wasn't even sure what he wanted from Borja, but this was certainly not it.

He sat down on his bed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you think I should use my birth name?" he asked Khari. "My father said I was born as Tavio. I suppose that would make me Tavio Borja." He looked as though the words tasted a little sour. "Not sure I like the sound of it."

“Hm.” Khari scrunched her nose, distorting the tattoos that lined her face. With one hand, she picked up her foot and stretched it up behind her. It was a common cooldown practice of hers. It didn’t seem to take much effort; her expression was thoughtful and not at all strained. “I feel like I say this a lot, but you should do whatever feels right for you. If you don’t think it suits you, then don’t use it.” Dropping her foot back to the ground, she picked up the other one.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re stuck with whatever name someone else gave you. My name’s Kharisanna.” She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “Which is just ridiculous.” She paused. “Don’t tell Marcy—she’d probably use it.”

Releasing her other foot, she stretched both arms up over her head, twisting her torso to one side and then the other. “You can be Tavio, or Romulus, or
 whatever else you want. You gotta warn me if you’re gonna change though—it’d take me forever to stop calling you Rom.”

He watched her stretch for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Yeah, I don't think I could do it. I like my name." Didn't really matter if someone from the Tevinter Chantry branded him with it. He'd made it his own by this point, and it was simple, to the point. Andraste didn't bother with a family name.

He almost groaned at the comparison. That still needed getting used to.

"I happen to like your name, too," he admitted, getting back to his feet and walking over to his water skin. "It is a bit of a mouthful, though." He tipped the skin and took a long drink. Several short knocks on his door interrupted him halfway through. Setting it back down, he pulled the door open, and found the ever-sullen looking Adan Borja on the other side. Romulus's mouth hung open for a second, completely blank on what to say, but the pirate lord filled in the gap.

"Anais has something," he said, in that grumbling drawl of his. "But it's not going to be simple."

Romulus almost responded with a good to see you too, but the information was important. More important than his lost family relationship, no doubt. He stepped aside, gesturing shortly towards a chair. "That's good, though. What's going on?"

Borja stepped through the opening and sank heavily into the chair, exhaling as he did. He glanced over at Khari. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I could come back. Not like we're leaving today or anything."

Khari dropped her arms, bringing one of them to absently fluff the hair at the back of her head. A few curls fell loose from her braid, floating free at odd angles. She blinked back at Borja, tipping her head to the side. “Uh
 no? Training just finished so
” She glanced between him and Rom, and understanding lit her face. “Oh. Should I leave? If I should you have to say so; I’m not really good with hints and stuff.” She didn’t particularly seem to want to go; clearly the proclamation had at least caught her interest. But she chose not to verbalize any curiosity she might have had.

Romulus looked about to speak up, but Borja opened his mouth first, accompanied by a wave of his hand. "No, no, stay put. Figured you'd want to tag along anyway." He settled his eyes on his son, and leaned forward a little. "One of the leads Anais was working on was tracking down my old acquaintance, Conrado. The one that sold your mother and I out, or so I believe." He grinned then, as though slightly enjoying the delivery. "Bugger's apparently gone grey a bit, but still finds himself in the smuggling game. We go hunt him down and ask some questions, might have a real lead on finding proof of your bloodline."

Romulus honestly hadn't thought of it at the time, but it was a name connected to his parents and their past, specifically his mother's. He would've had contact with a group that wanted her captured or killed for some reason. Even if he didn't have the answers himself, perhaps he could point them in the right direction.

"I'm assuming you tried to find him before? Years ago?"

Borja expected the question. "Aye. I was never much good at investigating. He disappeared after I didn't die from his little betrayal. Probably when he heard I was alive, and coming for him. Guess he couldn't stand staying hidden forever. Or he made a mistake. Either way, we'll get our hands on him."

Khari crossed her arms, shifting her weight a bit. “You think he still knows how to find whoever wanted the information he gave away? It was a pretty long time ago
”

"Andraste was a long time ago, too. If some group wanted to kill my wife because of her bloodline, I figure they're still around. Maybe Conrado would know how to get in touch. Maybe not. Either way, it's the best lead right now... and I could go for a spot of revenge." He stared hard at Romulus for a moment, possibly trying to glean something in his eyes. "What do you say to that, boy? Let's go give the bastard what he deserves."

Having never met the man, Romulus had only Borja's word that he deserved the revenge that was planned for him, but even still... it stirred something in him. That he could look upon a face that was perhaps directly responsible for the course his life had taken. And that there was even a slim chance he coud lead them onwards, to some answers.

"Where do we find him?" he asked, his answer evident in the question. Borja rubbed his hands together in pleasure.

"Right, this is where it gets tricky. Conrado's got a gift for pissing people off it seems. Landed himself in hot water with the Qunari. Anais says he's in their custody, bound for Par Vollen and some hellish punishment there. If we want to give him our own punishment, we're gonna have to grab him before he gets there. Fortunately, the Qunari vessel was damaged and had to dock at Llomerryn. If we leave soon, we can pull this off."

“Never been on a real voyage before,” Khari observed. She turned to Rom, tipping her head towards the door. “Figure we should talk to the Commander or something? Might be a good idea to bring a few more friends.”

Romulus nodded, and Borja seemed to agree with the sentiment as well. "Should enlist that pirate queen of yours. Dare say her ship might be faster than mine. Mine's outfitted more for war, and we can't really go attacking a Qunari ship in the harbor of Llomerryn."

"We'll go speak with Leon immediately then, get everything arranged. Thank you... for bringing this to me." He'd almost wanted to add father after the thank you, but somehow it just felt too awkward to say. He suspected Borja might have been uncomfortable hearing it. Then again, maybe it was just him.

"Thank Anais, not me. She's the one with the hound's nose, sniffing these things out. Might be your spymaster should hire her, after this." The thanks were largely wasted it seemed, for Borja clearly missed that he meant thanks for delivering it personally. Rather than simply speaking with one of the cultists, who frankly were a little too devoted for Romulus to be comfortable with.

Borja stood, and nodded towards Khari. "Right, I'll leave you to it. Word'll be sent along to the redhead, she'll likely meet us near Llomerryn." Before Romulus could so much as utter a word in farewell, he was out the door, nearly slamming it behind him. Romulus stood still for a moment, mouth slightly gaping, before he blinked and turned to Khari.

"I feel like I want to say something to him... but I never know what." He shrugged, frustrated.

She huffed a short sigh, shaking her head slightly. “For what it’s worth, I think that might be mutual.” Khari raised a hand, setting it on his shoulder and giving a soft squeeze. “Maybe it’ll get easier when all of this is figured out.” She smiled, but it didn’t have the fierce happiness of her usual grins. It was a lot smaller, and maybe even a little sad.

It vanished quickly. “For now, let’s focus on the present. We’ve got answers to find, right?”

He nodded, exhaling a fair amount of tension that was seemingly trapped in his chest. "Right."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Crimson sails flapped and rustled overhead as the Riptide sliced through oncoming waves. There was an occasional salty spray that broke over the wooden figurehead. It crowned over the painted face and pattered across the forecastle. It was difficult enough to miss the elegantly crafted woman staring off into the distance, breasts bared and hands planted across her knees. Her midsection was covered with wooden ruffles. Painted with the same rouge as the sails, though it hardly applied any modesty. Whoever had etched its face had certainly spent a painstaking amount of time on it. She nearly looked real. In the ship’s belly lied the hold and the crew’s quarters, individually decorated and ridiculously large. Hammocks, wooden beds built into the walls, and an assortment of chests. There was a small stock of barrels in the furthest chamber, filled with who knows what and a makeshift kitchen that appeared as if it’d just been built.

Borja had certainly been accurate when he’d said that the little vessel sailed truer than his own. Quicker, at least. A great deal smaller than his heavily-gunned battleship, the Riptide speedily progressed towards their destination—where to? Zahra wasn’t entirely sure, but when Rom and Khari had approached her with the request, she was loath to deny them. Her ship, she’d said, was as good as theirs. Always, anytime. Besides, she’d been itching for a reason to clamber back onto these decks. She’d missed it. Dearly. Skyhold was all well and fine, but it paled in comparison to the freedom she felt striking across the seas, an expanse of glass or choppy waves. As much as Zahra missed the cawing of gulls, and the salty breeze kissing her cheeks
 it reminded her of loss, of the absence of Aslan who’d always stood at her side. A vigilant giant keeping her from tumbling straight off the cliffs she toed so close to.

Even if Skyhold’s chill still nipped at their heels, she’d chosen a lighter fare. She assumed the weather would incline itself to her preferred state, after all. Zahra wore a loose cotton shirt tucked into tight leather pants, with a red sash and thick belt wound around her waist. She had her sleeves pulled up to her elbows and oddly enough had forgone wearing boots. Riptide’s deck was smooth enough to abandon good manners and civilities. This was her ship after all. She hadn’t left her companions with any instructions other than to enjoy the ride, explore the ship as they saw fit. They could sneak down into the hold’s kitchen and nab some biscuits before Brialle hid them away or help Nuka shuffle around the ship, tugging on the rigging with curse-words sifting through her lips. Or simply find a place to sleep. Garland was snoozing near the forecastle and his figurehead. Impressively ignoring the spray of water splashing across his face. He could sleep anywhere, that one.

Zahra found herself lounging near Nixium and the Riptide’s helm. Usually she’d harass the little elf. Stick her hands through the cylindrical spokes or teasingly jerk the rudder in the opposite direction. Anything to acquire an annoyed grumble, or a small, steepled smile depending on the occasion. But today, she wasn’t in the mood. She hunched over the chestnut railing and leaned her elbows across it. In these moments, you couldn't tell where the gray skies ended and the gray seas began. Thick clouds swirled in a tumult above, blue-gray waves swirled below, crashing into the side of the ship. It reminded her of things. Memories, mostly. Of the day she’d first stepped foot aboard a ship. A pirate ship. How ridiculously terrified she’d been. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting a familiar face, and chirped a quiet laugh when she saw no one standing there.

Ridiculous.

Something nudged into her shoulder. Zahra glanced over to her right and faced a tin flask: two inches from her face. Behind it was Nixium’s impassive expression. Betraying nothing behind those bright eyes of hers. Not even a smile, nor a word or explanation. She supposed she didn’t need one. Her smile simpered into something less wistful as she accepted the flask. She twisted off the lid and tipped her head back to seize a generous mouthful.

Ridiculous.

"Borja's impressed," came the voice of Romulus, and soon the visage of the man himself appeared nearing the helm. "I heard him say we're making good time. Thought I'd pass the compliment along, since he's unlikely to do it himself." He was dressed comfortably again, in a loose tunic and pants, and only a pair of sandals separating his feet from the ship's deck. His beard, too, he'd trimmed, down to its lowest layer. Likely he wanted to keep it for their return to the cold when this was over.

Romulus took a seat on a nearby railing, keeping himself anchored with one hand grabbing a rope tied up to a sail. He looked comfortable on the water, at home, even. If he was putting on some kind of act, it was a good one. "Thanks again for doing this. I know my father was sparse with the details. I think he sees you as a rival, actually." He seemed to remember himself, and walked to within arm's reach of the pair.

"Don't think we've met yet," he said, addressing Nixium. He outstretched a bare hand. "I'm Romulus."

Zahra spotted Romulus before he spoke. Or the top of his head anyhow. Ascending the wooden stairs, quiet as a mouse. If he’d wanted to startle them, she doubted it would’ve been difficult. She passed the sloshing flask back to Nixium and stretched her arms up towards the gray skies, wriggling her fingers. It’d been awhile since she’d had so many passengers aboard the Riptide. People not officially belonging to her crew
 but somehow managing to fit in just the same. She felt a crick in her neck and internally blamed old age. Maker knows she wasn’t as young as she used to be. “That’s just like him,” her laugh was genuine, and a little reflective, “Stubborn man. You’re right. I’d never hear it.”

She watched as Romulus perched himself across the railing, seeming every bit a sailor. Or pirate, if she had her way. She wondered just how different his life might’ve been if he’d been raised by Borja himself. It’d taken her awhile to even believe they were related. Would they have met on the seas? Would Borja have taken a different path altogether? Lived a nice and quiet life in the hills. It almost made her laugh. From what she’d heard, they’d been through quite a lot before finally appearing in Skyhold. Of course, she hadn’t broached the subject. And wouldn’t unless he asked. Though she felt a small tickle of regret at how she behaved in Redcliffe. At Rom’s father, no less. All bared fangs and venom. She’d have to apologize, someday. Perhaps.

“What kind of pirate would I be if I couldn’t help my friends?” It was a rhetorical question because at this point she was treading past the line of contractual responsibilities. This time, she’d strayed too close. She supposed it made her a weak mercenary. One that wasn’t so inclined to choose wealth over her companions. An odd transition to be sure, and one she found not so unpleasant. She pushed the wild mess of curls from her eyes and nodded her head. It appeared as if she wasn’t quite used to being thanked either. “Rival? You know, Borja’s one of the greatest sea pirates I’ve ever seen. Doubt he thought much of me when I was a just a whelp. Thought I was too mouthy for my own good. He’s probably right.” She held a finger in front of her lips and snorted, “Don’t tell him I said so.”

The red-headed elf regarded him coolly. Not in the manner that appeared impolite, or rude. Simply one belonging to an individual who preferred watching and listening over speaking herself. Nixium tilted her head and trailed her eyes across his outstretched hand. She blinked up at him and reached past his proffered hand, grabbing onto his forearm instead. A firm grip. If she was at all perplexed by the odd handshake, she gave no indication. “Nixium. Navigator. I keep this one from sinking our ship.” It might’ve been a joke if she’d laughed or smiled but she only nodded.

Behind them, Zahra snorted louder. “She isn’t lying.”

"Good thing you're here then," Romulus chortled back. "We've got a long ways to go still, and then a long ways back." The humor faded from his tone, an indication that he was moving to some business at hand. Indeed, he hadn't yet told her where they going, or what they were doing when they got there.

"We're headed to Llomerryn, or nearby at least. There's a Qunari ship docked there with a prisoner that we need to recover, man named Conrado. Long story short, he's an underworld sort that sold out my mother and father a long time ago. Someone had reason enough to want my mother dead for her bloodline, and if Conrado can point us in their direction, we might have a real lead on proof of my ancestry." He made his way back to his position on the railing, taking a seat again. "Not the simplest operation, I know. But you shouldn't have to risk the ship. I figure we'll want to go in with something a little smaller."

“That can be arranged.” The new voice was Leon’s distinctively-accented bass. The Seeker had shed most of his customary layers in concession to the rapidly-warming climate, though he still exposed no more than his face and forearms to the sun. He looked like the type that burned easy, between the blond hair and the fair complexion.

The tread of his boots was soft over the planks of the deck—either he hadn’t taken long to adjust to the rolling of the ship, or else he had experience with boat travel already. He spoke to all three of them, though perhaps mostly Romulus. “There’s not as much Chantry presence in Rivain as elsewhere, but for our purposes, that’s good. What is there aren’t templars or the sorts that speak the Chant on street corners. We do have agents, though, and more than one unmarked boat, I’m sure.” It seemed to go without saying that he could request such a thing and receive it.

Zahra said little to interrupt the flow of conversation. Only nodded when it was appropriate. She hadn’t been privy to any battle plans, though she felt a little more at ease knowing why they were going
 if not where. Llomerryn? She’d honestly never been there, but she’d sailed close enough to spot their terrifying ships. Even she wasn’t stupid enough to trespass too close. Dreadnoughts could tear them to pieces. And as restrained as Aslan was with his history, he’d instructed her how to avoid such conflicts. Though, she would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t want to see more Qunari. His people. His ways. A shame this wasn’t a frivolous occasion. She glanced between Leon and Romulus, resting her hands back at her hips.

Rivain. Home, then. A wistful sigh sifted from between Zahra’s lips. It was dangerously close to home, in any case. A rough fishing village surrounded by piers and docks and old, creaking boats. She didn’t often wonder what her family was up to. Though she missed her brothers, dearly. Though even less of the fiancee she’d fled from. She did think of the day Aslan appeared in the sour-smelling tavern. Remembered him proposing that she simply leave if she hated living there so much. Easy for him to say. And then she’d gone as if she’d never been there in the first place. Stepped off the docks without so much as a backwards glance. They’d sail straight past it if her estimations were right.

She shook the thoughts from her head and studied Romulus. Never thought she’d be in the business of recapturing prisoners. She had no qualms who they faced in Llomerryn. Or how they’d pull it off. Nor did she understand the weight of this particular pursuit, but she did know that it was important to him. That’s all that mattered.

"That's good," Romulus responded. "In any case, I can't imagine we'll get in and get out without coming across anyone. Even Qunari ships aren't that big. Best to go without anything that can link us with the Inquisition. Goes without saying that I don't want to bring any unnecessary trouble on us." Killing Qunari unprovoked was a certainly a good way to do that, even if Skyhold was about as far as possible from Par Vollen.

"Somehow I doubt the Qunari would be willing to just hand him over. They don't like to bend on these sorts of things, from what I've seen." There was something a little dark in the last words Romulus spoke, but he didn't elaborate on it any further.

“Their intelligence-gathering capabilities are also very good in Llomerryn,” Leon pointed out. “We’re going to need to be as unobtrusive as possible as soon as we hit land—even a bit before. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a viddathari that close to Kont-Ar.” He frowned slightly. “Actually, you’re probably going to want to keep your face hidden as much as you can. I don’t know if the tattoos would be recognizable, but they might be.” He gestured vaguely to his own visage as he said it.

Before any sort of response could be made to that, there was a soft groan from off to the left. Khari, looking distinctly green around the gills, staggered towards the prow of the boat, muttering something impossible to hear. She hit the railing hands-first, bending over it for a few seconds before she fell into a seated position, dangling her legs over the edge and pressing her forehead into one of the vertical bars keeping the handrail in place.

“Zee
 you’re great and your crew is great, but I hate your boat. Ugh.” She paused to take several deep breaths. “How do I make it stop moving?”

“You should see the other boats. Riptide’s smooth as butter in comparison.” Zahra snorted through her laughter and rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles. She hardly looked sympathetic when she sauntered over and leaned against the railing to Khari’s side, “An acquired taste, I think.”

Asala followed close behind, whom in contrast seemed right at home on the deck of the ship. She too had shed much of the layers she'd usually wore at Skyhold. She walked barefooted along the wooden deck, with loose breeches that cut off at her calf and a shirt that exposed her midriff. In fact she even appeared to have a slight skip in her step as she came to stand over Khari.

Asala bent over and gently gathered the woman's fiery red hair in her hands to keep it out of her face. The look on her face was one of pity as gazed upon the poor creature. “You, uh... do not,” Asala answered. “But you will get used to it. In time. Maybe.” She did not seem at all convinced by her own words. It was all she could do to shoot the others a shaky smile that all but said probably not.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
They’d been in Llomerryn for the better part of a day, docked at the harbor. Khari was itching to set her feet back on land, but they were waiting for Anais to show up, and apparently it was better if they kept themselves mostly out of sight. Her guts were not thanking her—they still hadn’t settled, even if the boat wasn’t really moving much now. It was better if she wasn’t below, though. Khari had sprawled herself out on the deck near the helm, arms thrown out to either side, obeying the injunction not to make a spectacle of herself and her body’s demand for fresh air at the same time.

The night sky was pretty here, without much around to block the view. Still, she was mostly sure she liked it better at Skyhold. A wave rolled into the harbor, dipping the boat slightly underneath her. She groaned softly when something churned in her innards. The idea of sailing was great—too bad the reality sucked so much.

Zahra stood off a few feet from Khari’s right side, looking every bit the forlorn lover. Arms splayed across the railing. Finger trailing circles around the knots of the wood. Almost as if she were bidding someone farewell for a time. It would’ve looked peculiar to anyone else, or perhaps, as if she were deep in thought. Not quite so armed as the other group, but prepared all the same, the captain’s bow was strapped to her back and her thin rapier hung at her hip.

Soft footfalls across the deck heralded Rom's approach. He'd been restless ever since they arrived, to say the least. He was out of the comfortable travel clothes and into something more suitable for their mission: near black garb, and next to nothing that would make noise when he moved. He was armed to the teeth as well, even if not all of his weapons were visible. One did not take on even an unprepared portion of the Qunari's military arm lightly.

"She's here," he said softly, giving Khari a squeeze on the shoulder and pointing towards the dock. "About time."

Anais was also out of the usual half-plate they'd grown accustomed to seeing her in, instead wearing nondescript black clothing, including a light hooded cloak, which she currently had drawn over her vibrant red hair. She was accompanied by two others, one who appeared to be her own agent, or fellow cultist, and the other an agent of the Inquisition. It was only Anais who came aboard, though.

"Your Worship," she greeted Rom first, with a respectful bow of her head. Rom impatiently waited for her to finish. When Anais raised her head again, she glanced around at those assembled on the deck. "Is the Qunari mage here? Asala, was it? I've seen to it that the Qunari are expecting a saarebas. Tantalizing bait."

As if on cue, the Qunari woman in question strode out from under deck, her attention focused on the harbor in the distance. She lingered a step beyond the threshold, looking up and down the coast for a moment as if searching for something. Eventually however, she turned and finally noticed that all eyes were turned toward her. She flicked between them as her head tilted quizzically.

“Um...?”

"Saarebas," Anais repeated, her tone indicating a low estimation of Asala's intelligence. "Bait. You're to lead as many Qunari as possible away from their ship, thus giving us a better chance to retrieve the prisoner. This may require you to attack some of them, and it will require some endurance. Are you capable?"

Asala noticably twitched at being called Saarebas, but otherwise said nothing. Instead, she averted her gaze to their feet.

Rom had crossed his arms by this point, leaning back against the mast of the ship. "You won't be going alone," he said. "We'll be splitting up, so you'll have some people to watch your back." He looked expectantly in Khari's direction. "Right?"

Khari gave Anais a sidelong look for all of a second before grinning at Asala. “We’re gonna go on a merry little chase, you and me. And Cap’n Zee.” Oh, that had rhymed. Awesome.

She figured she was pretty useless for sneaking around and onto occupied boats. She could be quiet enough, but the armor clanked and there was no way she was going without it for a job like this, so she’d decided pretty early that she’d play to her strengths and be a huge pain in the ass instead. There were plenty of other people who could do the rest of it.

“Rom, Leon, Anais, and Borja here are gonna get on board the ship while we’re running around with Qunari on our heels.” Asala didn’t exactly know the whole plan yet; Khari figured she deserved to be told. “But all we’ve gotta worry about is not getting skewered by javelins. Sounds like a good time, right?”

She didn’t expect agreement.

She was not disappointed. “No... It does not,” she answered flatly. Once more, Asala flicked her eyes between them before she signed through her nose, apparently resigning to her task. “I do not suppose there is another way... But if this will help you...” she added, looking at Romulus while she spoke. She then looked down at her bare feet and shrugged. “I will need boots,” she stated, returning back under deck to undoubtedly go fetch a pair.

"It'll have to do," Anais said, seemingly more to herself than anyone. "The boat is prepared and nearby, Your Worship. We should move into position."

Borja started down the ship's ramp onto the dock, sheathing a knife at his waist. "About time. I've waited long enough." Rom made his way over to Khari, offering a squeeze on the shoulder. He looked a bit uncomfortable about everything as well.

"Look after Asala. And don't do anything too stupid. No one should get hurt for this. We'll make it fast."

“No risk, no reward.” Khari meant it in jest, though—it would be one thing if she were doing this by herself, but there were other people to think about here. Asala in particular was not likely to enjoy the experience of being chased around by a bunch of the same people that nearly sewed her mouth shut or whatever else Qunari did with their mages. Khari might not be the quickest on the emotional uptake, so to speak, but even she knew that everyone had their sore spots. If they could have done this without putting her at risk, she’d have wanted to.

She flashed Rom a jagged half-smile, clapping him on the upper part of his arm. “We’ll be fine. I’m almost as good at getting out of trouble as I am at getting into it.”



Had she been with anyone else, those other people probably would have known better than to let Khari be more-or-less in charge of the plan. But she was with Asala, who was probably honestly a bit too timid to register a complaint, and Zee, who would probably also think that what she had planned was a great idea. Or at least a fun one.

Llomerryn was actually pretty bustling, even at this time of night. Most of the buildings near the harbor had candles burning in the windows or lanterns outside or whatever other light they needed. The smell of burning incense and spices Khari didn’t know the names for hung thick and heavy on the salt air—she could taste it all on the back of her tongue. She had the feeling that some of the incense was actually more like what her uncle put in his ironbark pipe, only headier.

The street was flanked with little stands as well, draped in colorful fabrics she couldn’t fully appreciate in the semidark, embroidered with metallic thread that she could. All kinds of food was available for perusal: fruit she’d never seen, fish right from the ocean, and round fuzzy coconuts she kind of wanted to try.

The hawkers weren’t as avid in the evening as they were at other times; everyone seemed content to call out occasionally and otherwise leave the small crowd traversing the night bazaar to their business. At least that made it slightly easier to tear her attention from all the food and focus on the task at hand.

It wasn’t unusual for Khari to be the person who stuck out like a sore thumb in whatever situation. So it was unsurprising that she did now. Qunari weren’t that hard to find around here, and of course Zee blended on her own home turf, so to speak. But she hadn’t seen many other elves, and not a single Dalish, which was pretty predictable. It would be to their advantage, actually.

Their targets were mostly clustered near the docks proper, casting wary eyes about the immediate area. As Anais had promised, they looked to be expecting trouble; all of them were armed. The solemn looks on their faces could have been that, or just the fact that none of them had a sense of humor. Was humor outlawed in the Qun? She’d ask Asala, but that might get her a serious answer.

So instead of contemplating it further, Khari did what she usually did and waved goodbye to caution, happy to see it go. “Hey you! Big, grouchy Qunari! It’s a couple of infidels and their illegal mage friend!” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Asala and grinned. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Behind her, Asala sighed and lifted both hands into the air. They were immediately enveloped in her blue energy to truly drive mage home.

It didn’t take the Qunari long to decide. Khari’s eyes rounded; she ducked the first javelin, which buried itself in the post of a small fruit cart. “Sorry!” The merchant looked at her like she had two heads for a second, but she couldn’t really stick around to explain.

Time to run.

A loud laugh sounded across the throng of wooden carts laden with fruit. A few heads turned. Customers who’d heard Khari’s catcalls. Wide and reflective as soon as Asala’s electric-blue fists pumped in the air. Zahra’s own eyes were two mischievous saucers, shoulders bristling with giddy energy. She grappled onto the nearest cart and hefted it over with a grunt. It caught another javelin as its contents scattered across the ground. Bright red apples rolled towards their feet as they advanced. Shouting angrily, shaking their weapons, while she crooned with her hands cupped to her mouth, “Come get us, flaming shites!”

With that she tugged at Asala’s elbow in order to turn her around in the opposite direction. She pointed out a side-alley with stairs and mouthed there, there.

A flash of blue, and the sound of a javelin clattering harmlessly to the ground followed. With that out of the way, Asala turned with the tug of her sleeve and followed close behind Khari and Zahra. From behind them, harsh cries of Qunlat vocabulary could be heard, Saarebas chief among them. They had not escaped Asala, judging by her downcast brow and tight lipped frown plastered to her face. Clearly, she was not enjoying it near as much as the other two.

Khari was determined to have her fun regardless. When the two of them ducked into one alleyway, she split off, heading down another. The general idea was that it’d be good to split the pursuing forces, but she hadn’t counted on just how singleminded the Qunari were going to be about this. Not one of them followed her, all of them pursuing the fleeing Saarebas with the fervor of true damn believers.

Well then. That narrowed the options a little.

Accelerating until she was moving at a breakneck sprint, Khari hung a sharp left at the next intersection, bringing herself into the path of Zee and Asala, who were about half a block down, their pursuers hot on their heels. How to slow down a rampaging squad of Qunari, then? Khari cast her eyes around the market street, but it wasn't until she turned them up that she got her first really good idea.

Hopping back into a run, she increased the distance between herself and the others, getting the lead she’d need to keep if this was going to work. There was a big crash behind her; maybe Zee had overturned another cart or something. Visualizing her path, Khari jumped, landing atop a shipping crate stamped with a big, fancy red logo—probably Orlesian Port Authority. Planting her hands on the next one, she swung herself up, then jumped vertically, catching the sill of the second-story window above. Using it to crawl along the wall, she hopped off onto the nearest rooftop, running along the edge and drawing Intercessor at the same time.

The market streets were festooned with many colorful fabric banners at irregular intervals, some of them proclaiming the names of nearby businesses—others seemed to be there for no other reason than to make the place more colorful and visually-interesting. Hefting her sword in both hands, Khari crouched at the edge of the roof, watching the approach of the runners.

No sooner had Asala and Zee made it past below than she swung, cleaving through the rope securing one such heavy banner in place with no difficulty. Bereft of support on her side, it fell with a thick flutter, blanketing the Qunari in dense blue canvas, still held up at the other end by the rope. The first few were horribly twisted in it, weapons pinned at their sides. The ones after had to step around with more care if they didn’t want to get entangled themselves.

“Keep going!” She shouted at the others, already on the move again herself. “I’ve got a few more things to try!”

As long as they could stay ahead of their hunters, they’d do fine.

Zahra skidded to a halt as soon as the heavy fabric blanketed the Qunari pursuers behind them. She grinned up at Khari and threw her a thumbs up, though she was quick to turn back towards her running companion. There was an imperceptible shift on her face, an expression that likened concerned rather than pure fun. It seemed as if she noticed the houndish behavior of their pursuers, or at least that they hadn`t been all too concerned by Khari`s disappearance. She shouldered Asala forward and smiled, “Whatever they’re saying—don’t listen. Run ahead, I’ll give them something to piss their pants about.”

With that said, Zahra swung on her heels, facing the scrambling Qunari and slipped Truthbringer from her shoulder. She notched an arrow and aimed towards them. She loosed in one fluid, graceful movement. It didn’t meet it’s mark. Not in the conventional sense, anyhow. Only grazed the closest one’s arm. He yowled and cursed something she wouldn’t have been able to understand. Deft fingers plucked two more arrows from her quiver. Loosed them frighteningly close, though it did little to stave their advance. As soon as they ventured closer she turned back towards the direction Asala had run and jogged at her heels, pulling the bow back over her head so that it rested on her back.

Khari, meanwhile, kept pace from above. Only a couple Qunari had so much as bothered to throw javelins at her—even those seemed like an afterthought. So she disrupted them with whatever came to hand. Another banner, an awning with round, decorative lanterns to roll around on the street, the window boxes from several buildings
 none of it was enough to do any great harm, but it was annoying enough to slow them down.

By this point, she figured they’d been running long enough to give Rom and the rest of them time enough to get onto the ship, grab Conrado, and leave, so she had to shift gears—now she needed a way to get them clear of their pursuers so they could disappear into the crowd.

From her vantage, she picked out the narrowest alley she saw. “Guys, hang a right!”

Khari jumped down from her rooftop, sliding down a fabric overhang to land solidly on her feet. This was really the first time in a while that being small and having haphazard armor without too many solid pieces had helped her, rather than the opposite.

She waited for the other two to run into the alleyway she’d picked, then grabbed a fruit cart with wheels, dumping the coconuts onto the ground and sliding it in front of the alley entrance behind them. Intercessor made quick work of the axels, meaning it wouldn’t be quite as easy to move aside. “Hey Asala, how ‘bout a nice barrier?” The small size of the street should make that possible, right?

Asala nodded and tossed up the requested barrier. The Qunari began to trip over themselves as they tried to navigate the coconuts, but instead more often that not an errant step caused them to slip on the rounded surfaces. The ones that were lucky or deft enough to maneuver the minefield of coconuts had to contend with the downed cart-- which a few just careened into. The one or two that also managed to vault the cart did not expect the final barrier however, as they struck luminescent wall hard enough to send them back into the cart behind them.

Asala took a moment to belt something out in Qunlat before turning and quickly making her way down the alley, her glowing hands that kept the shield in place raised above her head as she went.

Khari's laughter lingered long after they were gone.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
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Emptiness is an illusion. Beneath my feet,
Grains of sand beyond counting.
Above my head, a sea of stars.
Alone, they are small,
A faint and flickering light in the darkness,
A lost and fallen fragment of earth.

Alone, they make the emptiness real.
Together, they are the bones of the world.
—An excerpt from the Tome of Koslun, The Body Canto
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It was strange, to have the others follow behind her. Usually, it was the opposite, with Asala gladly allowing someone else to take the lead while she walked behind them and away from their expectant stares. What was stranger still was the fact that it didn't bother her as much as it supposedly should have. She was giddy, as it turned out, a lightness to her step and an excitement bubbling up from deep within. How long had it been since she'd last been home? Way back when Meraad decided for them that they should set out and seek the newly freed mages to better hone their skills. They were naive and ultimately optimistic back then, not to mention extremely lucky that they had happened upon Aurora and her group to learn under. That was four years ago, a long time to be away from home.

The Riptide laid anchor some ways behind them, hidden in a small bay, it was there they saw the first signs of habitation. Several small fishing boats had laid upturned on the sand, and Asala had revealed that fish had been a mainstay of their diet. A well worn path carved in land, running parallel to a mountain range to their west. Once it had been decided that they were to finally visit her home, Asala had pointed its location out to Zahra on a map, midway along Rivain's eastern coast, on the other side of the mountains from the country's capital of Dairsmuid.

She spun in the middle of a step, turning to the others that followed her. "We should not be too much further now," she said with a smile. The climate was tropically warm, and her dress showed. She was without her crimson cloak, and instead wore no shoes, light and airy breeches that flapped in the coastal winds, and a shirt with the midriff exposed. It only made sense that she feel at home at home.

Leon seemed to have made no concessions at all for the climate, but if that caused him discomfort, he certainly wasn't showing it. He pursed his lips slightly when she spoke, shifting his eyes so he was looking over her shoulder and towards the horizon ahead of them. “I suppose I should have asked earlier, but are you sure that the rest of us will be welcome? It can hardly be the policy of a group hiding from the Qunari to allow anyone at all within their settlement."

Asala thought about it for a moment as she walked backwards. The thought truly hadn't ever crossed her mind, she just assumed that it would've been fine. Eventually however, she shrugged and wore a sweet smile, "It will be fine," she said, dismissively. Spinning back on her heel, she continued to lead them down the path, but she continued to speak. "See, Ash-Rethsaam is small enough to not warrant attention from the Mainland and hidden enough to escape prying eyes. They have other things to worry about than a small Tal-Vashoth commune-- Or, at least, that is what Tammy had told me," she explained, throwing back a warm smile. There were days, especially when they first arrived, that Asala had worried that her new home would found by the Qunari.

Then she realized that may not have been what he meant. "Oh," she said, turning around again, "If you mean because that you are not, uh... Qunari," she said, tapping on her horns to indicate she meant the race, not the religion, "Then do not worry. There were other elves and humans among us as well," she added, though she did linger on Leon for a moment. Granted, none of them were as large as he was.

Zahra stretched her arms above her head in a wide, cat-like manner. As if she were one, basking in the sun. For all appearances, she was far happier on this type of land then she’d ever been at Skyhold. Of course, the weather might have had something to do with it. She’d forgone wearing shoes as well, kicking up sand between her wriggling toes, though she held her boots over her shoulder, buckles grasped in her hand. As far as clothes were concerned, she’d shed her warmer garments, and instead chose more comfortable fares: a loose white shirt with no sleeves, a brown leather vest with half the lacings undone, and a pair of puffed blue and teal trousers cinched slightly below her knees.

She hummed a tune in the back of her throat and joined Leon at his side, watching as Asala skipped ahead and turned so that she was walking backwards. By the slight frown on her lips, it appeared as if she hadn’t thought of their racial inclinations either. She looked to the horizon around Asala’s midriff, because she was, after all, quite short. The frown only lasted a fraction of a second, because the excitement radiating off the small captain was palpable, barely contained. “I’m sure we won’t be thrown into any cages, what with our esteemed guide here,” she added a toss of her wild hair. There was a slight pause, and one of Zahra’s hands lifted just below Leon’s chin. “Besides, you’d fit right in. You’re practically a giant.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, dry as the sand surrounding them. Nonetheless, he seemed satisfied enough by Asala’s reassurances, though that didn’t quite stop him from looking around with a certain wariness and caution. Maybe nothing would have.

With that settled, Asala turned back toward the path in front of them. It wasn't long that something else caught her attention, and this time it wasn't behind her. Off to the side of their trail came a rustling underneath the foliage and a pair of low voices coming with it. Asala came to stop to peer toward the sounds, intently curious as to what could be making it. Or rather, who. It wasn't an animal-- no animal she knew of laughed like that, and the footfalls were too heavy to belong to some other creature. As she waited, an excitement wound through her frame. It was soon thereafter that they revealed themselves.

A pair of men stepped out of the brush. One was very obviously Qunari, young, with a pair of sweeping horns, a bronze skin tone and a bloodied spear held in his off hand. His man hand was occupied holding a pole on his shoulder. The pole held the creature that the blood on his spear belonged to, a large boar with glistening ivory tusks. The other man, the one who held the other end of the pole, and laboriously at that, was an elf who stood about a head and a half shorter than the Qunari. Their conversation quickly came to a stop as the two of them caught sight of Asala and her friends.

They were quiet for a moment, both Asala and the men, both parties looking the other up and down. It wasn't long before recognition struck the man. "Asala?" he asked, incredulous.

It took a moment longer for Asala to recognize his face, but eventually she did. "Rashad?" She asked, taking a step toward him. That was all it took. Rashad dropped the pole holding the boar, leaving the elven man scrambling forward with the creature's entire weight now on his shoulder alone. Rashad clasped Asala's shoulders and took a closer look, as if to confirm that it was really her. She tensed initially at the sudden contact, but quickly relaxed, overjoyed because she found some one she recognized, and recognized her. Granted, she didn't remember his horns being as large as they were.

Apparently satisfied that, yes, it was her, he laughed and brought her in close for a hug, despite her small squeak. She soon returned his hug, and when he released her, he began to speak in Qunlat. "It's how long since I last saw you? Three? Four years? And here we are tripping over you. Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" While he spoke, the elven man had shucked his end of the pole and came to stand between both Qunari, his arms crossed and disappointment in his face.

"Asala." He said in a monotone. Now that he was closer, and no longer obscured by Rashad's large frame, it was clear that the elf was close to the same age as his partner.

"Rhys..." She replied, rather embarrassed by his terse tone.

"You caught us woefully unprepared," He said glancing down at the blood on his leathers. When his gaze returned to her, he stared for a moment more before the thin lipped frown he wore broke into a wide smile. "It's really good to see you again."

"It's good to see you both too," she added, laughing despite herself.

There was a semi-polite pause there, after which someone behind Asala cleared their throat.

“I'm gonna go ahead and say these are friends of yours, though I caught maybe four words of that, and three of them were names." Khari didn't seem upset with this, really; even her professed confusion was hardly in evidence on her face. On the contrary, she was grinning, arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow arched. Romulus was a little more straight faced beside her, and seemed to be following the conversation better. He glanced sideways at Asala.

"Introduce us to your friends, Asala?"

With that, Asala remembered she had brought her friends with her. Both Rashad and Rhys noticed too, considering that they both looked past her toward her entourage. "Oh! Yes, um. Heh, sorry," she said with a blush and apologetic bow. She then gestured toward the Qunari first "Well, this is Rashad. He arrived a few years after I had. He was Ashaad under the Qun," she said, glancing at the man, "A scout," she explained. "He... doesn't like to talk about it though, she said, shooting him an apologetic smile. He only raised an eyebrow and tilted his head quizzically.

"Still doesn't speak much of the Common Tongue, unfortunately," the elf added with a shot to his ribs. "They don't train the military for that," he added with a mischievous smile. "I am Rhys," he said with a deep, but playful bow. "I was Ashaad as well, his partner, when I followed the big oaf out." He nodded to Asala for her to continue.

"Yes, well. Um," she stuttered for a moment before slipping back into Qunlat, "Rashad, Rhys, these are my friends. This is Khari," she said, pointing to the woman in question. "The man with the beard is Romulus, the woman over there is Captain Zahra, and the tall one back there is Leon." she introduced.

The two men nodded along as Asala called them out, at least until she got to Leon. Rhys chuckled to himself while Rashad seemed taken aback by his size. It was unlikely that he'd seen a human that could match him in size. That was sure to be a running theme, Asala noted to herself. Personally, Asala had gotten used to it, and only noticed it when someone else did. "What are they feeding them?" he asked, "And where is Meraad? Honestly, I thought he would be the one leading." With the name of her brother, Asala's mood visibly shifted, and her eyes fell.

"He's... not coming."

The tone of the answer was all that they seemingly needed. Even for those who could not understand Qunlat, Meraad's name and the way she answered it should have been enough. Rashad's smile fell into a deep frown and Rhys only covered his mouth. "Oh... I am... sorry Asala. I didn't know..."

A moment of silence passed before Rhys clapped, ripping everyone from their melancholy. "Right. Well. We should be getting back to the village then, yes? I'm sure Tammy wants to see you," he said, wearing the largest smile he could manage, considering the news. He then pointed to Leon and spoke again, "Hey you, big man. Leon was it? If could do me a favor and help Rashad carry the hog back to the village, I would be fiercely appreciative. Sometimes he forgets that he's worth two of me," he added, his arms crossed.

Leon’s face hadn’t changed much over the duration of the conversation, making it difficult to tell if he’d followed anything but the obvious. Then again, he had spoken Qunlat the first time he met Meraad, so maybe he had. He furrowed his brows slightly when Rhys addressed him, glancing back towards the hunters’ quarry. He spared a glance at Asala, then shrugged.

“Very well.” He moved over to the back end of the pole, his boots sinking slightly in the sand every time he took a step. “Ready when you are, Rashad,” he said politely.

Zahra did little to interject in the conversation. Though, her curiosity had blossomed. She stepped away from Leon’s side and closer to the hog-baring duo, bright eyes evaluating Rashad. Perhaps, too close for comfort. Her frown was inquisitive, if not one that could have belonged to a child prodding a new shiny thing. She clucked her tongue and laughed when he dropped his burden, leaving the poor elven lad to deal with it, and did her best to keep him from keeling over in the sand. She stepped aside when Leon was asked to relieve Rhys of his duty and joined Khari’s side.

She waved a hand ahead of them. “Let's?”

Asala smiled kindly and nodded. "Yes, let's," she said as the group began to move forward once again, this time with Rhys and Rashad.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The rest of the trek to the village itself wasn't that exciting. Lots of sand, mostly. Hot sand. Khari really hoped it didn't end up in her boots; she had a feeling it'd never come out, and then there'd be permanent sand in her boots and blisters everywhere. That would be the worst. She'd nicked these from her mom's workbench way back when, though—they'd probably be okay. Unless she fell into one of those pits that only looked like normal sand. But then she'd have other problems, like trying not to die.

Okay, maybe a little sand wouldn't be the worst. But it would still be pretty shitty.

Toward the front of the procession, Asala spoke with both Rashad and Rhys. She spoke in a mix of the trade tongue and Qunlat. It was strange to see how easily she spoke to them, without a hitch in her voice or a stereotypical stammer. In fact, from the way Rhys chuckled at her a few times, and it seemed that they were able to get away a bit of teasing as well. During the majority of the trek, Asala seemed to hurriedly explain what had happened since she left, but no doubt chunks of information were left out. The word Inquisition was dropped several times, which raised the brow of Rhys, but seemed to do nothing for Rashad.

Khari didn't pay terribly close attention in any case, not until a change in the rhythm of the footsteps around her drew her out of her rather unimportant thoughts and back into the desert around her. Not so desert-ish in this spot, though; they'd clearly reached the village. From this far away, it looked mostly like a collection of hexagonal clusters, each built out of smaller hexagon shapes. It reminded her of nothing so much as a beehive, but she really doubted the Qunari were making honey in there.

Now she was hungry.

Each of the little modules was hut-sized, more or less. She was willing to bet most of them spent the majority of their time outdoors in one way or another, so that made sense. Instead of doors, most of them had cloth hung over the entrances; as they got closer, Khari could pick out the individual colors and patterns. They were bright, but the patterns had the same kind of precision to them as the architecture—everything was nice and geometric.

She wondered what they did if they made a mistake in the weaving. Did they unravel everything after the error and fix it? Shit, she'd never get anything done if she tried that. She'd never met anyone quite so detail oriented as that besides her mother, but it seemed like the norm around here. Everything was almost uncannily neat and precise. Not very discreetly, Khari glanced over Rashad and Rhys. She didn't see any rulers or protractor-things, but she bet they had them.

The whole settlement seemed to spiral outwards from a fixed center point, actually; they were approaching it now. Quite a few people were out and about—she guessed the ones near the center were kids, from the roundness of their faces and their comparative height. It was a little disconcerting to realize that some of them already cleared her by a good few inches. She was shorter than qunari twelve-year-olds. Great.

They looked like they were having fun, though, playing some sort of game that seemed to be a variant on tag or keep-away or something like that. She was almost tempted to join. But they were here for serious stuff, so she quelled the urge and glanced around, looking for anyone who seemed to be approaching them.

Though Asala didn't seem to notice, so engaged in the conversation with her two friends, Khari had a better sense that they were being watched. As they walked through the village, eyes turned toward them curiously, and lingered for a while before their owners eventually returned to their duties. Obviously, they were a curious sight, a group of their size making down what amounted to the village's main street. Asala obviously did not take into account the awkwardness their just showing up would entail. Not that Khari really cared. A good forty percent of her life was awkward. Being weird compared to what people expected when they looked at you would do that.

Eventually, Rhys beckoned their group to stop. "Hold up, this is where we'll have to part ways for the moment," he said as he approached Leon. "We have to take this guy to the butcher, else Rethari will give her our hides in its stead," he explained, gesturing that Leon let him take the pole again. Asala seemed saddened that they had to depart from their company, though Rhys noticed it as well. "Don't look at me like with those eyes, we'll find you when we're done."

Rashad, for his part, said something that Khari couldn't understand, but whatever it was it did manage to make Asala laugh and smile. The pair then bid their farewell before taking turning and taking their kill down one of the side paths. Asala paused for a moment and watched them until they took another turn and vanished from view. She then turned toward the rest of them and nodded apologetically, "Sorry. Tammy's schoolhouse isn't much further now,"" she added with an eager smile. With that, Asala resumed the lead, and true to her word it was only moments later that they arrived.

The building itself was constructed in much of the same way as those beside it, though noticeably larger and occupying a space all its own. A garden of flowering cacti lay, fenced off, far enough away from the entrance to avoid children accidently falling into them, but still gave the building a little exterior color. Asala led them to the double door before she asked them to wait for a moment. She quietly opened the door and stuck her head in for a peek, before withdrawing and turning toward them with a smile. "She's here," she explained before beckoning them to follow her.

As they entered the building, the first thing they noticed were the empty desks laid out in neat and orderly lines in the middle. It seemed that they had arrived after the children were let go. The walls held shelves of books, and blackboard with unreadable words written in chalk in it. On another wall, a map of Thedas laid out, and beside that was a number paintings drawn in small hands.

Khari had never been inside a schoolhouse before; she'd learned to write mostly on scrap bark because paper was hard to come by in the middle of bloody nowhere. She squinted at the chalk lines on the...slate? She was pretty sure that was slate. The idea of a room, much less a building, for no purpose other than instructing kids in stuff like this was completely foreign, but she supposed it made some kind of sense. Probably humans did this kind of thing too, but it wasn't like Khari knew that many upper-class people. Pierre learned from his mom and dad like everyone she knew.

In front of the room, sitting at a large desk with a quill in her hand and pondering over a number of papers, a middle aged Qunari sat. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun, but was still as white as Asala's. Though where Asala's skin was ashen, the woman's was a light bronze.

Upon hearing them enter, the woman's eyes rose above the papers in front of her and toward her guests. She was silent, though the surprise and confusion in her face was plain as day. She leaned forward in her chair, her brows scrunched up, and her mouth agape.

"Asala?" She asked.

"Hello Tammy," Asala said while she sweeped in between the desks and darted toward the woman. It wasn't long before Tammy was up out of her chair and enveloping her in a loving embrace of her own. What followed next was a lot of excited chattering in Qunlat from both parties, having seemingly forgot about the rest of them. Again.

Khari figured they had the right.

After enough time had passed to move them from polite silence into an awkward one, Leon softly cleared his throat to draw attention. “If you would prefer it, Miss Asala, the rest of us could allow the two of you some time to be reacquainted?" It was hard to tell if he was advancing that as an option he expected her to take or just as a very indirect way of reminding her that other people were present.

It was Zahra who trailed furthest from the group as they walked along. She lingered just outside the schoolhouse, eyes trained on the buildings. On the bluster of movements in the distance. Her mouth was drawn into
 something similar to a frown, although she didn’t appear at all unhappy. Just thoughtful. Her hand rested on her hip as she followed behind Khari and stood behind them. It appeared as if there was too much here to take in. Without so much as plucking things up in her grubby hands, she absorbed her surroundings by leaning much too close. Rapt. While she did smile at Tammy and Asala’s reunion, she made a noise when Leon suggested that they should give them time to speak properly, even if it’d merely been a means of letting their presence be known.

Asala didn't acknowledge them, seeing as she was buried too deep within the crook of Tammy's neck to notice. It was the other woman who addressed them, by gently smiling at them and holding up a finger for them to wait. She petted the girl's hair and said something that Khari couldn't understand and pulled away. However, they did not get too far apart, as Asala held Tammy's hand in her own and leaned heavily against her, as if she thought that if she let go, she'd lose her again.

Now that there was room enough between them to get a good look at her, Tammy was an older woman, appearing to be somewhere in her middle ages. Freckles dusted her face however, giving her a youthful appearance over the wrinkles that were just beginning to fold onto her forehead. Her hair was a dark silvery gray and tied up into a messy bun and a strip of calico cloth wrapping around the base of her horns. Another pair of horns were present too, just behind her ears, barely more than nubs. Standing beside Asala, it was clear that the woman also stood a few inches taller than Asala.

"Asala?" she asked, giving the girl a motherly smile. Asala looked at her confused, with a face that just screamed, what? Tammy laughed and pointed toward the rest of the group. "You are going to introduce us, yes?"

"Oh! Yes, I'm sorry, these are, uh," she said, stumbling over her words again, "my friends. This is Romulus, Khari, Zahra, and that is Leon," she said, pointing at them as she named them out. Then she smiled brightly and pointed toward the woman herself, "And this is Tammy. She was the one who raised us."

Tammy bowed deeply, which was impressively considering how tightly Asala held on to her, and said something in Qunlat before rising and addressing them more directly. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. Officially, I am Tamassran, but..." she said, giving Asala a loving glance, "Everyone just tends to use Tammy instead."

Khari waved casually. She wasn't really sure if the bowing was a thing all the Qunari did or not, but it wasn't anything she usually did. Since no one else seemed to be rushing to bow back, she figured it was okay.

"They are, uh..." Asala began, before apparently thinking about her words more carefully, "Well, I mean, we are a part of the Inquisition. I suppose," Asala added. This managed to elicit a surprised look from Tammy, directed more toward Asala than the rest. Of which, the girl only shrugged at.

"We have heard news of the Inquisition from our traders in Dairsmuid, but... I did not expect you to be a part of it, imekari," Tammy explained, the surprise still lingering in her face.

“A very valuable part, it should be said." Leon inclined his head graciously to Tammy. He'd situated himself politely near, but not leaning against, a wall, and folded his hands neatly behind his back. He didn't look comfortable, exactly, but he didn't seem quite as wary as before, either.

“Miss Asala has proven herself more than capable as a healer and a shield, as well as an alchemist. There is much to be proud of." Because it was Leon, he delivered the praise in an even, mild tone, like it was just any old collection of facts he'd picked up somewhere. But then, it was his job to assess those things and be able to make decisions based on them. So maybe that was only to be expected.

"Most of us here would've died at one point or another without her," Romulus added from near the door. Despite being back in a more familiar climate, he too looked a little out of his element, but not in a negative way. He scratched at his beard, regarding Asala. "She's our friend, not just our healer."

Khari grinned, crossing her arms comfortably over her chest. “Even if she doesn't get our jokes."

Zahra laughed and nodded in agreement. Her hands had found themselves back on her hips, eyes trailing down from Tammy’s face back onto Asala’s. She seemed pleased by the swing of conversation as she included, “She’s been sweet to us. We’re lucky to have her.”

The pride welling up in Tammy's face was unmistakable. "That is why she is beres-taar, a shield. She has always possessed a certain strength of character, even if she does not often acknowledge it," Red blossomed in Asala's cheeks as she turned away and blushed, pretending not to hear, but everyone could see the slight tug in the corners of her lips. "And of Meraad? Does he remain with your Inquisition?"

It felt as if some of the warmth within the room drained with the question, and the slight smile Asala wore faded away into a deep frown. The sudden shift in mood was not lost on Tammy as she immediately seemed to catch on. She turned and laid a gentle gaze upon the girl beside her. "Asala?"

She could not bear to meet her eyes. "He, uh. He is not... did not..." she stammered just barely above a whisper.

It was all the answer Tammy needed, and she closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She rubbed her face and leaned into her hand, slipping into thought for a moment before speaking again. "I see," she answered. There was a sag in her shoulders that hadn't been there before, and now the woman seemed older than she had initially appeared as she news weighed heavily on her shoulder. "I... I apologize, but I would like to speak with Asala alone for a bit. There is much we need to speak about. I hope you all will forgive my selfishness," she said, this time to the others.

Asala nodded in agreement and added, "I am sorry as well. I will... find you, afterward. I promise."

“Not a problem." Khari said it quickly, feeling the unease in the room getting a little thicker. She might be oblivious most of the time, but death at least was something she had a bit of experience with, and she definitely didn't want to make this any more uncomfortable than it already was. “We'll go find Rhys and Rashad or something; don't worry about us."

She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, almost as if to bat away the unnecessary apologies or something, then turned and led the way out, holding the door open with her foot for the others. Before she closed it behind her, she turned over her shoulder for a second and offered a lopsided smile. Too thin to read as genuine, probably. “Seriously. Take your time. We can wait."

She let the door—this building actually had one—fall closed softly before returning her attention to the outside. It was still damn hot, but at least it was dry. The sun hadn't stopped beating down overhead, but looking at the angle, she estimated they had only a few more hours before dark.

“If you actually meant to find the other two, I suspect the butcher would be on the outskirts of the settlement,” Leon said after a moment. “They usually are in planned towns, and this is about as planned as I’ve ever seen one.” He glanced back outwards towards the center gathering area. Even from this far, the voices of children filtered over the space, mostly Qunlat. Leon seemed to understand at least some of it; there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth after one particularly-enthusiastic shout.

He shook his head slightly and returned his attention to Khari and the others a moment later. “In any case, I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you to be polite, so I won’t. I don’t know what we’re meant to do for the moment, exactly, but it might be for the best if no one wandered too far.”

Khari almost laughed at him. He sounded like a parent trying to instruct a bunch of kids or something, though admittedly with considerably more respect for their intelligence than most parents she knew. He had a point, really; they'd kind of been left without a guide for the moment, and it was obviously better not to offend the locals.

“I'm gonna go back to the middle of town. Those kids looked like they were having fun; maybe they won't mind teaching me how to play that game." She shrugged. Might as well get to know people a bit; there was no telling how long they'd be here, after all.

Zahra gave Khari a playful swat on the shoulder and grinned wide, still brimming with excitement, “Don’t go too hard on ‘em, Khari. Might join you later, so save me a spot on your team.” If there was at all teams. Qunari sports looked awfully complicated. A far cry from bobbing for apples, and rigging in fish as quick as possible. She straightened her own shoulders and looked back towards the direction they’d been walking. It appeared as if she was just barely holding herself back from wandering off on her own, though it was evident she wasn’t sure which place to explore first.

She, too, seemed to strain her ears at the distance shouts. Pausing and turning towards the center of the village. Although it wasn’t clear whether it was with brief understanding or simple curiosity. She cleared her throat and arched an eyebrow, leveling Leon with an unabashed stare. She had to stare up at him, even though she didn’t act like it. “Care to join me in finding this butcher’s house?” Zahra knuckled her nose, and tempered her smile a little, “I’d like to see more of the village on the way.”

Leon blinked at her almost skeptically, but nodded. “Very well." He shifted his attention to Khari and Rom. “Until later, then."

“Try not to have too much fun without me."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus had no particular fondness for Qunari.

Asala was another matter, and individually they were perfectly fine to get to know, particularly the Tal-Vashoth. But as a people they had always made him uneasy. It was that rigidness, their proclivity for order and organization in all things, that even their exiles couldn't quite let go of, that managed to sink under his skin. It was in the way the little houses were built, the way they were ordered around each other, the entire village carefully mapped out and situated just so. For refugees from the Qun, their home sure seemed like an army encampment.

He supposed that general distaste for the Qunari had made certain events in his past easier to swallow. Or his present, considering how little the slip up aboard the Qunari ship in Llomerryn was bothering him.

But this was not supposed to be a stressful visit, and the children playing their game in the center of the village reminded Romulus that this wasn't, in fact, any kind of military camp, no matter how well it was hidden or how tightly it was organized. He wasn't quite sure what he was watching, but they seemed to be having a good deal of fun.

"After you," he murmured to Khari beside him. Even the Herald of Andraste needed to loosen up once in a while. Maybe it was something he needed especially.

She looked at him a little strangely, but then shrugged. Her mouth was already spreading into a familiar grin. “Sure thing."

She half-strode, half-skipped forwards, bringing herself right up to the edge of what the children had marked out as their area. Even that was precise; lines drawn in the dirt with only the occasional unsteady wobble. Khari seemed to study them for a moment, her head tilted to the side. They were using some kind of ball, about the size of a small melon. No one was touching it with their hands, but pretty much anything else seemed to be acceptable—feet, knees, hips, elbows, shoulders. A few of the actual Qunari youths even used horns.

Not too long after, the ball flew outside one of the lines, towards her. Khari must have been waiting for something like that, because she was ready, hooking her foot around it and balancing it there, nestled back against her ankle.

There was a bit of an awkward quiet, then, as the children noticed the presence of the intruders, so to speak. Khari, not unexpectedly, was the one to break it.

“Hello." She waved to go with the word, still grinning. Fortunately, this one wasn't quite so bloodthirsty as some of her others. Pointing to herself, she continued. “I'm Khari. That's Rom." She pointed back at him as well, then gestured to the field.

“Can we play, too?"

This was met with some surprise, by the looks of it. Either they understood enough of the trade tongue to catch that much or else her pantomime was obvious enough to convey what she meant. A few of the older-looking children huddled together, speaking in Qunlat. They were obviously discussing whether to grant the request or not. Romulus could understand enough to gather that the primary concern seemed to be if the adults in the village would disapprove, rather than any particular reservations about the two of them.

Khari busied herself with the ball while she waited, throwing it up with her foot and catching it on her elbow, bouncing it there a few times before passing it to the other. She almost missed, but leaned sideways to bounce it again. One of the little ones giggled at her hasty save; she wrinkled her nose at him and stuck her tongue out. That, of course, only made him laugh harder.

"You can... play." One of the older ones nodded at them. The words were thick and clumsy in her mouth, but she seemed pleased for having been able to get them out.

“Great!" Khari tossed the ball to her and stepped over the line in the dirt so she was on the field. “Let's go, Rom. You can be on my team. I have no idea what I'm doing, but it should be fun."

Even though Romulus could understand them and Khari could not, he couldn't help but feel that Khari was the one who spoke their language.

He was naturally talented at many things, but apparently this game was not one of them. The Qunari children could deftly flick it about with their feet, chipping it up onto their knees, chests, and heads, and control it carefully with precise little movements that eluded Romulus any time the ball came his way. He always seemed to hit it too softly, or too hard. There were teams, apparently, but he could hardly focus on keeping them in order when they were mostly dressed the same, with Khari being the only one to blatantly stand out.

It wasn't clear if there was supposed to be another goal to the game, but it devolved into a simple affair of keep-away, with one team trying to secure the ball and pass it between themselves while the other attempted to steal it away for themselves. Romulus skirted the outsides of the makeshift pitch, stopping any ball that came his way and hurriedly trying to pass it along to someone else, only about half the time making it to someone on his team. A few times he was laughed at for his sudden clumsiness, but he found that he didn't mind.

Khari seemed to be having the time of her life. Unburdened by her armor, she was quick, and sized much more like the kids than he was. She played aggressively, but not so much so that she ever threw an accidental elbow into one of them. Knocking around the ball seemed to come naturally to her, though she also didn't quite look to know what to do with it, or what team she was on. The children didn't mind, not even when her mistakes were to their detriment.

Bouncing it off her hip, she drew her foot back and kicked it to one of the others, who jumped to hit it with his head, closer to one of the ends of the field. It nearly went out-of-bounds, but cracked against a pale blue barrier instead, falling back in.

“Asala!" Khari raised an arm and waved it vigorously at their friend, who had indeed been responsible for the rebound. “Okay, okay, time out everyone!" She held her hands up as though in surrender, shooting a glance at Romulus and jogging towards the side of the ring, where Asala was.

She wasn't fast enough however to beat the children already were surrounding Asala. She didn't recoil from the sudden surge of attention, but rather met it with warmth and affection. She leaned down and spoke with the children. The younger ones pleaded with her to play with them, while the older ones were just happy that she was back. They exchanged hugs and some of the younger ones took hold of her hands gently tug on her, until she finally spoke. "I will, later. I promise," she said from what Romulus could make out as she patted the jet black hair of a younger boy, "But first, Tammy and I wish to speak with your two new friends," she said with a smile.

The news seemed to sadden a few of the children. "I will bring them back, I promise," she added quickly with a warm smile. The pledge was enough to brighten their moods. "Tammy has some things she wishes to ask you both," she said, switching to the trade tongue for their sakes. She then pointed down one of the neat paths, "She is waiting at home now," she added.

Romulus wasn't sure what would be asked of them that Asala couldn't relay herself, but he nodded his agreement. "We'll finish this later," he told the children, grinning at them before following Asala down the path.

"I did not know you spoke Qunlat," Asala commented. She then looked off and seemed to slip into thought for a moment. Probably thinking about all the instances of Qunlat that were said in their presence.

Romulus nodded, though it seemed to be almost a guilty admittance from the way his lips were drawn into a hard line, his expression serious again. "Chryseis had me learn it as best I could, which admittedly wasn't very well." He wasn't fond of admitting that the majority of the skills and knowledge he had came from her, but it wasn't as though he could lie about it. "I can pick up most of what's being said, but I can't manage to say much myself without mangling something." He knew how to ask questions, mostly, but there was no need to say that. It had at least been occasionally useful when interacting with other slaves. The servants in Minrathous were overwhelmingly elven and human, but occasionally there would be a Qunari in the mix. Prisoners of war, or people much like Asala, fleeing from the Qun for whatever reason.

"That's uh, that's good to know," she added. With the way that she said it, she'd probably be more mindful of what she and others said around them. Eventually, she brought them to another housing unit, this one nearly identical to the others save for the personal touches. On either side of the doorway a patch of soil stretched from one edge to the other with a number of flowers blooming in them.

They were hardy flowers, built to survive the heat and terrain of the area, but still retained their color and beauty. Behind the flower beds, the walls were decorated in the geometric designs that governed other walls they'd seen. "I did that side," Asala pointed out, gesturing toward a thin lined design of bright orange and yellow on one side of the door, "Meraad did that one," the thicker red and blue one.

"Anyway, please, come in," she added, pulling back a curtain that served as their door "Tammy's expecting us."

The inside of the domicile was sparsely furnished. A low table sat in the middle of the one room home, a set of four colorful pillows set on each side of it. A bookcase occupied the far wall filled with various manuscripts and texts. On the edge of the doorway they'd just entered through, on either side, were a series of markings, beginning low and continuing until the last reached Asala's height. At the top of each line were one of their names, Asala on one side, Meraad the other.

Tammy stood at one of the far walls, in what seemed to be the kitchen. When she noticed them, she asked "Tea or coffee?" a pair of small kettles sat on a stove, and the scent of both wafting through the small home.

"Tea, please. Thank you." Romulus settled somewhat cautiously on a pillow. It was force of habit more than anything else to analyze every room upon entry, but he reminded himself to be at ease. Tammy's home wasn't overdecorated, as was to be expected of every home in this village, but it still managed to be welcoming enough. It had the telltale signs of a home, namely the history of those who lived in it etched on the walls and doorways. That, more than anything, affected him.

Khari brushed a thumb over one of the shorter Asala-marks as she entered, offering Tammy a bright smile. “Tea, thanks." She dropped herself down onto one of the pillows without looking too concerned about it, crossing her legs underneath her and gripping her ankles in her hands. “Your garden's pretty." She glanced back over her shoulder as if to lay eyes on it again. “Wouldn't have thought much grew out here."

Tammy proceeded to pour the kettles into a set four cups, two from one kettle, two from the other. "The soil helps, it was brought from deeper inland, but the flowers themselves are a hardy species. Though, they still require care and nourishment to become as vibrant as they are," she said, with a glance toward Asala. The other woman nodded and went to help distribute the cups to their guests, and kept one for herself when both took a seat on a pillow. Asala concentrated on her cup for a moment, her hands taking on a blue glow for a moment. The steam wafting from the top of cup tapered off, and instead and thin layer of frost lined the edge. She then glanced at Romulus with a smile.

"My favorite has always been the lily," Asala added, "I saw that you still keep them where I used to."

"Imekari, they are yours," she said with a motherly smile. She then turned back toward Romulus and Khari, "I gave the two plots you saw outside to Asala and Meraad. She took to hers easily, but Meraad... Well, Meraad, did not have the patience." Her mood dampened visibly, but she continued to for a moment, "That is the reason we wished to speak with you..." she said, glancing toward Asala.

The woman sighed and looking down into her cup. she did not turn to look at them while she spoke. "I... I have never asked how... or even if Meraad had... died. But I know-- knew it when you both returned and he... did not. I-- We wish to know how... kadan died."

"Asala has told me everything that led up to it and everything since... I apologize if this is morbid, but... I would still like to know. If you do not mind," Tammy continued.

Khari glanced at Romulus for a moment, apparently deciding to take up the telling first. Reaching forward for her teacup, she balanced it on a knee and sighed a bit, straightening her back. “We left the Chantry after volunteering. It was... well, it was a mess out there, honestly. We were supposed to get to the last trebuchet and trigger an avalanche, to stop the other army and give everyone else a chance to escape." It went without saying that they weren't supposed to survive doing that, if they managed it in the first place.

Her lips thinned as she pressed them together, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Getting there wasn't easy, but it wasn't until we'd actually got the thing all set up that everything went to, uh..." She glanced at Tammy, then Asala. “Crap."

Taking a sip of the tea, she set it back down on her knee and continued. “About that point, one of the walls near us gets blown to smithereens. In march a bunch of Venatori mages. Uh, they're this weird Tevinter cult, if that didn't get covered. And they have this... dragon, only it's poisoned with red lyrium, which I guess means it's a normal dragon but meaner. And of course Corypheus, who's the nasty Darkspawn guy. So... it doesn't look too great for us at that point. I charged the mages and the Darkspawn, but that didn't work too well. I didn't actually see what happened right after that."

Her eyes found him again. This was, after all, the part he could tell much better than she could.

"I was wounded pretty badly at this point," Romulus continued, recalling with a rather grim clarity each moment before he fell with Khari. "My leg, my side. Couldn't really move. After Khari went down, Meraad attacked the dragon with magic. I'm not sure anything we could have done would have even hurt that thing." He paused for a moment, thinking how best to continue. She desired to know how he had died. It had not been a pretty sight, not a clean death, and thinking back Romulus wasn't sure it made all that much of a difference. But then, maybe it had made all the difference. Maybe the extra moment had given Khari enough time to come to her senses and salvage at least their lives. Maybe without the sacrifice none of them would have survived to mourn him or tell his story.

It would do no good to soften the details, if she really did want the truth. "The dragon caught him in its jaws. He struggled. His last words were 'vashedan ataashi, nehraa Asala.' Then the dragon thrashed and cast him aside." It was different looking back on it now than it had been at the time. In the moment, Romulus had assumed they would all die, and so the manner of their deaths was irrelevant. But they hadn't all died. He looked to Asala.

"Many people sacrificed their lives that night, for a number of reasons, but Meraad's sacrifice was for you."

Asala had watched them intently as they spoke, as if she wouldn't hear them if she looked away. It was perhaps the most intent she seemed when meeting anothers eyes, and only when Romulus wound down did she break her gaze. The small room was quiet for a moment, as Tammy and Asala registered their words. It seemed that the silence would stretch on for an eternity, until finally a quiet smile crossed Asala's lips and a hitch echoed across her shoulder. It was now tears however, that caused the hitch surprisingly, but a laugh. A small one, but a laugh nonetheless. She finally looked up and toward Khari, the little smile still on her lips. "Do you, uh... know what he called it?"

Khari blinked, clearly surprised to be on the receiving end of that particular question. “Something nasty, I hope."

"He called it a, uh, trash dragon," she said, with a melancholy smile.

"That is the polite term, yes," Tammy added. The sadness was apparent in her face as well and the corners of her eyes had mist within them, but she did not outright shed tears. Instead, she shook her head and rubbed her face. "Only he would be so reckless as to stand against a dragon on his own," she added. "But... it is still something he would've done," she added with a sigh. "Did you... Know him well?"

Khari fielded that one, too, shaking her head. “Not really." Reaching up, she scratched at the back of her head. “Everything in Haven happened so fast; from the beginning of the Inquisition to then was only two months, give or take." She sighed, then offered up half a smile.

“Gotta say, though... seems like I would've liked him a lot. Not just anyone would do something like that. Takes a special kind of crazy—and I mean that in the best way possible, honest."

"I can't say I knew him either," Romulus added, unable to keep his regret from his tone. "I... tried to avoid knowing anyone, to some degree. I thought I would need to leave the Inquisition behind. I actually planned to leave the night Haven was attacked, but afterwards..." He glanced at Khari before looking back to Tammy. "The Inquisition was already becoming a family, and the attack only brought us closer together. I just wish I'd made the decision to stay sooner." The regret was likely futile, of course. It hadn't been an easy choice to make, declaring his quiet, personal rebellion on his domina, and even still with all his larger concerns the fear of the future lurked in the back of his mind. But he was also willing to wager that he could've become friends with a man such as Meraad, if he'd only given himself the chance while there was still time.

"Oh no, I understand completely," Tammy said to Khari first, gently swirling the drink in her hand as she reminisced. "He was a... difficult child. Always so restless and impulsive. He had a wonderful heart, he would not have done well underneath the Qun," she said with a small smile.

Asala nodded in agreement. "He tried to be so many things. He apprenticed under our blacksmith, tried farming, fishing. But none of it ever seemed to... fit him. But he always did what he could."

"I had thought he would have joined the Saarethost-- our mercenary company," Tammy quickly clarified for Rom and Khari, "when he came of age. Instead, he took you and went out to see the world," she said.

Asala laughed despite herself, "He said it was to meet the free mages and have them teach us control of our powers." The comment caused Tammy to chuckle with her and both seemed to know that it was just an excuse. "However, I am... glad that he did. Else, I would not have been able to meet such wonderful people," she said as she looked toward Rom and Khari.

“We're glad we met you, too." Khari grinned around the rim of her teacup and swallowed the rest of it down, placing it back on the table with a soft clink. “Thanks for sharing your home with us."

"I'm glad we were able to come here," Romulus agreed. "And the tea was excellent."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Talisman
It had been two days since they arrived to Ash-Rethsaam. Asala knew the importance of time, but she couldn't help but selfishly wish she could spend more time home. She'd spent the last few days meeting and catching up with everyone she had left those few years ago, as well as preparing for this moment. Despite being gone for so long, it felt as if she could easily just slip back into routine. The day before she had attended to a few sick individuals and one man who had sprained his wrist while fishing. Everyone helped in Ash-Rethsaam and she was no different. It felt nice, to be able to fall back into a routine so easily, almost as if she had never left. But she had, and though she had left with Meraad, she had returned without him.

A number of Qunari were gathered on the nearby shore, each wearing a solemn look on their face. It was a celebration, yes, but this particular one was bittersweet. Tammy stood beside her and the children who remembered Meraad gathered around them. Others had come as well, and among the faces she could count Rhys, Rashad, and even the Rethari. A number of them had spent the day gathering the drift wood that washed up on shore and collected in a pile, creating a makeshift sort of pyre. It had been her idea, after all, and the others were more than happy to help remember a fallen friend.

It was nearing sunset, the coastal sky lighting up with ambers and crimsons, with only the sound of the waves rolling onto the beach to fill the air. This was her last day home, as they'd planned to set out early next morning. Asala had explained to Tammy why they had to leave so quickly, repeating the story of their recent venture into Llomerryn, and what they had found out. While it was perhaps not her story to tell, Tammy was kadan and the closest thing she had to a mother. There would be no secrets between them.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and she turned to see Tammy nod. Together, they strode forward toward the pyre. The knelt where they had piled most of the kindling and Tammy placed a hand on top of her own. With a little flash of magic, the kindling began to burn, and not long after it began to spread to the rest of the wood. With the pyre lit, they returned and began to watch it burn.

“Melava inan enansal, ir su araval tu elvaral u na emma abelas. In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na." Khari pushed out what was almost a sigh, glancing up at Asala from where she stood near her elbow and offering a sympathetic half-smile. Reaching up, she laid a hand on Asala's shoulder blade for a moment, then dropped it again.

“The Dalish plant trees, but I think this suits him better than something like that." Her eyes seemed to soften. “I'm sorry, Asala." Having said her condolences, she dipped her head briefly to Tammy and slipped away.

Some distance away, Leon and Romulus stood with Rhys and Rashad. It looked like they were talking about something, though their voices were respectfully quiet, so she couldn't pick out the exact topic, only that it was complex enough that they were mixing languages to understand each other. Or rather, Leon spoke with them while Romulus listened and watched over the burning pyre ahead of them.

Flickering firelight cast shadows across Zahra’s face as she looked on at the pyre they’d all built together. She’d found herself a little spot away from the others, plopped down on the sand. Her forearms were draped across her knees, tucked close to her chest. There was an unreadable expression on her face, framed as it was with thick curls she hadn’t bothered pushing out of her face. She held a smaller stick in her hands, and absently turned it over in her fingers. Since meeting the others on the beach, she hadn’t said much of anything. She swung her gaze towards Asala and Tammy. Scanned the other faces, and sighed softly through her nose, before finally rocking back to her feet and scuffing off the sand from her pants.

She’d made her own after all. For Aslan. As soon as Asala explained the preparations she would need to make, and what she, too, planned to do, she’d scurried off to the beach on her own and collected drift wood. It was much smaller. She wasn’t as strong as the Qunari there, so lugging large pieces was out of the question. She’d done a well enough job. It looked relatively the same shape. On a smaller scale. Resting at least ten feet away from Meraad’s crackling pyre. From the looks of it, she’d butchered her hands dragging the things together. Small cuts, and red splotches painted her upturned palms. In passing Zahra patted Asala’s forearm, and lingered a moment before parting ways and standing alongside the second pyre.

“Nada rápido, Big Man. Te amo,” whether anyone had heard it, it’d been the first time she’d actually spoken Rivaini around the others. The words slipped effortlessly from her lips, a statement of sorts. Or a farewell. Whisper as it was. Zahra rested a hand across the smooth side of a slab of wood she’d found and settled the small stick across it.

Asala turned her attention back to Meraad's pyre, staring deep into the glowing embers. For a moment, she was lost to the world as she looked into the fire, only minutely aware of Tammy's presence next to her. He'd probably find all of this funny, Meraad would. He never was one to stand on ceremony, instead always wanting to be doing something. Reflection did not suit him either, not that he was not thoughtful. He always had others in his mind. He'd asked Asala to leave the village and go see world with him, and she had suspicions that if she had said no, that he would've remained as well. But... She couldn't have said no to him. Her glance slowly slipped toward Leon and Rom, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it.

Of course it was she could imagine him saying. He found his adventure and saw the world outside of their tiny village. He seemed so content while they traveled and while they remained in Haven, to be doing something, and though neither of them truly knew how important, they knew that it was important regardless. She sighed through her nose and gazed back into the flames. While he was not the reflective type, she was, and he'd understand their little ceremony.

Something other than the flame finally caught her attention then. The children walked forward past her and the pyre, each carrying something in their hands. She couldn't make out what it was they held until they reached the water. When the water reached their ankles, they bent over and placed a boat made from palm leaves. The waves threatened to push the fleet of ships back into the coast, but the tide drew them deeper into the ocean.

A little hand tugged at her wrist, and she looked down to see a little Qunari child hold a boat out for her to take. "Meravas," she told the child as she took the boat in hand. She then leaned over and kissed her forehead. She stood and looked toward the ocean, before Zahra's flame caught her eye. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should say something or just allow her to mourn in her own way. She sighed. No. She was not the only one who had lost family, they shared in that. She crossed the distance between them and gently leaned over and put a hand on Zahra's shoulder. She then held the leaf boat out in a palm.

"Let us see them off... Together."

Zahra seemed startled by the touch. Though she recovered quickly when she turned to look over her shoulder. Her expression softened and the tension from her shoulders seemed to melt away. Her smile was genuine, if not a little somber. Through the crackling of flames, and the smell of burning wood, she appeared far more at peace then she’d been as of recent. A weight had been lifted. She inhaled through her nose, before accepting the leaf boat in her palms. She held it close to her chest for a moment. Gently. Pursing her lips, Zahra nodded with a resoluteness that spoke volumes, “Together.”

"Come." Asala said quietly, offering a hand for her to take. With it, she led her toward sea's rolling waves. She led them until the water reached their calves, at which point she turned, with a bittersweet smile still on her lips. She knelt close to the water and beckoned for Zahra to do the same so that they may set the little leaf boat off on its journey.

Even when Asala led them down into the waters, wading past the gentle lull of the shoreline, Zahra kept hold of her hand. The sight might’ve been strange, seeing how much smaller she was in comparison
 but the act in itself seemed to anchor her in place. The water reached her knees, though she didn’t seem bothered as she knelt alongside the Qunari woman. She took a deep breath through her nose, and settled the small leaf-boat in the water, floating in the nook of her palm. For someone so meek, Asala appeared larger in essence then the rowdy captain at her side. She swung her gaze sideways, seeking guidance. Direction for letting go.

"Do you know what Meraad's name meant?" Asala asked. She watched as the boat bobbled in her hand as the tide jostled it. "He... chose it himself. Meraad Kaaras. We were children then, but... It had always fit him." As she spoke, she could feel the burning behind her eyes once more. She had long thought she had cried all she could for his loss but... Maybe it wasn't her loss she felt so keenly now.

"Navigator of the tides. No matter where life took him, he always seemed like he knew where he was going," she said, feeling the tears gently roll down her cheeks. That's what she had always thought, that he just knew where he was going. Maybe he always did.

“I wish I’d known him too,” Zahra squeezed her hand and finally released it, drawing up a wet thumb across Asala’s cheek. She dropped her hand back into the water and dug it into the sand. Turning over a small shell she’d found it the muck. There was a wistful look on her face, a pull to her lips. She’d tied up her wild hair, so there was nothing to hide behind. Her gaze was trained on the shell pinched between her fingers, before dragged her gaze away and faced Asala once more.

“Seeing how you all live here, like a real family
 I’d like to think Aslan grew up in the same kind of place,” her chin quivered for a moment before her mouth settled into a smile. She cupped the palm leaf in front of her and inclined her head. There was a short pause, as if she was readying herself for something. She stared off into the distance, across the ripple of seemingly endless sea. “Meraad Kaaras. Navigator of tides. He was never alone.” She nodded her head, “He’ll be leading the way.”

Asala was quiet for a moment afterward, her own gaze pointed toward the setting sun. The ambers in the sky were beginning to darken as the dusk began to encroach. She wasn't sure if the others remained on the shore waiting for them, or if they had left. For the moment, it did not matter, only Zahra and her, and their memories. She then turned toward Zahra and offered her a tiny smile.

She cupped Zahra's hands with her own and took one last look out over the rolling waves. "Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit. Rethadim kadan parshaara..." she said mournfully, not only for herself, but for Zahra as well. With that, she gently pulled her hands away from the little boat with Zahra's, letting it flutter in the water freely before the tide took hold. "... Panahedan," she said, barely above a whisper. "Goodbye."

Zahra stared after the two leaf-boats and finally drew herself up, clutching Asala’s hand so that she, too, could stand. She whispered something softly under her breath. Her own goodbye, it seemed. The sea still licked at their clothes, as the tide drew the boats farther and farther away until they looked like small, bobbing silhouettes. She gave Asala’s hand a small tug and led them towards the shoreline, where their friends waited. Only then did she release her grip.

When the two of them left the water, they found Leon, Rhys, and Rashad waiting a respectful distance away. Upon eye contact, Leon nodded slightly, making a small gesture to beckon them over. “Your friends have something to tell you, Asala." He shifted his eyes to the two of them.

"Well. Rashad and I have been talking about it with the Rethari and..." The elf began, before turning to look at his much larger companion. The Qunari nodded and placed a solid hand on Rhys's shoulder. "It's not much, but we decided that we weren't going to let you go back alone," he said with a toothy smile. "We'll be going back to the Inquisition with you. We've arranged to have our wages sent back to the village, along with any letters you may have." Zahra had already slipped in beside Rhys. She slapped him across the shoulder blade, smile blooming into a mischievous grin. It appeared as if her steps were lighter, even if her eyes were puffy. She turned back towards Asala and arched an eyebrow.

Asala smiled and nodded, before uttering a small, "Thank you." Her mind was occupied elsewhere before a gentle hand fell on her shoulders, comforting her. "You did fine," Tammy said quietly. Her own cheeks were damp as well, and her eyes were red. "He would have liked anything you would have done," she added, drawing her in close for a hug.

"Come, you all have an early morning tomorrow," Tammy beckoned, but before they all departed, Asala threw one long glance back toward the sea as the leaf boats slipped from view and into the fading horizon.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The journey back to Skyhold after leaving Asala's town wasn't that eventful. Khari remembered it as several days' worth of being violently ill over the side of a boat. She'd used to think a lot of her constitution, but she definitely wasn't seaworthy. It was embarrassing.

But they were back on solid ground now, and while she wasn't exactly up-to-date on what Anais's plans were, she figured someone would tell her when there was something to be done. If she didn't know before that, well... it wasn't a big deal. At the moment, she had much more concrete matters on her mind, anyhow.

The glass bottle was heavy and stout; from the smell it was brandy or something. She wasn't too fussy about that kind of thing, and she had the inkling that Borja probably wasn't either. But saying potentially-awkward stuff tended to work better when you brought food or drinks to the conversation, so this was her brilliant plan for now. Actually finding him had been a chore and a half; no one seemed to know exactly where he went when he wasn't delivering terse updates from the Speaker, so it had taken a long series of questions and hiking across most of Skyhold to locate what she thought was the right door.

She paused in front of it, rocking back on her heels for a moment. Khari's lips thinned; she raised her hand halfway to knock before dropping it. This really wasn't any of her business. Not even a little bit. Pushing a raspy sigh through her nose, she put her fist back up and knocked anyway.

It might not have been her business, but it was important.

It was a rather secluded corner of the castle, an old crumbling tower yet to be fully repaired, as its location put it up against a sheer cliff face on the other side. Strategically it was deemed mostly unimportant, and so it was given over as temporary lodgings for Borja and a small number of his crew who had made the trek to Skyhold rather than stay with the ship. The sound of loud chatter from inside indicated that the captain was not alone, and that he and his crew were likely already drinking. At the knock on the door, a wooden chair could be heard scraping back across the floor, and heavy footfalls came closer.

It was not Borja that opened the door, but a tall, scruffy, and bundled up man who looked to be in something of a foul mood. He was plainly one of the crew, and propped open the door only a foot or two, peering down at the elf before him. It took him a moment, but he seemed to recognize who she was. "What do you want?" he asked. His tone wasn't hostile, but it was certainly impatient.

Khari, having been subjected to far ruder greetings in her life, wasn't even the least bit fazed. She held up the bottle of whatever-it-was and swished it slightly. “I was hoping to talk to the captain for a bit. About our, uh... mutual friend." That was a pretty subtle way of putting it, for her, even though it would probably still be obvious who she was talking about.

The pirate's eyes went to the bottle when she swished it, and then a voice sounded out from within the room behind him. "Let her in, Ferrous, before all the warm air escapes." The man didn't hesitate then, and stepped aside as he pulled the door open further, allowing Khari entrance.

Borja's crew had set up the ground floor of the tower into a makeshift bar, or so it seemed. They'd helped themselves to a keg of something, which they'd propped up in one of the corners. There were about ten of them inside, most crowded around a long wooden table with benches in the center, where a game of Wicked Grace was in progress. Borja sat with a closely guarded hand on one side, one of his younger crewmen occupying the other. The captain laid down his hand, and judging by the reaction of the rest, it was a winning one.

"Best come prepared next time, son," Borja gently taunted, collecting the cards on the table. "Now why don't you all give us the room for a moment?" A few of the pirates glanced in Khari's direction, before they shuffled to a ladder near the back of the room, and ascended up to the next floor, where they'd presumably set up their sleeping quarters for the night.

Borja shuffled the cards in his hands effortlessly, not even watching as he did so. He studied Khari. "You play cards?"

It didn't seem to be the clothes-betting version of the game, so she nodded. Taking the seat the crewman had occupied, she set the bottle down on the table, out of the way so he could deal her a hand. “Sure I do." She was definitely better at chess by a long shot, because that didn't involve as much of hiding what she was feeling about something.

“What're we betting?" Coppers was standard with the enlisted people, but she didn't want to be too cheap or anything.

"Depends how much you're willing to lose," he replied, almost cracking a smile. "Copper'll do fine. And a cup of whatever that is. Can't be worse than the piss water the boys stole." As it happened, there were a number of cups on the table, some still unused for the night. Borja grabbed his own empty one and set it down within her reach, before he began deftly dealing out hands for both of them. "So what is it you have to say to me?"

She shrugged, delaying a bit by pouring both of them cups first. She chose one for herself that looked clean-ish and was empty, sliding his across the table in an almost-deft way that at least stopped short of the edge and didn't spill everywhere. Khari bent her cards up to peer at them, schooling her facial expression into neutrality as well as she could. It was good but not great, so she plonked a copper onto the table and slid it in towards the middle.

There was really no delicate way that she knew of to say this, but Borja wasn't exactly a master of diplomacy, either, so she figured the direct approach might not get her thrown out immediately. “I think you should talk to Rom more." Blunt as a spoon; her mouth pulled to the side. “I get it—family can be awkward and uncomfortable and unpleasant—but I think you want to and I think he wants you to, so..." she trailed off, upping the bet with another few coppers and waiting for his turn. Both in the game and the conversation, for that matter.

Borja didn't appear too caught off guard by her thoughts, but perhaps that was just his practiced face for card games holding more than anything else. He matched her bet, discarding a card from his hand and drawing another. "My influence has never been good for him, what little I've had." He took a solid drink from his cup, apparently finding it agreeable as he drank deeper. "He'd never have ended up in Minrathous of all places if not for my stupidity. And now because of me he's off chasing the divine, because I couldn't leave well enough alone. Should've learned from Rosamara. Starting to think there was a damn good reason her line stayed hidden."

He shook his head. "No, I missed my chance to be a father, and far as I can tell he's better off for it now that he's with you Inquisition people."

Khari snorted, but the matter was serious, and she treated it that way. Frowning, more from thoughtfulness than because of anything happening in the game, she discarded and drew. That turned out to be a bad move, and the first hand was his.

“I'm not saying you've got to try and parent him, or even influence him or anything." They were clearly past that point, and whether they ever returned to some version of it wasn't something she had the know-how to predict. “But think about it for a second: right now, all Rom knows about his family, really, is whatever Anais is telling him. And all she knows or cares about is the divine stuff. But you... you know the stuff that actually matters. The kind of person his mom was, the things the both of you wanted out of life, all this information about your extended family. Hell, there's a whole side of the family that only you know about: namely yours." She polished off her first cup and poured herself another.

“And Rom doesn't know about any of it. Even if you just end up being really awkward acquaintances or whatever... don't you think he ought to know all that, if he wants to? Don't you want to tell him any of it?"

Perhaps it was just his second hand, but the conversation didn't look to be improving Borja's mood any. It was obviously not a subject he liked to broach with himself, let alone others, though it was entirely possible he'd been doing a great deal of thinking on it lately regardless. "I suppose it's in my nature to hoard things, then," he said, sorting the cards in his hand before he played the serpent of deceit face up on the table, and drew another card. "And maybe that's not fair to him."

He grabbed the bottle Khari had brought, pouring himself more. "I can tell him of the dead, if he wants to hear it. I knew little of Rosamara's, and mine's not particularly inspiring, but... perhaps there's a story that my wife didn't write down in that book of hers. Or some perspective. Our time wasn't all bad, despite what that shit Conrado might say."

Khari grinned. “He plays Mills, if you want to challenge him to a match some afternoon or something. Not sure if he knows any card games." She was content to leave it at that; she'd said her piece, now the rest of it was up to him. Well, them, really.

She won the second hand, but when she lost the third, Khari conceded the game, throwing her hands up in surrender. More because she didn't want to overstay her welcome than because she was averse to trying again. “All right, I call a tactical retreat. You can keep the money and the rest of the booze, hoarder. But don't count on winning next time."

"I count on winning every time," he grumbled, though he actually smiled a little this time. "It's just about acquiring the right cards."

Khari considered possible strategy rules for Wicked Grace all the way back to Skyhold's main building. Dinner seemed like a pretty good idea; it was about the right time for it and she was hungry besides. Most of the eating happened in the front hall of the castle proper, though there were other mess areas for the regulars that didn't involve a trek up there. Since most of the people Khari spent much time with were up there, though, she usually ate with one of them.

Bounding up the staircase, she opened the door just far enough to slide herself in and let it close softly behind her. She could already smell warm food; in the middle of winter, it was probably just about the best thing in the world.

She passed Anais on the way in, raising a hand in greeting. “'Lo, Speaker." As usual, though, the woman moved with purpose in her step, and Khari didn't try to waylay her progress or anything.

Anais appeared to be in an unusually good mood, rivaling the occasion when she had housed Khari and Rom in the small fortress her people had occupied in the Hinterlands. "Maker's blessing be upon you," she greeted, practically bouncing as she walked by. She turned as she passed, walking backwards. "We leave tomorrow, at midday!" It was apparently all she had time to offer, as the Speaker disappeared into a hallway towards the guest quarters of the fortress.

Well, there went her dinner plans. Not knowing until something needed doing was one thing, but apparently, something needed doing and they were doing it tomorrow. Which made today a good time to figure out what 'it' was.

Pursing her lips, Khari shot one last wistful glance at the mess table before heading in the same direction Anais had appeared from. The undercroft was tucked back in a ways; the hallways got progressively warmer as she headed towards it. Khari took off her gloves and stuffed them into her belt, shedding her cloak as well and throwing it over one arm.

Rom's door was open; she leaned in around the doorframe and spotted him at his desk, one of the newer pieces of furniture in the place. It looked like he was reading the journal they'd taken from Conrado; his mother's. “Knock, knock," she said, in lieu of actually doing so. She stepped freely into the room, throwing her cloak over the rail separating the upper part of the room from the main bit, then bracing a hand on it and swinging herself over rather than bothering with stairs.

“Anais pretty much looks like it's her birthday and every other holiday rolled into one, so I'm guessing something happened." She tilted her head at him, offering half a smile.

"We know what we need to do," he said, carefully pushing the journal away a few inches and turning to face her. He rested his right arm on the back of his chair, letting his cheek fall against his bicep. "At least, we know what she thinks we should do." He was obviously deep in thought, and conflicted thought at that. He grabbed the journal again, flipping through a few pages.

"There's so many of them. Some of them barely wrote a page, others wrote dozens. Sometimes there's specific dates, names, places, other times... nothing. But..." He looked up. "They had a bond with each other, mother to daughter, every time. The handwriting is usually a subtle change, you can tell they taught each other, passed on what they knew. Most of them lived peaceful lives, quiet lives. And now me. The break in the chain, in every possible way. I can't tell if I should take all of this as encouragement, or a warning. Maybe this isn't worth risking my life over. Maybe this isn't what they would want me to do."

Oh boy.

She was definitely not qualified to be giving anyone advice about stuff this important.

But... maybe advice wasn't really the right contribution. “So, uh... I might be a little slow on the uptake here, but... what exactly is 'this'? Because it sounds more specific than the whole Inquisition bit, the way you're talking about it?" And Anais's mood seemed more like something that happened because of a particular... decision? Plan? Something like that. Khari folded her arms loosely together over her chest, leaning against the wall with her hip and shoulder.

"It's... a ritual," he explained. "A public test of faith, a way to prove what's in my blood. It was outlined pretty clearly in the journal. The knowledge was passed down generation to generation, in case any of the descendants came to light, and needed to prove themselves. There's some magic involved, but Anais assures me it's nothing she can't handle." Despite his words, he didn't seem to take much reassurance from it.

"It will be dangerous for me. But it wouldn't be a test of faith otherwise."

Khari's arms fell loose back to her sides. A test of faith? That could kill him? She hadn't missed the part where he said risking his life.

She considered that for a slow few moments, fixing her eyes on the ground and furrowing her brow as though the stone underfoot had personally offended her. Ugh. She was so much better at just doing things than trying to consider all the possible consequences.

“All right." She huffed it out on a sigh, more to indicate that she actually had something to say than as an expression of sentiment. She lifted her head and smiled a bit. “You know I'm behind you whatever you decide, Rom. Not that it sounds like there'd be much for me to do or anything." She shrugged, and her expression sobered.

“But I have to ask: why bother doing it? You know who you are. Your friends know. Is it really that important to you that anyone else knows?" If it was, then fine. But if it wasn't, then Khari saw no point in risking so much for it.

"I know you're not religious," he said, half-smiling. "Not with the Chantry. I've never been either, to be honest. I still don't know if I am, despite all of this. But it is important, to the Inquisition. If this is real, and I can prove that, it could bring incredible support to us. It could give us the power to stop the chaos out there, to take down Corypheus the next time he tries to see us dead. I didn't ask for any of this, but now that the opportunity's there, I don't think I can let it pass. My mother and her mother and all the mothers before them passed this down for a reason. And if I have to tie myself to a burning pyre for it... I think it's what I should do."

He looked down a moment, his voice growing significantly quieter. "That's what the ritual entails. Burning, as Andraste did, on a site sacred to her while she was still alive. The Maker, or something in my blood I guess, is supposed to protect me. And then we'll know." He paused, swallowing. "Bad way to go out if it doesn't work, but... for once I have faith. I wish there was something I could ask you to help with, but... I'd like you to be there, at least. It's crazy, I know, but what hasn't been crazy about our lives since we met?"

Khari couldn't help the small noise of disbelief that escaped her. 'Bad' was a bit of an understatement. Burning to death was definitely on her list of worst ways to go. Right above drowning, actually. “Well... okay then. Seems like your mind was pretty made up after all, huh? I'll be there."

She could hardly be against taking the big risk for the big gain, considering what she wanted to achieve with her life, after all. Nothing so important as this, maybe, but still. Some things were just worth it.

“Look at it this way: should be nice and toasty compared to Skyhold winter either way, right?"

Rom couldn't help but let a laugh escape him, a visible amount of tension flooding out of him. "That's one way to look at it." He paused, unable to keep from being serious for long. "And... thanks. One way or another I don't think I'd be here to learn any of this about myself without you. Whatever happens, that won't change."

She grinned. “I know."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Their next journey at sea was mercifully far shorter than the first. Unfortunately the weather seemed to be trying to make up for the lack of distance, and the waters were choppy and rough, causing the Riptide to sway up and down with the waves. The winds were up and the rain came down steadily. No downpour, but enough to dampen all who showed their faces above deck with a constant spray. Rom had placed himself firmly at the bow of the ship for the past few hours, Anais refusing to leave his side. She always seemed to have something she needed to say to him.

The rough weather no doubt kept Zee on deck, near the helm with Nixium the navigator. Leon was there too, though he kept out of the way of the wheel itself. Whatever they were saying wasn't loud enough to make out over everything else, but none of them appeared that concerned with the state of the waters.

Their road had taken them north and just into the Orlesian border, where they boarded their ships at Jader and headed east for a nearby island. This time the Riptide was accompanied by the larger warship belonging to the Herald's father, the Northern Sword. Borja had made some scant attempts at small talk with his son on the one-day journey, but the man seemed always to be more awkward and uncomfortable when speaking of anything personal, and with all of the Herald's Disciples around, they never had a moment to themselves. Now they were a ship apart, with Rom choosing to remain with the other prominent members of the Inquisition, and Borja choosing to captain his own ship.

The Riptide was far more crowded than it had been before, with a large contingent of zealots under the command of Anais crammed aboard to witness the historic event. They were practically bubbling with excitement. Anais's own enthusiasm was tempered compared with the night before, but perhaps that was just because she was in the presence of her followers. Air of authority to maintain, and all that.

Khari had never had authority over anyone but herself. With no appearances to maintain, she had one less worry about planting herself at the ship's rail, crossing her legs around it and leaning her forehead against the smoothly-worn wood. The choppiness of the ocean had only made her stomach churn along with it, and staying below had been no help at all. At least the air was fresh out here.

So Khari concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths, not too bothered one way or another about the rain. Turning her head, she rested her cheek against the rail and distracted herself by counting the number of ropes in the rigging.

"Few know of this place," Anais said, mostly to Rom, though no small number of disciples stood about close by, to listen in. "A place of quiet reflection and worship for Andraste, after her release from slavery at the hands of Tevinter. The journal states quite clearly that the ritual must be done here. I suspect this place to be where the Maker first spoke to her." Rom did not react visibly to most of what she said. The disciples seemed to regard the pair with the utmost reverence, as though they were concerned that the breaths they took might disturb them if they exhaled too loudly.

"And there's a temple here?" Rom asked. Anais looked out into the mists ahead of them.

"The remains of one, yes. My scouts found ruins, and dated them back beyond the Second Blight by our best estimates. It was likely destroyed then, but the power of the place should remain intact. The Maker will recognize you, Your Worship, and make it known. So long as you are willing to recognize yourself." Rom did not respond, and the Riptide moved forward into a cloud of fog. The daylight was fading now, making their way forward somewhat treacherous, and they slowed to be safer.

With the retreat of the sunlight and the constant rain, it was also getting cold. Even if they weren't in the mountains anymore, winter in this part of the world could be pretty brutal. Khari tugged her cloak a little tighter around her shoulders, wrapping her arms around her middle and hugging herself. The steady flow of her breath, chill enough to sting the lungs on the deep inhalations, produced little clouds when she pushed the air back out again.

She was glad she wasn't superstitious. All the fog and the cold and the uncomfortable feeling in her guts could have been foreboding if she were. Fortunately, it was just fog and cold and seasickness. Well... she was pretty sure that was all, anyway.

Quiet footsteps heralded an approach; a moment later, a slight weight settled over Khari's shoulders. A blanket, it seemed, pulled from down below deck. Stel settled next to her, mimicking Khari's posture on the next rail over, and offered a slight smile. “I know you said it's better for your stomach up here, but I thought you might be cold."

Khari blinked stupidly for a second. Huffing a staccato breath, she returned the smile, shrugging the blanket up further around her shoulders. “You're a lifesaver, Stel. Thanks." Shuffling around a little bit, she scooted the blanket around so that all of the excess was on the left side where Stel was, then held it out towards her. “You want some?" Truthfully, she could use the company. Misery loved it, or something.

Stel contemplated that for about a second before she accepted, scooting slightly closer so that their shoulders and hips were firmly in contact. “This isn't bad at all," she remarked. “The cold, I mean. Are you still feeling sick?"

Khari's pride said no, but her guts could only contribute an emphatic yes. She groaned slightly by way of reply and leaned her head forward against the rail again. “I can sit a horse all damn day, but a few hours on a boat and I'm a useless puddle." It was actually pretty humiliating, but she supposed the upside was that she was too busy feeling ill to really wallow in the embarrassment.

Seeking to distract herself, she asked the first question that came to mind. “Are you religious, Stel? What's your take on all this?" Maybe that was a bit too complicated a question for simple distraction. Hopefully she'd actually be able to follow the answer.

One of Stel's arms shifted until it was between Khari's back and the blanket, and she smoothed her hand up and down a few times, a clear attempt to mitigate the discomfort. “Well..." she murmured, shifting slightly and throwing an unreadable look towards the prow of the ship. “I'm honestly not really sure. I used to be religious; I was raised in the Chantry, after all. I thought my whole life would be there. And it's a matter of historical record that Andraste existed and had children, so none of it's impossible."

She sighed. “I'd have protested if I thought it too unlikely that Romulus was indeed part of that family, considering the consequences of being wrong. I'm still... worried, but that's just in my nature, I suppose."

“'S'not in my nature. But I'm still kind of worried." Khari pressed her brow harder into the rail, closing her eyes. She hadn't really planned on admitting that, but there it was. Still, it wasn't like Stel was going to go around repeating that to people. She had way too much integrity for that kind of petty thing. “...mostly about what comes after this." The big fire with the magic and stuff was... well, she didn't really know what to think about that except to hope it worked. But all appearances to the contrary, Khari wasn't stupid. She could guess how the news would go over with the rest of the world. And it wasn't always pretty.

“Yeah, I know what you mean." Stel said nothing further. Maybe she didn't have any better answer for that concern than Khari did. Maybe their answers were the same: maybe just being here was answer enough.

"How did this place remain hidden so long, if it's this significant?" Rom asked Anais, narrowing his eyes and trying to search through the mist for their destination. Behind them, the Northern Sword kept close, just remaining in sight in the reduced visibility.

"It would hardly be the first time something significant to Andraste has vanished for ages," Anais replied. "And unlike certain valuable artifacts, few had cause to search for this place, or knew it existed to begin with. It has no name, nor representation on any maps. On top of that, these mists are a common sight here, and the Frostbacks south of us conceal the island from those inland." She paused, leaning forward slightly. She then quietly gasped, and pointed ahead. "And here we are. The Prophet's Refuge."

It emerged slowly ahead of them, and the two ships were brought to a halt near the shore, at a safe distance to drop anchors. It was a very small island indeed, with a shore that was rocky instead of sandy, with any real vegetation having died off from the winter's cold. There wasn't much of the temple left to find, just the remains of a stone pillar here, the crumbling base of a wall there. It plainly wasn't some simple house, though, judging by the stonework. It had taken many years and probably darkspawn, as Anais suggested, to tear it to the ground.

One thing that did remain intact was a flat and square stone slab in what looked to be the center of the temple. If any statue or artifact had been placed upon it at some point was unclear, but now there was an impressive pyre. A contingent of the Herald's Disciples had traveled ahead of the rest, it seemed, and these had prepared a tall group of wooden pillars, with a single post at its center with footing for Rom to stand upon and presumably burn. The waiting disciples stood in a neat line with their hoods drawn against the rain.

The large shore party loaded into several boats and rowed to shore, with the lead boat carrying the Herald, the Speaker, Khari, Zee, Stel, Leon, and Marceline, who had chosen to observe the event along with the others. When all were ashore, Rom waited somewhat impatiently for instruction from Anais. The redheaded woman drew back her hood and smiled, her expression betraying a bit of nerves despite her obvious excitement.

"We can begin when you are ready, Your Worship. I will prepare the ritual. In the meantime, if you would like to say anything to your companions... I am confident this is not the end, but of course there are dangers involved." She turned to begin her work, and then abruptly stopped. "Oh, and you will want to remove any clothes that you wish to keep."

A single laugh, quiet and uneasy, escaped Rom, and he watched Anais stroll over to the pyre to begin her work. Judging by her concentration as she circled the assembled wood, it was not a simple task, but subtle and complex magic. Rom turned to those that had come along for the ride, but was obviously unsure what to say.

Marceline, wrapped in a thick black cloak, had her arms crossed and glanced at the rest of those assembled. "Tis a poor moment to be at a loss for words," she chided gently before shrugging.

“Sometimes, there aren't any," Leon said, moving his eyes to Rom and nodding solemnly. “Best of luck to you."

“We believe in you," Stel added warmly. Even Marceline nodded in agreement.

Zahra’s expression tempered itself between a grin and a soft smile. She didn’t appear all that concerned of what the outcome might be, but it might’ve been a result of the adamant, sea-roving approach she had to nearly everything: including her companions. She sniffed against her knuckles as she strode up to Rom and paused for a moment before clapping both hands on his shoulders, wild eyes alight.

Her breath still puffed out in white plumes, rising between them. She’d donned a wolf-headed jacket over her shoulders, probably scrapped up from the Riptide’s hold. “Drinks on me after this is all done,” she offered a wayward wink and released his shoulders, stepping back to allow the others to reach him as well, “That’s a promise.”

Khari's own confidence warred with her concern, and as usually seemed to happen to her when she couldn't quite sort out her feelings about something, she reacted physically. In this case, she took a couple steps forward and bear-hugged Rom, squeezing tightly.

“You're gonna be fine." She wasn't entirely sure which of the two of them she was trying to convince, but it probably didn't matter. “A little fire's got nothing on you. So don't go making me a liar."

He smiled and hugged her back, momentarily burying his face in her mass of red hair. As Leon had said, there weren't any words, at least not for her specifically. But certainly something was said with how strongly he embraced her. When he finally broke free of the hug, he looked to be a little choked up, but managed to maintain his composure.

"Thank you," he said, nodding. "All of you." His eyes wandered to the water. All of the boats from the Riptide had come in and were beached on the shore. None had come from the Northern Sword. In the distance, the outline of the bulky Captain Borja could be seen at the bow of his ship, seemingly content to watch his son from afar. Rom's expression was hard to read, but any pain or confusion there was quickly pushed beneath the surface.

He removed his cloak and boots, handing both to a disciple that was perhaps overly eager to receive them. Without looking back, he made his way to the pyre. Anais met him at the base of it, having finished her work. The base of the pyre seemed to be glowing, a barely perceptible white that may not have been noticeable at all if not for the relative darkness around them. The rain was lightening somewhat, but judging by the clouds on the horizon, it was only a pause in the storm, and not the end of it.

Anais pulled a small vial from a pouch on her belt, containing a pale golden liquid. "The last piece, Your Worship, prepared exactly as the journal specified. Have faith, and the Maker will protect you. His Bride will protect you." She handed the vial to him. Rom studied it momentarily, before he pulled the cork and downed it. He seemed to have a lack of reaction to it, not even a shudder at any foul taste. He dropped it once it was done. Anais placed a hand on his arm. "Now, let us begin."

Khari found it difficult to stand still, shuffling her feet slightly in place and drumming her fingers against her thigh, but she didn't get much closer to the pyre. It was like an invisible line had been drawn in the ground, whether for the sake of reverence or just more mundane safety. She didn't cross it, toeing the edge instead. She was good at not thinking about all the ways something risky could go wrong. It was a talent she chose to employ now. Zahra idled just close enough to her side to let her know that she was there. Arms folded neatly over her chest. While her expression has dampened a bit, and the grin had lost its humor, she appeared fairly composed.

One of the disciples aided his ascent onto the platform of the pyre, climbing up after him with a length of rope, which he used to bind Rom's hands around the central pole. The Herald's eyes remained down, almost purposely not seeking out anyone in particular, while the other disciples put some distance between themselves and the pyre, ending up near the assembled group from the Inquisition. Once Rom was properly secured to the pyre, the last disciple scampered away from the site, leaving only Anais behind. She tilted her head back towards the sky.

"The first son in the line of daughters has stepped forward to claim his mantle!" she called, to the Maker or to no one in particular. "He offers up his life as a show of faith in you! Receive him and protect him, Maker!"

With that, she called fire to her hands, and thrust the magic down at the base of the pyre. The white glow brightened and then immediately turned an intense orange as the natural fire seemed to consume it. Anais quickly retreated away from the pyre and came to join the others at a safe distance, a half smile of wonder etched on her face. "I would advise not approaching the pyre until it is done, for your own safety," she warned them.

The fire lingered at the base momentarily while the wood caught it, and for a moment it was only smoke that rose and surrounded Rom. The moment did not last long, though, and soon enough the blaze rose in height, and then with an unnatural speed it reached higher. The tongues of flame licked at his feet and legs, setting his clothes alight, and for a brief moment there was a look of confusion and alarm on Rom's face. Then the fire grew until it was monstrous in size, and the flames swallowed him entirely such that he could no longer even be seen by those witnessing. But he did not cry out in pain. Not a sound came from the blaze save for the roaring of the fire itself.

Khari pulled in a breath and held it. No sound was good, right? She doubted there were many people if any who'd be able to not make a peep if they were actually burning alive. Except the story said Andraste had done that, right? Shit. She crossed her arms in a self-conscious attempt to stop her own fidgeting, grinding the teeth in the back of her mouth and staring into the fire. Beside her, Stel pulled in a deep breath and seemed to hold it. A slender hand came to rest upon Khari's shoulder, though Marceline said nothing of it and only kept her eyes forward on the pyre. Zahra’s arms had dropped to her sides, and she appeared to be leaning slightly forward. Hands bunched into fists, eyes searching through the smog of black smoke licking through the air above and around the pyre. She did not move, though it looked as if she wanted to.

Still the fire grew more and more fierce, the heat of it blasting even those that stood as far away from it as they could, perhaps even reaching those that remained behind on the ships. It swirled in the wind, and even the mist shrouding the island seemed to be giving way, forced back and clearing the air, unable to withstand the intensity. When it finally stopped growing, it held and spun and roared for thirty seconds, a minute, more... any man inside without some kind of protection would have been burnt to their blackened bones by now.

Suddenly, a wave of energy radiated outwards from the pyre, akin to a strong gust of wind, continuing outwards until it had passed beyond the shores of the tiny island and over the pair of ships watching. From the ground up the fire was extinguished, the flames swirling up into the sky above where they eventually vanished. With the sound of the blaze gone, only the continuous pattering of the rain remained.

Romulus remained on the pyre, blackened with ash and soot and entirely naked, but seemingly alive and unhurt. His head lolled forward, but he looked to be barely hanging on to consciousness. The rope restraining his hands had burned away, and soon he toppled over forward towards the ground. The entire pyre collapsed with him in a crash of charred wood, into the rocky surface below. Anais, her face awash with delight, rushed forward with his cloak in hand.

“Dammit." Unable to keep her spot with her best friend on the ground like that, Khari ran forward, too. The Maker better have remembered to insulate against smoke inhalation, because that could knock a person just as dead. Anais had the cloak thing handled, so Khari busied herself pushing aside ash and debris from the pyre, clearing the area a little in hopes of making it a bit easier to breathe.

The rain began to come down harder now, sizzling as it hit the wood pieces and even against Rom's skin. Behind the Speaker and Khari others quickly moved to help as well, some at the orders of Marceline, whether she had command of them or not. Anais was quick to throw the cloak over the Herald's naked body, and together with Leon they were able to pull Rom free from the smoking remains of the pyre. Under the ash his skin was reddened and extremely warm to the touch, but he appeared to be cooling quickly, and there were no visible burns or signs of damage on him. Once he was clear of the smoke he was set down to rest upon his knees. He was still conscious and trying to stay upright, but needed support on either side. For a moment, he seemed delirious.

"Your Worship," Anais said, holding tightly onto his arm. "You've done it. The Maker has safeguarded you. You have proven your status, Blood of Andraste." The disciples around them heard the declaration, many falling to their knees and lowering their heads to the ground. A few openly shed tears. Romulus blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. With a hand he seemed to shove at Anais. She grabbed the hand and squeezed. "It's over, Your Worship. It's over."

"No," he managed, the word barely escaping him. "No." His eyes sought those around him, and found Leon. His other hand latched onto Leon's collar, and he tried to maintain eye contact with him. "Stop her. Stop... no. False... no..." Anais frowned, reaching to place a hand on the side of Rom's face, trying to get him to look at her.

"Your Worship? It's alright, you're safe now, the ritual is complete. You passed the trial, your faith has been rewarded!"

Leon's expression hardened slightly; his eyes narrowed a bit and his lips thinned. “Everyone step away for a moment, please." Though it was phrased politely, it was hard to mistake the fact that it was the High Seeker speaking, and not Leon. He was more than capable of supporting Rom on his own, and he moved to do so, putting a hand on either of his shoulders.

He ducked his head to keep eye contact, speaking quietly, deliberately and clearly—probably in hopes that Rom would be able to understand the words. “Stop whom?"

"He's just been through a great ordeal, High Seeker," Anais said, remaining firmly at Rom's side. "This is hardly the time for questioning him. He needs rest."

Khari frowned. “Whatever he's talking about, it's important enough to him that he's trying to say it now, so we should hear it now." She crossed her arms and took a single step closer. “Surely whatever the Blood of Andraste has to say is important enough to listen to?"

Reluctantly, the Speaker took a single step back away from Rom, who tugged the cloak tighter around his shoulders. He took several deep breaths, each one seeming to bring his strength back bit by bit. Anais's frown grew. Finally, Rom looked at Leon again.

"Anais," he said, as clearly as he could. "The vial... the ritual. Never... any danger." Suddenly he looked as though he was quite sick, and lurched forward, heaving and coughing in a fit that racked his body. He shuddered when it was through, and began shivering from the cold. Anais began to look offended.

"He's not in his right mind, High Seeker. Of course there was never any danger, the Maker protected him! He was chosen by a power greater than any of you to lead us!"

“Then surely you will not mind sharing the journal and the recipe for that concoction with our alchemist when we return to Skyhold," Leon replied evenly. A look of trepidation crossed his face, and he shook his head a little. “Estella? Is there anything you can do for him before we head back?" He must have been talking about healing magic.

“Perhaps," she replied softly. “But I do think it would be best to get him somewhere warm and comfortable first."

Khari shrugged out of her own cloak and added it to Rom's for warmth. “No reason to stay here in any case, is there?"

Suddenly Rom shoved himself up to his feet, with a groan of effort. He nearly fell again, but managed to remain upright and facing Anais. If anything the bout of sickness seemed to have purged him of some of the ill effects, and he was looking significantly more focused now. Anais's eyes widened, and she even took a step back in surprise.

"Your Worship, how... how can you even stand?"

"I could've..." he wiped at his mouth, eyes locked on the Speaker. "I could've made that potion myself. Couldn't... cast the spell, but I know there was nothing divine in that fire, nor in that vial. You build up a... tolerance, with enough use." Her mouth hung open, struggling for a moment to find something to say, but she still seemed stunned to see Rom coherent, let alone on his feet.

"I prepared the ritual exactly as the journal specified, Your Worship. As your ancestors wished, for one of their own to claim their rightful mantle as Blood of Andraste."

"The journal..." he practically scoffed at the mention of it. "The journal you translated. I'm such a fool..." He staggered a step closer to her, and this time she remained firmly rooted to the spot. The disciples around them seemed confused, alarmed, some even distraught at the argument. "What am I, Anais? What am I really?"

"Your Worship—"

"Don't call me that. What am I?"

She seemed threatened, half recoiling away from Rom, though she kept her eyes firmly rooted to his, and spoke slowly and deliberately. "You are the Blood of Andraste, Romulus. You have been given a great opportunity here, to seize the power that your birthright grants you. You must take it."

He held her gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Must I? No. I'm done listening to you. You brought my father to me, and for that I'm thankful, but I won't pretend that any of this was real." He turned to the others. "There's no one holy here. Only frauds."

Marceline strode forward, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. "Ser Leonhardt," she began before opening her eyes, "If you would kindly keep an eye on Anais on the way back to Skyhold, I would very much appreciate it." Shaking her head, she looked up and took a protective step next to Romulus. "And if you would, send a runner to inform Borja as well?" With that, Marceline gently encouraged Romulus that it was time to leave.

"Come... We have a long day of traveling ahead of us."

Leon nodded, pointing to one of the few Inquisition soldiers on the shore. “Run that message for me, Legrand. Everyone else, get back to the boats."

Boom. A powerful blast echoed in the distance, from the ships. Rom immediately turned towards the sound, to see a heavy projectile whistling away from the Northern Sword amidst a cloud of smoke. It smashed into the side of the Riptide, punching straight through and sending a spray of wood splinters into the air. By the looks of it, the shot had been aimed for the ship's main mast, but it remained upright, only slightly damaged, having avoided the worst of it. Shouting erupted from the two ships, and the Northern Sword began to turn, having already hauled up her anchor.

"No!" Anais cried, distraught. "You idiot!" Some of the disciples searched for cover, though there seemed to be no threat to the shore party. Borja's ship was turning to flee, the winds catching her sails and taking her east, towards the storm. The captain could be seen at the helm, not looking back.

Rom stared in utter confusion at the attack, the hurt written plainly across his face. He did not seem to understand what Anais was furious about. But after a few more seconds of disbelief, he seemed to have his mind made up.

"We need to catch him." He looked around at all of his companions, searching for support. "I need to catch him."

“Then let's go!" Khari didn't see any point in arguing about it. Even Marceline should be okay with chasing down someone who'd just fired on the Inquisition's borrowed boat. She was mostly just pissed at Borja though. That slimy little—there had better be a damn good explanation for this.

But of course, there was one person whose permission actually mattered. “Zee?"

Whatever confusion had happened at the pyre had wept from Zahra’s face like the ash and dust sifting from Rom’s flesh. Now, her eyes were trained on the horizon and on Borja’s fleeing vessel. There was a fury twisting her features, drawing her lips back from her teeth, as if she were bristling to throttle someone. In this case, it would’ve been Borja. She exhaled sharply and stomped forward, “Back to the ship. Now.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
It was all Zahra could do to contain the tawdry shudder of anger riddling through her bones as she ground out commands through clenched teeth. Why had Borja done this? What kind of fucking rouse had Anais pulled back at the pyre? The connections weren’t lost on her. Nothing made sense anymore. She doubted she’d get any answers until they had Borja here. On his knees, begging for forgiveness. She’d see it. Even if he was Rom’s father. They’d hightailed it back to the ship far quicker than she’d thought possible given Rom’s state, but she figured Leon could’ve practically carried him back without much effort. Her crew was already scrambling across the decks and the anchor had been hauled up as soon as they’d set their feet aboard. Nixium’s face was grimmer than it usually was, though she’d already turned the rudder’s hard to port and without being needed to be told where they needed to be, cut the Riptide towards the Northern Sword.

The Riptide’s sails flapped down like falling curtains and billowed out at the gust of wind as if it were a lover blowing them true. They sliced through the waters at a quickening speed. Fortunately, their ship was much smaller than Borja’s and crafted specifically for this: catching fleeing vessels. However, the damage that had been done to the ship was
 concerning. The Northern Sword could be frighteningly destructive if it’s intentions were to send said ship to the bottom of the sea. How many had she seen suffer that fate? Too many. If it hadn’t been for dumb luck, they might not have had any way to leave. He’d missed the mast. Garland had already vaulted down the steps leading into Riptide’s belly, armed with hammer, nails, and boards tucked under his armpits. If his expression was anything to go by
 the damage wasn’t good.

But they were afloat. For now.

Seeing as Anais was the only one that might know what was going on here, Zahra stalked up to her with all of her small-sized, pent-up rage. She hadn’t allowed them to lock her in the holds, nor move her out of the cold. Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed, drawing into mean slits. Whatever remnant of calm had already sizzled out like the flames of the pyre. Her hands, drawn into fists, bloomed opened and closed before she finally reached the woman in question. One hand shot out and grappled onto the scruff of her collar, which she used as leverage to draw her down closer to her face, and her withering stare. She hadn’t reached for blade or arrows, but her posturing was anything but feigned. It spoke of consequences.

“I’ll give you one chance to explain what’s happening here,” she breathed out sharply.

"And if I pass on that chance?" To her credit, Anais did not seem cowed by the captain's display of ferocity and justified anger. She did little to shield herself from the driving rain, which grew ever fiercer the closer they came to the storm's heart. "What will you do? Kill me? I very much doubt it. I could provide some answers for the Herald, but I won't do that here."

Zahra tossed her head back and laughed. She hadn’t released her hold on the back of her neck either, only forced her to reel back with her. There was a glint in her eyes, like two pieces of flint. “Kill you? No. That’d be easy. But I can make you wish for it, little bird.”

Romulus carefully positioned himself partway between them. He was clothed again with a spare change under his armor, which he'd left behind on the ship. It was obvious that he wasn't at full strength and wouldn't be for some time, but he at least seemed alert. "I need her alive," he warned Zahra. "I think there's too much to explain for it to be done here."

Even as Rom repositioned himself so that he stood nearly between them, Zahra’s countenance hadn’t changed. She demanded blood be paid. It was the raider way, even if she’d become less and less of one. For one who’d lived their lives on land instead of the sea, it was difficult to explain just how much a ship meant to its crew. This was no different. It accounted for a life.

"He's right," Anais agreed. "For the moment, I should inform you that Adan Borja will not hesitate to sink this ship if threatened, nor will he think twice about killing every soul aboard. This must be done carefully." That was clear enough. The waves ahead were growing ever larger, and the Northern Sword was showing no signs of changing her course. Romulus glowered at the sight, taking his shield in hand.

"Just get me on that ship."

Zahra’s fingers slowly released their death-grip on her collar and she allowed the fabric to slip away from her hand. Her eyes, however, raked away from Anais’s face, and onto Rom’s. “When this is done, and she sings her last useful words...” her eyes shifted sidelong and her mouth settled into a hard line, “I won’t move on this matter.” For now, as he said, they’d need to catch up to the Northern Sword and board it before he tried to turn around and face them. Being punched with more cannon balls wasn’t an option. She pushed the sopping wet hair from her face and grinned grimly, “Now, that I can do. Make sure everyone’s ready.”

She turned away from them and cried out quick commands over the sound of the storm. Nixium bellowed back from the helm, though her words were muffled from the rain that’d decided to start pelting down from all angles, chilling them to the bone. Riptide quickened its pace, and the Northern Sword began showing discernible details. People shuffling along the decks. If she squinted hard enough she thought she could see Borja leaning over the railings, hands planted
 though she couldn’t be sure, and chalked it up to her eager imagination.

On The Riptide's own deck, those few who were neither crew nor cultist prepared for battle. Khari, still with wan and waxy complexion from all the rocking, was nevertheless arranging the straps that held her graceless cleaver to her back. She forewent the metal mask—perhaps air was more important—but pulled her dark hood up around her head, her facial features disappearing from view. Across the deck, Marceline stood with the point of her rapier resting gently in the wood by her feet, flanked by a pair of sturdy Inquisition soldiers and their shields. Meanwhile Estella appeared from below, sword now at her hip, and tossed what looked like a pair of heavy gauntlets to Leon, who caught them in midair. They stayed out of the way of the crew, but their eyes were fixed forward on the retreating boat.

A porthole opened up in the rear of the Northern Sword as the Riptide steadily gained on her. A flash of fire followed, and a boom like thunder rippled through the air. A cannonball from the stolen Qunari weapon hurtled through the air at them, the shot sailing high and splashing down into the tumultuous seas behind them. With the way the waves lifted and dropped the two racing vessels, aiming would be very difficult. But soon there were more projectiles added into the mix.

"Find cover!" Romulus called, as the first arrows whistled down onto the deck, some clattering off into the sea, others thudding into the wood. They were almost impossible to see in the darkened sky, with the driving rain added into the mix. Another shot from the cannon sent a giant plume of water up in front of the ship, the attack falling short this time. Their aim was unreliable at best in the storm, but it wouldn't be long before something found its mark.

Khari didn't need to be told twice. She half-lunged, half-toppled forward, snatching Estella's arm and dragging them both behind a couple of the barrels that had been lashed down to the deck in preparation for the inclement weather. One lucky arrow thudded right into the barrel in front, vibrating for several seconds before it stilled. A semitransparent barrier, more purple than blue, flickered into life over their heads. It was neither very large nor sturdy-looking, but at least one arrow bounced off of it harmlessly.

Taking cover wasn't exactly simple for a man of Leon's proportions; he wound up putting the foremast between himself and the oncoming arrows, occasionally risking a glance out from behind it. At this point, though, their job was pretty much to stay alive until they were close enough to retaliate.

Marceline huddled behind the shield-wall erected by her guard, adding her own weight to theirs to help keep them steady. Slowly they picked their way to a rise in the railing, in an effort to add it to their protection as arrows thumped harmlessly into their shields. Once they reached it, there was nothing more they could do but patiently wait.

While most wouldn’t have counted themselves lucky facing such an unforgiving storm, Zahra was. If only for the fact that Borja couldn’t pelt them with flaming arrows—it was a tactic she was keen to employ whenever she pulled up to other ships. Setting a ship’s sails aflame was a good way to render them useless, and still. She’d donned her own bow in hand and bounded up towards the upper decks as quickly as she could manage, arrows whistling through the air. If they could reach the ship in time, she could sink his hooks into his, and he’d be daft to fire anymore cannonballs.

In any case, they were gaining on him.

Nixium kept her post at the helm. Though she’d conjured some sort of shield to protect herself. A rippling force-field. One of her palms was held up in the air as she grappled with the wheel using her upper body. From the looks of it, the wild waves crashing into the ship’s bow wasn’t being easily managed. Several arrows crashed and splintered against her ward, while some buffered off into the hail. Once Zahra reached her, breathless and sopping wet, she grappled onto the other side of the jerking wheel while Nixium adjusted herself on the opposite end.

“Hooks are ready. Close as we can, now.”

The last attempt from the Qunari cannon was a hit on the Riptide, a ricochet off the starboard side railing that sent splinters raining down on their heads before it careened over the back and into the sea. A lucky result, considering how easily it could've taken a head clean off. They were close enough now to accurately exchange fire, the two crews loosing arrows back and forth in between dives for cover. Romulus pegged a pirate in the chest with his crossbow before he ducked back down to load another bolt. They were numerous, this crew of Borja's, but they had never faced an enemy like this one before.

"We're in range!" Romulus shouted, through the crack of lightning. "Hook them!" The grappling hooks were heaved at the Northern Sword, entangling its masts and railings, binding the ships together and steadily drawing them into each other. "Brace!" A wave pushed the larger ship the rest of the way into the Riptide, scraping the sides of both hulls and inflicting some light damage on the smaller of the two. It was negligible in the grand scheme of things; they had their way across.

They were close enough to make a jump, and Romulus was the first to throw himself across, landing near the Northern Sword's bow. The first pirate to get in his way found a knife digging into his ribs, and he was discarded overboard into the sea. If the effects of being drugged were still wearing on him, he was hiding it quite well. Borja roared at his men from the rear of his ship, compelling them into action, and the melee began in earnest.

Khari, too, leaped from cover, bounding over the deck with surprising surefootedness for someone with such a bad stomach for the ocean. She made the jump further down the ships, landing closer to the mizzenmast than the fore, sword swinging wildly. She looked to be aiming mostly for center mass, and moved on as soon as a foe dropped, rather than pausing to finish any of them off. Jamming an elbow into one pirate's jaw, she pulled him over her hip with one hand, whacking him hard in the head with the flat side of her cleaver. He stilled, and she stepped forward into another.

Estella and Leon took a little longer to board, mostly because Leon paused to boost her across the gap before following himself. The Seeker went to work immediately in that brutal way he had. Grabbing one man by the head, he threw him sideways into the mainmast and kicked hard enough to break ribs, snatching up the pirate's weapons and throwing them into the churning ocean below. The next got his legs swept out from underneath him; his kneecaps broke under Leon's stomping boots.

The hatchet he'd been carrying flew end-over-end, lodging itself in the back of a woman who'd been after Estella. The Inquisitor herself pulled it free, toppling her foe with a hamstring slash and slamming the hatchet down with all her might, pinning the pirate to the deck by the back of her shirt. A few seconds later, the axe was frozen to the wood, and Estella was standing, bringing her saber up to block another assailant.

Marceline was among the last to board the ship with her entourage, probably in an effort to let their main force at least thin the resistance a little. Both soldiers aided her in crossing the gap between the ships. Once their feet were dug into the Northern Sword's deck, they formed into a tight unit, with shields flanking both sides of Marceline. A pirate who perhaps believed that felling the Orlesian ambassador might hurt morale, drove straight for her before he was intercepted by a shield. In the moment that he turned his attention away from her was the moment she chose to strike, the tip of her rapier burying deep into his chest. They'd find the ambassador to be a far more difficult target than that.

Zahra had left Nixium’s side with little more than a nod. As soon as ships kissed sides, there was not much else a navigator could do until the time came to unhook themselves. She, too, jumped onto the railing and used her momentum to leap onto the Northern Sword’s busy decks. She ducked an incoming blade, heard the sweep of air as it sliced above her. As she was coming back up, she swung the sharp end of her bow underneath his chin. There was a spray of blood and a sickly gurgle. A thud sounded behind her, but she was already springing away towards the next foe.

“Borja!” She screamed into the hail. Whether he’d heard him or not didn’t seem to matter. Her eyes trained the decks, absorbing the carnage that was unfurling on both the Riptide, and the Northern Sword. Numb fingers notched an arrow in place and pinned a man’s hand against the wood of the mainmast. Struck clear through the knuckles. His sword, mid-swing, clattered at his feet. His screams couldn’t be heard either, though she did not doubt they’d end soon enough.

Romulus was giving as little thought to the well-being of his enemies as Zahra was, it seemed. Lightly armored pirates dropped in heaps, leaking blood to mix with the rain washing over the ships. He pushed through the melee towards the rear of the ship, towards where the captain was supposed to be fighting alongside his crew, though in the thick of the fighting it was difficult to discern where anyone was. His efforts to search for Borja were continuously interrupted by sword-armed criminals trying to end his life. Frustrated, he bashed one in the throat with the rim of his shield, before reaching forward to violently snap the man's neck, dropping him to the ground.

Before him, a hatch opened leading to the lower decks of the Northern Sword. Romulus had been about to plunge his dagger down into the neck of the first person to appear there, but he managed to stop himself short, recognizing the figure. The lanky and aging smuggler Conrado had his hands free, one of them grasping a long, thin sword which he carried with practiced ease. His head swiveled about, searching for threats, eyeing up the pirates around him as well as those they'd been boarded by.

"Conrado!" Romulus called, demanding the man's attention. "Fight with us!" How he'd gotten free was unclear, but his treatment at Borja's hands had been none too kind. Conrado nodded briefly, then gestured with his head behind Romulus, warning him of an attacker to his rear.

Romulus half-turned his head to react, before a sharp pain immediately bloomed in his torso. He looked down to see Conrado's sword stabbed into his side. Before he could so much as react the thin blade was withdrawn and slashed deep across his lower left thigh. He staggered and nearly fell, but Conrado was quick to complete the move, pulling him forward and throwing him down the hole he'd emerged from, where Romulus crashed against the ladder and disappeared out of sight. The smuggler kicked the hatch closed behind him.

On the upper deck, Borja was nowhere to be seen.

Khari must have either seen or inferred what happened, because she hastily kicked her off-balance opponent over the railing of the ship and threw herself at Conrado, barreling through a couple of occupied pirates on the way. He stepped neatly out of the way of her first blow; the sound of the blade hitting the deck was inaudible over the din, but from the way it jerked through her whole frame, it must have been quite the impact.

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl, and she wrenched the cleaver out of the floorboards, twisting away from a fencing lunge but unable to completely avoid the follow-up, which caught her in the side. It was hard to tell if she so much as felt it. She attempted to close one gauntlet-protected hand over the blade of the rapier, but Conrado was too fast to allow it. So she followed his retreat instead, clearly trying to pin him down in a corner.

Leon was swiftly clearing out the mid-ship area, but his progress was nowhere near fast enough to get to Romulus's aid anytime soon. Estella branched off in the aft direction, but was immediately waylaid by a trio of Borja's men. Grimly, she leveled her saber and got to work.

With a solid solid foothold behind them, Marceline ventured away from her guard, the rapier flashing in one hand, and the main-gauche in the other. She pressed as hard as she could along with the others, but she was careful that her pace did not leave her vulnerable. Unfortunately, that pace was not quite quick enough.

Zahra battled her way down from the upper decks. Somewhat disgruntled at the fact that she hadn’t found her mark. No sight of Borja anywhere—the damned coward. She did, however, spot Khari grappling with a familiar face on the ground
 Conrado. Someone she hadn’t expected to see here. Alive, in any case. She tensed her shoulders and twisted around an incoming man’s fist, leveling her elbow into his nose. It crunched under the blow and she finished it with a dagger pulled from her hip, dipping it between his ribs. She was trying to bully her way through the crowd, but every inch she drew closer was interrupted by another of Borja’s snarling crewmembers.

Over the shoulder of the current layer of pirates blocking her way, she could see Khari still struggling with Conrado. The elf looked the worse for wear; her hood had fallen and she bore a deep cut across her forehead, freely bleeding into one of her eyes. Conrado's agility and skill with that dueling sword was clearly formidable.

Khari's main advantage, however, was sheer dauntlessness. It didn't seem to matter how many times he stuck her with the thing, how many little goading jabs pricked her skin: she just kept going, relentless and aggressive. She didn't try to be a better duelist than he was—instead, she took some of the blows, turned aside the rest, and kept advancing.

She left an opening on her right side; Conrado darted in to take advantage. But her reaction was quicker than it should have been, like she'd bluffed the vulnerability in the first place, and a powerful blow disarmed Conrado, sending the rapier spinning across the deck. Her lips moved, but there was no way to hear what she said. The pommel of her sword smashed into his temple, and Conrado crumpled.

Wiping the blood out of her eye with her cloak, Khari hustled for the hatch, yanking it open and barging in without so much as pausing to assess the landing.

She left a darkened wet streak behind her on the deck.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus bounced his way down into the belly of the beast, his head filled with the sounds of cracking lightning and booming thunder. He left bloodstains on the ladder, a thick splotch of it where he hit the floor. His vision was blurry, his entire body heavy as though his limbs were encased in ice. One stab shouldn't have put him down, but as much as he hid it, the effects of the potion Anais had given him were slowing him down, throwing his mind into a fog, fighting every motion of his limbs.

He'd dropped his dagger during the fall, and by the torchlight underneath the deck he could see it. He crawled forward towards it, the sounds of the battle raging above returning to him. He reached, but a strong hand closed around his wrist before he could grab hold of it. His eyes shot upwards. Borja. Somehow he'd never really noticed the pirate lord's impressive size until now, when he was towering over him. He raised the Herald's right arm, and kicked down on it hard with the flat of his boot. A sickening snap accompanied the breaking of his arm, and Romulus cried out in pain. Borja crouched down, seized him by the collar, and lifted him up off the ground, carrying him backwards until his back slammed against the nearest wall.

"Pay attention, runt," he growled. "If you and your friends are bringing me and my crew down, so be it. But first I'm going to make this hurt." A right hook collided with Romulus's jaw, and then Borja was carrying him, a feat he performed with ease, from room to room, smashing his back and sides into seemingly every object they passed. A few crew members remained below, weapons drawn. "Kill anyone that makes it down here!" Borja ordered them.

They were somewhere near the very back of the ship by the time Borja stopped. He hurled Romulus across the room, some kind of dimly lit storage space, where he crashed against hard wooden crates and tumbled to the ground on his back.

The smell... somehow it was the smell that was most familiar to him. The sea salt, the sweat, the blood. Then the sound. Smashing waves, cracks of lightning, thunder that shook the world, and above it all, the sounds of battle above him. Monsters coming to kill his parents, coming to end him before his life could even begin. One of them stalked outside the room, and his mother put him down, turning to defend him. She had no skill in battle, not like the monsters did...

"We could have had it all," Borja grumbled, cracking his knuckles as he watched Romulus writhe on the ground. "But you threw it away. Didn't have the foresight to think, and stop yourself from opening your damn mouth. Anais always thought you could be turned around to it if you found out, but I knew. I knew—gah!" A crossbow bolt thudded into Borja's hand, launched from the weapon Romulus kept on him. A poorly aimed shot, considering the result. Fury twisted across the pirate's face, and he ripped the bolt from his palm with little hesitation.

His mother sang to him, before the monsters broke down the door. A melancholy song, a dreary song, but it had been a dreary day, and a stormy night, the darkest of nights. She had lost hope for herself, lost hope that she could protect her son any longer.

"See how the rain has washed away
The tears that you were crying?
Though the darkness calls me down
You know we all are dying."

"I was a merciful man, once," Borja hissed, closing the distance between them quickly and ripping the miniature crossbow from Romulus's hands. "But today has taught me, if nothing else, what the price of mercy towards your enemies is." He grabbed him by the shirt again, hauling him up against a tall crate and punching him solidly in the gut, right against his stab wound. "Ten years, twenty years... doesn't matter. Someday, it comes back. And it haunts you." He pulled a knife from his belt, and stabbed it into Romulus's chest, just below the collarbone. He screamed and squirmed, but there was no escaping.

"Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay."

The monsters had killed everyone who tried to fight them on the deck. His father had gone up there, sword in hand, vowing to protect his wife and child, or die in the effort. He did so, when a hulking monster slit his throat, and dumped his body into the raging sea. A forgotten man, with forgotten bravery to save a wife who loved him, and a son who would never remember him.

"She came to me, this redheaded witch," Borja said, slowly twisting the knife, "and she said, 'Adan Borja, would you like to be the father of a god?' And I said yes. I'm an old man, tired of my petty victories. Would that be my legacy? Why, when I could be the man who spawned the Blood of Andraste?" He ripped the knife free and hurled Romulus across the room again. He landed on his side near the wall.

"Birds reel across the endless sky, above a house upon the plain.
In memory she sings to him of a time before the rain.

Sweet Andraste, hear our song
For his road will be ours too.
Before darkness claims our souls
Let us see that shred of blue."

Borja rushed over in a fit of rage and kicked Romulus hard in the gut, bashing him against the wall, the boot coming away bloodier and bloodier. "I'm a man who knows how to control himself, play the role, and I did! Why couldn't you do the same?" He glowered down at the Herald, who coughed blood at his feet. "I could've been your father, if you were willing to play the part of son! Blood doesn't matter, you fool. Only the appearance, only the story."

The monster outside kicked the door down, and marched into the room. He was a hulking figure, menacing and clad in red, his blade dripping crimson with the blood of all those who had tried to defend themselves. All those unfortunate enough to be in his way.

"Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay."

Borja knelt down, grabbing Romulus by the jaw and forcing him to look up. "But I'm not your father, you fucking slave. I'm the bastard who slit his throat."

A loud bang sounded from somewhere just outside the storage room, along with the unmistakable sound of someone gasping for air they weren't going to get. A corpse fell halfway through the doorway, sightless eyes rolled back in his head, and Khari stumbled in after.

Truth be told, she didn't look much better, freely bleeding from what must have been half a dozen wounds at least, but she had the wherewithal to get out of the way the first time Borja made a grab for her, ducking under his hand and trying to bring her sword up and around to strike him.

Her swing was a bit too big for the space, though; she couldn't get any real momentum going. He caught her arm, wrenching it to the side; she lost grip on the weapon, which clattered to the ground. Borja kicked it well away from her reach. Slamming her back against the wall one-armed, he stabbed the knife right through her hand, pinning it to the wood behind her with a nauseous thud.

Khari's cry was swiftly cut off; Borja's free hand closed around her windpipe. She kicked and scrabbled frantically against the hold, but he was far stronger than she was, and the close quarters granted her no leverage.

"You're lucky to have friends like this," Borja commented sardonically, looking down at the struggling Romulus as he continued to hold Khari in place. "Or perhaps unlucky. Rosamara didn't have to watch anyone die in front of her." He released the choke hold on her and took the few steps needed to reach where Romulus lay.

With a wordless shout, Khari lunged for Borja, only to be stymied by the knife still pinning her hand to the wall. It was clearly driven in far enough to stop her cold. Her voice cracked hard a moment later; fresh blood welled from the wound in her palm. Khari bit down hard on her tongue and turned, trying to use her free hand to dislodge the knife with no success.

"Fuck." It was hard to tell exactly what she said between gritted teeth, but that was the gist of it. “Rom, get up, you've got to—" The rest was lost to the pain of another failed attempt to pull the knife free of the wall.

He crouched down again, glancing back at Khari to make sure she wasn't going anywhere, before he looked once more to Romulus. "Rosamara didn't have many friends. She was no descendant of the divine. She was a thief, a swindler, a whore, and one day she angered one man too many. She thought of Conrado as a friend, but he was a wise enough man to know what side to take, and he sold her out to me and mine." He sighed almost wistfully, as if thinking back on the memory brought him great pleasure. Then his fist came down hard once more on his wound, as though he simply couldn't stop himself. "We were going to live as kings for this. Anais swore to it..."

He stood, towering over Romulus, and rolled his head about, his neck popping several times. He exhaled slowly. "Even for me, there were lines I could not cross. After I'd killed everyone else, you remained. A little baby with a marked face. Now a grown man with a marked hand. How was I to know what you would become? How was I to know that leaving you behind would one day lead me to my end?" He clenched his jaw, as though imagining the moment, and how it might have been different if he'd simply tossed the baby in the sea instead of leaving him on the deck for the marines of Tevinter to find.

"But I promised you this would hurt. It didn't hurt much for your father. Overpowered him, disarmed him, slit his throat. But your mother..." He walked back to Khari, seized hold of her throat again, grabbed the knife, and ripped it free from the hull in a bloody spray. He held the knife up to Rom. "Your mother I gutted when she threw herself at me. It went something like this..."

He pulled back with the knife, but before he could stab it forward Romulus was on him. Some force had propelled him to his feet. Maybe it was the softening of the rain outside, the way the ship had stopped swaying so fiercely. The way the sounds of battle above had all but ceased. His entire body screamed in pain but he forced himself forward and reached out with his left arm, the unbroken one, with the green glow of his marked palm.

He grabbed hold of the back of Adan Borja's head and instantly the pirate lord roared in pain, releasing his hold on Khari and freeing her. Romulus staggered with Borja sideways as the glow on his hand intensified, and the captain fell to his knees, his entire body shuddering with some energy that flowed through him. He howled in pain, a green light emanating from his mouth, and then his nostrils, and then his eyes. Romulus gritted his teeth and tightened his grip as best he could, trying to avoid collapsing on the weakness of his wounded leg.

Borja's wail of pain echoed with an unearthly intensity, until his entire head imploded in a blast of green light from within his skull. Whatever the mark had opened there immediately closed again, sending bits of bone fragments and brain matter raining down around the now headless body, which collapsed forward and remained still. Romulus stared down at it for a moment before he too fell, tipping over backwards and hitting the deck hard, too tired to keep himself upright any longer.

A softer thud echoed the one he made; Khari had slid down the wall to the ground as well, cradling her wounded hand in her other. "Son of a mabari bitch." The words were breathy, accompanied by a soft groan; she listed somewhat to the side, bracing herself with an elbow to one of the storage crates. That one was still mostly intact.

The sound of her gulping in air was audible for a while. "Rom, are you—fuck, I don't know. You're... conscious, right? I should—I should get...someone. Stel or—or someone." She didn't stand, though; she might not have been able to.

"No..." he managed, letting his marked hand roll over, palm up, in her direction. "Just stay here. Please stay. They'll... find us." He took in a few breaths of his own. There was almost no way to process what had just occurred, other than to feel the pain in every part of his body. One thing he knew for certain though.

"The storm, Khari... it's over."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
She should have been with them. That was all Asala thought about ever since Romulus and those who attended his ritual returned. They were in pretty bad shape when they arrived the day before. Asala and most of her staff had spent the entire previous day tending to their injuries, and currently they were all in stable condition. She still preferred it that they did not move for another day or two in fear of tearing or reopening their wounds. Asala was especially firm in Khari's case, fearing the woman would probably try to escape if the opportunity presented itself. Still, they were all alive, and if they took their recovery slow, and she and her assistants did their jobs properly, then there should be no lasting danger either.

She couldn't shake the guilt, and it remained with her even as she measured out a dose of potion into a vial. Donovan stood next to her, carefully folding clean bandages into a tin tray to change out the soiled ones. Asala couldn't help but feel things would've been different had she been there. No, she probably could not have changed the outcome, but she could have at the very least tended to them while their wounds were fresh, if not prevented a number of them to begin with. Asala had not asked for details, and in truth she did not want to hear them. It was clear that whatever they were supposed to prove failed, and she had seen Anais led to the dungeons in chains. She could infer enough from that alone.

With the potion measured, Asala set it on the tray with bandages and took it with her as she went to Romulus's bedside, and sat it down on a small stand beside her. Asala gave him a sweet, if a little sad smile when she handed him the vial before she began to undo the bandages on his thigh. The wound was mostly closed now and beginning to scab over. She was extremely careful as she worked; he had broken a number of bones and was no doubt very sore, if still not a little pain.

In the bed beside them, Bibi purred softly at the foot while Millian worked with Khari, cutting the bandages on her hand and inspecting the wound there. She was efficient, though she lacked Asala's... bedside manner.

Khari didn't seem to care much; she was surprisingly compliant with the tranquil's commands. The only resistance she'd put up so far was insisting that she was well enough to sit up with her back to the wall next to the bed she'd been assigned. Aside from the wound on her hand, most of her abdomen had been bandaged under her shirt due to multiple stab wounds there, and there were more around her head, covering a deep cut over one of her brows.

Indeed, she was uncharacteristically solemn in general, and didn't even keep up much of a running commentary, as she otherwise would surely have done. Instead, she stroked the cat with her free hand, rubbing at his ears.

Where Khari was solemn, Romulus was despondent, and had said almost nothing that wasn't absolutely necessary since his arrival back at Skyhold. His injuries had been extensive, the majority of them consisting of broken bones from being repeatedly struck with blunt force. His right arm was the worst break, requiring him to keep it tied up in a sling despite the best efforts of Asala's considerable healing magic. His jaw had been broken, his cheekbone fractured, even part of his skull had required healing. His ribcage was a mess, which had led to a number of internal injuries varying in severity, and there was the stab wound through his side and the deep slash through the muscles of his left leg to work through.

Despite it all, it was obviously not his physical injuries that troubled him, as he'd been clearly withdrawn inside his own head, where nothing good could be occurring. He slept often, but not well, either the pain of his injuries or his intense dreams waking him repeatedly. He ate only the bare minimum, and if Asala's comforting presence was having any effect on him, he was hiding it well. He did not sit as Khari did, but lay still and stared at the ceiling while she worked.

The door to the infirmary opened, and Vesryn entered, for once seemingly unsure what to do with himself. He closed the door quietly behind him, rubbing his hands together for the warmth. "How are we doing?" he asked, in a carefully casual tone. "On the mend, I hope." When Romulus didn't so much as acknowledge him, he nodded uncomfortably. "Well... is there anything I can get you, Asala? From the Keep, or the tavern maybe? Thought I'd see if I could be of service somehow."

The only one from the Riptide occupying another bed was its small-statured boastwain. Tucked neatly into the corner. Apparently she’d suffered the worst of the Northern Sword’s initial attack. She’d been in the Riptide’s belly when the cannonball crashed into its side, sending a spray of thick splinters through the upper portion of the ship. Her arm had taken the worst of the blows, and it’d needed to come off. Too much damage to salvage. They’d done a good job, though she hadn’t woken up for more than a handful of minutes before drifting off.

Zahra had visited several times throughout the night to check on Rom, Khari and Nuka. Most of the time, she’d just fill in the empty space between them with rambles, trying to cast light in the dark situations they’d tumbled through. Even if it didn’t have any effect
 she was relentless. She’d had scrapes and cuts but hadn’t suffered nearly as much as the others had. Bruises would blossom and disappear, but she looked none worse for wear. The upper portion of her arm was neatly bound in fresh bandages where they’d extracted an arrow. Besides that, she’d been lucky.

She, too, filtered through only moments after Vesryn had. There was a bottle tucked under her arm, though it was difficult to tell what it was. She paused at the door before stepping through and shutting it behind her. Her eyes roved across the occupied beds, stopped short when they reached Rom and Khari before they slipped towards the farthest corner of her room. Her mouth formed a line, before it shifted into an easy smile. “How’re the patients, kitten?” Zahra closed the distance and idled beside Vesryn. She fished the bottle from beneath her armpit and prodded him in the shoulder with the corked end, “Just got back from there.”

Asala paused her work for a moment to turn and greet both Vesryn and Zahra. There was nothing really more to do except to keep their injuries clean and supply doses of healing medication until they were well enough to start moving again. It was not the external injuries Asala was most worried about however, but the ones that lingered in their heads. Broken bones and cuts could be mended, but maladies of the mind was something on an entirely different scale. In fact, their company were perhaps the most important thing right now than the things they could get.

She turned, but before she could even ask, Donovan was already to work fetching the chairs. "They are... healing," Asala answered Zahra. Her eyes did linger on the bottle disapprovingly for a moment before she shrugged. "I believe we have what we need but, if you would like, you are more than welcome to stay awhile," she said, though by the way Donovan was bringing chairs, it was more of a request than a suggestion. Their company would perhaps give them something to think about over whatever dark thoughts were swirling around their heads. She sighed again, but offered a smile to Vesryn and Zahra before returning to tend to Romulus. She should've been there, she told herself not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Khari roused herself a bit at the presence of company, still leaving her hand within Millian's custody but turning her head so she could smile wanly at the visitors. It was hardly a smile compared to the face-splitting grins she so often wore, but she seemed tired and concerned enough to warrant it. Her eyes frequently flicked across the room to where Romulus was.

“'Fraid we're not at our most entertaining right now, but thanks for dropping in. Don't worry too much though—you should see the other guys."

"Oh, I have," Vesryn assured her. "The ones able to make it into our dungeon here, at least. I suspect they didn't fully understand what they were getting into when they fired on the likes of you. Safe to say they do now." Seeing that Zahra was a step ahead of him on the gift from the tavern, he shuffled his feet a bit awkwardly in place, before smiling and bowing his head a little. "Well, I should be going. I hope your recovery is swift, all of you, and... Saraya expresses her concern as well." He took his leave, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Zahra appeared as if she wanted to call after him
 but he’d walked through the door as quickly as he’d come, and she was left standing there, bottle held in both hands. She made a humming noise in her throat before plopping down on one of Donovan’s proffered chairs. She’d caught Asala’s opposing stare, and shrugged her shoulders, “It’s a gift. What can I say? I don’t go back on promises.” She bounced the bottle on her knee and tilted her head to the side, “Well. You’re alive, at least. Counts for something.”

Khari's smile grew, just a bit. “Well, we promised, too, after all. Can't break a promise on breakfast."

At that point, the door outside opened up again with a blast of cold air. It admitted Lady Marceline first, who held a cloth covered parcel close to her chest, and behind her Estella, who was laden with a heavy-looking tray bearing what looked like a couple of decently-sized pots and several empty bowls stacked upside down, along with the glint of tin spoons.

Steam gushed liberally from the top of both pots, and Estella moved with exaggerated care, careful to place each foot before adding weight to it. She made it over to an empty side table, where she gingerly lowered the whole tray, breathing what sounded like a sigh of relief. Turning towards Asala, she gave a small smile, brief enough to be little more than a twitch, and folded her hands in front of her.

“Um... I made soup. That's okay, right? I wasn't sure if anyone had any stomach injuries, so it's not very spicy or anything..."

"Larissa sends her regards," Marceline said after Estella, "Along with these." She then began to pull the cloth away to reveal a set of novels which she turned over to show them. "I find her choices to be... subject, but nonetheless she assured me that you would enjoy them," she said. From the glance Asala took, she read Hard in Hightown on one of the covers before she returned to her task, setting the old bandages back into the tray beside her.

Khari snorted. “I've heard of those. Some guy from Kirkwall wrote them, right?" Admittedly, she seemed more interested in the soup at the moment; as soon as Millian was finished wrapping her hand in fresh bandages, she was pushing herself out of the bed. Apparently the concept of bedrest was a little lost on her. Millian even put a hand on her shoulder to try and dissuade too much movement, though it seemed to be ineffective, and the tranquil did not try to fight her over it.

“Rom, you want to eat something?" She glanced back at him, turning an empty bowl over in her hands quite heedless of the injured one. If she was still in pain, she was remarkably resistant to it.

Romulus blinked, turning his head at the sound of his name and taking in the sight of the soup, Estella, and Marceline. "Uh... yeah." It wasn't the most enthusiastic response, but perhaps the smell of it was enough to convince him to acquiesce. Carefully he worked himself back into a sitting position with Asala's help, though he wasn't able to perform much movement with one of his arms and one of his legs. "Thank you," he said quietly in Estella's direction.

Asala picked the tray with the empty vial and dirty bandages up, handing it to Donovan as he came to retrieve it. She then reached into one of the pockets in her robes to produce a clean rag and wiped down the table she had been using with the intention of using it the hold the soup.

“You're welcome." While Khari was serving herself, Estella started serving bowls for the others in the room, handing the first one to Asala, indicating with a small nod that it was intended for Romulus. Others went to Donovan and Millian to distribute; Estella seemed inclined to stay clear of where the healers were working.

Khari sat back down on her bed, holding her soup steady in her lap with her injured hand and using the other to manipulate the spoon. It was a little awkward, since she'd been stabbed in her dominant hand, but this didn't seem to pose a significant problem. “It's pretty good, Stel. Thanks."

"Will you need help?" Asala asked Romulus softly. While she wanted to, she did not want to make him feel useless by stealing any independence that he could have. If he wished to feed himself, Asala would make sure that he would be able to do it.

"No." Romulus said, somewhat quickly. "Thank you."

With that, she smiled and nodded, pulling the table close enough for him to reach without straining himself and set the bowl down on to it, with another clean rag beside it. She stood and backed away to give him space. The rest of her staff went about distributing the soup, and helping those who needed it with their eating. For a moment, she felt lost for a moment before her eyes hungrily fell onto the bowls of soup and she realized she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Asala had spent so much time tending to everyone and making sure that they were comfortable that she had forgotten to eat. Even so, she did not immediately go for the soup, and instead hesitated, looking around in case there was someone else who needed her.

Estella must have noticed, or she looked more tired than she realized. In either case, the Inquisitor handed her the next one, pointing to a chair near the wall with a little half-smile. “I know enough about magic to know it's exhausting," she chided mildly. “You should eat, too."

Asala took the soup with a little surprise and was about to refuse before her stomach betrayed her and grumbled. She could feel the heat of the blush blossom across her face, so she meekly accepted both the bowl and the chair, slinking into it and leaning against the wall. As she began to eat, she couldn't help be begin to feel tired, and before long her eyelids began to droop. Soon after, she slipped off to sleep, with the warm bowl of soup in her lap and spoon still in her hand.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
It was snowing again. Skyhold had become a beautiful, still, serene place, ill fit for an execution.

That there was need for one, Romulus was certain. At least, as certain as he could be about anything these days. Estella didn't seem to think so, from what he could tell, but most of the others seemed to be in agreement: Anais was too dangerous to be allowed to operate in any capacity, within or beyond the walls of Skyhold. He supposed there were other people that could carry out the sentence better than he, but Romulus felt that he had no right to condemn her if he was not willing to make an end of it himself.

The sword that Reed handed him was heavier and longer than he was used to, no doubt compounded by the fact that his arm was very much still healing, as was the rest of his body. He'd downed a strong potion just before emerging to dull the pain, and let him move well enough to swing the blade. It dulled his senses enough that he didn't really notice the small crowd of people gathering to witness as he ascended the newly constructed platform. The Inquisition hadn't made a habit of executing people, and so such a location hadn't been required until now. Romulus didn't doubt it would be taken down soon enough, so they didn't develop a reputation for it.

A pair of Inquisition soldiers watched over the Speaker, who knelt with her hands bound behind her, feet tied as well, a solid stone block placed in front of her. She contemplated it calmly, having had a full night to prepare for her death, save for the brief time it took for her to give up the names of a few of her cultists, those that were complicit in her plan. Romulus knew not what would be done with them. Labor probably, to lighten the load on the army.

Romulus paused for a moment atop the platform, briefly surveying those that had chosen to witness the execution. Leon stood among the crowd, most likely in attendance as a matter of formality. He took no official place on the platform, perhaps feeling that the few necessary functions for such an event had already been taken care of by others. Khari stood next to Leon, much less noticeable in the tall man's shadow. Beside Reed, Rilien remained unmoving on the platform, to all appearances still as stone.

On the other side of them, Marceline stood with a scroll in hand. She took one last glance at Romulus before she pulled open the parchment and began to read the sentence. "Speaker Anais, for the crimes of fraud, heresy, collusion, and attempted sedition, which put not only the Inquisition, but her Inquisitors and their people in peril as well, you have been sentenced to death. May the Maker have mercy on your soul." With the grim sentence read aloud, Marceline took a step back and turned to witness the execution.

Romulus approached Anais, the two soldiers placing their hands upon her shoulders. He studied her and she him for a moment, and Romulus could not deny he was disappointed not to see any fear. Some darker part of his past was calling to him, making him keenly aware of all the ways he could drag this out and make her suffer. But this would have to do, this clean death. "Do you have any last words?"

"None capable of staying your blade," she said honestly, though her eyes wandered away from Romulus and over the crowd. "I placed a murderer within your walls. You've now placed a murderer on your throne." She leaned forward without any assistance from the guards, exposing the back of her neck to Romulus. He found himself wishing he hadn't asked her to speak. It was what she'd done throughout her entire life.

He raised the sword in both hands and brought it down with focus. The Speaker's head fell away from her body.

Romulus walked away seething, handing the bloody sword back to Reed and not wanting to look at the mess any longer. Silence fell over the courtyard save for a few quiet murmurs, and the crowd began to disperse. He stopped, a few steps from the stairs to the Keep, realizing that his marked hand was shaking. He grabbed it with his other, ignoring the dull pain in that arm, and forced it to stop.

“You don't look like you feel any better." The words came from just behind him; the voice was easily-recognizable as Khari's. She stopped next to him, her eyes falling to his hand for a moment before they lifted back up towards his face. Her expression was unusually grim, her words factual and without the inflection good humor so often gave them. Then again, most everything had been like that lately.

She heaved a sigh. “Want to take a walk? No one will bother us if we go up the battlements."

He exhaled shakily, and nodded. He didn't feel any better, that was certain. If anything he felt worse. He told himself that the point of ending Anais was not, in fact, to make himself feel better, but rather to end the threat she posed to the Inquisition, and to bring about some kind of justice for what she'd done. He wanted so much to feel better after removing her head. He wondered if he would had he cut off Conrado's as well. Probably not, but he would never get the chance to find out now. He'd had the chance to bring everyone that had brought about his parents' death to justice, and he'd let it go. If it was for the best, it sure didn't feel like it.

They headed down the slope from the courtyard before the Keep to the stairs leading up to the outer walls, silent all the way. He wasn't used to any kind of silence lingering for long when he was with Khari, but then again he wasn't used to any of this. The view from atop the walls was breathtaking as ever, with the army camp below constantly smoking and glowing from the lit flames, and the cold peaks of the snow-covered mountains stretching endlessly in the distance.

"I'm not used to things being personal," he admitted, finally, grimacing from the cold, his injuries, and the uncomfortable acknowledgement. "I didn't handle this well. Any of it. I'm..." His hand curled into a tight fist. "I feel so bloodthirsty. I wanted to hurt her. Make her suffer. I wanted to kill Conrado too, and would have if the others hadn't talked me out of it."

“I've never felt like that." There wasn't any judgement in Khari's tone; if anything, her expression suggested that she was trying her best to understand. This kind of thing didn't often seem to come easily to her—perhaps it was because they were so different from each other, in terms of where they'd come from and how they'd ended up here, with the Inquisition. “But then... I've always known who my parents are, and they're still alive. I think." She shrugged. “And I've definitely never had anyone try to tell me I was the world-changing kind of important and fuck with my head like that."

For a second, her mouth dropped into a scowl, but it eased a few seconds later. “So maybe I've got no room to talk, but I think nobody would have handled it fantastically. You handled it well enough that we're still here. I'm not dead, the Riptide's not sunk, Anais isn't still deluding everyone here and Borja's never gonna murder anyone else's parents. That's all on you as much as the rest of it is." She crossed her arms, shrugging her mottled brown cloak a little further forward against the chill.

"None of it would have happened at all if I wasn't such a fool." He heard what she was saying. Every step of the way he had tried to do what he thought was right, for him, for the Inquisition, for the future, but every step of the way he fell right into their trap, right up until it was almost shut for good, too late to escape. And Borja... just thinking about the time they spent together made him feel ill. Thinking about the way he felt when the man first revealed himself and his supposed relation in the Hinterlands. "I thought he was my father. I was really willing to believe it. It wasn't so hard, in the end. I turned out to be just as much a killer as he was."

It had been so selfish. All of it. He'd allowed himself to have a tiny bit of pride in himself just for a moment, and Anais and Borja together caused it to swell until they could tell him anything, show him anything, and he would believe it. Even if what they told him was ludicrously improbable, to the point of impossibility. "If you had died..." He let the thought trail off, fighting the tightness in his throat. "I don't think I could do this. As is, I don't know if I should. I've never been anything more than someone's tool. Even when I've thought I was in control."

He leaned forward against the wall for support, suddenly feeling the pain in his body more keenly as the potion wore off. "I don't know what I am. Who I am."

“You know I actually went to him and encouraged him to talk to you?" Khari snorted softly, shaking her head vigorously enough that her hood fell to her shoulders. She didn't make any effort to put it back, though. “I thought... I thought he was just being awkward because he didn't know how to approach you. I actually tried to make it easier for him." Taking a couple more steps, she uncrossed her arms and used them to brace herself on the wall next to him, fixing her eyes out on the landscape. “Shoulda been harder for him to fool me. He wasn't giving me any answers I'd been looking for, and I still fell for it."

Her brows furrowed, forming a little line above her nose. “It's awful. You'll never get me to believe otherwise. But... here's what I think: if what's in the past is shitty, focusing on it won't ever make anything better. Maybe you haven't ever been anything else, but that doesn't mean you never will be. The future's wide open, if you're willing to kick the door down. You can decide who you are." She shrugged. “And you know... from where I'm standing, the present's not so bad either. It was a painful hurdle, but you cleared it. And you're here, Lord Inquisitor and everything, and we're gonna save the whole damn world. You're gonna save it. I'd like to see anyone try and call you their puppet then."

Kick the door down. That was her way, wasn't it? Chryseis would've told him to use the window, and then open the door for her from the inside. And Romulus... he didn't know what he'd do, because even still he didn't feel he was making his own decisions. Being a Herald was never his choice, fighting Corypheus wasn't his choice, and his appearance had even made staying with the Inquisition not his choice, not really. He suppose he chose to be Inquisitor, but what was the first thing he did with his power, his freedom to choose? He chose to lop off a woman's head for vengeance, and to try to do the same to a cowardly man who didn't have much more choice than he did.

"I'm going to keep making these mistakes," he said. A moment passed, until he actually laughed darkly. "This must be how Estella felt when they pushed the title on her." But unlike her, he was worried he wouldn't make the mistakes with the best of intentions. She was taught differently than him, she thought differently than him. Romulus was taught to kill, to destroy the enemies of his mistress, and he eagerly did so because he knew it would please her. He was taught to please. Khari didn't know half of the horrible things he'd done, and he didn't know if he would ever have the heart to tell her. Maybe he never would, and maybe that was for the best.

If she was right, it didn't matter. All those years of conditioning didn't matter, if he could just focus on being something else going forward. "You're a good friend, you know that?" He smiled to himself. "Who am I kidding, of course you know. What I mean to say is..." He struggled to find the right words. "You know what I mean. You're... brilliant. One of a kind. Better than I deserve."

Khari laughed at that—not uproariously, just a quiet ha, more expelled air than sound. Gently, probably mindful of his injuries, she knocked her elbow into his arm. “Well, that's the thing, right? It's not like you've suddenly got to figure everything out by yourself. I'm here for you, if you need me. The others, too. You've got friends. And we'll definitely tell you if we think you're doing something dumb."

She flashed a grin, one of her more ragged ones. “And hey, you're a pretty great friend too. Really. You know you're the first person who ever didn't laugh at me when I told you what I was trying to do with my life? Even my teacher thought I was crazy to start with." She paused. “Well, I am, I guess. But you believed me. That means a lot. So don't be too down on yourself. And—ask me to remind you, sometimes, about the good things. I'd be happy to." It was an inverse of the request another version of Khari had once made of him, in a future that would never be.

He wasn't very good at asking. Never had been, likely as part of his conditioning. Figuring things out on his own was also not one of his skills, when he had always been told what to think and feel, and more importantly what to do. He scratched at his beard, still smiling despite the weight still on his shoulders. He really ought to get rid of the beard, once it was a bit warmer. He was done with every thought of being some religious figure, Herald of Andraste or no, and somehow it seemed to be included in that.

"I think you're the perfect kind of crazy, to help someone like me." He really did believe that. He also believed she was quite beautiful, when she grinned like that, when she laughed at the things he said.

Maybe someday he'd find a way to tell her that, too.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
“Thanks for coming, everyone." For once, Estella allowed herself to wear a smile openly, glancing between her assembled friends with a little bubble of warmth in her chest. She'd invited all of them to her rooms for the afternoon, with the promise of something to do to take their mind off everything else going on, and a chance to get out of the cold. She'd pretty much counted on Khari and Lia being there, but she was glad Asala had been able to get away from her work for a bit, and that Zahra was feeling up to it.

Of course, now she had to explain exactly what she had in mind. At present, her bedroom, located at the top of one of the smaller towers on the castle itself, was bare of what sparse furniture it normally had, and she'd laid cheesecloth over the floor. Several large ceramic jars sat nearly against one of the walls, an assortment of large brushes next to them. She'd had to ask Leon, Hissrad, and Reed for their help moving the jars and her furnishings, but apparently they hadn't minded.

“I... may have decided I'd like to paint in here," she explained, gesturing to the blank walls. “I thought maybe you all would like to help? If it just seems like work, you don't have to, obviously, but I thought it might be fun if we all did it together." Folding her hands behind her, she rocked back on her heels.

Khari, who'd looked confused up until that point—likely due to the absence of furniture—grinned broadly. “I can't draw for shit, but if you don't care about that, then I'm in. What kinds of colors did you get?" She crouched next to one of the jars and removed the lid with a soft pop. When the hue in question turned out to be a verdigris pigment, her eyes lit up.

“Oh, this is nice. Let's do it!"

“Glad you like it," Estella said with some humor. “I wasn't sure what colors to choose, but thankfully we had a bit of everything leftover from the renovations to Skyhold, so there's all kinds of things there." She turned to the other three with a smile. “Give us a hand?"

"Absolutely!" Lia jumped quickly to the task, and searching until she found a dark enough shade of green. "You know, I tried to decorate the Alienage sort of like this when I was little. I don't remember where we got the paint from. Nothing as nice as this, though." She stooped to pick up one of the jars and carried it over to a wall she deemed in need of her services.

"'Course, I had to use my fingers for that. Father wasn't too pleased when he found me decorating the inside of our house." She smiled wistfully at the thought, and got to work, dipping her brush into the paint and starting on a design.

"Tammy gave Meraad and I each a side of the wall of our home to paint as we wished," Asala added, popping open another can with a thin barrier. She then dipped the edge of the barrier into the paint, and when she pulled it out, a thin film of burnt orange lined the barrier. She nodded and let the barrier dissipate, letting the paint fall back into the can with a quiet splash. "He was... liberal in his application," Asala added with smile.

Apparently satisfied with the hue, Asala reached for a brush and inspected the walls, as if to try and find the best place to begin.

“Sounds like fun. I’m in too,” Zahra stood around them as they fished through the collection of paints. She scratched at her chin and walked between them. Perusing the assortment Estella had scrounged up. She stooped low to expect them and strode away, hands plucking lids off and popping them back on. “Might ask one of you to paint the new figurehead. Riptide will be needing one.”

“We always painted our own boats. Little one-sailed shifts. Ridiculous colors, most times—they hated that,” She offered. A scoff of laughter followed. Whatever memory she was recalling probably had more to it then that. She’d been smiling more lately. It appeared as if this get together had worked on her, at least, in softening her bristled edges. She popped a few more open before idling her hand on top of one particular shade of blue: turquoise. She scooped it up and claimed a spot of her own beside Lia, already working out a pattern.

She paused occasionally, glancing at everyone else’s pallets.

Estella herself started with a shade of blue, though she spent considerably more time staring at the wall than she did actually painting anything. It was a fault of hers, she knew; she'd work herself up so much that the specter of failure nearly paralyzed her, even failure at something so simple.

But... everyone else was starting in on their parts, and they were doing it for her, with her. She took a deep breath and tried to let go of the need to do this right—what did it matter if whatever she did wasn't spectacular? There would be no one up here ever to see, beyond these people that wouldn't mind in the slightest.

She'd just made the first stroke when a rapid series of patters on the cheesecloth alerted her to Gil and Elia's arrival. While Bibi spent his time at the clinic, Hanne lived in Leon's office, and Pia never left Cyrus alone, the other two tended to wander, and return to her quarters when they wanted to sleep or avail themselves of willing human attention.

Of course, 'human' wasn't really the right modifier. Elia twined himself around Lia's feet, meowing up at her in a plaintive tone, while Gil made straight for Zahra, apparently very interested in the laces of the captain's boots.

Zahra paused between strokes when the small ball of fur bumbled up and began swatting at her boots. Her grin widened as she stuck the brush behind her ear. She hadn’t gotten very far in her design but it was clear that she intended it to be nautical-based. Loose sweeps of waves. Perhaps, a boat would be the feature.

She plopped down on the ground and loosened her laces enough so that she could pluck one end between her fingers, dangling in front of Gil so that she could entice him to play. It worked well enough. He, too, plopped on the ground and slapped at it with his paws while he squirmed on his back. “More the merrier, right? Kitten,” she glanced over at Asala and her workspace, before laughing and resuming her play.

"Wha-huh?" Asala stammered, both surprised and confused. It seemed like Asala thought Zahra was speaking to her, and she appeared to be too deep in concentration to tell whether or not Zahra may have been speaking to the actual cat or her. "Wait... Uh, sure," she said, nodding along regardless, though it still seemed like she was somewhat confused.

Near where Asala sat, a geometric shape was beginning to take form. A rather large triangle sat askew on the wall, with two orange edges slightly bowing inward while the third was straight an an arrow. She seemed to be just starting on the interior lines, with a light blue one stretching from the straight line to one of the bowed ones, itself slightly bowed outward. Judging by how perfect her line work was, it appeared that her barriers were vital.

Khari apparently found Asala's confusion hilarious. Certainly at least funny enough to look like. Her painting wasn't quite as terrible as she'd suggested with her previous comment. The tree she was painting was at least basically passable, in a more stylized way than true realism. “You have no idea what she just said, do you?" It seemed to be a mostly rhetorical question.

"Nooot... really," she said, answering the rhetorical question.

There was an audible thump as Zahra flopped onto her back and regarded Khari and Asala across the way. She absently wriggled her fingers in front of the kitten’s face, as she propped herself up on one elbow. She blinked up at their work spaces, and her smile broadened, “I’ve never seen straighter lines. Reminds me of the streets in your village.”

"Would you like a better look?" Lia asked the little cat at her feet. She crouched down a scooped the little creature up in one arm. He seemed not to mind, far more interested in pawing at her than observing what she was painting. "These symbols are for Sylaise. She keeps the hearth." Lia had been working with a pair of colors so far, the green being used to create a fairly complex pattern of twisting vines, along with a vibrant pink at various points, where flowers bloomed. Her amateur work actually wasn't all that bad, and she seemed somewhat proud of it.

"Her fire will keep our Lady Inquisitor warm even in the cold winters here," Lia continued, educating the kitten, "and her care will heal her after hard battles." The kitten began to lick at her face, where similar markings had been tattooed years ago. They were of a different goddess, however, one more suited to Lia's lifestyle. The scout pulled her brush away, smiling through her slight annoyance. "She won't do anything, however, if you mess up my painting, so behave yourself."

Estella snorted softly. Her own selection, a cluster of constellations with the lines traced between the individual stars, was taking up decent shape on the wall, but she set her brush down for a moment, moving over to Lia. “Here," she said. “I'll get him out of your hair. I think I've got a bit of string..." She rummaged through her pockets until she found what she was looking for, then reached out to take Gil from her friend.

He was easy to satisfy, fortunately, and preoccupied himself batting around the snippet of yarn for a while. They'd been working for about an hour when someone knocked on the doorframe. Estella turned, spotting Livia hesitating at the threshold, a tray in-hand.

“You can come in," she assured her, offering a smile. “Were you asked to find one of us?" She didn't recall making any requests, and Livia was a bit too retiring to venture here without some reason or another.

Livia returned the smile, shaking her head a little. Her braids knocked together, producing a soft metallic chime from the cheap ornaments woven into them. "Cyrus asked me to bring you this. He said you'd have friends by for something." The tray was laden down with what smelled like coffee and tea, with small containers of the cinnamon and nutmeg Estella preferred in her coffee, as well as more ordinary things like sugar, milk, and honey. "I'll just leave it here, shall I?"

Estella was more than a little surprised Cyrus had even known to do something like that. She'd mentioned her plans for this only once in passing, and she could have sworn he'd been completely in his own head at the time. Still, the refreshment was welcome, as far as she was concerned. “That sounds good. Thank you, Livia. Does anyone want tea or coffee?"

Just at a glance, most of the designs looked nearly finished; she was eager to see what they'd come up with.

Khari finished filling in a bit of green on her tree; it wasn't especially skillful, but from the way parts of it were shaded and highlighted in other versions of the same color, it did have a certain kind of depth to it. “Oh, tea. Yes please." She took it with quite a lot of honey, but no sugar.

There was an appreciative sniff from Zahra’s corner of the wide chamber, followed by the sound of hands scuffling against knees, and approaching footsteps, “Smells good. Thanks, love.” She’d snatched up her own odd mixture of coffee, tea and an unhealthy dollop of cinnamon and nutmeg in equal proportions. From the looks of it, she had a major sweet-tooth. With her cup in hand, she resumed her station.

What had appeared like the sea’s waves, hadn’t been the ocean at all. Rather, it was the sky. Fat white clouds mixed with light grays filtered through a sea-worthy sky. A red-wood ship was painted in vibrant, wild strokes, as if it were cutting through them—flying rather than sailing. It’s sails were black as night. Given her lackadaisical attitude, there was a surprising amount of details. As if she’d done it before. The jolly roger she’d drawn flapping on the mast was of unknown origins: a red hand grasping an arrow.

"I'd love some tea," Lia said, heading over to Estella and trading her brush for a cup. Her work was just about finished, covering a good portion of the section of wall she'd chosen to work on. "Do you like it? I thought maybe Mythal, but this seemed like a better fit for a room. Some of the flowers don't look quite right from here, actually. Need to fix those..."

“It's lovely," Estella replied honestly, adding a dash of cinnamon to her cup. She loved the way it smelled. “And I like the flowers. I wasn't sure there'd be any use for the pink, but it's such a pretty color." She glanced over at where Zahra was still working. “I seem to have acquired my own pirate ship as well, which is something I never thought I'd say."

That left one. “Asala? Can I see yours, as well?" She was willing to bet it would be precisely-executed and colorful, but beyond that, she had no guess at all.

Asala was sprawled across the floor on her belly near the tray that held the tea and coffee, her hands just reaching a cup that held coffee and a carafe of milk. She'd been in the middle of pouring milk into her coffee when Estella called. She looked up from her prone position before turning to look at the painting on the wall, though she made no move to get up. "Oh, sure," she said, using a leg to gesture toward the wall.

The orange triangle was now filled in with several blue lines, each bowing inward until they finally met in the middle. The lines gave the painting an illusion of depth, as if the triangle continued beyond the wall. She pulled the coffee closer to her mouth before she took another glance at the painting. "The corners stand for the mind, body, and soul while the angle represents balance," she explained, taking a sip of the coffee. Her eyes lit up for a moment and she stared at it before continuing the explanation. "The lines gives it strength. This coffee is good," she added, quickly.

Taken together, the designs were an almost-comical mismatch in style, color, and honestly even the skill with which they were applied. Estella loved them. “Thank you, everyone. These are beautiful."

She took a sip of her coffee, watching Zahra finish up the last parts of the boat's design. Even without any of the furniture, the room felt more like home than it had since she'd moved into it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
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Great heroes beyond counting raised
Oak and iron 'gainst chains of north-men
And walked the lonely worm-roads evermore.
Mighty of arm and warmest of heart,
Rendered to dust. Bitter is sorrow,
Ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill.
-Canticle of Andraste 1:2
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There was distinct spring in Khari's step as she entered the castle. Truthfully, she didn't spend much time in Skyhold's main building, other than to go to the undercroft. Stel and she trained together in the mornings, and that was outside; for the most part, the rest of the people she looked in on regularly were posted somewhere else. So maybe she still wasn't quite used to the grandiosity of the fully-decorated main hall, with the banners draped on the walls and the fancy carpet runner on the floor. Whatever she might be one day, she couldn't say she'd been born to things like castles and noble causes. She was just someone who'd decided she was going to end up with more than she started with.

Figuring her best bet was to start with Marcy's office, Khari hung a right midway down the hall, letting the door fall shut quietly behind her. The room was open enough that it wasn't really the kind of place where you knocked; probably Marcy had done that on purpose, or something. She seemed like the type to always be thinking about the little things. It was impressive, in a certain way.

As it turned out, luck was on her side, and Leon was already there, too. Two of the three was probably enough to make a decision, right? Well, she'd float the idea and see what came of it. Clearing her throat to alert the two of them to her presence, she stepped out of the doorway and into the open hallway that ran alongside the recessed office space. “Uh... you two have a few minutes? I had an idea I wanted to ask you about." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. They didn't exactly intimidate her, but... in this setting, they were definitely part of that world she'd only dipped her toes in yet. It wasn't quite like asking normal people for stuff.

Leon tilted his head a bit, gesturing for Khari to join them in the office proper. “Why don't you have a seat, Khari? If you've a suggestion of some kind, we're happy to hear it." He had stood when she entered, but was previously occupying one of the chairs in front of Marcy's desk, which the woman herself was at. Larissa was at the other end of the room, reading in front of the hearth. “Why don't you go ahead and lay it out for us first?"

Khari nodded, feeling a little of the discomfort leave her. She took the chair next to Leon's, crossing one leg over the other. She didn't sit back, though; she was a bit too on-edge for that. “Sure. Thanks. Er..." Her thoughts had been a lot more organized before this; she tried to pull them back into the right order.

“So basically... I was thinking about our personnel problem. I don't exactly have a bunch of friends hanging around anywhere, like the Lions or anyone. And I'm not going to be able to convince any Dalish to help us, if you were wondering." She grimaced at the mention, unable to quite stop herself from thinking of things she found unpleasant. “But, uh... there is one person I could ask. My teacher, Ser Durand. I might have mentioned him. He's a chevalier-errant. I know he's not the kind of person to get caught up in the civil war when there's more important things to do, so... he might be willing to help, if we can find him."

Marceline sat at her desk with her chin resting on her steepled fingers. She'd watched Khari as she spoke and when she finished, closed her eyes as if to think. Without opening them, she called to her assistant. "Larissa?"

The other woman leaned back on the couch she laid on, her neck arching past the padded armrest. Her eyes fell to the ground as she thought as well, though she eventually ended up shaking her head. "No ma'am, I do not think we know a Ser Durand." After she answered, she continued to watch them from her inverted position, finding them far more curious than whatever she was reading at the moment.

Marceline tsked, but opened her eyes, letting her hands finally rest on the desk. She returned to watching Khari as she spoke again. "Do you know where to begin the search, if we were to look for him?" She asked.

Khari wasn't surprised Marcy had never heard of him. She'd never known him to spend time in Court or near cities, even; the few times he'd spoken of his experiences with other nobles, he hadn't been especially complimentary. Then again, he wasn't especially complimentary in general. “Sure do. He's usually around the Dales. He doesn't actually go on Dalish land unless he has to, but it's not far from the Exalted Plains, either. More specifically, I dunno. He keeps on the move a lot."

It would probably be better for only a small group to go looking. He and the guys he kept with him were extremely mobile, and knew the land as well as anyone. Even if they found his trail, they wouldn't be able to catch up to him unless they were pretty quick themselves.

"I would like to know more of this Ser Durand," Marceline continued, "What type of person he is, and if he is a chevalier-errant, the type of men he leads." She leaned back in her chair and appeared genuinely curious as to his story. "What can you tell me about him?"

“Uh." Khari hadn't really expected the question, but she figured she could probably answer it, at least. Reaching up, she tugged on one of her ears, furrowing her brow and looking for the words she wanted. “Well... he's an older guy, I guess; might be near fifty these days, though I don't know for sure. Never bothered to ask." Even she had a sense for when a question was rude, and she'd been so damn eager to stay in his good graces that she hadn't risked much like that, at first. By the time they were really comfortable with each other, it had seemed too late, for something like that.

She pulled a breath in through her nose, leaning back a little in the chair. “His whole name is Jean-Robert Durand, and his family's from somewhere in Collines Verts." She pronounced the Orlesian words with an elvish lilt, still; it annoyed her, but the accents were more similar than elvish and the trade tongue, so she always backslid. “He graduated the Academie... I guess it must have been almost twenty-five years ago now? He went pretty much straight into being an errant after that; it was what he'd always wanted to do."

She'd listened to everything he told her with rapt attention; in retrospect it was almost a little embarrassing. But she definitely didn't regret it, and it meant the details were pretty easy to her recollection now, though he spoke only seldom of himself. “He's the youngest of like... four kids, so it's not like he has an inheritance to worry about, and he says he likes being on the road more than cooped up in a castle anyway. Uh... what else? Oh. The guys are pretty great; most of them are commoners, you know? People who wouldn't be eligible to be chevaliers themselves. It's him, and the eight of them, and I made ten, when I was there." She smiled fondly at the memory. Being the youngest and newest to the group had meant she was subjected to some pretty gentle hazing, of sorts. Go here, polish this, check the horses for stones, all that sort of thing. All of it turned out to be useful; she figured they'd known it would from the start.

“And you believe he is the sort of person who would aid the Inquisition, given the opportunity?" Leon rubbed absently at some of the stubble coming in on his chin, raising an eyebrow in Khari's direction. His tone didn't sound skeptical, exactly, only curious.

Khari nodded firmly. “I do. I mean, he's... really dedicated to looking after the part of the world he's in. Seemed like all we ever did was deal with bandits and train to deal with more bandits." She snorted; that was a joke, but there was a kernel of truth to it. She'd never met anyone who worked quite as hard as Ser Durand... well, until she met Stel, anyway.

“But I think once I explain to him what's really going on here, he'll help us. His group isn't big, but... he took me from stick-limbed fifteen-year-old barely knowing which end of a sword to hold to, well, me in the span of a few years. Think what someone like that could do if you gave him actual soldiers." She shrugged. Khari knew she wasn't the strongest fighter in the Inquisition or anything, but she also knew that she was pretty damn good. Better than the majority, for sure.

Marceline had resumed leaning forward in her chair again, this time her chin resting on one of her hands as she listened to Khari's explanation. Once she was done, she leveled a quiet stare into Khari's forehead, holding her in her gaze for a few moments before she finally spoke again. "He may prove useful, but..." there was a hard pause and she took the moment to glance at Leon before she continued. "I wish to know, is the reason you bring this name up now truly for the benefit of the Inquisition, or are your reasons of a more personal nature than that?" She asked with an arch to her brow. It was unclear if her tone was that of genuine curiosity, or if it hid a note of skepticism.

Khari frowned; suddenly the ease of the situation vanished, and she was left wishing it hadn't. “What, like... you think I'm just asking you to do this because I want to see him or something?" The frown deepened; her brows knit together. “Look, Lady Marceline, I dunno what kind of person you think I am, but I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to try wasting Inquisition resources on something that doesn't matter. I know how important this is—I'm not sure you got the memo, but my best friend just had to blow up the head of a guy pretending to be his dad." Her fists clenched on her knees.

“Will it be nice to see my teacher again? You're damn right it will. But I wouldn't have brought this up if I thought he had nothing to offer us. If you disagree, fine, but don't insult me."

Marceline frowned, but she did not budge from her position. She stared at Khari a little longer before calling for her assistant. "Larissa, if you would be so kind as to remind me to pen a letter to the Marquis of Collines Verts, I wish to see what information Lord Ambroise has on the Durand family," she said, though her eyes never left Khari.

"As for you, realize that I meant no insult, but regardless, I would have you understand," she said, clearly speaking to Khari this time, "That we did not set off with the intention of battling with the crew of the Northern Sword either. I apologize if you feel my caution is warrant for insult, but I only wish to avoid any future incidents if I am able.

With that, Marceline finally leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips were still set in an even line, and it was difficult to get a feel of her from her expressions. "It matters little," she said, with a slight sigh, "I feel that either Romulus or Estella, if not both, will accompany you while you undertake this task. That is... the type of person they are, as well as their relationship to you, so my opinions on the matter are moot. They are the Inquisitors, while we are their advisors."

She glanced at Leon before nodding, "Still, a chevalier-errant will be useful to the Inquisition as you said," she stated. "However, I feel the need to reiterate my apology, but understand that it is our duty to think of the Inquisition as a whole. No one person is bigger than what we stand for." she said, her eyes alighting on Khari once more.

Khari sighed. “Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to get mad at you, exactly. I get why you have to think about things this way. I've known Ser Durand since I was a girl, though. I know he's what he says he is." She was sure whoever Marcy was writing to would confirm it, anyway. “And uh... yeah. I would like to take them both, but if you think bringing both the Inquisitors is a bad idea, I could figure something else out. I was also thinking of asking Zee and maybe Asala to come along?" She glanced between them.

“They don't really have anything else in particular to do at the moment," Leon pointed out. “While it might not be ideal for both of them to accompany you, I think you should ask them, and decide based on what they think. We can adjust accordingly; it isn't as though we never planned for them both to be out in the field at the same time." He shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Though I do very much agree in taking Asala. Just in case," she added, a pleased look finally creeping into her once impassive face.

“Sure. I can do that. I'll ask them and get back to you guys soon then." Khari couldn't deny a bit of relief at the prospect. Doing things was invariably easier than talking about doing them, for her. She stood, nodding to the both of them. “And thanks. For letting me chase down the idea. You won't regret it."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
It was a few days' ride out from Skyhold to this part of the Orlesian countryside. From what the others had said, it was somewhere near a place called the Exalted Plains. This region, though, was a bit hillier than anything properly called a plain, and at times the road led them into wooded areas, surrounding them with the pale bark of ash trees and dimming the natural illumination from the sun overhead.

Khari rode at the front of their little group, astride the sorrel horse Dennet had initially provided her. Romulus rode quietly beside her. Despite his injuries having almost entirely healed, he didn't look very comfortable atop the horse. Behind them, Asala rode at a close clip. Primarily because Khari held the reins to her horse. She still hadn't quite learned the basics of riding a horse yet, and mainly focused on gripping the saddle pommel to try and not fall off. Estella, perhaps the only other particularly experienced rider, had elected to take the rear guard position. Zahra rode slightly in the back, closer to Estella. If she was having any difficulties astride a horse, she was doing well to hide it. Gripping the reins in both hands, she seemed to busy herself by looking at their surroundings.

The stippled sunlight made the shadows in between the trees seem longer, deeper. A slightly-uneasy feeling hung over the place, almost like there were eyes on their backs, looking out from someplace Asala couldn't quite find. Every once in a while, Khari would turn her head sharply, glaring towards a different part of the wood, a frown slowly etching its way deeper into her face. But then her attention would turn forward again, a muttered something under her breath the only indication that it was more than mere watchfulness.

Though the weather was still mild in the part of Thedas they were in, Asala still clutched her cloak tightly. She felt that they were being watched, but could not figure out from where or from whom, no matter how intently she stared off into the trees. Perhaps it was simply paranoia, of being so far away from Skyhold in an unfamiliar land. Despite the reach of the Inquisition's influence, she herself had not ventured far into Orlesian land. Still, she couldn't quite buck the feeling that something was off.

"So, uh..." she began, if only to break the silence, Are we th-there yet?" she asked, though the answer truly didn't matter. She only wanted hear something that wasn't the crackle of leaves or brushing of tree limbs.

Khari shook her head in response, glancing back over her shoulder at Asala. “We're close. Ser Durand doesn't usually cross into the forest, but this path will put us back out in the hills within another couple of miles." She sounded certain enough that she must have been personally familiar with the trail. Pushing a breath out of her nose, she spoke a little louder, probably so that her words would carry back to Estella and Zahra.

“Don't mind the prying eyes. They know as well as I do that this is nobody's land. I'm not even sure what they're doing here—it's not like them to get this close to the edge of the woods." She shifted a bit in her saddle, dropping her feet out of the stirrups and rotating her ankles.

“You mean the Dalish, right?" Estella spoke up from a few meters behind them. She also seemed to have the vague sense that people were around, but like Asala, it didn't appear that she could pinpoint anything specific. “If... you don't mind me asking, would the clan or clans around here be yours?" The question was tentative; perhaps she anticipated it going over poorly.

“It's usually only the one, this close to the Plains." Khari shifted her line of sight to peer deeper into the trees. “And yeah... that'd be the Genardalia. Mine, once." She shrugged; it wasn't really clear how she felt about that. The tone she used to discuss it was oddly uninflected, for her.

“We could... I mean, if you wanted to see anyone, I don't think it would hurt to make a stop," Estella suggested, trying to follow the direction of Khari's eyes and evidently not finding anything. “Just, you know... a visit, or something."

Khari snorted, shaking her head emphatically. “That's kind of you, Stel, really. But it wouldn't be some kind of warm, happy reunion. They probably think I'm dead—and honestly, it's better that way. I'm not exactly the pride of the clan, if you know what I mean." The trees around them began to thin, admitting more sunlight, and gradually, the feeling that they weren't quite alone started to fade.

While Zahra hadn’t outright made any inflections on the creeping sensation of being watched
 she did appear more at ease when the trees thinned out.

"They'll know you're not dead now," Romulus added, visibly relaxing a bit once they got clear of the thickest wooded areas. "Assuming we were being watched by someone that would recognize you." He paused for a bit, observing the landscapes around them. He'd seemed much more at ease, all things considered, since leaving Skyhold for a while. The traveling seemed to be doing him some good. "We're not expecting any trouble from them, right?" he asked. From his tone, it was obvious he didn't think so, but Dalish clans did often differ on how they treated outsiders.

Khari made a noncommittal sound, but apparently decided that was insufficient as an answer. “No. They're not friendly, but they're not hostile, either. They won't—"

Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by the sound of something very much like an explosion. From the noise, it had happened somewhere in front of them. Khari immediately tensed, hooking her feet back into the stirrups. “Hold on, Asala. We're gonna go a little faster now." She nudged her horse's flanks with her heels, goading him into a canter; Asala's horse followed suit with no input needed from her.

As they drew closer to the source of the noise, they could make out other sounds: people shouting, the occasional clang of metal. Clearly, someone was also using magic; a plume of smoke rose from behind the hill in front of them, the roar of fire intensifying in the way that only spells had—all at once, in a burst that faded again soon after.

When they crested the hill, Khari let go of Asala's reins, drawing her sword from behind her. The scene was chaotic, for how few people it seemed to involve. A group of about ten men, rough-and-tumble looking, wielded maces, clubs, and swords against what seemed to be a pair of Dalish. One of the two was already heavily-injured, doubled over and pressing a hand to her side, unable to fire her bow.

The other was the source of the magic; he threw bright handfuls of fire at the oncoming humans, but he kept casting worried looks at the covered wagon behind them, as though hesitant to do anything with it so close to his targets.

“Shit." Khari grimaced, quickly turning to Asala. “Can you shield that wagon? Zee, cover fire?"

“Gotcha’!” Zahra spurned her horse and broke away from their troupe. She was already unslinging the bow from her back in one smooth motion. For one who preferred the rocking decks of a ship, she appeared to be doing just fine, even as the horse jostled her in its saddle.

Asala nodded and looked down at the horse she sat upon. She hesitated, worried about what would happen once Khari let go of the reins. Feeling that she would be best suited on the ground than helplessly flailing around on a horse, she drew her staff from the saddlebags and pulled her foot out from one of the stirrups. However, her grace left something to be desired. As she went to dismount her other foot got caught and she fell forward. The horse was spooked by the sudden impact, but Asala was fortunate enough that she was able to swing her foot free before the horse began to leave.

She scrambled forward to take a hold of her staff and rose to her knees, driving the end into the ground. The staff lit up in a blue glow as a wide barrier materialized in front of both the wagon and the injured elf, but behind the magic wielding one so that his vision remained unimpeded. With the barrier erected, her offhand fell from the staff and took on a blue glow of its own. Though the barriers from that hand would not be as strong because of the other's strength, they would still prove useful in the right spots.

With the barrier erected, she rose to her feet and slowly began to advance toward the wagon, dividing her concentration there and the battle in front.

While Asala had taken a more practical route, conjuring a glistening shield that kept errant arrows at bay, Zahra’s technique was not so well thought out. Lady luck must’ve been on her side, because none of the arrows scored its mark. Her horse, however, did not seem to like being pushed so hard. Its hooves kicked up dirt and one arrow hissed close enough to spook it. She nearly took a tumble, but managed to unseat herself and roll neatly out of the way of its legs.

She came up as gracefully as she could manage and shook herself off. She was even quicker to scramble behind Asala and notch arrows, as they both approached the wagon. She loosed them into the line of grungy-looking individuals, not particularly careful with her aim until they reached it. Only then did she hunker down and squint her eyes, exhaling on each release. One arrow bit into a man’s exposed neckline, straight through a slit in his rusted gorget. For a moment, he didn’t seem to be aware that he was dying. Hands clawed at the air, before he toppled over with one final wet gurgle.

Every other arrow was aimed at their knees, legs and arms, in order to incapacitate them enough to be finished off with gusto.

Khari didn't have anything remotely approaching a ranged combat option, but that was apparently just fine by her. She shot a glance at Estella and Romulus, jerking her chin down to where the gap was swiftly closing between what were obviously bandits and the two Dalish. “Trust me, those guys are bad news. Mind lending a hand?"

She didn't really wait for the answer so much as went for it anyway, letting go of her reins and squeezing her horse with her legs, guiding him down the hill at a charge, taking a doublehanded grip on her cleaver. By that point, the bandit group had noticed them—as had the Dalish. They didn't have much time to react, save that the cluster of men she was charging at tried to scatter. Doubtless, being trampled was not something they wanted to risk. But Khari adjusted her trajectory, and swung down at one of the men as she passed, the momentum of the horse's charge cleaving his head from his shoulders. She jerked with the impact, but kept her seat, steering for the next.

Estella's charge wasn't quite as direct, but she maneuvered her horse almost as well, pulling around to flank those that attempted to retreat. The height advantage of being mounted worked well in her favor; she felled another man with a broad slash to his chest. One tried to sneak up on her from behind, but one of Zahra's arrows swiftly prevented that from becoming a problem, and she was able to meet the next head-on.

On some cue that Asala could not see from where she was, Nox reared, his front hooves catching one of the other bandits in the temple. When the horse landed, he caved the man's ribcage in. Estella grimaced, but did not pause.

Romulus used his horse only for closing the distance, not really having any weapons on his person that were suited for mounted combat. He pulled his crossbow from where it was secured on his back and loosed the already loaded bolt, striking a bandit in the back of his neck. He would not die immediately, but he was removed from the fight, falling backwards and choking. Returning the crossbow, Romulus dismounted while Khari and Estella charged through them, following in their wake.

He was more than willing to capitalize on the opportunities from men getting out of the way of Khari's horse. One had to dive face first, and he was unable to get back up or even see Romulus coming before he'd plunged his dagger first deep into his side, then into his chest after he'd rolled the man over. An adrenaline-induced shout gave away one of the bandits coming to strike him, and Romulus was able to parry away the bandit's club with his shield. He slipped his dagger into the exposed ribcage, and elbowed him down. He searched warily for more threats, but the shock of their charge had easily scattered the bandits away from the Dalish.

No few of those scattered fell to the ground aflame, either, and in truth, their interruption turned things around extremely quickly. Without an overwhelming advantage of numbers, the bandits lost morale almost simultaneously. None of them seemed all that skilled to begin with.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes before all of them were dead or unconscious; only at that point did Khari swing down from her horse, pushing her hood down and stomping to the back of the covered wagon. “Fucking Jackals, always after the same damn thing." There was, Asala was close enough to spot, a rusty-looking lock on the back of the wagon, holding its back doors shut. “Hey! If you can hear me, move back in there!" Khari wasted no time in heaving her cleaver over her shoulder and slamming it into the wood. Like she'd split a log, the doors splintered and cracked; She reached into the hole she'd made and ripped away chunks of wood.

"K-Kharisanna? Is that really—" The two Dalish had moved closer. The mage had his archer companion half-supported over his shoulders. She wore a wary expression, casting her eyes about at all of them as though she wasn't quite sure if they should still be fighting or not. His face, though, had quickly shifted into a look of clear surprise.

Khari seemed to ignore him, if she heard him at all. Her focus was on dismantling the doors, and it quickly became obvious why: the wagon contained living cargo. Three elves, two with the characteristic tattoos of the Dalish, and one without. All had been expertly gagged and trussed. “Help me untie them, guys? Don't really want to cut ropes with Intercessor..."

“Of course." Estella moved forward immediately, but with a great deal of deliberate slowness, as though she were worried about startling the occupants of the wagon. Carefully, she drew her dagger. “I'm just going to get the ropes off, I promise." It didn't totally seem to assuage the evident fear the captives had, but the first offered up his arms for her help readily enough. She delicately slid the knife through the bindings, then repeated for the ones on his feet, allowing him to remove his own gag.

Romulus was quick to move to the back of the wagon after Estella, and also quick to wipe the blood from his dagger. He gave the two elves that had been fighting a respectful berth, watching them seemingly only to confirm that they were not also a threat. At the rear of the wagon, he seemed content to not add anything after Estella had assured them of their intentions, instead only slicing the bonds from the first prisoner willing to be freed by him.

While everyone else worked to free the elves, Asala approached the mage and the archer. "Um," Asala began trying to get their attention. She held a tight grip on the collar of her cloak, and now that two pairs of unfamiliar eyes were upon her, she slunk into her shoulders somewhat. Regardless, she continued, pointing toward the wound in her side, "Would you, uh, allow me to-to take a look at that?" she said gently. She wanted to immediately check the wound, but these were strangers, and any out-of-line movement would only put them more on edge.

It took the Dalish woman a second to realize that Asala was speaking to her specifically, it seemed. She frowned slightly, then shook her head. "That is not necessary." Her companion sighed, but did not attempt to convince her otherwise.

Her mouth worked for a moment, trying to come up with the words to suggest otherwise, but none would come. Instead, she sighed quietly and slowly reached into her pack and retrieved a vial containing a crimson liquid. She went to hand it to the mage this time, explaining, "It is a, uh, a potion. It will... stem the bleeding. At least." There was a certain plea in her voice this time. He accepted with a small nod, but his attention was clearly mostly elsewhere.

As Estella and Romulus worked on the elves’ bindings, Zahra had trotted off to retrieve her snorting steed, busy kicking up grass and dirt a few paces ahead. When she’d successfully berated the horse for tossing her off like a sack of potatoes, she returned with the horse in hand, reins held in a fist. Her eyes raked across the hills, even though they’d clearly overtaken the bandits. She seemed apprehensive of approaching the caged elves, though she gave no indication why. She certainly wasn’t surprised seeing living cargo, “Jackals? That who they were?”

The three captives, once freed, worked themselves out of the wagon. Khari stood back to allow them to move past her at a respectable distance, flicking her eyes to Zahra for a moment. “Bandit outfit. You can always tell them by the neckerchiefs." She pointed down at one of the corpses, which was indeed wearing a red square of fabric, folded in half and tied around his neck. “They're nasty shits, and the only ones around here who traffic in skin. They like to load them up on boats and send them to Tevinter." She made a noise of disgust.

"Kharisanna." The Dalish man was more insistent this time, his use of her name more certain. As though with great reluctance, Khari turned her attention to him.

“What, Vareth?" Her tone could have peeled paint.

He didn't seem surprised by it, exactly. Vareth was dark haired and dark-eyed, somewhere around Estella's height—but he carried himself well enough that he looked a little taller. Vallaslin decorated his forehead and chin; the patterns were different from either Khari's or Lia's. "You—" He didn't quite seem to know what to say to her. "Everyone thought you were—but what happened?"

“I left." She stared flatly at him, clearly unwilling to explain any further than that. “You should get these people back to the clan. I'm assuming that's why the scouts are in the woods."

"They—yes. We'd tracked the bandits for days, but... it wasn't safe to go past the woods, so when the trail went that way..."

Khari nodded tersely. An awkward silence descended. Despite her injunction, Vareth seemed hesitant to leave, and no one else appeared inclined to do anything without word from him.

“Um." Estella cleared her throat softly, smiling a bit too thinly for it to be wholly genuine. Still, she stepped a little closer to the locus of the conversation. “Pardon me, serah... Vareth?" She paused a moment, then soldiered on. “We actually came here in search of a chevalier. Perhaps you might have seen him around here somewhere?" Her eyes moved back and forth between the Dalish man and Khari.

Vareth's brow knit; he glanced at Estella. "Chevalier?" He grimaced. "Most of what's around here is bandits; they've been all over each other lately. Some kind of power struggle or other petty thing." His voice dripped with disdain. "The local chevaliers know to stay away from the forest, unlike the Jackals. But... yes. There was another who passed through the neutral area recently. But it was a woman. Tall, red hair. She had a group with her."

“Which way did she go?" Khari reentered the conversation with considerably more urgency than before.

Another too-long silence; Vareth looked reluctant to respond. "You're still chasing those knights, after all this time?"

Khari crossed her arms over her chest. “Still chasing the dead, after all this time?"

He sighed, shoulders slumping. His companion adjusted herself a bit, clearly unhappy and making it obvious by glaring daggers at Khari. "She went east from here." The woman ignored Vareth's look of reproach, and pointed her free hand in the right direction.

“Great. Let's go, everyone." Khari immediately reached for her horse, swinging herself up into the saddle.

"Kharisanna—"

“Don't call me that." She scowled. “I'd ask you not to tell the Keeper, either, but we both know you will."

He didn't seem to have any response to that.

Romulus had a bit farther to walk before he could mount up, but he was moving as soon as Khari was, his dagger sheathed and head turned away from the elves. He seemed very much inclined to follow her lead, and her lead was to remove herself from the presence of these elves with haste.

Zahra had already swung herself back into her saddle, and joined Khari at her side. She made a low humming sound in the back of her throat and cocked her head to the side, eyebrows raised in question—if the awkward conversation had bothered her at all
 well, it probably didn’t. She did, however, have her own questions about the matter. She spoke as if they were already out of Vareth’s earshot, even though they weren’t.

“Likely we’ll be seeing them again? Because the tension is...” she let out a low whistle, and glanced over her shoulder. They still seemed rooted in place. As if simply staying their ground would arouse a less curt discussion from Khari.

“I damn well hope not."

Asala's gaze lingered on the Dalish for a moment before she too turned away, where she hesitated for a moment. She realized that after she'd freed herself from the saddle, she had no idea where the horse had gone. She looked one way, then the other before turning to her companions. "Um... Have any of you... seen my horse?" she asked, her face quickly turning a shade of scarlet.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
The ride away from the scene of their short battle was considerably more somber than the earlier part of the excursion, and Estella found herself sorely missing the first few days, when Khari's enthusiasm had been palpable, and the conversation had come much more easily. Now, though, her friend looked pensive, withdrawn. She wasn't talking at all, and Estella missed that, too. Khari just didn't look like herself when she was in this kind of mood. Surely, everyone was more than allowed to have their down days, but... there was just something particularly wrong with the idea that she was bereft of her characteristic enthusiasm and verve.

The road was more open now, so there wasn't so much reason for them to ride in any particular formation. Estella had taken over the job of guiding Asala's horse along, and the moved them up a little bit, within polite conversation range of the others. “Um, Khari? Is—are you all right?" It seemed like a lame question, devoid of any particular insight or idea as to what could make things better. If anything could. But it was the only one she knew to ask.

It got Khari's attention at least; she'd been staring somewhat ahead and down for the better part of an hour, now, but she raised her head at the query, glancing sidelong at Estella. “Huh? Oh." Her brows furrowed, distorting her vallaslin slightly. “Uh... I mean, yeah. I'll be fine. It's just... been a while, since I had to think about all that. I don't usually like to dwell on the past." She sighed. “I said this already, but... my family probably thought I was dead. And even if none of the scouts recognized me, Vareth and Elasha definitely did. Which means pretty soon everyone's gonna know."

She tugged uncomfortably at her ear; her mouth pulled to one side in a lopsided grimace. “I'd really rather they didn't. I'm never going back; it's not like I was great for the clan when I was there, either. It's just... better, if they think I died or something."

"Why?" Romulus asked, the first word he'd said in a while. His mood had also obviously worsened since the battle and their encounter, but rather than seem lost mentally for the ride, he'd been hard in thought, trying to figure something out. It took the outbreak of conversation for him to finally speak, though. "Will they come after you? Doesn't seem like they bothered before." He frowned, eyes shifting across the horizon as they rode. He was always watchful, never more so than when it was quiet. "I'm no father, but... I think I would prefer to know if my child was alive." The last part was added very quietly, and for a moment he took his eyes off their surroundings, looking at nothing more specific than his horse's mane.

Asala nodded quietly in agreement.

Zahra said little on the matter. Whether she agreed with Khari, or Romulus, was a mystery. From what little she spoke about her own family, it might've been safe to assume that she, too, thought it best to be wary of whatever wayward kin that lied in the forests behind them. She led her horse astride theirs, and occasionally glanced across the way. Seeking any signs of trouble, if there was at all any. She’d opted to keep her bow nestled in her lap, instead of strapping it to her back.

“I don't know if they did before or not." Khari shrugged. “Either way... if I'm dead to them, then they don't have to think about me anymore. It's hard to explain, but—every elf in the clan is the responsibility of the clan, whether they want that responsibility or not. And for everyone who would have been fine letting me go, there's a few like Vareth who always wanted to convince me that I was making a mistake. That I should go back to being shitty at being Dalish instead of trying to be good at something else. It's not going to work. And it's better if they don't have to waste the effort. This way, they can believe whatever suits them, and no one has to deal with what the reality of the situation is."

She shook her head. “I tried, once. To get them to see things the way I do. I think I... hurt them. By turning my back on everything they see as sacred. Maybe my father would want to know I was alive. But the Keeper? The man who has to preserve all that's left of the past? I betrayed that man. And if he's moved on now, then he should be able to stay that way." She leaned down, rubbing at her horse's neck.

Estella of all people believed she could understand fraught and uncomfortable family circumstances. She'd run away from her homeland as well, though for reasons that amounted to far less than Khari's aspirations. But all the same, even knowing what family were uniquely capable of doing to each other, she had to wonder if that was really all there was to it. “You said Vareth would have tried to convince you? Were you friends?" It seemed like a complicated situation, but Khari wasn't refusing to talk about it, at least. Maybe it would help her if she did.

Khari let out a disbelieving snort. “He'd probably describe it that way, I guess. We sure as hell spent enough time together. He wanted to impress my dad, I think—figured if he could bring me back into the fold, that would do it. Followed me around everywhere when he wasn't getting lessons." She lifted her shoulders. “I could never decide if he was okay, or if I just hated his guts. He let me beat on him with a stick for fencing practice back before I knew the first damn thing about fencing, but... eh." She hesitated for a moment. “He was really good at everything, you know? All the stuff Dalish are supposed to be able to do. The hunting and the magic and even the crafting and looking after the halla. Pissed me right off most of the time."

“Well, I bet he would make a terrible chevalier," Estella said matter-of-factly. Truthfully, she could relate quite a bit, at least to the part where Khari had grown up next to someone who was remarkable and talented and easy to envy. Of course, she'd never been upset that her brother was all those things. She'd just developed a distinct sense of her own inferiority. She really hoped Khari didn't have one of those, but it was hard to say. Sometimes, her confidence was utterly convincing, but at others...

Zahra broke free from her silence with a loud snort. It gave way into an even louder laugh.

Asala barely suppressed a giggle at the sudden joke.

Khari didn't bother, laughing aloud instead. Even after it had faded, a small grin remained. “You're absolutely right, Stel. The whole clan would, in fact. Good thing there's me, then." Her smile softened for a moment; there was genuine appreciation in it. “Anyway, this shit is depressing. Let's talk about something else: I've never known there to be other chevaliers around here. But 'red hair and leading a small group' isn't a lot to go by, since that also describes me right now."

Romulus quietly cleared his throat. "He did say 'tall,' though."

"It is not her fault," Asala added with a teasing pout.

Khari made a face at both of them, sticking out her tongue. “Okay, fine, point taken. But if she's a chevalier, she was probably on a horse anyway, so she would have looked tall even if she wasn't." As counterpoints went, it was rather poor, and she seemed to know it. “But anyway, Stel, since you know a bunch of famous people... any chance you've met any tall red-haired chevalier women?"

Estella chuckled. Actually, she did know someone who met that description. “Well," she said, “it's possible he met Violette Routhier. I obviously don't know every chevalier in Orlais, but I do know she has a command rank, so she'd be leading people. I'm not sure what she'd be doing here though. Maybe something about the increase in bandits recently?"

It seemed they would be finding out soon enough. Cresting yet another hill, their group came upon what looked like a small encampment. It was set up against a small river on one side, but the landscape made it difficult to select a truly fortified position. This particular camp clearly made up for that with the volume of posted guards; no fewer than four men and women on horseback stood guard; the camp itself flew the standard of House Drakon—a silver dragon on dark green.

“Uh... that doesn't mean what I think it means, does it?" Khari's eyes were wide; it was clear what she thought it meant.

Estella was reluctant to burst her bubble, so to speak but it was probably better to do it before they approached the camp. “Sorry," she said, smiling a bit. “With the Civil War going on right now, no one flies the Orlesian flag on its own. Everyone uses either the Valmont one, the de Chalons standard, or the Drakon one, depending on who they side with. Violette is a captain under Grand Duke Guillame."

If Khari was trying to contain her disappointment, she did a pretty terrible job at it, but it passed quickly, at least. Pulling her horse to a stop, she looked back over at Estella, more thoughtfully now. “So, while I could try to explain, if this is really the lady you know, it might be better if you did it. Actually, maybe it's better if it's you anyway. One of the Inquisitors, and all." She shrugged.

Estella nodded. She'd sort of expected that; the fact that the camp flew the Drakon flag definitely narrowed down the possibilities—that faction was by far the smallest. Perhaps it was a bit misleading to even call it a faction, since what they were really focused on was continuing with standard chevalier duties while the rest killed each other over what amounted to a political dispute. She'd certainly inherited her commander's viewpoint on how much sense that made, though she'd have thought the same anyway. “I can do that," she confirmed.

They rode towards the camp deliberately, not near fast enough to look like they were coming in for an attack, but directly enough that their intent to speak with the guards would be clear. This actually would have been easier of she were still in her Lions gear, but perhaps the russet and gold of the Inquisition would be recognizable enough for now.

She eased Nox to a stop a polite distance from the guard. The masked helm made it exceedingly difficult to read him, but his body language at least suggested curiosity rather than anything hostile. They didn't really have the look of highwaymen, she supposed. “Hail, ser," Estella called, pressing her fist to her heart as she'd been taught. “Might we know who camps here?"

"This is the encampment of the first squad of Lord-General Drakon's second flight, captained by Ser Violette Routhier," the chevalier replied, returning the gesture. "What business have you here, strangers?"

“I am Estella Avenarius, of the Inquisition." She still hadn't gotten used to calling herself Inquisitor, and she was never, ever going to refer to herself as the Herald of Andraste. “Formerly of Commander Lucien Drakon's Argent Lions. I know Ser Violette, and we would speak with her, if she would hear us."

That certainly gave the knight pause. He seemed to think that over for a moment, then inclined himself forward on his horse in a more formal bow. "If you would be so kind as to wait a moment, my lady, I will consult with the captain on this matter." He raised a hand, waving over one of the other guards, who assumed his position between them and the camp proper while he left.

A few minutes of silent waiting later, he returned. "The captain will see you, Lady Inquisitor." It would seem Violette at least knew what she was. "If you and your friends would care to dismount, we can care for your horses here. The captain is in the command tent."

There didn't seem to be any reason to protest that; the chevaliers collected the reins of their horses, one of them giving Nox an affectionate pat. The group was allowed to pass into the camp unhindered. It was both small and orderly, not given to the noisy energy of larger military groups. There were perhaps a dozen men in total visible, including the guards, though the number of tents suggested the number must be closer to twenty. There was a small cluster of them closest to the river that were markedly different—older-looking. Khari looked intently at them for a few moments, only moving again when it became obvious she'd be left behind if she didn't.

The command tent was easy to find; it was considerably larger than the rest, built of a sturdy canvas material held up by several poles staked into the ground, tall enough to easily accommodate even Asala's height. The flap was already open, admitting them inside. The most prominent feature therein was the map table; the rest was no more than a cot and a small trunk at the foot of it, both pushed far to the back, and a few chairs around the table.

Standing on the further side of the table were two people. The first was Violette, red hair chopped to just graze her shoulders and armor of an even brighter shade polished to a shine. She glanced up when they entered, offering Estella an unusually strained smile. The second was a man, perhaps six feet in height, with a thick mane of unruly, greying hair and a roughly-trimmed beard only a few shades darker. The lines around his eyes were etched deep into tanned, leathery skin, but his eyes themselves were a lively blue, with the glimmer of a keen mind to them. His armor was considerably older-looking, but just as well-maintained, the red iron dark by comparison to his counterpart's.

His facial expression didn't change much—not until he spotted Khari. "Little Bear?" His accent was relatively thick, compared to most of those Estella had encountered at court. His face, gruff to first appearance, morphed into a bewildered smile, softening the craggy edges.

“Big Bear!" Slipping past Estella, Khari lunged at the man, who caught her seemingly by reflex. There was a muffled clank where their armor collided, but neither seemed to pay it any mind.

"Still don't know your damn manners, I see." He grumbled, but when he set her back down on her feet, he was careful about it. "Introduce your friends, you little heathen."

She scrunched her nose at him, but it didn't dim the force of her smile. “Everyone, this is Ser Jean-Robert Durand. Big Bear, this is everyone. Stel's the one with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen, Asala's the one who looks like she needs a hug all the time, Cap'n Zee's the one who looks like the fun kind of trouble, and Rom... has better tattoos than me." She might have been about to say something else there, but it was hard to tell for sure. “Also I guess two of them are like Inquisitors or something, but that's not the important part."

Ser Durand ran a hand down his face, very obviously rolling his eyes. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord and Lady Inquisitor, Captain, Miss Asala." He tapped his fist to his chest as Estella had not long ago.

"I do not need a hug all of the time," Asala murmured with a slight pout, before giving Ser Durand a timid wave.

“Little Bear, huh?” Zahra cooed with an already widening grin, before scratching at her chin with obvious curiosity. She, too, dipped her head in greeting and planted her hands on her hips, eyes roving the interior of the large tent. From the looks of it, she was impressed by their encampment. Her gaze slipped back Ser Durand. "Lovely to meet you, Big Bear. It took us awhile."

Estella sort of thought Asala was undermining her own argument, putting it with that face, but it was only more amusing that way. She considered protesting her own characterization, but decided against it. Khari was clearly in a good mood right now; she didn't want to put even a mild damper on it, considering how she'd been feeling a while ago. It was sort of charming that her spirits could be so lifted so quickly; it meant she wasn't the sort of person to hold onto the negative things in life. Really, most people could learn a great deal form that, herself included.

Estella returned Ser Durand's gesture. “The pleasure's mine," she said, smiling.

Romulus raised his eyebrows a little at the descriptor Khari applied to him, but it seemed as though her shift in mood was infectious, and he found himself smiling as well, though not as broadly as Estella. "It's good to finally meet you. We came a long way."

"So it seems. I'd like to hear more about it, later on. For now, I'm afraid you've caught us in the middle of a strategy session." He glanced over at Violette, his smile fading considerably. "Quite an urgent one, it seems."

"I'm afraid so," Violette said, sighing slightly. "My sister Liliane's squad was sent to the area a fortnight ago, to help quell the bandits encroaching on the region. None of them have been heard from since." She grimaced, moving her eyes to Estella. "I know it probably isn't what you're here for, but..."

Estella nodded slightly. “We came here seeking Ser Durand, actually. As it seems he's with you for the time being, so shall we be. If that's all right?" She tilted her head at the others.

"You are certain?" Durand looked a little skeptical. "Unfortunate as the missing patrol is, finding them doesn't amount to what you're doing, surely. We should not keep you from it."

"The sooner the situation is resolved, then, the sooner we can get back to it," Romulus said, as though it was quite a simple decision to make. "And we would not ask for your help if we weren't willing to help in return."

Durand huffed a short breath. "Fair enough, then. We'll fill you in."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Seven people was probably a few too many to fit around the small map table, but they made due; Khari just stood a row in front of Asala and Rom and called it good enough. The map on-hand wasn't a particularly-detailed one, but she supposed it had been short notice for Ser Routhier and Ser Durand had the landscape long memorized by this point. So maps weren't really a necessity for him. That was nice, because they were damn expensive, as she understood it.

“We ran into some Jackals on our way here. You think this is them?" Khari recalled the incident with clear distaste splashed across her face. They were nasty pieces of work to a one, but they usually moved in smaller, more mobile groups, so they could get in and out of the territory quickly. The Dalish would catch them every time, otherwise, before Ser Durand even had to worry about flesh-traders in his territory.

Her teacher considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "In a way, I'd prefer it." His tone was grim; he crossed his arms over his chest. "The Jackals at least would have been likely to try for capture." The implication was obvious: Ser Routhier's missing sister and her troops were much more likely to be alive if slavers had ambushed them.

"I think it's more likely Halfhand and her damn Reapers." He grimaced, pointing to a spot on the map that sat in an area Khari knew to be steeper, with as many cliffs as gentler hills. "They took the old fortress off the last guys a couple years back. I've never had the manpower to even try and dig them out." His tone was edged with a familiar grievance there.

Khari sucked a breath in between her teeth. Halfhand was no joke; she remembered stories about her. “What makes you think it's them?"

He huffed, arching a brow at her. "Little Bear, do you know any other bandits crazy enough to try fighting a full squad of chevaliers? Ser Routhier had ten fully-trained knights with her. They'd have broken any other group to pieces, ambush or no."

Seeing how Zahra’s skills and abilities were usually strictly useful on the seas, there wasn’t much she could offer by means of strategy. She’d taken on mercenary gigs, and sticky-fingered capers, but it wasn’t likely that she did anything planned. Flying from the seat of her pants? More likely. She kept her silence, but peered over their shoulders, scrutinizing the map splayed out in front of them.

Violette, who had so far been quiet, chose that moment to speak. "The complaint Lili was responding to was simply for increased bandit activity, but she would have gathered what she could from the locals, as far as information. If she heard about some bandit in an old fortress, I'm certain she would have at least gone to investigate. I believe Ser Durand's hypothesis is likely correct; if..." She paused, her throat working as she swallowed thickly. "If Lili is still alive, it seems likely she will be there. If nothing else, it is a place to start."

“That looks like a bit of a trek, from here," Estella contributed softly. “It would be nearly morning by the time we got there, if we left right now."

Clearing her throat, Violette continued in a much crisper tone of voice. "Quite so. I believe our best option is to camp here for tonight, leave early tomorrow, and attempt to take the fortress under cover of darkness."

Rom had no disagreement with that. He had studied the map while they spoke, listening intently with his arms crossed, one closed fist gently propped against his lips. "You said the fortress is old," he stated, looking to Ser Durand and lowering his hands towards the map. "Do we know what the state of its defenses are? If we're attempting to take it, I'd be put to much better use on my own, inside the walls, than with the bulk of our numbers."

Khari watched her teacher study her friend, clearly reassessing what type of fighter he was. Durand nodded slowly. "It's backed up against a cliff, making it inaccessible from that side. The rest of it is walls, but the masonry is old enough that it should be scalable, to someone with the right skills. Halfhand's no amateur, though—she'll have a watch posted, and she herself will likely be heavily-guarded." He stroked his beard with a hand, eyes shifting into the middle distance.

"I think it would be best if you got the gate open for us, rather than risking taking her out. Too many unknowns—I only know the basics of the fortress's layout, for one. Just what I've been able to get from observing at a distance."

“How many people does she have, these days?"

"At least fifty in the fort on a given day. More, if her lieutenants are in to give their reports. She runs a large outfit." It was easy to see why even a chevalier and his eight soldiers wouldn't have risked it, considering that. Khari would have asked why he hadn't sent for help, but she already knew that was the wrong question.

The better one to ask was why no one had ever answered.

Violette didn't look thrilled by even the suggestion of what amounted to an assassination; she shot Durand a very obvious aside-glance, but apparently decided to let it slide. "Opening the gate would be for the best. Even with our troops combined, we'll have but slightly more than half their number. I'm not worried about that so much—a bandit is a bandit, and two are hardly a concern." Her confidence was clear, but the matter-of-fact tenor of the comment didn't carry any arrogance. Rom nodded his understanding of her advice, and said no more.

"The worry is, I believe, that they will know the environment much better than we do, and be better positioned to begin with, if the watch is on the walls. We'll have to be quick."

"Little point in planning much beyond that." Durand seemed to be amenable to the plan's general direction, however. When it was clear that everyone with an opinion on the matter was in agreement, he turned to Khari and the others. "It seems we've an evening to kill. I don't suppose any of you lot play Skulls and Roses?"

It turned out that everyone who didn't play was willing to learn, so after a hearty camp stew, they clustered together in a circle to one side of the campfire. They'd relocated to the part of the camp dominated by the older tents; Khari had made a point of greeting all the guys before sitting down to her food. They were pretty much exactly as she remembered them, though considerably older, of course. Brick and Firmin had decided to play as well, bringing the number up to eight.

“I didn't see Gervais or Louis around—they find actual gainful employment or something?" Khari laid her first card face down on her knee, passing the turn to Ser Durand on her right.

Brick pulled a face, but it was her teacher that answered. "They're dead." The news was delivered with the measured, even tone of someone quite used to the idea, but the fact that he didn't look at her when he said it told Khari the rest of the story.

“Shit." She grimaced. “It's just the six of you guys now?"

Firmin nodded, playing his card face down as well. The oldest man in the bunch, he had a beard that extended well past his chest, and no other hair to speak of. "Not the same without you kicking us all awake in the morning to spar with you, Khari."

"Yeah." Brick rolled his eyes. "I can actually fuckin' sleep now. Not the same at all."

“One." No sooner had the turn gone around once than Estella used the opportunity to begin the betting phase. Her face was quite unreadable, smoothed over until there was no expression on it at all. Rather appropriate, for a game where bluffing was half the point. She broke the moratorium on expression for just long enough to smile at Brick, though. “If it helps, I got her back for you, in a way. We train before morning, now."

For a pirate who was committed to underhanded means, Zahra floundered at Skulls and Roses. She was in the habit of betting far too high and coming out with nothing at all. From the look on her face, nose scrunched and eyebrows screwed up in concentration
 she wasn’t fond of losing either. She sighed and passed, effectively drawing herself out of the round, “Just isn’t the same without any ale.”

Meanwhile, Asala stared at her cards with a confused expression, her eyes darting back and forth between the cards in front of her and those in her hand. "Uh..." she murmured.

Khari nodded emphatically, then leaned over to peek at Asala's cards. “You pass, Asala. I raise to two. Anyway, Stel here is up a couple hours before the sun, and now so am I." She spread her remaining cards a little further with her free hand; she'd put down her skull, so she was really hoping someone tried to up that bet.

"Pass." Apparently her teacher at least was not going to oblige. "You've been keeping up with your training then, Little Bear?"

“Of course I have." She sniffed, as though indignant. “Can't let myself slack off. I'm helping important people now, you know." Thankfully, Brick raised to three, so she was safe for this round, at least. “Inquisitors and everything. I've beat up demons and Tevinter cultists and crazy templars with red lyrium growing out of their bodies, and that's just this year!" So it wasn't strictly modest to mention, maybe, but she couldn't help herself; she figured she had reason to be proud. “I mean, I'm kind of a big deal if I got them both to traipse out to the countryside with me, right?" She grinned at the two of them.

"We wouldn't be alive to traipse anywhere if not for our quiet Qunari friend here," Rom added, his face quite blank as he looked at his cards and the board. "Several times. Pass." Now that he was out of the round, he returned her grin with his own smaller variety. "But yes, she's important to us. And we have to keep her out of the regulars anyway, for morale reasons. Sleep, as you mentioned."

“I do believe they quite enjoy watching her fight, though," Estella added, raising to four. No one seemed to want to take her up on that, so she was left to try and pick three roses besides her own. Brick had one, which she guessed immediately, as did Firmin. Her last guess was Durand, and she accompanied it with a question.

“May I ask what you know of the Inquisition, Ser Durand?"

He flipped his card, showing her the rose on it. The first bet was Stel's. As everyone reshuffled for the next, Ser Durand raised his shoulders. "Well, we don't exactly get news from the horse's mouth around here, but you could see that damn green thing in the sky from just about anywhere. Rumor tells that you lot were the ones who went about fixing that, and now you're looking to fix whatever caused it in the first place."

“That's basically it." Khari brought her legs up to cross underneath her, settling into a more comfortable position. “It's why we're here, honestly. I thought maybe you'd be able to help us."

He looked surprised by that for a moment, scratching at his beard with the hand not holding his cards. "Me? I'm not much of an asset, Little Bear. Can barely keep the bandits under control in my neck of the woods. Seems like a question better put to Routhier."

Khari snorted. “Bullshit. I know how hard you hit. And I know none of them have ever beat a clumsy dumbass into shape the way you have."

It was his turn to look like he didn't buy it. "That was not the labor you make it seem. But if what I can offer seems worth the asking, then I suppose I'll have to consider it." He grimaced. "If we can dig Halfhand out of her fort, I could pull up my old roots, too, I suppose."

Khari kept a lid on her excitement, but only just. It had been years since she'd been able to be around Ser Durand and the others; if they were coming to the Inquisition, well... almost everything she cared about would be in one place.

War or no war, that felt pretty damn good.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The camp was packed up and ready to move before first light. Despite the missing and potentially dead portion of the company, the group seemed to be in decent spirits moving out, albeit tempered by a resolve that would be needed to make it through a hard fight. Romulus wondered if for once he was the most relaxed among them. The removal from Skyhold had done him a service, and though he wasn't particularly proud of his skillset, it would be good to put it to use helping Khari's teacher and the others among the chevaliers. Perhaps his commanders and advisors wouldn't agree with the risk of sending in an Inquisitor alone for the cause of rescuing a few soldiers (valuable ones, but still soldiers). But they weren't here now, and his aim was to help Khari and the Inquisition. That meant getting these prisoners back.

They walked mostly in silence, though some unresolved conversations from the night before popped back up every now and then, from those that weren't comfortable sitting in the quiet. Romulus was, and so he kept near the forefront of their formation, watchful for any threat. They passed rolling hill after rolling hill, covering ground swiftly but without overly tiring themselves. There was work to be done at the end of the trip, after all. There were unfortunately few trees to work with, barely more than one in sight at any time, but the sky was beginning to cloud over. It was light enough that rain wasn't prompted, but it would conceal to moonlight later, for their attack.

The conversation grew more and more sparse as the daylight waned, and by nightfall they had ceased altogether. They kept clear of the faded road leading into the fortress, moving ahead one hill over until the target came in sight. Fortress was a generous word, Romulus thought. There were no holes in the walls, but they were crumbling in places, and one of the towers had partially collapsed on the left side, making that vantage point unusable. The gate, at least, looked to be of sturdy construction, made of interlocking bars of iron. No getting through that with the tools they had; it would indeed need to be opened. What worried Romulus more was the cast-iron pots he saw, or at least the rims of some poking out above the battlements.

"Oil or something similar above the gate," he mentioned quietly to Violette. "Doesn't look like the gate's controlled from above. I'll see if I can take care of both, but if I can only open the gate, get everyone through quickly." He was sure he didn't need to tell her that, but he had no wish for her to overestimate his abilities. He much preferred having the time to properly scout a place's defenses before breaking in. Tonight he would have to manage things on the fly.

She seemed to understand, at least. "Will do, Lord Inquisitor. We can manage if necessary, so by all means... be careful."

"I'm going to start with that tower on the right," he said, loud enough for the rest to hear while still keeping his voice down. "Might take some time. I'll need to get a good look at everything first. The gate opening will be the signal." He cracked his knuckles, looking over at those few from the Inquisition that were with him. "I'll see you soon."

“Good luck in there," Estella replied with a nod. She tugged at the hood on her cloak, for once taking a leaf out of his book and casting her face into shadow. Even if he got the gate open, it was better if they were near enough to move quickly, and so they'd have to approach as quietly as possible in the meantime.

"Be careful, okay?" Asala said with a worried frown.

“Or we’ll have no choice but to tear the whole damn place down looking for you,” Zahra added with a toothy grin. If she was at all worried about Romulus going on his own, she’d done well in hiding it. Her smile wavered a fraction before she simply nodded her head.

“Don't have too much fun without us." Khari gripped his shoulder momentarily, squeezing for just a second before she let go. “Wish I was quiet enough to go with you." A pause. “And I don't usually wish I was quiet." She frowned at the fortress for a minute, then spoke in a lower voice. “If things go south and you need to get out without opening the gate... do it, okay?"

"I will," he promised, pulling up his hood and making his way out from cover. If things did turn bad on him, escaping would be no simple matter. It wasn't a big fort, but the walls were high enough to make jumping dangerous, and getting clear of arrow range with a broken leg or twisted ankle would be a difficult endeavor. He'd have to be careful.

Most of his cover on the approach came in the form of large rocks and boulders, obscuring him from the faint silhouettes that patrolled the wall. Their watch was more or less wasted on a night like tonight, though. The cloud cover cast a deep blackness over the land, making it undoubtedly impossible for the chevaliers to see how Romulus was progressing. They'd be able to see the gate lift, from the torchlight within the walls, but that was about it.

Romulus crept to the base of the wall at the edge of the watchtower, taking a moment to look up and plot his ascent, as well as listen for footsteps. He could hear one pair of boots moving along the top of this section of wall. He would have no cause to look straight down, though, so it was unlikely he'd be spotted. Carefully and quietly, Romulus began to climb, a small knife between his teeth. The wall was hardly smoothed solid any more, and it gave him ample options for foot and handholds, though he had to be careful not to disturb any of it, as the sound could easily give him away and leave him defenseless to an arrow or crossbow bolt.

At the top, he let his fingers creep over the edge of the wall, one hand taking the little knife, and waited while the sounds of footsteps came closer and closer. When they stopped in front of him, he lunged up and forward, taking the watchman by surprise. The knife found his throat and cut short any cry he might've made, and his legs gave out, giving Romulus an easy opportunity to get his weight over the wall and his feet down on solid ground. He cradled the man's fall but did not let go, instead taking a quick look around to see if the act had been spotted. Clear, he listened at the door into the tower now on his left. No sound.

Pushing open the door, he carefully brought the body inside and shut the door behind him. He was on the mid-level of a three tiered watchtower, a winding wooden spiral leading up to a trap door at the top. Down below a fire carried warm air up through the guts of the structure; the heat had lulled a woman to sleep in her chair next to it. Romulus pushed the dead body against the wall and made his way up. Listening through the trap door, he could hear a low whistling from above.

He came up through the door slowly at first, peeking just to confirm there was only one atop the tower. A sword-armed woman sat comfortably in a chair, rocking back and forth and whistling a tune into the darkness. The trap door creaked ever so slightly, enough for the whistling to be cut short. The moment it happened Romulus lunged up again, seizing a fistful of the guard's ponytail and wrenching her head back, his knife quickly slicing across the throat. She thought to reach for her sword first, but her hands then went to her throat, and Romulus steadied the back of her chair to make sure it didn't tip over one way or the other.

Once she stilled, he turned and crouched low at the back of the tower, getting a good look at the fort's layout. The main central building had its back to the cliff. It was pretty much the one place Romulus knew was too great a risk to go, and also where he was mostly certain the prisoners would be, if they still lived. A hanging platform equipped with a few nooses beside the main building wasn't a great sign, but perhaps they hadn't been used yet. Executing prisoners wasn't common if they could be ransomed, and chevaliers could fetch a decent price, he was sure. Other than that, there were a few other outbuildings, including stables and what looked like the remains of a once-decent smithy.

The gate controls were on the ground level, against the wall right next to the opening. A large wheel crank, by the looks of it. He'd be able to get it open himself, but it would not be quick, or particularly quiet.

He would need to clear out some of the watchers closest to the gate before attempting to open it, starting with a pair that watched over the pots of oil from directly above it. He snuck back through the trap door and began making his way down again, stopping once he reached the middle level. The woman below was still asleep. He thought for a moment to make a move to kill her first, but then he heard two men's voices, growing louder and closer to the door.

"She says to me, 'what if this place turns into another Kirkwall mess for us?' Fucking Kirkwall. She can't put it out of her head."

"That was six years ago."

"That's what I told her! But you'd think we'd pushed off the docks yesterday. She needs to relax."

It became apparent that they weren't slowing down, so Romulus ducked to the side of the doorway, sheathing his knife and drawing his pugio and shield instead. The wooden door swung open and concealed him, the two men stepping inside. They stopped on the landing, glancing below at the sleeping woman, before the disgruntled one among them sighed, leaning against the railing.

"Business is great here, though, and we're bloody miles from Kirkwall. It's high time she—hey, what's he doing there?" He had looked across the opening to the other side, where the first man Romulus had killed lay crumpled against the wall. They had time for little more than squinting, however, as Romulus kicked the door shut behind them and swept forward. He seized the head of the smaller one on the right and viciously twisted, snapping his neck and dropping him. The other already had his sword out, but by the time he located the threat and raised it Romulus had sank his blade right underneath his arm into his chest.

The sound of the brief fight had woken the woman below. Romulus glanced down, then let the second body he still held tip and fall over the railing. The corpse fell one full story and landing right in the middle of the firepit, blasting ash, dust, and embers outwards and into the waking woman's face. Startled half to death, she swiped at her face and eyes and struggled to rise. Romulus quickly vaulted over the railing and fell directly on top of her, slamming the rim of his shield into the top of her skull. The blow was enough to knock her unconscious, but he knelt to slice her artery all the same. Checking to make sure the fire hadn't gotten out of hand, Romulus made his way out into the grounds of the fort proper.

He was fortunate; apart from the posted guards, the majority of this Halfhand's forces seemed to be inside, if the projected numbers were accurate. A few patrolled the roads, and some still remained at their posts along the wall, but for the most part Romulus was not troubled on his way to the gate. One man wielding a poleaxe watched over the gate controls, leaning against his weapon and absently picking at his teeth. Romulus observed him for a moment from the shadow of the stables, watching for the other patrolling guards to give him an opportune moment. He knew he wouldn't have long, and the clock would start as soon as he killed the man by the gate.

When the time came he moved decisively, launching the bolt from his crossbow. The well-aimed shot punched straight into his skull through the eye socket, killing him almost instantly. He fell against the overgrown, grassy earth, his poleaxe going with him, and Romulus only bothered to move the body until it was out of his way before he set to work on the gate crank.

It was heavy, but once he got it going his progress increased, and the gate's pointed metal teeth began to rise off the ground. The sound was obvious, however, and it wasn't long before a woman was squinting at the sight from a distance. A moment later her posture tensed with recognition, and a shout of alarm was raised. She charged from the main building's front steps, mace in hand, and seconds later an arrow came in, grazing Romulus's upper arm.

He ignored it, cranking the wheel as quickly as he could until the gate was passably open, a good seven or eight feet of clearance off the ground. At that point he grabbed the gate guard's pole arm, and first turned it on the charging woman, lifting it off the ground and suddenly burying the point in her guts. She stumbled backwards and fell, writhing on the ground while Romulus shoved the now bloody spear through the gears of the crank, thoroughly jamming it. It would take time to fix and force the gate down, time they wouldn't have if his allies came with haste.

For Romulus, however, there wasn't any time, and his split-second judgement deemed that escaping out the gate was not the preferable option. Instead he chose to flee further into the fort, heading for the stables. Arrows whistled through the air around him, missing by inches and then thudding into the wooden doors of the stables once he got close. He ducked inside, grabbing a torch on his way in. Immediately he set a blaze in the rear, the hay lighting up well enough and soon catching the building as well. The horses immediately began to rear and panic. They'd be able to burst free once they became frightened enough. In the meantime, smoke billowed out from the stables as Romulus made his escape, using the darkness to switch directions and make it back into the tower, and then onto the wall. He'd lost the pursuit of the Halfhand's guards, and there was a clamor coming from the main gate, which he was given a vantage of as he made his way towards it from above.

It wasn't long before he could see the source; a troop of chevaliers in full charge was a rather impressive sight, even dark as it was. Durand and Violette both seemed to be the type to lead from the front; they were the first in. Most of the soldiers were armed either with sturdy lances or the longer cavalry-type swords. The charge broke the first line of defense that had accumulated near the gate as though tearing paper.

The one difficulty they encountered was that the gate wasn't all that wide; a few of the smarter bandits had already grabbed polearms of their own and were lining up at the sides of the entrance. Durand's horse took a spear in the flank and went down, pitching him forward. It was Khari who rode through the gap that created, leaning down sideways from her own mount and helping him to his feet, apparently content to ignore the arrow that clanged off the armor on her shoulder. Someone had given her a brace of javelins; the first found a home in the back of a bandit running towards the main building.

Even if that messenger died, though, there would be plenty more, and no doubt the tumult itself would rouse the rest from their slumber soon enough. Down on the wall adjacent to the gate, one industrious bandit was working to light the oil pots above the entranceway. The first caught flame easily—and only about half the chevaliers were through.

The oil tipped forward, but before it fell onto the chevaliers' heads, a fluorescent blue shield sprang to life above them. The edges were raised upward while it also tapered off on either side of the gate entrance. The barrier diverted the oil harmlessly away from the chevaliers. However, the maneuver left Asala open with her arms awash in the blue hued fade energy, painting her as the prime target for the bandit archers. One such archer on the rampart nocked his arrow and aimed her direction.

Another arrow whooshed from the opposite end of the bridge.

Followed shortly by a thunking sound as it thudded into the man’s leathers. He’d been in the process of notching his arrow. It fumbled from his fingers, and clattered off the ramparts. His mouth flapped open and his eyes bulged
 though if he made any noise, it couldn’t be heard above the din of clopping hoof beats and the screech of battle. He staggered forward and pawed at the arrow protruding from his chest, until he simply pitched forward and fell off the wall, lying in a tangled heap at the base. Fortunately, he hadn’t fallen on the bridge at all, so he wasn’t another obstacle to stumble over.

Zahra stood with her fingers still poised beside her face, narrowed eyes refocusing on the task at hand. She knuckled at her nose and steeled herself to slip in beside Asala and her shimmering blue shield. She scanned the walls, and loosed another arrow over the top. Where the oil had come from. A shriek was heard. Barely. But by the sounds of it, she hadn’t managed to kill whoever it was. A shoulder, at best. “Great thinking, kitten,” she huffed with a smile, inclining her head, “Let’s move forward. I’ve got your back.”

Romulus aimed to relieve the pressure on Asala, and made as quick a dash as he could towards the section of wall above the gate. He took one archer by surprise on his way, taking him down with a hard tackle and plunging his knife into the man's torso several times before pushing off and carrying on. Over the gate, the oil-thrower was getting ready with a second pot. Romulus pulled his crossbow and shot straight at it, cracking the container and sending the oil spilling around the man holding it. It caught the flame and ignited, instantly turning the man into a pillar of fire. He staggered about momentarily, before he fell weakly and his screams faded.

Romulus nimbly hurdled around the flames and continued on towards the other side of the fort. The walls had been largely cleared thanks to Zahra's sharpshooting and his earlier efforts. All available hands were needed to engage the main force attacking them, as the arrows didn't have much success against the chevaliers' heavy armor. Romulus was able to make his way back down again unseen and get behind what appeared to be an outhouse, where he had a good view of the main building. More and more of the bandits were joining the fight from there, and rather than confront them Romulus waited patiently, hoping for an opportunity to slip inside unseen. If there were prisoners being held in there, he might be able to free them in the confusion and hit the bandits hard from the rear.

The stream of bandits exiting the building didn't stop until there were at least forty of them on the field, most clashing heavily with the chevaliers, who had since made it through the gate. By that point, Romulus's earlier efforts had paid off: the bandits' horses were free and panicked, only throwing the area into even greater confusion. Perhaps to be expected was the fact that the orderly, regimented military force handled this better than the less-organized defenders.

That said... being at the defense had its advantages as well. No few of the bandits had obviously been warned about what sort of enemies they were dealing with, and several of them were armed with pikes, or similar weapons that could be braced on the ground and used to devastating effect against cavalry. The knights increasingly found themselves forced to dismount or risk their horses, which the majority seemed unwilling to do.

Khari was fighting afoot now, too; she ranged afield from the battle lines as usual, freely hewing her way through the ranks at the expense of various seemingly-minor injuries. Elsewhere, softly-luminous blue shields flickered in and out of existence, stopping a few unlucky blows from landing on the flanks of the formation. The ground underneath everyone's feet churned and tore, the weight of horses and armor ripping grass and dirt free of native earth.

But the outpouring of bandits had stopped, at least from the main building. If Romulus was going to go, now looked like the time to do it.

Romulus observed the fighting from afar, watching the oncoming bandits carefully. They seemed to respond to several among their group in leadership roles, but none that commanded the entire force, and none that he felt fit this Halfhand woman's description, as the chevaliers had relayed it. Safe enough to conclude she was still inside. He had no intention of attacking her and several of her number on his own, but if she made herself vulnerable...

He'd have to get inside first. The chaos of the fight was enough to conceal him if he kept to the edges of it, and his lack of metal armor meant none of the light reflected from him, and also that he shared a closer appearance to the bandits than the knights attacking them. In all it was enough for him to make it to the main building unnoticed. The front entrance had been left open in the last enemy's haste to get outside and join his allies; Romulus paused at it to listen carefully. When he could hear no bandit rushing out to follow the others, he carefully slipped inside.

A few torches burned along the walls, but in their haste to make it outside, the bandits had left several of them unlit. As a result, deep shadow pervaded the interior of the fortress building. While the sounds from outside gradually faded with his progress into the keep, others picked up. There were definitely still some people moving around in here; Romulus could hear indistinct voices down another hall on the left. The tones were strident, authoritative, and definitely pitched high enough to be a woman's.

To the right, there was silence, and a staircase downwards. Having no wish to come across the Halfhand and whatever number of bandits she was likely shouting at, Romulus took the right, down the stairs. It was the likeliest place to find anything one wanted to keep under lock and key.

The stairwell had a sort of musty odor to it; most likely the building was no longer completely watertight, allowing mildew and mold to fester in the area. A couple of the stone stairs were slick under his boots, but nothing that threatened to topple him. The landing was likewise damp—a small puddle of stale water had collected there.

Of more interest was the fact that he seemed to have found the dungeon area of the keep. A few of the cells were occupied; men and women in varying states of armor and dress had been individually imprisoned, from the looks of it. A few of the more alert ones were already up against the bars—one man noticed Romulus immediately.

"You..." He squinted. "I've not seen you before."

"I'm not with Halfhand," he explained quickly, keeping his voice low. "There's a battle happening outside, Captain Routhier's leading the attack. I came to free you." He wasn't sure how exactly, but at least he knew that someone was alive down here. He didn't see any guards, which was a mixed blessing. None to threaten him for the moment, but also no sign of a key. "Is there a warden somewhere I could get keys from?"

The man grimaced, raising himself into a crouch with the assistance of the bars in front of him. "Was. Not sure where he's gone. I'm sure Halfhand has some, but you probably don't want to be going after those." He paused a moment, glancing over at the other cells. When he spoke again, his tone was urgent. "You said it's Captain Routhier, right? Who else is out there?"

There were too many to reasonably list for the man, but Romulus quickly racked his memory for those of note. He couldn't come up with much. "There's a Ser Durand and his few. We're no more than thirty, but they're holding their own outside. I'm with the Inquisition. Five of us were in the area to help." Perhaps it didn't seem like much, but he knew the five in question were worth far more than their number in a fight against bandits. As for the matter of releasing them, Romulus was beginning to get an interesting idea, but he needed some reassurance before putting it in motion. "We came looking for ten missing troops under the command of Ser Liliane. Are you them?" He glanced around at the other faces, though there was little chance of recognizing any of them.

"You can't stay here." The man shook his head emphatically, gripping the bars until his knuckles were white. "We're the ones you're looking for, but you've got to get back out there. If Ser Durand is with you, you might be twenty against the rest at any moment. He's the reason we're here in the first place. Leave us here and tell Captain Routhier—please." Several of his more-aware compatriots nodded their agreement.

"We will be fine, but not if all of you are caught or killed as well."

Durand was the reason? Despite everything he'd been through, Romulus was still surprised. Still shocked, even though he hardly knew the man. Was he such a fool? If this was true... suddenly everything became so much more urgent. It wasn't his own safety he was trying to ensure by being quick anymore, it was Khari's, and Asala, and Zahra, and Estella. He had to get back out there. But not alone, not if there was something he could do about it.

"Get away from the bars," he instructed, leaving no room for argument. Perhaps he could get out there quicker on his own, but how much good could he do? These few he'd found, even not at full strength, could be invaluable. Once the man was clear of the door, Romulus closed his left hand around it. He'd wondered if he would be able to do it again on command, but the feeling in his chest was similar enough to before that it came naturally. It almost felt like the anger was required. His mark glowed a bright green as he focused, the light igniting the metal from within. It pulsed and vibrated momentarily, and then with a blast of magic and metal the door's lock ruptured, pieces of it disappearing into the miniscule rift before it closed and sent the rest flying. He shoved the door open.

"If you know where weapons are, get them. If not, take them from the bandits. I'll free the rest." It would be tiring work, but Romulus would not let fatigue stop him here.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
These bandits were better than most of those she'd killed over the years.

Khari had received her training in very practical circumstances. There was little standing around in a ring practicing forms or beating on straw dummies. She'd learned from the very beginning how to stay alive in a thick melee situation like this one, and from there learned how to actively participate. Nearly every assessment had carried with it a real chance that her life would end, as Ser Durand's troop met with bandits or slavers or highwaymen and clashed. A single knight, a handful of commoners, and one little elf girl, against whatever band of criminals thought they were lucky that day. It was just as well she'd always been pretty good at this, because otherwise she'd be six feet underground.

A broad, horizontal stroke with Intercessor gave her a little more breathing room, forcing the three bandits she was juggling to jump back or get cut. Their numbers were gradually wearing down, but the chevaliers had taken a few causalities by this point as well—men and women either dead or too injured to pick themselves up off the ground. The rest were closing ranks, forming into a tight knot of fighters and weathering the assault from a defensive position just inside the gate.

Something glinted in the corner of her eye—one of the bandits had flanked her and was looking to slide a knife into a joint in her armor. He didn't get the chance; a longsword erupted from his chest, and with a mighty heave, Ser Durand tossed him off the blade, scowling. There was blood in his silver hair, dripping down his forehead, but he didn't pay it any more heed than Khari gave to her own wounds.

She grinned at him underneath her mask, the expression almost feral with the Haze still thrumming at a low pitch through her body. “Thanks."

He grunted—she had the sense that in any other situation, he'd have rolled his eyes at her. "Get back to work, Little Bear. You can thank me later."

Khari saw no reason to object, and lunged for the next bandit.

Nearby, Estella was also slightly apart from the chevaliers' line. Most likely because her fighting style, like Khari's, relied a great deal on being quick and mobile. She bled freely from a gash on her arm, but if it was slowing her down, she wasn't giving any sign of that. She kept her strokes quick, short, and efficient.

An axe came in from overhead; Estella blocked with both hands on her saber, but did not draw out the contest of strength, instead deflecting the weapon to the side and stepping in, drawing the knife from her back with the hand she'd removed from her sword and dragging it in a short, deep line across the bandit's neck, opening up the vital artery there and pushing him over with a knee. Her next block was awkward as another bandit stepped up to take his place—her guard broke, and she was forced to scramble backwards. Narrowly avoiding a devastating blow to the head with the second bandit's mace, she sidestepped the follow-up and kicked at the back of his knees, staggering him for just long enough to open up his belly with the saber. With a cry, he fell, clutching his abdomen. She went down with him, thrusting the knife up under his chin, killing him before the loss of his innards could gradually accomplish the same.

A shimmering barrier flew up beside her, a dull clank echoing as a result. A bandit's sword rebounded harmlessly off it. He clutched at his wrist as no doubt the sudden impact jarred the small bones in there. There was no time to recover from the relatively minor setback, as the shield flew forward and shrunk in size until it collided with his helmet, sending out an audible ring even over the din of battle. His head snapped backward as he dropped the sword and fell hard to the ground. He still drew breath, but he no longer moved.

Asala stood in the center rank of the knot of combatants, safe enough from the prying arms and armor of the bandits. Fluttering lights of blue danced around them, appearing for a moment to shield a chevalier from a wayward blow, to throw disorder into the ranks of the bandits, or on some occasions, putting a bandit out of the fight herself with a hard knock to the head.

Seeing how long-ranged combat was no longer feasible in the more congested areas of battle, Zahra had loosed the remainder of her arrows, pinning errant kneecaps and shoulders before tossing her bow aside, and drawing out her thin rapier. She was by no means as agile and quick to parry as Marceline was, though she’d managed not to impale herself on any incoming blades. Hers were feral, clumsy things. Wild sweeping motions that left openings, which she barely closed by continuing to barrel forward. Effectively tossing herself close enough that they couldn’t swing their arms even if they’d wanted to.

She bared a gash across her midsection where a sword had sliced through her leathers. An attack she’d been to slow to dance away from. Her palms and fingers were red as well. Possibly because she’d slicked it across the cut, in an attempt to stem the flow. It painted her thigh and dripped on the ground as she swept an axe away. It glanced off her blade, twirled off its end before she went full-circle and punctured it through his eye. He didn’t have the time to make a noise, as Zahra kicked him off her blade, toppling him backwards in a heap.

The tide of the battle was turning in their favor. Khari could sense it in a way that was different from simply counting heads or estimating casualties. Some kind of instinct, maybe—she'd never bothered thinking too hard about fighting. It worked better when she just let herself feel it instead.

But the bandits were falling underfoot, the chevaliers and their allies fighting for every step forward, but advancing steadily towards the keep doors. She hadn't spotted Rom in a while, but there wasn't much time to be worried about that. Khari knew he knew how to look after himself; he'd be fine. In the meantime, they had to—

"Stop!"

The shout was loud enough to carry all the way over the din. Perhaps that was why the group couldn't help but obey it, at least for long enough to figure out where it was coming from. That much didn't take long: a smaller group of bandits was emerging from the front entrance to the keep, and they weren't alone.

A woman—almost certainly Halfhand—led them. Immediately to her right, a massive man in full plate half-dragged another person, a tall woman with dirty golden hair. She wore no armor, but the crest on her scarlet tunic was the one belonging to the chevalier order—a yellow feather, crossed with a sword.

"Lili." Khari was close enough to hear Violette speak. Apparently, the blonde woman was indeed her sister.

But she was clearly not the only hostage here; three more bandits led prisoners out of the keep; they dutifully lined up behind Halfhand, holding blades of varying sizes to the unprotected throats of their captives.

The bandit leader herself was neither especially tall nor intimidating, as far as appearances went. Short-cropped brown hair, a middling build, and dark clothing and armor. She'd evidently been named for the fact that she was missing three of the fingers on her left hand; her right held a marine-style hatchet in a relaxed grip.

At once, the bandits disengaged with the chevaliers, stepping back to form a barrier between Halfhand and the invaders. The chevaliers looked to Violette for orders, though Halfhand continued before there was time to give any.

"I have your men. All of them. And unless you lower your weapons right now, these four are going to be the first to die. Your choice, chevalier dogs."

Violette visibly hesitated; the expression on her face was a clear blend of rage and fear. The fear, presumably, was for her sister and her soldiers. Her grip tightened on her sword; even not in use, little tongues of flame licked over its surface.

"Don't," Liliane rasped, voice hoarse and nearly unusable, from the sound of it. Her captor's hold on her tightened; the shortsword he pressed into her neck drew a line of blood.

"Disarm." For better or worse, that seemed to have decided the matter for Violette. With a look of disgust briefly flickering over he face, she tossed her hand-and-a-half to the ground, the enchanted fire guttering out. Those under her command followed suit. After a moment of indecision, Estella did as well. On the other hand, it seemed to be a simple decision for Asala, whose staff fell to the ground a moment after Violette's sword. Zahra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat before tossing hers alongside Asala’s staff.

Khari hated the idea of dropping her sword in a situation like this, but she could understand why Violette had decided the way she did. With a sneer, she threw Intercessor to the ground.

"Very good." Halfhand's tone was condescending in the extreme. "Jean-Robert, are there any mages in the lot?" The bandit leader's eyes flicked to Ser Durand. As if he were actually going to—

"Just the Qunari."

Wait.

What?

Khari swung around to face him. Ser Durand hadn't bothered to disarm, nor had Brick or Fermin or any of the others in his group. None of them would make eye contact with her. Khari felt an uncomfortable lurch in her chest. But... but surely... surely there was some explanation she could not see. Some reason she did not have, an explanation that would make this make sense.

Ser Durand himself glanced at her, holding her eyes with his own. His expression was unreadable, the same grim mask he wore whenever he fought. He crossed his arms over his chest, maintaining their stalemate even while Halfhand gave him an answer.

"Arrows on that one then, please." A slight rustle almost drew Khari's attention away. Probably there were archers on the rooftops, too. She couldn't be bothered to care about that just now.

“...Big Bear?" She hoped her mask could conceal the way her lower lip trembled, but there was no mistaking the unnatural brightness to her eyes. “What's... what's happening? Why would you tell her that?"

Ser Durand pushed a heavy breath out of his nose. "You wouldn't understand." Dropping his eyes away, he gestured to his men to follow him. The line of bandits adjusted to let them through.

Halfhand was still talking. The words registered with Khari only dimly, but she did get the general idea. "Now... as you can see, your situation is not quite what you believed it was. There's only one way you get out of this alive, and that's if you do exactly what I tell you."

If facial expression was anything to go by, Violette was nearly apoplectic with fury. Her voice, however, came out tightly-controlled, sharp, and hard as the steel her armor was made of. "What in the Maker's name do you want, bandit? Why go to all this trouble to kidnap an entire squad of chevaliers? Hostages may stop us, but they will not stop the Lord-General. You're only putting yourself in the sights of people you won't be able to handle."

The chevalier showed considerable discipline, as the end of her question was uninterrupted by the surprising appearance Rom then made, emerging from the main building behind the assorted bandits. Everyone among the Inquisition and the chevaliers were able to see him coming, silently and swiftly, while several prisoners took up positions in the doorways with bows. They looked terrible, starving and ragged, but they were capable at least of drawing back the bowstrings and taking careful aim.

Rom went right for the heavily armored man on Halfhand's right, his knife stabbing deep into the back of his right leg through the gap in the plate, while his marked hand reached to grab his arm, pulling the blade away from Liliane's throat. Involuntarily he lurched forward and pushed the captured chevalier away from him as he went down, and Rom immediately went for the killing stab to his throat.

As soon as he'd made his presence known, the archers behind him loosed their arrows on the other bandits holding captives, arrows striking their upper backs and offering the prisoners opportunities to make a move. "Fight!" Rom roared, and immediately the chaos resumed, with a bandit instantly turning on the threat. He barely managed to get his shield in the way of the man's mace, the swift blow forcing him back a few steps. He was obviously tired; whatever he'd done to free the prisoners had taken a lot out of him.

Liliane staggered forward, free of her captor. Halfhand reacted immediately, swinging the hatchet in her hand wildly and hurling it with an enraged shout. "You will not get the better of me again!"

The weapon landed squarely in Liliane's chest, felling her mere moments after she'd been freed.

The move, effective as far as it went, also left the bandit leader wide open and weaponless. If Khari had been confused before, the feeling only redoubled when Ser Durand was the one to take advantage, plunging his sword into her abdomen from behind, just to the left of her spine. He whistled sharply, and a good half of the archers on the roof shifted their positions, loosing their nocked arrows at the rest. The ones on the ground were still aiming at Asala, however, and they released their shots as well.

The fade was in Asala's hands when the chaos ensued. However, she winced as she proved too slow to erect a barrier in time to protect Liliane, but apparently she kept the others in mind in spite of the danger to herself. The fade in her hand intensified and spread to her other, as a large luminescent dome encased not just her, but the small group of fighters just as the arrows were let loose. They did not travel very far before clattering uselessly against the barrier. When the last fell harmlessly to the ground, the shield vanished, allow the chevaliers free range once more.

Though it had been bought at great cost, the chevaliers seized their opportunity. In a showing of extreme self-discipline, Violette found the wherewithal to pick up her sword from the ground and lead the charge, crashing into the breaking bandit line. The renewed assault, and the fact that Durand's men were hewing the bandits down from behind, meant that the force was shattering quickly.

One by one, the bandits fell, until none moved anymore. Khari, breathing heavily, kept her sword uncertainly at her side, surveying the damage. In addition to Liliane, one of the other hostages and about three members of the invading force they'd entered with were almost certainly dead. Half a dozen more were heavily injured, though for once she herself was not among them.

It would have been almost clean, were it not for the thing she was trying to avoid thinking about. But she'd never been one to run away from a fight; she didn't see why it had to change because the type of fight was different. So she swallowed back the increasingly-bitter taste of bile in her throat, and pointed Intercessor at Ser Durand. The tip of the blade shook visibly. She took a deep, slow breath through her nose, trying to steady herself.

“Explain."

His expression was no longer so difficult to read; it had softened a great deal. But he shook his head. "You were only in the wrong place at the wrong time, Little Bear. It does not matter now." He turned to Rom, then. "Arrest me, Inquisitor. I'm sure the men you found inside have given you plenty of reason to do it. But know that my men only followed me."

Rom nodded, breathing heavily and glancing at those that hadn't been able to make it out of the fight alive. "They said you're the reason anyone was captured to begin with." He didn't look like he understood much more than Khari did, though. "Drop your weapons, all of you." He looked to Khari. "We'll figure this out, I swear... but not here." For those that had already lost friends or family, though, there would likely be no resolution. "I'm sorry, Ser Violette."

The captain was kneeling beside her sister, gingerly taking Liliane into her arms before standing. Considering that the latter was the taller of the two, it was a little difficult for her, but her strength compensated. At Rom's words, she glanced over at him, inclining her head slightly. "Thank you, Lord Inquisitor. We will... we will take care of things here, and then return to Val Royeaux. Your assistance has been appreciated." She closed her eyes for a long moment, swallowing thickly, and then turned away, carrying her sister away from the scene.

Khari replaced her sword at her back. There was a spreading numbness in her chest, one that left her feeling exhausted, as though somehow this fight had taken much ore out of her physically than they usually did. She knew that for a falsehood, but it didn't change the feeling.

Maybe she'd get some answers when they returned to Skyhold.

She wasn't sure she wanted them.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Romulus honestly hadn't planned on making any more judgements on the throne so soon. And yet here he sat.

To be fair, he didn't feel his opinion would matter all that much, just his words. For some reason he wanted to be the one to say them, and Estella had easily given up the responsibility. He had no intention of blindly sentencing Ser Durand to die, but whatever he'd done had deeply affected Khari, and thus he felt it keenly too. She was his closest, most important friend, and his deception had shaken the foundation of what she was, or what she'd thought she was. What she wanted to be. He wasn't sure what learning the truth of the matter would do. It might bring answers, but would those answers even help?

A good number of Skyhold's more important individuals were present for the judgement. Lady Marceline of course was present, and none too pleased as far as Romulus could tell. It was hard to blame her, after yet another supposed ally proved false. Estella was also beside him, for which Romulus was grateful. She would keep a level head in all of this, he knew. Leon stood beside the Ambassador, as did Rilien. He hoped their confidence in him was not shaken by his uninspiring performance on the throne the last time around. And of course Khari would hear Durand as well. Romulus would not dream of sentencing the man to anything without hearing her thoughts on everything, and there was nothing preventing her from speaking them.

He looked to Leon, nodding to signal that he was ready to begin.

At the Commander's signal, Reed and another guard led in Ser Durand. He wore his shackles quietly and without protest; at a full head taller than either of his minders, that was probably a good thing. He didn't seem to have borne imprisonment poorly—he was clean still, and about as groomed as he'd been on the road. But the lines around his eyes appeared deeper, and he hunched his shoulders forward, walking at a bit more of a shuffle than he had prior. When they drew him to a stop, he glanced once at Romulus on the throne before fixing his eyes on the carpet runner in front of him.

Next to Estella, Khari's hands clenched, but she didn't say anything. Not yet.

Marceline inhaled sharply, perhaps the only indication of the mood she was in, considering her face was still as impassive as ever. "Lord Inquisitor," she began in her business-like manner. "I present to you the accused, Ser Jean-Robert Durand, chevalier-errant of the House of Durand of Collines Verts." Apparently, Lady Marceline had recently received correspondence from the Marquis of Collines Verts reaffirming his title. "Though, this title is subject to change depending on today's ruling." she added.

She looked down at the clipboard in hand and began to read. "The formal charges levied against Ser Durand are as follows: aiding and abetting the criminal formerly known as Halfhand and her illicit organization, the Reapers; we also have evidence to support the kidnapping of a number of chevaliers and accessory to the murder of Ser Liliane Routhier." Behind both Estella and Khari, MichÀel loomed with his arms crossed and his face twisted into a scowl. At the mention of Liliane's name, he audibly grunted and his scowl grew worse. It seemed that they knew each other, once upon a time.

"Now would be the time to explain your actions," Romulus said, staring down at him. He felt he could cut the tension in the room with his knife, but acknowledged that whatever the man in front of him said could actually make it worse instead of better.

"It would be." Durand acknowledged that easily enough, sighing ponderously. "If there was anything to explain." His eyes remained where they were; he seemed quite resigned to the worst.

Khari, on the other hand, obviously was not. “What do you mean, if? B—" She stuttered over what was obviously the beginning of the familiar nickname, then corrected herself. “Ser Durand, how could you? How could you? How long were you working with those bandits? Why?" She seemed to have more questions than wherewithal to get them out; she'd made it halfway between where she'd been and where he was before she came to an awkward halt, obviously unsure what to do.

He turned his head slightly away from her. "Stop it, Little Bear." He didn't appear entirely free of conflicting emotions himself, from the slight tremor in his voice. He was otherwise quite stoic in his delivery. "You don't want to know the answers to those questions. It's enough that I've done what I'm accused of. I'm the villain here—let me be that."

“Ser Durand." The new voice was Estella's, clear and soft. “Please think about how this will look for your men. You seemed quite concerned for them before; you asked us to keep in mind that they only followed you. If we're to understand how much leeway that grants them, we must know what they followed you to, and why. Surely, it's in their interest for you to explain. Even if you are a villain, as you say, we have to understand why they are not." Strangely, the words didn't sound like a threat, though perhaps from another tongue, they could have. Rather, Estella's tone was one of genuine concern, almost cajoling rather than demanding.

"They are in our custody as well," Marceline noted.

That appeared to deal quite the blow to Durand's reticence. With an aside-glance at Khari, he finally lifted his head, making eye contact with Estella first, then Romulus. "Have it your way, then."

He shuffled in his spot, standing a little straighter. "I have been a chevalier-errant for twenty-five years, give or take. In all that time, I have patrolled the same region—a border area between the part of the Dales the elves still occupy and the human settlements on the plains. I've learned that piece of my country, and the people in it, better than anyone else knows them. Of that much I'm certain." He rolled his shoulders back, grimacing. "It's a popular area for bandits; many merchant caravans go through the region to and from other places, the ones that actually get names on the map. I've lost count of the number of different groups of highwaymen and bandits and fucking skinhawkers I've killed or run out in that amount of time." He spat the word for slavers like it tasted disgusting on his tongue.

"I wasn't given any men to command on my way out of the Academie. Wasn't important enough, or noble enough. Found my own guys. Just farmers and merchants' sons and whatever other scattered fools were crazy enough to want to do the work." His eyes flickered to Khari for just a moment, but he moved them away again hastily. "Trained them all myself. Learned to deal with losing them as best I could. In all the time I was on that piece of land, I sent requests for help to Val Royeaux exactly six times. You know how often I got any?"

He shook his head. "Never. Not one damn time. And I lost good people because of it. Because we were always doing more work than we should be."

“So what? You gave up?" That was Khari. Indignance rolled off her in waves.

"No. But I eventually realized that if I wanted to actually get anywhere, I had to be smarter about it. When Halfhand and her damn Reapers rolled in five years ago, fresh off some business in Kirkwall and fucking angry as brontos about it, I knew we weren't going to be able to take fifty people. Sent my last request to the capital. I suppose it's probably still sitting on some indifferent little diplomat's desk, if it hasn't been shredded. Helping me gains no one any prestige or status, and I doubt something so mundane would ever end up in the hands of anyone who gave a damn about anything else. Not in fucking Val Royeaux."

He shrugged, but something seemed off about his apparent nonchalance. He was far too tense. "So I went for the slow play: I didn't confront her, didn't try to stop her when she raided or when she kicked the last fuckers out of the fort. Seeded a few of my guys in her ranks, to give me intelligence. And I didn't try to stop her when she ambushed Lieutenant Routhier. I'm not proud of that fact, but it didn't surprise me when that finally got the Lord-General's attention. Some nobody like me sends a request for help, nothing. Noble like that goes missing, suddenly people care. Suddenly there's a damn captain and a whole other twenty-some chevaliers crawling over my landscape."

Ser Durand breathed a heavy sigh. "I knew Halfhand would hold them hostage, not kill them right off. She never shut up about how much she hated the Routhiers, or the Crown Prince, or the entire damn government, for that matter. Some days, I even felt like I could sympathize, a little. I didn't mean for the lieutenant to die, but it was a risk I was willing to take."

Romulus found himself slowly wishing he wasn't on the throne more and more as Durand continued. The chevalier was a proven liar, and a decent one given he'd fooled an entire troop of other chevaliers and the party from the Inquisition, but Romulus doubted very much that any of that was a deception. He also couldn't find much fault with it, as it was delivered. The slow play, as he put it, was the only effective way for him to bring down Halfhand with the resources he had, and there was no way for him to acquire more besides the capture of a more notable name. It was a massive risk, one that hadn't fully paid off, but what were the other options? He could not attack, and he could not call for help. He could not reveal himself to the help that did come, otherwise the capture of the others would have been for nothing. It was ruthless, probably wrong, but was there a better way? Romulus didn't see it yet.

Of course, he didn't know what to say about all of this either, nor could he properly gauge yet what Khari's feelings on the matter were. What anyone's feelings were. Of all the people deciding on this, surely the trained assassin was not the best candidate for judging the methods of removing a bandit horde from the region.

"So you used them as fucking bargaining chips?" MichÀel growled. The entirety of his large frame was tensed, and the grip he held on the plate on his arms were beginning to grind underneath his finger tips. A glance from Marceline seemed to rein his temper in, but he remained glaring at the man.

"I did." Ser Durand met the glare with a flat stare of his own. "And I would do it again. No one cares about the people out there. It wasn't as though the bandits were just wandering around the countryside killing each other. They were preying on merchants, on farmers, on elves, on all kinds of people who could not protect themselves. My job was to protect all of those lives. Was I willing to sacrifice a few to do that? You're damn right I was."

“And that's all?" Khari's hands were clenched so hard they shook. “It was just numbers in and numbers out for you? What the hell happened to honor? To telling the truth and treating everyone like they're valuable? To everything you taught me how to do? How to be? How can you think like that and still call yourself a chevalier?" She closed the rest of the distance and seized him by the collar, pulling him down so that their faces were on a level. “What the hell was that all about then, huh? This isn't you! I know it's not you!" She shook him, but she was shaking more than that. “It's not..."

She swallowed audibly. “Was any of it real, Big Bear? Did you ever really think...?"

The knight in chains didn't look far from tears, but if that were so, he held them in anyway. "The world is so simple for you, Little Bear. It's right and wrong and honor and dishonor. I wish it was that way for the rest of us. I wish you hadn't come looking for me. But it isn't, and you did. And now you know."

Khari released him slowly, hands falling numbly to her sides. “Death before dishonor, you taught me." The words were a strained whisper, but still easily-audible in the silence. “A chevalier would rather die than stain her honor. But you... but..." She backed up several paces, until her heels hit the first stair up to the dais.

She whirled, facing Romulus and the others. “I'm supposed... I'm supposed to say he deserves to die." Her expression was stricken, hurt scrawled across every line of her face. “But I can't. Even after..."

Her eyes met his; she took a deep breath. “Please, Rom. Please don't kill him."

"If I may," The tone with which Marceline spoke was even and her face remained an impassive mask, despite the charged atmosphere of the hall. "I fear that his sentence should not be a matter for the Inquisition to decide," she continued, looking toward Khari as she spoke the line. She then turned toward Romulus and spoke with a slight tilt to her head. "Ser Durand is an Orlesian chevalier, operating in Orlesian lands, and his crimes were committed against Orlesian forces. By all accounts, he should be summoned before the Orlesian court, judged and sentenced there."

She then turned to MichÀel for a moment, who seemed at a loss for any more words. "The Routhiers rode under the banner of Drakon, and served under his Imperial Highness, Lord Lucien. I believe it would serve us well to allow his house to decide."

MichÀel sighed and though he still rubbed the armor plates at his elbows, spoke with a resigned tone. "He will find a no fairer man in all of Orlais than Lucien."

"Captain Routhier left Ser Durand to us," Romulus reminded them. They hadn't been there, after all. The woman had just lost her sister right in front of her eyes, and it seemed obvious that Ser Durand was at least partially responsible. But the man had been left in Inquisition hands.

Romulus felt conflicted, in perhaps the strangest way possible. He hadn't expected it to turn out like this. This was supposed to be the part where the man's sentence was lessened because he did the only thing he could, but for these chevaliers, the only thing he could do carried the penalty of death. Was it so sacred to them, that all of the circumstances regarding their actions should be thrown out? Would Ser Durand prefer if it were that way? Had he known that punishment would await him, if knowledge of his actions came to light, and done it anyway? Would the Drakons give Ser Durand the sentence he felt he deserved? There were too many questions, and he couldn't begin to answer them.

He could at least ask Ser Durand another before making any kind of decision. "Do you deserve to die, Ser Durand? Do you hold to what you taught her? Death before dishonor?"

The chevalier let out a short breath. "I don't pretend to know who deserves what, Inquisitor. But that is what I was taught, and I do still hold to this: if I am to die, I would rather die having done what I believe was necessary. My duty was to those people, and I carried it out in the only way I saw. If that condemns me, I accept it. I am not ashamed."

He wasn't making it easy. Romulus didn't want to make any decision at all anymore, but he couldn't help but feel that he had a chance to do what was right by them. Both of them. If he let him go, it was out of his hands, and then perhaps it would be his fault if some judgement fell upon him that dissatisfied his honor, or Khari's.

"Khari." Her name escaped mostly as a whisper. "I want to do the right thing here. But I've never known any kind of honor. Not like the two of you." His eyes had a fair amount of pain in them, but not like hers. He hated to see it. "I don't know what to do. If you want me to leave this to someone else, say the word."

“I don't know, Rom." She sounded miserable. “I don't know what the right thing is. I thought I did, but... but I don't. He—I... I'm too close to this. I can't see it clearly. But I trust you. Whatever you decide... I'll understand." It seemed to take a lot of effort for her to say; it wasn't her own life she was placing in his hands this time, but the life of someone she clearly cared dearly for. And it was not lost on her that there was a very real possibility that person would die because she'd chosen to do so.

At that point, Leon interrupted, clearing his throat gently. “If I may," he said, clearly aware of the fragility of the moment and respectful of it. “I feel I should point out that if Ser Durand is telling the truth—which I believe he is—the crimes of which he is guilty are actually relatively minor." He let that sink in for a moment and explained. “Aiding and abetting tends to carry prison sentences with a duration of some number of years based on the activeness of the help and the nature of the crimes abetted. And the legal notion of kidnapping doesn't include not stepping in to stop one; certainly not when doing so would risk one's own life. Granted, the motives were more impure than mere self-preservation, and I would agree that he is not to be held up as a paragon of honor by any means, but his failures amount to not acting when perhaps he should have. As I understand the situation, he didn't kill anyone, and arguably he wouldn't have been able to prevent what deaths did occur." The Seeker lifted his shoulders. “Those are not offenses for which death is usually on the table, military defendant or otherwise."

Marceline nodded in agreement, "Ser Leonhardt is correct, his actions do not warrant a death penalty. However, I would ask that you consider allowing me to pen a letter to the Academie as well, to move that his title be stricken from him, as Ser Durand's conduct was not befitting that of a chevalier, no matter the circumstances. If that is what you decide, of course," she added.

It was too much to look beyond at this point. Maybe there was a chance death was necessary for staining his honor, but there was doubt, and with any amount of doubt Romulus found himself unwilling to do something so severe. Not with the knowledge of what it would do. He was already worried of what his consideration of killing Durand might have caused, even if he felt he explained his reasoning for it as best he could.

"Then it's for someone more knowledgeable to decide," he admitted, exhaling some of the tension from his chest. "He'll be given to House Drakon for judgement. They can attend to his titles as well."

It was hard to gauge Khari's reaction; she seemed somewhat relieved, but the tension didn't quite leave her. Then again, the decision had been moved rather than made outright, so perhaps that was understandable.

For his part, Ser Durand accepted that with equanimity. He inclined his head to Romulus and the others, then moved his eyes to Khari. "For whatever worth my words have for you, Khari, I truly hope you succeed. If I have ever met anyone who deserves to be called chevalier, it is you."

Her lips parted as if to answer, but none came before the guards shuffled him away, and none in the silent moments after.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella glanced down at the parchment in front of her, sighing when she realized she'd probably just spent the better part of half an hour drawing useless doodles on it instead of making new requisitions for the Riptide, as she'd promised Zahra she would. She'd been having trouble focusing all day, perhaps understandably.

Though the Inquisition seemed to be doing its best to prove otherwise, it really wasn't every day that a friend had the metaphorical carpet ripped out from underneath her. Only yesterday had they judged Ser Durand; he would be leaving for Val Royeaux quite soon, she was sure. Their detention system was presided over by Rilien, after all; it would never be anything other than efficient.

Leaning her cheek into the arm propped on her desk, she made a few more idle scratches with her quill, turning a circle into a sunburst and chewing her lip. She wanted to do something for Khari, but she was at a loss. What did you do for someone in that situation? Was it best to distract her, or try to leave her alone to process things without pressure? It just didn't seem like the kind of problem she could solve with her special cider recipe or hot soup or saying she was sorry—it felt terrible to be so utterly useless. What good was being an Inquisitor, trying to help all these people, if she couldn't even help her friends?

And now she was making this about herself. It wasn't meant to be. “Ugh." Sliding back in her chair, Estella folded her arms on the desk and rested her forehead against them, enclosing herself in a dark little hollow of her own making. Her braid ticked her neck, but she didn't have the motivation to move it. So close to the surface of the desk, her breath gushed back at her when she exhaled, almost uncomfortably warm. “What do I do?"

Ordinarily, it would have been a question she posed to the commander—Lucien, not Leon, though she supposed Leon's advice might not be bad, if she felt they were close enough that she could ask for it. Unfortunately, she didn't. Rilien wasn't exactly the best choice for emotional advice—while he was always helpful to her when she was in distress, Estella knew his ruthless pragmatism wasn't usually what other people needed. Cyrus was brilliant, but not about this kind of thing. She was usually the one giving the advice there. She wasn't sure there was anyone else she'd feel comfortable asking.

She had to figure it out some other way then, because she couldn't just do nothing.

“You doing okay there, Stel?"

As it turned out, the voice belonged to the current object of Estella's thoughts. Khari stood in the doorway of the office, leaning to one side against the wooden frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't appear to be suffering in any particular way from the aftermath of the day before. Currently without her armor, Khari wore a loose white shirt and soft brown leather trousers under her heavy earth-colored cloak. The hood was down; wispy curls of bright red were escaping her braid as usual, especially around her ears. She looked... normal. At least normal for Khari.

Somehow, that was worse than looking like a wreck. Estella knew she probably shouldn't think that way, but considering the state Khari had been in yesterday, she thought the spike of worry in her chest was warranted. Khari—tough, hardscrabble Khari—had been close to tears while her teacher was being judged, especially when it had looked like a real possibility that he might die. The reversal from that moment to right now made Estella wonder if maybe Khari wasn't for once being just a little bit dishonest.

Realizing that she had yet to answer, Estella blinked, straightening slightly in her chair. “Me? Oh, um... I'm all right, really. Perhaps a little tired." She paused, swallowing, then continued. “How—how are you?"

Khari tilted her head to the side, far enough to rest it against the doorframe. Blinking slowly, she arched her eyebrows and shrugged her free shoulder. “I'm okay. I was thinking of going down to the tavern to get a drink, actually. But I don't want to drink alone, because that's pretty pathetic, you know? So I was hoping you'd come along with me." She flashed a smile; it was only brief, but there was at least an echo of her normal self in it. “What d'ya say? Wanna be my date?"

Estella choked a little bit on the breath she'd been taking in. It became a laugh pretty quickly, though, even if she was slightly uncomfortable laughing at this particular point in time. Despite herself, and despite knowing it was a joke, she still felt her face heat a little. It was completely ridiculous, naturally—she was too easily embarrassed as a rule.

Luckily, she could also usually recover quickly. “When you say 'date' you actually mean nurse, don't you? You want me to look after you if you get too drunk." She infused a sort of exaggerated suspicion in her tone, as though she was still contemplating whether she wanted to sign up for such a responsibility. “All right, but I draw the line at anything involving dancing, and if I tell you you're too inebriated to play darts, I expect you to believe me."

“This is why you're the best." Khari smiled again, a little wider this time, and reached over to take Estella's cloak off the hook on the wall. “Come on; no use wasting twilight!"

“I think the expression is 'no use wasting daylight.' And we're definitely out of that already." Estella's tone was wry, but she accepted her cloak and settled it over her shoulders, clasping it tightly against the cold they were bound to encounter outside.

It was indeed quite chilly; the absence of even weak sunlight and the fact that it was the dead of winter in the mountains combined to chill them right to their bones. Estella supposed she still had the worst of it; even after so many years in colder southern climates, she did not handle the winter especially well. The new year would arrive soon; and as it happened, her birthday with it. She and Cyrus hadn't celebrated in years, and she hadn't bothered to tell anyone else when it was.

In contrast to the cold outside, the inside of the Heralds' Rest was quite pleasant. Estella was never going to get used to the idea that a building was named after her, in part. Warm torchlight and oil lanterns cast the large central room in a deep golden glow; the fire roaring in the hearth against one wall kept the chill at bay—though perhaps the body heat of the evening's occupants did quite a bit of that as well. The Lions were elsewhere today; the tavern was perhaps only half-full.

“Do you want to find a table or sit at the bar?"

Khari seemed to consider that for a moment, shedding her cloak and folding it over one arm. “Table. Let's use that one." She pointed, indicating a four-seater in a less-occupied spot. They made their way over to it; Khari chose to sit with her back to the wall, draping her cloak over the chair and pulling her legs up underneath her on the seat. “So... I don't actually do this that often. What do they have that's good here?"

Estella thought on it. She wasn't the most frequent tavern patron, either; usually she spent the nights not occupied by work with her brother or the Lions, and that only sometimes involved trips here. “Well... the brandy's not bad at all. Lady Marceline's family supplies some of the wine, which is good. There's also several different kinds of ale; Hissrad is partial to the dark beer here as well. He says it's almost thick enough to chew." Personally, Estella didn't find that very appealing, but she knew some people did.

When a waitress came by to take their orders, smiling politely at the both of them, she went with the brandy. Old habits died hard.

Khari was a bit more indecisive; in the end, she went with the same. “Might as well try something new, right? Seems like the time for it." There was a slightly-bitter undertone to the words, but she didn't seem inclined to dwell on them. The waitress left to get their order; Khari sighed heavily as soon as she was gone, leaning back in her chair.

“Thanks for coming with me, Stel."

“You're welcome, of course." Honestly, on this day in particular, Khari could have asked her to go cliff-diving or something equally perilous, and she would have agreed. This was mercifully easy to do by comparison.

"Care if I join you?" asked Vesryn, who appeared beside Estella. Khari would've seen him approach, her back to the wall as it was, but for once the blonde-maned elf didn't make his presence known across the entirety of the crowded room. It was unsurprising to find him here; he'd chosen to take up a permanent residence in a room on the upper floors of the tavern, and just about every occasional patron of the Heralds' Rest had become familiar with him. He was also out of his armor, dressed in a sky blue shirt with long sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and dark trousers. He hadn't been present for the judgement of Khari's mentor, but it was entirely likely he'd heard the story by now.

"Or would three be a crowd? I don't mean to intrude."

Estella spared him a small smile, but glanced at Khari. It was entirely up to her, of course.

Khari shrugged, apparently not too concerned about it. “If three was a crowd, I don't think I'd be in a tavern with twenty. Go ahead." She gestured to one of the other chairs at the small table. “You just missed the waitress though."

"Ah, well, she'll be back I'm sure." He left out why, exactly, but he seemed relatively sure, pulling back a chair and taking a seat between the two. "Anything you can share of where we'll be going next?" he asked, the question directed at Estella. "Unless we're planning on waiting out the winter."

The weather did make leaving Skyhold a much more difficult and dangerous thing to do in the wintertime. Then again, if nothing else, the recent excursion had shown it was still possible, at least in small enough numbers. “Well," Estella replied, “we still have need of allies and numbers; we're at where we were before Haven, but not much further, I'm afraid. And still sorely lacking in information. Cyrus says he's getting closer to understanding how Corypheus was able to open the Breach in the first place, but I'm not sure exactly how much that will help us stop him. If we can even find him."

She paused then, as the waitress returned with their orders, setting a glass down in front of Estella and another in front of Khari. "Anything else for you three?" the woman inquired.

Khari took an experimental swallow of the brandy, apparently finding it to her liking, if the little hum of satisfaction was anything to go by. “More of this, definitely." She took a longer draw, only setting the glass down when it was half-empty.

“Please," Estella added, with considerably less enthusiasm. “And if you would be so kind as to put the table's order on my tab tonight, I'll settle before I go."

Any potential skepticism was quite averted by that request, and the waitress nodded amiably, moving her attention to Vesryn. "The usual for you, Ves?"

"No, no, the brandy will do fine tonight. Just need another glass. Thank you, dear." She smiled and nodded, heading off to fetch one more glass for the table. Vesryn drummed his fingers once upon the wooden surface of the table. "Well, if we're not going anywhere tomorrow and the Inquisitor's covering the tab, tonight seems like a good night for... enthusiastic drinking." The waitress soon returned with Vesryn's glass, which he poured some of the brandy into. No doubt she would be back with more of that soon.

Vesryn raised his glass slightly over the table. "Shall we?"

“Absolutely." Khari clinked her glass on his, then on Estella's, then knocked back the rest of what she had and reached for the bottle. As she poured, she glanced back over at Estella. “You hadn't finished your answer, right? What else are we up to these days? Kinda feels weird that I don't know." She snorted, then shook her head.

“Maybe it shouldn't."

Estella recognized the reference immediately. It wasn't as though she'd been planning on withholding what little information she had—but now she supposed it would be best to make a point of finishing. “Oh. Well... until we have a clearer idea of what Corypheus is going to do, or even where he is, I suppose we're just going to close as many rifts as we can and try to disrupt any Venatori or Red Templars we can come across. Defending what we already have is a bit harder with the weather like this, so I think we'll probably be waiting for the snow to melt a bit before we try anything larger-scale."

She sighed. “Which I suppose doesn't sound like anything particularly... world-saving. I wish I could say it would be the matter of a battle or two, but the truth is, it's really unlikely. For now, we basically have to fight Corypheus on his terms, until we can figure out how to make him fight on ours." She took a drink from her glass, then set it down.

“But... we will. If we work together, we will." Estella made an effort to catch Khari's eyes, trying not to let her worry show through too obviously. She understood the need to not think about things sometimes, but there was something rather alarming about the rate at which the other woman was drinking. “That's still true, you know. As true as it was yesterday, or a week ago, or back at Haven."

"No such thing as a pretty fight," Vesryn said after finishing what he'd poured for himself. He immediately refilled his glass. "Never has been. This Corypheus, though, seems like a rat. He struck us only when we were unprepared, and hasn't dared to strike us since. Seems like the work now isn't that of armies but of agents. Smarter people than I. Once they figure out what the ugly bastard's intentions are, we'll go snuff them out."

“Make him wish he never crawled out of whatever scummy hole in the ground he came from." Khari seemed to be in agreement with that at least, draining another glass after grumbling the declaration. “And I know, Stel. I'm not made of glass, you know. Just 'cause I was taught by a liar doesn't mean I can't still kill shit just as well as I did yesterday. And I'm not an agent either, so that's really the only part I'm good for here."

Estella frowned, rotating the glass in her fingers against the surface of the table. “No, it's not," she countered. “You're good for more than fighting, Khari. If you weren't, there would be no place for you here, and there is. Please don't say things like that about yourself." She pursed her lips. It hadn't been her intention to bring the mood down in any way, and she had a feeling if the conversation slid much further in the direction it seemed to be going, it would soon become uncomfortable for all involved. Estella wasn't unwilling to have conversations like that, but this didn't seem like the right setting for it.

Unfortunately, she wasn't exactly sure what to do to prevent it from going there. She glanced at Vesryn, who was provably much better at lightening the tone of things than she was, and for once let her expression convey exactly what she was feeling: help.

Vesryn caught the glance, and returned it with a momentarily uneasy look, though he soon wiped it off and replaced it with his more common upbeat expression. "I can't claim to see or know much of anything for certain on the subject," he said, his tone still quite relaxed, "but from my view, it looks to me as though you," he waggled a finger at Khari, "are a close friend, maybe even the closest friend, of both our Inquisitors. I think I can say with confidence that they both rely on you for far more than your ability to 'kill shit.' That's more than can be said for me." He took another long drink, shaking his head slightly as the strength of it rushed through him.

"It's a storm, to be sure, but we'll weather it. And you'll still be here, with our Inquisitors leaning on you, when it's through."

Khari snorted when he repeated her words back to her, but though she looked quite unimpressed with the claim, the encroaching dark look on her face disappeared, leaving her more or less the way she'd been when first they entered the bar.

“If you say so. I, for one, fully intend to be leaning on the Inquisitor on my way out of this bar, though. Pass the brandy, Stel."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The morning after her night of heavy drinking with Ves and Stel was about as unpleasant as Khari had expected it would be, and then also worse.

Granted, she'd been the one doing the most drinking; Stel had been moderate and thoughtful like she was about anything, which was probably the only reason Khari was in her room at the barracks now and not passed out in the table in the tavern or some snowdrift between here and there. It occurred to her in a hazy sort of way that she probably ought to thank her for that.

More urgent was the fact that her stomach was rebelling against her. Khari rolled out of bed, head pounding in time with her heartbeat, and more or less fell into the door leading to the hallway. From there it was a staggering journey to the shared washroom, where she lost the rest of... whatever was in her guts into an empty chamber pot. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, Khari sat back against the wall, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth until the world stopped spinning, at least. For a while, she didn't think about or feel anything other than her body's admonitions for the way she'd spent the night before, urgent but relatively tolerable.

But being sick had actually helped, and her stomach gradually settled until the nausea was mostly gone, leaving the pain in her head and the one in her chest as well. That one didn't seem to be going away. Ignoring it had been effective for about a day, but she sensed she was at the limit of her capability to do that, and so the only question that remained was whether she wanted to try coping with the fallout by herself or seek out company and impose herself upon the unlucky subject of her search.

Surprisingly, there was more than one candidate, even. But she didn't have to think too hard to know who she was going to look for.

With a few more minutes to get herself together, Khari finally pushed off the floor, shuffling over to a washbasin and splashing chilly water onto her face. It stung, sharp little pinpricks of iciness against whatever warmth she'd kept from her cocoon of blankets to here. It was jarring, and exactly what she needed. Or part of it.

Scrubbing the rest of herself clean, including her teeth, she changed out yesterday's shirt for a new one, mint-green and thick enough to keep the chill at bay, and stepped back into her boots. Stel must have taken them off for her. Wrapping her cloak around herself, she wound her hair into a hasty bun atop her head to save the time it'd take to braid wet and stepped out of the barracks.

That was almost a mistake; she winced at the brightness of the sun, estimating the time to be late morning, perhaps almost noon. She figured she should probably eat, but honestly felt no hunger. So she'd skip the food for now. Keeping her eyes squinted against the glare off the snow, Khari headed for the main building of the castle, climbing the stairs with only slightly more difficulty than usual. She took it slow, though, trying to get her thoughts in order. Too bad they all seemed to slip away from her like wraiths, not quite tangible enough to hold on to, much less force into any semblance of sense.

Fortunately, she didn't really need to think to find the undercroft. Her feet just sort of took her there. She doubted Rom was expecting her or anything—he might not even be there. She hoped he was; Khari had no particular desire to go traipsing around the grounds looking for him, not in this state.

Reaching the door felt like more of an accomplishment than it should have. She resisted the urge to rest against it for a moment and knocked before she lost her nerve. Khari had never been one to impose upon other people if she could help it. She preferred to think of herself as being able to do things alone, without relying on anyone else. But she also wasn't the type to ignore her instincts—and she felt like she should be here, right now.

"It's open," came Rom's voice from inside, fairly muffled, but then the door was quite thick. His tone was strained, as though the words had taken some effort to get out.

Considering the size of the room and all the equipment he had in there, Khari was not especially surprised to find that he was, in fact, doing push-ups when she entered. Of course, at this particular moment, even the thought of strenuous motion was enough to make her feel slightly ill, so she averted her eyes and made a beeline for the sofa near the railing on the upper part of the room.

“No rush or anything, but when you're done there, is there any chance you have anything for headaches? I kind of feel like you decided to open a rift in my skull." She took off her cloak, plonking herself down at one corner of the couch and tossing it to land over the rail.

"Sure. One minute." Rom had chosen a spot near the open mouth of his quarters to complete his set, which was obviously part of a much larger workout judging by the sweat occasionally rolling in beads off his bare back. Even in the depths of winter the undercroft had a way of staying warm, heat emanating up from the floor in front of Khari. After about twenty more he exhaled a heavy breath and stood, grabbing a nearby towel and wiping his face and head.

He looked remarkably different than he had the day before. He'd taken a razor to his beard and his head in general, now clean shaven entirely. He looked simultaneously a lot more like his old self, as he'd appeared upon first meeting her in Haven, but also entirely different. It was in the way he carried himself, perhaps. A different person in many ways from the one he'd been in the Inquisition's first days. He made a quick stop at his alchemy table, carefully moving a few vials and ingredients aside before he grabbed one from the rear and made his way back towards the front of the room.

He tossed the vial into Khari's lap. It was a mostly clear liquid with a slightly yellowish tinge, a rather unpleasant color in all honesty. Rom moved a light tan-colored shirt on his bed as he took a seat there, throwing the towel over his shoulder while he caught his breath. "That's pretty strong, but you look like you could use it."

He wasn't wrong. Khari was sure she hadn't been able to completely scrub away the evidence that her morning had been rather unpleasant, anyway. Uncorking the vial, she tossed it back quickly, which was definitely the best way to go, considering how it tasted. Shaking her head and exhaling sharply, she grimaced. Already, though, she felt a little better. “Ugh. Thank you." Replacing the stopper in the vial, she set it aside and blinked at him.

“What happened to your hair?"

"I got rid of it," he answered simply, shrugging. He rubbed at the top of his head with his marked hand, as though he wasn't quite used to the feel of it yet. "I'm sure my head will freeze, but it just didn't feel like me. I was tired of it. Tired of this winter, too."

“Maybe I should shave my head, too." Khari pushed out a heavy breath and leaned back on the couch. The fabric it was covered in had a different texture against her neck than her hair did, of course. “I'm not sure if that would feel more like me, though. I'm not sure I actually know what me feels like, right now." Bringing her hands up to her face, she scrubbed, as though the uneasiness was some layer on her skin that she could slough off. But it wasn't, and she dropped her arms back into her lap.

Rom fell silent for a long while, taking steady breaths through his nose that slowed and slowed until they fell into a normal pace. His eyes fell to the stone floors as he thought; grey eyes like steel and just as unwavering. It was obvious he'd expected the conversation to shift in this direction. If he'd been surprised at all by Khari showing up at his door at all, he hid it quite well.

"For what it's worth, I like your hair just the way it is," he said, keeping his tone somewhat light despite it all. "It's a bit of a mess, but so are you. No more than the rest of us, though." Running the towel over his upper body one more time, he threw it aside and pulled on his shirt, a bit of uncertainty crossing over his features. "Certainly no more than me. Thanks to you I've at least kept the pieces of me in order. If any of that makes sense." He ran his hand over his head again, maybe to get rid of some itch. He was obviously not at ease as much as he was trying to display.

"Can I ask you some questions, Khari? About Ser Durand, about... you? I want to help, that's all I want to do. But I'm no good at this, I don't think I've helped anyone in my life with doubts or anything of the sort. Maybe I can if I understand a little better."

A bit of a mess, huh? She supposed that was true enough. This whole thing was a mess, really. The Inquisition. Bunch of spare parts from other lives and other armies, thrown together and hammered, tied and welded into some approximation of order. Definitely not a well-oiled machine. Maybe it never would be.

Khari hit her palm against the unoccupied soft cushion next to her a couple of times. “Ask me anything you want. Gods know I can't get my own thoughts straight enough to be any use." It would be something of a relief, to let someone else help her figure out what she was left with, after everything that had happened. She sure as hell didn't know on her own—all she had was a churning mix of feelings, knocking around inside her like... something in a cage, maybe. And she couldn't help but feel the bars were too rusty to hold it all for long.

Rom slowly got up and crossed the short distance over to sit next to her on the sofa, though he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers. His eyes remained locked forward for the moment.

"Okay..." He looked about to ask a first question several times, rethinking each one before he finally settled on something. "Should Ser Durand have done something different? What should he have done instead?" He let the question hang for a moment, before adding on to it. "I've been thinking about it since we spoke with him, and... I can't figure out what other option he had. At least, not one that could've been a success, not one that could have saved anyone and stopped Halfhand. What he did caused some good people to die, but it was a good plan. It could've worked, and it almost did."

“He shouldn't have been so willing to sacrifice other people. Especially not when he wasn't willing to sacrifice himself." She shook her head fiercely, lacing her fingers together on her lap and squeezing them. She knew she felt deeply wrong about what he'd done. She knew on some instinctive level that it was wrong. Identifying exactly how was a different matter. “There's no way Halfhand's entire party fell on Ser Liliane's squad and left the fort undefended. He could have helped. Could have at least tried to help her out of there, then explained everything. It's like he said: she was important. People would have listened if she'd said they needed more help."

Ser Durand had always had difficulty getting nobles to listen to him. She understood that. It was partly because he had so little status himself, and in a status-obsessed world, it meant he couldn't do half the good he wanted to. “Even before that... I think he gave up on the other chevaliers too soon. Messages are easy to ignore. But if he'd left the guys to look after things for a couple months, and gone to Val Royeaux himself? If he was smart enough to think of the plan he chose, he was smart enough to get someone to listen to him. He just didn't." Probably because he'd already decided it wasn't going to work. Khari believed his cynicism had blinded him, the way people so often accused her of letting her optimism blind her.

Rom didn't seem convinced by her answer, but he took a while to pick which part of it to address first. "Maybe he could have helped. Maybe it would have just gotten him and his recruits killed. Maybe in the months it would take to go to Val Royeaux himself, more would have died, and maybe he would've returned empty handed all the same. Cunning with plans hardly means cunning with words. I should know." He sighed, obviously tired of thinking of it, but it was all there seemed to be to think of.

"It was a flawed, dishonest way, but I just don't see the other ways resulting in less life lost. Maybe I'm just as jaded as he is. Not like I've had the greatest teachings to base my opinions on." He fell silent again for a moment, and then turned his head sideways, resting it against the palm of his hand and looking at Khari.

"You say he wasn't willing to sacrifice himself. But... he lost everything for this. He lost his honor, he'll lose his title, he could have lost his life. He still could, I suppose. But he knew that going in. Maybe I'm not seeing things right, but it seemed to me he was willing to do more than die to protect the people he served. He was willing to let people that cared about him remember him as a liar, as a man who threw away his honor. He was willing to let you hate him. I might be wrong, but that seems like it could be worse than death."

“But he didn't try, Rom." Khari hissed out a frustrated breath, but the feeling wasn't directed at him. She wasn't sure whether it was even directed at Ser Durand. So much of this made so little sense to her. “Maybe those other things would have gone badly, that's true. But if he tried them and they did fail, at least he'd have been doing things the right way. Sometimes the right way is the hard way, but just because it might fail isn't any reason not to give it a shot. It's no reason to go treating someone else's life like it's a means to an end and nothing more."

She took in a deep, trembling breath. “It's like... anything could have gone wrong. Any of the possibilities. Nothing was guaranteed. And right then, when he had the chance to take the risk, to do the right thing, to be uncomfortable and out of his element but brave and honorable and in the right... he didn't. He chose what looked to be easier at the time." She shook her head. “Everything he stands to lose... those are the things he taught me to hold onto no matter what. The things that make the difference between knights and... and..."

She'd been about to say killers. It was probably obvious. Khari swallowed thickly, raising shaky hands to her face and rubbing at her eyes. They were hot and prickly and she was having trouble seeing out of them. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I just..." She sniffed, wiping her palms on her trousers.

They left wet marks.

Rom was pretty good at muting his reactions to things, at putting up a stone wall in place of his face, but even though she'd cut herself off before she could finish he still looked as though he'd been struck, and a dark look passed over his face, twisting the line of the tattoo that ran across the bridge of his nose. As though he'd smelled something foul. "No, you're probably right," he muttered, looking back ahead towards the door. "I doubt I could understand. All my teacher ever taught me was how to hurt. How to survive, how to kill." A tightness had developed in his jaw, his brow sunken down over his eyes.

He stood, pacing slowly right to left, towards his desk at first. The journal was still there, closed and placed right in the middle of the thing. He hadn't thrown it out yet. Hadn't burned it. His eyes glanced at it momentarily, and then he turned left and walked towards his bed, looking at the empty wall. He stopped there, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry it didn't go the way you wanted, Khari. Sorry your mentor turned out not to be the man you thought he was. The world's a shitty place sometimes, and even if you follow a code that always demands you make the right choice... sometimes the world and what it's done to you can make it seem like there isn't a right choice to be made."

He exhaled, looking down at his marked hand to find his fingers were shaking a bit. He shook it, opening and closing his fist several times, before he turned to meet Khari's tear-shining eyes. His own were still cold and grey. "Bad things can happen to good people, until they don't know what's good anymore. And..." He trailed off, swallowing. "Sometimes good things can happen to bad people, and they can learn that there's a whole world of good things waiting for them, if they can find the heart for it." He nodded a bit, his eyes now starting to shine as well.

"I don't know if I can help you find peace with what Durand did. But I hope I can help you decide what you are. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. The only person that could make me stay here and keep trying to find a way to be good."

It was too much.

She hated what she'd said, even if it was an accident. She wanted to swallow the words back down and make it so she'd never said them. Because even if she didn't think of him like that, she knew how he saw himself. It was right there in the reaction he'd had. Khari sobbed, and she hated that, too. She was supposed to be stronger than this. She'd said it—way back when she stumbled upon Ser Durand's camp the very first time, crying like a child who knew she'd never be enough for the people she loved.

That was the deal—he taught her, and she didn't cry anymore. She wasn't sure anymore if that was an act of kindness or not, but it had helped her find the strength to keep going more than once before, strength that seemed to be eluding her now.

She hadn't believed Stel, when she'd said Khari was good for more than fighting. She hadn't believed Ves, when he'd said Rom and Stel leaned on her. It was hard to believe Rom, either, when he said she was important—that important.

Khari had never been that important to anyone. No one had ever relied on her or leaned on her or maybe even really trusted her. The one person who'd come closest to doing any of those things was a liar, and she still couldn't say how much of anything between she and her teacher had been real. “I don't know about any of it anymore." Her voice was more a raspy croak than anything, but at least it didn't give out on her. “I thought... I thought I'd finally found it. The thing I was meant to do. Who I wanted to be." She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. “But maybe he was right. Maybe I was just looking at things too simplistically. Maybe I was stupid, or naïve."

She exhaled; the breath was shaky. With some effort, she managed to stand, orienting herself towards Rom. “But I have to believe good can win. Real good. Any battle it fights. The one in you, the one in me, the one the whole Inquisition is fighting together. If that's naïve and childish, then fuck it. I don't want to be realistic or mature. I'm gonna keep believing it. You're going to win, I'm going to win, and we're going to win. And if... if I help you believe that, too, even a little, then... I'm staying." She shook her head.

“I can figure the rest out later."

He swiftly crossed the few steps between them and wrapped her in a strong hug, burying the lower half of his face in her mess of bright red hair. It was difficult to see if he was crying too, but judging by the somewhat irregular way his chest expanded and contracted against her, it was a safe bet. "Good," he managed. It was all he was capable of saying.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
From the top of the keep's stairs, it was possible to see one of the practice yards. Presently, Leon was doing just that, MichÀel next to him. The yard in view currently had several people working drills or battering away at practice dummies, but one of its most frequent occupants was quite stuck on the sidelines.

Even from this distance, the red hair made Khari very easy to pick out in a crowd. As did the way she carried herself, though Leon doubted she recognized the latter. At the moment, however, the ease and uprightness of her typical posture had given way to something much less impressive. She leaned against the fence, for all he could tell silent in her survey of the others, either unwilling or unable to participate. He knew why, of course. He could understand it quite well. Estella was not the only one who knew how it felt to be paralyzed by self-doubt. If anything, Leon suspected his case and Khari's were actually more similar than either of theirs was to what the Inquisitor contended with.

“I'm not asking you to decide right out," he said, glancing at MichĂ€el from the corner of his eye. “It is quite a lot, should you choose to accept. But if you wouldn't mind at least observing for a while, I think you'll find she's a worthy candidate."

MichÀel nodded slightly, though he kept his eyes on the practice yard below. "Yes ser, there is promise in that one," he agreed absently. He stood at military rest, his hands clasped behind a straightened spine, beside the Commander. Ever since Lady Marceline had assumed the role of the Inquisition's ambassador and brought her husband with her, he had served as an advisor of sorts to the Inquisition's army, though that mostly included consulting with the Lions in coming up with training regiments for the regulars, as well as checking the quality of arms and armor. Leon had seen many reports written in MichÀel's impeccable handwriting.

“Then if you would not mind remaining here for a while, I will go... speak to her." Somehow, Leon doubted that was really what was going to happen as such, but he elected to leave it at that for now. MichĂ€el would be able to read between the lines of the statement well enough.

"Good luck Commander," MichÀel added with a wry grin.

His progress towards the training ring was broken by quite a lot of respectful nods and a few salutes; while he'd managed to convince the majority of the people he saw regularly that such things were not necessary with him, he of course was not often among the regulars unannounced, and he could not fault them for being polite by default. Still, it eventually became clear that he wasn't there for any sort of official inspection, and they went back to slightly-uneasily ignoring his presence after a while.

Leon approached Khari, electing to brace his hands on the fence next to where she stood and join her in her observation of the drilling and practice. “Seldom do I encounter you close to the practice but not participating," he remarked mildly, casting a glance down at her. It was quite a distance, admittedly. Normally, her spirit made her seem much larger than she was, but he was quite underwhelmed by comparison at the moment.

She seemed somewhat deflated, in all honesty, slumped a little too far over the fence. Even his presence didn't have the near-automatic energizing effect that it had on her when she was constantly badgering him to spar with her. She tilted her head up far enough to catch his eye for just a second before she sighed. “Yeah." She shrugged, the agreement falling a little flat. Khari braced her elbows on the fence, her expression pensive. Never really the type to conceal much, she was easy to read now as well. Especially for someone with as much practice as Leon had. The slouching curve of her posture, the vague listlessness of her eyes. It all pointed to the same thing.

“Guess you probably wanna demote me now, huh? Told you all this great stuff about my training when I applied and all." She scrunched her nose. “I won't make a big deal out of it, if I can stay at all." She flicked another glance up at him then, a bit more urgently. “I... I can stay, right? I'm honestly not totally sure how this works."

Leon felt his mouth twist down. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. By some understandings, Khari's own honor had been contaminated by the deeds of her teacher. He did not doubt she was questioning the legitimacy of her standing in more ways than one. In relation to more than just the Inquisition. He also wasn't sure that it was enough to tell her he couldn't give less of a damn about it. No doubt closer friends than he had already tried, and if she was still down like this, it was something she probably had to work through on her own.

What he could give her was a jump-start.

“You want to stay?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Then prove it." Turning back towards the ring, he took a deep breath and called out in his booming bass.

“Everyone clear the area!" He suppressed the natural urge to add a 'please.' It was, after all, not a request. While the regulars scrambled to get out of the way as fast as possible, resetting all the training equipment in the process, the commander returned his attention to Khari. “I placed you into the Irregulars with a test. I'll decide where you go now the same way. Arm yourself and get into the ring."

He'd shocked the dull grimness off her face, at any rate. “Wait, but... what? I can't fight you—I don't even have a sword!" Khari's eyes were wide; she gripped the fence with pale knuckles, hovering uncertainly between swinging under to enter the dirt ring and... well, something else. Perhaps even fleeing.

“Oh?" Leon hardened his tone deliberately. Catching Reed's eye, he gestured him over. “Reed's blade is about the size and heft of the one you usually use. I'm sure he would not object to you borrowing it." His aide shook his head to indicate that it was fine, drawing the sword from its place over his shoulder and holding it hilt-first towards Khari.

Leon pitched his voice at such a volume as to make himself easily audible to everyone now exiting the practice area. “Or am I to understand that you are refusing a challenge?" He kept his expression stern, but he truly hoped he was not miscalculating here. He hoped he understood what she was feeling well enough, understood her well enough, that he was making the right move.

For a moment, it was honestly impossible to say. Khari's expression closed off, losing its former easy readability. Her brows drew down, and she seemed to teeter on a thin edge between acceptance and refusal. And with the way he'd drawn the stakes, it was no trivial decision. Her hands dropped from the fence rail, balling into fists.

“I'm not refusing anything." She snarled the words as much as she said them, reaching for Reed's sword and snatching it from his grip, ducking under the fence and coming up on the other side. She walked backwards towards the center, tilting her chin up to keep eye contact with him the entire time. “Let's go, commander! I've never been patient, and I'm not about to start now!"

Leon went over the rail. Saying anything else was unnecessary at this point. They began with no formalities, no words of ritual or gentleman's bows or anything of the sort. For all their differences, they had one thing in common: they had learned to fight in only the most brutally-pragmatic of ways. To use whatever they had, however they could, to keep themselves alive. After that, the rest of it was only decoration.

Unarmored, Leon would be easy enough to cut, but that was only assuming she could land a hit on him in the first place. He didn't intend to make it a simple matter, but even so, he was not content to be merely defensive. It wasn't his way any more than it was hers, and he charged at her with all the speed his lack of encumbrance afforded him, perfectly willing to come within range of her borrowed weapon.

Khari didn't stand there and wait for him to come to her, either. Instead, she ran to meet him, collecting momentum as she churned up the ground under her feet, angling left and swinging for his legs. It was clear she meant to let the weight of their charges do most of the damage.

Leon saw it coming and jumped to avoid the low hit, twisting his body around and converting the torque into a heavy kick for her midsection. He pulled it to the extent he was able—he had no desire to cave in her ribcage, of course, only to put her flat on her back in the dirt.

It might not have broken anything, but there was no doubting that Khari felt it. She turned her body slightly into the blow just before it landed, reducing the impact, but not by nearly enough to match Leon's sheer power. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh; she flew back several feet and landed hard on the ground, rolling a few times. It took her a second to move again, but then she was back on her feet, spitting a glob of blood to one side from where she must have inadvertently bitten her tongue or the inside of her mouth.

“Fuck, you're strong." She flashed a red grin at him, and then charged again. Having realized that his legs were not what to aim for when he was so mobile, she swung for his chest the second time. It was a considerably larger target.

“From you, I will consider that a compliment." Unlike Khari's berserker talents, Leon did not need to be under the influence of rage to spar. It was a different matter entirely when he had to kill, but of course that was the furthest thing from his intention here. As a result, he found it rather enjoyable.

Her second attempt was much better; he sidestepped and caught the blade of the sword between his palms, twisting up and over in an attempt to disarm her.

Rather than simply letting go, Khari redoubled her grip on the hilt of the sword, twisting with him and letting her knees buckle, effectively becoming dead weight. It was additionally complicated, however, by the fact that she was making every effort to tangle her legs with his, as though she intended to bring him to the ground as well.

Grappling was not something most people ever attempted with Leon. His size alone tended to dissuade it, he supposed. The fact that he fought barehanded by choice was also perhaps a reliable indicator that he knew very well how to handle himself on the ground. The attempt was audacious in the extreme, but then, this was Khari. That should not be surprising.

Instead of letting it happen, he released her sword, dropping her to the floor with it, then anchored his balance on one foot and tore the other free of hers, stepping on her right arm hard enough to pin it to the ground.

Abandoning the effort to tangle up his legs, Khari kicked at the one within reach, closing her free fingers around a handful of sand and hurling it in the general direction of his face.

It had further to go than it went, but Leon stepped off her anyway, allowing her to regain her feet before he went on the offensive again.

There was never any question of which one of them was going to win, but Leon didn't expect there to be. He was genuinely impressed, however, by the way Khari seemed to learn even as the fight progressed. By a few minutes in, she'd already absorbed enough about how he moved to avoid the obvious mistakes, and there was no denying her swiftness and talent for improvising things as she went. Every time he so much as left her an opening, intentionally or otherwise, she was right there, having spotted it and acted quickly to take advantage. More than once, his defense was hastier than he would have liked, as he rushed to keep up with her attacks.

He jumped back, dropping once more into a defensive stance. He wanted to see what she planned to do next.

She didn't disappoint, surging forward to attack almost immediately. She feinted left first, then spun away from his block without ever actually touching it. The heavy hand-and-a-half in her grip rushed for his arm, leaving a shallow cut when he didn't move away quite fast enough to avoid it entirely. It was a trivial injury at best, especially considering the wounds she'd taken in the course of the fight. Leon might have turned his blows, and she'd gotten used to minimizing the impact when she took them, but she'd likely be a mess of bruises for quite some time after the match. But nevertheless, she'd landed a blow.

As soon as she'd done it, he raised his hand. “Enough." Leon straightened, rolling his shoulders out and lifting his uninjured arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. She'd certainly kept him on his toes. Letting his hand drop back down, he offered her a smile. “As I suspected. You're just as qualified to be here as you were the day you arrived. Moreso, in fact."

He moved his eyes over her shoulder. “You think so, too, don't you, MichĂ€el?"

"I do, ser," came the reply. During the spar, MichÀel had descended the keep's stairs and took up a spot nearest the fence line, the purple in his cloak standing out from the sea of russet the Inquisition's soldiers wore. He looked in with impish smirk across his lips as he absently stroked his beard, clearly invested the fight he'd just watched. "Granted," he added, allowing his hand to fall from his face and limply in front of him, "The girl has her rough edges to be sure, but it is nothing that I cannot grind away in time." His large frame swayed from an internal chuckle.

Khari, breath still sawing in and out of her lungs, lowered Reed's sword. She came slowly out of whatever battle-high seized her in the middle of a match. As she did, a look of confusion blossomed over her face. “Wait... what?" The point of the sword brushed slightly over the dirt before she realized that and lifted it again. “What's Ser MichĂ€el doing here, anyway?"

"Watching," he answered, which caused a few of the soldiers to chuckle at such a obvious response. "Gauging," he added, this time more honestly. "You have the practical experience to keep yourself alive, despite your best efforts. But what could you do with more I wonder?" he said, leaning forward and a fence post and steepling his fingers together "What you could do with a chevalier's training?"

“But—" Khari looked, perhaps understandably, a bit flabbergasted by the question. Handing Reed's sword back to him, she rubbed the back of her hand against her brow, scrubbing off some sweat. The contemplative look returned to her face. “Why?" Her tone was suspicious, and she moved her glance between Leon and MichĂ€el, settling on the latter. “Why would you want to do that for me? It's not like I can just enroll in the Academie and... and do things that way. It's not like you need more hands for your bandit problem. So why go to all the trouble?"

Her brows were furrowed now, forming a deep crease over her nose. Her lips had compressed into a thin line, and the muscles in her shoulders and neck were unmistakably tense.

"You have potential and we have no wish to see it squandered by bashing your head into every sword arm and shield wall you can find from here to Antiva," MichÀel answered sternly. He'd lost his grin and now frowned. "And I do not know if you have noticed, but the Inquisition faces more than just bandits. The Ventori, the red templars, both led by a magister turned darkspawn somewhere in Thedas. That qualifies a little more than a bandit problem, do you agree?" He'd risen from the post and now stood straight, his arms crossed beneath his cloak.

"You cannot enroll into the Academie, that much is true, but neither could Aveline," he said, referencing the old Orlesian tale. "I cannot make you a chevalier, but I can train you like one. What you do with that training is up to you."

“I don't know what the status of your ambitions is," Leon admitted gently. It was entirely possible that Khari didn't want to be a chevalier anymore, or was no longer certain what she wanted. “But you should know that regardless, the foundation of your abilities is still what it is. If we are to succeed in defeating Corypheus, each one of us needs to improve. We all need to keep training and honing our talents. I'm not an exception. Ser MichĂ€el is not. And I'm sure you know that you aren't either."

He sighed. “If that is all this is, training to build on your foundations, then it need not be more. But if you still want what you wanted two weeks ago, then this will help. I understand feeling like your foundation is giving way underneath you. But it isn't. Not in this respect. You're talented, Khari, and you deserve to be able to develop that talent. It does not matter to us who taught you—only what you do with what you've learned."

She swallowed thickly. A little of the tension left her posture, but not all of it, and she stared intently at the ground under their feet for several long, slow moments. “Okay." She nodded slightly, almost to herself, and raised her head. “I get it. And... and thank you. I'll learn whatever you want to teach me, however you think is best. But..." her expression hardened for a moment. “I want to know all of it. Everything any other chevalier learns. So that if something happens again, I know. I know what honor means and how to follow it."

"Good," MichÀel said, the smirk slowly returning to his face. "If I were you, I would enjoy the rest of the day. It will be your last easy one for a long while," he glanced at Leon, indicating that yes, that was even including their spar.

"See the quartermaster and get outfitted for full plate. You will need it for your morning runs."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Under the relentless assail of dust motes and cloudless sky
 the desert seemed to unravel. Its high dunes surrounding Adamant Fortress swept across them, wind-swept and merciless, heedless of the Inquisition’s efforts to slog through the sand in order to avoid being pinned by errant arrows whistling past their heads. The fortress itself was full of echoes—battle cries, shrieks and explosive blasts as fireballs crashed into the pillars and sent shards of rock raining down across their heads. Steel arrowheads and stomping footsteps accompanied the frequent whine of magic heard above the ramparts, as well as at their sides.

A lumbering contraption of metal bindings and thick wood was being laboriously shoved along the beginning of stonework leading up to the fortress’ reinforced gates. Several soldiers lied grunting and groaning as the wheels clattered and spun across chunks of stone, sweaty faces peeking out from beneath helms. The sand certainly hadn’t done the battering ram any favors. Its decreased mobility wasn’t aiding those who’d been tasked to push the damned thing either. Where arrows found their marks, injured men and women were pulled away behind the general safety of crooked, fallen pillars to be tended to. Others had stationed themselves at their sides, arrows notched and loosed at the ramparts, so that they could counter the arrows and shards of ice being hailed down.

The stone warren ahead of them tasted stale. Heavy with the grit of sand and the sear of flames licking at their sides; behind them and overhead. Everything so impossibly dry. Long hours had taken them towards the main gates, a slow and arduous trek. Even so, it felt as if everything was rushing quickly. Far too quick. Somewhere overhead, something thumped heavily against the walls and the ground beneath their feet trembled. All they needed to do was breach the walls. All they needed to do. Easier said than done when hell was raining down on them. Approaching a hornet’s nest with ladders, and a slow moving ram, was laughable. At least, Zahra thought so. She’d never been involved in such an assault before. Never had to fight alongside so many people before, either. So many faces. There were those she’d come to know personally
 and others who’d joined them along the way.

There was a cry heard above the din. Hit. Or fire. Zahra couldn’t tell. A large boulder sailed overhead and crashed into the side of the walls. Sending a line of armored men pinwheeling through the air. Stonework crumbled into shards of brick and trickled down the sides of the walls. Not quite enough to allow entrance, but definitely enough to crush those who’d been unfortunate to stand there. Another volley fired shy of its mark and crashed somewhere within the gates while the ladders approached the base of the walls. Archers continued covering them from the ground, firing up with bare arrows, and some doused in flames.

Battle raged around her. Less hectic than Haven, to be sure. Zahra had the good sense to ignore the pang in her heart, even if she knew this could have much of the same result. Her friends, companions. They were not invulnerable, and neither was she. However, they’d come out of hairier circumstances, and she had no doubts they’d fight tooth and nail to accomplish what they needed to. She notched an arrow and loosed it from behind the advancing battering ram. Glimpsed the arrow striking into the slip between a Warden’s helm, toppling forward off the walls. Only long enough to loose another.

Many of the Wardens on the walls had made note of the battering ram's ponderous approach, and turned their aim upon it. Flashes of fire lit up the darkening sky as spheres of orange flame careened down from the walls, aimed for the ram and the soldiers carrying it. Most of them crashed into barriers with heavy sounds, guttering out before reaching the soldiers and vital parts of the machinery itself. Both were protected by Asala and even Cyrus, who reinforced her work with some of his own, a slight variation in the shade of blue the only way to tell them apart. Each time a barrier shattered under the force of a blow, another bloomed over the empty space to replace it.

With his free arm, Cyrus hurled bolts of lightning, each precise enough to catch a figure on the walls above, and placed so as to ricochet between several more, breaking up the volleys and easing their slogging passage just a little. The Warden Nostariel's arrows were just as good—unlike Zahra's, they tended to explode on impact, which made up for the fact that she didn't aim quite as accurately. The next to fly in blew off a heavy chunk of the crenelations on the wall, cracking the stone and sending a massive chunk of it over the side, the man who'd been standing on it following it down screaming.

The fighters who specialized in closer quarters were harder-pressed to help much at this stage. Those with shields were generally at the front, round and kite-shaped metal faces turned up to protect vulnerable heads and necks from the bite of arrowheads and icicles. Others carried ladders to try and mount the walls themselves, but keeping them in place long enough to use was proving difficult. The Wardens clearly knew how to hold a fortress; the rate at which Inquisition soldiers were falling to their arrows and magic was far too quick to sustain much longer. They had to make it the rest of the way to the door. Only then would Zahra and her companions be able to push inside and make an effort at breaking the siege.

The ram wasn't more than ten feet from the gate when a lucky volley struck two of the soldiers pushing it on the left, slipping in during the small gap between one barrier's fall and the next materializing. The men collapsed to the sand, the ram itself teetering dangerously to the side as the others pushing it tried to compensate for the sudden loss and prevent it from becoming hopelessly mired in sand.

Leon ducked in, catching one of the vacant handles in his grip. It was hard to tell given his helmet, but the heavy scrape of his gauntlets on the wood suggested that even he struggled to keep it from rolling back down the incline, at least for the few seconds it took for the other men to get their feet back underneath them. His boots sank heavily into the sand as he pushed for traction, taking a hard step forward to plant his treads on stone instead.

More arrows and magic flew in overhead in those precious seconds; one of the trebuchets went up in flames, scattering its crew. The Wardens were making use of Tevinter fire on the battlements as well, heaving a cauldron of it over onto one of the ladders that had managed to stake out a position on the wall. The screams as it splashed over the arms and chests of the Inquisition soldiers holding it in place at the bottom were unholy things, harsh even over the rest of the noise.

“Forward!" The Commander rolled his shoulders back, adjusting to the weight of two-thirds of the ram's left side. At the command, it moved forward again, alighting on sand-covered stone. That proved to be the hardest part, and it rolled forward smoothly after that. Gesturing for another two soldiers to man the actual ram portion of the contraption, Leon stepped back and shook out his hands, flexing his fingers open and closed several times.

“Draw back." The soldiers shuffled to rock the ram back into the rearward position. As soon as they were steady, the Commander's voice boomed out again. “Heave!"

The sound of the hit echoed like thunder, reverberating through the banded wood of the gate. It held steady, though, and so the soldiers drew it back again. The second time, a harsher crack followed as part of the door splintered, and Leon gestured the advance team to cluster just behind and to the side of the siege weapon. There was no telling what the Wardens were assembling in there to meet them.

The third hit broke through a chunk of the wood, but it took several more before the opening was large enough for them to use. On the eighth, the right half of the door broke on its hinges and swung inwards, finally allowing them through.

"On me!" The elven knight among them was at the forefront of the attack, face hidden behind the mask of his helm, his spear lowered and shield ready to receive the first enemy. Vesryn charged forward, through the cloud of dust that had billowed up in the wreckage of the gate, temporarily disappearing from sight. The others followed close behind him, Inquisition soldiers at their backs supporting them. For the first few moments the going was slow as those in the front undoubtedly met a thick resistance, and Zahra wasn't able to see any of what was occurring inside. She could only hear the screams of the desperate and the dying, the roars of the attackers, and the wails of demons among their enemies.

But they pushed forward, heedless of any losses, and soon Zahra was able to make out the carnage inside the gate. The Wardens had mounted a fierce resistance, but they'd been cut down by the brutal attack of the Inquisition's assault party. The fallen bodies made the footing treacherous to those not paying attention. Dozens of arrows littered the ground where they'd harmlessly fallen after clattering off one of the barriers protecting the attackers from above. Still, some had made it through, and no few men and women of the Inquisition were on the ground and bleeding, or crawling for aid. Their attempts to secure the walls were going poorly.

Ahead, the bulk of the Warden warriors had been broken and driven back, and in their place the mages were commanding demons into the fray. Vesryn intercepted the first of the shades with his shield, bashing it quickly and leaving it on the ground so he could keep his shield facing forward and advance. Romulus swiftly took care of the fallen creature, his eyes slightly glazed from the effects of his tonics.

"Keep pushing forward!" Vesryn shouted, burying his spear in a Warden mage and toppling her as he redirected her stream of fire away with his shield.

Approximating hope from such carnage had never been Zahra’s style. As soon as the gates buckled and splintered inwards, she’d vaulted onto the now unoccupied barricade ram. She notched and loosed her arrows into the swelling forefront of Warden’s gawking overhead. Shouting commands, pointing fingers and firing arrows with less precision than they had been when their fortress had been shuttered close. Now that the Inquisition could spill into Adamant’s walls, utter chaos ensued. With the last of her arrows spent, she slung the bow around her shoulder and hopped down behind Vesryn and the others, pulling her rapier free from its scabbard.

She’d never be as good or quick as Marceline was, nor as graceful, if she was being honest
 but using her bow in close-quarters, elbows nearly touching with companions and enemies alike wasn’t efficient. She’d learned that long ago. Zahra breathed in, steadying herself as the dust settled around them. Silhouettes crashed together. The sound of metal scrapping against metal added to the crackle of thrown lightning bolts to their sides. There were still streaks of molten fire, casting light across their faces, before slamming into bodies. The smell
 was almost unbearable. Burnt flesh. Coppery blood. Sand grit in their teeth. She was already having trouble dancing between scorched corpses. Though she spotted one of her own well enough. An arrow jutted from one of his shoulders. She swept down and slipped a hand under his armpit, dragging him back to his feet. Wordless, breathless.

Through skeins of smoke, a shade burst out and raked its claws down towards Zahra’s face. She only barely had enough time to throw them both to the ground. Her head cracked against the stone, hard enough to blow stars in her vision. Fortunately, not hard enough to render her unconscious. The world spun beneath her as she pushed herself to her feet and tried to regain her balance. A warm wetness wept from her hairline. She didn’t need to touch it to know that it was hers. She smeared the blood away from her left eye in time to see the shade rear back towards her. This time, whether it was dumb luck or a bloom of anger swelling in her belly, Zahra hewed it with her blade and pushed past it. Further into the fortress.

They were more or less navigating through the fortress blind; what information the scouts had been able give them dealt with the fortifications rather than details of the layout, since those things would only be visible from the inside. Leon, up front near Vesryn, seemed to be choosing their course, though it was hard to know how he was doing it. Estella fell in next to Zahra, expression showing a flicker of concern before it smoothed out. Perhaps her tumble had been witnessed. “I’m alright,” Zahra offered with a toothy grin. She didn’t know the extent of the damage, but that was always best handled afterwards.

The resistance seemed to thin for a while. The group's pace accelerated until they were all clipping along at a smooth jog, but Leon pulled them up before they rounded the next blind corner, ducking around it for a moment and then reappearing to gesture them all forward.

It seemed the battle here was already taking place, and the Wardens were manning both sides themselves. This knot looked to be mages and demons versus everyone else, if the armor styles were anything to go by. In truth there wasn't much left to do by the time they arrived, aside from blocking a flanking maneuver by several rage demons, something the fighters at the front took care of in short order.

The stillness after, when the Inquisition faced down the winning half, was tense. Estella's voice cut through it first.

“Why were you fighting them?" Her tone was neutral, careful, modulated. Her face gave nothing away, yet, and the tension didn't quite abate.

Even so, one of the Wardens answered. His winged helmet seemed to be a mark of some rank distinction or another; the rest of them arrayed around him in a way that suggested he was the leader. "Because this is insanity, and they are no longer the people they once were." In contrast to Estella, he sounded haggard, tired, even through the metal of his helm.

“Then fight with us." Nostariel and Stroud moved into his line if sight. While the elf's expression was mild, her partner still wore a hard, disapproving scowl. At a look from her, though, it eased slightly.

"You could have realized this sooner, but it is good that you have now, at least." A few of those present, without helmets obscuring their faces, had the grace to look ashamed or at least properly chastened. Stroud glanced at Romulus and Estella. "Perhaps we should send them back, to help your army breach the wall. They would not be noticed as hostile until they attacked, I should think."

The man with the helm inclined his head. "We would be willing to do this... but you should be careful ahead. I know not what Clarel and that man are preparing for you, but they retreated to do it as soon as you were spotted."

"Then we should keep moving," Vesryn said, lifting his shield from where it had rested with its bottom rim against the ground. "Go on then, beat some sense into your brethren, and we'll put a stop to this insanity."

The Wardens went on their way, as did the assault party. The fortress proved difficult to navigate, not only due to their unfamiliarity. An unfortunate side effect of the siege engines was that several large stones had collapsed the quickest pathways, eventually forcing them up onto the battlements to seek an alternative route. It seemed that Inquisition forces had finally gotten something of a foothold, as they encountered small numbers of their own troops, battling for control of the high ground. They assisted where they could, but could not linger for long if they wanted to stop Clarel and Pike.

Up ahead they came upon a lookout point of sorts, a wider section of wall that overlooked a significant portion of the fortress. There they found a number of their troops engaged with a vicious contingent of demons. Upon closer inspection, they proved to be some of their scouts, with Lia at the helm of them. She dueled with a floating despair demon, the creature nimbly twirling away from one of her arrows and flinging itself through the air, launching an icy spike as it went. The projectile tore through the leather on Lia's left arm, leaving a bloody wound in its wake, and a lucky shade immediately tackled her from behind. The pair went down together, but Lia soon drove a knife into its head, rolling out from under its writhing mass as nimbly as she was able to.

Many of the others had gone in for close quarters, as well. Signy covered Rhys's back, driving one of her two hatchets into the single eye of another shade. Blood spattered liberally over her face and leather armor, but it went as unheeded in her case as in the rest. Rhys took a step away from her for a moment, swinging one of his sabers from below and slashing another shade up its body before coming across with the other. It hissed weakly as it bled out, and he returned back to Signy, slinging the lingering blood off of the edges of his blades.

The despair demon bore down on Lia, threatening to continue flinging ice spears at her until an arrow struck it in the side. From among their own group, Ashton broke off and fired another arrow at the demon, striking it once more before he became its new focus. Unlike Zahra, he had stuck with his bow even in close combat, pilfering ammunition from fallen Wardens on the wall. As he nocked the next arrow, the demon feinted again, attempting to bait Ashton's arrow, but he must have seen it coming because the next arrow struck true as well, felling the demon out of the air and dispersing when it struck the ground.

"Now's not the time to be laying around," Ashton said holding out a hand for Lia to take, his tone far more grim than his words.

"Thanks," Lia said, taking his hand and getting back to her feet. "And thank the gods you're all okay. Took us longer than we would've liked to get through on the walls, and I thought we'd fallen behind. Didn't expect we were actually ahead of you."

"We encountered a few complications of our own," Vesryn said, ensuring that the immediate area was clear of demons. "Any idea how far we've yet to go to reach Pike?"

"Not far, I don't think. Keep going that way," she pointed towards the center of the fortress. "You should hurry, we heard some strange noises before we were set upon. We'll cover your backs."

Zahra joined Vesryn at his side. Better off next to someone with a shield to batter a path open. She’d been dancing between shades, much more nimble now that she wasn’t being used as a crutch. Though she had stumbled a few times, shaking the drumming pangs from her head. Damned rumble. It was a poor excuse. One that might earn her another stripe, or a claw through the gut, if she wasn’t being careful.

“Let’s press on then,” her eyes followed Lia’s finger and nodded her head, signaling that Vesryn should take the lead. An ungraceful shadow, but one who could stab with the pointy end just as well.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
The very heart of Adamant Fortress was protected by yet more walls, but fortunately, these were much easier to breach, relatively speaking. As soon as they'd fought their way free of one last knot of resistance outside, a metal door stood before them, and Leon pushed it open and stepped through, the rest of them on his heels.

The main bailey was tiered, with the level above leading directly inside the keep building, and that below arranged into a large yard. At present, the overlook was occupied by both Pike and a tall woman with a shaved head and the armor typical of Warden mages. Large braziers atop stone columns lit the area, but also produced this curls of greasy smoke—Estella was willing to bet that they were burning something other than normal wood. Large-scale rituals like this often required other components, she knew.

Immediately below those two, many more Wardens were clustered, both mages and otherwise, though none moved immediately to attack. Many of the mages manipulated some kind of greenish light; it was too bright to be exactly the same color as her mark, but something about it felt similar all the same. She was no expert, but she was willing to bet they intended to pull something very large through the fade itself.

As the Inquisition stepped in, the woman—presumably Warden-Commander Clarel—spoke. "Wardens! We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!" Her words had the ponderous weight of some kind of ceremonial pronouncement. Pike didn't seem particularly happy about it.

"We need to, uh... we need to hurry this along, can you give them the annotated version? The Inquisition is literally right there," Pike said, chewing on his fingernail as he spoke. At the word Inquisition, he nodded toward their general direction and anxiously rocked on the balls of his feet.

"These men and women are giving their lives. That may mean little to you, but to the Wardens, it is a sacred duty." Behind her, another Warden approached, an older man, from the look of him, and Estella frowned.

They were much too far, but maybe if they kept talking, that wouldn't matter. She started for the stairs.

Unfortunately, that seemed to infuse some sense of urgency in the Warden-Commander. She exchanged some inaudible words with the man who'd approached, then moved behind him, dagger in-hand.

“Don't—"

Her voice was loud enough to reach, but it went unheeded. Clarel drew the knife across the other man's throat, and he fell to his knees, blood gushing thickly from his neck and staining the front of his uniform. He toppled forward.

The fresh blood spurred Pike forward. "Stop them!" He gestured toward the Inquisition, "We are too close, we must complete the ritual!" With the command, the collected Wardens turned around to face them, taking steps to block their path.

A wall of warriors stepped into their path. While it would have been possible to force their way through, the Inquisition's groups slowed, instead. With a frustrated sound, Nostariel raised her eyes to the upper part of the bailey. “Warden-Commander Clarel! You can't go through with this ritual! It will bring you nothing that you want, and make you responsible for more death than you already are. Please, see reason!" She raised an arm and thrust it out in Pike's direction. “This man thought that destroying an entire Chantry full of innocent people was the right way to protest a different injustice! Why would you trust him to advise the Wardens on fulfilling their duty?"

"Innocent?" Pike balked, "You have a funny notion of innocence. Those people did nothing while it was innocent mages that were slaughtered or tranquiled," he hissed, "Do you think that if I did nothing that it would've changed? That everything would've sorted itself out? No! They would've squeezed the life out of us."

He looked to Clarel, "Just as the blight will squeeze the life out of this land if nothing is done. The world does nothing while the Wardens risk their very lives to save it. As tragic as it is, change always requires blood. Loathe me for my actions," he continued, whipping his head back to the Inquisition with a snarl, "But do not judge the Wardens for theirs!"

“Warden-Commander, please." Estella's brow furrowed; how was she supposed to get someone this deep in the grip of desperation to see reason? To see that all this sacrifice was unnecessary? “Every sacrifice you make... those people aren't serving Thedas. They're serving Corypheus! He's making a mockery of the duty you've tried so hard to keep. You can sense it, can't you? That something isn't quite right. Why would the Calling happen now, of all times? Right when Pike is poised to show up, out of the blue, and offer you a solution steeped in Warden blood to a problem you didn't even have until then?"

"Corypheus?" For a moment, she could see Clarel hesitate, and she dared to hope that something one of them had said might have gotten through to her. Estella pulled in a breath, her fingers curling into her palms.

But then the Warden-Commander's expression hardened. "No. Corypheus is dead. Bring it through!"

The Wardens below, the ones with the green magic in their hands, stepped into a rough circle around some kind of central platform. The warriors remained between the Inquisition and the others, not yet attacking, but each with a weapon drawn.

The disturbance in the fade was palpable, probably even to those among them without magic. A low boom reverberated in the air, a brand new rift opening in the center of the circle of mages.

“This is ridiculous." Nostariel moved to the front of the group, tilting her head up to look one of the warriors in the eye. The occasional gout of cool air cascading off her person and the perceptible but slight chill around her were a fair indication that she was nearing the end of her patience. “You are being used." She said it slowly, then glanced at another. “They're telling you that this is the Wardens against everyone else, but I've been a Warden much longer than most of you, and I have not stopped. Warden-Commander Stroud has not stopped. We are Wardens still, and we feel the Calling in our bones just as you do. Yet here we are."

Stroud's brow was heavy over his eyes. "I commend your bravery, brothers and sisters, but this is not the way. I think you know that, too."

A number of the Wardens said nothing, the only sound was the faint hum of the ritual and the din of battle outside the walls. A few turned to face Clarel upon the ledge, all the while Pike began to anxiously bite his fingernails again. "Warden-Commander, it's almost done. You're the only one who can do this," he said, as he started to rock on his heels.

She hesitated for a moment, casting glances between Pike and her Wardens before she spoke again. "Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges, to avoid more bloodshed..."

Pike lifted his hand to his forehead and took a deep inhale, and upon the exhale uttered, "Fuck it all." He offered Clarel one last, disdainful look before he turned to face the Inquisition more fully.

"We thought something like this may happen," he said, the intensity of his eyes beneath his hood ramping up. "We expected the Inquisition would try to interfere, so I was not sent without aid. A... welcoming present, if you will," he said with a twist to his lips. He lifted a hand and squeezed, sparking red energy for a moment.

A loud, screeching roar echoed from high above, punctuated by the deep thumping of beating wings.

Clarel's eyes went wide at the sight of what Estella suspected had to look an awful lot like an archdemon. Where words had failed to move her much, this seemed to be more effective, and she turned to the Wardens below. "Help the Inquisition!" She whirled and darted after Pike, who had made a hasty exit on the heels of his reveal.

Estella sighed, but there was little time to waste. The dragon was still perched on the roof of a nearby building, and looked about to take off. It didn't launch itself into the air immediately, though, bending down just enough with its neck to breath out a gust of its corrupted breath. Estella dove to the side, coming up in a roll only for a crack and a scream behind her to alert her to the fact that a Pride demon was emerging from the Wardens' rift, and had started its inevitable rampage with the mages responsible.

They needed to follow Pike and Clarel—but that dragon wasn't going to just leave them alone, either.

Beside her, Stroud and Nostariel exchanged a quick glance. "Wardens, with me!" He rapped his sword against his shield, and they began to group around him.

“They can handle the demon and help with the dragon, but some of us should stay behind as well." Nostariel spoke quickly to Estella and the others. “The rest can go after Clarel, but we must decide quickly."

Leon considered it, coming quickly to a decision. “Estella, Romulus. Take Vesryn, Cyrus, Ashton, and Nostariel with you. The rest of us will stay to fend off the dragon." It made sense to split in some version of that fashion, Estella supposed; everyone kept a mix of close, ranged, and magical fighters, and half the healing capability of the advance team.

“Go." He didn't leave room for arguing about it, either. Khari looked like she wanted to, but even she kept quiet. Asala on the other hand never broke gaze with the corrupted dragon, determination and maybe even the closest thing she had to anger furrowing her brow. From their journey through Adamant’s grounds, somehow Zahra had managed to scavenged quite a few blood-crusted arrows. She held one poised between her fingers, eyes trained on the hulking serpent hunkered on the ramparts. The expression on her face read little, though there was the same wide-eyed wonder she’d had on the Wounded Coast where they’d first laid eyes on a dragon battling a giant.

Estella nodded once and took off, curving her path around where Stroud and his Wardens were engaged with the pride demon. It was quite a climb to the top, yet.

Romulus spared a look back for those they were leaving behind in their pursuit, but then pushed forward quickly behind Vesryn, who always seemed eager to be in the lead. The heavily armored elven knight seemed barely slowed by everything he carried. They left the ritual area behind, winding their way left and up several flights of stairs that took them around to an edge of the fortress. On their left, the wall dropped off into an immense chasm below, an abyss that likely went all the way down into the Deep Roads.

Shades emerged and tried to slow them, but they were pitifully inadequate, and the group barely slowed to bash them aside, not even bothering to truly slay some of them. Clarel was swift, and Pike even swifter, the pair of them always just out of sight, but Adamant was no labyrinth here, and there was only one path to follow. Judging by the magical scorch marks and blasts decorating the walls and floor on their way there, the two were already exchanging attacks, none of them proving decisive. Eventually they came across a blood trail, though whose it was could not be discerned.

They continued upwards, almost spiraling now, approaching a corner of the fortress. Their breath came hard and fast, all the while screams of the dragon echoed behind them, accompanied by the struggling Wardens, demons thrown into the mix, and more. There was no time to let their thoughts linger on the others, though. They emerged onto what appeared to be the ruins of a bridge that had once spanned the great chasm. Clarel and Pike's battle had taken them out onto it, quite near the edge, and though it appeared the leader of the Wardens had cornered Pike, it was she that looked more wounded of the two. Vesryn continued his sprint, the others close behind, and they closed the distance as quickly as they could.

"You've destroyed the Grey Wardens!" Clarel spat while she flung a stone fist at him. It collided in midair with a bolt of raw force, canceling both out.

Pike cackled in response. "Me! Oh no, no, no, you destroyed them," he said pointing at her. "All I did was suggest this course of action, and you practically snatched the knife out of my hands to start cutting your own people's throats. Couldn't do it fast enough, in fact." They were circling each other, until his words angered the Warden-Commander. A wave of electricity washed over him, but a discharge of force parted the stream, Pike chuckled while his shoulders smoldered.

Then, Pike lashed out, grabbing Clarel with force magic. "Always too eager too martyr yourselves Warden. Would've been easier to submit."

Only then did the Inquisition and their allies reach effective range, running out partway onto the bridge the two combatants occupied. Nostariel slid an arrow from the quiver at her hip and raised it quickly into a draw. She didn't take the time to aim precisely, just shot in Pike's general direction, well over Clarel's head. It hit the ground just behind him and exploded with an impressive crack, likely enough to knock him some distance towards them.

The force that held Clarel evaporated, and she began to storm toward Pike. "I will never submit to the Blight," she said, leveling her staff at him.

Pike had been thrown closer to the Inquisition and on his knees. He glanced between both parties and snarled. He struck quickly, reaching out with his hand and clenching his fist, causing the force magic to return and crush Clarel with a spray of blood. He then hefted himself to his feet and quickly fadestepped behind the Inquisition. He held both hands up to his chest, gathering energy and jammed both into the stones beneath, issuing a shockwave of pure energy into the bridge. The stones crumbled and broke beneath the force of the impact, and the bridge quickly began to fall apart.

However, just to ensure his success, Pike gathered another shockwave, and sent this one out against the Inquisition, looking to knock them back further into the crumbling bridge.

With apparently the last of his energy sapped, he stumbled as quickly as he could away from the collapsing bridge.

The wall of force slammed into Estella before she could even properly think of running to the safe side of the crumbling bridge, picking her up off her feet and hurling her into the empty air. Stone crumbled around them, pitching even the most surefooted of her companions into freefall with her. Cyrus, Romulus, Vesryn, Nostariel, Ashton... all of them were falling, just as she was. Hurtling towards their inevitable deaths at the bottom of an abyss.

Had it really come to this? Air whistled harshly past her ears, stinging her with stone dust and flecks of debris from the crumbling bridge, but Estella scarcely felt or heard any of it, watching the jagged rim of the bridge grow more distant by the second with a sort of detached sense of calm. Did her life really end here? And theirs, too? All of it... the Inquisition, becoming someone she didn't think she deserved to be, the lessons, the fights, the friendships and camaraderie?

Did she really gather the courage to leave her home only to die at the bottom of a chasm?

The thing was, she could believe it. She could believe that this was her fate. Some kind of retribution, for all the lies and all the pretending. But if that was all, then she should be the only one falling. This... this wasn't right.

Turning herself in the air, Estella took in a deep breath. Facing downward, seeing the ground actually rushing up towards her, shattered her torpor with the effectiveness of a stab wound, lancing right to her heart. She pushed down the panic, pushed down the fear, and swallowed her uncertainty. Just like she always did.

How much more impossible was surviving this than anything else she'd already done, really?

On her hand, the mark hummed, the green light pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her fingers tingled; a warmth she could not identify spread up her arm, like she'd immersed it in steaming bathwater. “I can do this," she murmured, the words swallowed by the heavy whoosh of wind. “I must."

The light nestled in her palm grew brighter, as if sensing her thoughts, and responded accordingly. Its glow tinged the skin of her face green, even when she turned her palm outwards, thrusting it down and bracing her wrist with her left hand. The mark reacted, surging until it was too bright to look at directly. Estella closed her eyes and turned her head to the side. A splitting crack reached her ears even over the din, and she felt a burst of magic unlike anything she knew.

The landscape beneath her changed, but before she could understand what she saw, the rift engulfed her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The corrupted dragon roared again, and Asala had to clutch at her ears to avoid going deaf. Once it trailed off however, her eyes shot back up toward it and she glared. She was never one to give in to revenge, or let her gentle heart be taken over by hate. Asala was always quick to forgive and forget, and she never held a grudge.... but that vashedan ataashi had killed her brother. She watched as its talons-- seemingly made of raw red lyrium, clutched the wall it perched upon and its neck craned back. A barrier was up at an instant, covering all of her friends and herself. When the dragon breathed its lyrium breath, it struck the shield instead of them. She would not have been able to completely guard against it however, so her barrier was angled, so that the breath would glance off of them.

Still when the air cleared, her barrier was near the point of shattering as it barely held itself together. Fractures had formed all across its surface, and her arms trembled from the effort it required to keep the shield up. Still, she didn't quite feel it, instead what she felt was the desire for the dragon to be closer so she could slam the barrier into its face. Foolhardy, most definitely, but it did not change the fact that Asala wanted the dragon to fall.

She would not be able to do it by herself, and she was not so arrogant to believe it would be that easy even with all of her friends' help. She had to calm herself, and the quiet fatigue she felt in her arms went a long way to do just that. She couldn't let herself forget that they fought against more than just the dragon. Demons and some of the Wardens still presented a danger themselves.

"What... do we do now?" she asked Leon, choosing her words carefully. Regardless, she was quite aware that her emotions played out plainly across her face.

He didn't seem inclined to chide her for them, though it was impossible to have even a vague idea what he thought, covered head to toe in armor as he was. “Not much we can do, while it's up there and we're down here." His voice was roughened, through the helm, as though he were consciously suppressing some other tone he could have had. “We need to get to the wall and draw it to us. Can you cover us with your barriers while we go?" He turned his head slightly, so he was looking at Zahra.

“Arrows should keep it focused on us, if you can be irritating enough. The important part is that it doesn't take off after the others." He and Khari wouldn't be much use until they were in at close range, but at that stage, it was easy to tell that the majority of the burden would be theirs to carry.

"I can," Asala answered. She reached into the satchel at her side and withdrew a vial that held a piercing blue liquid. In one deft motion she unstopped the cork and drained it, replacing the vial once she was done. She could feel the fatigue lift as the potion worked through her veins-- though the taste had always left something to be desired.

“You got it,” while Zahra’s face looked a mess with crusted blood clumped in her hairline, and smeared across the right side of her face, she still managed a weak smile. Like the others, she looked tired. The wild excitement at seeing another dragon had left her eyes, instead they simply looked bright and feverish. She shifted on her heels, and adjusted the bow in her hands. From the looks of it, she’d refilled her arsenal with arrows picked off the dead. Her left arm, however, was bare of cloth and leather alike, scorched down to red, puckered flesh. Healed somewhat by Asala, most likely. It no longer bore blistered bubbles.

Even so, she hadn’t hesitated. Not since stepping into Adamant Keep’s grounds. She behaved as if she were impenetrable in battle, but even she had begun to slow. Grow clumsy. Sweat beaded her brow as she inched close to Leon’s side, and the lip of Asala’s magical field. She reached over her shoulder and drew an arrow from her quiver, holding it at the ready. She took a deep breath. Perhaps, to steady herself. Then she glanced up at Leon and grinned wide, “Make sure I don’t end up this dragon’s last supper.”

Their plan in place, the group made for the wall. While Asala protected them and Zee kept the thing's attention, Leon and Khari swatted aside any lesser demons that accosted them on the way. The courtyard was large, but they were fast, and they'd made it to their target within a minute.

An arrow clinked off the dragon's face—apparently the last straw. With a mighty bellow, it took off, the force of its jump into the air crushing the building-stones beneath its massive claws. The roar trailed into a sharp shriek; its wings beat with a sound like a gigantic bellows.

Khari turned to face it first. It landed again with an earthshaking thud, swiping for her with wicked claws. She ducked under the attempt, swinging her sword for its digits. The crude blade bit in, but not far, and the dragon flung her backwards right after. She landed hard, but rolled to her feet immediately, apparently not much the worse for wear. From the fact that she charged forward again right after, she was more interested in keeping up the fight now that she was in it than in getting help.

Nevertheless, she got some. Leon, moving very fast for a man in so much armor, burst forward all at once, occupying the dragon's right while Khari charged towards the left. He hit its foreleg at full force, leading with his shoulder. Since it was shifted onto that one to claw at Khari, the blow threw it off balance for a moment, allowing him to follow up with two heavy punches. A dull crack accompanied the breaking of one of the dragon's digits, red lyrium flaking off at the point of contact.

It shrieked again, drawing back its head to breathe another stream of corrupted fire at them.

“Hey! Yeah, you,” punctuated with three arrows, fired at once, clattering against the creature’s scaled snout and half-opened maw. Zahra was huffing at its side, backing away but already notching another arrow in place. Not nearly quick enough. If she thought shouting down a dragon was foolish, she certainly wasn’t showing it. Deft fingers pinched the feathers against her cheek and drew even further back before she loosed it in the air, hissing out a “Just die already.”

"Agreed," Asala approved through gritted teeth. She was neither as quick as Leon or Khari, nor was she as direct. Instead she stood a ways out of the fight and when it reared its head back she saw an opportunity. Asala's magic flashed in her hands and when it expelled its corrupted fire, it only went as far as a few yards before the flame was interrupted. Her lips curled back in the effort to hold the barrier against the brunt of the flame, but it did not need to last for long. The barrier she had erected was domed from the inside, and close enough to its face so that when the fire struck the barrier, it ricocheted and engulfed the dragon's face in its own backwash.

The barrier began to fracture quickly under the onslaught, and the toil had fatigued her once again evidenced by her huffing, but it lasted just long enough to dissuade the dragon from continuing, its corrupted flame spilling from its face and onto the ground where it sizzled out. The last act of what remained of Asala's barrier was to slam into the dragon's snout, shattering the instant it touched scale. The damage it had done was nil, aside from maybe surprising it a bit.

It was at least enough to dissuade the dragon from further breath attacks, but even without those, its claws and teeth were certainly fierce enough to pose a serious threat, to say nothing of the red lyrium spikes growing out of its body.

While it was preoccupied with Leon, Khari tried to duck to the side, attempting to cut into its softer underbelly, but she was interrupted by a great rumble, which turned into a cracking sound, and then a grinding clatter, like a rockslide off a cliff. Her head snapped towards the noise.

In the distance, the keep's bridge was visible—and it was collapsing before their eyes. If Asala squinted, she could make out smaller shapes amidst the rocks, falling alongside the stones. It was impossible to tell for sure, but that was definitely the direction the others had chased Pike in. It seemed likely that—

“No. No!" Khari half-screamed, half-yelled the word, taking a quick pair of steps in that direction, as if to run to the bridge herself. The point of her sword scraped along the stone behind her; her face twisted in some inchoate expression of rage, or perhaps something else. Perhaps anguish, or even the beginning of something heavier like grief.

The dragon granted her no quarter to figure out which. Claws raked brutally across her midsection, tearing into the spaces between her armor plates and warping the chainmail underneath as though it were no more than linen. She lost her footing, picked up off the ground and hurled back almost to where Asala was.

She did not move.

Asala grimaced as panic and fear began to mix with the anger she felt toward the dragon. She quickly took the few steps necessary to reach Khari and erected a dome shaped barrier around them as she dropped to her knees beside her. Khari was still alive, and even conscious, but dazed. It could've been far worse considering the manner of monster they faced. Regardless, Asala was thankful for that and quickly readied a healing spell to begin to patch the wounds where the dragon's talons had reached.

That left Leon to command the majority of the dragon's attention. His did not divert to the collapsing bridge; it wasn't even clear whether or not he'd noticed. He went primarily on the defensive, avoiding or trying to knock aside the dragon's blows and retaliating only when the opportunity presented itself. He wasn't accumulating injuries, and oddly enough blunt damage like the kind he dealt with his hands seemed to have an effect on the creature's tough hide.

Unable to strafe away in time, he caught one hit on his arms, crossing them over his head. The effort of staving off the claws brought him to a knee, but he didn't buckle under the force, and the dragon withdrew rather than attempting to press the issue, so to speak. Instead, it snapped forward with its jaws, closing them over his shoulder.

An arrow thudded against its face, drawing blood from just beneath its eye. Leon's fist drove into some of its teeth from the side, accompanied by a cracking noise. When he pulled back, several of the smaller plates on his gauntlet were missing, but the dragon let him go and reared back, putting its face temporarily out of reach. Leon bled liberally from several large holes in his platemail, but if he was in pain, he gave no sign of it.

Lia, responsible for the arrow, was flanked by several other Lions, among them the elf Cor, Aurora's friend Donnelly, and the Qunari Hissrad, all of whom moved to support the Commander at the front. A few additional ranged fighters fanned out behind, a couple archers grouping up with Zahra to support.

Under Asala's hands, Khari's wounds at least partly stopped bleeding. Khari herself was already struggling to her feet. “I'm fine—save the magic." Her tone was clipped, curt, with a growling rasp underneath that didn't seem to be directed at Asala specifically. The other woman's mouth twisted; she braced her sword on the ground and used it to stand. Pulling in an unsteady breath, she hefted the blade in both hands and started forward, bypassing the barrier and breaking into a jog. It didn't seem like a good idea to try and stop her.

“Stubborn girl,” Zahra’s voice cut in beside Khari as she jogged shy of her heels. Bow in hand. Rounding up to her right side, a few paces behind. Enough to cause a distraction. Far enough not to accidentally be cleaved in half. She glanced sidelong at her, eyebrows drawn. Though, she made no attempt to dissuade her. The bow-wielding Lions who’d joined the fray weren’t far behind. They were preoccupied pelting the beast wherever they could. While most of the arrows clattered off hard scales
 some had found purchase, sticking out like porcupine needles behind the creature’s joints.

Asala rocked back to her feet and slipped in closer to the fight to get better aim for her barriers. She managed to just get into place before the dragon huffed. Its larger bony head turned away from them momentarily, looking over them and at something entirely different. Asala took that chance to slam an edge of a barrier into the bottom of its jaw. A few crystals of lyrium broke away from the scales, but otherwise did not seem to register the blow as anything above annoyance. Eventually, it began to turn its massive body away from the fight at hand, though not before lashing out with its mighty tail. Asala was quick enough to erect a barrier to guard against it, but there was not enough strength behind it.

Its large tail crushed through the barrier with ease and caught her heavily in the side. She felt something snap under the impact and then she was airborne. The shock and confusion was immediate and she'd forgotten which way was up until she abruptly found out which direction was down. It wasn't the hard stone of the keep's wall that broke her fall, the landing had been too soft for that. Instead she'd been thrown far enough to collide bodily with Zahra and take them both off of their feet. The dragon's tail hadn't only hit her, however, as any Lions who hadn't had the time to dodge were also thrown off of their feet.

From atop Zahra, she watched as the dragon beat its powerful wings to lift off from the wall and make a quick exit. Not before striking a tower on the way and showering the battle below it with loose stone and debris. Eventually, Asala was coherent enough to try and roll off of Zahra. "Zee! I am sorr--Argh!" she yelped in pain. Her vision blurred from the jabbing sensation she felt with every breath she took, and it was difficult to force air into her lungs. She clutched at her side as she slumped to the ground, slamming her fist against it from the defeat.

If Zahra was at all aware of what had happened in the span of a few seconds, she certainly gave no sign of it. Hefted from Khari’s side like a weightless doll. From the time they tumbled through the air and bounced off the ground, skidding to an unceremonious halt across the cobblestones, she’d been motionless. There was a wet wheezing coming from her lips. But as shallow as it was, she was still clearly breathing. Her eyes, half-lidded, rolled white, and finally shuttered closed. A new wound bloomed out behind her head, painting the cracks red. Her fingers twitched, though as far as anything else was concerned, she gave no indication she’d heard Asala speak.

“Get back to the courtyard." Leon's voice reached Asala over quite a distance. He seemed to be speaking to the Lions, but it was a safe bet that everyone would be heading the same way. “We need to figure out what became of everyone else." He reached up and took the helmet off, raking a hand through his hair to pull it back from his face. He was still bleeding freely from the giant bite mark that formed a crescent around the right side of his chest and shoulder, but other than the heavy sheen of sweat beading on his brow and running down his face, he gave no bodily signs of being strained by it.

Still, he, like most of the others, would clearly need some form of medical attention soon. His eyes fell on Asala and Zahra to her side. Frowning, he crossed the gap and knelt, checking the captain's head wound more cautiously than he initially seemed capable of. The muscles around his eyes tightened, but he apparently decided she was safe to move, because he settled her with care over his uninjured shoulder.

“Can you walk, Miss Asala? I'm going to have the other healers and medics set up in the courtyard. If a potion will help, I'm sure Rilien brought some." His tone was reserved, but not unkind. It was almost as though he weren't sure which one he ought to be using.

Asala rolled back onto her back and wheezed, "Yes, I--" she winced, "I can." Instead of explaining that she had brought her own supply, as that would probably take air she didn't have, she reached into her pack and fished out a crimson vial of her own. She unstopped it and downed in a gulp letting the vial fall to the ground as she grabbed her side again. This time her hands held healing spells as she worked on her own ribs. The tickling sensation was almost unbearable, but eventually she was well enough to move. Not quickly, but move regardless.

"Is she... okay?" Asala asked after Zahra as she forced herself to her feet. There was no way that she could hide the shame she felt from her face.

Leon waited until they were back down on the level of the courtyard before he replied, perhaps to spare himself the strain of speaking while climbing down the ladders from the wall. Once they were both down, however, he made a noncommittal sound. “Well, she did fall unconscious due to an impact," he pointed out, thinning his lips. He seemed to realize that this might not have been the best thing to lead with, though, and backpedaled quickly. “But it's not fatal or anything. With a little time and the right kind of care, she'll be good as new in a couple of days, I'd imagine. Though you're more the expert than I."

Other members of the Inquisition, aided by Stroud and some of the remaining Wardens, were already working to set up a triage area, unfolding cots and moving crates of medical supplies onto the site. Rilien was already directing the process. Aside from a gash on his temple, he seemed uninjured. Under his guidance, the process was nothing short of extremely efficient. It looked like he'd already set up stations for the healers to go to work, including the mana potions they'd need to restore their own energies, in addition to the ordinary health ones for the patients. Leon set Zahra down on one of them, on her side so that her wound wasn't in direct contact with any fabric or anything that might irritate it.

Asala reached for a mana potion-- her second of the day. It was a poor substitute for rest, but it would have to do for now. She grimaced as she replaced the vial empty vial and knelt down on the other side of the cot Leon had sat Zahra down on, deciding that she would be her first patient. It was only fair of course, if she hadn't struck her then Zahra wouldn't be unconscious with a head wound. She then solemnly began her work.

The quiet that had descended over what was once the battlefield was disturbed once again, this time from Aurora and Sparrow taking the set of stairs down that led up to the upper walls with Pike in tow. Pike struggled against his captors, but Aurora held a heavy grip on his hands behind his back, her arm up to her neck encased in stoneskin. Aurora had a cut along her brow and a stream of dried blood flaked away in the corner of her mouth. From the looks of it, Sparrow’s leathers were in tatters. Several slices were cut out around her midsection. Crusted with dried blood, but obviously tended to. Blood speckled across her face like macabre freckles and her knuckles were beaten and bruised; torn and freshly weeping as if she’d spent her time punching someone. Her own hand was poised on the back of his neck. Pike on the other hand was bruised from head to toe, and one of his eyes was beginning to swell shut. He took the stairs with a noticeable limp.

As they reached the bottom, the grumbling from Warden and Inquisition grew louder, but Pike seemed to revel in it. He basked in their hateful stares. "I see that I was missed. Love what you all did with the place by the way," Pike taunted before Aurora's grip on his arms tightened.

“What happened up there?" Leon seemed content to completely ignore Pike himself, and addressed the question to the other two. “Where are the others?"

That caused a shudder of laughter from Pike and he shrugged-- or tried, with Aurora's grip. He didn't seem to care that the question wasn't directed at him. "Oh, you mean the Inquisitors and their friends? Stood a little too close to the edge. Took a nasty stumble I'm afraid-- You know, they might just be reaching the Deep Roads by now. Shh, and maybe we can hear the splat," he said with a cackle.

None of the stares directed at Pike was more hateful than Khari's, and his words were more than enough to provoke her. Her grip tightened on Intercessor; she lifted it from the ground with what seemed to be considerable effort. The end visibly shook, as though she couldn't hold it steady.

“Ar tu na'din, you smug fucking son of a bitch!" Her lips pulled back into a snarl; the roughness of her voice was just as much heavy emotion as injury. Despite her still-oozing wounds, she lunged for him, clearly intent on his death. If he was afraid, he did not show it, and instead met her with only a smirk.

She didn't quite make it far enough; a powerful arm caught her around the middle from behind. Leon held her fast, but was mindful of her wounds. “Khari, don't." He moved his eyes to Aurora. “Gag him, please." The expression on his face suggested that he thought of Pike as about as disgusting as something suspect on the bottom of his boot. That wasn't anything Asala had ever seen on him before, really; he was usually quite mild on any occasion he wasn't busy fighting.

Khari struggled in his grip. “Don't you dare protect him!" She growled it from between her teeth, scrabbling at the arm holding her despite how clearly futile the effort was. She was even more injured than Leon, and not nearly as strong on her best day. “He killed them! He killed–I'm going to fucking murder him, and he deserves it!"

Sparrow hawked and spat on the ground at Pike’s feet, letting her fingers feather away from his neck. A huff sounded, and her hand soon returned. Though this time, much more violently. She wound her fingers through his hair and gripped tightly, jerking his head back. Her mouth twitched into a scowl as she drew her hand into a fist and smashed it into the side of his face. Aurora shifted with the movement fluidly and let the momentum guide Pike to the ground hard. She jammed her knee into his back and reached up for Sparrow to hand her a tatter of leather. She quickly set upon wrapping it around his mouth none-too-gently. Sparrow lifted her boot and poised it across Pike’s exposed neckline. Not quite enough to smother him, but certainly hard enough to cause discomfort, “You’ll die soon enough, Pike. But not here.”

It was only a few moments after they'd subdued Pike that Asala felt a slight disturbance. It wasn't quite physical—which meant it was in the Fade somehow. A heartbeat passed, and then a rift appeared in the center of the courtyard, not far from where the others were gathered. A bright burst of green light bathed everything in its emerald glow for just a moment, somehow less sickly a color than she'd grown accustomed to seeing. It dimmed a little, but the rift itself widened, growing long and tall enough to let a person through.

Leon immediately tensed, perhaps preparing for a demon, but what stepped out of the rift was a much more welcome—and surprising—sight. Romulus, with Cyrus over one shoulder, emerged first, dropping the few inches between the bottom of the rift and the ground. Right on his heels were Vesryn and Estella, the Guard-Captain supported between them.

No sooner had Estella's feet touched ground than the rift sealed up behind them, as though it had never been there at all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leon blinked, trying to reconcile what was in front of his eyes with things he knew to be true. Or perhaps things he'd simply thought he knew.

He hadn't been there, when Romulus and Estella had stumbled out of the rift the first time, but the accounts he'd heard of it described it much like this: a green light, from which emerged what seemed to be two perfectly-ordinary human beings, who'd promptly collapsed. While they remained upright now, he could understand the wonder that invariably accompanied the tellings.

This time, however, there was no figure behind them that seemed to be Andraste. Estella was simply the last one out, and behind her, the rift sealed easily, leaving nothing of itself behind save those they'd let out.

The first thing he felt was an immediate sense of relief, and then the pain of his injuries finally hit him. Carefully, he released his hold on Khari, relatively sure that the reappearance of the others would, if not dissolve her intention to kill Pike, at least quell it by distraction for now. He might have been much stronger than she was, but she was admirably tenacious, even when injured, and he couldn't keep her back forever, anyway.

If this went the way he suspected it might, he didn't really want to.

At Leon's signal, a few uninjured Inquisition soldiers relieved Romulus, Estella, and Vesryn of the other two, carrying both Ashton and Cyrus to the triage area where Zahra and a few others already lay.

Khari, for her part, stumbled forward when he let her go, looking almost dazed. Her eyes, wide and round, flickered between the three left standing; it was unclear if she registered that it was one fewer than the number should be. “You're alive." The words rasped, raw and rough, pushed out of her like a labor of hours, though they took only a moment.

"Not all of us," Vesryn managed, clutching at one of the severe wounds in his side. With his other bloody hand he pulled his helmet off. Blood had run from his lips down most of his chin and neck, and he was blinking rapidly. "We were lucky to—" Quite suddenly, his eyes rolled back into his head and his body simply went limp, causing him to collapse forward into the dirt with a loud clattering of his armor. He did not move.

Leon grimaced; they were really all in terrible shape, whatever they'd been through. He sought and found Reed with his eyes. “Let's get them all to the healers; the rest of this can come later." They could move the conversation to some section of the triage unit if they needed to, but he was first and foremost concerned with them getting the medical attention that was so desperately necessary.

Estella and Romulus at least seemed capable of moving under their own power, for the moment. The former even bent to retrieve Vesryn's helmet, tucking it under her arm and following Reed towards the cots. She smiled thinly at Khari on the way past, reaching out to brush a hand along her friend's shoulder, but she did not speak. Perhaps she could not think of anything more to say.

"We should have died," Romulus said to Khari, putting his unmarked hand fully on her shoulder. He looked perhaps the least wounded of those that had walked out of the Fade, but his injuries would still need treating, too. "Estella saved us. It's... Khari." His eyes fell to her wounds, specifically the ones left behind on her abdomen where the dragon had struck her. "You need healing."

She glanced down at herself, shaking her head slowly. “'S'fine." The response wasn't much louder than a mumble. Raising both hands, she rested them at his sides, just under his ribcage and away from his own wounds, and clenched the fabric there tightly in her fists. “Saw you fall. I thought..." Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned forward, pressing her brow to his sternum. It wasn't a hug, maybe because they were both wounded, but she shook hard enough that even at his distance, Leon could see it. “I thought you were..."

"I'm not, Khari." His hand on her shoulder migrated around to her upper back, fingers twining with her bright red hair, and he let his chin rest on the crown of her head. "I'm alright."

They remained that way for a moment, until Romulus turned his eyes on Leon, still not really moving with Khari. "I can try to tell you what happened," he said. "Need to get her to a healer, first."

Leon nodded. “There's a free cot over here."

After getting Khari and Romulus at least seated and in line for attention from the healers, Leon took a spot across from the both of them on another. Conveniently enough, Estella was on the one to the left of his, so he didn't need to raise his voice much while they waited for the potions and medical professionals to reach them.

Shifting somewhat uncomfortably, Leon unbuckled his gauntlets, letting them drop near his feet and nudging them underneath the cot. One of them was mangled almost certainly beyond repair from its contact with dragon teeth; he'd split the skin over his knuckles down to the bone with the same blow. He kept that hand as still as possible for the moment, glancing over at the others.

“What exactly happened? We saw the bridge collapse, but not much else."

No sooner had he asked the question then Rilien appeared, bearing a satchel laden, it seemed, with potions. He handed them out wordlessly to Leon, Khari, and Romulus; it wasn't the same as having an actual healer treat them, but it would certainly help during the wait. When he came to a stop beside Estella, he fished out another, speaking too low to be heard, then took a seat next to her.

"We caught Pike on the bridge," Romulus explained, taking a drink of potion. "He killed Warden-Commander Clarel. It looked like we had him trapped, but... we were wrong. He destroyed the bridge with magic. We were falling, would've fallen all the way to the Deep Roads, but Estella..." He trailed off, looking for her to explain what had happened in that moment.

She shook her head, shifting slightly until she was at least partially leaning into Rilien. It seemed to ease some of the pain she was in. “I'm not sure what happened exactly," she confessed. “All I know is that I did something with the mark and it... opened a rift, I suppose. When I woke up, I was alone in the Fade."

“Physically?" Leon almost couldn't believe it, but simply entering the Fade in the usual sense would not have saved their lives the way this clearly had.

When she nodded, his brows furrowed. “But what then? You were gone for quite a while."

"We were in an area of the Fade controlled by a powerful Fear demon. Nightmare." The way the name slipped from Romulus's tongue seemed to give an indication of what he thought of the creature. "We were... attacked, mentally. The demon tried to turn our fears against us, in one way or another. I don't know what it tried to do to the others. But we managed to regroup at this graveyard, or at least, I saw it as a graveyard."

“So did I," Estella confirmed. “Once we were there, we..." she seemed to be struggling to figure out what words she wanted. “There was an... entity, there. One that seemed like the Divine. Her memories, or her essence, or just a spirit that took on whatever she left behind, I don't know. She gave us our memories back. It seems Nightmare had taken them from us."

“Your memories? From before the explosion at the Conclave?"

She nodded, turning her empty potion vial in her fingers. “All of them, as far as I can tell. I don't have any more gaps in my recollection, at least."

"I remembered being back in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, still a slave to Chryseis." Recalling it seem to haunt him somewhat. "I had discovered that Corypheus and a group of Grey Wardens under his control were holding the Divine, performing a ritual. I knew I couldn't stop it alone, so I went to find help. I found Estella and some of her squad." How exactly he felt about that was unclear, but there seemed to be some remorse in his words, whether it was warranted or not.

"We interrupted the ritual, and during the fight the Divine knocked that magic orb from Corypheus's hand. Estella and I, we... reached for it, at the same time. It was the orb that gave us our marks, and the orb that destroyed the Temple and killed the Divine."

“And what of the figure that others claimed to see behind you afterwards?" Leon finally managed to get the two largest plates of his armor off and away from his wounds, helped along by the fact that he could at least move his hand again after the potion. It was suddenly a great deal easier to breathe.

“The same as who we met the second time," Estella said. “Her Eminence, or some part of her. It definitely wasn't Andraste." She smiled a little wryly; Leon knew she'd never really believed it was the Bride of the Maker in the first place, but she didn't seem particularly pleased to be right. Nor displeased, for that matter. “After we touched the orb, all three of us were pulled into the Fade. She... she didn't make it out, but she helped us get there."

His uninjured hand rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “I see." He didn't find that part of it especially surprising, honestly. Without doubt, the intervention of a human or a spirit and an artifact was much easier for Leon's inherent skepticism to swallow than that of Andraste or the Maker. He doubted it would ultimately even make much difference.

"After that, we had to kill the Nightmare to make our escape." Romulus finished the last of the potion and set it aside, wiping at his lips. "The spirit of the Divine told us that the Nightmare served Corypheus, and was responsible for making the false Calling that scared the Wardens into all of this. That much should be over with now. We found Nightmare's lair... but it commanded a massive demon we couldn't hope to defeat. I think Pike was trying to have the Wardens pull it through the rift." He sighed, rubbing at his head with hands still spattered with dried blood. "Cyrus delayed the monster while we fought Nightmare. None of us were at our bests, I don't think. We killed it, but..."

“But the other demon did that to Cy." Estella sounded pained, and glanced several beds down to where the healers were still working on her brother. She was slow to move her gaze back, and when she did, she sighed heavily. “By that point, we were already in basically this shape, and it was still alive. Still coming for us. Nostariel, she—" Her voice cracked slightly.

“She stayed behind. So I'd have time to create a rift and get the rest of us through it. She saved us."

Leon frowned, then dipped his chin ponderously. “Pike has much to answer for," he said slowly. “As do the rest of the Wardens."

“Should kill the bastard." Khari, obviously referring to Pike, grumbled the words from her spot near Romulus, but they lacked quite the same panicked anger she'd had before. Given the way she was slumped partway over where she sat, that may or may not have just been the result of fatigue.

“Warden-Commander Stroud has indicated his willingness to defer to our judgement in this matter." Rilien spoke to the group for the first time since his arrival. He remained steady against Estella, allowing her to support herself on him without any apparent discomfort or protestation. “He has said that he would prefer to move the remaining members of the force here to Weisshaupt, where they might be court-martialed for their actions according to the customs of the Grey Wardens. However, if we desire some alternative action be taken, I do not think he would resist us."

Estella seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “I think we can deal with Pike later," she said, fatigue weighing down her words. “Stop me if something seems wrong with my thinking here, but the less we have to deal with the Wardens after this, the better. If Stroud thinks taking them back to Weisshaupt is the way to go, then he's probably right. Nostariel trusted him. I think that means we can, too."

Leon's lips thinned, but he suspected she was probably right. In any case, the moment word of this reached certain parties in the Orlesian government, it was bound to have an effect. Likely it would be better for everyone involved if the Wardens were already gone by then. Still... he met eyes with Romulus. “Are you of the same mind, or a different one?"

"The same," Romulus answered, almost dismissively. It was somewhat obvious that he didn't feel like dealing with the issue presently. "If they're of a mind to leave, I don't see a reason to stop them. Weisshaupt puts them far from here, and far from Corypheus."

A disturbance nearby interrupted any further talk they may have had as a panicked voice rang out above the ambient noise. "Where is she!?" Ashton's voice, clear as day, demanded. From where Leon was, he could see the guard captain shoot out of the cot he was placed in to roughly snatch an attendant by the collar and begin shaking them. "Where?!" he demanded again, anger flooding his tone.

Carefully displacing Estella, Rilien stood. The look he gave Leon was easy enough to read, and he made his way swiftly to where Ashton was. “Put him down, Ashton." His hand reached up and deftly caught Ashton's by the wrist, though he didn't appear to try and force anything, perhaps expecting that the Guard-Captain would comply on his own.

There was a moment where Ashton did nothing but glare at Rilien, every emotion he felt written out on his face. Eventually, he finally released his grip on the attendant and let him fall to the ground. He said nothing afterward, leaning forward to press his chest against his knees and cradled the back of his head with both hands. Soon after that, his shoulders began to tremble.

Rilien didn't speak again either, merely gesturing for a different person to bring him several of his potions. He moved so as to be blocking most of the area's view of Ashton, cutting him off from Leon's sight as well. It was clear enough that he'd be handling the other man's medical care himself.

Leon doubted any amount of it would do anything for the biggest wound, but that wasn't something it was within anyone else's power to fix.

“I'll tell Stroud what you've decided. Get some rest, all of you." They'd done well to so much as survive, all of them.

Even if others had not.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
It felt good to be back in her armor.

Fighting made sense to Khari, in a way that a lot of the rest of all this didn't. So when Leon had told her the scouts had reported there was a ruin to investigate, she'd jumped on the chance to go. Considering that various members of the irregulars were still on light duty only, it had been decided that she'd go with Rom, Asala, and Zee to do... whatever it turned out needed doing. Their orders weren't very specific. Maybe because the scouts didn't really know what was going on up there.

Buckling her gauntlets on, Khari reached for a scarf. It had been left in her tent, and no one had come for it, which she took as permission to borrow it for now, at least. Her clan never went as far east as the desert, so she wasn't very familiar with the terrain, but when she'd marched here with head uncovered, she'd ended up with sand in places she never, ever wanted sand to be again, so figuring this out seemed worthwhile.

Having tried about half a dozen different ways and never quite getting a decent replica of how the others had done it, she huffed and exited the tent, still trying to figure the damn thing out. Not looking where she was going, she ended up colliding with something—someone—solid. Being the smaller, lighter person in the collision, she staggered backwards a couple of steps, tilting her head up to identify the other party.

“Oh, uh... sorry Asala." Khari paused a moment, then looked down at the scarf in her hands. Asala was from a desert. She'd been there. “D'you know how to do this? I'd rather not get sand down my armor, but I can't figure out how to wrap it right."

Asala had reached for her while she stumbled back, most likely to make sure she didn't fall over, but once it was clear Khari still had her feet under her Asala reeled her hands back in. For her part, she seemed to be prepared to set out herself. She already had a layer of vitaar applied to her face. A golden pigment that complimented her eyes and extended from beneath them to cover her face in various geometric shapes. Her bare shoulders and white hair were likewise accented by the golden substance.

As became the norm for their forays into the warmer areas of Thedas, Asala wore loose clothing with wide necklines no doubt to comply with her set of horns. However, she did wear boots with the billowy trousers she had tucked in and a scarf wrapping around her own neck. Notably, wherever she had exposed skin, she also had a liberal application of vitaar-- to guard against sunburn most like.

She tilted her head as Khari presented her with the scarf before she chuckled to herself. "I do," Asala replied, tugging at the scarf at her own neck. Though the shirt she wore was without sleeves, the scarf did cover her neckline. "I can do it for you, if you would like?"

Khari handed her the scarf with a shrug. “Sure. Just do it slowly, so I can figure out for myself the next time, okay?" She stood still, trying not to fidget, since that would probably make things more difficult.

Asala nodded as she accepted the scarf and went to stand behind Khari. As was asked of her, she was slow with wrapping it around her neck with wide motions so that Khari could see clearly. Perhaps maybe she was even a bit too slow, but eventually, the scarf was tied to Khari's neck. "There," Asala stated as she took a step backward. She paused for a moment and pursed her lips before she started again, "I am sorry, but I do not know how to get it to go over your head for, uh, obvious reasons," she said, tapping her horns with an apologetic smile. Probably what the vitaar was for.

“Nah. I got that part." Khari tugged a bit at the back, pulling part of the fabric loose and settling it over her vibrant red curls. It was basically a hood, but secure enough not to go anywhere. Another bit from near the front would fit over her nose and mouth if she needed it to, but she left that where it was for now. “Thanks, Asala. The others are probably near the gate by now—we should go meet them."

Reaching back to make sure Intercessor was secure in its place, Khari led the way forward, passing the mess tent and the command one on her way to the front exit. Someone had already readied the horses for the trip. Definitely better than slogging through sand on foot. She could see Rom and Zee ahead, too, and raised a hand by way of greeting.

“Who's ready to go explore a bunch of rocks buried in sand?" She made it sound sarcastic, but truthfully, she was glad for the opportunity to get out. Griffon Wing wasn't nearly as big as Skyhold, but it was holding almost the same number of people, right now, and Khari felt a bit like a little fish squeezed into a tin.

“I hope these rocks are shiny,” Zahra quipped from the gates, a toothy smile turning the corners of her mouth up. Beneath her own maroon-colored headscarf were fresh bandages wound around her head. Her thick hair lay flat where it was wrapped. The rest of it was pulled into a loose braid which hung down her bare shoulder. She’d chosen appropriate clothes as well. A sleeveless vest that allowed for her arm, from her shoulder to her fingers, to be covered in bandages, possibly to protect it from being damaged further. Whoever had done it had taken great care to cover all of the burnt tissue. If she was at all in pain, she certainly didn’t show it.

Loose trousers tucked into calf-high boots, fastened with another colorful scarf of sorts, finished her ensemble. Comfortable gear for a trek in the desert. She raised her shoulder in a shrug and readjusted the scabbards, swinging at her hips, with her good hand, “Honestly, I’m just glad to get out for awhile.”

"Don't get careless," Rom reminded the three women with him. "We don't know what we're walking into." He already sat astride his horse, hood up to guard against the sand. In place of a scarf he wore a more compact piece cloth that clung tighter around the lower half of his face, though it was currently pulled down so he could speak with them more clearly. Zahra laughed and swung herself up onto her horses saddle, albeit a little less gracefully. While she subtly favored her good arm, she didn’t appear all that bothered by it. A small knit to her brows that might’ve passed off as minor annoyance, if anything.

Khari snorted, swinging astride her horse with a practiced motion. “I dunno what you're talking about, Rom. I'm never careless." Patting the horse's neck, she steered him towards the gate, waving up to the guards on duty, who cranked the iron portcullis up for the four of them. She led the way without really deciding to do so consciously, easing them up to a ground-eating trot pace while the ground was still slid enough for it.

Asala coughed gently. "Uh, Khari... I am not so certain I believe you," Asala answered, though the little smile to her lips gave away the tease for what it was. Khari grinned.

She'd seen a map of the basic way they were going, and trusted one of the others to point it out to her if she erred too much. “What are we supposed to be looking for, anyway? All I got was 'suspicious ruin, go take a look.'" Leon had used much more eloquent words, of course, but the information was essentially the same.

"Ruins make for good hideouts," Rom pointed out, catching up quickly and riding more or less beside Khari. By his tone, general demeanor, and lack of much reaction to her quip, he wasn't in the best of moods. Even with the hood and the mask up, he wasn't so hard to read. "We need to make sure the area is as secure as we can get it before we march back to Skyhold. Venatori held Griffon Wing, they could be elsewhere, too."

“Venatori,” Zahra repeated the word with a sigh. Two shades exasperated. She rounded up alongside Rom and glanced sidelong for a moment before staring off at the horizon. She didn’t appear all that concerned whether or not they’d see any more of them, though it was difficult to tell if anything worried her at all. Her smile hadn’t waned since waking up in Griffon’s Keep, neither had her spirits. Perhaps, she was just happy to wake up, and see everyone. “I’d seen enough of those bastards. You think they’re also looking for stones buried in sand?” It sounded like a rhetorical question.

Khari wondered if something was bothering Rom in particular. Well, actually, that was a stupid thing to wonder. Something probably was, and it was probably whatever had actually happened when they fell into the Fade. Khari didn't know a lot about magic, but she knew that was a big deal. And she'd seen what they looked like walking out of there.

It had been bad enough on her side of things. She pressed her lips into a thinner line, and sighed through her nose. She wanted to ask him about it, but she wasn't sure how, or even if this was the right time. Would it ever be the right time, though? “We can find out, anyway." She glanced at him once more before putting her eyes in front. Venatori weren't to be trifled with, even if she was pretty sure they could handle whatever small party of them would be out here now.

Gradually, what must have been their destination resolved on the horizon. It looked kind of like a big fancy house, maybe even big and fancy enough to be called a palace or something, though it wasn't in great shape, obviously. Hence the 'ruin' part. It had a spiky sort of architecture to it, in a dark color, with a few trees growing in front. The ominousness and the spikiness made her think Tevinter, but she couldn't be sure. It wasn't like she was an expert on that kind of thing.

There were plenty of footsteps in the dirt out in front of the ruin, most of them heading inside, and very few heading out. Not a promising sign, if they were hoping to have a quiet trip. Rom was the first to dismount, as it was obvious the horses wouldn't be fitting inside. Once all four were on foot, they stepped onto a narrow pathway leading inside. Even from here the air smelled different somehow, a little acrid or oily. Rom left his mask in place.

He stepped inside the thin, open doorway first, taking a few steps before he quickly drew his blade and got his shield in front of them. A second later, though, he paused, tilting his head to the side. "What the..."

A large rage demon was planted near the door, back turned to it, in mid lunge for what looked to be a low-ranking Venatori soldier, who was backing away in apparent fear. The odd part was that the scene was frozen. Nothing appeared out of place with either of the subjects in front of them, but indeed they looked more or less like they were locked in a living piece of art. Glancing further in, they could see more Venatori, and more demons, all similarly frozen in place.

Rom took a step closer to the rage demon, examining it. It seemed to be the source of the smell. Rarely did they have long enough to stand beside a rage demon to properly smell the thing. Rom shook his head and turned away from it. "Why does this not even seem strange to me anymore..."

"Wait, do you feel that?" Asala asked, turning to face the open door they had just passed through. Her brows furrowed and her head tilted quizzically. "There is not even a breeze from the outside. Everything just feels so... still." Shaking her head, she turned back toward Rom and the others, coming to stand behind them, though understandably further away from rage demon. "Do you... think it is like the magic we faced in Redcliff?" she asked.

The strangeness of the ruins certainly wasn’t lost on Zahra. She’d joined Rom at his side, though she inspected the frozen creature with far more curiosity. She prodded a finger at the rage demon’s clawed fingers, poised above the Venatori’s gawping face, with little more than a thin-lipped smile. She made a humming sound in the back of her throat. It idled somewhere between amazement and barely contained excitement. She leaned over and dragged a hand across the Venatori’s face, patting his cheek before straightening up and planting her hands against her hips.

“It’s something...” she’d taken to leaning against the Venatori's back. It was solid enough. Much like a segment of wall. Frozen in place, like a piece of horrific memory. She followed Asala’s gaze towards the door and shrugged her shoulders, eyebrows pinched, “Something tells me we’ll find the answers the further we go.” Her laugh had a tilt of barely susceptible worry, “Or not.”

Khari was a bit tempted to just stab all of them now, since they were Venatori and demons anyway, but that didn't seem like a very honorable or sporting thing to do, and who knew what effect it might have, anyway? This was clearly above her pay grade. Still... the Venatori were one thing. Demons were another. She reached over her shoulder, drawing her sword from its spot at her back.

“Wonder if we can just... you know?" She shrugged, then swung in a controlled arc for a nearby shade. Intercessor hit where she aimed, then abruptly rebounded, as though the shade's immobile body were vehemently rejecting the contact. It was enough to throw her backwards, and she fell onto her rear with a low oof.

“Guess not." She huffed out half a laugh and grinned at the others. “So, uh... might need to undo whatever magic this is before we do the fighting part. Just, you know, a guess."

"I wonder..." Asala said, looking down at her hands. Apparently deciding upon something, she threw her gaze towards Zahra. "Could you ready an arrow? I wish to try something." Zahra quirked her head to the side, curious as to what she was planning to do, but obliged without question.

Once they were ready, Asala brought the magic to her hands, the same muted green she had used when they dealt with the Venatori mages while taking Griffon Wing Keep. She noticeably took a step backward before she erected the barrier over the Venatori warrior instead of the rage demon, most likely for the obvious reasons. Though the barrier was up, and the dispel was working judging by the coloration of the barrier, nothing changed. The Venatori still did not unfreeze. Asala however winced, and let the barrier melt away. "I... tried," she stated before shrugging, "But this magic is far beyond the scope of my own."

Rom, in the meantime, went to offer Khari a hand up. His eyes had softened a little, and he might have even smiled behind his mask, but once it was clear nothing they could do would affect the frozen Venatori and demons, he signaled the group to keep moving. "I'd say we could just leave them here, but... if a Venatori mage learned something from Magister Viridius, or found notes from him or something, we need to deal with it. It's dangerous, especially if the mage doesn't know what they're doing."

Further in they found a fade rift, the obvious source of the demons. A few were in the process of spilling out of it, and everywhere they looked there were Venatori scrambling for cover or in the act of fighting back against the creatures. Some were already dead, just as frozen where they lay on the ground as everything else. Some of them were captured in rather spectacular displays, such as a mage lifted into the air by a terror, or an unfortunate soldier who had his arm torn off by a shade. The blood lingered in the air, the gruesome moment paused in time.

When Rom tried to interact with the rift, however, his mark was met with no response. He grumbled in frustration. "Guess we'll have to close that on the way out."

It was actually kind of awesome, in a macabre sort of way. Khari stepped in close to the one who'd lost an arm. She poked one of the suspended drops of blood with a fingertip, but it was solid enough to be crystalline, and resisted motion just like the demon did. Huh. She tilted her head at the rather grisly view of the stump where the arm had been. It was weirdly interesting, and she might have lingered. But they were moving again, and she jogged to catch up, not wanting to be left behind.

They crossed an inner courtyard of sorts, where there was more of the same. By the looks of it the Venatori hadn't been in the ruins for long. The camp they were in the process of setting up inside wasn't complete, many of the tents still in shambles on the ground. They trekked up a flight of stairs, arriving in a confined chamber containing nothing but a pedestal of sorts. There, a Venatori mage had plunged the end of a staff into the stone. Blood hung in the air all around them, the source of it obviously a hastily made slash in the mage's own arm. Blood magic. Rom looked around at the blood hanging in the air above him, then down at the staff. Unlike everything else, the staff was vibrating, humming slightly, and a dull blue light emanated from within the pedestal. It didn't look to be paused in time, unlike everything around it.

"I'd say this is our source," Rom speculated. "Not sure if there's a good way to undo it, though."

“While I’m all for touching things you shouldn’t,” Zahra began to say, circling around the staff, “I
 don’t know about this.”

Khari wrinkled her nose and scratched the back of her head through the scarf she still wore. “I mean... that looks like it's doing something important. If we destroy it, probably nothing will be doing the important thing anymore."

Asala stared at her with her mouth agape, the wheel clearly turning in her head as to why that may be a bad idea. However, if one ever made it to her, she didn't voice it. Instead she closed her open mouth and spoke, "We should probably prepare first."

"Why?" Rom shrugged. "We should let them finish what they started back there, then clean up anyone left." He studied the staff a bit more, then sighed, glancing at Khari. "You want to do the honors, or should I?"

She shrugged. “I can do it." Still holding her sword in one hand, she moved to where the stone was, blinking at it. It was definitely humming, and vibrating ever so slightly. Well, that was quite possibly dangerous, but you never got glory unless you had the guts for it, right?

Hefting Intercessor in both hands, Khari heaved it forward. The heavy dwarven steel cleaved through the wood of the staff's pole, half-slicing, half-snapping it in twain. A heartbeat passed, and then almost with a lurch, time started up again around them.

Immediately blood rained down on their heads and splashed around them on the floor. The blood mage in question lurched back, and only had a moment to stare in complete shock at the four strangers that suddenly surrounded him before Rom's knife plunged into his chest, and he stilled. He fell with a heavy thud, a sound which was drowned out by the sudden chorus of the desperate battle raging outside the room they were in. It was easy to see from a glance out the door that the demons were winning, but both sides were thinning each other out effectively.

Zahra made a noise that might’ve sounded like disgust as blood rained down on them. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand and knuckled at her eyes, before planting a foot across the fallen blood mage’s chest, “So... we make our way back?” She glanced at Rom, and back towards the chaos breaking out ahead of them.

"Perhaps... in a few more moments?" Asala asked, letting the barrier she had erected around herself fade away. Noticeably, it had shielded her from the blood spray.

A few more moments was all it took for the fighting to begin to wind down, the Venatori being on the losing side. Swiftly they moved out, making short work of the wounded and weary that remained, whether they were demonic or human enemies. It seemed likely the Venatori had tried some sort of time magic to try to save themselves when the rift had appeared in their choice of hideout. The rift was able to be closed like any other when they reached it, and that seemed to be the last of the threats.

When they were about to leave, however, Rom paused, noting the spot on the floor where the rage demon had been. "Where's the... look out!" He had turned around, his warning shouted towards Zee. Rage demons were not known for stealth, but this one had migrated down a side hall during the fight, and now rushed back towards them with surprising speed, reaching a burning limb out in the pirate's direction.

Whatever Zahra had expected
 it certainly hadn’t been this. Her bow occupied her hands, and she’d only had time to look up when Rom shouted towards her. The arrow she’d been holding against the bow’s string dropped from her fingers, clattering on the ground at her feet as the rage demon advanced. Impossibly fast. Maybe, she was regretting poking it earlier. Maybe, she didn’t have time to form a thought beyond shit.

From the looks of it, she hadn’t had time to reel backwards either, though she tried. Her feet tripped and tangled with the fallen Venatori’s arm, burnt to a crisp. It crackled and fell to ash under the weight of her boots. She raised one of her arms, shielding herself from the oncoming heat. An instinct rather than anything effective to counter its attack. The rage demon reared back and wrapped its claws around her bicep, engulfing her arm. Attempting to pull her closer. Its flames licked up and ate away at the bandages.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

She fell backwards, dead-weight, trying to break free. Pulling against its grip. A scream bubbled and broke free from her lips.

"Zee!" Asala cried out, a barrier already in her hands. A shield materialized in front of the demon, where its face was. It struck the demon with a dull thump, but it still did not relent. The barrier pushed further and added distance in between the demon and Zahra.

The rush of a battle still thrummed in Khari's body, and she was quick to react at the opportunity. Pivoting where she stood, she chopped downwards in a swift, clean stroke, severing the demon's arm from its elbow. The limb fell away from Zahra, nerveless and without a way to grip. Her follow-up thrust pushed the blade of her sword right into the creature's chest cavity and out the other side. When she pulled it away, the blade hissed and steamed, faintly red at the edges where she'd plunged it into the creature's molten heart. The demon dissolved, banished to the Fade from whence it had come.

“You okay, Zee?" That seemed to have been the last of them, but it had probably given her a nasty burn.

The captain kicked the useless limb further away, hugging her arm to her chest. A sheen of sweat dripped down her chin. There was a moment of silence, before Zahra glanced up and offered a toothy grin. It looked somewhat forced, though she still managed to rattle off a laugh, “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Scars build character, don’t they?” Her eyebrows knit together, and her tone, strained as it was, sounded much more genuine when she added, “Thanks.”

Asala was by her side in a moment, leaned over as close as she could get to Zahra without enveloping her. "Let us hope not," Asala mumbled to herself and she set about inspecting the burn. It wasn't long before she was digging around the pack at her side for a potion or ointment or something.

“I'll get the horses." The sooner they could get back to Griffon Wing, the sooner Asala would have access to all her supplies and such. Khari figured that was probably better than lingering.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari slumped onto the bench in the mess hall, plate piled high mostly with lean meats and very dark green vegetables. Sprouts, mostly, and some spinach, all cooked in butter and spice, from the smell of them. She'd also nicked a thick slice of bread from the loaf and loaded it with jam, but this soon after wearing herself down, she needed the rest of it more.

Everything hurt, at the moment, even some muscles she was pretty sure she hadn't really known about before. Running around all day, pushing herself through pull-ups and one-armed push-ups and interval sprints and whatever else she could think of was much, much harder when she did it in a layer of plate thick enough to make her feel like a tortoise in a shell. But she couldn't complain about the results. Nor did she complain about the training, except when giving MichÀel a hard time, like now.

“You know, Mick, if you wanted to kill me, you could have just done it quick like a normal person." She sighed theatrically and stretched her legs under the table. The wince, unfortunately, was real. It was a good kind of burn, but damn if it wasn't still a burn. Stabbing a fork into her spinach, she set about the business of eating with all the seriousness of another drill.

He let a hearty laugh go at that. "Oh but ma chĂšre, where is the fun in that?" His own plate was piled as high as hers, which only made sense because the man towered over her.

She stuck her tongue out at him, grumbling under her breath, but didn't bother to disguise the slight uptick to one side of her mouth.

From her side approached a figure, soon recognizable as Rom. He wasn't in armor and had his hood down, and when he came near enough, there was still a faint glimmer of sweat on his brow. He'd probably been training himself, with that near-endless workout he seemed to do in the undercroft every time she stopped by. He wasn't visibly armed, the only thing unusual being the small satchel he carried strapped over one shoulder.

"Hey," he greeted, pulling up short of their table and glancing at MichÀel, whom he offered a quick nod to as well. "Ser." He looked back to Khari. "Do you have a few minutes, Khari? I... wanted to talk about something." He glanced between them, uncertain. "I could come back later, if that works better."

Khari glanced down at her plate, by this point half empty, then over at Mick, then shrugged. “Actually, your timing's pretty good. I've got a few hours to myself before this one starts beating on me again." She hooked a thumb in the chevalier's general direction. “I'll see you in a bit, Mick."

MichÀel grinned, "Remember, we are working on the spear-fisher when you get back."

With a nod, the dignity of which was completely ruined by the fact that she leaned over to pick up another slice of bread, she excused herself from the table and stood, tilting her head at Rom. “We heading to yours, or somewhere else?"

"Not mine," he answered quickly. "Uh. Follow me." Though his words were uncertain, he seemed to know where he was going. It had the telltale signs of something rehearsed, and then not coming out as planned upon attempting it. He didn't comment on much, though, as he led her up the main stairs to the Keep, and then through a door on their left shortly after they entered the great hall. More stairs followed, and Rom opened the first door on their right, leading them out onto balcony overlooking the gardens.

They weren't heavily populated at all of late, as they were still escaping from the grip of winter, but this particular day wasn't so bad, and being outside wasn't very uncomfortable, especially in the Keep where an extra layer of walls offered yet more protection from the occasional winds. Rom headed over to a bench down the balcony on their left. Notably, it had been cleared of any lingering snow or debris.

"I got something for you," he said, opening the satchel he carried, and pulling out two well-sized wrapped sandwiches. "The kitchens don't use most of their best ingredients unless you ask them to. Which I did. Uh, it should still have most of the stuff you're supposed to be having for your regimen or training or whatever. It'll just... taste better. I hope. There might be a few extra things on it." He sat down on the bench, offering one of the sandwiches to her. "If you don't want it, I think it'll keep for a little while. You could have it later."

Khari sank down next to him, pulling her legs up under her. She accepted the sandwich with a huff and a grin. “Something about this seems vaguely familiar." It wasn't like she'd eaten past the point of fullness already—Mick would probably be glad she'd supplemented, since she'd left lunch early. Also, extra things sounded really good right now. Plus the bread seemed to still be warm, which was basically amazing. She unwrapped it carefully, taking the first bite before she spoke.

He was right about it tasting better, for sure. She swallowed, then arched an eyebrow at him. “So... are you okay?" Normally, there wasn't this much effort involved in spending time with each other. She just... periodically dropped by the undercroft and hung around while he did whatever he felt like doing. Sometimes they practiced grappling or talked to each other. Other times, she read the book Stel had given her while he did something else completely, and they kind of just... existed in the same place.

Rom finished chewing through his own first bite. "In a lot of ways... yeah." He sounded surprised to be admitting it, considering all that had happened to him before they returned to Skyhold. "I mean, I nearly blew my own arm off the other day trying to figure out how to make a more stable rift, but... that's hardly new, right?" He took another bite, making a small mm sound shortly after he did. "This is actually really good."

Khari laughed. Maybe not the politest reaction to have, but he was obviously okay, so why not? “So that didn't work out so well, then?" She supposed he could have succeeded even if the first attempt failed pretty spectacularly, but it wasn't like she knew anything about the marks. They seemed kind of like a pain, in all honesty. “Guess it doesn't matter much, if you're using it to bust people up, though, right?"

"I'd like to find other uses for it. It seems like it must do other things, but I have no idea how." His eyes fell to the stonework beneath them for a moment. "Estella's already used it for other things. She saved us all from falling to our deaths into the Deep Roads. She... teleported, or something, during our fight against the Nightmare demon. Vesryn would've died if she hadn't done that." He sounded a bit in awe of her accomplishments, actually, which was quite possibly a first for him when it came to Stel. Although it was hard to tell if he was more absorbed by what she had done, or if he was just circling in on himself for what he hadn't done.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you about what happened to us at Adamant. It took me a while to work through, to figure out how I felt about all of it." He glanced sideways at her. "Has anyone else told you much yet?"

Khari wasn't really sure what to make of the first part. She'd always thought Stel was pretty amazing, but she knew she wasn't really of the majority opinion on that. And she'd never really thought to compare that against anyone or anything else. There didn't seem to be much point to that kind of thing in general, as far as she could tell, except to make people feel worse about themselves, which was something she definitely didn't want. The second part, though, was easy enough.

“Not really." She'd gotten the Fade segment of the explanation from Stel, but the details were mostly above her pay grade, she'd figured. Kind of like the time magic stuff. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, though."

"I doubt most of it would mean much to you," Rom admitted. "But I want to talk about some of it, and one other thing. When we fell through the rift Estella made, we ended up separated from each other. We managed to find each other in pairs. I found Cyrus, or rather, a terror demon took me to him when I grabbed it and held on." He took another bite of the sandwich, probably eager to get through most of it before it got too cold, which wouldn't be all that long.

"The demon there tried to mess with our minds in different ways, unnerve us. The Fade could change around us to show us what it wanted us to see. I don't know what all the others went through, but both Stel and Vesryn looked like they'd been through a lot. The elf in particular. Cyrus and I went through the old orphanage, the one we were both placed in as kids in Minrathous." He met her eyes, maybe checking to see if there was any surprise there. "He didn't remember me until I told him I knew the place as well. I was sold into slavery from there when I was nine, and he discovered his magic at six, not long after I was taken away."

She hadn't known those three knew each other when they were kids. Really young kids, by the sounds of it, but old enough to remember, anyhow. “Was that a bad place for you or for him?" She supposed it was possible that it had been for both of them, but from the way Rom was talking about it, it didn't seem to be what was bothering him, and she knew something had to be.

"For him, more than me." He actually smiled a bit as he thought back on it. "I was a brat back then, too stupid to fear what I didn't see coming. I shouldn't say more, I didn't ask his permission to share this. Probably don't go spreading it around. After we dealt with the demon there, some servant of the Nightmare, we stopped in a graveyard. Neither of us recognized it, so we waited there to see if the others would find us."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The Nightmare toyed with us more there. The tombstones had our names on them, every one that I checked at least. Just our names, and a word or a few below that. What killed us, I suppose, or what we feared would. Mine just said 'became a monster.' A theme the demon tried to take with me. I don't think it could do any worse than I can, though." He glanced back over his shoulder at her.

"Yours said 'obscurity.' And your full name, too, it barely fit."

Khari scrunched her nose. In one sense, she was rather glad she hadn't gone on any of the more... magical adventures the Inquisition had needed to deal with. It sounded very shitty, and she was kind of pissed that the Nightmare or whatever had managed to pull her into it in some form, anyway. Mostly she wished she'd been there, but that was for unrelated reasons. “Ugh. Demons are stupid." She took a bite out of her sandwich with slightly more force than necessary, which ended up depositing a few bits of pepper and cured meat onto the wrapping she'd left on her lap for just that reason.

A scowl remained plastered over her face as she chewed, but when she swallowed, she followed it up with a sigh. “S'pose that doesn't make any sense out of context, does it?" She had a hard time meeting his eyes. It wasn't something she was eager to talk about, but then... who liked discussing the things they were afraid of? “...Fucker wasn't wrong, though."

Rom took a hefty bite out of the sandwich, keeping his eyes around on Khari and waiting patiently.

She was pretty oblivious, but she was definitely not that oblivious. Khari set her sandwich down, licking a bit of dressing off her thumb before setting both hands on her knees. Since they were out on a balcony anyway, she set her eyes out on the garden view. There wasn't much to see at this time of year, but she wasn't really seeing it anyway, so it hardly mattered. “Kind of a weird way to put it, but... yeah. I'm afraid I'm gonna fail, you know? That I'm going to keep trying to do this stupidly-impossible thing for the rest of my life and then die before I've come within a mile of any recognition. That no one's gonna remember. That history's gonna swallow me the way it swallows everything the People do."

It was probably the first time in a while she'd spoken about elves as though she were one of them, in any more than a basic, cursory sense. Almost certainly the first time she'd done so in front of anyone here. “But I can't do anything else. I'm shit at pretty much everything I try, except fighting. Sometimes it's the only thing that makes sense." Khari knew she wasn't stupid. She could read really well, and figures were pretty easy for her, and she played a mean game of chess. But when it came to actual skills, things you could build a life around, this was it for her. Sick as it might be, she felt more like herself when she fought than at basically any other time.

“If I can't make my mark with this, then I can't make it at all. And that's not... that's just not an option for me."

Rom swallowed, having set his own lunch down shortly after she started speaking. He'd been a bit relaxed before, a refreshing change of pace for how he had seemed lately, but now he slipped right back into that, frowning and appearing to struggle with something. "History probably won't care about what I think, but I'll always remember you." he said it quietly. "I suppose that doesn't really fix anything, though." He fell silent for a long moment, clearly thinking about something. He sat back, letting himself rest against the wall behind him and setting his hands somewhat tensely upon his thighs.

"Is that why you throw yourself at every challenge, then? No matter how big or how deadly?"

She shrugged. “I guess? I just feel like... if I'm gonna be good enough, I have to train with people who are better than good enough. Better than me. I can learn some tricks from almost anyone, but... I'm sure you've noticed I'm kind of small." Her smile was on the self-effacing side. It felt weird to wear it, but she did anyway. “Got some ground to make up, and all that."

The smile disappeared, and Khari shook her head. “And hey... you never know. Someday when they're writing all this shit down, they'll care what you thought. You're the Lord Inquisitor, after all. That's kind of a big deal." She'd honestly be really surprised if history didn't end up making a lot out of this whole Inquisition thing in general. “And even if it doesn't solve my problem... it's good to know. I like to think I get the 'being memorable' thing right on a personal level, at least." That time, her grin was genuine.

He smiled back a bit, but it was weak and faded quickly. "You know, despite everything that Nightmare did to us in the Fade... it was the fall from that bridge that got to me more. That was all I could think about after Estella got us out the other side. And you were there, bleeding from... dragon claws, and who knows what else." He tilted his head somewhat to the side, the memory troubling him.

"I've never really had to deal with attachments before, Khari. I could throw myself at whatever I was told to do, or whatever needed to be done here, and I never felt I needed to hold back. But it feels like it's getting more difficult." He took his eyes off the general vicinity of the garden and looked at her. "How many times have we thrown ourselves at the impossible now? We shouldn't have survived Corypheus at Haven, or a dozen times after it. I shouldn't have survived a fall into the Deep Roads, or physically walking the Fade. And you'll fight dragons and would-be gods without a second thought. I just..."

He grimaced, momentarily dropping his eyes, but he found hers again soon enough. "I don't want to lose you to any of this. And I don't want you to lose me. But I don't know what to do about it."

It wasn't an easy conundrum. Not for her, either. Khari raised a hand to the nape of her neck, slipping it under her thick curtain of hair and running callused fingers along the much softer skin there. Even she was still soft in some places, it seemed. “I dunno what to do myself." She pulled her mouth to the side, creases forming above her nose with the force of the tension in her brow. “The truth is, I've never really had that many attachments, either. I've had good reasons to avoid them, even." There was undeniably some part of her that still remembered what it was like, at least, to feel like she had a family. And maybe she knew a thing or two about having friends. But it fell far short of expertise. She'd never been as close to anyone as she was to some of the people here, Rom especially.

“When I saw the bridge collapse I thought..." She swallowed, moving her hand down to her upper arm on the other side and squeezing. It wasn't hard to sink back into that moment, really. It had been so vivid to her, like time had slowed down just to make sure every second of it was seared into her memory. A brand or stamp or something. She wasn't sure it was the kind of thing that would go away. “I don't know if I was thinking, for a minute there. But when I started again, the first thing I thought was I should have been there."

Khari tightened her grip on her arm through her sleeve, the faint pain of it grounding her in the present. Pain always did that, for her. If that was the reason battle appealed to her so much, she was even sicker than she thought. But it was a real possibility. “We're gonna fight stuff, both of us. And like it or not, one of us might—" She grit her teeth, a moment too long passing before she finished the thought. “One of us might die." That was just reality, as she'd been so forcefully reminded.

She turned slightly to meet his eyes. “But if it happens, I don't want to be somewhere else. I don't want to be thinking that I should have been there. And if this kills me, I don't care if it's a dragon or a Venatori or a demon or whatever. I wanna go because I was fighting with you. Does that... does that even make sense? I'm not sure it does." She huffed, dropping her hands back to her knees and shaking her head.

"It makes perfect sense," he said, sounding almost a little relieved. Maybe very relieved, if he was holding himself back like he often did. "I feel the same way." He paused for a moment, and then reached. Tentatively at first, but he seemed to make up his mind halfway through. He closed his fingers around the nearer of her hands. His own hand was warm. A little sweaty.

"I know I can't stop fighting. And I know I could never stop you from fighting with me. I don't want to. It's easier to fight when you're there." He exhaled slowly, seeming to force off some of the tension he was obviously feeling. "I want you to know that whatever challenge you end up taking, whether it's dragons, or becoming a chevalier, or getting the recognition I know you can earn... I'm with you." He smiled, a fragile thing that didn't find its way onto his face much. "As for the rest, we'll just... have to hope it goes our way."

Khari sighed, the sound turning almost into a laugh at the end, even if it was breathy and not at all as bombastic as it would have been ordinarily. “Yeah." She nodded. “Yeah, okay. And when you figure out just what you want out of life, make sure to tell me first. So I can be there for you, too." She squeezed his fingers just briefly. Her smile was much hardier than his, solid like it belonged on her face.

She figured it probably did.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
The burn in her muscles was a long familiar sensation, but Khari had to admit that MichÀel knew how to really bring up the intensity. She hadn't exactly been stagnating before she started training under him, but she'd lacked the knowledge he had. How to bring her exercise to the next level, so to speak, to maximize the efficiency of her drills so she was worn out by the end of a session, but not so battered she wouldn't be able to push through it again the next day.

She finished the last repetition, slowly letting her arms relax, and the heavy practice blade in her hands droop towards the ground, though she kept firm hold of it. He had her doing sword forms, which she didn't mind. Some people might have seen the repetition of fundamentals and things she'd already learned as insulting, but Khari at least understood the importance of maintaining the basics while trying to keep moving ahead. It was about time to finish for today, though, and she glanced to him just to confirm that there weren't any more drills he wanted her to run. Sometimes if he thought she wasn't exhausted enough, he made her do extra, the bastard. She appreciated it though; sometimes the last set was exactly what she needed.

"Alright, take a breath," MichÀel said, a practice sword of his own resting across his shoulder. To his credit, he always went through the forms alongside her, though he kept out of her way when she went through the more intensive practices--though his booming voice was always with her, demanding things, telling her to do better, be quicker, anything to push her to complete the next set.

Pierre was among them for this session, the boy having returned from his winter with his grandmother. The kid managed to find a few extra inches during his time away--eventually he'd even reach his old man's lofty height. He stood some distance away, watching their practice with piqued interest.

MichÀel looked skyward for a moment and judged how much sunlight they had left. "Right, to finish off, I have a surprise for you. Go outfit yourself in something comfortable to fight in, and find a practice blade that won't kill you to swing," He waited only a moment before he pounded his palm with the pommel of his own blade. "Go on now, we do not have all day.

Khari rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, fine. And people say I'm impatient." She really didn't want to waste time, though, so she took off at a brisk trot for the armory, despite the protestations of her legs at the additional punishment. She'd ignored worse.

Once inside, she shucked off her platemail shell, replacing it on one of the armor racks before sliding into something different. A little heavier than what she'd usually wear into the field, but it was still practice, and she still wanted to make it count. The blade, she changed out for one closer to Intercessor, but he'd specified that it was to be one of the blunt ones, so using her own was out of the question.

It didn't take her more than three minutes in total before she was jogging back onto the field, newly-equipped. Her time to get in and out of the plate was shrinking, thankfully.

"Decent time," MichÀel noted upon her return. He was alone now, Pierre apparently having departed while she was swapping out her equipment. "You'll have to bear with me for a while, your surprise will be ready in a moment," he said, with a rather mischievous grin.

About ten minutes passed before it finally arrived. Or rather, she. Lady Marceline strode toward them, Pierre trailing behind her. She was outfitted for what seemed like battle with her hair tied up into a bun and equipped with a suit of finely made plate. As she drew closer, it was apparently clear that the armor was custom made for her and her alone.

From a glance, the plates seemed lightweight and moved with her easily, with the thicker ones covering her chest, thighs and forearms, including a pair of boots and plated gloves. It left her joints exposed-- only black cloth between her skin and the air which accented the polished shine the rest of the armor was given. In lieu of her own personal coat-of-arms, the Inquisition's standard was instead engraved upon the chest piece, a flaming eye with a sword pointed downward behind it.

She was still adjusting her gloves when she pulled up to stand beside MichÀel. Pierre stopped not too far away, a pair of practice weapons resting in his hands. MichÀel wore a smile that was somehow both a mixture of pride and deviousness. "And here she is," introducing her with a flourish of his practice sword. "Lady Marceline."

Khari blinked. “You want me to spar Marcy? —Er, Lady Marceline, sorry." Khari wasn't against it—if the woman bothered to get really damn shiny custom armor made for herself, she probably knew what to do with it. She just figured it was kind of a weird thing to ask her to do. There were plenty of quick-footed types around he could have had her spar with instead, but this was the first time he'd actually set her against one on purpose. She'd been working on fighting people substantially physically stronger than herself, because most people were. Marcy was one of the few who really wasn't.

"That was his intention, yes," Marceline answered, inspecting the front and back of her glove. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she finally looked up and spared Khari a glance. A polite smile crossed lips before she turned expectantly toward Pierre. The boy took a step toward his mother and held out the weapons he'd carried with them for her to take. The first was a cup-hilt rapier of sorts though it held no cutting edge and the piercing tip was blunted-- a practice blade. The other was a shorter dagger, with a wide crossguard in addition to another cup to protect the hand.

Once in her hands, she spun the rapier once to test its weight and readjusted her grip to something more comfortable. "Unless you are against it?" Marceline added.

“Uh... no, not really." Khari shrugged. She wasn't the kind of person to turn down an interesting challenge, and while she had no idea what their angle was with all of this, she was willing to go along with it and find out the hard way. So she took a couple steps back, bowing in the genteel way Mick had said was the standard for duels or practice ones, and waiting for the indication that it was okay to begin, watching Marcy get into position and trying to read her likely moves from that.

Marceline took her place across from her and replicated the bow, and added "Death before dishonor." After the salute, Marceline settled into her stance, rapier facing the front and the dagger not too far away.

With that, MichÀel nodded toward his son, and Pierre began to count down. "Three, two, one-- début!"

The dagger was mostly meant to parry, but that would be kind of a dangerous thing for Marcy to try and do with one hand to Khari's two. Maybe she had other plans for it. In any case, she was going to get the best idea how the other woman fought by actually fighting with her. No point in wasting time. She lunged, swinging hard and fast for Marcy's midsection.

A shuffle of her feet and Marceline danced away from the swing. While the blade slipped passed her midsection, she was already taking steps forward while she tried slapping her rapier against Khari's hands-- in an effort to disrupt her timing than trying to do any damage considering their strength difference. The real damage would come from the dagger, as Marceline tried to close the distance quickly and put herself deep inside Khari's guard, the tinier blade making its way in an attempt to rest against Khari's neck.

A practice rapier wasn't going to do a lot to hands in plated gauntlets, but Khari noticed the hit, drawing back slightly. The distraction cost her, allowing Marcy to move in closer than she'd have let her otherwise. Khari'd had enough knives aimed for her throat to know what to look for, and while she couldn't block it, she turned her body slightly, rising onto the balls of her feet and leaning a bit aside.

The practice knife hit the gorget of her armor, just a few inches too low to actually threaten the exposed part of her neck, and Khari took the opportunity to shift her grip on her sword to one hand and grab for Marcy's arm. They were in grappling range now, and that was something she bet a fleet duelist didn't have to do often.

Khari felt an impact below the knee, Marceline's armored boot clashing against her shin plate. It did nothing more than provide another distraction however, but gave Marceline enough time to lean away from the grasping hand. She spun away and quickly put distance between them, coming to a stop and then resetting her stance.

"She is already doing better than you had, love," Marceline stated, though her eyes never left Khari. From somewhere to their side, Khari could hear MichÀel grunt and mutter something under his breath. Though she couldn't hear it, whatever it was made Pierre laugh. "Again, but this time pretend like you know what you are doing," Marceline taunted.

Khari scowled. The verbal hit glanced, as far as they went, but the near miss from before had already got her blood pumping, so to speak. She avoided sinking into the adrenaline or reaching for the anger that so often carried her through a fight. She wanted to understand everything that happened here, and she was honestly too tired to risk it at the moment. Not without a better reason than a spar.

Rolling her shoulders back, Khari bounced on her feet a few times, feeling the heaviness in her body from the day's practice, then doing her best to ignore it. Find whatever it was in her that let her forget that pain mattered, even if she couldn't quite forget that she was feeling it. When she lunged the second time, it was sudden. She hadn't braced herself or taken a deep breath or even shifted her weight. She just burst forward, like she'd seen Leon do from a dead stop, and swung low. Footwork was no help if your feet weren't under you.

Marceline wasn't caught off guard however, tilting her rapier down and driving the tip deep into the ground in between herself and Khari's blade. The sword stopped with a shudder, though the rapier's blade was thick and durable enough to take the hit with little give. As if to put a point on it, Marceline stepped on Khari's blade and taunted again. "Come now, you must do better," she said, ripping the rapier from the ground and replacing the distance between.

The fight continued in that manner, Marcy demonstrating grace, fluidity, and precision by evading or parrying every attack that Khari came at her with, usually punctuated with a taunt of some sort. Up until one moment Khari slipped up and exposed an opening. Marceline capitalized, thrusting her rapier forward and letting it rest against the crook between Khari's shoulder and neck. "Dead," she stated with a finality.

By that point, Khari's breath was coming hard and fast. She frowned when Marcy's blade touched the space between two of her armor plates. She might have debated whether taking a hit there would have killed her or not, but it was fair enough. She nodded, lowering her practice blade, and as soon as the rapier moved away, she doubled over, putting her hands on her knees and gulping in more air. Her arms and legs trembled slightly from exertion, but the dizziness would pass quickly if she regulated her breath and let it work its way out.

A minute later, she pushed away from her bend and stood upright again. She turned expectantly to Mick. This was the point where he usually told her how she'd fucked up and how to do better next time.

"If it makes you feel better, you fared better than I had when I first sparred with her," MichÀel stated, the pride clear in his voice. Though, it was difficult to tell if it was for her, or for Marceline. "She had me with that first maneuver with the dagger before Ser Lucas made us reset."

Marceline smiled at the memory. "I distinctly remember father laughing heavily all the while." Pierre had gone to his mother and graciously accepted both of her practice weapons, he then went to Khari to see if she wished to pass it off onto him as well.

MichÀel frowned and deigned not to respond to that, instead turning back to Khari. "Regardless, it taught me the same lesson I attempting to teach you now... Do you know what it was?" he asked, his hands resting on the pommel of his practice sword.

She had a pretty good idea, honestly. Hesitating before handing her weapon off to Pierre—it felt weird to have other people do that kind of thing for her—she sighed. “That I need to be more patient and fight smarter?" It wouldn't be a lesson about underestimating anyone, because Khari hadn't done that. So that left something about how Marcy fought that Mick thought she needed to work on. And she really doubted the takeaway was that she needed to mock people while she sparred with them, so...

"Correct, though taunting is optional," MichÀel answered, sparing Marceline a sidelong glance. She simply shrugged and crossed her arms.

"Understand that there will always be someone stronger and faster than you or I, but you can always be the more patient one. Conserve your strength while they waste theirs and allow them to make their mistakes so that you can exploit them." She glanced at MichÀel, "The taunting helps in expediting that, but yes. It is optional."

MichÀel chuckled, taking a small victory in her own admission. "Granted, I am not telling you to fight like Marcy. There is only one Khari and one Marcy-- and that one is mine. I simply want you to incorporate the knowledge into the tactics you are learning, understand?"

“Well, yeah. Not like I'm gonna go pick up a glorified fireplace poker and a knife now." She grinned to show she wasn't serious about the poker part, than shrugged. “But... I can try some of it, sure." She didn't really do the 'conserving energy' thing; Khari only got around some of her bigger challenges because she had so much to expend, but... she could think about how to do so in smarter ways, at least.

“Thanks for the fight, Marcy." She bowed again, just like at the start, and nodded to Mick. It seemed like practice was over today. Now was probably a nice time to soak in a tub somewhere to make sure she could move tomorrow.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
They were home. Or the closest thing to it, as far as she was concerned. Besides, Skyhold had its moments. While Zahra would always prefer the sea, there was something about kicking your legs up on the ramparts, staring out across the snowy mountain peaks. Star strewn and cut across cliffs as if it were a weed that didn’t belong but refused to grow anywhere else. In some cases, she supposed the Inquisition carried on the same way. Not that she minded. It carried her to places she otherwise wouldn’t have found herself. Though some adventures, she supposed, she wouldn’t have minded skipping.

She opened her hand skyward and flexed her fingers, staring between her knuckles for a moment. The redness was fading with each session she had with Asala and the scars looked less unappealing. Fortunately she wasn’t as pale as Skyhold’s peaks, because her dark skin tended to camouflage it for the most part. Unless someone were to look at it closely, or if the light touched it at certain angles, one might not notice the spiderweb flesh threading up her arm and into shoulder. At least, it was something she constantly told herself. The Inquisition harbored plenty of scarred individuals. People didn’t wage war against dragons and Gods without acquiring at least a few.

Zahra dropped her hand to her side and shook her head. Of course, that’s not why she was out here. She’d found a nice spot up one of the tallest towers, hidden behind a latched door. Perhaps, it wasn’t meant to be explored. But who would stop them? Either way, it had a spectacular view of the mountains surrounding their little keep, and she wanted to share it with someone else. She’d already stolen into the kitchen, and slipped several sweet tarts into her handkerchief, before darting back outside. A little encouragement to steal a particular person away from her studies—if that’s what she could call it. Pounding on dummies, and people. An education in bruises, more like.

As soon as she rounded the bend, she slowed her footsteps and took to leaning against the fence surrounding the practice yard. She leaned her elbows across one of the beams and watched Khari for a moment.

“Care for a break? I’ve got sweets to share,” she cleared her throat and laughed, “and another person to recruit on the way.”

Khari seemed to be at her practice alone at the moment, which was probably a good sign. She had actual instructors these days, or something like that. Fancy-looking fellow in fancy-looking armor. But neither he nor Estella nor anyone else was around at the moment, and it took Khari only a couple of seconds to decide, shrugging her shoulders. “Gimme a couple minutes to stow my gear, but sure." She had said she wasn't much of a sweets person, but the company seemed to be more than enough incentive, anyhow.

Once she'd shed her armor and weapons and properly put them away, she shook out her loose shirt a little, peeling it away from her skin now that she didn't need to wear metal over it anymore. She was a bit sweaty, but as far as either of them could tell, she didn't smell that bad. Once they were back where they'd started, she tilted her head. “Are we looking for Rom, or someone else?"

Zahra’s grin widened as soon as she accepted the invitation. She wasn’t very good at taking no for an answer, anyhow. She probably would’ve pestered her into going eventually. Wearing people down was a skill of hers. She’d tied the bundle of goods to the sash wound around her waist. It bounced against her hip, but she supposed they’d still be in good shape by the time they reached their destination.

“Good guess, that’s where I was headed next,” she tilted her head and flourished a hand in front of her, indicating that she should take the lead, “Don’t suppose you know where he’s hiding?”

“Most likely the undercroft; let's try there first."

“First stop: Undercroft,” Zahra affirmed with an arched eyebrow. She’d often wondered what he did down there—last she’d seen, with all the various weights and contraptions, she figured he and Khari were pretty similar. Always training to become stronger, in whatever form they could. If she was being honest, she’d never been one to try all that hard. Training with Marceline’s rapiers was possibly one of the most difficult things she’d undertaken. Studying those dry books, however, had proven much worse than sweating as she practiced her footwork.

She’d improved over the last few months. Become less clumsy with her blades; enough that Marceline complimented her on her form, though it was difficult to tell if she wasn’t just trying to make her feel better. A bow always felt better in her hands; she never thought she would’ve gained new callouses, ripped over the old ones. But here she was. An old dog learning new tricks.

It didn’t take them long to reach the Undercroft. Though she’d only been there a handful of times, Zahra often occupied herself by drunkenly exploring Skyhold’s hidden pathways whenever she could. Which was often, as she often took residence in the Herald Rest’s corner
 listening to the lovely singing lass who’d already begun writing songs about her companions. Of a feisty redhead who fought like a bear. She enjoyed hearing them.

The door had been left slightly ajar
 which was odd, considering how mysterious the room was. There was an even stranger noise inside. The clanking of metal? She glanced sidelong at Khari and shrugged her shoulders, tipping the door open with the toe of her boot. Let it be known, she wasn’t one for embracing privacy. For good measure, she wrapped her knuckles on the wood of the door and added, “You in there, ducky?”

"It's." Clang. "Open." Clang.

Upon entering, they were once again treated to the sight of Rom with his shirt off, rippling musculature of his upper body straining as he held onto a metal bar suspended by a series of rungs fastened into the wall. He was about halfway up it at this point, each burst of effort carrying him one rung higher with another metallic clang. When he finally reached the top, he let go with one hand, still dangling by the other and twisting the quarter turn necessary to look at them.

"Are we going somewhere?"

Zahra’s snort idled somewhere between a laugh and beaming smirk. She elbowed Khari softly in the ribs, and waggled her eyebrows. Her expression fell quick enough for Rom to miss. Besides, she somehow doubted that she would’ve caught onto her razing—the girl was strange when it came to anything that resembled intimacy, or else
 maybe she was a little too straight-forward. Blunt as a dull blade. Definitely difficult to tease. Even so, she wasn’t blind enough not to notice the connection they had, or the looks Rom shot her. Poor lad.

“A little adventure, is all,” she proposed and held the bundle aloft, “I found this nice little place with an incredible view. Up high. So, you might want a shirt.” A laugh rattled free from her lips as she swung the folded handkerchief back over her shoulder, “Though I don’t think anyone would complain if you didn’t.” In all likelihood, they probably wouldn’t. There were plenty of young women, and men, who’d ogle the Inquisition’s motley crew. From the handsome elf, to the beautiful Commander, and all of their pretty women, it wasn’t any wonder when she heard the barmaids whispering.

Taking the bar in both hands again, Rom wrenched it back and fell to the ground, landing smoothly with a slight bend through his legs. He laughed softly a bit, clearing his throat. "Right. Give me a minute." He grabbed a towel, setting down the bar on a table, where he snatched a small, drained potion bottle, still with a few not yet dried drops of some bright orange-colored liquid. He carried the bottle over to his alchemy station, setting it down with a few others, and took a drink of what was probably water from a skin.

"I could use a break, sure." He wiped away the sweat quickly, throwing a shirt over his head and grabbing his cloak on the way towards them. "A good view sounds nice."

Nosy as Zahra was, she’d noted the oddly-colored liquid sloshing around in the vial he carried. How could she not? It was bright orange. Orange like the sunset when it crept up the horizon, painting everything it touched. She made a humming noise, but made no mention of it. Perhaps, normally she would have, but she’d learned over the course of their stay in Griffon’s Keep that if Rom had no intention of sharing something
 he avoided it entirely. Prying was ineffective, much to her dismay.

“This way, then.” She stood back from the door to allow him through and took the lead once more. This time, their destination took them through winding corridors and past a pantry with stacked bottles. Old vintages she’d found when she was probing Skyhold’s belly for something interesting. There was plenty to find in this old place, if one looked hard enough. Almost seemed as if she found something new every day. Then, there were stairs. Many, many stairs. While Rom and Khari might’ve not minded the physical exertion, Zahra disliked it.

Not enough to dissuade her from showing them, but enough that she held her breath to keep from panting. How embarrassing that would be. Archers hardly ran, though. A good excuse as any. Better to pin someone’s tongue from afar, then skip around close, dodging blades in a pool of sweat. When they reached the rickety wooden ladder, she swept her hand in front of her, and took the first step. She’d already climbed it before, and it had held. Not much different from swaying on ropes—admittedly, she’d trust any ship’s ropes over some of the things she’d found in Skyhold.

As soon as she reached the wooden latch, Zahra pushed it open and felt a breeze sweep past her face. A welcomed one, as sweat was already trickling down the back of her neck. She hauled herself up another step and pushed the latch clear, thumping it off to the side, in order to allow the others through. Pulling herself onto the tower's spacious platform, she plopped the bundle down and stretched out her arms wide, feeling the crack of bones in her shoulders. The view really was amazing. It faced the largest section of mountains, on the northern side. Kind of looked like three fingers, cutting into the clouds. The wind was stronger up here, as well, though she doubted they would mind.

The breeze was strong enough to stir Khari's hair around her head, or at least the little ones that always escaped from her vivid red braid, wayward curls left to float about her crown. It rippled through her linen shirt as well, like it might tug at a pennant hoisted from the tower roof, but the elf didn't seem to mind. “You know me: always happy to feel a little taller." She grinned, settling herself down into a crosslegged position that faced her out towards the mountains, still visible through the gaps in the crenelations, at least. “Sometimes more than a little, I guess."

"I'd sneak to the top of towers in Minrathous sometimes," Rom reminisced, making his way to one of the corners and peering out over the edge. "On business, usually, though sometimes I'd find excuses. A... friend of mine would pick out the locations, advise me on my route, pick the locked doors. We enjoyed looking down on the city. We were a different kind of small then, I suppose." He took a step back, observing the impressive height of the Frostbacks all around him.

"Here you climb to the top of the tallest towers, and the world still dwarfs you on all sides." He didn't seem to mind it, though, turning and settling his back into the corner, clearly relaxed with the height.

Somehow, the thought of a small, wee Rom scurrying through towers, looking down at the city that seemed to dwarf him
 felt like it painted a better picture of him. Zahra had never thought to prod of his past. There were things there, scars that ran deeper than she’d care to scratch. Everyone did, she supposed. The Inquisition was ripe with damaged, broken people. Birds of a feather, flocked together. Besides, dredging up painful pasts wasn’t something she enjoyed. Even she had boundaries.

She, too, understood what it was like to feel small. Not just physically. Growing up in a shitty fishing village had a habit of making you feel so small that you’d be gobbled up by the world. She nodded her head and unraveled the bundle holding the sweet tarts, snatching one up to nibble on as they talked. She’d taken one of the corners as well, leaning her back against the stone ledge so that she could still face them. “Skyhold’s allure. Sometimes, I think it’s the Inquisition that feels so big I’m not sure what to do with it.”

Zahra shoved the rest of the sweet tart in her mouth and spoke around it, “Minwafous, waf was da like?” Manners? None. As soon as she swallowed, she thumped her chest and added, “Never been there.”

Khari didn't hide her interest in what his answer would be, though there was a hint of caution in her expression as well. As though she might not have chosen to ask it herself.

Perhaps Zahra had caught him in a good mood, as he didn't seem disinclined to discuss it. "Ask around the south and they'd tell you it's a den of evil. Birthplace of sin, or something. Maybe in some rooms, at some times. But Minrathous is just a city when it comes down to it. A warm one, at least; the weather is almost always nice. As long you don't mind rain in the summers." It wasn't so different to Rivain in that regard, considering how far north it was.

"Every city has its own personality. Minrathous revolves around magic, and the slave trade can become overbearing when a magister puts some scheme into play. But there are rich and poor, young and old. Glassy eyed soldiers back from Seheron or marines from the Ventosus. Most slaves suffer no worse than the poor in the south, especially the elves. Some slaves can live quite comfortably, with the right master."

He fell silent for a moment, perhaps pondering that and how it related to him. "What I did bought me freedoms in some ways and restrictions in others. I don't know if I'm best suited to tell you what the city is like, as it wasn't often I allowed myself to live it, so to speak."

“That’s a shame, then. Sounds like a nice place to live, all things considered,” Zahra lamented with a nod, wiping the crumbs from her face, “Though I admit, even the word slave leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.” Treated well or not. Of course, he’d know better than she would.

Still, it represented a complete lack of freedom. A tether bound to ankles. A way of life she couldn’t imagine. Not just in a moral sense, though she still detested it. While Tevinter expressed the apex of slavery in Thedas
 Rivain was fairly open in trade, even if its cargo were made of flesh and bone.

“I was set to marry someone from there,” she wasn’t sure why she’d even said it. It wasn’t something she usually shared, or even mentioned at all. Maybe, it was easier to share something when someone else did, “A magister’s son. Might’ve bumped into you, if I’d went along with it.” She swung a gaze down at Khari and rolled her eyes, grinning, “Can you imagine? Me, lofty wife?”

A trophy. Sold off by their own family. It was a tradition she’d never understood.

“I almost ended up in Tevinter, once." Khari bit into one of the tarts and shrugged. “I was just a kid, but I spent a lot of time in the woods by myself, in a region with lots of bandit gangs. I think you can guess what happened." She snorted, arching both eyebrows at Zahra. “And I dunno. I could kinda see it. You dragging some poor lady around, pulling the wool over the eyes of everyone in court. Scourge of dignified personages everywhere. Like a fireball into one of their fancy organized topiaries." Her grin suggested she quite liked the idea.

“I can picture it,” Zahra’s laugh had lost its bitter bite, and the crinkle around her eyes was genuine. It wasn’t a far stretch imagining Khari running through the woods—though it surprised her that she’d done it alone. She’d half expected her to drag a crew along for whatever misadventures she could muster up, “But you were too quick for them, I bet.” How different would their lives have been if Khari had been shuttered away in Tevinter? If Rom hadn’t broken his physical chains? If she’d surrendered herself to her fate?

She scratched at her chin. The way Khari imagined it would go
 didn’t sound so bad. Bedding someone she had no desire or attraction to, with the expectancy of bearing an heir was much less appealing. A man, no less. She didn’t think she had the political know-how to manipulate lords and ladies anyhow, much less a court of snob-nosed dignitaries. “They’d probably retire me to the dungeons for not keeping my mouth shut.”

“A fireball in court, though. I could get behind that.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Vesryn was in a good mood, despite the difficulties he'd been facing lately.

The most recent of those had been blocking Estella's attacks. Stel, he reminded himself. She was very quick, decisive, without hesitation. He suspected her teacher's training had transformed her, and still was transforming her, in a similar way to how Saraya had done for him. As far as he had gathered, they were comparable ages when they had first encountered their respective tutors. Vesryn likely even had something of a head start. Still, he found her very difficult to repulse, and rarely did he properly anticipate the correct moment to counter attack. It was a good session, one he felt he'd sorely needed, and he hoped she at least gleaned something from it as well. How to attack a well armored enemy, how to get around a large shield without leaving herself exposed. That sort of thing.

But for the moment he could relax, in isolation with Saraya now that Stel had departed. She had an excellent training area, here in the bottom of their spymaster's tower. Out of the way, cool and quiet, protected from both the weather and the eyes of everyone in Skyhold. The perfect place for Vesryn to embarrass himself until he felt he was competent.

Saraya had been dormant as he'd requested for his practice with Stel, but she returned now that they had a moment. He wasn't expecting Khari for another few minutes at least. Saraya was supportive at least of his efforts to practice on his own, though as always since his return from the Fade, she was almost constantly troubled. Vesryn had noticed it slipping into his mood at times, some kind of foreign pessimism, thinking that something was going to go wrong soon. He didn't even know what, specifically, he was worried about. What she was worried about. He wished more than anything things could go back to the way they were, before the Fade, before the scream, before Nostariel died. But much like the past of the People, that couldn't be changed.

The sound of footsteps approaching outside drew his attention, and he took one more swig from his water skin, getting back to his feet and picking up the large training axe that served as the replacement for his bardiche.

Khari entered the ring with little fanfare. From the sheer lack of surprise in evidence in her expression, she'd already known it was here. Since she and Stel apparently trained together, that wasn't much of a shock. She was armored for practice, more heavily than the last time they'd had a match, but the blunt claymore in her grip was similar enough to what she'd previously used.

“Hey, Ves." She set the blade over her shoulders with one hand and put the other on her hip, flashing a smile. A bit less of one than she frequently wore for Stel or Romulus, but a smile all the same. She seemed to be in a good mood. “Stel said you were interested in another round, so Mick let me leave drills a little early. Anything you had in mind, or were we just gonna try beating on each other till I'm in the dirt again?" It didn't seem to be an entirely unappealing idea to her, based on the tone she used to say it.

"Thought I'd spare us the audience this time," Vesryn replied, returning the smile, though it soon disappeared entirely behind his helm. "Also thought I'd spare my nose." Of course, it was more than just his arresting good looks he was concerned for. Blunted or otherwise, that blade she carried had a fair amount of weight to it, and he'd seen firsthand how quickly Khari could swing it. He had no intention of revealing the disadvantage he was giving himself to begin with, as he didn't want Khari to be fighting him with any sort of different mindset or evaluation of him.

That got a laugh out of her, actually, and she unhooked something from her belt before showing it to him. It was the metal half-mask she wore sometimes. “I had the same thought about my jaw, actually." She fastened it over her face, making sure it was secure behind her pointed ears.

He took a few steps onto the well-churned dirt pit, rolling his shoulders and testing his grip on the axe. "Whenever you're ready, then."

Khari took the sword off her shoulders, stepping so that her feet were slightly further apart and gripping it firmly in both hands. Already, the way she stood seemed a little more... solid. Sure, or something like that. “Here we go, then." It was no formal signal, but it was enough for both of them to know the match had begun.

She didn't leap at him immediately, though. Instead, she circled a bit, turning the sword in her hands so it whistled dully through the air in an arc, returning to center smoothly while she still moved. Her eyes swept over his stance, clearly trying to find some kind of weakness she might exploit. Her tongue clicked against her teeth; either she'd found what she wanted, or she was tired of looking, because she sprang, going for his left-hand side.

She was fast, her swing coming in hard from the left. Vesryn shifted the shaft of the axe to intercept it, the weapon smashing against it with a resounding thud. He'd blocked too low, and the hit jarred against the side of his right hand, pain flaring through his fingers under the armored gauntlet. He reeled back a step, and in came another hit, now from the other side. He at least saw that one all the way through and rebounded it away, but he couldn't help but feel Saraya would've found a way to expose Khari with it, and immediately follow up.

Regardless, he had a window to do something, so he pushed forward and make a shoving check at her chest-level, holding his weapon horizontally, aimed to create the proper space for him to land a strike. The attack he made was a broad and heavy slash, trying to bring a crushingly heavy swing down on her diagonally. One thing that was the same regardless of having Saraya or not was his physical strength, something he would need here.

She swung up suddenly to meet it, smacking his axe away at an angle that threw open his guard. Swiftly, Khari stepped in, body-checking him while he was still off-balance from the parry. She didn't actually follow up when he hit the ground, though, a look of open confusion crossing her face as she took a step back instead. “That worked?" She sounded as incredulous as she looked, eyes wide, then narrowing quickly. “That wasn't supposed to work. Are you feeling okay, Ves?"

It was too slow, too predictable, too... something. And he'd failed to move with her parry, lost his balance as a result, and left himself completely open to the body check. Had she not been so surprised by her success he would've been defending himself from the ground, but instead he shoved himself back up, ignoring her incredulity.

"Wonderful," he answered dryly, advancing. "Stop gawking and fight me." If she remained incredulous, he'd hit her with the quick pommel strike he aimed for her gut, or the heavy horizontal swing he followed it up with, enough weight behind it to take her off her feet, if all went to plan.

The pommel strike connected, though the armor she wore there was a fair amount of protection, and it didn't stun her long enough for the second attack to connect. She recovered from her surprise and threw her body to the side, hitting the ground in a roll not unlike one of those Stel had made use of in their spar earlier. Khari, too, immediately went back on the attack, aiming for his legs this time.

It was a bloody quick roll, too, something even Saraya preferred to avoid attempting in the plate that Vesryn wore. Perhaps with some kind of advanced magic it could be made to work, but Vesryn was no arcane warrior, nor was he as quick as Khari. Maybe it was just the lack of guidance from Saraya, but Khari seemed a great deal quicker than she had been when last they fought. Much had changed since then, he supposed. The hit connected with the back of his right leg, taking him to a knee. A sharp weapon would've done much more damage than that. He managed to get his pommel around her side and shove her away before another followup strike could be made.

Still, she was attacking as soon as he'd regained his feet. He blocked the first strike, went to retaliate with an elbow, but she ducked under it. Short, annoying woman. He took another hit to his side, armor saving him from most of it. Gritting his teeth, he reached to grapple her by the arm, but she twisted around that too, using his own arm against him to give a hard shoulder bash into his back. He only barely regained his balance in time to get his weapon in front of the heavy swing she aimed at him next, but the recoil of it still drove him to a knee for a moment.

He growled, shaking out his arms. "The Lord Inquisitor teach you that one? You two doing much wrestling in there, I suppose?"

She backed off again, more deliberately this time. “Uh... yeah? Rom's really good at grappling and stuff, so I asked him to teach me how. Or he volunteered. I don't remember which." His tone seemed to throw her a bit, but that alone didn't explain why she'd stopped attacking a second time. Her brows furrowed heavily over her eyes; she looked almost uneasy, though the mask made it hard to tell for sure.

“Look, are you going to tell me what's going on here? I've gotten better since Haven and all, but I know I'm not this much better. You're not acting like you're holding back for my sake, and thank you for that, but what gives?" She seemed genuinely concerned, and it was clear enough that Stel had not given her this particular set of details.

Vesryn sighed. And here he'd hoped he would be able to put up a decent enough fight to at least get through most of it without her pulling up and forcing him to explain. He held his arms a bit out to the sides. "What you see here is a demonstration of how well I fight without Saraya's help. Very impressive, I know." He flipped his axe around and planted the butt into the dirt. "Fierce for a city elf, I'm sure, but not much compared to demons."

He pulled his helmet off, running a gloved hand through the sweat-slicked silver hair that came tumbling out. "The demon we faced in the Fade at Adamant affected my mind. Saraya was forced to withdraw in order to keep me functioning. Our battles didn't go well. And you know how it turned out." Five stumbling, bleeding, weary and wounded souls coming out of a rift, where six had entered. It wasn't hard to fill in some details, even if she didn't know the story.

"I didn't tell you because I'd hoped to face you before you knew. Apparently I'm not a match for that, though. If you'd prefer we return to the way it was at Haven, I'm sure Saraya will indulge you." Even now he could feel confidence in his mind from her. Saraya never stopped studying those she might be forced to fight. "But I need to become someone that can be relied on, in the event that I find myself on my own again."

“You could have just said so. Would have been able to do this without worrying that you were hiding an injury or something stupid." Khari's tone was very matter-of-fact; clearly she wasn't especially pleased with the deception involved, but she chose not to dwell on it. “You wanna be better by yourself, right? So fight me by yourself. There are plenty of people around here to kick my ass—I'll get that on my own time." She reset her stance, adopting something a bit more defensive this time.

“Let's do this again, shall we?" Several bright teeth were visible at the mask's grated gaps, suggesting a grin; clearly any transgression on his part was easily forgiven.

Before she faded away once more, Vesryn felt a bit of disappointment from Saraya. Hoping to pummel the would-be chevalier elf just once. But it was as Khari said: she had her regular training for that. This was for Vesryn, and for him alone.

He'd have to remind himself of that, every time she gave him a new bruise.

He dropped his helmet back down into place and took his axe in both hands. "There's no one I'd rather dance with, little bear."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
In point of fact, most of the personnel that had arrived to occupy and maintain Caer Bronach, as this keep was called, were Rilien's. Apparently, the place was quite ideal for his purposes, and Estella didn't doubt that if he thought so, it must be. That likely had something to do with the location more than any particular feature of the castle itself, but she didn't know exactly what. That meant in addition to Khari, Zahra, and Asala arriving to represent the irregulars, Rilien himself had come as well.

They'd practiced early this morning, long before most of the other occupants of the keep were even awake, and after lunch several of the others had taken their leave to deal with leftover bandits, as she understood things. Since that group included Ves, Zethlasan, and the latter's taciturn guardian Shaethra, Astraia had been left at the fort. Estella felt a little bad that all of her friends were elsewhere, so she'd tried to make up for it a little, taking Astraia around the keep to meet a few of the others and explain more about the kinds of things the Inquisition did, and the places they'd been lately. The young elven woman seemed more than happy to do that, and in fact looked to be a bit more relaxed than she had throughout the previous day.

They were out on the keep's walls now, though. The weather had held long enough to dry the stone, and Estella pulled herself up onto a crenelation, crossing her legs underneath her. The view wasn't bad, though it would never compare to Skyhold's, of course. “Have you traveled much, Astraia?" she asked, picking up a thread of their former conversation. “I know clans move around, of course, but if I remember right, they usually have a pretty set wandering area, don't they?"

"They do," she confirmed, nodding her head. Bits and baubles in her hair had a way of clinking together when she did that. "My clan, Thremael, hasn't left the Tirashan in many years. Since before I was born. I ventured beyond it a few times with Zeth or Keeper Varalan, but only a little. This is my first time in a place like Ferelden. It's very... wet, here." Tirashan Forest was large and isolated, nestled against the mountains of western Orlais and separated from that empire's cities by a great stretch of marshes. There would be little reason for humans to travel out that way, likely offering Astraia and her clan a great deal of privacy.

"I'm going to go with the Keeper and Zeth to the next Arlathvhen, our meeting of the clans, next year. I don't know where I'll end up after that." As a mage not named First of a clan, if Astraia was attending the Arlathvhen with her Keeper, it meant in all likelihood she would be given to another clan, one in need of a mage. It wasn't clear how she felt about that, but she managed a little smile. "I hope it's somewhere nice, though."

Estella considered that for a moment, humming a soft note and glancing out at the dark landscape ahead. “That sounds awfully lonely," she confessed quietly. “Leaving your family and going somewhere you can't predict, where there are only strangers." A rueful smile twisted her lips. “Actually... I know it's lonely. Or at least it was for me, when I left mine." Not that she'd ever had much. When it came down to it, there was probably only one person in the world she could call family.

Letting her eyes fall, she smoothed her palm over her knee. She hadn't worn much by way of armor today, just durable leather trousers and a simple, loose tunic. It was one of her old Lions ones, maroon-colored with a wide silver neckline. “Is that why you're traveling now, then? To see a little more before you have to go?" Admittedly, it seemed like it had a bit more purpose than that. Estella tried not to spend too much time worrying about other people's business, but she also knew she was at least somewhat intuitive, and she hadn't missed a few rougher edges of discomfort—both in the little group's dynamic and their dynamic with Ves, not to mention what Lia said about her first meeting with them. Though she thought that could mostly be attributed to Zethlasan.

"That's why Zeth said I should come with him," she answered. She eyed the spot next to Estella for a moment, and then decided to hop up onto it, propping her staff against the wall and taking a minute to smooth out the asymmetrical skirt over her hide leggings. "He thinks it'll help me to see some more of the world before I become First for some other clan." She didn't seem to disagree with the sentiment, but there was definitely more to it than that. Perhaps just some trepidation at being unable to escape the eventuality of assuming her brother's role among a group of strangers.

"Zeth's been looking for ruins, though, for the most part. We've been trying to find places all across Orlais, though we had to avoid anything too close to the war. And now Ferelden. We haven't had much luck, but every now and then we find something, and Zeth studies it." She paused, tilting her head somewhat thoughtfully to the side. "I think he wants to find some of the places Ves told us about, but... I don't know a lot of what they used to talk about. Just a little. And Zeth, he... doesn't share as much anymore."

Now there was something else she knew a lot about. Not the particulars, of course, but definitely the generalities. “Brothers," she murmured, shaking her head. She turned slightly, half-smiling at Astraia. “Mine can be pretty secretive, too. I think it's because he doesn't want me to worry about him, but it usually has the opposite effect." Estella sighed, leaning back on the palms of her hands and unfolding her legs so they dangled over the edge of the crenelations. She'd been afraid of heights, once. That hadn't survived Rilien's influence.

Her heels tapped rhythmically against the stone; spring was warmer here than Skyhold, downright pleasant even considering the rain. “It sounds like things used to be different with Zeth, though." It was a gentle prompt, one easily ignored if Astraia chose to. But it seemed like something she might want to talk about, and Estella somehow didn't imagine that this was something she could easily share with other members of her clan.

"He's not my brother, actually," she said quietly, as though the information was quite dangerous. "Not really. He was born in Val Foret, but ran. Our clan found him, and my family adopted him. I was seven, and hadn't discovered my magic yet. He'd managed to hide his, but he never really talked about the Alienage with us." She suddenly seemed a bit alarmed by what she was saying. "Please. Don't let him know I told you that. He doesn't like when people know he wasn't born Dalish."

She didn't seem afraid of the consequences, necessarily, but if he wasn't fond of others knowing his past, it would undoubtedly make things more uncomfortable than they were already. "I think he... feels like he has more to prove, or something. He's always been that way. Trying to impress the Keeper, do something meaningful for the People. He was very infatuated with Ves when they met, and then when Ves told him about Saraya, he—" Immediately she cut herself off, appearing quite a bit more alarmed by what she'd just said. It was almost enough to hear her heart rate spiking.

"Uh, that's Vesryn's... sister. In Denerim." Her face was turning red quite quickly. She was a terrible liar.

Estella was immediately torn. She wished she'd had a chance to ask Ves about this, for some idea of how he'd prefer that she handle the situation. But without any clues, she'd just have to try her best, and the obvious panic Astraia was experiencing at having let the name slip wasn't something she felt comfortable ignoring. “It's okay," she said, sitting up a little straighter and folding her hands in her lap. “I... know who you're talking about. It's um... it's not general knowledge or anything, but, uh." She figured it was best to keep that vague, but she definitely didn't want to outright lie and say she was the only one.

“I won't tell anyone it slipped if you don't tell anyone I did?" She shrugged, offering a slightly-awkward smile. It hadn't been so much a slip as an intentional cue, but she figured they could at least put them back on even footing this way.

She stared at Estella for a moment, words not immediately coming forth. "Oh. You know?" She blinked several times, turning her gaze down. "Of course. You're an Inquisitor, that makes sense. Okay. And yes. I'll try not to say anything else. About Vesryn's sister. In Denerim." She huffed out a breath, rubbing at her face for a few seconds.

"I wanted to say I was sorry, also. For shocking you in the cave. I didn't mean for that to happen." Despite making an apology, she found herself smiling a little. "When I heard we were going to meet the Inquisition, I didn't think it would be like this. You. The Inquisitor. You're very nice."

At that point, the sound of approaching footsteps ended the conversation for them. Someone was not being particularly subtle about their approach. “Hey Stel, Ril here says that—oh. Uh. Hey." Khari cut off whatever she'd been about to say, presumably when she'd noticed Estella was not currently alone.

There were a few heartbeats too many of awkward silence, after which Rilien, obviously not in the least bothered by it, spoke. “There is a task I must attend to. Khari believes it might provide a welcome opportunity to leave the fortress for some time, and invited herself to participate." That didn't seem to bother him, either. If anything, Estella might have detected the faintest trace of amusement. Probably at the other elf's straightforward audacity.

“When you put it that way, I sound like a—never mind." She crossed her arms over her chest, but since she was smiling, it probably didn't actually bother her. “But yeah. We're gonna go look for a missing guy. You guys want to come?" Awkwardness aside, she extended the invitation quite readily to the both of them.

A missing person? Presumably one of Rilien's agents. Estella glanced from Khari to Astraia, tilting her head at the latter. “How do you feel about horses? We don't have to go if you'd rather stay here, but it might be nice to get out of the fort for a bit." Rilien wouldn't have so readily agreed to this whole thing if he expected it to be especially bloody or troublesome. That was bad news, in a way, since she expected it meant he planned to either not find the agent, or find him already deceased.

"I'd like to go," she agreed, sliding off the edge of the wall and landing lightly back on her feet. "Though... I've only ever ridden halla before, and I've been told riding horses is quite different." Nevertheless, she offered a smile and a little nod to Khari and Rilien. "Aneth ara. I'm Astraia. I'm a friend of Vesryn's."

“Khari." She looked like she was thinking of offering a hand out or something, but ultimately she kept them where they were. She did retain the smile, though. “I'm a friend of Stel's."

Rilien, on the other hand, dipped himself into a half-bow in the same evenhanded way he did most things. “Rilien Falavel. I am Estella's tutor." It was probably considerably wiser not to bring up the spymaster bit.

With the introductions complete, the group headed down to the small stable being used to house the few horses that had been brought out. In addition to a few sleek runners doubtless intended for Rilien's messengers, Nox had been stabled here, as had Khari's red roan. Rilien had a charger as well, though not one quite so tall and swift as Estella's, a pale grey mare with a darker nose and feet. Considering Astraia's inexperience, it was decided that she'd do better riding behind the Inquisitor, so it was only three horses that passed out of the gates of Caer Bronach.

“We will head south from here. Keep an eye out for anything that doesn't seem to belong, but do not trouble yourselves overmuch. I will watch for the more direct signs." Rilien took the front of the formation, leaving the other two horses to ride abreast behind him.

Astraia seemed to take Rilien's advice to heart, and focused more on the scenery than anything else. They were only occasionally running into the lightest of rains today, making it not as punishing to point one's face towards the sky. Eventually, however, her interest settled on Khari, where perhaps it hadn't ever left. "I didn't know there were Dalish in the Inquisition," she commented, perhaps hoping it might strike up some conversation.

“Not many." Khari shrugged, a tad awkwardly. “There's Cyrus's friend Thalia—she's Relaferin. And Lia's... I think her mentor was Dalish, or something like that. And, uh, me, I guess." She wrinkled her nose. “I'm not a very good Dalish, though." Perhaps her heavier armor and rather large sword spoke to that more effectively than any words she could use. Neither was traditionally an implement of clan warriors or hunters, who seldom wielded anything that would not fit most naturally in one hand at melee distance, or so she'd told Estella.

"Oh." Astraia fell silent for a moment behind Estella. "Me neither."

“Really?" Khari sounded quite surprised, but something about her posture actually relaxed despite that. Her brows furrowed, distorting the smooth, fine lines of her vallaslin. “What did they tell you was wrong with you? Not excited to wander in a forest the rest of your life? Love the wrong people? Not good enough at the things they decide you should do?" There was a slight edge to Khari's tone, but it wasn't something easily-classifiable. She didn't sound angry, at any rate, and the question itself was seemingly well-meant.

"Um." Astraia seemed a bit taken aback by the questions, but it was hard to tell while she was sitting directly behind Estella. "That last one." She was quiet for a long moment, before she apparently decided to elaborate, and expelled a breath out her nose. "I set an aravel on fire by accident when I was eight. Middle of the night. Burned a few people pretty bad before we could get out. That was the start of it, I suppose."

“Discovering your magic can be..." Estella trailed off, thinking of a rainy night many years ago, when she was terrified she was going to lose her entire world to a lightning bolt. “I don't think accidents are that uncommon. How did your teacher handle it?"

"Varalan? He was..." she let the word linger, trying to think of how to put it. "I shouldn't say anything bad. Varalan is kind, and a good Keeper. He understood. He just doesn't have as much magic as I do. What worked for his training didn't really work for me. And he already had his apprentice, besides." Judging by what she'd said earlier, her magic had appeared about a year or so after Zethlasan had been adopted into the clan, and he had discovered his magic enough to hide it years earlier. "So I think that was the day it was decided I'd be leaving Thremael, eventually."

“Do you want to go to another clan?" As was typical, Khari's question was about as blunt as a spoon. She guided her horse over a small rise almost automatically, from the look of it, nothing more than a light touch at the reins and a squeeze with her knees. “I mean, if you do, that's fine, but... it's not like you have to. You could do something else, if you wanted." She shrugged. “It's a big world out here, is all I'm saying. Lots more possibilities than I used to think."

Astraia watched Khari carefully for a few moments as she rode. The way she was so comfortable at the reins and in the saddle, how easily she carried the sword across her back. If it stirred any thought in her, for once she was able to conceal it. "I want to help my people," she stated. It wasn't combative or anything. "And with the things I learn before I go back, I can. I can be a good First, and someday a good Keeper. And make sure my clan is happy and has a good life. As good as I can lead them to."

“Nothing wrong with that." Khari shrugged, her tone more circumspect than Estella was used to hearing it. “But sometimes there's more than one way to do the same thing. If that's your way, then you do it. But leading a clan, digging around in ruins... I've gotta believe there's another way, because I'm shit at any of that." She snorted, her voice quieting further. “Guess we'll see, eventually."

“My apologies for the interruption." Rilien spoke from ahead of them, turning halfway back in his saddle to make eye contact with Estella. “I believe we have found what we were looking for. We should proceed on foot from here." The subtle inflection to his monotone was grim.

She sighed. Back to work, then.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
The sound of Khari's hard intake of breath was probably audible only to her under the metallic ring of the collision. She'd just turned aside one of the incoming swords with her gauntlet, but the impact was not without pain. Even though Mick only swung one-handed, he was very strong, and she was definitely glad the platemail had been there—if she'd had only leathers, he'd likely have sunk the edge of his sword to her bone and scraped it. The angle wasn't perfect, but she made do, raising Intercessor to block the other blade and forcing a step in, driving the hard part of her head towards his jaw.

He was ready for it, though, and stepped back out of her rather limited range, crossing his swords in front of him to block when she swing hers vertically up at him. She was never going to beat him in a lock, so she disengaged, trying to dodge around the left-hand sword that he thrust at her with the seconds she spent escaping. She dodged, but too soon—it had been a feint, and he kicked her while she was off-center, sending her to the dirt.

Khari grunted on impact, rolling back to her feet without aggression. That was the match. “Dammit." She sighed. “I'm gonna put you on your ass someday, I swear." Unhooking the mask from her face, she grinned at him, bowing to finish the duel as was Orlesian custom. “Thanks Mick." Her eyes moved to Leon, their silent observer, and she gave him a wave. He didn't hang around often, but she was glad for the chance to show him that she was improving. That his belief in her meant something, and that she was working hard to vindicate it. He returned the smile and waved back, with considerably more reserve, but that was just how he was.

"Told you she was getting better Commander," Mick told Leon, though she soon set his sights back on Khari, a prodding grin returning to his face. "Do not let it get to your head though, you still got a ways to go yet."

Khari rolled her eyes, but it was good-natured. “Obviously." Nobody needed to remind her of that.

"That was very impressive," came a man's voice from behind her, his tone difficult to read. The source of it was the one male elf among the three elves in total that had been walking back towards Skyhold's keep. The "friends" of Vesryn, or so she'd heard, though he didn't seem to spend all that much time with them for some reason. The small mage girl she recognized, Astraia, had been walking at the front of the group, and turned back now to look at the man. Zethlasan, the other mage, the First, bearing marks of Falon'Din on his forehead, displayed prominently by his choice to push most of his dark brown hair off to the side. The others bore vallaslin as well, Astraia's for Ghilan'nain, and the woman in the back, Shaethra, for Mythal.

"What clan are you from, if I might ask?" the First inquired, leaning on his staff.

Khari blinked. Something about this guy in particular really bothered her. She hadn't interacted with him much, so maybe it was just because he seemed so... she wasn't sure of the word for it. Something like what had bothered her about Ves at first. A certain kind of self-assurance that felt like it came from a sense of superiority rather than mere confidence. It set her teeth on edge, but she shrugged and answered the question.

“Genardalia. They wander Dirthavaren, sometimes as far south as the Emerald Graves." She replaced Intercessor on her back, tilting her head to the side. “You're Thremael, right? From Tirashan?" For Khari, her tone was downright neutral, though there was no way she was as good as someone like Stel at concealing her discomfort.

"We are." He smiled pleasantly at her, not exposing his teeth as he did. "I must admit, I've only ever seen one other elf fight in heavy plate like that. No Dalish though, a flat-ear from Denerim. His plate's a bit less... crude, though." He studied her for a moment, glancing once back at Shaethra. Astraia looked nervously between her brother and Khari, pretty clearly not wanting to be there.

"I've never met the Genardalia. Is this a common practice of your clan? Imitating the shemlen that kill each other across Dirthavaren?"

Flat-ear. Shemlen. Khari had suspected that she wasn't going to enjoy Zethlasan's company. Now she knew it, and frowned outright, seeing no need to hide the fact. She barked a harsh syllable of laughter, no genuine humor in it at all. “Nope. Just me. Disgrace of the clan, scourge of good little Dalish everywhere." She bared her teeth, the expression only faintly resembling a genuine smile.

“Might as well be flat-ear myself, huh? Seth'lin? Elvhen'alas? Len'alas lath'din?" She knew what people like him thought of someone like her. The same people who'd spit on most of her friends for being human, or smile and pretend they didn't. She'd rather he just came out and said it than pretend to pleasantry.

Zethlasan, however, seemed to insist on it, meeting Khari's own use of elven language with that same smile. "I think I know a way you could prove otherwise." He removed a hand from his staff to gestured at the mace-armed woman behind him. "A match against the champion of Thremael, our finest hunter and warrior. Shae has assured me many times she could never be bested by a flat-ear."

For Shae's part, she seemed for a moment the smallest bit surprised, but then her expression shifted into something a little more sour. Aggravated or annoyed, maybe, though she was a hard woman to read, and it wasn't clear who the target of her annoyance was. She looked the part of the champion, though. A half a foot or more taller than Khari, with significant and obvious strength in her arms, her legs, her core. She wore lighter armor not of unusual make for the Dalish, and everything about her appearance was utilitarian, down to the black hair that was cut short enough to stay out of her eyes even when allowed to move freely.

She did not, however, move immediately, instead content to wait for Khari's answer first. Astraia inched a step closer to the keep, as though that would help drag her companions along with her. "Zeth, come on. We don't need to—"

"What do you say, Khari?" Zeth asked. "Up for another match?"

Somehow she was always ending up in these situations. Sparring matches that, like it or not, were more than sparring matches. Her answer was always the same. Khari set her hands on her hips, turning slightly to meet eyes with Leon. “Hey Commander. You mind grabbing a practice sword and a—" She double-checked the weapon at the other woman's hip. “—Mace? From the rack next to you?" She blew a breath out, upwards to stir a wayward curl in her face.

“I'm only doing this if Shae wants to, though. I can't stand fighting people who don't want to be there." She arched one eyebrow. “Champion of Clan Thremael against the shame of Clan Genardalia hardly seems fair, but I'll take it if you will."

Zeth turned to his protector. "Well, Shae? Not going to turn this down, are you?" The woman's face was utterly unreadable. It was a rather remarkable talent she seemed to have, hiding emotions about as well as their Tranquil spymaster did. Surely she was at least feeling them, though, which in all honesty could have even made it more impressive. Shae pulled her flanged mace from her belt, flipping it over and offering the handle to Zethlasan. He took it with a smile.

Shae stepped forward, long strides made with a loose and easy gait. Once she was within the practice ring she stopped, observing Khari and waiting for a training mace to be delivered to her. "Don't sell yourself short," she said, somewhat quietly but loud enough for all to hear her. "I've seen you fight. Elvhen'alas or not, you will be a good challenge."

Leon stepped forward then, handing Shae her practice-mace handle first, with a polite nod. Stepping back towards Khari, he accepted Intercessor in exchange for a heavy wooden practice blade of considerable heft. Shifting her sword to his left arm for a moment, he placed a large hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, apparently trusting that to serve in lieu of words. Perhaps he, too, had caught onto the fact that there were meanings laden in this exchange that went beneath the mere surface fact that two people would be having a spar.

As soon as he was back out of the ring, Khari pulled in a deep breath, gripping the wooden blade automatically, easily. It was slightly wrong under her gauntlets compared to the more familiar nuances of her real sword, but that was no obstacle. Rolling her shoulders back and down, Khari quickly flexed her joints to test them for any lingering pain from her match with Mick. She was sore, to be sure, but she was good at ignoring that. She had to be.

In contrast to her flurry of little motions, Shae was quite still, settling into a stance and waiting for acknowledgment that the match was beginning. Khari was immediately wary of this, because she knew someone else who was like that, and Leon exploded at the beginning of a fight. Nodding her head, Khari signaled her readiness. “Death before dishonor." The words were more for herself than anything, but she spoke them anyway, because they were important to her.

"Ma nuvenin."

As expected, Shae was immediately aggressive, bursting forward and swinging in hard from the left. Khari raised her blade to block; the clack of wood on wood was sharp with the weight of the impact. Shae was every bit as powerful as she looked; Khari had to angle the strike off her sword or risk being unsteadied. She followed up first though, ducking low for a slash at Shae's feet.

The other woman jumped right over it in a controlled leap, landing again too fast for Khari to think of somehow taking advantage of the move itself. A series of quicker, lighter blows backed her up several paces. She was forced to go with it and try to reset her balance at the same time—she'd not been prepared enough for the low sweep to hit nothing.

The last blow in the series was the fastest; Khari barely blocked it in time, and unsteadily. Shae capitalized, kicking Khari hard square in the stomach. Even armor had enough give in it that the wind could be knocked out of a person, and Khari was only just recovering her breath when her rapid backwards stagger took her into the fence itself with an uncomfortable thud.

Zethlasan looked to be enjoying the show, albeit with a slight restraint on his expressions. Astraia did not restrain her nervousness at all, watching the fight anxiously and wincing a few times with the hits.

"Kick her ass, mon ours!" she heard Michaël call from somewhere to their side.

Gritting her teeth, Khari pushed off the fence rails, using the slight flex in the wood to help get just a little extra momentum. She was at her worst when someone else controlled her movement, and Shae had just demonstrated exactly what that looked like. She wasn't going to let it happen again. Her lips pulled back into a snarl and she lunged, kicking up a spray of ring dirt with the force of her motion.

But instead of following all the way through, Khari turned it into a last-minute feint, modeled after something Marcy had done to her, but adapted for her much more aggressive style. Instead of going for Shae's shoulder, where the hit had been aimed, she curved the trajectory of the blade and struck her elbow instead. The sound couldn't be mistaken for anything but a solid blow.

Pushing them back out to the center of the ring, Khari forced Shae onto the defensive. The other woman was patient even despite her obvious preference for aggression—certainly more patient than Khari would be in the same situation. They volleyed hits at one another for long enough that Khari felt sweat sliding down her back and sides, more of it beading on her neck and face as well. Shae looked the same, and both of them remained focused anyway. The frequency of wooden bangs increased as their speed did, both of them building to the real fight, the one that had been lurking underneath all of the opening salvos and keen testing of the other's reflexes.

Khari miscalculated a hit, stepping in too close, and Shae's shorter range nearly ended the fight. Ducking under the blow that followed, Khari did the only thing she could that close: she sidestepped and slammed the pommel of her practice sword into the back of the other woman's knee, taking them both to the ground in the process.

Clearly an experienced grappler, Shae almost got her weapon between them in time, but Khari could not count the number of instances of just that move she'd seen since she began practicing with Rom, and forestalled it, forcing both to abandon the too-large wooden arms and fight this out on the ground.

The initial advantage was hers; she'd come down on top, and adjusted quickly so she was sitting on Shae's ribcage, but her effort to get her knees into the other woman's armpits, to stave off counters, ended in a contest of strength she simply couldn't win. Khari switched tacks, pressing her forearm into Shae's neck, but she was off by a bit and her center of gravity shifted too far forward. Shae got enough leverage to flip them, and then it was Khari struggling to breathe, barely managing to get her knee up far enough to take one of Shae's off the ground by hitting her in the back and unbalancing her.

They rolled apart, both scrambling for their weapons, but Shae found hers first, bringing it 'round to level at Khari's forehead just as she managed to lay her hand on her practice sword. It was a difference of a second or two at most, but in a real fight, that could be all the difference.

For a moment, neither of them moved, both breathing hard, and then Khari nodded. “I yield." Sucking in another lungful of air, she rolled to her feet, pushing back up into a stand and shaking dirt out of her long braid. She glanced at the spectators for just a moment, then moved her eyes back to Shae. Her tone was almost cautious when she spoke.

“You were right. It was a good fight. Glad we had it."

Shae took steady, controlled breaths. She'd shown hints of fire in her eyes throughout the fight; though the woman did not seem to enjoy being in Skyhold or really anything that was asked of her, it was obvious that she enjoyed this, the intense physical strain of a good fight. She offered no more words, just a minuscule nod of her head to show her agreement before she tossed the practice weapon aside, and returned to reclaim her real one from Zeth. He nodded to her as she took it, either offering thanks or some quiet form of congratulations on her victory.

Leon picked up the discarded wooden mace on his way back to Khari, returning Intercessor to her by the strap that usually held it to her back. “You did well," he said. It was little louder than a murmur, clearly something only Khari was meant to hear, but the warmth of the sentiment came through nevertheless. “A year ago, this match would not have been so close. In a year more..." He shrugged, content to let the implication speak for itself, or perhaps because it was hard to say what a year more would do.

"You will not lose," Michaël answered, unafraid to talk about the implication. He had his arms crossed and he seemed disappointed, though not at her. She'd trained with him long enough to know when he was disappointed at her. Rather he was disappointed for her, as he looked toward the side where Shae had returned to the others.

Khari was relieved by his confidence, but she knew she had a lot more work to do to vindicate it. She didn't really need the reminder, but she had it, and she wouldn't forget.

Zethlasan had apparently gotten what he wanted out of the encounter, as he didn't offer any more words, instead leading the way towards Skyhold's keep. Shae was close behind him, quite obviously eager to be somewhere else now that the fight was done. Astraia, however, lingered, looking rather distressed. Shae stopped for a moment to look back at her before she got too far away, something the smaller elf seemed to anticipate. "Go, I'll catch up," she said quietly, and though Shae paused to consider it, she eventually turned and followed Zeth.

Astraia let a short moment pass before she approached Khari tentatively, both of her hands wrapped tightly around her staff. "I know some healing magic, if there are any bruises or anything you want me to take care of." With the armor Khari wore, it was naturally quite difficult to see if she could use healing anywhere, but Astraia was obviously concerned there might be injuries hidden somewhere. "I've seen what Shae does to demons. She hits really hard."

Khari huffed softly. “She does. Uh, hang on a sec, lemme see..." She tested one arm first, opening and closing her fist, then moving it first at the elbow, then the shoulder. That one was fine, and so were her legs, it seemed. When she moved her left arm, though, she found a tender spot. “I'm not sure it's worth the magic, but let's see." It took a bit to strip the armor from her arm, but her sleeve was easily loose enough to roll all the way up to her shoulder.

Sure enough, a bruise was blossoming on her bicep, maybe about the size of her fist, already turning a dark purple color. “Well, if you don't mind having a look at that, I won't say no." She smiled readily enough at Astraia, lifting her opposite shoulder in a half-shrug.

"Okay." Astraia pulled her staff inward to rest against her chest, freeing up both of her hands so she could reach for the bruise. It seemed to take her a good deal of focus, but the healing magic came easily enough to her, and she didn't seem as wary about using it as she was with other forms. With one little hand she took Khari's forearm to hold it in place, the other getting to work on the hit. "It wasn't fair of Zeth to ask you to fight Shae. You've been training all day, and she wasn't even tired."

“Maybe not." Khari figured Zeth wouldn't have asked if he wasn't completely confident Shae would win. Whether her having trained all day beforehand made a difference in that or not, she'd sort of expected that the fight would be hard going into it. “But battles aren't always fair either. If I could only fight fresh, then I wouldn't be much use here. Besides, it was a good challenge, so it doesn't really bother me what he wanted out of it." He and anyone else could take it however they wanted. For Khari, it was just one more step. Forward, like Stel was always saying.

"I think Shae liked you," Astraia ventured, smiling a little. "She'd never admit it to anyone, though. Too proud." She fell silent again, continuing to work, but it only took a few more moments before she let the spell fade away, releasing Khari's arm and returning her hands to her staff. "There, that should be better."

Her handiwork didn't really compare to Asala's, but it wasn't bad either. Removed any chance of that bruise being a weak spot to hit for the next day. Astraia looked like she was considering leaving Khari to her business, but she lingered long enough until it became obvious she meant to ask something, at which point she spat it out. "What it's like, being in the Inquisition? I know not everyone gets to do what some of you do, but what's it been like for you?"

Khari blinked, rolling down her sleeve as she considered the answer. “For me?" There was quite a lot she could say there, honestly. “Probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I've nearly died... well, a lot." Probably wasn't much use to trying to count out the individual times. She raised her arm to rub at the back of her neck. “But it's also the best decision I ever made, hands down." She said it with clear certainty, a reflection of just how clear and certain her feelings were, at least about this much.

“The people here, they're... they're some of the best people I've ever met. And the cause is—I never in my life thought I'd ever be a part of something this big. Something that affects this many people. And even though I'm only a little part of it, it feels like what I do here means something. Like I'm making a real difference by doing it."

Astraia let her head tilt and rest against her staff, which she'd brought into her chest again. Little beads knocked together softly when she did. She listened quite intently to what Khari told her, obviously taking it seriously. "That sounds amazing," she said, smiling a little. It faded a moment later. "Was it hard, though, leaving your clan behind for this? Your family, friends? You couldn't have known what it would be like."

The question lingered for a moment before Astraia suddenly widened her eyes. "Oh! I'm sorry. That was too personal, I didn't mean to—I'm sorry."

Khari shrugged. “Don't worry about it. To answer the question, though..." She pursed her lips together. “I left my clan before any of this. And... yeah, it was hard. Not the first part so much as the stuff that set in after. But I didn't belong there, not really. And I knew it; I always had. So I figured finding—" She swallowed past a lump she hadn't been expecting to find in her throat, but otherwise, her composure remained intact. “Finding a place to belong was gonna be worth it."

Astraia obviously hadn't meant for the conversation to turn in quite that manner, and she fidgeted a bit in place. Still, she managed a somewhat awkward smile for Khari. "I'm glad it went well for you. And... thank you, for talking to me about it."

Khari dredged up a half-smile. Nothing to be depressed about, after all. The discomfort would pass. “Yeah. No problem."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
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Lady of Perpetual Victory, your praises I sing!
Gladly do I accept the gift invaluable
Of your glory! Let me be the vessel
Which bears the Light of your promise
To the world expectant.
-Canticle of Exaltations 1:1
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The crisp autumn air came early in the season to Skyhold, turning everything in the garden varying shades of red and yellow. It was difficult to believe that the Inquisitions's second year would soon come to an end. Estella had no idea how the success of a group like this was measured, but she felt like they'd accomplished a lot. Getting to Skyhold, building numbers and outposts. Learning who led the Venatori. Surviving attempts at assassination, seeing through attempts at fraud. Ever so slowly expanding their influence in the world for the day when they'd need the strength to meet Corypheus on the field of battle.

Personally, so much in her life had changed that thinking about it almost made her head spin. But the biggest change seemed to be in the people. She'd made wonderful friends, training partners, allies and everything. And she was still trying to decide how she felt about Harellan and what he'd told her of her family. It managed, somehow, to feel like the biggest upheavals were still to come both for herself and for all of them collectively. It made the reliable, routine things in her life all that much more important.

“How's training with Ser MichaĂ«l going?" She and Khari, as ever, took their morning run around Skyhold before the sun had risen, though they were nearing the end this morning. Having just mounted the stairs to the battlements, they were making their way along one of the lengthier walls, stone unyielding under their feet. The exertion felt good, honestly.

Khari hopped up onto the crenelations in the wall without pause, keeping her pace steady and her feet solid on the stone. She didn't seem to have any trouble with the balance of it, and if heights or the risk of falling bothered her, she gave no sign of the fact. Her treads hit evenly and squarely in the center of each block, though she kept her eyes forward. “Not bad." She shrugged, which looked a little odd while she was running. “Doing everything in full plate helps, though I can't exactly practice my rolls and stuff in that much armor. I use Ves for that, though."

The grin that spread over her face might have been a little bit malicious, but considering Khari's temperament, it was most likely just for show.

Estella couldn't imagine that she still held any grudges about their early days interacting with one another, in any event. Khari just never seemed to hold onto a grudge for any longer than she had to, save perhaps the one she had against the whole world for treating her like she was delusional for wanting to be something unconventional. But Estella wasn't even sure she'd call that a grudge. Whatever it was, it certainly provided powerful motivation. To be better, stronger, at every moment than she was in the one before. It was one of the things that made Khari so extraordinary.

“You're terrible," she told her, shaking her head and following her up onto the crenelations. Estella had a few more reservations about doing so, and kept her eyes on her feet, but it was hard not to want to try, when Khari was giving it a go, too.

“And don't you forget it." They ran out of uninterrupted wall, and Khari hopped down, leading the descent via staircase to ground level, where the terrain underfoot became grass and ordinary dirt. The sky was slowly turning pink. “What about your training? You said that Harellan guy wanted to teach you or something, right? What's his deal? Thought you already had Rilien for that."

Estella sighed, moving up so that they were even again. She hadn't told anyone most of what Harellan told her, but Khari knew that much just because of how much they talked about that kind of thing. “I don't know," she murmured, breathing slowly and deeply. That fencepost meant they were hitting the last mile, and Khari would probably start sprinting in the last half of it. She needed to conserve energy if she intended to keep up. “It's different from Rilien. He wants to teach me magic. I'm just not sure he really understands how that's going to go." Maybe, maybe, maybe. How many times in her life had maybe turned into disappointment?

Khari hummed, falling silent for a bit while she thought it over, apparently. “I mean... does anyone ever know what they're getting into when they start something brand-new? I bet it wasn't completely smooth with Rilien at first either, right? I don't think that's the stuff that should really influence the decision." She shook her head. “You and Rom, honestly. I'm always asking you both the really obvious question, I feel like. Do you want to do it? Learn magic? If you could just decide whether it would happen or not?"

She almost smiled; perhaps Khari did have to ask them both that a lot. It must have seemed strange, to someone usually so certain of what she wanted. “That's not how it works, though." That had never been how it worked. Not for Estella. “If I could just... decide if I was good at magic or not, of course I'd want to be. But the problem is that it never goes that way. I don't... I don't want to make him waste his time."

Khari scoffed. “Oh please, Stel. You make it sound like spending time with you is this huge labor of ridiculous generosity. It's not. It's... really fun, actually. And I mean, sure it could go wrong. Anything worth doing could go wrong, and don't I know it. But if you want it and you don't have a go, that just means you'll never get what you want. So what've you got to lose, really?"

Estella supposed she had a fair point. The worst that could happen is that she'd fail again. And as terrible as it would feel, it wouldn't be anything she didn't know how to deal with. “I guess... I can try it, at least. Maybe see what he has to say about my magic that's so different from what I learned before." If there seemed to be something to it, then perhaps it would be worth the risk. If not, well... it was like Khari said. She didn't really have anything to lose.

“Has anyone ever told you you give very good advice?"

Khari laughed aloud at that, probably a smidgen too loud for the early hour. “Hell, no. I make this shit up as I go." Her expression sobered a bit, half of her wide smile falling away so the expression was a little softer. “But if it helps, I'll take it." The grin reappeared as they passed another fencepost. “Last half-mile. Race ya to the end!" She bounded forward into a sprint without waiting for a reply.

With a long-suffering sigh that was nowhere near genuine, Estella accelerated after her, pushing herself as fast as she could go, until it almost felt like flying over the ground. Khari was weighed down by some armor, and admittedly, swiftness was Estella's strength, so it didn't take her too long to catch her friend, nor to pass her on the way to the end of the route. But Khari was nothing if not tenacious, and when they crossed, she was only about a dozen feet behind. Panting, Stel bent double, putting her hands on her knees and trying to recover her breath.

The fact that she was so close to laughing made it harder.

Before they could so much as catch their breath, a figure in full armor and battle ready approached from across the grounds. Well, Ves wasn't fully geared up yet, but he put on the last pieces of his set as he walked, gauntlets and all. His winged tallhelm swung a bit from the side of his belt, bardiche axe across his back, which was kept warm under the embrace of his white lion's pelt and cloak. He didn't normally train this early in the morning; he wasn't due to spar with Stel and Khari until later in the afternoon, and he didn't do that with his deadly axe, either. In fact, it looked like he was getting ready to leave, judging by the small bags over his shoulder, probably filled with supplies or rations of some kind.

"Good morning, ladies." He smiled in greeting, but it was fairly strained, forced, as many of his had been of late. Understandable, given what he had been going through with his friends. "Thought I might find you here. Do you have a moment?" He observed both of them panting for a moment. "Please, catch your breath first." He smiled again, a little more genuinely at that.

Khari straightened first, patting Estella on the shoulder in an amiable sort of way before pulling in one more deep breath and sighing it out again in a rush. “Sure. Something wrong? You look kind of like you're in a hurry."

Estella rose as well, rolling out her shoulders and nodding slightly. His friends didn't seem to be with him, which would make sense if Zethlasan was still in the infirmary, but she couldn't see any reason for Ves himself to be going anywhere if that was so.

"Not in a hurry, particularly, but I will be leaving soon." He finished buckling on one of his braces, and started on the next. "Zeth's gone." That sat on the air for a moment before Ves seemed to realize the way it could be interpreted. "Oh. No, not—he left Skyhold. Early this morning, well before sun up. Shae and Astraia went with him. They're gone." He sounded none too happy about that, but it only barely came through, as though he was holding back any judgement on it for the moment. "He left a note with one of the scouts in the mountains on his way out, but the scout didn't bring the note back to Lia until about an hour ago, when his shift ended. Lia brought it to me."

“Wait... what?" Estella's eyes widened. That shouldn't have even been possible, let alone actually happened. And without... she furrowed her brows. “He seemed far too ill to be moving when I saw him the other day. And I thought—it seems very strange that he wouldn't tell anyone directly."

Khari set her hands on her hips, frowning. “Did the note explain anything, or no?"

"It did, but not what I wanted to know." He buckled the last strap on his other bracer, now fully geared. "Said he was heading first for the Hinterlands, wanted to visit a ruin there with something he'd learned from that book Cyrus gave him. They'll be making their way back to the Tirashan after that." It wasn't an ideal first stop, to be sure. The Hinterlands would take them east, back into Ferelden proper, and to return home they would need to go west, either back through the Frostbacks or north and then around to reach Orlais. With winter approaching, it seemed Zeth had his eyes set on something in particular.

"Honestly, they would've left by now if not for Zeth falling ill. It's getting colder, and it's not an easy journey back across Orlais. But it doesn't explain how he can make it at all. Asala was just trying to make him comfortable before... the end. He shouldn't have been able to get up, let alone walk through the mountains. And..." He sighed, rubbing at his neck. "I'd thought we were doing better. All I can think is that he did this to... get back at me or something. For leaving them without so much as a word years ago. Maybe I was wrong."

He shook his head. "But it doesn't matter. I'm going after them. Lia has their trail, and they're on foot. Won't take long to catch up. I wanted to ask a favor, though. Of both of you."

“You want us to come with?" It was hard to tell if Khari was guessing at the favor Ves meant to ask or just offering anyway. “'Cause I would if you wanted. Just so you know." She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing at Estella.

She nodded slowly, expression still a bit drawn. Something didn't add up the right way here. How was Zethlasan suddenly well enough to walk? Why had he left without so much as a word? Perhaps Shae would have been fine with that, if he was in good enough shape somehow, but she imagined Astraia would have preferred to at least say a few farewells. “If that's what you're planning to ask, then of course. I'd be happy to help. But if you meant something else, just tell me what." Estella knew him well enough by this point to know that he wouldn't request anything unreasonable, and she wanted to help where she could.

"I'm glad we're eager, at least." He half-smiled. "I was hoping you might come with me. But not just to say goodbye. I was hoping both of you might help me convince Astraia to join the Inquisition. To leave the Dalish behind, at least for now." By the looks of it, it wasn't a request he made of them lightly, nor was the request itself something he looked pleased to be doing. "I don't intend on forcing her to do anything, but... she deserves a better life than she'll get with the Dalish. She got a glimpse of that here, but she's... I don't know. Still thinks she'd be letting her family down, and the clan she'd eventually lead. I don't think I could convince her myself. But she looks up to you. Both of you. I've known her long enough to see that."

Estella wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, honestly. But... she did know a thing or two about feeling like she had duties to her family, ones that might be doing more harm than good, in the long run. It was unwise to project, but she could see the analogy. “I'll try," she said eventually, matching his expression. She definitely didn't plan to attempt to force the matter either, of course, but if something she had to say might make a bit of difference, then it was worth a shot, at least.

Khari looked a bit more skeptical, surprisingly enough, and then thoughtful, but eventually she nodded. “I don't wanna take her away from what she wants, but I guess she could be wrong about what she wants. It's happened to people before." Sighing through her nose, she shrugged.

“Guess we should go gear up too, then?"

"I've never seen her happier than when she was here, learning and practicing freely, supported by everyone around her. I just want her to know that she deserves to be happy. If she still wants to go back... then I'll say my tearful goodbyes, I'm sure." He smiled sadly at that, but then cleared his throat. "Thank you, both of you. I know you're dealing with a lot right now." He looked at Estella specifically when he said that. "It means a lot that you would help me with this. And I think it'll mean a lot to Skygirl, too, that you came out to say hello. Or goodbye, as it may be."

He gestured with his head towards the gate. "I was just on my way to the stables. Lia's waiting at the gate to get us started. We'll leave as soon as you're ready. Should be able to catch them by nightfall, I think."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
It was nearly nightfall, and they still hadn't caught them. Khari wasn't especially dissuaded by this. Though she was pretty strongly reminded now of the last time she'd been out here, after Haven. It'd been just her and Rom then, unsure for a pretty long while that they'd survive it. At least the season was different; the fading light of sunset struck the yellowed wild grass of the rolling plain, making everything look like it was bathed in warmth, even despite the fact that it was actually kind of chilly. Go figure.

Their horses—red, black, and white, it amused her a little to observe—had kept up a steady pace all day, and could probably keep going for another few hours, but she doubted somehow that they'd have to. Shrugging her plain cloak a little farther forward over her shoulders, Khari glanced at Stel and Ves, riding roughly next to her and slightly in front, respectively. Turning her eyes back out onto the rut in the dirt that served as a road out here, she squinted a little into the distance.

“Uh... hey guys?" She extended an arm, and pointed off the path, arm raised at an angle. “I think that's campfire smoke."

"Seems to be." Ves rode uneasily, eyeing the smoke drifting into the air on their right. "Might be them. They'd have to have picked somewhere to camp by now, at least." Ves had been leading them, for the most part, since their departure from Skyhold. Lia had gotten them started, though the trail wasn't at all hard to follow given that the mountains were getting snow now. Just had to be able to pick out the elven tracks from those belonging to the scouts, which wasn't difficult. The scouts usually worked alone or in pairs, not groups of three. And Astraia had little feet.

He didn't seem to be much in a hurry, and never had them run their horses or pick up to anything more than a steady pace. Just enough to gain on the elves, but not enough to catch them in a hurry. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was trying to time it this way on purpose. Find them when they'd camped and were resting, rather than catching them on the road. A more relaxed place to meet and converse.

"Been a long time since I've been out this way," he commented softly. "Don't think we ever came through here on our way to Redcliffe. Either of you know much about it? If there's a ruin here, Saraya's never taken me to it."

“A small one," Stel said, studying the surrounding terrain. “It's where Cyrus was, when we found him. He took one of the veil devices with him, but left everything else intact as far as I know." She glanced at Ves for a second. “It's in the same direction as the smoke. It's a safe bet they're camped quite close to it, I think."

"Not sure what he'd want with it that Cyrus wasn't able to get." Ves frowned, giving it some thought, but there weren't any obvious answers on hand. He shook his head. "We'll find out soon enough, I suppose."

They came around a bend, the ruin itself finally becoming visible in front of them. Or at least, the entrance of it. It was burrowed into the mountain like so many of the surviving elven sites were. Better preserved by the earth and more difficult to find. This one looked almost swallowed by the land on top of it, the stone carved into it cracked in many places. Most of the entryway had been worn away by time, but even from here there was blue light visible, emanating from inside it. Judging by the torch sconce near the mouth of the ruin, it was just mage's fire cast likely from Zethlasan's hand.

The camp the elves had made was tucked away under an overhang of rock, safe from any rain, though it didn't seem as though any was coming. The skies were clear, stars already beginning to come out and shine brightly overhead. A well-sized campfire burned at the edge of the natural shelter, the smoke from it drifting up and bumping against the rock before it plumed out into the air. Astraia sat alone beside the fire. She got to her feet at the sound of horses approaching, holding her staff, but she smiled in something nearing delight when she saw who their visitors were.

"You came!" She grinned, jogging over to them as they dismounted. "Zeth said you might, but I wasn't sure." Stepping down from his horse, Ves accepted the hug Astraia forced on him. She didn't look all that well. Her eyes were a little red, heavy and sunken. Ves patted at her hair gently, smiling.

"Of course we came, Skygirl." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but held it in. Astraia turned away from him as soon as she broke the hug, propping her staff against herself while she cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Shae!" she called. "Go get Zeth! Ves is here with Khari and Estella!" The older woman appeared in the mouth of the ruin, her hood drawn. If she felt anything in particular about them arriving, it was impossible to tell from this distance. She disappeared into the ruin.

Astraia turned back to the three of them. "I'm so, so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. Zeth said we had to go right away, that we'd lost too much time already. I tried to argue, but... I'm sorry. It's okay, though, you're here now."

Khari pulled her hood down, glancing around the small campsite with an increasing sense of confusion. What gave with all this, then? They'd come out here without really giving anyone any warning or details, but... expected to be followed? Maybe planned on it, even. Her mouth pulled a bit to one side. She loosened the bridle on her horse, easing it away and hooking it over the horn on the saddle to give him room to pull freely at the grass. He wouldn't wander too far, she knew.

“So... I know I'm pretty slow sometimes, but am I really the only one who has no idea what's going on here?"

"Um," Astraia hesitated a moment. "I don't really know what's going on either. Zeth just sort of... got better. I've never been much into the gods, but... it was like a gift, you know? Come on, we should talk by the fire." She led them back under the shelter, away from their horses, and was the first to take a seat at the campfire. Ves cast his eyes towards the ruins, then sat down himself.

"Astraia..." He said her name gently, cautiously. "Zeth was past the point of getting better. Wasn't he?"

"I thought so, too. But when Shae shook me awake last night, he was on his feet already. Not at his best, obviously, but moving around well enough. And he wanted to come here."

"And you didn't ask him why?"

"I..." She picked up a smaller stick that had been left by the fire, poking it into the blaze and pushing a few things around. Sparks wafted up into the air, the fire crackling happily. "I tried, but... I don't know, Zeth's always had his reasons for coming to these places, and it's never really mattered to me before. And I was just happy to have my brother back." The last words she spoke almost reverently, like they might be snatched away from her if she spoke them too loudly. She prodded at the fire some more, then craned her neck around to look at the ruin again. "Shae? Tell him to hurry up!"

No response came from the ruin, and Astraia huffed a quiet, unsatisfied breath. "Well, maybe not all the way back. Still thinks his markings etched in stone are more important than people come to wish us well." She glanced at Stel, offering a little smile. "Is Cyrus doing alright? He stopped coming by my practices. I didn't get the chance to thank him for helping me."

Stel had looked worried for a moment, but she quickly eliminated all traces of it from her expression, offering a tentative smile instead. “He's... he wasn't feeling well, either, for a while. Not in the same way as Zethlasan, of course." She paused. “But I'll pass that along when I see him next; I'm sure he'll be happy to know he helped." The smile softened, relaxing into something more genuine, but there was still a trace of tension in the way she held herself. Khari might not have been able to see it if she hadn't known her for so long. Her eyes flickered towards the cave entrance, but swiftly returned.

"Thanks. I'm glad he's okay." The sound of footsteps in the direction of the ruin caught her attention. Their heads turned as one to see Shae helping Zeth out of the ruin. He looked both thin and tired, but he was back in his Dalish robes again, using one hand to hold his staff and use it as a walking stick, the other hanging on to Shae's arm. She supported him dutifully. Astraia jumped to her feet at the sight of her brother, and Vesryn did as well, albeit more slowly.

"Zeth," he greeted, more than a little wary. "I must admit I never thought I'd see you again. And not because of you taking your leave, either."

"It did seem that way, didn't it?" He smiled, strained, and accepted Astraia's help when she came over to him. "I'm not sure what happened, honestly. I just felt the sickness breaking. And felt I needed to leave. With some of the things I learned I thought I should revisit this place, see if there was more here I could read."

"You need to rest, Zeth. Leave the ruin for tomorrow." Astraia glanced between the three visitors of theirs. "He didn't need this much help this morning. You shouldn't be pushing yourself this hard."

"Yes, well, I never did know how to stop." He exhaled heavily when he made it to the fire, and was able to take a seat. Shae removed her hood, though it seemed she preferred to remain standing, and at a slight distance. Astraia sat back down next to her brother. "It's good to see you," he said, directing it at Ves, though it was unclear if he meant it for all of them or not. "Though somehow I doubt my charming personality brought all three of you here to say goodbye."

Ves smiled a bit uneasily, glancing between his companions. "That was part of it, at least. I brought them along to help me make sure you were alright. That nothing had... happened to you, or anything like that." He paused, and then cleared his throat. "Ah, we also came to speak with Astraia about something." Her eyes widened a bit, finally pulled away from checking her brother's condition. She looked expectantly at Ves.

"I came to see if you could be convinced to stay with us. With the Inquisition. As one of us, not as a guest." Immediately her mouth opened a small amount, and she glanced to her brother. He simply offered her a little smile. Shae offered nothing, glowering under her hood as was her way. Astraia, for the moment, seemed unsure how to respond.

Stel crossed her legs underneath her, settling her hands onto her knees. “You'd be welcome," she said, plucking a few stray bits of grass from where they'd caught at the top edge of her boot. The ride had taken them through a couple of tall fields earlier. “I know the other mages enjoyed practicing with you, and you seemed to be having fun with them as well." A wry smile touched her mouth. “Of course, it's not just fun, and I'm sure you know that, but there's little denying how important our work is, if that's something you want to be part of."

It was a gentle sell, as far as they went, but then, Stel wasn't really suited for more insistent forms of persuasion. It honestly didn't sound that much like persuasion at all: just an offer, laid out openly and honestly in front of Astraia.

Khari found herself nodding a few times along with the explanation. When it lulled, she picked up the thread, maybe a little more carefully than she usually would have. “It's also not necessarily forever." She pointed that out with a shrug. “I know I for one still have other plans, but... sometimes even the really important stuff has to get put on a shelf for a while. Especially when some darkspawn asshole's trying to destroy everyone's world." She pressed her lips together for a moment and pushed a short breath out her nose, tapping her fingers on the side of her leg. She'd never been great at sitting still.

“I know you wanna be Keeper someday. I know that's important to you. It still can be. If you want, you can think of this as training for it. A way to... hone your magic, and learn what the rest of the world is like. Can't hurt to know, if you'll be making important decisions for a clan someday."

Astraia clearly hadn't been expecting to become the center of the conversation between them all. She didn't know how to handle it, and it seemed the lack of a response from her brother was proving more distracting than anything else. She kept looking at him in between everything Stel and Khari said, but he patiently waited for them to finish before finally offering his own opinion. "You should stop looking at me, Astraia." His tone was gentle, soft. "Maybe try looking at the stars, like you used to do so much. See if they'll offer any guidance." She glanced up at the night sky for a brief moment, but obviously felt self-conscious about doing so with everyone watching her. Zeth smiled, and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Or, try looking within. I'm your brother, not your Keeper. You don't need my permission to do anything, if you think it's right."

Her brow creased in thought. She raked her fingers back through her hair behind her neck. "I did enjoy it. More than anything." She almost smiled at that, but managed to snuff it out before the spark could ignite it. "But do you think it's that easy?" The question was asked of Khari. "Just go back to the clan someday, when all this is done? They already don't think much of me, and I don't know where I would be needed, where to find another clan. What if Varalan and the others won't take me back?"

Khari had several very blunt answers to that, none of which seemed quite right. Glancing awkwardly at Ves and Stel for a moment, she pulled in a deep breath. It wasn't like she could cite her own great track record at making sure that would happen: she'd had no plans to go back when she left, and had no plans to go back now. For all she knew, her clan spit on her name or never mentioned her. Or maybe they'd just forgotten her completely, and good riddance. “It's a risk." She admitted it without hedging.

“But look. It's not like you have to up and vanish like smoke in the wind. You could try explaining it to them, in person or with a letter or something. Maybe they'd listen, I dunno. Even if they didn't understand... the truth is you're a mage. And you'd probably go back, if you went back, with a lot of skills and knowledge that plenty of Keepers never get. I know there are clans that would take someone like that. Worst case scenario, you'd have to wait for an Arlathvhen, but I doubt it. If Zeth here isn't already trying to tell you not to, who knows?" She grinned, but only a bit. “Other people would probably come around easier."

She stared at the fire rather than anything or anyone else, pulling her knees up to her chest. She was quiet for a long time, before her eyes turned slightly towards her brother again. "You think Mom and Dad would forgive me?"

He smiled. "I'll explain it to them as best I can, if you want. Your heart is in the right place. I think they'll see that." She didn't respond, and after another moment of silence, Zeth continued. "Everything we do, we do for the People. I know you're used to that meaning life has less excitement for you, less to look forward to. Serving the People has never been an enjoyable path. But if this is a way for you to do that and feel satisfied with yourself... I don't think you should feel guilty."

Shae exhaled through her nose a little more loudly than she probably intended to, and swiftly turned to look away when it caught the attention of Ves and Astraia. It looked about as though Astraia was going to agree, but she said nothing. It prompted Zeth to path her lightly on the shoulder. "You should have some time to think this over, of course. Ves, care to take a walk? I wanted to show you something in the ruin."

Ves didn't seem to disagree with the idea, though he glanced at Khari and Stel for a moment. "Is this something I need to see in private?"

Zeth's eyes flitted between the two. "No, I suppose not, though they might find it boring."

"You should be resting, Zeth," Astraia offered quietly, though it wasn't a very forceful reminder this time.

Her brother shook his head, getting his staff pushed into the ground and getting up to his feet. Shae took a few steps closer, but her help wasn't needed. "Don't worry about me. A bit of sitting did me some good. It's just a short ways. What do you say, joining us?"

Stel nodded, rising to her feet and brushing her trousers off. “Sure. I've not been to many ruins—I'd like to see the etchings Cyrus wrote about." She paused a moment, glancing over at Khari. “Shall we? Might be good to stretch our legs after the long ride." She reached down with a hand, clearly offering to help Khari up.

Khari wasn't particularly enthused by the prospect of the same, but she supposed Stel was right about the stretching at least. Zeth was most likely right about that fact that she'd be bored, though. Unlike Stel, she had seen plenty of ruins—Vareth and her dad both spent a lot of time in them. She sighed slightly under her breath, but clasped Stel's arm firmly and used it to pull herself to her feet. “Yeah, okay. Let's go see what's around."

"I'm coming too," Astraia said, getting to her feet as Ves did. She brushed her hands off as her brother hesitated for a moment.

"Astraia, this kind of defeats the purpose of giving you some space to think."

"I can think and walk. Uh... I never really pay that much attention to this stuff, anyway. Sorry."

He laughed softly. "Fair enough. Come on." Ves looked about to offer some support to his friend, but Zeth waved him off. "Really, it's alright. I feel like I'm getting stronger." They walked in silence for a long moment, getting about halfway to the entrance before Ves spoke.

"Care to elaborate on why you left in the middle of the night? I know you're in a hurry to get back to the Tirashan, but you could have at least waited until morning so we could say a proper goodbye."

Zeth took in a deep breath, as though the smell as they approached the ruin was somehow sweet to him. It didn't smell like anything at all, though. "Have you ever woken up somewhere and just felt you shouldn't be there anymore? I feel like you might be able to relate to this, Ves. I wake from my dream, and find that I'm not nearly as dead as I expected to be. Something about the walls wasn't the same when I stepped outside. I doubt Skyhold had anything to do with it, but I almost died in that infirmary. I just couldn't stay." He glanced sidelong back at Ves, grinning a little. "I admit a bit of curiosity, wondering if you'd follow. I wasn't disappointed. I hope I didn't cause you too much trouble. It's no more than a day's ride here, after all."

Ves sighed softly. "I suppose I deserved it, looking at it a certain way." They made it to the mouth of the ruins, Zeth's magical blue fire still burning in the sconces along the wall. It seemed to cast more light than normal fire was capable of, though perhaps that was just an effect of the hue. Zethlasan looked back at the hooded woman behind the group.

"Shae, if you don't mind watching over the camp while we're gone? Thank you." Without complaint, Shae stopped and let them move on without her, putting her back to the rock wall and gazing out into the night. Zeth took them further in, down a long entry hallway that eventually split into stairs leading left and right, descending into the earth a short ways. He took them down the right path, though once they reached the bottom, it all seemed to be leading to the same spot.

"Take a look," Zeth offered. "The writing is rather interesting on that wall there. I was able to translate a great deal more of it with the help from your friend Cyrus and his book." Ves wandered forward to the lead of the group, Astraia beside him, observing a set of great stone plaques of some sort, covered in elven writing. Some of it had been chipped away, making parts illegible, but enough was still there for Ves to get a sense of it, or at least it seemed that way. He frowned in confusion.

"Zeth, I'm not sure what you think this says, but it's not very—" A heavy thump from the bottom of Zeth's staff immediately preceded a rush of magical energy washing out over the entire room, like a dark crimson cloud of smoke. Far more powerful of a spell than it seemed he should be capable of, in his state. Immediately Astraia dropped unconscious, her staff clattering down beside her as she fell in a heap, and Ves stumbled forward as well, blinking rapidly and soon falling to his knees. "Zeth... what are you..." He didn't finish the sentence before he collapsed forward onto his face.

With a lighter thud, Stel fell too, her knees buckling and sending her to the ground on her side.

Khari's mind was so muddled she almost didn't register any of it. Her limbs felt heavy, like something thick and muffling was pressing down over her whole body, face and all. Like trying to swim through molasses or tar. She fought it, trying to will herself to stay conscious, and made it as far as getting her hand on Intercessor's hilt before she lost the struggle. Darkness enveloped her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Vesryn woke feeling like he'd been asleep for a year.

The blue light from Zeth's wall fires assaulted his eyes, and he squinted until they adjusted somewhat. Instinctively he felt for Saraya, and she was there. She was there almost before he was, implying the spell hadn't so much as touched her, or that she'd simply come to faster than the body she was trapped in. Either way, everything felt normal. But that was only in his head. Physically this was far from normal.

He found himself standing, his back pressed tightly to a support pillar in the ruin, the same room he'd been knocked out in. There was a heat of some sort around his wrists. The heat wasn't uncomfortable, but at the same time he could feel a dangerous energy pulsing against him even through his gloves. He tried to move his arms from where they were locked, hugging the pillar behind him, and was immediately met with a shocking pain, magic surging through him and forcing him back into a helpless position before he could even begin. He glanced over the edge of his shoulder, and saw a crackling blue glow surrounding his wrist, binding him to the pillar. Some sort of arcane bonds. His feet were bound together and lashed to the pillar in much the same way.

"He wakes," Zeth said, standing in an area of relative darkness between the lights cast by the fires. He'd been sitting on a low bench, staff in hand, but now stood and approached. He looked tired still, but at the same time alight with energy, eyes still wild with adrenaline. "Is Saraya awake as well, Ves?"

"Awake and furious, Zeth," he spat. "What madness is this? What are you doing? I thought..." He thought they'd been making progress before the sickness. He thought Zeth had been coming close to letting go, to finally making things less of a strain in Skyhold. Vesryn glanced left, and saw Khari bound to another pillar in the same manner. To his right, Astraia, still fast asleep. He looked back left. "Khari! Khari, wake up!"

"You really want that?" Zeth asked, looking perplexed. "She's just going to add so much pointless noise to this."

It took Khari a while to come to, but to her credit, she was alert almost as soon as she did, apparently shaking off the lingering fatigue of the spell by physically shaking her head. “What the fu—agh." Her own efforts to pull on her restraints ended exactly the same way as Vesryn's had. Her jaw visibly tightened, a muscle in it jumping with the force of her teeth gritting. She loosened them again at least long enough to talk when her eyes landed on Zeth. “You smug little fucker. I should've guessed." She pulled a second time at the bonds, harder if anything, breathing heavily through her nose. She lasted a long couple of seconds that time, before collapsing back against the stone.

"Astraia, wake up!" Zeth's sister, however, was not so quick in coming to, and remained unconscious against the bonds that held her in place. Vesryn shot a venomous glare at Zethlasan. "Your own sister, Zeth? Whatever this is, she doesn't need to be a part of it."

"I'd have preferred it that way," Zeth agreed. "But very few plans survive being put into action. I've had to improvise more than a few times."

Vesryn immediately began to look around, in the other shadowy corners, behind him, anywhere there might be another pillar. He tried to strain against the bonds again to better see, but it was entirely futile. The harder they were fought against, the more pain they applied, and the tighter they constricted. He practically snarled at Zeth. "What have you done with Estella? Where is she?"

"To think, you might've used that tone when asking after me once." The thought made Vesryn feel physically ill, but he ignored it. "She's fine, Ves. Shae's taking care of her. I'd rather not risk having an Inquisitor caught up in this, in case anything goes wrong. I've tried to be as reasonable as I can, Ves, but you've made it difficult at every turn." Vesryn wasn't inclined to believe anything he said, nor was he willing to guess that "taking care of" meant anything pleasant for Stel, but... despite that, it was a reaction of Saraya's that he was most distracted by. Rather than simple fury, her outlook towards him had shifted. Something approaching the respect of an enemy that actually posed a threat. A real danger.

And there was something to his tone, bits of which Vesryn could relate back to Crestwood when they'd first reunited, or even the early days of his visit to Skyhold. It was hard to qualify, but it was different. Too self-assured, too confident, even for Zethlasan. There was something behind it that he'd lost for a while. And now it was back. "Zeth... talk to me, tell me what happened. I thought I'd gotten through to you."

"I suppose you did for a time. Not the best time, for me." He cracked his knuckles against his staff, one hand and then the other. "But you should know that I don't give up. I won't give up on you, I won't give up on this necessary step for the People."

"Zeth..." the mumbled name came from Astraia, who was just now coming to. "...what are you—ah!" Astraia had accidentally tugged against the restraints on her, shocking herself painfully, and Zeth immediately hopped over the several steps to her, lighting a spell in his hand.

"Easy, easy now sister." He touched his hand to her head, and some form of entropic magic washed over her. She didn't fall back asleep, but her head lolled back against the pillar, her body relaxing despite remaining standing. She continued to mumble something, but it was completely incoherent at this point.

Khari had clearly elected to continue fighting her restraints rather than use the energy talking too much. She wasn't having a very good time of it, obviously, but her jaw was clenched against any verbalization of pain. Her arms strained, shaking with the effort she was putting forward in her attempt to break free. The blue lights in the walls illuminated the sheen of sweat that had broken out on her brow, but she wasn't giving up, however futile it seemed.

Zeth frowned at her, then looked to Vesryn. "She'll wear herself out eventually, right?"

"I'd bet on your spell dying first, actually."

"I suppose I should get on with it, then." He stepped away from Astraia, rolling up his right sleeve to the elbow. "Do you know what Saraya is, Ves?"

"Someone you will never understand," he spat back. "I believe that now." It was difficult to accept, but after all this, all this time even since they'd reunited, he still refused to let her be, to let someone he called his friend be... Vesryn found it hard to accept that Zeth could ever change his mind about her.

"She's a gift. A gift to the People that you were never willing to share. I don't know how else to describe it to you." His staff lingered uncomfortably close to Vesryn's face. He followed the end of it with his eyes, he and Saraya both wary of any spell that Zeth might try.

"Why are you still talking? Is it cowardice? Seth'lin? Feel the need to toy with us? You're a city elf, a flat-ear, just like me, just like you'd think of Khari, and so you push yourself to insanity just to try to earn your place." Vesryn was fuming, the thoughts escaping him ones he'd had many times over the past months but never found the heart or the reason to say. Was he so different when they were young? Vesryn had always found his drive admirable before, in the Tirashan. He wanted to help, always, he never lied about that, but once he had been a reasonable man. Willing to think of others, rather than the vague and blurry goal of "the People." As though he even knew what that meant anymore. As though anyone did.

Zeth laughed softly, just once, looking down for a moment. "No, I suppose you're right. We're the same, you and I. You see..." His hand drifted to a knife sheathed at his belt. He pulled it free, slowing tilting the point of it towards Vesryn's throat. "I was given a gift as well. One that I accepted into my heart, one that kept me going in my pursuit, a gift of knowledge, one that I'm willing to use to do what I have to, no matter the cost down the road. Everything I do is for the People." His hand holding the knife came to rest on Vesryn's chest, the blade still perilously close to his throat.

"If you were willing to cooperate, this would've gone easier. But it can still be done by force."

Still working against her bonds, Khari snarled like the bear people called her. “You get away from him! Who gave you the right to decide what's best for anyone, much less the People?!" She eased back, then lunged as far as her restraints would permit, snapping back hard when they failed to give. Her armor scraped audibly against the stone, a discordant, grinding screech.

He ignored her quite entirely, still intimately close to Vesryn. She probably couldn't even hear his next words. "I'm confident that you'll thank me for this someday, Ves. It might even be tomorrow."

With that, Zeth stepped back, exposed his own arm, and drew the knife sharply across it. Instantly Vesryn could feel the power practically explode out of him, bathing the entire room, and the blood didn't flow naturally from Zeth's arm, instead rising into the air and coiling around his wrist. The fires along the wall shifted to a deep red, casting the entire ruin in a much darker glow. The force of his magic shook the entire ruin, small bits of the ceiling above them cracking and falling around them. Dust rained on all of their heads. In Zeth's eyes was a bright, unnatural red glow, and it brightened when he lowered his staff towards Vesryn.

A low, resounding vibration pulsed out from the staff, the blood magic pulsating with energy that washed over Vesryn. Immediately he felt its grip on his mind, tugging, pulling, twisting, driving wedges where they did not belong. Saraya had no choice but to immediately recede in an attempt to spare Vesryn the pain he'd experienced in the Fade. The look on Zeth's face was approaching euphoric, and he smiled immediately after Saraya withdrew.

"You can't hide from me anymore..." Another pulse pumped out of the staff, the low thrum in Vesryn's ears intensifying. There was no pain like when Nightmare had torn at him, but there was an intense pressure, foreign and horrifying and violating, and there was nothing he could do to withstand it. He tugged on the restraints at his arms, but they'd only strengthened with the blood magic Zeth was calling on.

Astraia began to come back to on Vesryn's right, more quickly this time. She blinked in fear at the red light surrounding them, the magic emanating from her brother, and gazed for a moment in horror at the scene. "Zeth, what are you doing?! Stop!" He didn't seem to hear her.

Vesryn tried to fight it, but he didn't have the first clue how. Saraya could not help him, and he had no connection with magic to resist. The more Zeth tore into his mind with whatever spell he was using, the more it began to hurt, and it was only a few more seconds before Vesryn was roaring, a steady and uninterrupted shout, trying to force him out.

And Zeth relented, though Vesryn suspected it was by choice. The spell faded temporarily, though the energy of it still seemed to reverberate around the ruins. He was breathing heavily, his eyes still slightly glowing, blood now running in a thin line normally down his exposed arm. He took a step closer to Vesryn. "Do you know what I saw, Ves? An army of our kind, glorious elvhen. And her, looking down on them. She was a great leader, Vesryn, a general maybe, honored and revered for her deeds, her legacy preserved in this form."

It wasn't his choice to learn this. It wasn't up to him. It wasn't his right to invade their minds like this, pry from her everything he wanted to know and then spit it back out with the blood. And Saraya seemed to agree with him. She returned in his mind, with full knowledge that the pain from the blood magic would render Vesryn nearly senseless. It did so almost immediately, splitting agony approaching what he'd felt in the Fade just before the scream. There was no scream this time.

He blurrily saw Zeth say a few more words, face contorted in frustration, before he lowered the staff again, called upon the blood, and assaulted Vesryn's mind once more.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella faded back into consciousness slowly, intentionally keeping her body slack the whole time. It was better to have an idea of what was happening before committing herself to any course of action, and she immediately remembered that she'd been put to sleep with a spell, meaning she was likely not safe, even now. Keeping her eyes closed, she ran through a quick mental checklist of questions, seeking each piece of information in turn, in order of their priority.

The spell's effects were wearing off. Her hands and feet were bound, probably by rope or something similar, and her weapons gone, judging from the absence of weight at her hip and back. She was moving, her body folded over what felt like another person's shoulder, held firmly but not uncomfortably. She could hear the sound of the person's tread as they moved, but no others, and no voices. That meant the others probably weren't here. She risked opening her eyes, moving them as much as she could without turning her head.

They seemed to be heading back down the path towards the campsite. The ruin entrance was now a way off, but still just within her range of vision. She could see pieces of clothing belonging to her captor now, too—Shae. It seemed she had two choices: either she could attempt to use surprise in her favor, maybe employ close-range magic or use the rope around her wrists as a makeshift garrote. That might work, or it might not. Surprise or no, she knew Shae was formidable, and she suspected her success would depend very much on how well she managed to execute the maneuvers Rilien had taught her. Those were not excellent odds, to say the least.

The other option was to try and talk Shae into letting her go. Considering that the elf was as taciturn as she was intimidating, those weren't good odds, either. She wasn't the most convincing of people, and it was extremely difficult to ever get a read on the other woman, even for someone as practiced in reading subtle cues as Estella was. Still... it seemed like the better choice, not least of all because she didn't want to try and hurt her.

“Are you okay with this?" she asked softly. “I don't know what he's doing in there, but I have an idea. And he has Astraia." It hadn't escaped her attention that Shae seemed to be naturally protective of the young woman, whereas her attitude towards Zethlasan seemed more like duty than any kind of affection, however remote.

Shae slowed her walk for a moment, something that was almost unnoticeable, but it was something Estella could catch, that way just one of her steps hitched a bit, hesitated even though the ground in front of her was level and easy to tread. The mace hanging from the elf's hip swayed back and forth, the flanged head of it moving like a pendulum in her vision. "Zethlasan will not harm his sister," she stated, though as ever her dull delivery made it hard to tell if she believed that or not. "I'm sworn to serve and protect him, and he would have me take you to a safe distance. He wishes to avoid having an Inquisitor caught in this."

“You're probably right about that," Estella agreed readily, still making no attempts to resist being carried. She'd spoiled the element of surprise, so it was probably making this work or nothing, and she refused to let it be nothing. Not when her friends were in such evident danger. “But what if it's not just him? Things like being able to recover from a sickness like that... those things don't just happen. What if it's not Zethlasan making the decisions? You're sworn to protect him, and I understand that, but if something's happened and there's a demon or something in there with him... you're not sworn to protect that." She paused. “Isn't it at least worth making sure?"

"I will make sure," she said, "as soon as you're tied to your horse and on your way back to Skyhold. Your friends will follow in due time." The light was shifting, the campfire growing closer. She could hear it crackling now. The horses wouldn't be far. "I'd expected the sleep spell to last longer. If you attempt to resist, shem, know that I will be more than willing to render you cooperative more painfully."

“What if it's too late by then?" Estella insisted. “For all you know, he could be doing anything in there already, right now, and the only two people who might be able to do anything about it are out here, arguing pointlessly with one another. If he really didn't want to hurt Astraia, why would he let you take me out of there first? If there wasn't a risk of collateral damage, he wouldn't have needed to remove me at all." Estella kept her voice even and clear, but she couldn't deny that she was beginning to feel agitated. She should be there, helping the others, or at least facing down whatever there was to face beside them, not out here and safe and about to be shuttled away.

Shae grunted in annoyance, hefting Estella a bit higher onto her shoulder, but she only took another step before a deep, low boom sounded out from within the ruin. Estella could only get a glimpse of the blue lights in the entrance turning a darker red before Shae whirled around to look for herself, providing Estella only a view of the horses they rode in on. She could hear the effects of whatever magic was being used in there, though. Small rocks running down the side of the mountain the ruin was burrowed into, straining and crumbling stone, and even at this distance it was hard to mistake the strength of the magic coming from within. Shae, for the moment, had stopped to stare at it, quite plainly uncertain. But her grip on Estella did not lessen in strength.

“Please," she implored, struggling a bit despite her awareness that it wouldn't do much. “What would be worse? Delaying this to go make sure and finding nothing wrong? Or spending the time to tie me to my horse and then arriving too late?"

Exhaling a frustrated breath, Shae placed both hands around Estella's hips and heaved her forward, tossing her down the nearly six feet to the ground to land heavily on her back. She then took off at a sprint towards the entrance, leaving Estella behind in the dirt without so much as a word.

Fortunately, she needed no assistance getting out of rope bindings. These were obviously a quick job, and with a few tugs and twists, Estella freed her hands. Untying her feet was even simpler, and she stood quickly. It occurred to her that she was still without her weapons, but there just wasn't any time to bother about it—they were probably back in the cave anyway. She needed to get there, fast; too much time had been spent letting herself be hauled away from the others.

Almost as if responding to the thought, the mark on her right hand crackled faintly. Her last attempt to use it in a stressful situation like this had snapped a rib, but she didn't have the luxury of choosing whether to try again. It was just necessary.

A muted crack preceded the spread of the green light over her body. She knew it was right as soon as it happened; it felt the way it had in the Fade the first time. Estella lunged, propelling herself forward at a sprint. The third footstep pulled her through space; she landed several feet in front of Shae.

Shae stopped in complete surprise, skidding to a halt and almost tripping, but she kept her feet and locked her eyes on Estella in front of her. A moment passed before her hand went to her waist, and drew her weapon.

“I'm sorry," Estella said. “But I've got people to protect, too." Staying here and having this fight she probably couldn't win would waste time she didn't have.

Again.

Her second jump was longer, and she spent little time transitioning from it to the third, at which point she was halfway back to the cave. The light was still shifting evenly around her, still felt aligned to her will. What had pulled her up short was not the fact that she couldn't do it again, but rather the screaming. She recognized it, somehow, as being Ves's voice, but this... Estella gritted her teeth and sprang forward once more, reaching the mouth of the cave in three further jumps. She didn't withdraw the light, deciding she was more likely to need to spring again than to need the stealth of a more discreet approach. She doubted she'd ever be heard over Ves, and the kind of magic that could... it didn't matter. Not now.

She landed next at the bottom of the descending stairs, maybe five or ten feet behind Zethlasan, who was himself directly in front of Ves. Khari and Astraia were tied up nearby, bound by what seemed to be red-tinted magic to the stone pillars supporting the ruin's sole chamber. Estella didn't dare risk a spell so close to her friend—her aim was nowhere near that good. Grimacing, she braced for one last jump, and launched herself for Zethlasan.

Something almost gave her approach away. Perhaps it was the way Astraia turned her attention to the newcomer to the room, or some other sense of Zethlasan's, but he turned around almost in time to react to her. It wasn't quick enough, though; Estella slammed hard into his chest, knocking him back until he collided bodily with the restrained Ves, who ceased his scream once the spell was interrupted.

Zeth was still armed with a knife in his left hand, and he might've had an opportunity to stab her in the close proximity they found themselves in. He chose not to, however, responding with a powerful mind blast strong enough to throw Estella backwards across the room.

He stepped away from Ves, who groaned in pain as his head lolled forward for a moment. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but he at least seemed to have remained conscious. What state his mind was in couldn't be determined. When the sound of more footsteps coming down the hall reached their ears, the magical bonds restraining Astraia suddenly vanished, freeing her. Immediately she took a position of cover, halfway putting the pillar she'd been lashed to in between her and her brother.

"I wasn't finished," Zethlasan said, sheathing his knife and taking his staff in both hands. His right arm was bleeding from a self-inflicted cut, and his eyes were alight with a dull red glow. "It might be hard to see, but I'm doing Ves a favor. I'd advise you not to get in the way of that, Inquisitor."

“Stel!" Khari seemed far and away more aware of her surroundings than Ves, but then, she hadn't been tortured just now, so that made sense. “Our stuff's behind the pillars!" She was pulling at her magical bonds; the angry red burns on her unprotected wrists were evidence enough that she'd been doing so for a while.

Estella digested this information quickly, but deciding what to do with it wasn't as simple. “Astraia, can you free them?" She hated to ask her to do anything here, but there wasn't really a choice. She might be able to keep Zethlasan or whatever had become of him busy for a little while, but chances were it wouldn't be long. Not with her bare hands and her bare fragments of magic. She'd learned to use both in only the most basic and fundamental of ways, but she could at least move fast enough to keep her body between Zethlasan and anyone he tried to hurt.

She kept her eyes on him, watching for tells in motion that would reveal where and possibly what he meant to cast. To his assertion, she said nothing. It deserved no response.

"I—" Astraia stammered, hands pressed against the pillar. She was terrified. "I don't think—" She couldn't seem to get out any more, looking uncertainly between Estella and Zethlasan. He held out a hand to her.

"It's all right, sister. I'm sorry you had to see this, but it'll be done with soon." From behind Estella, Shae came running in, mace in hand, her hood pulled back to offer her better visibility. She took in the situation quickly: Zethlasan bleeding from the arm, Estella unarmed and opposing him, and Astraia watching from the side, free but clearly quite afraid. Her eyes narrowed at Zethlasan.

"Blood magic?" she asked, the words more an accusation than anything. Zeth nodded firmly.

"All Keepers, and all mages worth their power, should know a little. I know what I'm doing, Shae. And I warned you this would not be pretty." He didn't move from his spot, even as Shae came down the stairs, moving around behind Estella while keeping her distance, eventually positioning herself on Astraia's side of the room, but still facing Estella.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked.

Astraia's mouth hung open again. "What? I—I don't... no, he didn't, I—"

"I would prefer if mine is the only blood shed here, Inquisitor," Zethlasan said. "Go and wait outside. Ves will be returned to you alive and well, and Saraya along with him. Khari, too. We'll all just go our separate ways." His red-hued eyes darted down to her hands, and then back up. "You're outmatched. Force this, and it won't end well for you."

“I'm not letting you hurt my friends," she replied, balling her hands into fists. Estella's jaw tightened; abruptly, she aimed herself at the space behind the pillars and jumped, taking up her sword in one hand and Khari's heavier blade in the other. Sprinting to where Khari was, Estella aimed Intercessor for the arcane bonds on the pillar and swung the cumbersome sword as hard as she could, chopping forward with her enchanted saber for the ones at the elf's feet.

The bonds holding Khari's arms behind her held strong, but her feet were suddenly freed amidst a flashing of light as the magic fizzled and burned away. Zeth was momentarily disoriented by her sudden change in location, but by the time she'd halfway freed Khari he had unleashed an arcane bolt right at her.

"Shae, if you would please assist me in subduing the Inquisitor," he said, his tone somehow managing to remain polite despite the commanding nature of it. "Don't kill her if you can avoid it. But this interference needs to end now." Shae looked openly uncertain for a moment, but if anything the act of going for the weapons and trying to free Khari pushed her in the wrong direction. She walked a path around Zethlasan, trying to position herself on the other side of Estella.

Astraia looked rapidly between them all. "Please... please don't fight." Ves, meanwhile, groaned. It sounded as though he was trying to say Estella's name, or something similar, but couldn't quite manage it.

Estella took a large step away from Khari, leaving the thick dwarven blade by her friend's feet. She couldn't afford to get trapped between Shae and Zethlasan, and she didn't have quite enough time to try freeing her arms as well. She kept her saber lowered, eyes moving between the others quickly, so as not to lose sight of anyone. “I don't want to fight him, Astraia. But I can't let him hurt Ves like that. You saw it, didn't you? Heard it? It's wrong, and he doesn't seem to care."

She swallowed thickly. There was no mistaking how dangerous this situation was for her, even armed. She could very easily die. As could anyone caught up in the crossfire. And she didn't want either of those things, of course, but it wasn't like she was being given a third option here. “You might... you might want to leave. This isn't going to be safe." And if she couldn't commit to a course of action here, she was in even more danger. Estella did care about not creating collateral damage.

"You don't have to fight," Astraia said, though her words were aimed at her brother, not Estella. "Please Zeth, just talk to us, this isn't you."

"She's... right, you know." Ves barely managed the words, prompting a slight head turn from Zeth, though he was quick to keep his eyes on Estella. "You've let something... dark into you. You have to fight it." The corner of Zeth's lip curled up in anger, or frustration, and he shook his head violently once, as though trying to shake off cobwebs or wake himself up in the morning.

"Enough of this. Shae, with me." The mace-armed woman was looking more unsure by the minute, but she nodded uneasily.

"I can't let you hurt the First, either, Inquisitor."

"He's... he's tired, Estella," Ves said. He couldn't seem to catch any sort of breath, no matter how hard he tried. "You can do this." Zeth had indeed had enough of the talking, for he lashed out with a wide cold spell, ice springing up from the floor and reaching for Estella's legs, trying to pin her down or even let the ice stab into her if she wasn't quick.

Fortunately, quickness was about the one thing she honestly had going for her. Estella backed up rapidly, green light fizzling out around her. Apparently that was no longer an option, which left her with whatever she could conjure in herself naturally. She had no desire to hurt any of them—and it would be easy to avoid doing any harm to Astraia if she kept herself away, since she was certainly where all the attacks would be aimed. It left her less room to work in, but so be it.

Shae came in first, movement abrupt and powerful, swinging her mace for Estella's legs. Pulling in a sharp breath, she threw herself away from it and tucked into a roll against the hard stone floor of the ruin. The second blow was aimed much the same—it seemed at least that Shae wasn't interested in killing her, and Estella turned the hit aside with the blade of her saber, not even attempting to counterattack. Another ice spell barely grazed her left hip, coating her leathers in a thin layer of frost. She could feel it biting even through the material and her clothing underneath. Taking one of those directly would almost certainly end the fight.

But she needed to get Zethlasan to expend more energy than he had. If she could just wear him down to the point that he didn't have anything else to throw at her, then it was a safe bet that he wouldn't have enough to keep her friends pinned or do... whatever he'd been doing to Ves again. That was her only goal here, anyway, and the most likely way of achieving it. So Estella pushed down her worry, pushed down her doubt, and focused only on what she needed to do to make it happen.

Shae replaced the mace at her hip and switched tactics, trying to bring her to the ground, from the way she lunged. Estella just bolted, trying to bring the fight back around somewhere near Khari, who might at least be able to help a bit if someone got within range of her legs.

That brought her closer to Zethlasan, though, and she wasn't able to get out of the way of the arcane bolt he hurled with a powerful motion of his staff. It struck her in the side, sending her to the ground almost directly next to Khari's pillar. Shae moved in with clear intent.

She was intercepted somewhat awkwardly by Khari, who swung her lower half forward and wrapped her legs tightly around Shae's waist from behind. “Get up, Stel; I can't hold her forever!" The shout was more urgency than reprimand, the strain of holding the much taller and stronger elf in place already showing in her expression.

Estella didn't need to be told twice, scrambling to her feet despite the fact that her muscles were still spasming intermittently from the spell's impact. It hurt, pretty much everywhere, but the pain was low-level enough that she could still move, and she used the chance Khari had given her to dash for Zethlasan.

Another ice spell caught her shoulder, spinning her half way around, which turned nearly into a stumble and another fall when she staggered out of it. Fortunately, her unexpected movement went unanticipated by him as well, and the follow-up missed, allowing her to lower her shoulder and run, attempting to check him bodily to the ground.

She impacted an arcane shield instead, jarring her shoulder and throwing her to the side. Unbalanced, she couldn't possibly keep her feet when he let free another mind blast; it threw her back into the staircase, sharp stone edges digging painfully into her spine.

"Astraia!" Ves called. It sounded like he was steadily gathering more strength, at least. "You can end this, I know you can. Please, you know what's right here! Your brother isn't himself!" Astraia crept back to the weapons, where her staff lay among them, and she picked it up, returning to her position of cover near the pillar.

"Zeth, stop." Her tone was pleading, desperate. "Please! It's not too late."

"Not before I've done what I came for." He was breathing heavily, but called forth the magic to cast down a crushing prison spell, his spells still enhanced by his blood magic. A significant amount of it had run from his arm to drip onto the floor.

Estella tried to roll out of the way, but the spell was wide enough that she hit the wall before she'd totally escaped the radius, and it came down on her right arm, trapping it within a red-tinged pillar of light. There was half a second's worth of delay, and then the interior field began to collapse, like gravity had suddenly multiplied dozens of times over. She heard the bones in her arm snap in at least three places, but only then did the pain hit.

A scream tore free of Estella's throat; her free hand dropped her sword and scrabbled frantically at the stone wall. She tried to pull herself away from it, but there was little chance of escaping before the spell ended on its own. Where the pain of the arcane bolt was dull, now, this was acute: she swore she could feel every ligament straining and tearing under the pressure.

"Stop!" The cry came from Astraia, who had been spurred forward by the sound of Estella's scream. Her face was dead serious, angry, and finally set. Her staff leveled at her brother, she conjured forth a stonefist, powerful and quick, and hurled it at him from close range. Range where she couldn't miss.

Zethlasan abandoned the spell on Estella, turning and raising an arcane shield in time, but the stonefist smashed through it, the force of it dulled but still catching him hard and throwing him backwards across the room. His back slammed into a wall, and he dropped to the ground, the red light fading from his eyes just before he lost consciousness.

All light vanished from the ruin. The red fires fizzled out and cast them into complete darkness, a sudden silence broken only by the heavy breathing of those that had been in the fight. The bonds restraining Ves and Khari faded as well, judging by the sound of armor clattering against the floor, and Ves's sudden groan.

Estella bit her tongue, stifling a pained sound. Her arm... she couldn't move it, not even at the shoulder. It took her several moments just to regain her breath, but blinking the pained tears out of her eyes proved to do nothing for her eyesight. Oh, that was right. The dark. Between her body and the wall, her sword was still faintly glimmering, but it wouldn't do much to illuminate the area. For that she needed... she needed...

It took a moment to come to her; the pain made it feel like thoughts were moving too slowly. The same as trying to move her body through water instead of air. Light. She needed light. Raising her uninjured hand, Estella reached for the little spark of magic she knew was there. A gleam appeared at the tip of her index finger, growing until it was a hand-sized sphere of blue-violet light. With a soft exhale, she released it, sending it up closer to the ceiling, and in a more central location, giving the whole chamber a dim illumination.

“Is everyone..." She ran out of breath too soon and had to try again. “Is everyone all right?"

“Us?" Khari, at least, had a much more robust tone of voice. “Never mind us. You better be okay over there, Stel." A metallic scrape was probably her picking up Intercessor; she stepped into Estella's range of vision when she approached Ves, apparently intent on helping him stand.

He got to his feet easily enough with Khari's help, not bothering to go for his weapon and instead making his way straight over to Estella. He sank heavily to his knees next to her. "I'm... I'm fine," he said, as though he'd almost forgotten she'd asked. "How bad is it?"

She tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. “Ah... I'm glad I didn't get more of myself caught in it. I'll be fine, though." She pulled a breath in through her teeth as she tried to sit up, but she only made it as far as getting her good elbow beneath her before she felt a tremor in the ground. A low rumble, almost like the beginnings of an earthquake.

“What's... what's that?"

Astraia, who seemed to be somewhat in shock after attacking her brother, noticed it as well. The earth wasn't rumbling so much as the air seemed to carry the tremor. Shae quickly went to check on Zeth, but after confirming that he was alive made her way back over to Astraia's side. Ves had been about to help Estella get up when he turned.

The air quite suddenly tore itself open in a bright green glow, blasting out a wave of force that was enough to knock both Astraia and Shae onto their backs. It washed over Ves from behind, pitching him forward. He almost fell on top of Estella, but caught himself just before his weight could press on her. The ruin shook violently, the pillar Khari had been attached to now crumbling and falling to pieces under the strain. Larger chunks of the ceiling crashed down, some large enough to pose a threat.

And in the middle of the chamber, where Zeth had cast his spell, a Fade rift had been torn open. A single demon emerged: a lithe figure, purple-skinned, and standing on tall clawed feet. She—and the demon seemed to be taking a female form—sported a golden mask only revealing her eyes, with two impressive jet black horns extending back away from it. A long, sharp dagger was held in one of her hands. Her eyes glinted at the people around her, evidence of a smile behind her mask.

The desire demon laughed softly, and then used some form of magic to bend the light around her, vanishing into thin air. But her laughter continued to echo.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The echoing laughter was insidious, in that way demons were. Vesryn would not normally fear such a thing, but as with Nightmare, they found themselves not at full strength for this. Zeth appeared to be out cold, which was probably for the best, all things considered. Stel's arm was painful just to look at, and she'd taken several hard hits apart from that in the fight they'd just finished. He looked back, saw Astraia and Shae getting back to their feet. Astraia still looked in shock, but physically she was fine. Shae looked like she expected Khari to come after her as much as the demon. And as for himself...

Telling Stel he was fine was a rather obvious lie, but any change in him felt irrelevant while she had almost died trying to free them. Saraya was gone from him, as she had been in the Fade, and he knew she wouldn't be able to return for some time. Whatever Zeth had done felt remarkably similar to Nightmare's assault, albeit... more crude, bashing him open with a hammer rather than slicing in with a knife. And Stel had interrupted him partway through the spell, for better or worse. He didn't feel right... but that was something to worry about for another time.

He'd never actually seen a Fade rift open right in front of him before. This one was small, but it held open more steadily than the others. There was no way Stel would be able to close it until they'd dealt with the demon that came through. The desire demon was nowhere to be seen, but it was obvious she was still here. Soft little laughs bouncing off the pillars and the stone walls, no way to locate where she was. It wasn't hard to figure out that the sounds were directly misleading them, but if there was a pattern to it, Vesryn couldn't figure it out.

"Astraia!" he called, making her jump and pulling her attention to him. "I need you over here!" They had to get moving, get ready. Carefully he helped Stel up, using her good arm, and within moments Astraia was there. "Can you do anything for her arm?"

Healing magic sprang to Astraia's fingers, but she hesitated as she looked at Estella's arm, a sort of panicked horror spreading across her face. "It's—I can't here, there's too many breaks, I—here." She shifted the nature of the spell and let it loose, the magic washing over Stel's arm all the way up to the shoulder. "There, that should—Ves!"

A crack of Fade-green lightning had placed a shade directly behind Vesryn, and it immediately slammed into him, pitching him forward onto the ground. He rolled over to get his arms in the way of its claws before it descended on him, thrashing him side to side and trying to tear through. Without any weapon or Saraya, he couldn't find time to even punch at it.

Khari came in from the side, though, lowering her shoulder and charging right into the shade. Her momentum threw it well off-balance, and a quick pair of hits from her heavy sword banished it back to the Fade in a burst of ash and smoke.

Their attention was drawn away from Shae, who was left momentarily alone on the other side of the room. A laugh behind her distracted her and drew her attention the wrong way, before the desire demon reappeared in a flash of smoke, dashing forward and staying low. Her knife sliced across Shae's thigh before she could react. She cried out, swinging her mace in a downward arc, but the demon flowed sideways around it, slicing again and cutting through leathers on her side. The demon backed away from the second retaliatory strike, and by the time the third came she had vanished again, laughing.

"Nothing but elf blood, elves and the elf-blooded girl... it all tastes sweet." She laughed again, the growing volume of it reverberating around the walls. "Share some more? If the pet isn't up to the task, I'll tend to it myself. No one will deny Obsession!"

Stel's right arm still dangled uselessly at her side, but it didn't seem to be causing her pain anymore, at least, and she gripped her sword comfortably enough in her left. Obsession's declaration seemed to strike some kind of nerve, from the way her expression contorted slightly for just a moment into something almost pained. But as she seemed to often do, she reasserted her focus and self-control quickly. The light over their heads brightened, adding to the rift's greenish illumination, but the shrinking shadows did not reveal the demon.

She took a couple steps away from the others, but not many, just enough to give herself room to maneuver. Her eyes scanned the cavern, but Obsession was nowhere to be found. Abruptly, a despair demon emerged from the rift, launching its beam of ice towards her. She ducked forward under it, sprinting to the demon itself and thrusting the sword up into the underside of its head. The demon fell with little difficulty, the beam disappearing, but Obsession seized the opportunity, materializing at Stel's back and punching the dagger right for her spine.

Stel shifted slightly, just in time—the knife missed her spinal column and sank into her left side just below her ribcage instead. With a pained noise, Stel whirled, bringing her saber around in an arc with her, but by the time she should have been cutting into the demon with it, Obsession was already gone.

“Armor's no good," Stel ground out between heavy breaths. “Went right in." Indeed, there didn't seem to be much corresponding damage in her armor itself, but dark blood was already seeping out from underneath it.

“Stel—" Khari cut herself off with a low growl of irritation. “We all need to stay close. We're easy targets if we give her too much room."

A sudden noise from behind Khari caused her to whirl around, only for another to echo from her right. She turned again, sword still braced in front of her, and grumbled something under her breath that sounded most likely indecent. The rift rippled again, this time spitting forth two rage demons. “Oh for—" She made a break towards Shae, the closest target for the demons, swinging her sword into the nearer of the two.

Shae viciously attacked the rage demon in front of her, bashing chunks of molten flesh away from its face when it tried to make a first strike. The hit went through anyway, searing her upper arm. Both combatants seemed content to just ignore the damage they were taking until one could no longer stand, and that proved to be the rage demon, fizzling out into nothingness.

"Khari!" Vesryn called. "My axe." She was much closer to it, and Vesryn was already making his way over to Stel's side, half-dragging Astraia along with him. Khari was right; they were going to get picked off if they separated too much.

Khari glanced around, clearly spotting the weapon where it had been left. Frowning, she made a lunge for it, scooping it up off the ground and sliding it along the stone floor towards him. It actually stopped closer to Stel, but since that was where he was going anyway, it was probably for the best.

"Stay with Shae," he said. He didn't want to give any commands to anyone, but now wasn't the time for polite suggestions. He'd gotten them into this mess, and if he could get them out of it, he would. Whatever it took. "Back to back, don't let her approach unseen. Astraia, stay with us. Between us." He forcefully positioned her between himself and Estella. She was obviously terrified, but more than willing to comply, anxiously aiming her staff at any demons that appeared or noises she heard, but too hesitant to unleash anything in the chaos.

It was actually a tactic he'd learned in his mercenary years rather than from Saraya. Battle-pairs, a way to improve chances of survival after lines were scrambled and the fight turned into chaos. Every fighter found a designated partner, someone they trusted and had worked with, and trusted their back to them, allowing to focus only in front of them even in the most hectic fight. It gave enough room for most styles to maneuver, though it wasn't ideal for speed, more for defense. That was all they could hope for now.

"Protector, protector, desiring to shield them all..." the demon laughed softly in amusement. "If only I served your desires, but yours couldn't match your friend's. A pity to see them dashed." A despair demon flew from the rift again, settling into open space and launching icy magic for Shae and Khari, who were beset by several shades as well.

"Don't go after it," Vesryn urged. He didn't want to see Obsession's knife find anyone else. "Astraia, can you hit it?"

"I can try." She didn't sound certain of it at all, lowering her staff and hurling a spirit bolt at the demon. It shrieked and dodged sideways, the bolt smashing against the ruin's wall. "Damn it!"

Khari snarled, cleaving downwards with her sword into the head of a shade and splitting it open down to the shoulders before it burst into ash. “Coward!" The words sounded like they were expelled as loudly as she could get them from between gritted teeth. “Get out here and fight us for real!" She thrust the blade's nearly-jagged point into the belly of another shade, stopping it cold before it could get at Shae's unarmed side.

This seemed to affect the demon not at all; she continued in an almost singsong tone of voice. "My, my, my, such big desires for such a little elf. The ones you wear for all the world to see... and the ones you hide from everyone around you. I could give you all of it, if you wanted."

“Ar tu na'lin emma mi, da'elgar. I want nothing else from you."

Obsession appeared again, further to the right than she had been. Stel and Astraia both reacted; Astraia's stonefist reached the target first, but she'd already stepped out of the way of it. Stel had obviously tried to anticipate that, and loosed her fire a second later for where the demon went instead of where she'd been, but with a hiss and a more urgent dodge, she managed to stay out of the way, and disappeared again.

Her voice seemed to echo from the ceiling above, now. "Look at you, Lady Inquisitor. Just a mess. What you want is so simple. Other people have it with so little effort. But you... not you. And it grows, and it grows, and it crushes you under its weight. All the things you cannot have, always on your mind."

Stel remained stone-faced; it was actually quite impossible to tell whether the demon had stuck a nerve or not.

Astraia groaned in frustration. The despair demon was still active as well, now launching a continuous stream of magic that was steadily freezing Shae in place. "Pitiful desires, pitiful girl. You should dare to want more!" Gritting her teeth, Astraia strode out several steps away from Vesryn and Estella. Immediately he reached after her, but she had already thrust her staff forward, unleashing a torrent of electrical magic from, channeling it without much in the way of direction. It lit up the inside of the ruin with bright white flashes, arcs of it lashing out and stabbing at everything in front of her, which thankfully included none of her allies. The despair demon did not last long in that, shocked until it disintegrated.

"Astraia, get down!" She turned around, confused and alarmed, as though she hadn't understood Vesryn properly or like she expected him to be in pain or something, not rushing for her. Obsession appeared right behind her, and Vesryn only just shoved Astraia away in time. The knife found him instead, punching into his lower left side. He gritted his teeth and drove his pommel up into her jaw before she could retreat.

She stumbled away in a circle, laughing even as her mask was ripped off by the attack, revealing her twisted features and bloodied face. "A real fight it is, then." Entropic magic lit in her hands, and she slammed it into the ground, the magic rushing outward like Zeth's sleep spell had, washing over them. A sleep spell wouldn't work again on them, but the cloud that passed through them didn't attempt it. Instead Vesryn immediately felt dizzy, sick, only partially in control of his own limbs. He accidentally tripped over Astraia's leg, falling onto his back. She clutched at her head on the ground. Obsession rushed forward to descend on them both, knife poised to strike.

Stel landed solidly on her feet between the both of them and the onrushing demon; she must have vaulted over them from behind, because there was no green light present. The initial spell did not seem to have struck her, but her swing only grazed Obsession, carving a line into her flesh just above her waist. The sizzle was unmistakable as the sword's enchantment went to work, and the demon shrieked with pain or anger or some mix of the two, reaching out for Stel and closing a clawed hand around her neck.

With inhuman strength, she lifted her off her feet, knocking aside a much less-directed attempt to slash again with her elbow and driving the short blade in her free hand hard into Stel's stomach. She twisted; a soft whine escaped Stel's throat, probably the only sound she could make with Obsession's fingers closed around her windpipe. When the demon drew the knife back, its edge was unmistakably wet with blood, poised to lance forward a second time.

A heavy whistle was the only warning before Khari struck, her cleaver slamming with obvious prejudice into the side of Obsession's left leg. The bones in her knee crunched, the impact doing just as much to bludgeon as to cut, though a significant chunk of red-stained white bone came away with the sword, a wedge hewn away by pressure and leverage. “Let her go, you bitch!" Khari shouted over Obsession's scream, the words hard to make out but clear enough in context.

The demon abruptly released Stel, dropping her to the ground. Before Khari could land a second hit, she'd jumped away clumsily and vanished again.

The effects of the demon's spell on Vesryn and Astraia were powerful, but short lived. He'd been able to observe everything that happened, and only vaguely allowed himself to comprehend that Stel might have just taken a fatal wound to save him from his entropy-enhanced clumsiness. But there was still hope. No one was beyond reach yet. He had to believe that. Telanadas, Astraia had said. Nothing was inevitable.

Astraia was getting up as Vesryn was, her eyes passing only momentarily in horror over the blood on the ground, a mix of Stel's red and the demon's black. It was trailing away, hard to see in the imperfect, shifting green and white light, but Astraia followed it. She took steady breaths, trying to slow herself down, and bits of stone that had fallen on the ruin's floor began to rise around her. She whispered something to herself, and the magic grew stronger around her.

With a steady lift of her hands and her staff, she called it up, and a mass of earth rose around the form of Obsession, who quickly became visible again. Petrified in place, she shrieked and struggled against it, but all she could do was move her head, and watch in terror as those she preyed upon turned the feeling back on her.

Khari seized the opportunity to attack, darting forward and swinging in a powerful, double-handed horizontal stroke. With a grunt of effort, she threw her body into the blow, sundering Obsession's head from her neck. It landed with a solid, wet smack on the stone, the rest of her corpse still held in place by the petrify spell, blood gouting from the stump at the top, splashing onto the stone intermittently.

Intercessor's blade fell to scrape the floor, slack in Khari's grip. She was breathing heavily, but her concern seemed to be directed at the rest of them—Stel in particular. “Shit. Shit, Stel, are you okay?" She urged herself into a shuffling jog in that direction.

A soft groan answered; at least she was alive, though it remained to be seen if she'd remain that way. “I don't feel—ngh." She rolled over onto her back, trying to keep pressure on her abdominal wound and sheath her sword at the same time, which was not going well since she had only one functioning arm. “I need help."

Fortunately, Khari got there to provide it, helping her stand and slide the blade back where it belonged. Stel leaned pretty heavily on her, turning them both towards the rift. “Hang on, I need to..." She visibly winced, taking hold of her bad hand with her good one and lifting it up towards the source of the green light. As it happened, the horrific state of her arm didn't prevent the mark from working, and the normal beam connected from one end to the other.

Vesryn was at her other side almost immediately once she was up, pressing his free hand against her stomach, wary of causing her too much pain while she was closing the rift, but knowing they needed to keep pressure on it before she lost too much blood. He was barely even responding emotionally anymore, shutting it out the way Saraya had shut herself out of his mind. None of it would matter if they could all just get out of here alive. The feeling of her blood soaking into his gloves, warm and wet, was distracting him from that, but she had survived these kinds of things before. Astraia was there too, already trying to at least slow the bleeding and keep her upright as long as she could. Once the rift was closed, they'd be able to rest here a moment, and make sure she—

Crack. The rift snapped shut with a blast, but it seemed to be the last straw for the ruin. A large chunk of the ceiling caved in where the rift had been, smashing into the floor and nearly crushing Shae, who'd only just been able to dodge out of the way. The entire ruin started to shake, destabilizing rapidly. Vesryn fought off panic, taking stock of who he had and what they needed to do.

Zeth groaned suddenly, coming back to. Shae made her way over to him, trying to haul him up to his feet under one of his arms, but her leg had taken a bad slash, and it was a struggle. Vesryn made eye contact with Khari. "I need you to help Shae. Astraia and I have Stel." It wasn't an argument, as far as he was concerned. No one was dying here, despite how much Zeth might have brought this on himself. "Hold on, Stel. We just need to get out of here."

Khari didn't look too pleased, but she nodded anyway, hastening to Shae and taking Zeth's other arm in her grip, setting it over her shoulder.

Stel's eyes were glassy; it seemed she was having trouble focusing now, but at least she was still upright, and she dipped her chin in what seemed to be a deliberate manner. “...kay." This close, he could hear a certain wetness in the half-word, a sign that there might well be blood in her lungs. The fingers of her functional hand closed over the edge of one of his pauldrons, clearly her attempt to help the two of them hurry her along.

"Come on, move!" he called to the others, spurring them ahead of him. Zeth seemed to be gaining the sense to start his feet moving a bit, but he was still be mostly carried, lopsided as he was due to the height difference in the two elves assisting him. Stel had much the same thing between Astraia and Vesryn, and Astraia was hardly even paying attention to the falling rock, letting almost aimless healing magic flood out of her hand, in the hopes that she could do something while they were on the run.

They made it up the stairs, just the central chamber of the ruin caved in on itself, crushing the headless Obsession's body along with the rest of it. All that remained was the long tunnel, the entryway. Vesryn was feeling the effects of his own wound as they ran, the one bleeding from his side. But he wasn't in nearly as bad a shape as Stel was, so he regarded it as unimportant. They just had to get there, they just had to move faster...

Shae, Zeth, and Khari made it outside, but a heavy, deep cracking in the ceiling caused Astraia to instinctively stop, throwing her hands up alongside her staff. The ceiling had cracked apart above them, just about dropping massive chunks of rock on their head that would've instantly flattened them, but Astraia held them aloft with her magic. She strained desperately with the effort, unable to move and hold the spell that way simultaneously. "Go!" she called. "I can hold it!"

Vesryn stopped and turned to look at her, well and truly panicking, as there was no way he could think for them to get out of this. It was too far to dive for cover, he couldn't leave Astraia behind, but he couldn't get Stel clear if he stayed. He floundered, unable to come up with anything, tears of frustration springing to his eyes.

"Go!" she cried again.

“Ves..." Stel's voice was weak, but just barely audible. “Don't... let go." She released her hold on his shoulder, twisting in his grip so that her good hand grasped Astraia, arm banding around the young elf's waist. A low crack, a dimmer version of the sound of a rift closing, issued from right next to her—or rather, from the mark itself. Green light burst from the scarlike slash on her right palm, wreathing her and rapidly expanding until both Vesryn and Astraia were awash in it as well. It felt almost like being submerged in warm water, save that he could still breathe without difficulty. Around them, events seemed to be taking place almost in slow motion, the imminent collapse of the cave suddenly much more gradual. Even the noise was almost like being beneath the surface of a lake or something—distant, muffled.

Stel pulled forward against his hold, almost as though she were half-falling, half-lunging towards the mouth of the cave in the distance. With an uncomfortable lurch, both of them were pulled after her. Rather than the single step forward it had seemed to be, though, their feet came down right at the mouth of the cave. His visual field was simply replaced by a new one, as though they hadn't crossed intervening space at all, or had done it instantaneously. The green light flickered dangerously and dissolved. Stel's knees gave out from under her.

The ruin collapsed entirely behind them as soon as they were gone, Astraia's magic no longer holding it up, and it caved in right up to the entryway. Vesryn wasn't even sure what had happened at first, before he realized that Stel must've been able to pull them with her through the Fade, or partway through it, or something. The how wasn't even concerning to him, just the fact that it had been done. An overwhelming relief flooded him, the brief thought of losing Astraia to this banished.

But Stel had collapsed, and Astraia and Vesryn both went down with her of their own accord. There was a patch of soft grass next to where she'd fallen; as one they gently shifted Stel onto it, rolling her carefully onto her back. Astraia didn't seem to know how she was alive, either, but she wasn't questioning it, instead just getting to work on calling more magic to her hands, and repairing Stel's wounds. She started with the most dangerous one to her stomach, focusing intently. "I'm sorry, I'm not as good at this as the others," she said quietly. "This will probably hurt some."

Vesryn preferred not to look, kneeling by her head and pulling his gloves off. His right hand was coated in her blood. He used the left instead, pushing some of the loose hair away from her face, and then tracing his thumb across her cheek. "Our turn to save you, got it? Just stay with us, Skygirl's got this."

On the other side of the ruin, Shae had carefully set Zeth down in a seated position atop a rock that had tumbled down the mountainside. The mountain itself was calm again, the collapse having run its course.

Khari spared them a worried look, open concern etched across her face, but it was swiftly chased by a poorly-contained fury. She had not relinquished her hold on her sword, though she made no attempt to use it, merely keeping the end pointed down and herself positioned so she had a clear view of Zeth. She seemed like she'd rather be with Stel at the moment, but perhaps she thought better of crowding either an inexperienced healer or a patient in need of help.

“You're gonna be fine, Stel. We can even take tomorrow morning's workout off, if you want."

Stel's mouth quirked just slightly, before she pulled a thin breath between her teeth as Astraia started to work. “S'okay," she mumbled. “Hurts anyway. What's a—nnh—little more?" She kept her breath mostly steady, but it wasn't hard to tell how weak it was, and it sounded like each one bubbled a little. There was definitely blood or something there.

“I'll be all right. Worst is—" She flinched a bit, a reaction to something the magic was doing, clearly. “Worst is over." It sounded like she was trying to reassure the both of them, but it was Vesryn's eyes she held with her own. “Thanks... for trusting me. I didn't—didn't know if that would work."

"Of course," he answered, smiling, wiping a tear away from his own cheek. He could feel it flooding out of him now that the fight was over. All the concern he'd let build up. "And it did work. Brilliantly, in my opinion."

A soft groan sounded out from behind him, one sounding more like a man recovering from a headache or a hangover than pants of severe injury. "What... what have I done?" Zeth's voice came out thick, almost choked, heavy with grief. Vesryn didn't care if he felt remorse. The only thing the sound of his voice evoked from him was rage. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, steeling himself for a moment, and then tried to smile down at Stel.

"I'll be right back. Need to have a word." He wasn't sure what words they would be, but the physical kind would probably come first. He pulled his hand from Stel, leaving Astraia to her work, and dropped his axe as he turned. He didn't trust himself with it. Zeth still sat on that rock, looking honestly little worse for wear. He looked small, Vesryn supposed, tired and diminished. His eyes no longer carried that dull red glow. "Move, Shae." The First's protector glanced uneasily at him, her obvious instinct being to stand in his way, but after a moment's hesitation... she backed off, watching Zeth with a neutral expression.

Vesryn wasn't able to do that, his features contorting with rage. He reached out, seizing Zeth by his robes and hauling him up. Setting him up for the heavy swing of his right fist that followed. The hit decked Zeth across the jaw, sending him stumbling back onto his face in the grass with a whimper. "I should kill you for this, era'harel. Demons! You would risk the lives of everyone I care about for your obsession." He spat on him. "Get up. I said get up!"

He stooped down and snatched him up again, punching him twice this time before he allowed him to fall in a heap, his face bloodied. He coughed and moaned on the ground. "I tried, Ves..." he gasped in a ragged breath. "I tried to stop her. She was in my head for so long... it was killing me, Ves."

"Too much of a coward to speak the truth to us." He pulled back and kicked Zeth in the gut. "Seth'lin! Maybe you should have died." Zeth cried out in pain. Behind them, Astraia wiped a tear from her face before it could fall on Stel, but she refused to shift her focus.

"I'm sorry, Ves," Zeth sobbed, curling up and shaking. "I'm so sorry I couldn't fight her. I didn't mean for this, please..."

“Ves." The voice came from Stel, raspy and uncomfortable, but stronger than it had been earlier. “The demon is dead. The person left was—" She ran out of air and coughed, pausing a long moment before she could pull in another to continue. “He was weak, not malicious. He's still—still Astraia's brother. Still a First the Dalish need." She tried to shift, maybe to address him more directly, but slumped back to the grass with a soft noise. “And he's still someone you cared about. Do you—do you really want to live with it, if you strike him down for his weakness?"

Vesryn took breath after breath, staring down at the form of Zeth beneath him. Steadily, each breath came slower. He'd known as soon as she said his name that he didn't have it in him to kill Zeth. Whatever they were now, they were friends once. They would never be again, not after this. This was more than he felt could ever be forgiven, ever be moved past. But he could at least choose not to let this consume him, but rather to let go of it instead. Something Zeth had never been able to do.

Slowly, he crouched down, grabbing Zeth by the collar and forcing him to look up at him. "Listen very carefully," he said, his voice quiet out, but still able to carry through the stillness to the others. "You are going to crawl your way back to the Tirashan and beg the forgiveness of your clan. You will learn from this mistake, and serve the People in the ways that are still left to you. I never want to see you again, Zeth. Do you understand?"

"Ves, I—"

"Do you understand me?" he repeated. Relenting, Zeth nodded weakly, and Vesryn shoved him away, standing and turning to head back to Stel. He had no desire to be anywhere near the man anymore. "Shae, see to it that Zeth makes it back to his clan. Understand?"

"I understand." Shae's voice was quiet, subdued, devoid of any of the usual tone of agitation. "For what it's worth... I didn't know, Vesryn. About the blood magic, the demon, I..."

"It doesn't matter. Just go home."

Shae nodded uneasily, then looked to Astraia. "As soon as you're done, Astraia, we'll find another place to camp for the night."

Astraia did not look up from her work. She had shifted from the stomach wound now to the other stab in Stel's side. There was an uncomfortable amount of blood staining the ground around her, but it seemed as though not much more was joining it. Astraia was working as quickly as she could. "I'm staying, Shae." Shae hesitated, opening her mouth to protest, but she closed it again, lowering her head. Vesryn thought there might have been some shame in her expression. "I want to choose my own future, and for now it won't be with the Dalish. I want to join the Inquisition. I can help them." It seemed quite obvious that she could. The Inquisitor would probably be dead by now if not for her.

"Then..." Shae swallowed uncomfortably. "Dareth shiral, lethallan. Please, be careful."

"We'll look after her," Vesryn promised, managing to smile a little. "When she's not looking after us, that is."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The crackle of the flames burst to life as Lady Marceline stirred the hearth with a fire poker. The fire lit the seating area of her office nicely, and chased away the chill from the outside air. It was among the top reasons that she had chosen that particular room to serve as her office. That, and it also served as a central location, just off to the side of the main hall and connected with the war room through another door. It was convenient for everyone, from the diplomats she entertained to the Inquisition personnel themselves. She had taken great pains to ensure that the office was both comfortable, and functional, as well as putting her own personal tastes into it. She glanced up above the mantle to take in the family portrait she had commissioned.

She returned to her place on the couch that faced the fireplace and took the glass of wine that waited for her on an nearby end table. Estella was present as well, as she had news she wished to discuss. However, Marceline was also waiting on a few others, so that left both of them patiently waiting. Honestly, it was just like the man to keep her waiting-- she'd been more surprised if he'd beaten anyone to her office. "I apologize Estella, but Michaël tends to do things at his own pace," she said, taking a sip of her wine. Of course, if he did things at her pace, then he would not be the man that she fell in love with.

“Hm?" Estella glanced up. She was sitting in one of the office's armchairs, apparently lost in thought about something or other. She blinked, however, clearing her eyes and giving no indication of what had her preoccupied. “Oh, it's no problem." She didn't seem to mind much either way, though she did appear to be a little puzzled by the summons, and why MichĂ€el's presence was necessary in the first place. If so, she was much too polite to mention it.

A knock soon came at her door, drawing her attention. It soon opened and revealed Larissa, with Michaël trailing not far behind. Surprisingly, he had brought someone as well, as Khari filed in soon after. "Larissa caught you two during training then?" Marceline asked. She didn't mind that Michaël had brought Khari along; he was fond of the woman and enjoyed training her. She was happy that he had something to put his mind to, Michaël did not do well with idle moments. Honestly, if it hadn't been Khari, then it would have been Pierre. Michaël smiled brightly and took a chair adjacent to her and scooted it over to be closer to her. She tried to ignore the obnoxious scraping noise.

If Estella might have been confused as to why she was present, Khari was definitely so. She wore it openly scrawled across her face, dropping gracelessly into the chair next to the Inquisitor's. “Are we getting more manners lessons? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I can do as well as Mick when it comes to that." She shrugged, glancing back and forth between them.

"I doubt it, mon ours, Michaël answered with that grin of his.

Marceline chuckled lightly and shifted in her place in order to slide closer to Michaël, "You must remember, Khari, we are Orlesian. It is in our blood. Despite Micky's... unique mannerisms, he can be quite civilized when the time comes. But no, no lessons today," she added, causing him to shoot Khari a smug look of satisfaction. It lasted all the way until the moment that Larissa could no longer contain her giggle.

Once she managed to get a hold on it again, Larissa raised a hand shook her head. "I'm sorry, it will not happen again milord," she said, hiding her smile. She had taken a seat at Marceline's desk, but did not work on anything. Marceline had a sneaking suspicion that everyone but her enjoyed sitting at her desk. Instead Larissa's attention was on them, patiently waiting for Marceline to explain why she had gathered Michaël and Estella. She knew what this was about, of course, Larissa had been there when she first read the letter.

"Sure, whatever. You say that now," Michaël answered Larissa with a wave of his hand.

Khari stuck her tongue out at MichĂ€el, but seemed to gather herself back into some semblance of presentability quickly enough, arching an eyebrow at Marceline. “Okay..." She drew the word out on the 'a'. “So what, then?"

"I received a letter from Lord Mathis. You remember him, yes?" Marceline asked, her attention alighting Estella for a moment. "He is the Marquis of Collines Verts, a portion of which neighbors our own estate. He visited for a time some months ago--I do not know if you saw him," she said for Khari's sake. She was not present when she introduced him and his niece to the Inquisitors. "Regardless, he sends his best wishes," she said, focusing on Estella again, "And expresses his appreciation to the Inquisition for hosting him and his niece."

Michaël raised an eyebrow. He knew that that wasn't all the letter entailed, he'd played the Game himself long enough to the letter obviously had something else in it. "I am sensing there is a 'but' coming."

Marceline nodded, "I will save you all the rest of the pleasantries--of which there were no few. He speaks glowingly of the work that the Inquisition does, and the effort he personally believes I pour into it."

"To butter you up, undoubtedly," Michaël added with a shrug.

Marceline chuckled again, and nodded in agreement. She was glad Michaël was present, he brought a... refreshing breath of fresh air to her office. He certainly helped to keep her sane. "Yes, undoubtedly, but the 'but' you spoke of Micky. He wishes that I take his niece, Lady Félicité as an apprentice and protégée."

Larissa cooed from her desk, "The request obviously was not as forward milady made it sound. There was much flowery language and praise involved. The butter milord so eloquently put it," she said with a light smile.

Estella frowned slightly, resting her hands carefully in her lap. “Isn't that... isn't that a bit dangerous? I mean, Skyhold is well-defended, from the outside, but if someone could make it in and hurt Cyrus the way Leta did, shouldn't he be worried about leaving his niece under the protection of people in such a publicly-contentious position?" Her concern seemed to be for the young lady more than anything; her brow furrowed over her eyes, and the frown did not ease.

"Yes, it is certainly a dangerous position, but I believe Mathis understands this," Marceline sighed. Of course Félicité would be in danger as her apprentice, the Inquisition as a whole was not a completely safe haven--as recent events surely demonstrated. Marceline frowned, she had brought the idea of tightening Inquisition security up with the other advisors, so at least they would all be safe in Skyhold. It was enough to worry for them when they left the keep's walls, she did not also want to have to worry about them while they remained within them.

Larissa was the next to speak. "In fact, he may count on it as a sort of... preparatory method. If she is able to handle the dangers of the Inquisition, then she will be well prepared to handle the dangers that will come when she finally assumes the title of Marquise of Collines Verts."

Marceline nodded in agreement. As dangerous as it was, she would no doubt earn the necessary experience to smoothly run her estate when the time comes. "As I understand it, she does not hold any reservations against the proposal herself," she allowed herself a tight smile for a moment. "If she is anything like her mother, then I am not surprised to hear that. The Ambroises were--are, I suppose I should say... bravely ambitious," Marceline noted.

"Sound familiar?" Michaël added, reaching over to place a comforting hand on her knee. "There can be no reward without risk."

“Uh..." Khari still seemed to not be sure she should even be in the room in the first place, but she was bold enough to interject anyway. “Sure, maybe she needs to be prepared for the possibility of assassination or whatever—sorry Stel—but there's gotta be better way to do that than risking being someplace where a fucking lyrium dragon might fly over the walls some morning." She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “He's got an angle, right? Something he wants out of this that's not in the fine print or footnotes or whatever you call it?"

Estella looked thoughtful for a moment, not perturbed by the nature of Khari's comment. She seemed to alight on something; her face shifted until she was wearing an expression of mild disgust, actually, followed swiftly by something almost describable as pity. “Oh, he's not..." She trailed off and sighed. “You think he's trying to arrange something more permanent than an apprenticeship, right? With FĂ©licitĂ© and Pierre or something?" Her lips thinned.

“That's not... it's hardly worth the risk. I mean... it's her life. You aren't going to accept, are you, Lady Marceline? Did you need me to tell him that the Inquisition officially disallows that kind of apprenticeship so it's not a personal rejection?" It seemed to be her guess as to the reason for her presence in the discussion.

"It is not that easy, Estella," Marceline shook her head. She had much of the same worries that Estella had--maybe even more. "Mathis made... declining rather difficult, I am afraid," she said, with a sigh. Michaël tightened his grip on her knee and nodded, unsurprised. If they wanted it enough, the nobility were difficult to fend off until they got their desires.

"As I said, Mathis is Marquis of Collines Verts, what is essentially a portion of Orlais's breadbasket. In return for apprenticing Félicité, and undoubtedly the renown that would come with that, he offered trade deal that would see the Inquisition able to buy the crops produced by his estate at just above cost, as well as any other support that he could offer, which would help us greatly, as well as win us an important ally in Orlais," Marceline explained, her frown deepening.

The resources that Mathis could offer could help the Inquisition a great deal, and they were... enticing. "And I fear that if we were to decline, then he may see it as a insult--or at least play it as such. We would lose an ally, and not only that, but the goods we already purchase from his estate may also see an increase in price because of it. That would prove to be... unfortunate."

Michaël was quiet while she spoke, and appeared thoughtful throughout, and it wasn't until Marceline finished that he began. "And Pierre? Yes, I can see Mathis planning something like," he said with a shake of his head. "He courted Marceline, you know?" he explained for Khari, "But obviously, he did not win that one," he said with a smile while he rubbed Marceline's knee. Marceline looked at him and returned his smile warmly. "Had they married instead, then they would have united their lands and both of their houses would have benefited from the union. His loss, honestly," He added. Marceline gave him a frown, but shook her head. He was correct, after all.

"He may be planning on attempting to arrange something similar with Pierre, yes. And that is what truly worries me," she added. "He has not expressed it directly, perhaps he hopes it would... happen naturally during her tenure here," she said with a deep frown.

Estella took a deep breath. “We should not be bargaining with the lives of children, no matter what it will get us." She said it surprisingly firmly, insistently. “I understand that your personal history is complicated, and that the political implications are many. But the Marquis does not control the only fertile lands in Orlais. There are other possible alliances to work towards. Other things we can try that do not involve putting innocents at considerable risk by bringing them here." She sat straight in her chair, meeting Marceline's eyes directly.

“Your personal family affairs, what you think of the attempt to match or any of that—I won't trouble you with my thoughts on those things, because they're none of mine or the Inquisition's business in the slightest. But this is a move that the Inquisition will be making, and a decision that the Inquisition will be responsible for. Perhaps the others might disagree, but I am not comfortable with what this would say about us. What we're willing to do to achieve our aims. If Lady FĂ©licitĂ© were of age and consented, perhaps that would be different. But she's a child, Lady Marceline. No child should be in peril for the schemes of adults." The cadence of her voice never wavered from its firm softness, but it was clear that she felt quite strongly about the matter, and it would take more than the promise of resources to sway her.

Marceline couldn't help but smile warmly at the woman's fire. She was... proud to hear the certainty in her voice, and wished that she could hear it more often. It was clear to her that there was to be no debating on the matter, and at that Marceline frowned. She wished it could be otherwise. "I respectfully disagree," she stated evenly. "This proposal gains us much, and we need all of the aid that we can afford. I understand your grievances Lady Estella," she continued. She did agree with Estella on a few of her points. It was dangerous, and she was uncomfortable to be bartering with lives as well, but she also believed that they needed all the help they can get, no matter the circumstances. She would do what she must to see that the Inquisition succeeded.

"But, I am afraid I have already made my decision," Marceline revealed, her voice never leaving its even cadence. Underneath however, she did not like having to decide like this or having to argue with Estella. "Lord Mathis asked that I specifically, be the one to apprentice Lady Félicité, not the Inquisition, and this will be my decision, and one that I will be responsible for," she stated equally as firm. "I truly wish that it was so simple, Estella, I truly do, but it is not. Corypheus threatens more than just the Inquisition, and we are still in desperate need of allies, resources, and support."

The Inquisition was growing by the day, and not only that, but they now had presences in both Orlais and Ferelden that would also require resources. They could not wait while they tried to win allies elsewhere. "If these resources will give us an edge, then I will take it." It was difficult choice, but she did not join the Inquisition expecting them all to be simple.

She intended to do everything in her power to keep Lady Félicité safe as she possibly could while she remained with the Inquisition, and would take all necessary precautions to ensure that she remained out of harm's way, but Marceline did not think that it would change Estella's mind. "I truly do apologize, Lady Estella," she added, sincerely.

“I see." There was a certain strain in Estella's voice, as if she were exerting conscious effort to remain as neutral as possible. Her face was impressively-neutral, almost as hard to read as Ser Rilien's. “If you have already decided, I suppose there is not much I or anyone else can do." She stood, bowing a fraction stiffly.

When she straightened, she met Marceline's eyes again. “But I would think that someone as politically astute as you are, Lady Marceline, would realize that even if you were the one he asked, your acceptance says something about us all. His resources do not go to you, after all. They go to us. I... hope that this turns out as well as you anticipate. Because it will not be only you that takes the blame if it does not." She said the last with a trace of sadness, then turned and left without a dismissal.

“Uh." Khari broke the uncomfortable silence that descended. “I don't really know shit about this, but... might wanna have another think about this kinda stuff, Marcy. The Inquisitors are supposed to be the ones in charge, right?" She shrugged, then glanced quickly at MichĂ€el. “Sorry, skipping the rest of practice. Gotta go... you know." She jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder and about-faced without waiting for responses from either of them.

“Stel—" The door closed, cutting off anything further.

Larissa shuffled at her desk, and she too stood and made for the door, though not before she paused for a moment. "Milady. I will go check on the young Lord, make sure he is keeping out of trouble," she explained, and once Marceline nodded her acknowledgment, Larissa filed out of the door as well.

She exhaled sharply and her face fell into her hands. She felt... a lot more tired than she had moments ago, and it was starting to become a usual feeling of late, she had found. She shook her head and reached for the wineglass that waited for her on the nearby end table and downed it instantly. It gave Michaël time to stand from his own chair and go to the couch next to her. He drew her close, and let her lay her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and said nothing, letting her mind fall away to the rhythm of his breathing and the crackle of the flames in front of her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
The armor racks were a new addition.

He hadn't ever expected to need them. Long had it been since anyone in the House Avenarius went to war, in the full sense of the word. Not since Tiberius's service in the perpetual Qunari conflict. Cyrus hadn't ever planned to take the field himself in such a manner, and if he should ever need to do so, he'd counted on his magic to be plenty of protection. Both his youthful hypotheses were now obviously false, and so it came to this.

The armor itself was in the traditional Tevinter style, though thankfully it had been made before unnecessary ornamental spikes had come into fashion. Several generations ago, that. Nevertheless, it was angular, designed for clever deflection and swift movement more than sheer stopping power. The joints were chainmail, a shirt of the same long enough to hit roughly his knees, split at the front and back for mobility. The plates were what he'd expect for a set commissioned for his house specifically; darkened and enchanted until they were a deep indigo color in most places, blackened silverite serving as the secondary color for accents and displays of the maker's craftsmanship. It seemed to shirk the light, or absorb it instead of reflecting, no doubt a product of the Formari's enchantment.

It had been sized for him not long before he left Minrathous, or so his steward had informed him. It might need a few more adjustments for muscle mass gained since, but it would do for now. The practice set next to it was heavier and plainer, lacking the enchantment or the more purely decorative storm motifs, but designed to be worn to replicate the other, with more weight for training purposes. Leon had offered him use of the Inquisition's supplies, but for his armor at least, Cyrus felt it better to make sure he had the best available to him, and not take resources that could be necessary to another. Swords were less important; nearly anything made well enough to pass Leon's muster for purchase would do, and a pair of them rested against the wall.

He sighed. “I'm not sure I haven't chosen wrongly, Stellulam."

His sister pushed off her place against the wall behind him, taking the few necessary steps to stand beside him instead. With a hum, she reached out, tracing a cloudlike swirl in a band of them placed at the upper edge of the chestplate. Stellulam dropped her hand away and turned her head to look at him from the side. “I am," she said quietly. “Cy... I can't imagine what this is like for you. Maybe no one can." His situation was unique, after all; magic and dreams gone, but emotions intact, when once he'd had all three. “But it's not wrong to want to move on. To do something else. Even if this..." She paused, exhaling softly through her nose.

“I hope that this is temporary. That you can find a way to fix it. But this—trying to find a place in things that doesn't have anything to do with it. That's not wrong. It wasn't wrong when you had magic, and it's not wrong now." She offered him a smile, and moved her left hand up to lay at the back of his right shoulder. “I think you'll get a lot out of this. The rest of us do, and I know they won't mind if you join, too. There's a lot we can learn from you, and you from us."

A lot to be learned. He supposed that was true. Cyrus hadn't felt like he had this much to learn since he was an adolescent, locked away in his rooms until he'd mastered some important piece of magic or theory. He'd always known, of course, that there were limits to what he knew and could do, but only seldom had they ever seemed so... acute. Had his own capacities seemed so underwhelming. A lot to be learned, and a place to be found.

He supposed he could imagine worse things.

Reaching forward, he removed the practice set in pieces, collecting them all in a sack which he threw over his shoulder. “I suppose it's worth attempting, at least." He half-smiled at her, as genuinely as he felt himself capable in the moment. “Lead on then; I must go avail myself of the mercy of your... friends." The smile got a little easier.

Predictably enough, Stellulam turned a slight shade of pink, then elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Not another word, thank you very much." She passed from the workshop first, drawing even with him again as soon as there was enough room to do so.

“Oh, but why not?" Cyrus adjusted the burden over his shoulder and chuckled softly, almost under his breath. “I think it's positively adorable. The lovely Lady Inquisitor and her dashing, steadfast Champion. They'll write very sappy romantic tales about it someday, just you watch." Cyrus had never before had the opportunity to take part in the age-old sibling tradition of teasing his sister about her personal life as such; he planned to make the most of it. Of course, he knew she was the furthest thing from frivolous in such matters, and that they were sensitive, but in a way that was all the more reason.

She needed to believe it was all right, for people to care about her. He'd take all the help he could get in proving it. And that was even before considering what a spectacular distraction it was from the less-pleasant things he could be contemplating instead.

“Ugh." Stellulam looked as though she very much wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, running a hand down her face and sighing heavily. “Cy... please don't do this during practice. It's already difficult enough to look at him and not—" She shook her head emphatically, more red than pink by this point.

He laughed outright at that, almost surprised that he could do it. Reaching over, he scrubbed a hand a few times over her head, mussing her ponytail with a bright grin on his face. “Not what? Oh do finish the thought, dear Stellulam. If you don't, I will, and you know where my mind is apt to wander." He did feel a little bit bad; he was clearly much more accustomed to this particular flavor of banter than she was, and she was making it so very easy for him. It didn't stop him from making things worse, of course.

“Actually... I have a better idea." Cyrus arched both brows. “Maybe I should ask Vesryn how he thinks the rest goes, hm?" He picked up his feet a little faster, breaking into a run towards the tower door, which was now easily within sight.

“What? Cy, no!" She took off after him, catching up as soon as he'd twisted the handle. Launching herself at him, she slammed into his side, carrying both of them over the threshold and into the soft dirt on the other side. The clanking of his armor pieces accompanied the more solid thud of their impact. She gave his arm a good whack, though as usual, it wasn't nearly forceful enough to cause actual pain. “Don't you dare!"

"The rest of what now?" Vesryn asked. He and Khari had apparently paused their spar, and the larger of the two elves had his helmet off and tucked under one arm. Sweat lined his brow, and his breathing came quicker than usual with exertion. His eyes went back and forth between the two new entrants to the room, his lips threatening to break into a smirk or a grin as they often did. He planted the butt of his training axe in the dirt, leaning slightly on the head. "I could've sworn I heard my name."

“Nothing," Stellulam said quickly. “Absolutely nothing." She glared down at Cyrus, though she failed to look especially threatening when she did so. Huffing, she pushed off him and stood, offering a hand down to help him to his feet. “Though Cyrus does have a question for the both of you. Don't you, Cy?"

Khari glanced between all three of them; the expression on her face suggested she knew she'd missed something, but then she shrugged as if to herself, and it disappeared. “A question for us?" She arched her brow and tilted her head to the side.

Cyrus sighed, more from the end of a good laugh than anything approaching weariness, and took Estella's hand. He had a feeling he'd pushed about as far as she was willing to let him, for now, and so he'd turn the topic as she seemed to want. It was the point of today's excursion, after all. Pulling himself to his feet, he dusted himself off a bit and nodded slightly. “I do, yes."

For a moment, he glanced about the room. As the whole bottom floor of a large tower, it was quite spacious, and less bare than he'd expected. There seemed to be a fair amount of equipment. In addition to racks for practice weapons, there were dummies, both wooden and straw, small targets, and what looked like a series of vertical poles lashed together, most likely for assistance in balance training or something of the kind. If this was the Spymaster's setup as he'd heard, then it was clear that the fellow knew what he was about. That was reassuring, in a way.

He cleared his throat, returning his attention to the other two. “I've, ah, heard that the three of you spend a great deal of time practicing here. I find myself with the need to... shift combat roles, shall we say, and I was hoping you might consent to my joining you." Cyrus felt a bit of a grimace forming on his face, and didn't fight it. “I realize that this isn't the sort of thing you'd want to do in front of anyone and everyone. And that perhaps a certain amount of trust is requisite. I'd understand if you declined, but Stellulam thinks—and I agree—that there might be a considerable amount I could both contribute to and gain from your efforts."

“Can you teach me more about mage tactics?" Khari asked the question almost immediately, and looked quite intent on the answer, meeting his eyes unblinkingly.

Cyrus nodded. “That's... most of what I have to offer, yes, though demonstrations will have to fall to Stellulam where necessary." From her lack of surprise, he assumed the news must have filtered to her somehow. Oddly enough, he didn't mind.

She shrugged. “Seems fine to me. Ves?" Khari turned her eyes to the other elf.

"Would be a bit hypocritical of me to say no, I think." He said it with a bit of self-effacing humor, resting one elbow against the top of his axe. "Not that I'd want to. You're more than welcome."

“See?" Estella smiled at him. “Told you they wouldn't mind."

So she had. Cyrus felt himself relax a little, then nodded. “Excellent. Ah... perhaps one of you would not mind teaching me how to don armor, then? I'm not used to wearing it, but I'm going to need it, at this point." It was more than a little uncomfortable to admit not knowing something so basic to so many others, but everyone had to start at the beginning with anything new. That was simply the way of learning.

And Cyrus was not averse to learning, at least.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, and it was giving Lady Marceline a headache. That, and a number of other factors.

The Exalted Plains, a region of the Dales in Orlais had recently played host to a front in the Orlesian civil war, or the War of the Lions as it was also known. The place had been beautiful, once, before it was ravaged by war and blood. Lady Marceline and the rest of the Inquisition had received a missive from her father, Marshall of the Loyalist forces. The letter was not unusual, Marceline often received them from her father, and they had always comforted her with the knowledge that he was still okay, and the war had not yet taken him. However, his most recent letter did anything but.

This time, he had written to request her, and the Inquisition's aid. Demons had infested the Plains, and forced the armies to turn their attentions away from each other and on them. From the tone of the letter, it sounded as if the situation was dire, and that both sides were losing ground to the demons. It worried her, to hear that her father was now facing a force of demons, with no real way to get rid of them short of an Inquisitor.

While they could not interfere in the civil war of a nation, they could deal with the rifts and rid the Plains of demons. As valiantly as the Chevaliers fought, they could not hope to defeat what must seem like a limitless force of demons. At the very least, Marceline had hoped that once the demons were gone, that both sides could come to a ceasefire--at least until a time in which a more permanent solution could be found. She may be able to sleep a bit easier at night to know that her father was no longer in any immediate danger. Probably not, all things accounted for, but it would be at least some semblance of peace of mind, for one thing at least.

As it was her father who had sent the letter, she had accompanied the rest of the Inquisition into the field. Not only accompany, but she took point as they approached the battlefield. She wished that their pace was quicker, but was intelligent enough to know the value of patience. Still, that did not help with the knowledge that her father was somewhere out there, fighting against demons. Beside her, Michaël rode and she knew he was worried as well. For her father, yes, but by the many glances he'd given her during the journey, he was worried about her as well.

"I am fine, Micky," she said after the latest glance, perhaps a little more tersely than she meant to. He grunted in answer, something she took as him not entirely believing her.

Ser Leonhardt, riding a bit behind but still within earshot, glanced towards the horizon. Or at least it seemed like he did; it was hard to say for sure when he wore the helmet. “We shouldn't be much further out," he said, voice slightly muffled and slightly echoing. He was still easily audible, however.

A scout emerged from behind one of the hills on their right, one of the Inquisition's. He signaled with a low whistle, and waved an all clear. That was their cue to lead the horses off the main road, and they did so quickly, picking up the pace a bit to urge their mounts over the incline. They descended down a slope after that, following the scout into a patch of dry ravines, with pathways forming naturally between high rock walls. A few bridges attempted to span them, but most had been destroyed, either by time or by the more recent fighting. In either case, going into the shadow of the cliffs led them to the scout camp.

Lia was waiting for them, bow in hand. She looked on edge. By the looks of things, the scouts were dealing with several wounded, though none of them looked seriously injured. She waved a half-hearted greeting and met them at the edge of the camp.

"Lady Marceline. Commander. Glad you guys could make it in one piece. This place is a mess, worse than the Hinterlands ever were. You didn't encounter any trouble on the way in I hope?"

Marceline shook her head, "We met only a few demons, stragglers I believe. Nothing that we could not sufficiently deal with ourselves," Lady Marceline answered. She glanced behind her, toward Asala, but it seemed as if the young woman did not need to be asked, as she was already off of her horse and heading toward the injured scouts. Instead, she nodded and turned back toward Lia. "Was it them that did this?" Marceline asked.

"Bandits, actually," Lia replied grimly. "Or rebels, or whatever. Scum. We've encountered a group called Freemen of the Dales here. Recent, mostly deserters from one side or the other. Which means they're better trained than average highwaymen. Took us by surprise while we were dealing with some demons. We managed to get clear, though." A scout groaned from the camp behind her, prompting Lia to turn her head and look on in concern for a moment, but she shook it off. "I'm not sure if they're based somewhere here, or if they've got larger operations elsewhere. Oh, uh." She glanced around the head of one of the horses, trying to find Khari's eyes. "I spotted a Dalish clan across the Plains. Staying clear of the fighting, I think. I couldn't spare anyone to find out what clan, though."

“Yeah... I think I know who that is." Khari nodded to Lia, an expression of thanks, it seemed. “Probably won't be an issue, though. They'd prefer not to get involved if possible."

"Makes sense." Lia looked back to Marceline. "Gaspard's forces are the closest, or at least a portion of them. They're holding the ramparts north of here against the demons. Can't say how well they're doing, and we don't have the manpower to assist. Well, now we do."

Romulus nodded. "I'll do what I can for the rifts."

"Cool. I can take you out of the ravines, but I'll need to come back here after that. Bit too busy managing my people to come along. We've got our hands full here."

"Any word of my father?" Marceline added tentatively. She tried to wash the worry out of her voice before she spoke, but she was afraid she was not able to get it all, judging by the comforting hand Michaël placed on her back.

"No," Lia answered, in a carefully measured tone. "I'm sorry. Trying to break through to either side was too great a risk, and I've got wounded to take care of already." She glanced sideways for a moment, and then gestured. "Let me just get my horse, and we'll head out now."

Marceline frowned and nodded, "I understand, thank you Lia."

They waited for Lia to get mounted, and the followed her through the ravine. The air as the rode proved to be oppressive, at least, it had for Marceline. It felt as if a demon or these Freeman Lia spoke of could ambush them at any moment. Marceline kept her eyes to their flanks, hoping to catch them before that could happen. The smell of blood and death soon pervaded the air, and Marceline figured that meant that they were getting close. Soon enough, she was proven correct, as they soon caught sight of the ramparts over the next bend.

A squad of Chevaliers were posted near what she could tell was the entrance-- a wooden bridge over a moat. Inside was a series of wooden barricades and a number of trenches. "Those are Gaspard's men alright," Michaël noted, and Marceline agreed. They wore the Grand Duke's color, red, accented with a bronze hued armor. Michaël sighed deeply beside her and shook his head, "I remember fighting in ramparts like those... trench warfare is never easy," he said sounding rather tired himself. Marceline glanced at him and placed a hand over his own, and gave it a comforting squeeze. He was pulled from a battlefield just like this one to serve with the Inquisition with her. Seeing it again... couldn't have been easy.

"Good luck. I hope your search goes well," Lia said, wheeling her horse about. She took off back for the scout camp.

As they drew closer, it was easier to see that the trenches themselves were filled with fog or mist; it smelled vaguely rancid as well. That was unsurprising; oftentimes, all there was time for in situations like this was burning the bodies, if that, and the demons were no doubt further complicating matters.

Their horses' hooves almost crunched over dried, yellow-brown grass; the hasty grey-wood construction of the ramparts was hardly a nicer sight to look upon. The bridge over to the main portion of the holdings was occupied by two chevaliers, one of them wearing an armband that suggested at least some officer rank or other. They were both immediately cautious of the approaching band of mounted soldiers, drawing their weapons and holding them ready.

"Who goes?" demanded the officer. The other looked ready to give a signal to the rest of the squad at any moment.

"The Inquisition, ser," Marceline answered. She was a bit on edge as she spoke, as she did not know how well the Chevaliers would react to meeting both Michaël and herself. He was once an enemy chevalier, and she herself was the daughter of the Marshall of the opposition's forces. However, their stance seemed to relax once she introduced themselves as the Inquisition, though they still kept their weapons in their hands.

The guards exchanged glances between each other before they looked back to her and the one spoke again, "You are here... about the demons, yes." There was a hopeful tone in his voice.

Lady Marceline nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, ser. We are," she said, glancing at Romulus. "This is our Inquisitor, Romulus," She said, introducing him to the soldier.

A flash of recognition crossed the Chevalier's face and he placed a hand over his heart in a salute. "Oh, good," the one soldier answered, deeply exhaling. "Well met Inquisitor," he added. "We have been trying to retake the ramparts from the dead... They rise here, somewhere within the trenches," she said, tossing a wary glance over his shoulder and into the trenches in question. Marceline also noticed Michaël wincing when the soldier spoke of the trenches.

"Have you..." Marceline began, "Have you heard any news of Marshall Lucas LĂ©cuyer?"

The soldier then squinted at her and then nodded his head, "You are his daughter, yes? We had heard that the Inquisition employed her--you. No milady, I am afraid I have not," he answered, seeming rather apologetic about it. The gesture did manage to relax Marceline a little, but still. "Communications have been difficult, since the demons. Perhaps our commander, Marshall Bastien Proulx would know, but we have retreated to Fort Revasan. He has ordered it locked down until we have cleared the ramparts of the demons. It has been going... poorly," the soldier said, shaking his head.

“Where do you need reinforcements?" Ser Leonhardt asked, stepping forward slightly to make himself more visible, perhaps, though that was hardly an issue. “Is there a rift nearby here causing the trouble, or some location they seem to be dispersing from?"

"Deeper inside," the soldier answered, pointing toward the center of the ramparts. "There is a pit filled with corpses, and a... strange glowing light resting above it," He explained.

"The rift," Marceline stated, "That is the source of these demons, and the corpse pit may be the reason for all of the undead," she continued, glancing at Leon.

"Yes, there is another rampart, closer to the fort with the same affliction. We were given horns and orders to sound them once they have been cleared, to let the fort know they have been dealt with," the soldier said. "You will be able to gain entry afterward."

“Rift, huh?" Khari shrugged, glancing at Romulus for a moment. “Think we've got that covered. Let's get to it." She seemed, if anything, a little excited by the prospect, but it was subdued when compared with her usual expressions of the same.

Romulus did not look as excited, reaching into a pouch on his belt and extracting a small vial from it. He'd pulled the cork and downed its contents as quickly as it appeared, shaking his head briefly at the strength of it and blinking rapidly for a few seconds. His blade and shield in hand, he dismounted, starting forward.

Zahra wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her mouth formed a hard line. Unlike Khari, she hadn’t looked all that excited since they’d arrived in the Exalted Plains. Perhaps, it was the exertion of swinging on and off their horses, taking care of the straggler-demons Marcy had talked about. Exhausting work. She, too, dismounted but held the horses reins, as if she didn’t truly want to walk any further. She exhaled softly through her nose, “More Undead. Great.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Undead. Maggot-infested corpses crawling out from all those damned trenches, swaying like drunkards on their broken limbs, clacking their finger bones across too-heavy great swords, staring across at them with sightless sockets
 Zahra never wanted to see them again after Crestwood. Apparently life had a funny way of spitting in their faces. Not only did they have to deal with demons, but the undead, too. She was a fan of neither abominations. She couldn’t tell if the entire place smelt like wet dog or death. Maybe a putrid combination of both. She couldn’t decide which was worse. She’d already decided she hated it.

Hated that there was a beauty here, too. Buried beneath old ruins, and muddy trenches; hidden under centuries of war and slaughter and a stubbornness that prevented people from letting go of the place. Who would choose to live here? She wasn’t sure. The Dalish did. She supposed there was something worth holding onto. Though them being here was still important. She understood that well enough. Marceline’s father was here, somewhere: fighting a war of his own. Hopefully still alive. Marceline was worried. Rightfully so. The pinch to her brows, and the faraway gaze, read plain as day. However, it wasn’t looking promising. From all the corpses they’d seen face down in the muck
 they weren’t faring well.

Who could blame them for faltering? Undead creatures, and more demons than she could shake a stick at were hunkered across the hills. Skulking through the various trenches and palisades as if they owned the place. Bastards. Apparently there were bandits too—you’d think that they would’ve been busy fending off a common enemy rather than pilfering those who fell beneath them. Opportunists; something she also understood. These days, she agreed less and less with the sentiment.

They were approaching a bridge. Surrounded by the sharp wooden spikes, piercing up towards the sky like spines set across the lip of the trenches—presumably to keep their enemies at bay. There were armored bodies, as well as remnants of the undead, rankled through them, as if both had been pushed and impaled. A last stand that ended badly for both parties. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Burnt flesh, rotting flesh; insects and wet earth. An awful mixture. Smoke wept into the gray skies. Everything felt so bloody heavy.

A soon as they were halfway across the wooden bridge, the moans began. A crooning sound above the eerie silence. Two arrows thudded in front of Rom’s feet, twanging to a halt. It didn’t take long for the source of the noise, and assault, to reveal themselves. Several undead were peeling out of the inner structure, clambering out of the trenches, steel-plated or wearing leathers. The insignia's etched across their chests and backs were familiar. Another volley of arrows sang through the air, zipping past their heads.

Zahra was already notching her own arrow, ducking behind a row of wooden spikes to give her some cover.

“Hold your noses and have at it, eh?" Khari was, predictably enough, the first into the fray, red braid trailing behind her like a brighter version of one of the drooping pennants still affixed to the occasional stake in the palisade. Proud battle-line markers once, signs of greyed-out fatigue and decay now. But not her.

She body-checked one of the undead back into the pit it had crawled out of. From the thudding and wet squelches, she'd delayed the ascent of at least a few more. Her cleaver mowed down another, putrefying flesh no match for solid steel, however chipped and cracking the blade had become over time. Like her, perhaps, always coming away with a new mark or bruise or scar, but undiminished. Glorying in the fact, even, if the throaty sound of her laughter was anything to go by. She spun, chopping into another's torso all the way to the spine and casting it off her blade with a foot. Back into the pit it went, still for good this time.

Leon moved to his work with a soft little sigh, almost under his breath, but Zahra could hear it. It sounded exasperated and perhaps a little bit fond; it was almost certainly directed at Khari's enthusiasm. or rather the woman herself. For all his mildness, he was certainly no less violent when it came right down to it, shouldering his way to the front with a sort of deliberate intention, though the expression on his face was left to guesswork. The helmet obscured him considerably.

When the first of the creatures swung a mace for him, he simply weathered the blow, letting it clang off his plate armor. Abruptly, he reached for the weapon on its rebound, giving a hard tug and yanking the possessed corpse forward into his knee. The muffled snap was most likely the cracking of its spine or pelvic bone—he'd hit too low for it to only be ribs. He shoved it back into the pit as well, turning smoothly to slam his armored gauntlet into the next one's unprotected head, snapping its neck back with a slightly-sharper crunch. It dropped like a stone.

Michaël sighed as well, though Zahra could tell his was far more earnest and detached. He lacked the spirit and enthusiasm Khari held for the battle at hand, and even seemed tentative to jump in with the rest. He gave Lady Marceline one last glance before he pulled his armored mask over his face and dove into the battle behind the others. The sound of a pair of longswords scraping out of their sheathes accompanied his plunge into the undead.

The first shambling corpse didn't get the chance to attack him, his first blade piercing the thing's chest before the other looped around and lopped off its rotten head. A heavy kick saw the corpse dislodged from his blade and crashing into another that was caught behind it. With the next step, he twisted his body and began a spin while he held both blades out. A full rotation saw the blades crash into the next one, tearing through its arm and digging deep into its torso. The force of momentum saw the swords rip free of its body, leaving the undead to twirl limply into the ground.

Lady Marceline stood a safe distance behind him, and dealt with any undead that managed to get around him. Zahra could tell that the stress of worry was beginning to affect her as her technique suffered, and was replaced by a yet to be seen fierceness.

Rom took the sides of the fight, not bothering with the confined quarters of the trenches and instead climbing onto the ramparts around them, where some of those undead archers had taken up positions. He sprinted forward, staying low, catching one arrow on his shield as he went, and stepping in swiftly to meet the first archer before it could draw another projectile. Their bodies were weak and decayed; he reached out, grabbing the thing's head and sawing through the neck, cutting it clean off. The corpse continued to stumble around without its head, but he soon kicked it over and sent it tumbling away.

A second was behind it, already aiming, but Rom ducked low, the arrow passing over his shoulder as he lunged in. He reached with his left hand, grabbing hold of the creature's exposed spine. It hissed in displeasure, but a few seconds and a green glow later it had exploded in half, the small burst of energy from his mark obliterating that block of its spine. It fell in two pieces to the ground. Rom had been about to move on when the top half grabbed hold of him, empty hands clutching at his boots. He yanked his foot free and stomped down on its head, lip curling in disgust.

Asala remained in the rear, though her presence in the fight could still be felt. Barriers sprung to life to in front of whomever needed it most, blocking the arrows from the undead that Romulus had yet to get to. When her barriers were doing that, however, she was using them to funnel and stagger their foes into their frontline fighters so that they wouldn't get overwhelmed. The layout of the ramparts helped her in that regard, the tighter quarters requiring less extensive use of her spell. However, once every now and then, an undead was crushed by the careening force of a shield being swept across it.

Several arrows sliced through the air and thumped into soft-fleshed skulls, felling or incapacitating them for the others to finish off. Plucked in quick succession from behind the general safety of the wooden spikes. A terse grin tugged at the corners of her lips, though it felt more like a grimace on her face. She could see everyone from where she was, advancing down into the trenches, and circling around the main body of undead. Marcy had not escaped her vision either. Her struggles, or sluggish movements, did not go by unnoticed. Zahra shouldered the bow in lieu of her rapiers and stepped down into the muck beside her.

“I’ve got your back—” the rest of her words were interrupted by a clang of metal as a flanged mace bit down overhead. She parried the blow, and allowed the mace to sink its teeth across the blade, dragging the gawping creature off-balance, so that she could sever its head from its shoulders with her second blade. It thumped and rolled away from their feet. The body shuddered and flopped to the side, still as a corpse should be. It hadn’t taken her long to regroup as she circled to Marcy’s flank and swept an incoming blow away. She’d never seen Marcy fight like this before
 but if she was faltering, she would be her blade.

Though it came slower than usual, Marcy's rapier lashed out all the same and pierced the forehead of the undead that Zahra had just deflected. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she nodded, the appreciation surprisingly clear in her usually subdued body language, and though she wore her silverite mask, her crystal blue eyes read it as well.

The undead couldn't stand against their small group, and as they advanced deeper into the ramparts, the sounds of other fights rang over theirs. The squad of Chevaliers they'd seen were not want to stand around and watch while the Inquisition dealt with their problem for them. With the extra hands, it wasn't long before they'd fought their way to the center of the encampment. Their destination was clear, as ahead of them a rift pulsed with energy above a pit. The smell of death and decay wafting from the pit was almost overpowering, probably holding who knew how many corpses for the rift to raise.

"Romulus, please?" Marcy asked, burying her nose within the shoulder of her cape.

Even Rom appeared bothered by the stench, suppressing a cough. He lifted his hand, the mark crackling to life and latching onto the rift. The number of dead here meant that the Veil had been weakened significantly more than usual. Or at least, that was how these things usually went. More dead, more demons. Still, he didn't seem to have any great difficulty in getting the rift to snap shut with a loud crack, allowing them to freely access the bodies. As soon as he wasn't required, Rom made to put some distance between the dead and himself.

"Asala, can you," she paused for a moment to cough and shook her head, "Can you set fire to the bodies? They deserve better but... We must ensure that the undead will not continue to rise," she added.

Asala had a spell in her hand and pressed to her face, and judging by her reactions to the scent it appeared to be filtering the air far better than their clothes were. She nodded and quickly made her way to the pit, tossing down a small fire spell. Though not in her usual repertoire, the bodies were dry enough that the flame caught instantly, and in only a few moments the whole pit was engulfed. Still, the scent lingered, and with the issue dealt with, they didn't need to linger so they made their way back to the bridge.

Along the way, they ran into the soldier they'd spoken to earlier, and though he seemed more battle worn than when they first met, it was clear that their actions had raised his spirits. When they approached, the soldier was in the midst of ordering his squad to mop up any undead that were left and then take defensive positions around the ramparts. "Hail, Inquisition," he said, raising a hand in greeting, before he placed his hand over his heart in a greeting. "We are... truly grateful, for your aid. We could not have closed the rift, as you say, on our own," he said.

"You are welcome, Ser," Marceline answered with a polite bow, though even Zahra could tell that she was anxious to keep moving. Her father was not there, after all, and undoubtedly the woman wished him found soon.

The soldier scratched his head, almost ashamed in asking, "I fear there remains one more, to the north. If Fort Revasan is to be opened, it will need to be dealt with as well." Another soldier approached the first as he spoke, a horn in hand. He received it and turned back to the group, "But for this one, we can handle the rest." With that, he blew into it, sounding it with a deep breath. The call would reach deep into the plains, and into the fort in question. "We wish you luck, Inquisition, and... I hope you find your father well, Lady Marceline," he added.

With a distinct direction to head in, Khari took the lead. Of those present, she seemed least affected by the pervasive smell of death, though why so was hard to say. In any case, it made sense enough to have someone with heavier armament in the front, and it worked out for the better when they reached the northern ramparts on horseback.

The battle there had spilled out onto the surrounding plains, undead having shuffled away from their pits to give ambling pursuit to what looked like only a few heavily-injured chevaliers. Clearly, these had not fared as well as their comrades to the south, but they fought on grimly. Upon catching sight of them, Khari spurred her horse forward, the momentum of its charge carrying her past three corpses before she used her legs to wheel it around. The blade of her cleaver came away black-red with foul ichor, but then she was maneuvering back into the fray, and Zahra's attention forced to her own battles.

There were more, this time, but they were no mightier, and the Inquisition did not flag. When the last had fallen, Khari, still mounted, shook her sword free of as much blood as possible and set it across her lap. “Fort Revasan now, right?" She seemed eager to get there, if without mentioning why.

“Indeed," Leon confirmed, flicking his armored fingers to cast the blood off his gauntlets. He swung back astride his horse with deceptive lightness, pointing her nose to the east. The clicking of his tongue was audible, though trapped behind his helm, and this time, he led.

The plains were oddly empty, for the battlegrounds of a Civil War. But then, by now surely even the soldiers out here had heard that peace talks were imminent. At least imminent by political standards. So the fighting in the fields had died down, but not nearly for long enough that the wildlife had resumed normal activity in the area. Until the fort itself came into view over the horizon, they and their mounts were the only living things to be seen for as far as Zahra could tell.

Fort Revasan was built upon a rock formation, tucked back against the edge of the forest in the rear. Elevated well above most of its surroundings, the well-maintained edifice was only quite small for such a building. But then, it was likely also quite old, a better testament to its effectiveness than mere capacity. They were forced to approach the gate no more than two abreast; Leon dropped back to allow Michaël to ride beside Marceline. He seemed to be inclined to leave the talking to her.

A small team of chevaliers stood guard at the mouth of the gate. On their approach, they shifted into a defensive stance, no few shields rising to greet them. Their caution was warranted as a number of lifeless corpses littered the path, many pushed off to the side and out of the way. Rotten blood was even still present on the chevalier's weapons. "Halt!" one called, "Not a step further. What business do you have with Fort Revasan?" he asked suspiciously. Who could blame him, with that they had to contend with.

"The Inquisition, Ser," Marcy answered. The name seemed to have relaxed a few of them, but regardless their shields and weapons remained raised. "We have aided your men in closing the rifts and cleared the undead from the ramparts. You have heard the horns, no? We wish to speak with your commander, Marshall Bastien Proulx," Marcy said, the impatience growing in her voice. It was subtle, but Zahra saw Michaël lean in and rest a hand in the small of her back. The touch seemed to take some of the tension out of her shoulders.

The soldiers exchanged glances amongst each other before they finally set their weapons aside. "We have, milady. That was your doing then?" the chevalier asked, who received a nod of Marcy's head in response. "You have our thanks then. The Marshall will want to see you," the chevalier then glanced toward the gate and shouted something in Orlesian. Not long after, the gates leading into the fort parted and the chevaliers moved to allow them passage.

The inside appeared as old as the outside, the masonry having cracked from age and grass growing between the stones that made up the floor. A number of chevaliers resided inside, in various states of rest. Upon their admittance, many of their eyes were turned to them, some curious, some suspicious. However, Marshall Proulx was easily made out from the ordinary rank and file. The man was outfitted in finely crafted bronze colored armor with an ornate tallhelm, accented with the Grand Duke's scarlet red. He and what appeared to be a few of his advisors stood over a table that held what was most likely a map of the region.

"The Inquisition, yes?" he said, stepping around the table to greet them properly. "We heard the horns sounding from here, I assume we have you to thank for clearing out the dead from the ramparts?" he asked.

"Yes, Ser," was the only answer Marcy offered.

"Maker's breath, then there's hope for us yet," he said.

However, before he could go much further, Marceline posited a question of her own. "Marshall, if I may?" she began, and continued without waiting for his answer, "Your men said that you may be our best chance for any news of my father--Marshall Lucas LĂ©cuyer?" she asked, worry and impatience infecting her tone.

"Lucas... Lady Marceline then?" he asked, tilting his head, though his face was obscured by his tallhelm. "Uh, yes. I sent scouts out before we locked the gates. The last they saw was that he and his men were falling back to the old Citadelle du Corbeau, fending off undead all the while. We have... not heard of them since, I fear," he said, and through his tone, it was clear he did not have much hope for his chances. "Lucas was a good man, despite our being on different sides of the war," he added.

Marcy didn't have much to say after that, instead sighing deeply and leaving the conversation outright, heading into some other part of the fort. Michaël lingered for a moment after, but spared Leon an apologetic glance before chasing after her.

Leon took up the thread of conversation easily enough, but he didn't dither before asking the question he seemed to find salient. “The Citadelle. Is there anything we should know about it?"

The Marshall's eyes followed Marcy for a moment before they returned to Leon's. "Heavily defended, built to outlast anything thrown against it. and ancient elven make, much like this fort. I am afraid I do not know much more than that, Lucas was keen on keeping us as far away as possible in spite of our many attempts, as I am sure you can understand, but if the demons have gotten inside..." he said with a shake of his head. "He had honor, unlike these undead curs," he added, spitting through his tallhelm.

A sigh also sifted from Zahra’s lips as she rounded to Leon’s right side, arms crossed over her chest. There was a spattering of gore freckled across her cheek and nose, though she hadn’t taken any notice. She doubted she looked any worse than the others, especially Khari. The way she traipsed out of battles, one might’ve thought that she’d doused herself in blood and
 ichor. She glanced over her shoulder at Marceline, hounded closely by her husband. Only for a moment. While she harbored the same doubts, she understood holding onto the hope that her father was alive.

“Had. Was. Poor words, serah,” she didn’t feel as if she needed to explain herself. Realistic as she was, she might’ve chosen a gentler route. Probably only because she considered Marcy a friend. Besides, there was no proof that he’d perished. Not yet, at least. “I’d bet a hundred gold that we’ll find more surprises than we’d like inside. Best not to keep them waiting.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Talisman
"Marcy, wait."

Michaël's voice barely registered, Lady Marceline's mind working far to fast for her own good. She had tried to get a handle on her emotions, but the thoughts of her father fighting off what must seem like an endless onslaught of undead always resurfaced. She knew the others could tell too, it wasn't something she could play off. Her feelings in this were written clearly on sleeve. She was both ashamed and embarrassed to have let them see the weakness, but she couldn't help it.

If he was fighting against Gaspard's troops alone, he would be away from the bulk of the fighting, organizing the men and formulating strategies, safely tucked away in a command tent. But by the Marshall's own words he was being pushed back by the undead. She knew her father, Lucas was not one to be the first one in a retreat--he'd fight alongside his men the entire way. He would put his men's lives above his own. It was the honorable thing to do, but dammit, it worried her.

"Marcy," Michaël's voice rang again, this time followed by a firm hand on her shoulder. He turned her to face him and placed his other hand on the opposite shoulder. "Calm down. This is not you," he said, dropping his shoulders so as to be eye-level with her.

"Is it not?" she snapped back, "Do you know how worried I was when it was you fighting in the war? And now it is my father, except he is fighting undead monsters. I thought I was done with this when I got you back, Micky, but now it is my father," she said, shaking her head. At least she could expect some form of clemency from Gaspard's troops, demons and undead were not merciful, nor did they rest.

"Marcy," he said again, this time a tone of chiding in his voice. "Ser Lucas is a tough bastard, it will take more than shambling corpses to bring him down, his pride wouldn't allow it. Think about it. If he made it back to the Citadelle, then with the way it is built, he could defend it for months."

She could feel some of the tension leaving her as he spoke. He was correct. Her father was resourceful, he would not be brought down so easily. She sighed and nodded in agreement, while he continued speaking, "But he will need our help, just as Ser Proulx did. We are the only ones who can close those rifts. Come on Marcy, he is waiting on you."

She nodded in agreement and finally allowed herself to smile at him. While the worry was still present, and her mind continued to wander into dark places, she was at least steeled enough to keep moving forward. She reached out and drew him to a hug, whispering, "Thank you Micky," into his ear before letting him go.

A throat cleared softly behind her. Ser Leonhardt, having removed his helmet temporarily, stood a polite distance away. “Lady Marceline. Ser MichaĂ«l. We're ready to make for the Citadelle. There was little of use they could tell us about it, but... we'll see when we get there." He paused a moment, glancing between them almost uncomfortably before violet eyes settled on Marceline. “For what it's worth, the situation may not be as impossible as it seems. I have fought more demons than I care to count; sound military strategy isn't that different from what you'd use to defend against humans. Given the recency, there is much cause for hope." He didn't sound like he was merely trying to reassure her, either—though perhaps it would be unwise to underestimate a Seeker's ability to deceive, he seemed quite genuine.

"Of course, Ser Leon. We should hurry, in any case," she agreed. She spared a glance for Michaël, and inclined her head for him to follow before she began to make her way to their horses.

Once all of them were once again mounted, they set out from Fort Revasan. The journey, as those before, was rather uninteresting; landscape blurred by around them as they pushed the horses into a swift, ground-eating canter.

The Citadelle itself was from the outside built entirely into a stone wall, the only break being a wooden gate, flanked by two large statues of wolves. Torches burned in sconces at the gate, a sure sign of occupation, but as the Inquisition approached, there was a heavy banging sound, followed by a cracking split: the gate had burst open from within.

Khari was off her horse before it had even stopped, sliding off the saddle and already reaching back for her sword. She brought it around in just enough time to block a heavy ice spell. It coated the blade in frost, tiny spiderweb cracks appearing in the battered metal and filling with pale ice. She hissed when it got all the way up to her hand, but did not stop, barreling forward towards the splintered gate and swinging for the creature that had emerged.

It was a twisted thing, a corpse like most of the others, but clearly swifter and more aware. And able to use magic. An Arcane Horror, then. Certainly not a trivial foe. Khari swung and missed, the creature shifting quickly out of her way. Her sword clanged off the stone underfoot with a harsh sound, but she didn't relent, using the momentum of the rebound to keep moving, forcing it away from the gate towards the others, and open space enough to fight it many-against-one.

Leon moved forward to meet it, a heavy punch nearly connecting with the Horror's midsection. Instead, it glanced off the creature's emaciated ribcage, or so it seemed, producing a thud but not near the wet cracks and crunches that were usually indicative of his blows against the weak flesh and bones of the undead. It issued a wave of telekinetic force, a spell of some kind, evidently. Leon was forced a hard step backwards, and Khari several, though she kept her feet. With the time unimpeded, the Horror moved its hands, generating a blood-red sphere of energy which sank into the ground just in front of them.

With thuds and showers of soil and debris, more corpses emerged, just behind the rear line of the Inquisition. These looked to be stronger than the usual dead—most of them were fully armored in rusted plate or chain, and carried weapons that still looked to have honed edges, if encrusted in grave dirt. The shapes of their helms were more similar to the one Vesryn was known to wear than any chevalier's mask and helm she'd ever seen.

Leon's attention remained on the Horror; he went almost still for a moment. As if in response, the creature's limbs locked up as though it were paralyzed in place; how long it would hold was impossible to say, but it seemed to be unable to do much but hold itself in the air.

Romulus was quick to attempt to capitalize on the opening, sprinting in from behind on the Arcane Horror and leaping up onto its back, stabbing his blade down where he could find purchase. His aim was thrown off by the fact that his interference seemed to get the creature moving again, and its feet set down on the ground with the added weight thrown onto its back. It shrieked in pain at the weapon piercing into it, but was quick to respond, throwing a bolt of spirit magic that struck the Inquisitor and threw him from its back. Turning about, it unleashed a barrage of smaller spirit projectiles, twisting and spinning through the air in clusters of three, impossible to block. Romulus did his best to dodge them after scrambling to his feet, blocking one or two on his shield, but more slipped through, driving him further backwards.

"Um, undead behind us," Asala said, turning her back on the Horror and facing the encroaching undead. Barriers were already springing to her hands, but these undead were unlike the rank and file, and would undoubtedly prove much more trouble than their lone mage could handle on her own. Fortunately she was not alone.

Michaël took the first few steps away from the Horror and replied. "I see them, girl. Let's keep them away from the others," he said before cautiously moving toward them.

"Asala, keep him safe," Marceline asked, before turning her attention on the Horror to her front. With its attention focused on Romulus, it wouldn't see her slip in behind it. Several quick steps brought her within range, and she drew back her rapier and thrust, aiming for the center of the spine poking through its gaunt skin. It proved tough to bite through, but she had hit it square enough that it did punch through. She withdrew the rapier in order to strike again, but the one was enough to take its attention off of Romulus and onto her. Before she could connect with the second strike, it whirled around and brought the knuckles of its skeletal hand across the side of her face with surprising force.

It was enough to tear the silverite mask from her face and leave a bead of blood dripping from her temple. Disoriented, Marceline stumbled a couple of paces away, and by the time she regained her senses, the Horror was already in the process of readying another spell, this one intended for her.

It probably shouldn't have taken its eyes off its more heavily-armed opponents. Khari slammed into the Horror from behind, leading with the blade of her sword. She shattered one of its shoulderblades, from the dull crunching sound, but more alarming was the sharper, uncomfortably-grating snap. With a clang, the top third of her blade fell to the stone below; Khari looked for a moment wide-eyed and unsure.

That was enough; the Horror did not waste time trying to strike her physically, instead throwing a cannonball-sized orb of flames directly for the elf. It struck her in the chest, knocking her from her feet and forcing her to deal with putting it out before she'd be of any use otherwise. The Horror took the opportunity to evade, disappearing in a plume of smoke and reappearing considerably to everyone's left. It hurled several more of the fireballs for the rest of them, relentless in its aggression.

Leon pursued, ducking under one fireball and deflecting the other with a swift motion of his gauntlet. It was difficult to tell if he was hurt by the need to do it, under all the armor, but from the way the metal smoked faintly even afterwards, it was a fair bet he'd been burned beneath it. This fact did not stop him from interrupting the next spell with the same hand, slamming it upwards into the Horror's jaw and snapping its head back.

The creature was dazed, but before he could finish it off, one of the other corpses escaped Michaël, Asala, and Zahra's attempts to keep them pinned and slashed at his back. He whirled to counter, leaving the Horror listing awkwardly sideways, still, it seemed, insensate.

Before the Horror could make another move the Inquisitor was on it, having charged back into the fight from being thrown away earlier. He tackled it fully to the ground, shield hand slamming into one of its wrists and redirecting a last fireball off to the side. His blade plunged down into it, first its chest, and then when it didn't die its face, once, twice, a third time. The Horror's jaw held on by a thin string of decayed flesh, and then fell away entirely, the undead abomination making struggling gurgles as it attempted to rise.

Romulus ripped his blade free, getting halfway to his feet before the Horror made one last attempt at a lunge upwards. Growling, Romulus stabbed his blade back down one more time, puncturing through the corpse's skull and ending it. He planted his foot on its chest and shoved it off, the thing falling back down in a heap. Any of the remaining undead it had raised around it fell as well, their bodies animated only through the Arcane Horror's power. Romulus glanced around at the party's other members, eyes lingering on Khari for a moment. He glanced down at the broken piece of her sword, then back to her, obviously unsure what, if anything, to say.

She didn't seem quite sure what, if anything, to say herself. For what seemed a long moment, she just stared at her broken sword, still fixed to one of her hands by rapidly-melting ice. Her lips parted, but then closed again. She cleared her throat, putting what remained of the sword back in the system of straps she suspended it from on her shoulders, and stooped to pick up the fragmented end, turning it over in her fingers.

“Guess I hit harder than I figured." She half-smiled, but it was thin; the joke fell more than a little flat. Shaking her head, she gripped the chunk of metal by the blunt side and turned towards the broken gate. “Don't uh... don't think we're gonna get a better invitation. Let's go."

"Yes... Let's," Marceline answered as she rose. She gingerly rubbed the side of her temple as she did, wincing from the lingering pain. Michaël soon, approached however, and stopped in front of her. His own armor was covered in ichor, but fortunately none of his blood. He did seem tired, though not tired enough not to pull the gauntlet off of his hand to rub the streak of blood off of her face. He offered her an apologetic smile, one she repaid with a sincere smile of her own. She gave him a gentle squeeze before moving to fetch her mask and slipping it around her belt.

With the battle done, Marceline led the others to the now open gate leading into the Citadelle, but stopped only a few steps in. A overpowering rumbling noise reverberated through the stronghold and its source was unmistakable. A large gout of flame swung haphazardly and bathed the ruined stonework of what seemed like a courtyard in fire. Scorch marks guided the flame's pattern, and the little wood remained was burning into ember. Marceline's heart sank with each pass of the fire. "Oh no," she stated, mutedly and taking a step backward. She was unable to get far however, as she backed into Michaël.

"I do not see any bodies here," he stated plainly, "They are probably deeper in the Citadelle, away from... whatever this is."

“It moves at regular intervals," Leon said quietly. “There is nothing to fear if we are swift." Glancing at the rest, as though to check that they were in form to be doing so. Nodding, he was the first to step out into the courtyard, apparently confident that he understood the patterns of the device's motion. Given the size of the fort, they didn't actually have that far to go, and all of them were able to make it inside the gate entrance on the other side before they were in any real danger of falling under the range of the beam.

From there, it was a climb to the top of the fortress, strewn with the bodies of the dead, both human and in some cases, longer-dead human. Demons, of course, dispersed on death and left nothing behind except the occasional dusting of ash or similar.

At the top of the Citadelle, they were met with another set of heavy wooden doors surrounded with a number of bodies--all wearing the purple of the Empress. The doors were gouged and scratched, claw marks biting deep into the wood, but it remained standing, tall and solid. There was no immediate way to open them, having no handles or bars to pull nor push. Marceline stood staring at the door for a moment, wondering if her father could truly be behind them, before Michaël's voice brought her elsewhere.

"This looks like the mechanism to open the door... and hopefully shut down these defenses," he said, pointing toward a large spoked wheel atop a stone ledge. "Commander, if you could give me a hand?" Michaël asked before moving to take one of the spokes in hand. Marceline had wandered from the door to watch them turn the wheel, and given the effort Michaël was applying, it appeared the wheel connected to somewhere deep within the keep. A moment later, and a loud thunk reverberated through the Citadelle, followed by an arcane racket--something she assumed was the magical defenses shutting down. Behind them, the heavy wooden doors swung open.

Marceline did not wait long before approached the doors, and within she was met with another set, this time made of iron bars and a frightened looking chevalier on the other side. He too wore the purple of Empress Celene, but more than that, she recognized her father's crest emboldened on the shoulder of his silver armor. She felt relief, for a moment, before the chevalier opened his mouth. "H-halt! Come no closer!" He stammered, "We have... We have swords!" he tried to threaten.

That was about all Lady Marceline could take. The only thing standing between and knowing what had become of her father was another chevalier blocking her entrance. Her brows furrowed and her frowned deepened in insult. She was tired of answering these questions with who they were, and what they were doing there, at frankly, she did not care what they thought at the moment. They were clearly not undead, nor demons--and by the lack thereof, had obviously dealt with them. "Hear me well, Chevalier. If you do not open this door right this moment," she said, in a calm monotone that belied the cold burn in the back of her throat, "I will see that you are stripped of both rank and title, and placed among the common soldier, am I understood? Now take me to my father this instant."

Marceline's pledge seemed to have jogged his memory, as he winced with recognition. "Lady Marceline! Uh, yes, of course. Right this instant. Understood," he said, ripping a set of keys from somewhere in his armor before fumbling with them trying to get them in the gate's keyhold before he roused anymore of Lady Marceline's wrath. In short time, the gates swung open, and she didn't waste any time waiting around to listen to the Chevalier's apologies, though she could hear Michaël offering some of his own behind her.

As Marceline descended deeper into the Citadelle, the noted that her father's troops were worse for wear that those of Marshall Proulx's. Their armor was damaged and they all seemed so... tired. But as she strode past them, their interest piqued, and those that sat began to stand. She could tell that some knew who she was, by those who inclined their heads as she passed-- a gesture she returned. Eventually, the Citadelle opened into a larger room, and sitting on a table against the far wall, she saw that familiar face. "Father," she murmured, all of her worry and dread evaporating in a single moment.

"Marcy?" her father asked. Lucas was not in the best shape she had ever seen him in. The top half of his armor was peeled away and placed in a heap beside the table. He was also without the headdress that came with his station, though she noticed that in a broken mess on the table beside him. He wore a dirty linen shirt, the sleeves of which were ripped, and the reason was apparent. Tatters of the cloth were used to sling his left arm, seemingly broken. He seemed... older, than she remembered, but facing against an army of demons and undead could do that to a man. He was alive, and that was all that mattered. "You are late," he said with a controlled smile, standing from the table where he sat.

He wasn't especially tall, or broad but he made up for it with sheer presence. Even injured and tired, Lucas stood with a proud and straight stance, and he greeted her with his head held high and an indomitable smile. "But we are here," she replied, crossing the room to stand in front of him. Marceline basked in his presence for a moment, as she used to do when she was once a young girl, before slowly wrapping him into a hug, one he returned with his sole good arm. "I am glad to find you... well," she said.

"Of course. I hope you did not expect any less," he said easily.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
The following afternoon found the Inquisition camped with a small group of Argent Lions. Cleaning up some leftover pockets of demons and undead had taken them the first half the day so far, and they were just now breaking for lunch. The Lions, Khari found, had earned every bit of their reputation—though only a small number of them were present, their assistance made the rest of the work almost trivially-easy. Apparently, they'd been dealing with those bandits for most of the time here. The Freemen of the Dales, or whatever they were called.

Biting into her bread crust, Khari sighed through her nose. It had occurred to her that if Ser Durand were still here, he'd have been the one doing that job. They'd sent him to Ser Drakon; perhaps the presence of his mercenaries here meant he'd received the message about how badly the region needed competent help. Maybe they were just here because of the Civil War. She didn't know. Wasn't important enough to tell, either, probably. No one looked to her for orders or guidance or information, which was probably a good thing—she still needed a lot of those things herself. But someday, maybe...

She shifted in her seat, her mouth twisting into a grimace at the oddly-balanced weight on her back. The Lions had been more than willing to lend her a sword. They really traveled prepared, to have an extra laying around. She was grateful to have something to fight with, but it just didn't feel right. Intercessor, that stupid old piece of junk, was in her tent, but she wished it was at her back. She'd learned to fight with that graceless hunk of metal in her hands, from the very first day Ser Durand had woken her up at the fucking crack of dawn to put her through her paces. She'd barely been able to lift it for any length of time, having only ever held the lighter blades of her clan's make. Khari wasn't sure anything else would ever feel quite the same, now.

She was making her way over to the stewpot for seconds when a small disturbance from the front of the camp caught her attention. She doubted it was anything the Lions couldn't deal with, but it wasn't that far away, anyhow, so she set her dishes down where she'd been sitting and headed over, unfamiliar sword awkwardly shuffling against her armored back with each step.

It didn't take long to identify the issue: a large, dark brown riding halla stood just outside the bounds of the camp. Most people would probably mistake it for an elk, but the horns, black and shiny, were different, curling in the particular way that only halla had. She groaned under her breath. Just dismounting the creature was Vareth, face drawn. He did not seem to have noticed her, and Khari hung back uncertainly. What was he doing here, and alone at that? Normally Elasha or one of the other hunters at minimum would go somewhere with the First, just like Shae had been responsible for protecting Zeth while he moved around and did incredibly stupid things.

Vareth turned dark eyes upon the Lions standing at the front of the camp, still apparently unaware of her presence. Khari decided to keep it that way, for now, and tracked his progress with her eyes, remaining silent.

"Excuse me." He met with the mercenary on watch, pausing a polite distance and smiling thinly at her. "I have heard the Inquisition camps here, at the moment. If... there is a chance that the Lord or Lady Inquisitor is present, I would request an audience with them." He blinked, apparently realizing that he'd failed to introduce himself, and amended. "Ah... please tell them that my name is Vareth Saras, of Clan Genardalia. Kharisanna's clan."

Khari's lips pursed. She didn't know what the hell he thought he was doing, but she was damn well going to find out. “Vareth!" She drew his attention on purpose, stomping over to him even as the Lion left to retrieve... someone, she supposed. Maybe Rom, maybe just the lieutenant in charge of her squad. “What are you doing here?" She couldn't help the accusatory note that entered her tone. Old bitterness and distrust, creeping back in.

His eyes widened; he seemed genuinely surprised to find her there. The expression vanished a moment later, followed by a tentative smile. Khari grit her teeth and tried not to hold it against him. "Kharisa—Khari." He cleared his throat, the smile falling. "It's not, ah, how do I explain?" Vareth sighed. "As happy as I am to see you again so soon, I'm here about something unrelated. Your—ahem. The Keeper has a request to make of the Inquisition. Specifically an Inquisitor."

Khari felt herself relax just fractionally at that. The less this had to do with her, the better. Though she still wasn't happy that her clan had crossed her path twice more in the last year than it had in the seven or so that came before. Still... this was within their roaming area. Perhaps it was to be expected.

It didn't take long for the Inquisitor Vareth sought to arrive. The camp wasn't that big, after all, and they were sticking close for the most part. Rom looked to have been roused from a nap, or at least a bit of rest; he was throwing on a few pieces of gear and armor he'd removed. Hacking down undead was strenuous work, and it wasn't unusual to see him a bit more tired when the effects of those tonics of his wore off. He looked alert enough now, though, if a bit unsure at seeing who Khari was with. He obviously recognized him.

"Vareth, isn't it?" he glanced between him and Khari repeatedly, though he seemed to be trying to stop and focus on the First. Maybe checking to see if Khari intended to be as hostile towards him as last time. "I'm Romulus. Uh. Inquisitor." He held out a hand a little awkwardly. The not-marked hand.

Vareth's brows arched slightly, but he nodded, taking Rom's hand without any hesitation and clasping it firmly. "I'm glad to meet you, Inquisitor. In a more proper fashion than last time, anyway." He politely dropped his hand and stepped away, glancing at Khari almost as if seeking her permission to continue.

She heaved a sigh, nodding reluctantly. It really seemed like he hadn't known she was here or anything, which meant he probably really did need Rom for something important. Vareth was a lot of things, but he wasn't petty or frivolous. She could say that much in his favor. He looked relieved for a moment, but seemed conscious of the fact that he was using up their time, so quickly returned to the matter at hand.

"It hasn't escaped notice that the Inquisition was willing to help the humans here, when they required it. My clan was hoping that you would also be willing to help the elves, though we have nothing to offer in return." He shifted his weight, the ironbark staff on his back producing a faint clink as the bone charms tied to it knocked together on their strings. Khari knew the sound—and was surprised to still be hearing it. "About a month ago, our scouts reported strange activity near Var Bellanaris. Some of our warriors were sent to investigate—it would not have been the first time looters or bandits had tried to desecrate that place."

He pursed his lips, and Khari felt her expression shifting to match. "But it wasn't bandits. Elasha was the only one to make it back alive, and even then, she... a day later, she was gone. She managed to tell us of a shifting green light within Var Bellanaris, and some kind of creature that had confronted them there. The Keeper and I sealed the necropolis, but there is no telling how long it will hold. We were debating sending a message to the Inquisition, in hopes that you would help, but... there was little optimism. So when we saw the chance to ask in person, well. It seemed worth taking."

Rom had crossed his arms while Vareth relayed the information, but his stance was more a thoughtful one than anything defensive or combative. It didn't take him long to answer. "If there's another rift there, then we should close it." He made it sound like a simple choice, and maybe it was. "How far is this place? Var Bellanaris?"

Khari felt an immediate sense of relief. This... this was something they could do. Something she could do. “Probably a couple hours, riding." She glanced at the halla. Clearly they wouldn't need to provide anything additional in that respect, anyway. “I take it you're coming with us, Vareth?" She managed not to sound angry about it, more resigned than anything. She couldn't really blame him—it was the duty of the First to do things like this. To be the extended reach of the Keeper when necessary. She knew he took it extremely seriously, and Var Bellanaris important to the clan. To the People.

"I would be, yes. If something from the Fade has disturbed the dead who rest there, I must strengthen the protections again afterwards. Besides... I suspect I will be necessary to undo the seal." He paused a moment, then turned to address Rom again. "Thank you, Inquisitor. I do not think that many in your position would bother."

Rom looked as though he might say something in return, but decided against it. He nodded to Khari. "I'll see if the others are up for the ride."

It didn't take long before they were once more on the road. Marcy had stayed behind in the Citadelle with her father, Mick, and all the chevaliers there. Though at any other time she would have been quite interested in hanging around herself, Khari knew well enough when it was better to not make a nuisance of herself, and she figured she probably preferred camping with the Lions anyway. There'd been a lot of questions about how Stel was doing; it was actually kind of nice. It must be, to have someplace to return to someday, like that.

Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she turned her eyes to Vareth for a moment. He led, though not by too far, remaining well within sight and earshot of the Inquisition he was escorting. Khari was still a little suspicious, though, and ventured the question she'd been trying to swallow for the better part of an hour. “How come you're alone?" She knew Elasha had always served as his primary guardian, but if she'd... died, then they'd have surely appointed someone else almost immediately. When his face shifted slightly, her suspicion only grew. “Did the Keeper even actually sanction this visit?"

He sighed. "He agreed that it would be prudent to seek the Inquisition's assistance. He... may not know that the Inquisition is actually here, yet."

Khari snorted. “Yeah? Doesn't seem much like you, Vareth, doing anything the old man might not like." Khari eased her feet from the stirrups of her saddle and let them dangle instead, settling into the motion of her horse. She still needed to name him eventually.

A trace of humor entered his expression. "Everyone changes, Khari. Perhaps I have, too."

“This... creature, inside of the burial ground," Leon broke into the conversation with a mild tone. He'd forgone the helmet for now, but it was tied to his saddle. “Is there anything else you can tell us about it?" The introductions had been taken care of before they left, and he'd seemed quite willing to go along for this, once he'd learned what Vareth was asking for. But details had been sparing thus far, and Khari knew he tended to prefer to be armed with information as well as his fists.

"Not much." Vareth admitted it readily, though not exactly lightly. Elasha had been his friend since they were children, after all, though she'd never had much time for Khari. He was probably still dealing with what had happened to the warriors. Everyone probably still was. Khari glanced away, hearing the rest of his words without watching him say them. "It was apparently in possession of some kind of artifact that it was using, but... there are so many pieces of history in that grotto I wouldn't be surprised. That we hadn't already recovered it or looters already stolen it suggests that it was buried with someone, perhaps the creature itself. And that means..."

“Revenant." Khari finished the declaration with a grimace. “Fuck." Her clan had stories about those things, the possessed bodies of powerful warriors, animated by mighty demons of pride or desire. And with some kind of artifact at its disposal, there was no telling what it might be capable of. She really hoped Vareth knew what the hell he was doing. If he was leading her friends into some kind of trap or something, she was going to—

"Aptly-put." Vareth sighed. "Which means we ought to expect combat magic and a great deal of power, I'm afraid. In addition to whatever else that rift is doing. That is what they're called, yes?"

Nearby Khari heard Asala sigh, though afterward she cautiously glanced around, perhaps in hopes that nobody had heard her.

Rom grunted softly in the affirmative. His hand had gone down to a pouch on his belt as soon as he'd heard what they would be facing. Thinking for a moment, he looked dissatisfied and settled on one of a light orange color. Stamina draught of some kind, Khari had seen him take it a number of times before or during his workouts. He downed it with his usual speed, and reacted in the usual way to its taste, but soon had put it behind him.

A sigh deliberated itself from Zahra’s lips as they spoke—though she had no qualms about trying to keep it quiet. There was a pinched look to her brows as she scuffed her boot in the dirt and glanced around at the others. She’d kept relatively quiet when they arrived, and it didn’t seem as if she had anything to contribute. Perhaps, it was all the death they’d faced up until this point. Or the general misery that hung down over their shoulders, like a gray smog. From what Khari could tell, she didn’t look all too surprised by the news that there was something much worse to face in these parts, “Just another thing to bury, right?”

The question sounded rhetorical.

It wasn't much longer after that when they came upon the entrance to Var Bellanaris. The area was indeed blocked—thick, impassable brambles had grown high on all sides of what had once been the stone arches that divided it off in front from the outside. The rest, Khari knew, was backed up against stone, the terrain inside pitted with hills, hardy trees, and ruin-gravel, as well as ancient tombstones, and a few much more recent ones. But from this angle, it just appeared to be encased in a living sphere of protection.

Khari exhaled. Even if the Keeper had done some of this, Vareth's magic had clearly improved by leaps and bounds since she'd last been around. Maybe to be expected, but as usual, her own progress felt dwarfed by it. She tried not to think about it—he did what he did for the People, and no doubt he'd studied just as long and hard as she'd trained to reach something like this.

He stopped them in front of it, dismounting his halla and waiting for them to do the same. "The outer portion was clear when we sealed it, but... that was a month ago. I'm not entirely sure what's happened since then, so please be wary as I take this down." Vareth gave them all several moments to prepare themselves, in which Khari slid from her horse and drew the borrowed sword from her back. Vareth glanced at it, specifically down near her hands, before averting his eyes, something like disappointment passing briefly over his face.

Advancing towards the entrance, he drew a small knife from his belt, sliding the blade over his wrist perpendicular to the length of his arm. The motion was controlled, careful, and practiced. Blood welled to the surface of the wound immediately, and he tilted his arm so that it all ran towards the ground the same way, sheathing the knife. She tensed for a moment, remembering quite vividly her last encounter with blood magic, but nothing else changed. His eyes retained the warm, dark color they'd always had, and he took his staff in his free hand, propping it against the ground and activating the spell.

With a great creaking of wood and the rustle of leaves, the half-sphere of plants over Var Bellanaris began to recede. At the very top of the dome, the leaves turned bright orange, until they were only light, and then dissolved, fragments of them floating upwards towards the sky. The decay of the spell spread, sweeping outwards to vanish the rest of the dome at an even pace, but rapidly. It was actually, she had to admit, beautiful to watch.

When the seal was gone, the white stone arches with their deliberate gap inwards remained, like a skeleton bereft of all its flesh. But the graveyard seemed... quiet.

Leon had looked prepared to be faced down with a very large number of demons. But considering that the area seemed to be empty, he relaxed somewhat, his head turning towards Vareth, if the angle of his helm was any indication. “The light... was it inside the grotto?" They could see that now, a closed stone building a fair distance in.

Vareth hummed. "Elasha did not specify. Perhaps so. Follow me, if you would... and please try not to touch anything if you can avoid it. We walk on sacred ground."

Khari certainly knew better. Though her clan's dead were sometimes buried here, if they could manage it, the older sites dated back hundreds of years at least, maybe more. The Keeper thought they might go all the way back to the age of Arlathan, at least within parts of the grotto itself. It probably didn't really matter—the site was important anyway. She might not care as much about the past as Vareth did, but she didn't go wantonly disrespecting it, either. Not when she could avoid it.

The air here was especially fresh-smelling, which shouldn't have been the case for a graveyard. Likely it had something to do with all the flowers growing, and the spell that had protected it for a month. It must have let enough sunlight in to sustain the plant life. Their feet crunched softly over the main path, laden with small bits of the white stone edifice. Her clan had repurposed the ruined parts this way, to keep it neat and tidy. None of them were capable of rebuilding the structures, so they had to make do.

The door to the grotto was somewhat ajar, a smear of old blood spread over the stone, ending in what looked very much like a handprint. Small, but with a noticeable scar on the palm. Elasha's hand had left it. Khari still remembered giving her the scar, accident though it had been. She swallowed, tightening her grip on her sword. Vareth led the way in, but she went right behind him.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust before an orange light flickered to life overhead, illuminating the dark grotto. The walls were lined with mosaics depicting familiar themes of Falon'din, the god of death. Several stone sarcophagi stood open, their lids cracked and pitted, the engraving upon them ruined by their occupants' hasty exits in undeath. The fresh smell from outside was gone, the scent of putrefaction hitting her like a wall as soon as she stepped inside. Vareth sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"The warriors." Peering around him, Khari bit down on her tongue. Felan and Mahiri were both there, along with another person she didn't recognize. She hoped that was because he was a stranger to her, and not because whatever was here had mauled him so badly he was nigh unrecognizable anyway. Their bodies bore heavy slash marks; Mahiri had nearly been cleaved in two, the wound edged with oddly-blackened flesh. Not burns, but something not totally unlike them.

She'd expected... Khari didn't know what she'd expected. But certainly not the numbness that swept over her. Certainly not the sudden recollection that Mahiri had been about to have a child when she left, nor that Felan liked to sing to the halla when he'd had too much to drink. Suddenly, the blade felt heavy in her hands. Almost as heavy as the air felt in her lungs.

She felt a hand on her shoulder as Leon stepped in behind her. He gave her a firm squeeze and the smallest of shakes, a bracing gesture more than anything else. “I'm sorry, Khari," he said, the words so quiet they almost got lost in the rumble of his bass itself. The rest, he left to implication, and his hand fell away. Rom added no words to that, instead stopping close enough on her other side for his presence to be felt. He remained ready to fight at a moment's notice. Zahra’s footsteps halted behind them. A soft exhale followed. As good as any indication that she, too, was present. For her.

Leon's implication was one she understood, and Khari pulled in a breath, doing her best to ignore how bad it smelled. Her grip firmed back up, and she nodded once to Vareth, whose eyes were too solemn. He returned it, and led them deeper.

The grotto was a large space, and opened up almost like a cavern. Though it appeared from the outside to be a structure with at least three aboveground stories, there was in fact only one—the ceiling was that high. She'd never been this far inside before, but had heard there were further levels underground. Fortunately, they wouldn't have to enter one: the green light they were looking for shone from an adjacent chamber to the one they entered. The door was a low arch, forcing them to pass through in single file, but the room with the rift in it was likewise quite spacious.

The rift itself was near the center, shifting in the almost indolent way they had, the green crystal structure suspended in midair in a way that made no sense. Standing just beneath it, face upturned as though to bask in the light, was a Revenant.

At least, Khari assumed that was what it had to be. It wore armor, rusted but clearly once of finer make than most things she'd ever seen, from a helm with a backswept horn design to solid greaves over its boots. The sword it held bore no such rust, and glimmered faintly with the light of some magic or enchantment. The blade was bright, but with a patina of almost eerie deep green. Not the same color as the rift, but closer to black. It noticed the moment they entered, turning slowly towards them and hefting the blade on both hands.

Khari charged it, leaping the stone railing at waist-height and landing hard on the recessed ground about six feet below. Pushing off from her landing, she made a beeline for the creature, feeling the Haze descend over her senses. From behind her, Vareth launched some kind of spell. The Revenant went to move sideways, but found itself temporarily locked in place by stone crawling up its legs. The rock had progressed to its waist, and Khari almost arrived, when it broke free with a burst of telekinetic force. The shockwave sent pieces of rock flying, and Khari along with them. She hit the ground on her shoulder and rolled several times before she could regain her feet, but by the time she'd even gotten her hands under her, the Revenant was already there, bearing down on her with the sword it carried.

Leon, clearly having followed her pretty closely, intervened, at least as well as he could, lowering his shoulder and ramming the Revenant in the side. It was enough to knock the sword off its trajectory, but the creature itself was hardly moved. It had only been a glancing hit, but still the Revenant recovered more swiftly than Leon, bringing its sword up and around as if to cleave straight through his armor.

Raising both arms to block, Leon grunted at the impact. This close, Khari could hear a dull snap—it sounded like the effort had actually broken one of his arms. From the way he backed off immediately and dropped his left to his side, tucking it somewhat behind his body, that was exactly what had happened.

Rom had been forced to veer around to the flank to avoid the wave that knocked Khari back, and the subsequent clash between the undead and Leon. Once the Commander was driven back, he dove in on the Revenant's side, plunging his blade in deep in a gap beneath the creature's arm. It would easily have killed a normal man where it struck, but if the Revenant felt any of the damage, it didn't show it, instead soundlessly turning its aggression on the attacker. Rom ducked down and sideways just in time to avoid being beheaded by the green-hued blade.

There was no time to even attempt more strikes, and Rom clearly wasn't going to try to block any of its attacks, seeing what had happened to Leon. He dodged once, twice, each swing threatening death if not seen correctly. After a third swift miss the Revenant stepped in and smashed across Rom's jaw with an armored elbow, throwing him back. Some sort of magic was behind the blow, judging by the perceptible boom that accompanied the hit.

An iridescent green barrier was the next foe to fall upon the Revenant, typical of Asala's dispelling method. The woman herself soon came into view, panting but her hands wreathed in the fade all of the same. Apparently, she had a little trouble keeping up with the others. The Revenant took only a glance at the barrier closing in around it, and reared back with its sword. It cleaved through the shield with only a small amount of effort, and the backlash forced Asala a step backward.

She refocused soon after, surging forward with another barrier, her stereotypical blue. This one managed to strike its target, forcing the Revenant off balance for a moment. Only for a moment, as it soon cleaved through that barrier as well, leaving Asala to expel an agitated groan. Instead of sending out even more ineffective barriers, she turned instead to Leon, and cast a spell in his direction. What seemed like a healing spell wreathed him, though his arm would still likely require more focused attention later. Afterward, she went to Rom, probably in an attempt to do the same for him.

Three arrows thunked off the Revenant’s crooked pauldron and clattered at its feet. Ineffective. It swung around to face its attacker, lips peeling back into a toothless scowl. Another arrow, glowing with residual energy, found its mark in the middle of its exposed chest. The flanged tip of the arrow bit into flesh, and sunk halfway down the shaft. Clawed fingers ripped it out a moment later. If it’d felt it at all, the Revenant certainly wasn’t showing it.

A roar rippled out of Zahra’s mouth as she flung herself past Asala and Rom—rapiers singing free from their scabbards as she hurtled forward. Bright-eyed and bristling with anger. Perhaps, at seeing her friends being so casually tossed aside. She swept her blades sidelong across the creature’s blade, which it had swung to meet hers. The sheer force of his blade knocked her back a few paces, though she allowed its momentum to careen off the tips of her bending blades, and dipped around to jam one of her rapiers into its exposed midsection.

It sunk halfway. No blood. No sound beyond the droning growl above her. Under any other circumstance, their size difference would have been laughable. While she was attempting to spin around and drag her blade back out, the back of the Revenant’s gauntleted hand struck her across the face, loosing her grip on the protruding blade, and sending her tumbling off to the side. She landed much less gracefully on her back. A moment later and there was a ragged intake of breath. A good indication that she was fine. As fine as any of them were.

The sound of dragging limbs against the floor marked her attempt to regain her feet. It took her a couple attempts with the help of a nearby pillar, but she was already bringing her bow back into her hands.

By that point, Khari was already trying to find a weak spot again. Unfortunately, in addition to being very strong, the Revenant was also quite quick, meaning that every time she thought she'd spotted a place to strike, it was there, parrying her and knocking her sword away with a strength she could not hope to match. On the third, she didn't recover fast enough, and it kicked her in the chest.

Khari was picked off her feet and thrown back, crashing onto stone. Her head snapped back, colliding hard with the ground, and for a moment she saw stars, even through the fuzziness of the Haze. It wasn't often pain made it through to her in this state, but it definitely had. She groaned, rolling onto her stomach and pushing herself up with her arms.

"Khari!" Vareth was slinging ice at the Revenant now, trying to slow it down on its way towards her. Without so much as a warning, it whirled, turning on the ranged fighters in the room. Letting go of its sword with one hand, it closed its other into a fist. Khari felt a lurch in her stomach, and a force like... sideways gravity, almost, pulled her towards the Revenant, her armor scraping over the floor. It wasn't too unlike the time she'd nearly been pulled into Rom's rift, except faster. It picked up Vareth, Asala, and Zee as well, hauling them over the stone railing with no regard for the safety of their limbs, should any fail to clear the obstacle.

Vareth at least managed to pull his legs up under him to avoid breaking them, and was the fastest to his feet when they were dropped. He swept forward with his staff, trying to trip the creature on its way to Asala, but its center of balance was simply too solid, and it weathered the blow with little interruption, swinging next for the Qunari.

Asala had not been as agile, and had chosen instead to just weather it by encasing herself in a tight barrier. Her bottom half had still struck the railing, chipping it and and haphazardly dumping her on her shoulders. She groaned painfully and was slow to turn over on all fours, but by then, the Revenant was on top of her. It was perhaps only quick thinking that saved her life, as the moment she looked up to see the blade raised above her head, her form shifted with fade energy, and she shot forward like Khari had seen Cyrus do a few times before.

She was gone when the blade bit into the stone, though the spell was hardly refined. It gave out some distance behind the Revenant, dumping her out of the Fade, but with enough moment to keep her skidding across the stones. When she finally lifted her, her chin, nose, and part of her forehead, not to mention her hands and forearms were bleeding from having it dragged across the ground. In one last effort, Asala flipped to a seated position and thrust forward with both hands. A low barrier formed and careened horizontally toward the back of the Revenant's knees.

It didn't seem to do much, but it must have been enough. The Revenant was forced to take a moment to steady itself, and in that moment, Leon stepped in, lashing out with an armored leg and connecting with the Revenant's waist, just where its chestplate ended. It doubled over, and he slammed his elbow into the back of its helmet with a clanging rapport. It stumbled away, still quick but clearly disoriented from the blow.

Rom latched onto the Revenant from behind, grabbing the neck of its breastplate with his marked hand and holding tight. The mark crackled loudly for a second before it unleashed a concentrated burst of energy, momentarily lighting up the space with a green and white flash. With the sound of shattering metal, the Revenant's breastplate sloughed off in pieces, a few smaller ones embedded in its pale flesh underneath. Rom jumped away before it could make a retaliatory strike. The creature was slowed now, and vulnerable to a killing blow without its armor.

“Vareth!" Khari hauled herself to her feet, sword in tow, and sprinted towards the Revenant.

He seemed to know what she meant. From the ground around it erupted vines, thickening and tangling the creature's legs. Flexible in a way stone was not, they weathered the blast it issued with their pliability rather than sheer strength, absorbing the force and clambering further up the Revenant's body. It went to hack at them with its sword, but Khari had planned for that. The awkward angle it had to use was the only weakness she needed, and she struck hard, bringing her own blade around to its shoulder, biting into the flesh Rom had exposed by cracking off the armor around its torso.

Her sword severed a tendon, and the entire arm went slack as a result, its enchanted blade clattering to the ground from numb fingers. The next burst of magic was aimed for Khari, knocking her away before she could finish the blow. She tumbled into a heap before reaching a stop, able to see Zee upside-down in her field of vision. “Zee! Shoot it while he's got it held!" Maybe that was obvious, but she wasn't sure how much longer Vareth's vines would last.

Zahra didn’t need to be told twice. Not for something like this. She’d already planted one of her feet atop the remnants of a fallen stone pillar. Her shoulders bunched. Deft fingers pulled the string of her bow back behind her ear while the vines twitched and gnarled themselves around the Revenant’s legs, and torso. There was a sound that only the nearest heard. Fibers snapping. The notched arrow fizzled a faint white; a pearl hue, before she finally released it. It sliced through the air, leaving a trail in its wake, and slipped straight into the creature’s eye socket.

It hissed through and clattered against the far wall. Her bow, unfortunately, hadn’t fared so well. She was left holding two pieces of wood and shredded string—as well as an expression that belied confusion and surprise
 as if she hadn’t quite expected that to happen.

The Revenant fell, hitting the ground with the insensate solidity of actually-dead weight. Khari pushed herself back to her feet for what felt like the hundredth time but was really only the third or so, sheathing her sword on her back. The rift remained, but she was sure Rom could take care of that, easy. Vareth stood near the body, picking up the sword the creature had wielded with a thoughtful frown on his face.

“That the artifact?" Khari jerked her chin at the blade.

He nodded. "It seems to be. Perhaps the Keeper will know more about it; I suspect the Revenant was from the lower levels, but I can't be sure without looking, and... I think there are more important things to do."

Khari grimaced. He'd need to get the bodies back to the clan, if possible, and no doubt tell the Keeper that the ritual or whatever he thought they could do to put the dead back to rest could go forward now. She didn't envy him the task, honestly, but—

"Kharisanna." He said her full name quite intentionally, she thought; Khari scowled at him. It wasn't enough to make him back down, though, not like before. "Help me do it. Please."

She shook her head. “Oh no." Khari crossed her arms over her chest. “Don't get me wrong, Vareth, I'm sorry you have to do this, but I'm not going back there for any reason. I can't." Her fingers tightened around her armored upper arms.

He sighed through his nose. "Just one night." He pursed his lips. "They know you're alive, Khari, but they don't..." He flinched, as though struggling mightily to find the words he wanted. "Some things must be seen with one's own eyes. This is one of them." She opened her mouth to protest, but the look on his face forestalled her a moment too long, and he tried again. "I know you might not believe me, but... we miss you. The Keeper never laughs. Barely even smiles, and hasn't since you disappeared. Enania doesn't talk to anyone—they're hardly even married anymore. The whole clan misses you." He glanced down, shaking his head faintly, then raised his eyes back to hers.

"I'm not asking you to return. I know you won't. But I'm asking you to prove to them that you really are alive. They might not... we might not deserve it. But you're good enough to do it anyway. And to help me return the others for proper rites. I know you are."

Khari gritted her teeth. Manipulative little fucker. She huffed a sharp breath out of her nose. “We're in a tomb, Vareth. They can get rites here." The protest was weak, and she knew it from the slightly-disappointed way he looked at her. Damn it all. “Fine. One night, and only one night. And I'm bringing a friend. You don't get to say no to that."

He smiled broadly, apparently entirely unconcerned with her caveat. "Of course. I'll go... get things ready, and meet you back outside." Still carrying the artifact, he made his way back towards the entrance.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at herself, Khari approached the others. It looked like Rom had just finished with the rift, and Asala was still seeing to everyone's injuries. “Uh, so." She drew their attention, recrossing her arms and immediately feeling uncomfortable again. “Vareth wants me to go spend a night with my clan. I, uh... told him I would, but only if I could bring someone. So... can I borrow the Inquisitor until tomorrow?" She phrased it in the more official way, glancing at Leon, but it was Rom her eyes settled on.

“If it's okay with you, I mean." Vareth might have been unfair in his persuasion, but... that didn't mean he was wrong. She still remembered what Rom and the others had said the first time about it. About letting her clan think she was dead. She wasn't sure what she thought about it anymore, but the more she did think, the more she thought she might need this.

That didn't mean she was brave enough to face it down alone, though.

Rom watched Vareth go for a second, holding a hand to his jaw before he let it fall away. "Yeah," he said, his tone easy but still quiet. Maybe the grim location had something to do with it. "It's fine."

“I've no objections," Leon added, lifting his shoulders. “The rest of us will see you back at camp tomorrow morning."

Zahra rounded up beside Rom and totted both pieces of her bow at Khari, “We’ll be here when you get back.”

Khari nodded, feeling a little of her tension ease, but not enough to allow any kind of smile. “Okay. We'll see you then."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The forest was peaceful, a welcome break from the warzone they had worked their way through in the Exalted Plains, as well as the deadly elven burial grounds. But Romulus could still sense the threat lingering nearby. Same as the last time they'd wandered through these lands.

It wasn't a threat, necessarily, since the Keeper's First was with them. That alone was enough to grant them safe passage. But Romulus was well aware that other scouts, hunters of Khari's clan were keeping a close watch on them. Him especially, no doubt. He rode easily enough, not even letting on that he knew he was being watched. At least, he seemed as at ease as he was capable of. For once, he actually looked less tense than Khari did. He knew he felt it, too. His nervousness was of a different kind.

He worried that he wouldn't know how to help Khari here. This was not a situation he'd ever encountered before, helping a friend face their past like this. A past they claimed they didn't want to see again. Romulus had always expected that wasn't quite true of Khari, but he wasn't the type to push. He worried he wasn't the type to comfort, either. That was usually what Khari did, saying what needed to be said, what he and any of her other friends needed to hear. Seeing her tense, seeing her doubt... it had a way of unsettling him.

If nothing else, he was resolved to at least be here for her, and do his best to see what way he could assist. Even if it just meant standing quietly at her side. He couldn't help but feel that someday he would have to face his own past again. Their cases weren't remotely similar, but one thing was the same: he didn't think he could face that alone, either.

Vareth rode some distance ahead of them, never getting out of sight. Romulus had made no attempt to keep at his halla's side, rather deliberately trying to fall back, and Khari as before didn't go out of her way to speak with the First. Vareth respected the distance, perhaps simply to keep the bodies away from their immediate proximity. He had wrapped them in plant matter, a task Romulus did not envy, and tied them down to the back of his halla. The stench was lessened somewhat now that they were removed from the still air of the tomb, but it was still hard to miss.

"For what it's worth," he said to Khari, quietly enough to avoid being heard by Vareth, or any of the hidden scouts watching them, "I think you're doing the right thing. Seeing them." He didn't know how much his own judgement could be counted for. His decision making had a way of leading him astray. But he felt pretty certain about this. She'd left this life behind with an unclean tear, and now she had a chance to rectify that. Not mend the cut, Romulus didn't think that would ever happen... but a chance at least to make it clean, and something she didn't have to look back on with doubt or guilt.

Khari glanced at him, her expression pinched. She did not sit as comfortably on her horse as usual, and the animal seemed to sense that something was wrong, from the uneasy way he moved. After he shied at the snapping of a branch underfoot, she seemed to realize the cause of his disquiet and forced herself to relax a little. “Maybe." She didn't sound convinced, but her tone wasn't exactly skeptical either. Certainly not the same stubborn insistence she'd used the first time the topic had come up, when they were searching for her mentor. “I just... I really hope this isn't a mistake."

Ahead of them, Vareth pulled up, turning on his halla's back and waiting for them both to come within comfortable earshot. "Camp's just through here. They know we're coming by now, but I'll go first anyway. Give it about five minutes or so, and then follow. I'm sure Khari still knows where it is."

She nodded, more a little downwards jerk of her head than anything. He smiled slightly, then turned back to face forward, nudging the halla forwards with his legs. His absence left the two of them in silence. Khari sighed heavily and leaned herself forward to rest against her horse's neck. “He's changed." The observation was cautious, almost as though she wasn't sure what to think about it. “Used to be he asked permission where I asked forgiveness. I wonder what else has changed."

"You have, for one." Romulus nudged his horse a little closer beside hers, shortening the distance until he could comfortably reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe they won't be as mortified as you think, to see what you've become." Maybe they would be. But if that happened, they would deal with it, and if the worst came to pass, they weren't prisoners here, and had hopefully earned themselves some good will for defeating the Revenant and restoring peace to Var Bellanaris. They could leave whenever they wanted to.

She snorted softly, turning her face so that her cheek was pressed to the horse's neck and she was looking at him instead. “Guess we should go find out, huh?" She sat back up, a brief half-smile flitting across her face before it was gone. “Worst-case scenario, I have an epic shouting match with my mom and you get to learn a bunch of really excellent elven cusswords, so... I guess that wouldn't be too bad."

Despite her tone, she pulled in a deep breath before picking up the reins. “All right... follow me, then." She nudged the animal forward, pointing him down an almost-invisible trail between a pair of trees, the same one Vareth had used. It narrowed considerably at points, explaining the need for a single file line. The terrain was clearly not made for the horses, but they handled it well enough, and in time, an encampment slowly became visible between the trunks of trees.

It was well-blended, even as close as they were, but by the time Khari had guided them to the larger gap in the treeline that served as entrance, the layout was clearly visible. There were caravans, of a sort, apparently styled after boats more than anything, including sails, drooped now in the absence of any breeze. They looked solid and perhaps even watertight, as though they might sometimes be boats. That might be sensible, if the clan ever found itself with the need to ford a river. For now, though, they were on wheels, settled comfortably to the ground with stakes, cloth shelters folded out of them like more elaborate tents.

There was a large fire pit at the center of the camp, several elves arranged around it. Two were carving the body of a large animal—a deer or something similar. Others worked at wooden tables set up near the caravans, with assortments of tools Romulus had never seen before, probably a reflection of the materials they worked. Almost to a one, they'd paused in whatever they were doing to observe the visitors; more than one wore a look of open surprise.

Khari's attention, however, had snapped to the man standing next to Vareth nearest the entrance. He was tall, as far as elves went, perhaps the same height as Romulus. Though his hair, worn long, was liberally streaked with grey, it was clearly at base the same color as Khari's, an almost flame-red hue. His vallaslin were very dark green, in a pattern of climbing vines, offsetting his eyes, which were a lighter, catlike green. He carried a pale staff, simple in design, with a blade at the bottom end and some kind of red crystal set in the top.

"Kharisanna." He breathed the word like he didn't believe it. "Da'len."

Khari shifted awkwardly in her saddle, clearing her throat.

“Uh... hi, Dad."

There was a rather uncomfortable pause. The man she'd called her father took half a step forward, almost as though he wanted to approach, but something halted him, and he remained where he was.

When the silence had lasted a moment too long, Vareth stepped in. "Perhaps introductions should take place inside?" He glanced at the older man, who hadn't taken his eyes off Khari, and cleared his throat softly.

That seemed to snap him out of it, a bit, and he nodded. "Right, of course. Please, dismount. Vareth will see to your horses. And everyone else will go back to what they were doing, I'm sure." It didn't take more than that, delivered with a slight undertone of steel, for the others to resume whatever they'd been at, though even this didn't stop frequent aside glances in their general direction.

Khari slid from her horse, handing him over to Vareth without complaint. The other elf said something to her, too quietly for Romulus to hear, but the tone of it seemed vaguely conciliatory. He collected Romulus's mount as well, leading them over to a pen with several halla in it, including his own.

She herself turned to him for a moment, shooting an apprehensive glance at her father. “Well... here goes, I guess." He could see her hand curl into a fist for a moment before she loosened it again, holding herself as tall as her rather unimpressive height would let her and leading the way over. Together, they moved wordlessly towards one of the tentlike enclosures, no larger than the rest of them. Khari's father lifted the fabric over the entrance. gesturing both of them in before him, offering Romulus an uncertain-looking smile.

The interior was rather plain. The floor was blanketed in furs, including a very large brown bear pelt and several others belonging either to predator species or deer. There were two low wooden trunks against the caravan side of the enclosure, resting next to one another, and a larger pile of stacked blankets and furs near those. A wooden table, circular and of height to be sat at, occupied the middle.

A woman was there already, an ivory-colored needle in one hand and some kind of green fabric in another. She glanced up when they entered, clearly recognizing Khari immediately. But she said nothing, merely setting her work aside and pursing her lips slightly. Her hair and eyes were quite dark, the vallaslin on her face light blue, seemingly based on a pattern of three upwards-pointed arrows, with curling vines just beneath her eyes and at her temples. The pattern was marred by several scars on the left side of her face. It was also obvious from the way she sat that the leg on the same side was gone below the knee.

“Mom." Khari said it flatly, but quietly, something about her proud posture from earlier deflating somewhat under the woman's sharp eyes.

Behind them, her father stepped inside. "Please, both of you have a seat." He moved around to the same side of the table as his wife, settling down about a foot to her right and waiting for them to do the same before he continued. His eyes met Romulus's. "Forgive me the discourtesy. My name is Hawen Istimaethoriel, Keeper of Clan Genardalia. This is Enania, our chief craftsperson. I understand we have you to thank for the reclamation of Var Bellanaris from its... undead occupant." He offered a hand across the table, freely enough, though there was caution in his body language.

Romulus took the hand and shook it, hoping any awkwardness in his motions would be perceived as just that, rather than some kind of distaste or defensiveness. "Romulus, Inquisitor. And a friend of Khari's." He felt that was important to include, especially to her parents. He wasn't here on any formal business of being Inquisitor, and didn't intend to use his position for anything if he didn't have to. He was here for Khari, and little else. "There were others that helped us slay the Revenant, but... yes. I closed the rift there. It's good to meet you, Hawen. Enania." He offered Khari's mother a nod, probably more tersely than he meant to. Her greeting, or lack thereof, felt a bit more uncomfortable to him than the way Hawen had received the sight of Khari.

"And you." Hawen seemed to relax fractionally. "I have to confess, when Vareth told me Kharisanna was in the company of the Inquisition, I was... alarmed. At least after the shock had settled, I suppose." He swallowed, throat working visibly, then shook his head. "I suppose that much at least isn't too surprising, now that I think of it." He let his hand fall back to his knee.

“How's... everything?" Khari squirmed a little in her seat, not quite able to look at either one of them. “Vareth mentioned the warriors, and then we found them, uh... you know. In Var Bellanaris. But everyone else?"

"Care about that now, do you?" Enania immediately looked like she regretted saying it, a grimace pulling at the scars on her face, but she neither took the words back nor apologized. Khari's teeth clicked together audibly—either she was biting back a reply or she'd been effectively silenced by the remark itself. It was hard to say which.

"The others are well." Hawen interceded before anything else could be said. "Of course the losses have hurt, but the month between has given us time to begin to heal, as we must. Being able to properly inter them will of course help. You've done us a great service in helping to see them returned." He seemed to be speaking equally to all three of them, leaving his tone to linger somewhat nebulously between three distinct valences, from respectful informativeness through uneasy encouragement to something sharper. "And Vareth did the right thing in inviting you back here. It is good to see you, Kharisanna."

Khari's expression was just as unsure as Hawen's; both of them were clearly treading unfamiliar ground about as carefully as they could. The resemblance was actually quite keen in that moment, between them. “Thanks." She mumbled it more than anything, glancing fixedly at the table in front of her.

"Elasha married Oren. They've a daughter." This time, Enania's tone was softer, though there was still something too pointed in it, like she struggled to remove the steelier notes as a matter of habit. "Barildal passed three summers ago. Manaran is hahren now."

Khari nodded slightly. “I'm sure he's good at it."

Enania hesitated, then inclined her head in return. "He is."

Hawen had gone very quiet over the course of the exchange, but now that it appeared to be over, he reentered the conversation carefully. "I'm sure no few of them will want to speak with you over the course of the evening, but... how have you been, da'len? How is it that you found yourself with the Inquisition?"

Khari shrugged. “I, uh... spent some time training. With a chevalier." Enania's expression twisted into a frown, but Hawen gave no more reaction than a slight furrow of his brow. “Once I was done there, I kinda wandered around for a while. Entered a few melees, stuff like that. Er... a melee is this kind of contest where a bunch of people are thrown into a ring together and fight to last person standing, basically. I won a couple of those, but it didn't really feel right. Eventually, you know, that whole thing happened with the Breach—that's the big green thing in the sky, I'm sure you heard about it—and I was close enough to see it at the time, so I went and volunteered. Now I just fight stuff for them, I guess."

"She fights very well," Romulus added, after briefly clearing his throat. He'd been struggling to find any sort of place to enter the conversation, and wondering if he even should. Every word exchanged between Khari and her mother seemed to carry a threat of an argument behind it, but for now any more biting thoughts they had were kept locked behind their teeth. He didn't want to be responsible for breaking them loose. But he also didn't want Khari to sell herself short here, or let her parents think she was any less valuable to the Inquisition than she was. "I owe my life to her, actually, on more than one occasion. I... don't think I've ever met anyone as determined."

If anything, Khari looked even more awkward then, but she did remove her eyes from the table long enough to meet his, a very small smile tugging at one corer of her mouth.

Hawen huffed, the beginning of a laugh that never quite materialized. "Now that, I do not find surprising at all." His expression sobered a moment later, though. "We have heard little, aside from the obvious. New tears in the Veil, opening across the world and spewing forth demons and creatures that possess the bodies of the dead. Stopping that... it's a noble cause. Perhaps there is none nobler. I would that we had anything to offer you by way of assistance, but..."

“You do, though." Khari sounded firmer than she had since they entered the camp. “You've got... you've got me. I'm there. I'm helping. It's probably hard to believe I'm good at anything, because I never was when I was here, but... I'm good at this. By the time we're done, the clan will have had more to do with it than any of the rest of them. You'll see."

Her father tilted his head to the side. When he spoke, his words were careful. "I wasn't aware you still considered yourself one of us. Wasn't that what you meant, when you left?"

“I—" Khari grimaced. “No. It's not. That was..." She pushed out a frustrated breath, putting her hands on her knees and squeezing. “I couldn't stay. I don't... I don't belong here. But that doesn't mean you're not still my clan. Still my family, does it? Why does it have to be everything or nothing? Can't I be the person I want to be and your daughter? Would that really be so bad?"

"Our dead daughter?" Unfortunately, it seemed that the tense peace was not to last. Enania's words were laden with contained anger and, it seemed, a great deal of hurt. "We aren't the ones who made it nothing, Kharisanna. You did that, when you left without so much as a word."

“Yeah? And what was I supposed to do instead, mom? Tell you for the millionth time that I didn't want to be a hunter, or a craftsperson, or Vareth's wife? That I had dreams for myself that were bigger than that? Because it worked so well every other time I tried to get it across, right? Let's be honest: I disappointed you from the beginning. I had no magic, no skills, nothing you care about, and it was easier for you that I was dead, instead of fighting everything you wanted for me." Khari's face had turned blotchy red under her freckles and vallaslin; she looked about halfway to leaving the tent right there.

"It was!" Enania's voice cut across anything else Khari might have said. "It was easier that you were dead." Her tone quieted; she looked to be shaking, though whether in anger or something else was unclear. "Because then at least I knew you hadn't simply hated all of this so much that you'd let us believe it regardless." She pulled in a breath, expression hard. "At least then I believed we mattered enough that you'd come back eventually if you could."

Romulus could hear Khari grinding her teeth. “I'm here now, aren't I? Regretting it, though." She stood abruptly. “I can smell dinner. Let's get something to eat, Rom." She shoved gracelessly at the tent flap, pausing just long enough to glance back at him.

Romulus looked rather uncomfortably after her as she left, but then Khari was gone, and he was alone with her parents. He'd braced himself well throughout the fight, unconsciously taking on a demeanor not unlike his time as a slave. Standing in a corner, eyes down, hands to himself, while Chryseis unleashed her fury on someone. All those times he simply had wanted to remain unseen, invisible to all, to not be brought into it in any way. And he almost always got his wish. This time, he found himself wanting to say things, but never able, either because he thought they'd make it worse, or because he just couldn't get them out. Didn't have the courage for it.

Now there was nothing but silence, and it fell to him to fill it. He might've said a dozen things to Hawen or Enania, but none of them made it to his tongue. "Excuse me," he said quietly, pushing his chair back and offering them a nod. He then turned and made his way out of the tent behind Khari.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari stomped out of the tent, feeling not so unlike the child she'd been the last time she was here. Had it really been ten years ago now? Almost—she'd been fifteen when she left her clan. She could see the years in her mother's face. In her father's eyes. Hard years, by the look of it, and she wondered if maybe... if maybe some of that wasn't her fault. She slowed upon striking the thought, though in truth it had been lingering since Vareth asked her to come here. Ten years had changed him, and her, and her parents, too, it seemed. She'd thought... she'd thought it would be better, if she was dead to them. If she never bothered them again. Her mom especially had sometimes made her feel like it would be.

But her anger was as swift to leave her as it was to appear, and she felt it dissolving. By the time she was ten yards clear of the tent, she'd stopped, sighing heavily and scrubbing her hands down her face as well as she could considering the gauntlets still there. Dinner did seem to be almost done; the people whose turn it was to prepare it were setting up the tables they'd put it all on with the clan's wooden dishware, lined with leaves for easy cleaning. She wasn't sure she was really hungry, though.

"Hey." Rom caught up behind her, jogging a few steps like he thought he'd get lost if she got too far away from him in this place. He kept his hands to himself, but it was easy to see he was concerned. "That, uh..." he struggled to find some words, but they seemed to elude him. "Yeah."

“Yeah." She looked at him for a moment, then snorted, cracking a smile. “Heh. Sorry. You just got a front row seat for... most of the rest of the dysfunction in my life." The smile faded, and she shook her head. “I swear there's good stuff about this, though. About here. You, uh... you want the tour? It's pretty short." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to center herself in the present. However similar it felt to dozens of incidents she'd been through as a child, she wasn't one. And she wasn't alone in the world, either. Not even here. Rom had come all this way because she'd asked him to. Somehow, that made her feel better about it.

By the looks of it, he was more than willing to accept the change in direction for the visit. "Sure. Let's see it."

“Great." Khari was surprised to find she meant it. This was easier than letting herself linger on what had just happened; she didn't have to be as broody as she was as a kid if she didn't want to, surely. In the interest of not brooding, then, she walked them to the left. “So the boat-looking things are called aravels. I know the sails look kind of stupid, but they're helpful when we're on water, so there they are." She paused, cracking a smile. “I hear some of the clans don't even make them solid anymore because they're never near water. Makes it lighter for the halla to pull, but they keep the sails for some damn reason." She rolled her eyes.

“Mostly they just carry our stuff, but they're big enough for passengers if necessary. There's like... attachments for if we use them to ford, and the wheels can come off, too." She rapped the side of one with her knuckles; the sound it produced was a bit odd. Too metallic for wood. “Hear that? Ironbark. Light and buoyant as oak, hard to cut as steel. Not all clans can make their aravels out of the stuff. You have to have a really good shaper for that. My, uh..." She cleared her throat. “My mom's really good. Her and a couple of the others."

"Huh." Rom pulled a glove off, feeling the outside of the aravel for himself. "Yeah, I can see why they'd want this for themselves."

Khari nodded. “Lot of Dalish armor gets made out of it, too, for—" She cut herself off when Vareth approached, smiling for some reason she couldn't fathom. Just behind him, half-hidden behind his leg, walked a very small child, probably no more than seven or eight. For a moment, Khari considered the truly bizarre possibility that the little girl could be his child, but that would have been a little soon even by Dalish standards, and they looked nothing alike. In fact, she looked like... shit.

"Sorry to interrupt." Vareth tilted his head, not looking all that contrite about it. "But I wanted to let you know that we've unpacked a couple of aravels for the two of you. There's other things to wear in them, if you'd prefer not to remain in your armor. Also, someone would like to meet you." His smile grew, and he glanced down at the little honey-blonde girl, face still bare, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and ushering her forward. "Go on; they're not scary, I promise."

The child blinked rather enormous blue-green eyes up at them, straightening her posture almost unconsciously, it seemed. "I'm Senna." She fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. It was smeared in quite a lot of dirt. "Adna's being dumb and won't play tag because she thinks we're cheating, so now we need more people and none of the grown-ups will play because they're boring, so I asked Vareth and he said I should ask you guys." She expelled the entire explanation in a single breath, which even Khari found impressive, then pursed her lips. "You're not boring, are you?"

Khari put her hands on her hips. On the one hand, this was very clearly Vareth being an opportunistic bastard. On the other... “We are absolutely not boring. Let me take off my boring adult armor and stuff, but then you better be ready. I'm the best Dread Wolf ever, and I always catch all the little hallas when I play, so you're gonna have to tell everyone else to run really fast, okay?"

Senna flashed a mouthful of teeth, at least three of them missing from obvious gaps in her smile, and nodded. "You won't catch me though. I'm the best halla."

“Oh yeah? We'll see." Senna bounded off, presumably to prepare the others, and Khari turned to Rom. “Can't hurt to get out of the armor, right?"

Rom was actually grinning too, though his was a little more subdued than Senna's had been, and thankfully still in possession of all his teeth. Apparently the Revenant hadn't managed to remove any in the fight earlier. "The best Dread Wolf ever?" He asked, a glint in his eyes. "You sure you can back that up?"

“Positive."

Vareth, shaking his head but clearly amused, guided them to the aravels that had been set up. Stepping inside hers, Khari shucked her armor as quickly as she could, peeling out of her sweaty clothes underneath. A few other tunics and things had been left in a neat stack near the blankets in the corner; she threw on a dark blue one and a new pair of trousers, but nothing beat fresh socks. She savored the feeling of stepping back into her boots, not hesitating to leave her sword behind with the rest of her gear.

When she met back up with Rom, she led the way out into the forest. She knew the spot where the kids would be—that much hadn't changed, she suspected. “Dread Wolf and the halla isn't just any old game of tag, you know." She delivered the advice with false solemnity. “The halla can also hide, or mob the wolf until she surrenders. But if she holds a halla for five seconds, they're out. Sometimes it turns into more of a fight than anything. Mind the kids... they might bite." She grinned; she'd used to play the game pretty dirty herself, though of course she wouldn't actually do anything like that now.

They reached the clearing to find an assemblage of five children, including Senna, ranging in age from about six up to ten or so, from the looks of them. Khari found it uncanny that she could guess who some of them had for parents just by looking at them—and Senna was definitely Elasha's daughter. They looked excited when she and Rom entered the little clearing, a few of them bouncing up and down on their toes. No doubt being able to play with new people was merely interesting to them, rather than the cause for discomfort or wariness strangers could be with their parents.

“All right, little hallas, I dunno how you play this game anymore, but when I played, all was fair in love and war. So you better watch out, or the Dread Wolf's gonna get you!" She raised her arms to the level of her shoulders and hooked her fingers into claws, running at them with a growl.

They squealed and scattered, spreading out over the clearing, a few of the more cautious ones ducking behind trees or trying to place other obstacles between themselves and Khari.

Rom dodged away from her, jogging backwards and keeping an almost uncanny certainty of the environment around him, never once tripping over anything the other kids were moving about. He'd changed into a fresh, armless tunic and fresh trousers, boots stepping lightly over the dirt and grass. He held his arms out to the sides in invitation. "Five seconds, was it? Keep dreaming."

He had a knack for it. Rather than run from the Dread Wolf like the other little halla, Rom was acting more like the halla that fought back, albeit with hefty doses of good timing and deft work with his hands and feet. He had a way of showing up just as she was about to ensnare one of her squealing prey, cutting her off, prying them free, giving them just enough time to disappear again into some new hiding place. When she went for him he proved that the unarmed knowledge he was passing to her still had a ways to go. He was impossibly slippery; never did she have him for more than a second or two.

It wasn't long before the kids were dirty and sweaty, but still breathlessly enjoying themselves. They'd found themselves a hero of sorts before long, a few of the braver ones catching on and taking on the Dread Wolf beside him, grabbing at her legs until she was able to turn their attention on them. At one point one was a bit too slow, finding himself caught in her grip.

At least until Rom arrived from behind, snaking arms underneath hers and loosening her grip. The boy darted free, and Rom twined his legs through Khari's from behind, tipping them both over backwards into the grass with Rom beneath her. He laughed against a face-full of her hair. "Now, halla, now!" Screaming, all five of the kids made the rush and piled on top of Khari, Senna the first one to dive in. They latched on to her legs and arms, giggling with the effort, one wrapping all of his limbs around her midsection.

“Nooo!" Khari flailed, though not too hard. It was one thing to struggle at full steam against Rom, another thing entirely when she was being mobbed by small children. “They're too much!" She laughed, steadying Senna when the girl almost fell off in her enthusiasm. “Ah, I'm overwhelmed. The Dread Wolf has been defeated by the mighty and brave halla!"

The kids cheered, clambering off and playfully shoving at each other in celebration of their 'victory' over their dire antagonist. Khari rolled off Rom, landing on her side next to him in the grass, still laughing, though it trailed off into a grin. She whacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Move over, Ghilan'nain. The halla have a new hero."

Rom relaxed on his back, letting his limbs fall to his sides with a satisfied sigh. "And he's probably the strangest person they've ever met." He lolled his to the side, raising an eyebrow at Khari. "Well, except for you."

A few of the children giggled at that. When one of the boys came a bit too close on Rom's left side, he ensnared him gently, pulling him down with a playful growl. "Maybe I'll get to be the Dread Wolf next time, huh? That sounds fun." He tickled the kid and mussed with his hair, letting him escape a few seconds later to rejoin the others, all still grinning and restless.

Khari snorted. “I dunno. These halla are pretty tenacious. I'm sure they could take on two Dread Wolves if they had to." She sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. “All right. How many of the halla are hungry?" The question produced some enthusiasm, with a tiny chorus of me, me, me and a considerable amount of jumping around.

“Okay. Well, I bet the boring adults are done with the food by now, so let's go eat, you little heathens." She offered a hand down to Rom. “Ever had bear jerky?" There would be plenty of other stuff to eat, of course, and probably more than one choice of drink as well, but as good as a Dalish venison roast was... most people had probably eaten a deer before. Bear jerky was definitely more of a clan thing.

"Can't say I have," Rom said, confirming it. He took her hand and pulled himself to his feet, brushing himself off.

By the time they made it back to the camp, the food was indeed out, most of the people present having already taken what they intended to eat. There was plenty of open seating around the fire; Vareth glanced up at their arrival and smiled from his spot at her dad's right. There was a decent open space next to him on the bench, with enough room for both of them; Khari supposed it wouldn't hurt to take it. She avoided eye contact with either of her parents, for now, watching the kids swarm the food like locusts instead. It wasn't all that bad; they like any Dalish knew not to waste anything, and so they were careful in the actual process of retrieving what they wanted.

Khari was, too, spearing a bit of the venison steak with her knife and loading that into her bowl first, followed by a mix of wild greens and nuts. They must have traded for flour recently, because there was unleavened bread out, too, glistening with almost-clear halla butter. Once her bowl was laden down, she sat next to Vareth, leaving room for Rom on her other side. Senna parked herself on the ground near Khari's feet, as did a couple of the other kids. Probably the ones without parents to sit next to. The clan would take care of them, she knew that, but... it wouldn't be quite the same as having a family of one's own.

There were only about fifteen adults in the clan, including Vareth and her father and mother. All of them were here, most talking amongst themselves, largely, it would seem, unperturbed by the unusual presences. A few lifted hands to her in greeting, but they maintained a bit of distance. That wasn't unexpected, really.

“Manaran gonna tell a story?" She put the question to Vareth, who shrugged.

"Probably. Might ask you or Romulus for one, too, though. I believe he's trying to expand his collection of them."

Rom took the time to finish chewing through something before he spoke. He'd gotten noticeably more tense again as they worked their way back into the others, and that only grew worse when Vareth suggested the idea of telling a story. He was trying to hide it, but doing a pretty poor job of it. "I, uh... doubt I have any stories fit for sharing." He looked a bit guilty at trying to worm his way out of it, but then glanced at the kids at their feet. "Not for children, anyway."

"It certainly isn't obligatory." Vareth smiled sympathetically. "Though I suspect most of the children have heard worse things than you think."

That might be true. The Dalish did their best to let kids be kids, but there wasn't any hiding some things from them. Not when they might need it to survive someday. Khari had known what skinhawkers were before she really understood why they'd want anything to do with her. Before she'd known them by that name. She'd known what hunger was, what it was like for someone to be present one day and gone the next. They were facts of life early, here. But she also had a fair guess at what some of Rom's stories were about, and she figured he was probably right not to want to share them.

Across the fire, Manaran stood. He was quite old; Khari supposed he had to be nearing seventy or so, now. His hair had turned completely white; he kept it braided back away from his face, beads and feathers and other odd bits adorning it and clinking softly together whenever he moved. As though that were a signal, Vareth vacated his seat as well, moving around the fire to sit on the ground in front of it on the other side, just slightly to the right of the hahren.

Khari didn't remember Manaran as the type to stand on ceremony, and he didn't seem to have changed in that respect since she'd last been here. "Long ago..." He trailed off, making sure he had everyone's attention before he proceeded. "Long ago, the gods walked the earth, shaping everything within to their desires, sculpting cities and landscapes and possibility with thought. Elgar'nan the All-Father, firstborn of the sun, our avenger."

The smoke from the fire warped, twisting and gathering into a collection of thorny vines, which spread and converged to form the silhouette of a tall, muscular elf with a lance in one hand and a curl of magic in the other. Khari's brows knit, confused until she spotted Vareth focusing intently on the smoke. Apparently the hahren's stories now had a visual component. She kind of liked it—a smile touched her mouth.

The figure threw its lance, which burst apart, growing into a mighty tree. A feminine form emerged from the trunk as though she were made from it. "Mythal the All-Mother, our protector and our guardian." The two shapes approached each other, reaching out and touching fingertips. The tree behind them split in twain, forming into two others, identical in size and proportion. "Their twin sons, Falon'Din the guide of the dead, and Dirthamen, the master of ravens, keeper of secrets."

Khari paused in the act of chewing. She couldn't feel the vallaslin on her face, but sometimes it was almost like she could. She swallowed, watching more figures appear from the smoke.

"Andruil, lady of the hunt, teacher of the Vir Tanadhal, the way of three trees. Sylaise, keeper of the hearth and the fire in our hearts. June, who first shaped ironbark, and built all of the grandest spires and bridges over the span of the world. And Ghilan'nain, who taught the halla to traverse the hidden paths, that they might always help us find our way."

At the mention of the word halla, Senna giggled, glancing up at Khari and Rom. Khari grinned at her, scooting over a bit into the space Vareth had occupied and patting the bench between she and her friend. Senna took the spot without hesitation, kicking her feet back and forth underneath her, apparently utterly enchanted with the little smoke figures. Khari had a feeling that was probably the point of them. Hell, she might have paid more attention to the stories when she was a kid if they'd been animated this way.

"But even in ages past, the gods themselves were at war for their very survival. The Void-Dwellers envied their power and their light, and tried always to seize what was not theirs to take." The Forgotten Ones, perhaps fittingly, were much vaguer in shape than the gods, looming as barely-humanoid pillars of smoke. The gods aligned against them, ghostly armament appearing in their hands. The two groups clashed, Vareth moving his fingers rapidly like a puppeteer without strings.

Khari thought it looked kind of funny, but Senna gasped, grabbing hold of one of her hands and one of Rom's, eyes wide and fixed on the scene. Setting the remains of her food aside, Khari squeezed the little girl's hand. Probably this was the point where she was supposed to say there was no need to worry, but the truth was this story didn't end that well, exactly.

"War was perpetual, life eternal but for death on the field, each new generation joining the fight. But though the lines had been sharply drawn, there was one who walked both sides of the divide, welcomed by all, both righteous and malicious." Gathering over the rest, the figure of a wolf's head emerged from the smoke, its jaws parting and tongue lolling out. Embers, carefully lifted from the fire, gave if four red, glowing eyes, two placed right above the normal pair.

"Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf."

Manaran folded his hands behind his back. "With deception did the Dread Wolf draw all the Creators and the Void-Dwellers to a single battlefield, and with cunning and stolen magic did he devour them, tearing away from them their connection to the world, their ability to shape what lay before them. He sundered the worlds, and trapped all the others in the Beyond." Abruptly, all the figures vanished, smoke curling into the air. The wolf's eyes lingered a little longer before they faded, embers burning out.

"And from that time, we were alone." Khari blinked. This was usually the part where Barildal went off on some tangent about humans and how they'd robbed the remaining elves of their immortality or something, but Manaran refrained. Maybe because Rom was here? Either way, Khari didn't mind. The story was kind of better this way.

Senna wrinkled her nose. "I wish he'd told one of the happy stories."

Khari didn't think there were any, but she refrained from saying so.

Dissatisfaction gone faster than Vareth's smoke-figures, the little girl turned to Rom. "I've never seen tattoos like yours before. Does your clan do them differently? Which god are they for?"

"Uh." His thoughts obviously scrambled, and he shook the little girl's hand back and forth, maybe as a distraction. "Sylaise, actually. The Firekeeper? Not the most exciting choice, I know." Another thought occurred to him. "My clan is very strange, though, it's true. They lived far from here, and I got these marks just after I was born." He studied the girl a little. "What about you? Do you know what marks you'll get, when you grow up?"

Khari coughed, attempting to keep a relatively straight face. Senna didn't seem to notice, fortunately enough. "It's Hearthkeeper, silly. Not Firekeeper. Your clan must be really backwards. And how did you know what you wanted when you were a baby, anyhow?"

"Ah. Well." Rom obviously hadn't thought that through before he attempted the answer. He looked like he might've attempted some other kind of lie, but in the end just smiled gently. "My mother chose them for me. That's how my clan does it. A way of... forever tying the two together. Something that can't be erased, even if something might happen that... pulls the two of them apart." He blinked a couple times, swallowing, and then letting his eyes find the fire.

"I want Mythal's." Senna sounded decisive. "My mom had them. She protected the clan from danger. Everyone says she was a hero." Her voice fell. "I want her back, but Vareth says she has to help the gods now. So maybe if I'm good like her, I'll be able to help the gods someday, too. Like she is. And maybe we'll be tied together, too." She patted Rom's hand, leaning against his arm a little.

Khari sighed quietly, reaching forward to place a hand on Senna's head and ruffle her hair gently. “You will. But I'm sure she wants you to have a nice long life first, so you can tell her all about it when you see her again."

Senna nodded solemnly. "I know. When I see her, she's gonna be really proud of me. I'm gonna make sure."

Khari swallowed. Gonna make sure, huh? This little kid already knew something she didn't—what it was like to lose a parent. To really have no hope of seeing them again, unless maybe the stories about the gods or the Maker or someone were real. To have a whole life ahead of her without any of that. And here she was, with every opportunity to start making her own situation better, to at least try mending the damage everyone had done to each other. Hell, Rom didn't even have parents, or anything even remotely close.

She felt like a big idiot. Pulling in a deep breath, Khari closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Her parents didn't understand her. That much was true. And some of the things they'd said and done over the years—her mother especially—were like Vareth said. Things Khari hadn't deserved. Things no child deserved. But... she knew she hadn't been an easy child, either. No one signed up for raising someone like her, even if they knew as well as any new parent could what they were getting into. And... she'd done the wrong thing, when she ran away. She knew that now.

Cracking her eyes open, Khari reached over to touch Rom's shoulder. She hesitated a moment, then spoke. “Can I... can I talk to you later? After it's dark. I need... I need to go talk to my parents. I've gotta... try this, one more time." She knew he'd be able to hear both the shame and the resolve weighing her tone down, even if she wasn't wearing them quite so much on her sleeve as usual. She felt suddenly like she had a thousand things to say and none at all. But even she knew that sometimes, things had to happen in a certain order.

And before she did anything else, she needed to lance the wound. Burn it clean, for everyone involved. No matter how much it was going to hurt.

Rom sniffed a little. His arm was around the girl's shoulder now, pulling him into his side somewhat. He looked over at Khari, his expression hard to read. It was a mix of a lot of things, though, that was for sure. "You want me to be there?"

She considered it. But ultimately, she shook her head. “It's... I think I have to do this myself. Just me and them. But... but I'll be able to, now." Because he was here at all. The words lingered on her tongue for just a moment, but she didn't say them. Not here, not now. Everything in the right order, or it might fall apart.

She cracked an uneasy smile. “Wish me luck?"

He returned it. "It'll be alright."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Darkness fell quickly. Romulus was reminded how late it was in the year when the chill set in for the night. He had no desire to stay inside, or really within the bounds of the camp, while Khari was gone, dealing with her parents. The children were sent to bed, and perhaps pathetically they were the only ones he actually felt comfortable around. The rest of the clan was being kind to him, he knew that, but every now and then it seemed just a little too forced. Like they were talking to the Inquisitor, or a human outsider, or anything other than a Dalish elf. The children were honest, simple... good. They didn't know any better, or just didn't care.

The cold did prompt him to get his cloak, though, and a warmer tunic now that he wasn't playing Dalish tag anymore. He'd enjoyed that, almost to the point where it was painful to stop. For so long the work he'd been doing, first by necessity and now by some kind of choice, was so grim. And any thought of that kind of life only came in fleeting little moments, like playing with younger Qunari and passing around a ball, or being swarmed by Dalish children with Khari.

Somewhere, buried underneath the rest of what he'd been forced to become, was that person. Still just a dumb kid wanting to make trouble for the Chantry brothers at the orphanage. He didn't enjoy thinking about the years he'd lost, the childhood he'd lost, the parents he'd lost, and the slim, slim odds he would ever have anything like that again. But it was nice, once in a while, to allow himself a taste.

He picked a spot near the edge of the camp at the base of a massive tree, which he put his back to once he sat down. There were one or two silent scouts about. They kept their distance, save for one that offered to help him start a little fire. Romulus was grateful for the help, and the scout didn't try to force his company any further once the work was done, and the little fire was crackling over a well-arranged group of sticks and tinder.

Letting his head fall back against the tree, Romulus closed his eyes, feeling the effects of the day catching up to him. The ride, the fight, his potion having worn off hours ago, and the emotional strain that came with all of this, something he tried so hard to hide. He wasn't very good at that yet. But it was enough in the moment to listen to the sounds of the woods and the crackle of the fire in front of him.

In time, he heard someone else approach. The tread was familiar enough to recognize as Khari's. She snapped twigs underfoot without any care for the sound, as direct as usual. She could be quieter when the occasion called for it; the events after Haven had shown him that much. But it wasn't natural to her, unobtrusiveness, quietness. Quite the opposite. “Hey."

When he opened his eyes, it was to find that she had several blankets in her arms. Her face didn't give too much away, but she didn't look crushed or particularly upset, so perhaps things with her parents hadn't turned out too badly. “If you don't mind walking a little, there's someplace I want to show you." The firelight flickered off her face, deepening the hue of her vallaslin almost to black.

"Sure." He didn't mind. In fact, he felt he might fall asleep if he stayed put. He'd definitely fallen asleep in less comfy spots before. He pushed himself up and smothered the fire, embers wafting up around him and into the night air. "Lead the way."

She nodded, leading him past the treeline. Wherever she was going was a little bit of a hike, actually, over uneven terrain and more than one hill. But the air was chill enough to be bracing, even, and it tasted fresh, scented with dark soil and autumn leaves.

When eventually she stopped them, it was in a clearing, the ground covered with moss and short, springy wild grasses. There was something slightly off about the arrangement of debris, something that suggested a hint of deliberateness. A log lay to one side, all its protruding branches lopped off, in an advanced state of decay now, from what he could see of it. Most of the more entangling brush had been beaten back out of the clearing, as if someone had removed it by hand. A pile of sticks, all similarly-sized, rested near their entrance.

Khari scoffed softly. “Figured it'd gone to shit." Shifting the blankets into one arm, she bent and picked up one of the sticks, spinning it in her hand and pointing it at his chest with no aggression. “I used to figure I was teaching myself swordplay with these. I wasn't." She grinned at him, an expression he could see well enough in the generous light from overhead. The clearing lacked much of a canopy, allowing the moon and stars to illuminate it softly, but well enough to make out some details at least.

Still holding the stick, Khari made for the middle of the clearing, dropping it slightly to one side of center and spreading the blankets in a pile on a soft-looking spot of grass. Underneath them, she was apparently carrying a small sack. “Bear jerky. We usually do this kind of thing with food. I think it works for us." Letting her knees buckle, she flopped down onto all but the last blanket, which she wrapped around herself, shifting it around until the larger half was loose at her side. She flapped it in his general direction with her hand, the implied invitation clear as daylight.

He offered her a little smile in return. The most he could usually get. He pulled off his cloak and sank down beside her, taking his share of the blanket. He could see it, if he looked hard enough. A younger Khari, playing with sticks under daylight or moonlight, twig-thin herself compared to how she was now, a warrior in every sense of the word. The look on her face was probably still the same. That same enthusiasm, that same unbreakable drive that would push her to throw down the stick and take up a sword, forge herself into iron instead of withering wood.

He wanted to know what had happened with her parents, but he didn't want to ask. If she didn't want to tell him, he didn't mind. It was something she had to do alone, after all. But he got the sense it hadn't gone horribly, which made him curious. Still... there was jerky. "You ever wrangle anyone into fighting you out here?" he asked, chewing through the first piece. It was... certainly something. There was probably a reason most people preferred venison, but it wasn't the worst, and food was food. "Or'd you just have to fight the air?"

“Vareth found me out here once. I made him fight me. Didn't go so well, actually. He was pretty good with a staff, even then. Then I figured out that he was going easy on me, and kicked him out." She shrugged. “This used to be my little sanctuary. I'd come here after fights with my parents, or just to think." She chewed over a piece of the jerky, seemingly quite used to the flavor. It didn't take long for the blanket to trap in a comfortable bubble of body heat; Khari freely let her shoulder lean into his arm, though not heavily enough that he had to exert any effort to stay upright.

She turned her face up towards the sky. “You see that constellation up there? Looks kind of like a bird?" She stared at it for a few moments more. “They call it Corvus, I think, where you're from. The crow. To the People, it's a raven, the symbol of Dirthamen. His other symbol is bears. They say one time he told all the animals a secret, and the bears were the only ones that kept theirs, so they were his favorites after that. They also say he was the conqueror of Fear and Deceit." He felt her shrug.

“Even I thought really hard about whose vallaslin I wanted. Dirthamen's the keeper of secrets, and I figured I had a really big one to keep. The rest of it sounded pretty great, too."

He'd sometimes looked at the stars in Minrathous, but never like this. His memory had to be clouding it, but somehow the sky was different here. He could see the stars more clearly, and didn't even have much trouble finding the constellations she was referring to. He'd never had any cause to study the heavens before, and didn't even know what those in Tevinter called it. The crow... he liked Khari's explanation better. Romulus imagined he also would've thought quite hard about such a decision. One did not mark their own face lightly, after all. But he was happy with the marks he had. They were pleasing enough to look at and... he'd meant what he said about them to Senna. The one piece he truly had of his parents was the one he'd been carrying on his body all along. In that small way, they never left him. The person he was supposed to be never left.

"It suits you," he said, the words coming easily enough. "And they do too, the marks. They're... you're... uh." Say it, idiot. But it refused to leave him, and he found himself tensing against his will. His eyes left the stars, fell back down to the blanket over them. "I wish I knew what these stood for," he gestured halfway to his own face, "besides the meaning I gave them. Somehow I doubt my mother had Sylaise in mind."

Khari huffed softly, but she didn't laugh outright, either having correctly interpreted the significance of the conversation or misinterpreted his tension. Perhaps both. The arm closer to him shifted, looping companionably with his. “I'm sorry." She exhaled it, almost sighed it. “I've done nothing but complain about my family, it feels like, and you... I wasn't really thinking, when I asked you to come here. I just felt like... I needed someone here for this. Maybe I needed you here for this, I don't know."

Her eyes fell to the blankets in front of them. “My parents have always known that I wanted to be a chevalier. Since I knew, anyway. But I think that maybe when I tried to explain it to them, back then, it got all jumbled up. I barely understood all the reasons myself; I just knew that it was something I had to do, and that the secret was... I felt like I couldn't tell them. Like they'd just tell me all the reasons it couldn't be done. All the reasons I was wrong. And the dream was so fragile it was like... I was afraid it would disappear if anyone else got ahold of it."

She swallowed. “I'm still afraid to tell people. It's easier if everyone just thinks I'm an idiot who wants something she'll never get. But I think... I think I finally managed to explain it so they understand... and I want to tell you, too, if you'll promise to keep it for me."

"Okay, yeah." The words came out more breathy than Rom had intended them, but for better or worse, he felt the tension leaving him ever so slowly. As quickly as the desire to tell her had come, it disappeared. Elusive, impossible to catch if he hesitated, like he did every single time. Again she failed to catch on to what he was trying to say, and he didn't have it in him to force it. Not here and not now. He still thought about what he'd said earlier, to Zee. That it was selfish, irresponsible even. He couldn't change his mind on that yet.

And for once, he wanted Khari to be the selfish one. Here she was apologizing to him for asking him to help her, when she had done so much for him. Since the day they met she'd been giving, and it felt to Rom sometimes like all he did was take. Never give anything in return. Because what good was his help? All he'd done was nearly kill her mentor, question her and make her doubt, fail to offer any kind of useful advice, because he never knew what was right or what was best. That was what she was for. All he'd been able to do was be there, as often and as strongly as he could. It never seemed like enough, or even much of anything at all.

But if he could be here now, and help her just by listening, then he would. Even if it cost him this chance to say other things he so desperately wanted to get out.

"I'm pretty good at keeping things to myself." He tugged a bit on the arm looped through his, a hint of a grin appearing. "I promise."

She grinned, bright even in the dim illumination. “I'll hold you to it, then." Khari's expression sobered quickly; she expelled a gust of breath.

“Okay, so... this is actually kind of hard to figure out how to say. I guess—" She hummed, a discontented little sound. “Well, maybe you've noticed. The Dalish, we're... stuck. We stick to our clans, with whatever exchange we need for mages and outside blood and stuff, but we don't—we don't engage with the rest of the world. Any more than we have to. Not with humans, or dwarves or Qunari or even the elves who aren't Dalish. We have condescending names for all the kinds of people who aren't us. And then we call ourselves the People, with a the and a capital letter and everything. Like we're the only people that matter." She'd used that term a few times, even. The People. Mostly with other Dalish.

She shifted, using her free arm to draw the blanket a littler tighter around her shoulder. “And then we just... wander. We hunt to eat to live, and sometimes clans like mine who live in the right places try to do a little digging into history or the magic of our ancestors or whatever. But the highest thing most any of us can ever aspire to is to be the clan's most respected warrior or craftsperson or hunter. And that's... fine. Fine for some people. But it's not exactly the kind of dream that keeps you up at night thinking about it, you know?"

He could see how it could be a difficult way to live, certainly. He could also see how it might even be appealing to some. Those who lived in fear, probably. The elves had to know that what little life they had could be taken away. They had no lands of their own, they just... kept to places where the human nations didn't bother dealing with them. The forests, the old places, the faraway lands that would be more trouble than it was worth to attack. But if the elves stepped too far, got too bold, desired too much... what little they had could come crashing down upon all of them, violently.

"I don't think I would've understood that before I met you," he admitted. He could understand the fear of the Dalish, and sympathize with it. He'd lived that way for most of his life, accepting of what he had, thankful for it even, and only feeling sorrow for what was lost. "But yeah, I think I get it." That way of life just wasn't acceptable for someone like Khari. Someone who refused to live in fear, no matter how hard it was. It was something Romulus was slowly, ever so slowly, making himself adopt.

She dipped her chin, slow, ponderous. Thoughtful, perhaps. “Every Dalish story is about something sad. All the ones that really matter, anyway. It's always about how our ancestors were tricked, or one of the dozens of times humans killed us when we clashed, or whatever. I learned to hate hearing them, because they were always about that: things happening to us. Stories where we were victims. Stories that were supposed to make us feel sorrow and anger, but mostly just end up making us feel hopeless and small instead." Khari shook her head faintly.

“So I figured... if I couldn't hear the kinds of stories I wanted, the ones about courage and joy and the Dalish really changing their world, then I had to make one." She paused, brows furrowing, gathering her thoughts together.

When she started again, her tone was more reflective than usual. “We're stuck in the past, and that makes us so fragile. We barely have any kind of foothold in the present. The minute some lord decides a clan is too inconvenient, it's gone. Off the map, lost forever. That's not the kind of problem anyone solves by wandering around in ruins. Keepers, warriors, hunters... they all want to protect the clan, protect the People. But they don't see that the only way to really do that is to change the control other people have over whether we live or die." Her expression was grim.

“If we want to survive in a humans' world, we need them to see us. To respect us. To understand that we're capable of just as much as they are. Not savages in the forests or the poor oppressed under their feet. They need to see us like they see each other, if we're going to have a chance in the long run. Of surviving. Uprising never ends well—the Emerald Knights were slaughtered, and Alienages or clans can just get purged if that's what someone with power wants." She snorted. “It makes sense now, right? Why I'm so fucking afraid of obscurity? No one cares if some tiny little clan in Dirthavaren disappears. But if that tiny little clan is the family of someone they respect, someone they have to respect, who made a real difference in the world, then that's a different story."

"So... you're doing it for them, then. Not just for them, obviously, but to help your people. To really help." Or at least try. Larger than life though she often was, Khari was still small in the grand scheme of things. They all were. Being with the Inquisition, being central to an organization that was rapidly gaining a place in the world, gave them power, but that power was tenuous at best, and could be crushed or collapsed with a single misstep. And just like that, Khari would be swept to the winds again, an insignificant curiosity of an elf rather than someone who had the daring to change the way the world worked.

"Did they see it that way?" he asked. Carefully, quietly. There was nothing to speak over out here, and they were right next to each other. He hardly needed to whisper for her to hear. "Your parents?"

She pursed her lips. “I'm not sure. I tried to explain, you know. That chevaliers are part of a big institution with power. That if I made an inroad there, a place for myself, then even when I was gone, history would remember and it would be easier for the next elf. That something like that could be the first step towards a place at the table when countries decide what to do with old elven lands, that kind of thing. But I'm not sure they..." Khari sighed gustily.

“To be honest, I'm not sure they believe I can. That... hurts, but I guess I kind of expected it. Dad seemed to understand the idea, at least. I think it makes sense to him in principle, though he'd probably just prefer it if the secret to taking back a place in the world was just that—taking it back, somehow reverting to the way things used to be." She grimaced, her vallaslin pulling.

“I think my mom still thinks I'm an idiot, but at least she kind of understands the reasons, now. The right ones. It's kind of weird that this was the secret part. That I wanted to protect us as much as anyone else. I just... have a different understanding of what that means. I want to do this for all the elves, no matter where they're from, and for everyone else, too. Because we have things to offer the world. And it's not fair to anyone not to share them."

She swallowed, leaning a bit more heavily into him and letting her eyes close for a moment. “It feels... better. To know that they know. That they understand as well as they can. And to know that they still—they still care, in their way." She blinked rapidly a few times, releasing a slow, shaky breath and tilting her head up to meet his eyes. “I wouldn't have even come here if it wasn't for you, you know. Wouldn't have done any of this. I just—this weight's just gone, and..." She hesitated, scoffing softly and offering a wry half-smile.

“Thanks, Rom. For letting me lean on you." It was clear she wasn't talking about the fact that she was indeed physically doing so at the moment, either. Though it was hard to put the bad joke past her, especially given the expression she wore.

He pulled his arm out from hers, and wrapped it around her back instead, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. "It was nice for me, too, being the one leaned on." There wasn't really any joke in that. He meant it. As much as coming here had meant to Khari, it had also meant something to him. Even with the grim reason they came, the death surrounding everything in these lands, there was a bit of happiness too. It might've been painful for the both of them to pull it out, but it was free now, and it was sorely needed. He hadn't expected it to be simple for her to come to any kind of terms with her clan, but that she had done so at all was a victory. It made all of this worth it and more.

"I'm glad I could help you do it. Tomorrow... we'll head back home."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari brought her sword around to block just in time, gritting her teeth against the unpleasant metallic clang. Her breath was hard and fast in her lungs, but steady, even as Mick bore down with enough force to push her backwards, feet dragging in the dirt of the ring. Her lips peeled back, pulling into a snarl beneath the metal mask on her face, and Khari broke the lock by shifting abruptly to the side. She swung quickly for his midsection in the moment he needed to compensate for the force, but his right-hand sword turned hers aside at the last moment.

Close, but nothing.

It felt like this was the longest she'd been able to last against him. Time was a tricky thing in the middle of a fight, but often they reset dozens of times in a session. Her goal wasn't ever to win as such, but to never make the same mistake twice. Eventually she'd run out. She was doing pretty well for herself this time, though, and maybe if she kept her focus she could finally find the weak spot she knew had to be lurking somewhere.

They clashed again—she was much better at watching out for the offhand sword now, so the feint to the stronghand one didn't fool her, and she parried the blow actually intended to hit. She was vaguely aware of someone approaching the training ring, but they didn't register to her as armed and hostile, so she ignored them, swinging for Mick's legs on a step in.

He swung both swords parallel with each other, intercepting her blade before it could strike him. She was strong, but she didn't have the gift of Mick's size and she found his swords hard to budge. He didn't press his advantage from there however, as whoever had approached caused him to pause. "Hold up, mon ours, we have a visitor," he said, gesturing behind her with a tilt of his chin.

Khari huffed with frustration, a bit ticked that the fight had been stopped before she'd seen how long she could make it go. She wasn't in an especially charitable mood when she swung to see who it was, lowering the dull practice blade, and she couldn't say that got too much better when she found the answer.

“Oh hey, Marcy." She glanced at Mick, arching her eyebrows. “Practice over for today, then?" She figured if the Inquisition's ambassador was coming all the way down here for something, she probably needed to see her husband about family or business stuff. That was understandable enough, if a bit disappointing from her own perspective. She could always go see if Ves or Stel or Cy were done early enough to spar instead, she supposed.

Mick didn't answer immediately, instead looking over her head to Marceline and then up to the sky, judging the position of the sun. "Yeah, that will be it for today, though we will make up for it up next time, deal?" he offered. He wore a smile, and seemed to have enjoyed the challenge that she'd given him, and even he appeared to be a bit disappointed to have to stop. He glanced up at his wife one more time and nodded.

"I had hoped to catch you when you two were done," Marceline answered, shaking her head seeming rather disappointed in her own timing. "Khari, if you would kindly give me a moment of your time? There are some things I wish to discuss with you. Sorry, Micky," she added, giving her husband an apologetic smile.

For his part, he simply laughed and shrugged. "I'm sure, but why do you make it sound so serious?" he asked with goodnatured grin.

"Habit," she sighed in answer.

“Uh." Khari wasn't really sure how to answer, but frankly, she probably didn't really have options in the first place. Marcy used nice words for it, most of the time, but she was kind of at least partly in charge here, and Khari was not. The only thing she could think of was that she might be in trouble for taking Rom along when she went to see her family, because they weren't known allies and he was an Inquisitor and Marcy was kind of obsessed with keeping them away from anything that might give them a papercut. Or so it seemed sometimes.

But well... whatever. She'd deal with it if she had to. “Sure. Lead the way, I guess." She racked her practice sword, sloughing off her armor at a decent, if not rushed, pace and putting that in a neat pile to deal with later. It left her in a loose black tunic and dark brown trousers, tucked into her boots. She didn't wear a sword anymore—not since Intercessor had broken. The one she'd borrowed from the armory to replace it was in her room at the barracks. She didn't feel the same, carrying it around.

"Thank you," Marceline replied with a polite incline, which of course caused Mick to chuckle again.

Though, it did not last long, when he realized he'd be left to his own devices. He glanced down at the armor she'd shucked, and he shrugged. "I will see to your armor, I suppose," he said, before making his way over to it.

Marceline smiled and then departed, making her way along the familiar path back to the keep. As she walked, she spoke, perhaps in an attempt to start a bit of small talk, "Training is going well, I presume?" she asked.

Khari shrugged. “It's going. Feels like I'm getting better, so that's good, obviously." She found herself with a silence and not much else to say, so she turned her eyes out on the path as though she hadn't seen everything on it more times than she could count. She kind of wished she just knew what the hell this was about; she could count the number of times she and Marcy had really talked about anything on the fingers of one hand. And that was if she were being generous about what qualified as talking.

Lady Marceline hummed in answer, though did not offer much more. Apparently she decided that the attempt at small talk ended in failure, and therefore decided against trying again, as she remained silent the rest of the way to the keep. The path to Marcy's office was the usual one, through the main hall and at the door on the left. Once they reached the door, she opened it and stepped through, holding it open to then allow Khari to follow through.

Upon entering her office, there was a relatively new face in the Inquisition. A young blond woman sat at Marcy's chair, with Larissa lingering over her shoulder and pointing something out on a sheet of parchment. Apparently, this was the woman Marcy had spoken about during their last meaning, young Lady Félicité. From what she little she had heard, she'd been at Skyhold for the better part of a week or two. Though she acknowledged their entrance with a flick of her eyes, they immediately turned back to Larissa continuing to speak about the business at hand. "My uncle has the DuRellions' trust, a word from him will surely ease tensions," she said.

Larissa nodded in agreement, "If you can get word to Lord Mathis about this then, it would be of great help," she said before turning to greet Khari and Marcy, "Khari, milady," she said inclining her head to both before straightening.

"I will start on the letter soon then," Félicité answered, before she too turned to greet the two with a smile and incline of her head.

Marcy returned their greetings and spoke, "It sounds as if you two have been busy," she said with a proud smile, "I apologize, but may I have a moment to speak with Khari alone? I will find you afterward, I promise."

"Of course," Félicité spoke, rising from Marcy's desk. "Larissa, you said the Keep has a garden? I would very much like to see it." she asked kindly, which Larissa answered with a smile of her own before they finally departed, letting Marcy shut the door behind them.

She shook her head and stepped into the large room more fully then. "Mathis did not mention how much she knew of the Game before she arrived. The young woman is already quite... skillful," Marcy noted.

Yeah, and still not an adult. But Khari figured Stel had said most of what there was to say about that already, and it wasn't like her saying anything else was going to make any difference anyway. Even so, that didn't mean she had to wait around for Marcy to get to the point here. Surely there was one; she didn't seem like the kind of person to waste her own time, anyway.

“If you say so." She shrugged a little bit. “Uh... I'm just gonna ask. What's this all about, Marcy? 'Cause if it's about my clan, Rom was never in any danger. And I can promise you I would have been twice as mad as you if I turned out to be wrong about that. Which I wasn't."

Marcy actually seemed surprised for a moment before she shook her head, "Oh, no, no, do not worry. This is about an entirely different topic, I promise-- and I am not about to admonish you for anything either," she added waving it off. To her credit, she didn't seem upset or anything close to it, but that could just be another face she liked to put on. "I have no right to have any say on personal matters such as these. However, for whatever it is worth, it did sound as if it went far better than when I brought Michaël home to meet my parents," she said, though she said it with a nostalgic smile.

Khari didn't really see where the analogy was supposed to be there. “Uh... no offense, Marcy, but unless your parents thought you were dead up to that point and Mick was there to make sure you didn't run away before you got up the guts to tell them something that had been scratching at you since you were twelve, I'm not really sure the situations make sense as comparisons." Rom had come along because she'd asked him to be moral support while she tried to face possibly the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do in her life. Whatever Marcy thought the similarity was supposed to be there, Khari wasn't seeing it.

And she wasn't really comfortable talking about it any more than she already had. “So... are you gonna tell me what I'm here for? Because I suck at guessing. We'd be here all day."

Marcy only sighed and shook her head, though she did have a quirk of a smile near the end. "Ah, yes. I apologize, one moment please," she said before finally stepping away from Khari and started making her way to her desk. Instead of taking a seat at it, she knelt beside it and opened one of the larger drawers on the side. It didn't take any shuffling to find what she was looking for, and a second later she was returning to Khari with it in hand. It was a small darkly stained wooden box, but the oddest thing was a large purple bow keeping the lid closed.

She looked down at it for a moment and for once actually seemed awkward, as if she was unsure how to proceed from there. "It is a... gift. For you," she said, holding it out for Khari to take. "I wanted to personally thank you... for Michaël," she said, with what actually appeared to be genuine emotion written on her face.

For Mick? Khari didn't really understand what she meant by that, and accepted the box cautiously. It wasn't too heavy or anything, but there was enough heft to it to suggest that something maybe made of wood or metal was inside. Almost tentatively, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Khari tugged at the amethyst-colored ribbon, letting it fall away and lifting the lid of the box.

A soft breath hissed out from between her teeth when she laid eyes on the object inside. It was a mask, silverite from the sheen of it, styled in the battle-ready fashion of a chevalier's. The lines etched into it were similar to her vallaslin, centered on the cheeks and brow but sweeping further back and to the sides, sized to scale with the whole mask. They'd been blackened in an interesting way, rendered smoky grey against the bright silver.

No sooner had she taken that in than Khari was shaking her head emphatically. “No, no, no." She cleared her throat awkwardly, tearing her eyes from the object in the box to Marcy, her lips parting, then closing again, as she tried to find the words to explain. “Marcy, I can't... I can't accept this. I don't deserve it."

Marcy was quiet for a moment, tentative, though she did not appear upset. "Is there... a particular reason you say that?"

It was difficult to explain. Not in the sense that Khari didn't have the words—they were right there. The difficult part was, and always had been, explaining herself to anyone else in the way that got at the core of things. That bypassed her usual defenses and was just as honest as it was blunt. She swallowed. “I haven't earned it. This... this is something a chevalier wears. I haven't earned the right to it."

Her explanation seemed to put Marcy at ease, or at least enough so that she smiled genuinely. "I see. Regardless, I will not take it back," she answered, "It was crafted with you specifically in mind, and it will fit no one else." The formality that usually obscured her intentions seemed to ebb away, leaving her seeming surprisingly earnest with her words. "You need not wear it until such a time comes that you feel you have earned it, or you may throw it away, or hide it forever if you so desire. All that I ask is that you accept it... Please, you've done more for Michaël than you know."

Khari shook her head again, loose curls bouncing against the sides of her face. “I won't take it, Marcy. I can't. You don't understand—things like this might not be hard for you to come by, but this is... this is everything I want." Not the object itself, but what the act of wearing it would mean. “And there's only one way for me to earn it, no matter what you think I've done for Mick. I can't accept it. Not even just to get rid of it."

Not that she would; she could appreciate fine craftsmanship well enough, even if she was a shitty crafter herself. She sighed harshly, trying to find another way to put this so that it would make sense. “Look. Why don't..." She expelled another breath. “Keep it. And then... when I'm a chevalier—when I've earned this—give it to me again. And then you can refuse to take no for an answer. 'Cause I'm sorry, but right now, you're gonna have to."

"I see that you believe in this very strongly," Marcy said with a disappointed sigh, "Very well then, I will... hold on to this for you," she said, holding her hands out to take this gift back. "However, I would have you understand this Khari," she began, slowly closing the lid to the box, "At the time where I am compelled to begin calling you Ser Khari, you will accept this gift-- even if I must have Micky force it onto your face," she said, sternly... Though her visage soon broke with a smile, indicating the joke for what it was. "By then, I doubt I will even have to ask him."

Khari frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." She probably wouldn't feel wrong about accepting something like this then—and it was pretty awesome, as far as masks went. She still wasn't sure Marcy had really understood her reasons, exactly, not in any significant way, but she thought maybe she'd gotten her point across enough for now.

“Anyway, uh... thanks for the thought, anyhow." It wasn't like Marcy could have known how she felt about this stuff, after all.

"Of course," Marceline said, with an incline of her head. "And thank you, Khari."

“...Sure thing, I guess."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Before she and Rom had left the Exalted Plains, Vareth had promised to write her. To keep her updated about things, and pass along any information that might be of use to the Inquisition, he'd said. Khari had admittedly not expected it to really pay any useful dividends, especially not so soon. But sure enough, the clan had moved into the Emerald Graves recently, and it hadn't taken them too long to notice that something was wrong. Exact details were vague; apparently he'd written before knowing all the information, but it involved both the Venatori and the Red Templars.

That was enough to get most of the Inquisition's Irregulars out to the area, as well as Stel, who'd be doing... any Inquisitor stuff that came up. There were probably rifts here. There were rifts fucking everywhere, so Khari didn't give herself any points for guessing that.

The Graves was a massive part of an even more massive forest—everything here was like a normal forest, but doubled. The trees were absolutely huge, towering over them like buildings, and the color of the leaves was the purest shade of green Khari had ever laid eyes on, though maybe she was biased, since she'd grown up here. Even the fauna were pretty big; she knew firsthand how big the bears could get here. The vaulted canopy overhead gave the place almost a similar atmosphere to one of the Chantry's cathedrals, or at least they seemed similar to her. Sort of an enforced silence, like her voice would echo back at her if she were too loud. And the kind of scale that made her feel small.

When they reached the Inquisition's forward camp, it was to find Vareth already there, one hand holding his halla's reins and the other resting loosely around his staff. He was speaking to Lia, but he paused in his words at their approach. Once the group had made their way over, he offered a smile, but politely waited for the Scout-Captain to speak first.

Lia looked to be getting along much better with Vareth than the Inquisition's previous Dalish guests, judging by the lack of any awkwardness in her posture. The camp itself was situated among some particularly gutted ruins, only a few walls and pillars left standing on either side of the path. The scout tents were situated more closely together this time, due to the need to fit more forces into the same small space. Behind Khari, the templar Knight-Captain SĂ©verine had brought along a moderately sized squadron of her own, carrying their own gear. She wordlessly instructed them to being situating themselves in the camp, and they set to work.

"I know I've said it before," Lia began, eyes wandering above her to the trees. "But I do love all the places this job takes us to. Grim business, but a nice location this time. And we've had a much easier time moving unseen here." She looked back to Vareth. "You want to tell them about the Venatori? We haven't seen as much of them as the Red Templars."

He nodded easily, wearing a pleasant smile, but Khari knew him well enough to recognize the fact that he was troubled about something. "As I was just telling Lia, there are humans in red and white robes moving about in the area around Din'an Hanin. I'm not actually sure if they've found the entrance yet, or if they've already come and gone from inside, but in either case, it's quite possible they've desecrated the tomb. I thought you'd want to know that they were here."

“Not the first time we've seen them mucking about in elven ruins." Cyrus pursed his lips thoughtfully, as though an idea had occurred to him, but if it had, he kept quiet about it. Khari figured he'd tell them when he was sure enough to bother, and not before. “Is this particular site ancient?"

Vareth shook his head. "It's built atop older architecture, but it's the tomb of the Emerald Knights. That part of it only dates back to the second age."

Khari tilted her head at Cyrus. “Does that matter?"

He shrugged. “Honestly? I don't know yet. In any case it seems prudent not to let them do as they will. Perhaps if we remove them, we'll get a better idea of what they want in the process."

"And the Red Templars?" SĂ©verine asked. She was geared for battle already, and unlike how she'd fought previously, she was now equipped with a moderately-sized flail, the flanged head attached to a chain coiled around her belt. She carried her helm under her arm, looking eager to don it.

"Much more mobile, and much less subtle," Lia answered, her tone darkening a little. "They have heavily guarded caravans making their way through the forest. Transporting red lyrium, if the glow is anything to go by. Seems like they take a different path each time, different directions... they're coming and going, but we're not sure where from or where to."

SĂ©verine nodded her understanding. "And you haven't been seen or attempted to engage them?"

"No, Ser." She gestured over her shoulder, in a north-eastern general direction. "I sent Signy to identify choke points in the forest, places most likely for the caravans to have to come through. We're working on setting up an ambush site, but we'll need your templars and some of the Irregulars to make it work."

"What's their strength like?" Ves asked, leaning slightly on his spear. His tower shield rested with the end planted at his feet. "You said they were heavily guarded."

"The caravans aren't entirely Red Templar troops, is the problem," Lia explained, with a slight wince. "Almost all of the caravans we've seen have civilians among them. Mostly Orlesian, but I couldn't tell you where from. I think... I think they're being held prisoner, forced to drive the carts, but I could be wrong. As for the templars... if they're anything like what we've seen before, they don't always show their true forms until attacked. But they're here in force, and well equipped, too."

Between Ves and Cyrus, Stel grimaced at the word civilian. “Sounds like we have two jobs ahead of us then," she said with a little shake of her head. “Thank you, for the information." That, she directed at Vareth and Lia both.

Leon crossed his arms over his broad chest, frowning slightly. “It would be better to handle both at once. Before the Venatori move and we lose any clues as to their plans, and also before much more lyrium moves across the forest... or more people are pressed into service." He paused, expelling a heavy breath from his nose. “I think... Estella, Ser SĂ©verine and her people, Captain Zahra and myself should be sufficient for the Reds." He glanced at Khari.

“Can you guide the rest to this Din'an Hanin and take care of the Venatori?"

Zahra only nodded her head. A hand drew up to shield her eyes, which were directed upwards. She seemed far too preoccupied watching the wind weave through the enormous trees, swaying like towers overhead to absorb the nuances of their mission. Fortune favored those who only needed to be directed to shoot. It was a position she’d never complained of. She hadn’t noticed Khari’s obvious discomfort. Either that or she hadn’t thought Leon’s suggestion all that absurd.

“Uh." Khari was immediately uncomfortable. That sounded an awful lot like Leon was putting her in charge of something, and Khari had never been in charge of anything in her life. She could see the strategic reason, of course: she knew the area better than anyone else, probably. She didn't doubt Ves had been here at some point, but she'd spent a combined total of years in this forest, and visited Din'an Hanin often enough to know the way.

She considered protesting anyway, but her excuses were all weak as shit, so she held her tongue. Glancing at the others, she cleared her throat. Really, if you had to put someone in charge of a combat operation, she wasn't... well, she could console herself with the fact that Asala would probably do worse. Ves and Cy would almost certainly do better.

“...sure. Can-do, Commander." She plastered a grin on her face that she didn't really feel. Maybe if she faked it long enough, it'd get stuck there and she'd feel some genuine version of the confidence it pretended to. “Good luck, you lot. See you later, I guess."

Only then did Zahra’s head drop down and level off towards Khari. A wide grin, much more genuine than Khari’s own had been, split across her lips as she took a few steps forward and slapped her gently on the back. A low, hoarse laugh sounded. “You’ve got this, second Commander. See you when we see you.” Zahra’s teasing was commonplace, and nearly always expected, but the look in her eyes belied true belief. She meant it.

Asala must have sensed her discomfort, because she was the next to speak with an encouraging smile. "It is not as if you are by yourself," she said before she turned her gaze on the others around them. Asala had her hair pulled back into a tight bun, with golden vitaar spread across her face in the geometric patterns she'd been known for. She seemed prepared for whatever the forest dealt them, for what it was worth.

"Best of luck with the Reds," Ves said, inclining his head in a nod to the rest of the group they were leaving behind, though he looked at Stel when he said it. "We'll see you soon."

It wasn't long before they'd put the camp behind them, passing beyond the safe perimeter the scouts had established and finding themselves surrounded by the colors of the forest. That Khari was leading the group wasn't entirely obvious, as Ves often walked side-by-side with her, and Cyrus and Asala didn't trail behind all that much, either. The silence, or rather lack of any noise from human or elf, became apparent not long after they put the camp out of sight, replaced by only the constant sounds of nature. The wind in the leaves. The slow ambling of a nearby stream. Chittering birds.

Ves was the first to break it, speaking in somewhat low tones due to the lack of necessity to use anything louder. "Saraya didn't see the fall of the Emerald Knights. We didn't visit many places here. It's beautiful, but..." his eyes wandered up to the trees around him, but only for a moment before resuming their watch. "You can almost smell the sorrow on the air. Maybe that's just me."

“It's not." Khari grimaced, glancing to the side at Ves. It made sense that all that stuff was after Saraya's time and all. But it was still really damn old by most reckonings. “I mean, the whole thing's a graveyard. They planted the trees for the Knights when they took their oaths. All the bodies are in the actual tomb."

From slightly behind her, Cyrus hummed, tipping his head back to look up at the canopy of one such tree. “The last defenders of the independent Dales, yes? Right around the second age or so? I've heard only a little."

Khari supposed that meant she might well be the one who knew the most. That was a bizarre feeling, in present company. She could add it to the stack that was slowly accumulating here. She'd heard the stories before, of course. Her clan's last hahren had told them to her more times than she could count because she always wanted stories about knights and these were really the only ones that applied. Most Dalish heroes were mages, as it turned out. “Yeah. Wiped out to a one, like usual." A gust of breath escaped her; she'd been thinking a lot about that story lately, actually.

“Nobody was too fond of the Dalish, after they watched Montsimmard practically burn during the second Blight. But what probably really got the whole thing started was what gets everything started: people hating each other for stupid reasons. I guess there were rumors at the time that elves sacrificed people to the gods or whatever." She snorted, making it abundantly clear what she thought of the intelligence of anyone who'd believe something like that.

Khari adjusted the unfamiliar sword on her back and continued walking, stepping smoothly over a jutting tree root. “Watch your feet, Asala." The Qunari woman was almost fatally clumsy sometimes. Certainly not as smooth in motion as either of the other two. “There was this village called Red Crossing. Not too far from Dirthavaren, actually. One of the knights, Elandrin, fell in love with a human girl there." She'd used to screw up her nose at that part, when Barildal had inevitably turned the story into a tangent about humans, or in later years, some kind of practically-lyrical musing on love. Both had been equally annoying, as far as Khari was concerned, in all her teenaged wisdom.

“There was this pretty awkward identity mix-up, but it ended with Elandrin's sister accidentally killing the girl, Adalene. By the time the other villagers got there, Elandrin was by her side, and you can guess what they thought. That was all it took. There was a war, and then an Exalted March, and then cities fell and Halamshiral was captured and all the Knights were dead on the field." She shrugged. It was about as pleasant as any other Dalish story.

“Used to think Elandrin was a big idiot, myself. Used to think everyone in the story was an idiot. Tragedies are kind of like that." Most of them seemed to rely on someone or multiple someones being idiotically blind about something and everyone paying the price for it.

"Used to?" Ves asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. The look was gone a moment later, however, as it was the only moment he'd given to look at her rather than their surroundings.

Khari nodded, unsure she wanted to elaborate. It was kind of a weird topic, especially for this group. Still... she'd kind of opened herself up to the question, and they had a while to go yet before they were anywhere near their destination. “Well... yeah. Can't do much to stop feelings, can you? Even the stupid ones. Doesn't seem much like it was their fault. Maybe it wasn't anyone's fault." She shrugged again, aware that her body language would probably go unnoticed. It was just a reflex.

“Still happened though. Gave everybody one more reason to just shut out anybody who looks different. This one cut pretty deep." Losing whatever ancient fantasyland had once held the gods and the immortal elves and all those people who seemed so far away from reality, well... that was one thing. Losing the Dales, though. That stung. Particularly for a group that still called themselves Dalish. It was easy to lay the blame on the humans, and forget the part they'd played in starting it. Black and white was always easier than grey. It was just that not everyone agreed about which was which.

"Sadly, feelings of hate and distrust are as hard to stop as love. Maybe harder, if history is anything to go off of." The conversation seemed to be a sobering one for Ves. A few moment passed in silence, before his eyes fell to the ground before them, and he briefly held out a hand towards the others. "Hold up."

At their feet were old tracks, hard to notice but definitely there. No heavy boot thuds of Red Templars, but lighter steps, and a few soft indentations in the ground, where perhaps a staff had pushed into the earth. "Venatori came through here, I think. Are we close?"

Khari's eyes flicked for a moment to the trail ahead, then back down to tracks. “Close enough to be careful. Still about a couple miles out, though." Not that it made a great deal of difference; the Venatori could easily have moved, or be in the process of moving, or even just send patrols out this far. “Guess this is the part where we clam up and go in... uh... quiet-ish."

The chances of this particular group of people getting anywhere close without being noticed was very low. Everyone was in armor except Asala, and she was probably the worst at not stepping wrong, so it was a bit of a predicament. Best to count on being seen sooner rather than later.

Khari pulled in a breath. They could do this. She could do this. The Venatori were dangerous, but so were she and her friends here.

Time to go prove it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Vesryn had been in many elven ruins, but any ruin of significance never failed to impress him with its beauty. He liked to think he had an eye for such things. Even if some of the beauty of the structures wasn't meant to be, such as the way the foliage encroached on through the stone, he felt he could almost imagine what it would have been like to walk through these halls in all their splendor. He wondered if he wasn't imagining it sometimes, but it was like a feeling of a memory of Saraya's tickled at the back of his mind, giving him the smallest, most delectable taste of the past.

She had no memory of this place, and indeed, the visual difference between this and much older ruins was apparent. For one, it was in better shape. Something about the construction of the oldest ruins had turned against them, Vesryn felt, but this place was built differently. That, and it was a crypt built into the earth, thus rendering it better protected than most places. It was in a similar place in the Brecilian Forest that Vesryn had first found his traveling companion. At least, he'd thought it was similar. For obvious reasons, Saraya had not been intent on lingering there.

They moved with caution as they entered Din'an Hanin, but the Venatori were nowhere to be seen. There was evidence of them, though, and it was recent. Torches burned in their sconces on the walls, small campfires still burned in the darker corners, and bedrolls had been left out. There were signs of fighting, bodies of undead put to rest once more in various places in the tomb. It seemed the Venatori had to fight for their chance to study this place. They'd taken casualties of their own, too, the recency of the corpses placing the fights sometime early this morning by Vesryn's best estimates. He crouched down before a pair of bodies that had fallen near a torch, examining their wounds.

"Blade pierced this one under the chin," he noted, tilting the Venatori's head back a little. "Swift and brutal. And this one..." He looked at the one beside the other, finding no immediate fatal wounds, at least not until he carefully grabbed the man's head. "Ah. Broken neck." He frowned. "Haven't known many kinds of undead to try that. I wonder if the Venatori unearthed something they couldn't handle further in." Wouldn't be the first time. He'd heard the reports of what happened at that ruin in the Western Approach.

He glanced back at Cyrus, keeping his voice low. "Anything stand out about this place? Something the Venatori might want with it, or from it?"

Cyrus had placed his helmet on his head and drawn his hood up around it the moment they entered the ruins, though as of yet, he'd taken hold of no weapons. So when he spoke, it was slightly muffled, escaping through the narrow vertical gap from his nose to his chin. “It's old enough that there might be artifacts of note, though I don't know of anything specific. It also seems to have been built on the bones of something older, so to speak. They could be trying to get underneath, if they think something they want might be there." He lifted his shoulders. It wasn't much to go on, and he was clearly quite aware of that fact.

Khari, masked and already holding a naked blade, drew her brows down over her eyes, tilting her head down at one of the dead Venatori. “Revenant, maybe? Though I think they'd be... worse, if it was that." She turned her gaze back out ahead, squinting down a darkened side passageway as if to search for such a creature. Or maybe just more cultists.

"Agreed." Vesryn donned his own helm at this point, most of his face vanishing behind it. He grabbed his spear and shield and stood up, eyeing the different ways forward. "Keep those barriers ready, Asala. Let's take it slow, and stay tight. If we're attacked before we have time to plan, stay defensive and work as a group. We'll evaluate our options and go from there." As far as he was concerned, Leon had only assigned Khari to guide the group to the ruin, not to act as their leader within it. If he was reading her reaction correctly, she wasn't fond of the idea of leading, and Vesryn had to admit he didn't think it would be for the best either. Berserkers were better off being directed, not doing the directing.

"This way." He guided them more based on a hunch of Saraya's than anything else. They made their way through the ruin's main level, which was often exposed to the sunlight above either by design or by the crumbling of the ruin over time. Vines twisted down from above, ensnaring pillars and working their way through cracked and loose pieces of stonework. The ceiling of the level was designed to imitate the canopy of the forest outside in stone-form, the support pillars styled as the trees. A few statues still remained, depicting graceful men and women armored and bearing ancient elven weapons of stone. Most were destroyed, though, only their feet or legs remaining, their broken bodies crumbled to the ground around them, or carried off to some faraway place as a trophy.

They worked their way into the crypts, descending deeper, and still no Venatori appeared, even as the signs of battle faded and then ceased altogether. Eventually they came upon a grand set of double doors, reaching twice Vesryn's height, with an inscription carved above them. "Here rests Elandrin, Whom We Betrayed." He felt a pang of sorrow for the man, but wondered if it hadn't come from Saraya more than himself. He honestly hadn't expected much of the story Khari told to be true, and maybe it still wasn't. Such things could be heavily diluted over time, and Elandrin's actual role in the matter could've been anything. But here he rested, an elf who apparently died for his love.

One of the doors was cracked open a few inches, offering them the way in. Vesryn hefted his shield to the ready. He looked sideways at Khari a moment. "Know anything about the layout inside?"

She shook her head. “Nope. That door's always been sealed. None of us would have opened it without a really good reason." Implied was that they'd never had anything of the kind. She brought her sword around to a more ready position, though, likely made suspicious by the very same fact. A gentle hissing of steel indicated that Cyrus was arming himself as well. Asala, of course, would have no need.

"Right. Watch my sides, please." Between him and Asala they had quite a bit of defensive staying power, so long as Khari and Cyrus were willing to be patient and remain in formation. If they were separated it would be much more difficult to defend each other, for Asala specifically. Hard to focus magic in multiple directions at once. Of course, all of this could be for nothing and the Venatori and undead could both be gone.

Only one way to find out. Vesryn reached out with his spear, prodding the door open enough for him to slip through, and one by one the group made their way inside the tomb. The air, surprisingly, was not as heavy and stale as Vesryn had expected. The tomb itself was very dark save for the central fixture of the large room, where light from above filtered down onto the statue of a great tree, an armored elf standing at its base. The elf figure clutched what looked to be a letter or some other piece of parchment to his chest, head bent down in sorrow. An arrow had pierced his chest, but from his posture it seemed to be the least of his wounds. From far above the foliage of the forest crept down, almost touching the upper reaches of the tree, but it had yet to make it much farther. Before the statue of the elf was the actual sarcophagus. Even from a distance Vesryn could tell that the lid had been disturbed and then replaced recently.

But he couldn't allow himself to focus his attention on Elandrin's resting site. Vesryn peered into the darkness of the chamber, feeling deeply uneasy. For such a large chamber, it was terribly unlit, which didn't match any of the rest of the ruin, where the Venatori had placed lighting of their own wherever it was needed. It wasn't long before Saraya picked up on the softest clink of armor, and he felt an urge to change the angle of his shield in that direction.

An arrow cracked across the surface of it, bouncing harmlessly away. From deep in the darkness he could hear other movement now, and one glance at the arrow now at his feet told him all he needed to know. The construction of it was far too recent for it to have come from any undead bow.

"I do believe we're being ambushed," he informed the others dryly, keeping his spear leveled. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them from an unseen force. He didn't have to try it to know that wouldn't budge. "Let them come to us. Watch for mages." Indeed, he didn't need to wait long, as soon enough a darkly-clad Venatori killer rushed from the shadows, short blade in hand, but Saraya heard his approach, and with an almost unnaturally swift strike Vesryn had impaled him through the chest, puncturing leather armor and the flesh underneath. As quick as the attack came he withdrew it, letting the man fall to the ground. Vesryn got his shield back in front in time to intercept another arrow. Not perfectly on target, but it could've struck one of his companions if he'd allowed it to pass.

Cyrus, Vesryn had observed via practice, fought without magic essentially the same as he fought with it, except that the swords he now wielded were made of metal instead of the Fade, and whistled through space instead of humming. More had been lost than just this, of course—there would be no lightning or fire or sudden crossings of large amounts of distance. But he was doing better than most mages would have been, only recently deprived of what made them viable combatants.

When a lightly-armored Venatori slid from cover to try and knife him in the side, he reacted quickly, parrying with the oddly-curved blade in his left hand and swiftly bringing the one in his right across his body, chopping hard into the woman's leathers and felling her in a stroke. He kept close, using his mobility to stay fluid within a small area instead of ranging too far.

It was a lesson Khari could stand to learn a little better, but then, her weapon was considerably larger, and she needed to swing it quite a bit more than Vesryn needed to do with his spear, for instance. She'd stepped out a fair distance from the group, enough that she had to deal with three at once, but at least her back was protected. Her armor stopped a shortsword; the steel clanged off her gorget with a dull rapport. She used the assailant's recoil effectively—he wasn't wearing any heavy neck protection, and her claymore lodged against his spine before she pulled it free, ducking under another hit and clipping the second Venatori in the hip.

The third, however, turned out to be a mage, and Khari staggered when he did... something. Some sort of disorientation spell, it looked like. Enough to slow her for a few seconds and let his ally try to find something vital with her dagger.

A wave of green light washed over Khari, distinctive of Asala's dispel. The spell undoubtedly sought to rid her of any after effects from whatever disorientation spell that was cast on her her. Another spell followed soon after, this one more of Asala's usual blue barrier. It sprung to life only a short distance away from Khari, intercepting the dagger meant for Khari. It was sudden enough that the wrist that held the dagger let out a sickening pop, followed by a muffled, but pained yelp. The yelp was cut short as the barrier then lurched forward and bashed the Venatori, leaving him stumbling and disoriented instead.

Asala did not continue to assault the man, instead turning her spells onto herself. She pressed her hands together, and with a supernatural thump, a light flashed around her feet. When it vanished, she was left standing with a set of translucent armor, of the same make as the gauntlet she attempted to make the last that Vesryn watched her experiment with her magic. However, this arcane armor fit her snug and she seemed to have worked out the mobility issues, as soon after she was on the move again, keeping distance between herself and the Venatori.

Once the first wave of melee attackers was dealt with, the second didn't immediately come forward, leaving them to block and avoid arrows and dangerous spells as best they were able. The reason for that soon became apparent, as an ominous boom sounded above their heads, along with a rapidly forming cluster of dark swirling cloud, bristling with lightning. A tempest spell, and a strong one too by the looks of it. "Shift right, move!" Vesryn called out clearly. "Khari, clear a path. Asala, give us some light and keep her covered. Cyrus, you have the rear." As they moved, more of the Venatori would undoubtedly try to flank behind them. But the prospect of being flanked was preferable to that of remaining in the lightning storm that soon rained down where they were. They escaped its range not a second too soon.

A lightning bolt was hurled from the back of the room towards Vesryn, who ducked down and angled his shield up just in time to send the magic ricocheting up into the ceiling with a loud crack of stone, little pieces of it crumbling around them. There were more of them than he'd originally thought. That wasn't good.

The words clear a path didn't even seem especially necessary for Khari—it was more or less what she was disposed to do anyway. Still, she took to the task with purpose, swinging into a cultist, then kicking the staggering body, soon to be dead, so that it fell heavily against another, knocking her over as she shot a chain lightning spell into the mix. The bolt glanced past Khari's face, leaving a black mark on her mask but otherwise dissipating harmlessly.

By the time they were clear of the cloud, the density of the cultists was looking to be a considerable challenge for her; she'd stepped well out of range of the rest of them in her drive forward. Behind, Cyrus cleared the cloud last; from the way his armor was smoking, he hadn't been able to completely avoid being struck by the magical storm. His movements were a little jerky for a moment as he recovered, but he seemed less affected than he probably should have been. Perhaps the armor had some sort of protection to it aside from the obvious.

“I believe we need a new plan." The words droned dully from behind his helmet, dry as the sand in the Approach, but loud enough to be heard. “Don't suppose anyone's feeling particularly inspired?"

Asala's didn't say anything in reply. She was too focused in keeping a wall of barriers between them and the Venatori, as well as keeping a magelight active above them. The effort in her actions were clear however, as sweat beaded down her face and and she steadily began to breathe harder. Once, she missed a barrier, and received a lightning bolt for her mistake, though fortunately it struck one of the magical plates she had summoned around herself. The plate vanished along with the lightning, but the only effect she suffered was the force of the blow, which made her recenter her feet beneath her. However, another spell or arrow in that area, and the effect would be much more noticeable.

Vesryn had to admit, the situation wasn't great. The Venatori were obviously very intent on this ambush, probably hoping to catch an Inquisitor in their web, and settling for the group of Irregulars that arrived instead. The front of his shield glistened where an icy spell had smashed across it, weighing it down in front, but nothing too heavy to be unmanageable. He caught a charging Venatori's slash with his shield, punching his spear up through her throat. Before he could shove her away a spell from a Venatori mage in the rear came in for him, a bolt of spirit magic that bludgeoned both the slain Venatori on his weapon and Vesryn himself. He staggered back with a grunt, letting the body in front of him fall.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a pair of figures descend down from the shaft of light above the stone tree statue. He'd barely gotten a glimpse of them before they disappeared into the shadows, enough to make him wonder if he'd seen them at all, but soon enough shouts of alarm erupted from within the ranks of the Venatori assaulting them. A flash of fire erupted in one corner as an archer received a bloody and ignited wound across his chest. Vesryn caught sight of a green-clad figure in the weak light the burning wound provided, but then they were gone.

The Venatori immediately began to panic, shouting in their own tongue among themselves and lessening the strength of their attack on Vesryn and the others. Spells started to fly in every direction, seemingly aimless, but each one cast a momentary picture of chaotic bloodshed as the Venatori tried to pin down the sudden deadly threats carving through them.

“They are quite alarmed." Cyrus ducked under an errant spike of ice; it exploded against the ground several feet back, coating the stone in a pale sheet of frost, but harming no one. “Seems this is a familiar threat, whatever it is." Still, the split in the forces was just that: a split. Another Venatori, the sole white-robed member of the group, stepped within the ring of Asala's light spell, staff raised and crackling with barely-contained fire.

A gloved hand fitted itself over his mouth and nose before the spell could release. The flash of a knife followed, and the man fell to the ground with little more than a muted thud and a deep red line from one ear to the other, gouting blood. The spell guttered out harmlessly, releasing a little curl of smoke and nothing else. His fall exposed his assailant for just a moment—a figure garbed in unreflective black armor of some kind. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it looked almost like actual reptilian scales. The person wearing it was covered nearly from head to toe, save a small strip of skin around their eyes. One blue and the other almost reddish, stark against the duskiness of their skin.

The eyes narrowed at the group for a split second before the figure melted back into the gloom again. Whatever was going on in the dark, it became clear that the newcomers were maintaining the advantage; the cries and shouts of the Venatori grew more desperate even as their numbers clearly thinned. Almost none tried to assail the Irregulars, too caught up in defending themselves from foes they could scarcely see.

One by one they could be heard dropping in the shadows, until the scent of blood was heavy on the air. Vesryn maintained his position, allowing the newcomers to continue their work while he kept his guard in front of his allies, wary of any Venatori attempted to catch them by surprise. They were plainly more concerned with the threat in the darkness, but it was obvious they'd been caught out of their element. Or at least whatever comfort they had fighting in the dark was nothing compared to those that had slipped into it from above.

Seemingly the last of them stumbled across the edge of Asala's light, clutching a heavily bleeding side and limping on a gouged hamstring. He'd lost hold of his weapons, and seemed intent on making it to the door. He only made it a few more steps, however, before the figure garbed in dark green swept out from the shadows, a slightly curved elven shortsword slashing the other leg. The Venatori fell to his knees with a cry. The warrior that had felled him was an elf, his leather armor of Dalish make, finely made but heavily worn and battered. His back turned, the elf stepping in close, snatching a fistful of the downed's man hair to wrench his head back.

His right hand held a dagger, the blade the unmistakable color of bone, shaped like a Dalish weapon but appearing as nothing Vesryn had seen from any clan. Dull red runes glowed along the blade's length. The elf hacked it through the Venatori's neck, a fire enchantment on the blade burning through flesh and bone easily enough, and the head came clean off. After the body fell, neck wound partially cauterized, the elf tossed the head lightly back into the shadows.

He turned to face them, revealing a gnarled and battered face, missing one eye. The result of whatever had viciously scarred him across the right side of his face. He looked older than Vesryn would've thought, maybe nearing fifty. He sheathed the knife against his chest, but kept a loose and easy grip on his other blade. Vesryn lifted the point of his spear up, not desiring to be threatening. "You have impeccable timing, friend."

The elf exhaled, what might've been the hint of a laugh. "You made for good bait."

“Wait, really?" Khari looked thoroughly confused for several seconds. “There aren't any clans out here besides mine." She held her sword low, end pointed away, but she didn't sheathe it. “Why follow these Venatori all the way out here and set a trap in the first place?"

"Marcus." The second of the fighters stepped up beside the first, pulling down the fabric wrapped about her mouth. Dropping her hood as well, she studied them with a neutral expression. There were no vallaslin on her face, no point to the ear she brushed a stray piece of hair behind. Her appearance indicated quite a bit more youth than that of her companion, and the pale slash of a scar that ran from beneath her left eye to her jaw was subtler. "Unfortunately, he is not here." She bent to clean her knife off on one of the Venatori's robes, then sheathed it behind her back.

“Alesius?" Cyrus's muffled tone conveyed a modicum of surprise. He pushed back his own hood and lifted his helmet off his head, taking a couple of steps forward. He'd already disarmed, apparently. “Some of us ran into him not too long ago. A... friend of mine hit him rather hard with a bolt of lightning." A contemplative look flitted across his face, like he had some sort of idea that he wasn't quite inclined to share.

“...How well do you know him?"

"Too well," the woman replied bluntly, crossing her arms. "Tell your friend they should have hit him harder." She frowned slightly, glancing once at the elf before returning her attention to their group. "And yourselves? To what end do you pursue a Tevinter cult into the heart of an elven forest?"

"To figure out what they wanted with these ruins," Vesryn answered. "Or what they hoped to find. The Venatori are no friends of ours. We're with the Inquisition."

"We know." The grizzled elf sheathed his other weapon. "Your arrival here wasn't as subtle as you thought. The Venatori caught your scent as well." He glanced around at the bodies of the slain, appearing dissatisfied. Vesryn wondered if he didn't just always look like that. "Marcus will be in the wind by now."

"You're hunting him, then?" Vesryn didn't expect the elf was from a nearby clan. Dalish accents weren't as noticeable from place to place as human or city elf ones, but this one's wasn't Orlesian, but Fereldan. He wasn't from around here, and if Vesryn was estimating correctly, their business with Marcus was quite personal.

The elf nodded, grimly. "He still has half of his face left, so... yes."

"And what might your names be? I'm Vesryn. This is Cyrus, Khari, and Asala."

There was a short, but very deliberate pause. As though the couple of seconds went to deciding whether or not to part with the information. After it, though, the woman spoke. "Amalia," she said, faintly inclining her head to them. "This is Ithilian."

Cyrus crossed his arms for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not come with us, then? If you're hunting Marcus, there's a chance something we know might be of help. More likely, it'll be your information and our resources that do the trick, but in any case, cooperation seems to increase the chance of him winding up dead, which I take it is something we all want." He glanced from Amalia to Ithilian, as if unsure which would be more amenable to the idea, if either.

"Worth a trip, at least," Ithilian said, nodding. "Nothing left in this forest but Venatori to kill, and not the one we're looking for."

Vesryn didn't know if he'd ever seen a pair of people so plainly hellbent on a murder. Vengeance was probably the better word for it, considering what he knew of Marcus, but still. Their concern seemed to be rather singular. He wasn't opposed to making use of that, but it wasn't exactly the type of mentality the Inquisition was looking for, or so he thought.

"We'd best get moving, then," he said. "We've a walk ahead of us."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
The house gave the impression of emptiness even from the outside.

There wasn't really any point at which Cyrus did not dearly wish he had his magic once more, but he felt that longing particularly keenly now, when he would have been able to discern so much more about it than his senses alone could tell him. As he was, however, he only knew that the manor was old, abandoned, and rumored to play host to spirits. Wind whistled through the grounds, returning strangely hollow sounds, though from here, most of the windows seemed intact. The garden was long dead, though whithered plants jutting at strange angles, warped by neglect, and years spent reaching for sunlight that never quite sufficed, perhaps. It had been disturbing enough to those living nearby that they'd asked the Inquisition to look into it, and so here they were.

The thick canopy overhead kept it in gloomy shade; Cyrus supposed the stonework must once have been white, but time and lack of care had turned it a dingy grey hue. The smell of rotting wood and decay was quite thick on the air, though the building itself seemed at least structurally sound enough to enter. The wrought iron gate in the front of it was closed, but that wasn't anything a little percussion didn't fix, and with a strangled squeak, it parted to admit them.

“I suspect that whatever is going on here, it's magical." It almost went without saying, really, though the sense of 'spirit' the people here meant was likely more along the line of 'ghost of the departed' than anything, from the way they'd phrased it. Novel, but likely ultimately to be the work of something more ordinary. Something from the Fade. “We'll need to get closer to say for sure."

Beside him, Khari frowned, giving the edifice a skeptical once-over. “You sure it's not just rats? Scuffing around, making noise? People could get the wrong idea, if they already have the ghost story in their heads."

Cyrus shrugged. “Hard to say. We'll find out, I suppose."

"It certainly looks the part, doesn't it?" Stellulam spoke up from slightly behind. Her expression was almost troubled, or at least there was a faint flicker of it behind her omnipresent neutrality. Perhaps her magic enabled her to sense something that was undetectable to him, now. Her lips pursed; if there was anything else she thought about it, she kept the observation to herself, stepping forward with the rest of them.

The front door was set back behind a straight path. It had perhaps once been wrought with the same white stone as the exterior, but most of the stones had sunk at least partway into the ground, the mortar between them long cracked and flaked away or faded to greasy brownish dust. The door was not rotted, unlike everything in the garden. In fact, sans a layer of filmy dirt, it seemed perfectly intact.

"Rot didn't hit everything evenly," Estella murmured. This close, the house was indeed obviously still in decent shape itself, despite the ruin of the grounds.

"Saraya's wary of this place, for what it's worth." Vesryn leaned slightly against his axe, the butt of which was planted between two sunken stones of the pathway under their feet. "Subtle dangers are often more concern than the obvious ones." He looked uneasy himself, though he'd been eager enough to answer the call when a group was needed to investigate.

"Well, in we go." He reached out, taking a careful hold of handle and turning. The door they found unlocked, and it swung open with a loud, drawn out creak. Vesryn stepped inside first, and the others followed closely behind, one by one. The air inside felt still, even with the door still open behind them, the sound of the wind still plainly rustling through the trees. The foyer was entirely clean, kept in pristine condition, as though someone had made it their personal mission to see to the upkeep of the house's interior. Clearly that did not also apply to the grounds outside. There was not interior lighting to greet them, though, only what little natural light could filter in through the mostly drawn blinds.

"We may not be alone," Vesryn mused. "Surely a bandit or deserter or two tried to take up residence here at some point. Someone might still be here, given the condition of things."

“Doesn't make any damn sense—” a breathy whisper came out to Vesryn’s left. A little too close. Zahra had been herding in behind them at an unusual distance, right at their heels, as if she hadn’t wanted to bring up the rear. She only halted when she had nowhere else to go, or else she would’ve walked into Stellalum’s back. There was a pinched look to her eyebrows and if Cyrus could guess at it, the level of concern drawn up on her face was more in line with fear than unease.

Her hands hadn’t left the pommel of her blades since first coming into view of the eerie house. A sigh sifted from her lips when bandits or squatters were mentioned. Perhaps, she was hoping that it was so. “Better that than the alternative,” it was clear that she did not quite think that rats were scuffing about. Bereft of magical abilities, or any sense tied to the Fade, it was clear that she had her own set of superstitions. From the way her shoulders were bunched, and her jaw was set, it looked as if she thought something might jump out around the corner and spook them.

Asala was far more twitchy than usual. One hand clutched at the collar of her cloak below her neck, while the fingers of her other were curled to reach for her magic at a moment's notice. As they walked, she kept casting glances around them, like she was trying to find something that was not there. As she was perhaps presently the one most attuned to the fade, the effects of the manor may have been affecting her more. Whatever it was, it was clear that it was making her uncomfortable.

She jerked once more, this time causing her half-turn to her side. "I feel like I am being... watched?" she noted, sounding unsure if that was even the correct word for what she was feeling. Regardless, her eyes darted from one darkened corner of the foyer to the other.

Cyrus wasn't sure he'd ever met a bandit this inclined to cleanliness, but he'd been wrong before. Still... something didn't quite seem right. The place wasn't merely maintained, it was pristine. Almost to the point where he had to wonder if anyone really lived here at all. It reminded him of nothing so much as coming back to the manor house in Minrathous after a summer with Cassius in the country. Servants lingered only as long as it took to dust, oil, and sweep everything, maintaining all the furniture and the house itself, but it had lost the sense of really having occupants.

He doubted that there were any servants out here, dutifully maintaining the home for some long-absent lord. The grounds were proof enough of that.

Before he could venture anything else by way of observation, however, there was a bang from directly behind them. Jumping from the suddenness of the noise, he whirled to face it. He was met with a solid wood panel and naught else—the door had shut abruptly behind them. Before he could ask who'd done it, several more clatters followed, and they were plunged into darkness as the shutters over the windows sealed as well. Something between a startled yelp and a scream sounded off behind him. It was difficult to tell who it was, however. There was another sound of someone banging into a table of sorts, and a throaty, embarrassed laugh that didn’t seem all that amused.

He could still make out the few feet in front of him, but the light level was too low for much else. What little was filtering in reflected off of some things more than others: Vesryn's armor, Asala's hair, and so on.

“Well." That wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. “I think we can rule out bandits."

Some shuffling and a grunt alerted him to the fact that Khari was trying to push open the shutters. When that was apparently unsuccessful, there was a louder collision sound—metal on wood—then nothing.

“Damn things won't budge. Can we get a light in here or something?"

"Sure," it was Asala's voice that answered. There was a vague shuffling from her direction and the sound of her reaching into the fade to cast her spell before... nothing. The spell did produce a ball of light, but the strangest part what that it did not cast light, only a dim ball lingering above them and nothing more. Silence fell on Asala, undoubtedly as she tried to process what was happening. A surprised murmured followed the snuffing of the ball, before a second and third appeared and were likewise dismissed. As with the first one, the magelight did not cast light.

"Uh...?" Asala muttered, unsure where to go from there.

Well, it was definitely Fade-based interference doing all of this, then. But Cyrus had never heard of anything quite like this. Magic dampening, the apparent control of the house's doors and windows... those things were not typically possible in the waking world, not even for spirits or demons. It was possible that some mage was doing this, or had set the various features of the home to react when wards or traps of some kind were triggered. A pike of frustration stabbed at Cyrus's chest. This would have been much easier to figure out if he could feel anything from the Fade at all.

He tsked under his breath. “Seems we're going to have to find a way out in the dark. Or more likely, find whatever it is that's causing this and deal with it."

"Well..." Estella slid her saber from the sheath she carried it in. Its light wasn't as bright as usual, either, but it at least succeeded in casting a small pool of dim illumination ahead. By the light it provided, Cyrus could see that her face was a little drawn. Anxiety, perhaps, or whatever magic the place was saturated with. "This is the foyer, from the looks of it. That means it's probably public rooms down here, and everything else upstairs... I suppose we'll have to check everywhere."

She turned towards him, eyes narrowed slightly. Squinting to make sure it was him, presumably. "Any idea what we're looking for, exactly?"

Cyrus pursed his lips. “If we find any demons, that's probably a good start. But in general terms... no. Not really. We'll have to look around. Maybe it will be clearer once we have a better idea what the options are, so to speak. Let's start this way."

On the grounds that no particular room was more or less likely to grant them a clue when he didn't know what the nature of clues would be, Cyrus chose to try and systematically sweep the house. That meant starting down the hallway to their left. His footsteps echoed on the stone tiles of the foyer as he crossed it, the scuffs of other boots reassurance enough that they could see him well enough to follow. The door out to the hallway was of course closed, but unlike the front one, it opened easily enough when he turned the handle, creaking slightly as he pushed it inwards and stepped over the threshold.

He couldn't tell exactly who was behind him, but he did notice when the door slid from his grip with unnatural heaviness, falling shut with a decisive click and cutting off all but one other set of footsteps. He turned around abruptly, able to make out a few of Zahra's features in the dark, and grimaced.

“...I don't suppose that opens anymore, does it?"

“Well, it damn well should, shouldn’t it? It’s just a door.” Zahra’s eyebrow raised a fraction. Though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, a confused expression pinched across her features. The question seemed to be more of an effort to put herself at ease, or else she might have been looking for confirmation that yes, this was simply a door. It could be opened and closed at their leisure. However, by the tone of her voice, lilting into a nervous huff, it didn’t seem as if Zahra was taking this eerie expedition well.

She immediately closed the distance to the door, and with both hands on the knob, she pushed her shoulder into it and shoved it open. From the looks of it, the heaviness Cyrus had felt earlier had all but vanished. The door had opened almost too easily. Certainly enough to deposit Zahra on the other side, carried by her momentum, sending her sprawling on her hands in knees in an unfamiliar room. Everyone else was
 just gone.

So was the hallway they’d just walked through. They faced another immaculate room that looked sorely out of place. Much larger, with high ceilings. A white balcony ribbed the entire room, as well. A large, bronze chandelier hung from the ceiling and held several freshly lit candles from their flutes, casting long shadows against the walls. A piano was pushed up near the large, shuttered windows; bench left slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry.

“But we were just—,” her voice trailed off, and a bark of laughter sounded as she pushed herself back to her feet and stomped back towards the door. She held up a finger to him and stepped back through the threshold, slamming the door shut, and reopening it with just as much force. The determined jut to her lip faltered and fell away completely as she released the doorknob. “This isn’t good.”

She certainly wasn't wrong. Cyrus frowned, unsure what to make of the development. “It seems almost as if... some entity has control of the entire house." Either that, or this was an elaborate illusion, and they were all, in fact, asleep in the foyer even now. But he didn't dream any longer, which was at least some evidence against that hypothesis. The salon remained where it was, just as dark as the rest of their surroundings. He suppressed the flare of worry in his gut.

By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dark as much as they were going to. For a moment, they lingered on the piano, its lacquered surface reflecting what little illumination there was. “I suppose we just... pick a direction and keep going, for now. Don't... open any doors without me. I don't like our chances if we end up alone." He wasn't sure what basis he had for thinking so, only some sort of... impression. A feeling, that he didn't want to find himself without anyone else around, right now. Like that would somehow be... Cyrus shook his head.

A soft chuckle, with a note of exasperation sounded as Zahra’s attention roved towards the upper balcony winding around the chamber. She cleared her throat and took a tentative step closer to his right side, hands still poised over the pommels of her blades or simply resting at her hips, close enough to draw if need be. “No concerns there, I’ll be on your heels. So, don’t
 uh, leave me behind either, okay?” There was a drawn tone to her voice, a vulnerable lilt. She couldn’t have expected him to do any differently, but it appeared as if she’d certainly felt
 something as well. What that was, was anyone’s guess.

There were doors strewn across the room. Only seen by the swiveling shine of candlelight casting subtle glares across their doorknobs. Though, there was no clear indication where they would lead. A kitchen, or library? Back to the foyer, or somewhere else entirely?

She pointed towards the furthest corner of the room and took a few steps ahead of him, “Lots of doors. Should be some stairs that lead up there, too. Too many damn choices, if you ask me.” Blathering on seemed to be more for her benefit than anyone else, in order to fill in the noiseless spaces. It didn’t last long. There were a few bangs that came from one of the corners of the room; objects clattering off shelves of their own accord. However, there were no sounds of shattering. They were wholesome thumps, and the sound of pages fluttering open. Errant books, perhaps. Left behind by whoever owned this place.

Zahra had stopped mid-step and seemed frozen in place, eyes glued on the piano ahead of them—too far to see any movement, if there had been any to see in the first place. What they heard, however, were a few keys being pressed down. High notes drawing out into a playful melody. It sounded like an old chantey. Something played in seaside taverns, like Redcliffe. Its notes dropped into a more somber, destitute tune, but as soon as Zahra took a step backwards, the piano’s cover slammed down and the tune cut off entirely.

The silence that followed was more than disconcerting. A heavy blanket cast over their heads, all but constricting the walls against them. From what they could see, there was no one else in the room; it was empty
 they were alone. There were a few more steps backwards, clumsy and hurried, until she bumped into Cyrus's chest and leaped away with an audible yell. It took her a moment to compose herself before she straightened her shoulders and let out a shaky breath, “B-bloody hell, sorry, I thought you were, I didn't see
 don’t you hear that?”

“Y—"

Don’t you want to show them who you really are?
Ah, yes. You are less now. A powerless child. Alone.

It was soft. Barely audible. A voice that sounded all too familiar, but alien; all at once. It came from the left. Or, perhaps, the right. Inside, or outwards. Above, or below. Had he even heard it? Or imagined it? In any case, it appeared as if Zahra had heard it as well.

A soft breath hissed out from between Cyrus's teeth. He wasn't half as jumpy as Zahra, but that didn't mean he wasn't on-edge. Given that objects in the room seemed to move at the behest of some unseen will, he couldn't let his eyes settle on one place for too long, lest something strike him in the back or who knew what. With a rasp, he drew one of his swords. At the very least, he could make the attempt to fend off anything that came directly for him.

“Are you hearing that, or is it just me?" His voice came out lower than he intended, like he couldn't bring himself to say anything too loud. He thought she was, but he wanted to be sure. Carefully, he settled his free hand at Zahra's shoulder. “Put your back to mine. I'll watch in front if you watch behind. We'll head for the leftmost door." Zahra obliged without question, pressing her back to his for a moment before drawing her own blade, and setting her sights to where they’d just come from.

Up and down, spun all around.
And the other ran her ship aground.

It sounded, if anything, like a child's voice. A whisper. Too soft to really decide if he recognized it or not. Cyrus doubted it mattered. It had to be whatever was here interfering with them. Shifting positions so he was facing forward, he kept himself half-turned so he could maintain solid physical contact with Zahra. Normally, he wouldn't have, but given that they'd already been separated from the others, he wasn't going to take the chance.

“This way."

“Lead on,” Zahra’s voice was, if anything, a little stronger this time. Perhaps, having some sort of physical proximity was as good as any a promise that she was not alone. It appeared as if she’d seen something a moment before—or at least believed so. A brief moment before she’d blustered into him, she had looked in his direction
 and almost looked as if she were looking straight through him.

She hadn’t commented on it any further. Though the hitch of her shoulders and back, meeting just below his shoulder blades, bellied a reproach that may have been caused by whatever she’d seen. There was a soft exhale as she mimicked his footsteps and continued scanning every inch they left behind. “I heard it too,” she glanced over her shoulder at him, “But I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

There was another unusual sound. A small, tinny sound of iron bouncing off the linoleum floors. A portrait that had been hung by the door they’d recently vacated creaked against the wall and finally clattered to the ground behind them. Then another, and another. Closer, each time. The uncomfortable silence that followed hung heavier. This time, Zahra had managed to bite down her yelp and only startled slightly against Cyrus’ back as they retreated.

“We should get out of here.” It sounded more like a plea than a suggestion.

Either way, he agreed. Cyrus picked up the pace as much as he could while remaining in contact with Zahra, jogging towards the door. He'd have to give up either the sword or his companion to work the knob, and he wasn't about to let her go, so he sheathed the blade, turning the handle and putting his shoulder into it when he met resistance. As though rust were breaking away from the hinges, it suddenly gave, but he was prepared for something like that. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Zahra's shirt; he refused to let go, and pulled her after him over the threshold.

This time, they emerged into dim light. The door behind them was closed despite never having clicked shut. He was willing to bet that whatever was behind it wasn't the room they'd come from either. Here, things were lit with several inset torches, burning an eerie bluish color. Magelight. The room was little more than bare stone walls and a bare stone floor, rows of bookshelves reaching as high as Cyrus could see, and then higher. Each was lined with neat rows of dusty tomes, their titles blurry and indistinct to his eyes, even when he ventured slightly closer. From the way their footsteps echoed, the ceiling of the room must have been at least two stories up.

There weren't any immediately-visible doors, but there might be on the other side, blocked from view by the towering shelves. It was hard to say. From somewhere deeper in, a thud reverberated—exactly the sound he would expect from a book falling off a shelf. “Someone's playing games with us." He was almost certain of it.

The thing was, he wasn't sure if the thing to do was play along or ignore the games entirely.

“Not the type of games I like playing,” Zahra quipped at his back. Not one anyone would enjoy playing if it meant tossing objects on the floor and whispering ominous things in their ears. However, leaving the salon and having the door firmly shut behind them had soothed some of her nerves. The light, as dim as it was, seemed to lend her some bravery as well. She emerged from behind his back and stood in front of one of the many shelves, squinting close enough that her nose nearly touched one of the dusty tomes.

“What should we do? What can we do?” There was a pause, before she straightened her back and rounded her shoulders, “Demons aren’t really my specialty.” What could they do when they had nothing to strike? An unseen enemy toying with them from the shadows. A hand that seemed to focus on manipulation rather than outright injury. It appeared as if she didn’t know what to do with herself, holding her rapier loosely in her hand and busying herself by prodding the spines of the books in front of her.

“Depends on the type of demon." Unfortunately, he didn't know what sort this was, or how it was doing the things it made sense to attribute to it. “I've never heard of a demon being in command of an area outside the Fade like this." Even Nightmare's control over its dominion was somewhat limited. This one had yet to speak to them directly or identify itself. He needed more information before he had a hope of understanding what needed to be done.

But the only way to get that information was probably to go along with things, for now. “Let's figure out what it wanted us to see, first of all." If a book had fallen somewhere, they could at least figure out which one. It could be useful information.

Working his way down the narrow gap at the ends of all the rows of shelving, Cyrus peered down each as he passed, looking for any conspicuous dark objects on the floors. Just when he was resigned to making a more thorough inspection of each, he found what he was looking for. “There, this way." The second-to-last row contained a toppled book, fallen open upside down. From where they stood, the title was visible, standing out in sharp, almost luminous golden relief: Daedalus and Auriel.

Cyrus's brows descended over his eyes. Bending down, he picked the book up, careful to keep it open to the same page, and then turned it over in his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath. On the left was a full-page illustration. To the right, the words written out in familiar handwriting—his own. The image itself was recognizably him as well, save that he was a child and dressed in the manner of Auriel from the tale, the ragged garments of a slave, cut in a manner long obsolete in the Imperium. He sat at the knee of a man, dressed much the same, face obscured and blurry like the titles of all the other books.

Grimacing, he flipped the page, and then another. The story played out exactly like it was supposed to, except for the uncanny resemblance of the ill-fated protagonist to himself. When he reached the last page, his gut lurched. Auriel had fallen, alone, to earth in a heap of smoking feathers, his body broken on stones.

“That's... quite unpleasant." His attempt to sound dry only worked halfway. It just looked like him. But somehow that wasn't the terrible part.

Zahra was hot on his heels as he rounded the bend. She sidled at his elbow when he had stooped to retrieve the fallen tome. Seeing how short she was in comparison, she was not quite reading over his shoulder. Instead, she’d chosen a spot at his side, murky eyes following the familiar depictions as he flipped through the pages. By the pinch of her brows, she appeared justifiably confused. She wouldn’t have understood the relevance of the tale. Though she bent over a little further when he reached the last page.

“That looked a little like...” her voice trailed off uneasily as she took a step backwards and gave him breathing room. She cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder, scanning the room once more. It’d do them no good if something crept up behind them as they perused the books. Her mouth was set into a fine line, assured. Her hand had been resting on his shoulder the entire time, and it took her a moment to retract it, as if she hadn’t realized she’d been grabbing onto him in the first place.

“Uh
 so, what was that? You don’t look so good.”

“A clue." To the nature of their tormentor, this time. He wasn't sure it was enough, though. Perhaps venturing further in would be more definitive. “I'll... explain it later." Just at this moment, he didn't really want to get into the details. It was hardly the time or the place for that.

Their journey down the row of shelving, however, had made evident another door. “I think that might be our only way out." He nodded at it carefully, still unable to banish the thick something that had settled in the hollow of his chest. An ache, maybe. Something evoked without being named. He needed to give it a name. Somehow, he couldn't help but feel that doing so would loosen the hold it was slowly gaining over him, over them. Separating them like this, playing upon their fears in the dark and the unknown.

They stuck close together as they reached the next door; Cyrus waited until they were in physical contact again before he opened it and stepped through.

Zahra had been clinging onto the hem of his shirt as they crossed the threshold. Seeing how they’d been separated in the first place, it was an understandable concern. However, she seemed perplexed that she’d been doing it in the first place, retracting her fingers as soon as the door gently clicked behind them. She paused and looked over her opened palm, before huffing out a sigh, “How big is this damn house—”

Her words were smothered into a trembling hitch. The room they’d entered looked as if it had been designed by a completely different hand. One that was much more deliberate. Intentional. Wholly unlike all of the gaudy rooms they’d come across so far. There were no crystal chandeliers. No plush cushions or lacquered pianos; no lengthy portraits or intricate vases arranged atop freshly-varnished tables.

“Impossible.” A much older, outdated room sat in front of them—a fisherman’s cabin from the looks of it. The windows were still shuttered and only oil lanterns, hoisted onto metal fastenings in between the wooden slats of the walls, offered any light. Shadows danced and licked across the walls. At times, it appeared as if they took shape, though they soon disappeared. Slits of light reflected across the hooks of fishing rods tucked neatly beside a wood stove.

My Bonnie lies over the ocean
My Bonnie lies over the sea

She took a few steps forward; her movements wooden. Though it may have escaped Cyrus’ notice before, it was certainly apparent now that Zahra was walking towards it, the furthest window was latched, but had no shutters covering its pane. It did not, however, look normal. Instead of allowing a view of the grounds below, only an inky blackness remained. There was a residual shudder across the surface, as if rocks were being thrown into water. A silhouette began to take shape; first shoulders, then horns.

Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me

A soft-spoken lullaby. A motherly tone; happy. The voice belonged to a woman that he did not recognize, though it appeared as if Zahra had heard this particular one as well. She’d initially reacted by pressing the palms of her hands to her ears, smothering them against her wild curls. There was another noise, coming from her mouth. Something that sounded like a desperate no, no, no. It didn’t appear as if she were aware that she’d left Cyrus by the door. That she continued leaving him there; on his own. Focusing only on the window ahead of her, stumbling through the darkness as if she were swimming to shore.

“I have to let him in. I have to. He’s right there—”

Cyrus admittedly wasn't really sure what to do here. Unlike the last time they'd been in a similar position, he didn't have the power to simply banish the illusion before them. Nor did he think he'd be able to do much to break its hold on Zahra. Leon had been around last time, and he rather thought that had made all the difference between success and failure. Especially since she didn't even seem to notice that he was present.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he followed her across the room. That in itself was hardly a difficult choice—the overwhelming desolation he felt in this place seemed to be staved off only by her proximity. He was fairly sure he knew what that meant, at this point, but it wasn't the most obvious answer, and he didn't want to get it wrong.

The choice to reach out and grasp her wrist, halting her progress, was admittedly the harder one. “Zahra. Zahra, stop. This isn't real. Like the dream wasn't real." He paused, hesitating, then ventured his guess. If he was right, and he could get it through to her, knowing what it was should help her see through its tricks. “This is a demon—Loneliness. It just wants to make you feel alone and hopeless." Cyrus enunciated carefully, searching her face for any sign that she so much as recognized his presence.

At first, Zahra only tugged against the restraint on her wrist and reached out her own hand towards the rippling reflection in the window. She made a small noise in the back of her throat—halfway between an intake of breath and a whine. What she’d do once she reached the window was anyone’s guess
 but the desperate pull seemed to have her entranced: frantic. “He’s right there—Aslan, I have to, I have to
”

There was a choked noise, and her pulling suddenly stopped. The ripples suddenly ceased and the silhouette began to lose its shape. Until it was nothing more than a formless blob. A shadow, unfamiliar darkness. Like all of the other windows, shutters abruptly slammed down in its place, covering it completely. She simply stood there, stock-still. For a moment, at least, until she let out a shaky breath.

“Shit.” Zahra pressed her free hand to her eyes, angrily wiping with the heel of her palm. It took her a moment to look at him, but eventually she did. The frenzy might’ve left her gaze, but her eyes still burned. What she’d seen had clearly left an impression on her. She nodded her head as if she were shaking off the remnants of sleep; resolute, bristling. “Alright. Let’s kill this fucking thing. No more games. Not with us.”

Cyrus nodded, carefully releasing her. “My sentiments exactly." With the closing of the shutters, a new door had appeared at the end of the room. That seemed like the best way forward.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Talisman
Asala was startled by the sudden shutting of the door in front of her. She had just been about to cross the threshold behind Cyrus and Zahra before it swung shut, almost catching her foot along with it. She squeaked in surprise for a bit, throwing a blind gaze behind her to the others before finally reaching for the handle. She turned the knob easily and the door glided open, but even in the dark she was able to tell that no one waited for them on the other side. She stood in the doorway dumbfounded before she stuck her head through. In a voice that a mix between a whisper and a shout, she called, "Zee. Cyrus. Are you there?"

Silence. The unease she felt multiplied, and she let the doorknob in her hand fall away. She stepped backward, closer to the others, and determined that she should stay as close to them as possible. "They are not there," she pointed out, "We should... try not to get separated."

“You think?" Khari sighed heavily through her nose, clenching and un-clenching her hands at her sides. She didn't quite seem to know what to do with herself, whether to draw a weapon or not, what the nature of the danger even was. “Shit." Grimacing, she glanced between the other three.

“Never mind the methodical stuff, where would you be if you were a demon living in this house? Or... whatever. It's gotta be a demon, right?" Abandoning the effort to do something with her hands, she crossed her arms over her chest. “If we kill it, whatever it's doing should stop?" It was halfway between question and statement, and she didn't seem sure who it was best directed at.

"I should think so," Asala answered. It stood to reason that Khari was correct, if a demon was indeed in control of the manor. If the demon was defeated, then there would be nothing remaining left to hold dominion over the manor.

Asala tried once more to summon a sphere of magelight, only to be met the same result as last time. She sighed in defeat as she allowed the sphere to fizzle out. "I would suppose the deepest part of the manor?" she posited, "However, with it able to... do that," she added, pointing toward the doorway Cyrus and Zahra had disappeared in, "I am unsure how we are to reach it..." she said. She was worried about the two of them, yes, but she also had faith in them. Wherever they were, undoubtedly they were alright, and would continue to be alright. They were strong.

However, they would still need to either reach them, or the demon.

Estella looked much less certain, for some reason. But with a small shake of her head, she seemed to banish whatever thought was furrowing her brows, and shifted her grip on her saber so she was holding it a little further forward. It was enough to sort of see by, combined with the faint green of the mark on her hand, which didn't seem to have changed much despite the lack of light from other sources.

Quite abruptly, though, she startled, turning herself sharply to the right, glimmering saber and all. The wan pool of light it cast illuminated nothing but more tiles. That seemed to surprise her, though it was hard to say for sure. Her face was lit from beneath, which through heavy shadows over her eyes and made her expression indistinct. After a short sweeping motion revealed nothing to the immediate right or left of the spot, either, she lowered her arm slightly.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I thought I... felt something."

Vesryn had made a subtle motion in response to Estella's, shifting his axe to carry it ready in both hands rather than relaxed in just one, but judging by the lack of other reaction, he hadn't felt anything of the sort just now that she had. He exhaled, the breath coming out halfway as a groan. "Let's just... try not to be too on edge," he suggested gently. "We could run into Cyrus or Zahra again, and we wouldn't want to have any accidents in the dark here."

Despite his words, he didn't look remotely at ease. He visibly buried it down, and opened the door again, keeping his free hand firmly grasping the edge of it. "Let's keep moving. And make sure we're careful with these doorways." He stopped and turned on the other side of the door, holding the out the hand holding his hand in a sort of mock invitation. "Ladies?"

Once all three were through, Vesryn slowly shut the door behind him, keeping an eye peering through the shrinking crack until the door was entirely closed. At that point, he opened it an inch again, only to close it when the room they'd left was still the same. Shaking his head, he led the way through the dark hallway they'd been deposited in, the group keeping close to each other. After they'd made it about twenty paces, he slowed to a stop.

"Stairs on our right here," he pointed out. Indeed, there was a spiral staircase, somewhat narrow and tightly coiled, set into the wall on their right-hand side. "Maybe going up will help us? I don't know, seems as good as any way to go."

Khari angled herself to peer up the staircase, not that she would possibly be able to see much in the dark. Wrinkling her nose, she shrugged. “Yeah, sure. After you." She took a step back, indicating that she'd guard the rear. It made sense to put the other two between the people with armor, after all.

Asala only nodded in agreement, not wanting to take the lead herself. She waited until Vesryn and Estella began to ascend the stairs before she fell in step behind them. As they began their spiraling climb, Asala kept her eyes on the back of Estella, sticking close enough that she could see the dim light cast off from her saber, while at the same time not kicking her heels each step of the way. It was an eerie ascent, with only their footsteps and breathing breaking the oppressive silence.

So focused she was on Estella, she paid no mind to the steps below until she missed one. Missed perhaps wasn't the best word, as the next step proved to be much taller than the previous, almost as like the one she was aiming for was no longer there. The misstep caused her to lurch forward, her stomach knotting itself out of sudden fear. She came down hard on the staircase, her shins bashing against the steps and the palms of her hands slapping against the next set. Fortunately, she was able to catch herself before her face slammed against the stair case, but by the end she was splayed out across them.

"Ow ow ow," she muttered as she turned over and tried to stand again. "I do not like this house," she muttered--almost in a pouting tone.

It didn't take more than a second before strong hands wrapped around her upper arm, Khari assisting her back to her feet with some degree of care. Probably, in part, because of the dark. “You okay, Asala? What hap—wait a minute." She fell silent. Asala could feel her shift, hear the low exhalation of her breath and the quiet shit she formed it into.

“Stel? Ves? They were right—what the hell?"

"What?" Asala asked, looking forward again. Estella's saber could no longer be seen, nor even Vesryn and her silhouettes. They were just... gone. "Oh no," Asala muttered under her breath. She gripped the handrail and leaned forward as far as she dared, and waved her hand in the empty air, in hopes of maybe brushing against someone's back. With that didn't work, Asala sighed heavily and turned to Khari.

"Any... suggestions?"

“Uh... just one." Khari shuffled around so she was standing in front of Asala, apparently trying the stair before committing to stepping on it. “Hold onto my cloak, and don't let go." Pausing long enough for Asala to do just that, Khari started back up the stairs, which continued to wind, and wind... and wind. The longer the interval, the narrower the staircase seemed to grow, until it was crowding down around them. Khari, being a full foot shorter than Asala, wasn't quite as hemmed in, but if the increasingly-colorful litany of obscenities escaping under her breath were anything to go by, she'd noticed it, at least.

At least until she abruptly stopped, moving a hand backwards to forestall Asala crashing into her. “Shh. Hear that?" At first, it wasn't obvious what she was referring to. But after several heartbeats of silence, there was something. A soft, skittering, scratching noise. Like pine needles on wood, or...

Khari's eyes were wide in the dark. “Fuck no. Shit, shitshitshit. Faster. We're moving faster." She lunged up the stairs, the fabric of her cloak pulling in Asala's hands.

"Agreed," Asala answered breathlessly. "Agreed!" she repeated, far more urgently. The tick-tick-tick behind them sounded like long legs tapping against the tiles of the floor below. Legs belonging to what sounded like rather large spiders. Had Khari been any slower in her ascent, Asala may have actually overtaken her. The woman seemed to be just as fearful of spiders as she was, so Asala was never given the opportunity. Moments after their flight began, they were spit out of the staircase and into a long hallway. A few steps later, Asala gently tugged on Khari's cloak to beckon her to stop for a moment.

"Shh," she cooed, and in the resulting silence, she listened any more skittering noises. They were in luck, it appeared, as it appeared to have died out, replaced by their labored breathing. "I think they are gone," Asala noted, no small amount of relief bleeding into her voice. However, when she turned her head, she was greeted with another sight. The hallway they were in seemed to stretch on forever in the dim light, but that wasn't the issue. On either side of them, a number of mirrors lined the wall and continued into the darkness ahead of them. "Where... are we?" she asked, though she doubted Khari knew the answer either.

She didn't seem inclined to answer, either; her eyes were fixed on the mirrors. Many of them were different sizes, all affixed seamlessly to the wall, except for the ones at the end of the hall, which faced them. Apparently, it turned at a right angle, and the mirrors continued. Some of them were broken, jagged pieces torn from their mountings to rest on the floor, others spiderwebbed in their frames. Thick antique brass, simple wood, patterned and plain—a few didn't have frames at all.

Khari stepped forward, her feet crunching on a broken shard. She glanced down at it, scoffing slightly, but when she lifted her eyes again, she pulled in a sharp gasp. “What the—? Her gaze fixed on one of the mirrors in particular, the one down at the end of the hall. It was full-length, a person-sized strip of reflective glass from floor to ceiling, but the figure it reflected was not either of them.

The darkness made it hard to say for sure, but it appeared to be an elf, dark hair spilling forward over her shoulders. Her face was decorated with vallaslin, but the patterns were different from Khari's, three bluish arrows fanned out over her brow. There was, Asala could tell, an irregularity below one of her knees, but since she wore breeches and leather-looking boots, it was impossible to say exactly what it was, except that the angle seemed off somehow.

“...Mom?" Khari took a few steps closer, but the figure in the mirror held up a hand, as if to halt her progress. As soon as Khari stopped, she brought a finger to her lips, stern eyes dark in the poorly-lit hall.

As though something to her right had drawn her attention down the hall, the figure's head abruptly turned sideways. After one more brief glance in their direction, she disappeared, reappearing in the mirror to their left a moment later, clearly in motion until she vanished around the corner where they could not see.

“Hey, wait—come back!" Khari launched into a run after the figure, not stopping for Asala's input on the matter.

Asala was unable to even call Khari's name before she was being dragged along with her. She still held tight to her cloak, unwilling to let her grip loosen even for a moment, lest risking losing her as well. Asala did not want to tackle the manor on her own. "Khari, wait--" she called in step. She could only imagine that they were playing into the hand of demon or whatever held dominion over the manor.

If Khari so much as heard her, she gave no sign of it, still sprinting. She rounded the corner, which revealed another passage just like the first. This time, the corridor split at the end, and the figure did, too, a distinguished-looking elf with hair the same color as Khari's taking the left fork while the woman took the right. Khari plainly hesitated, but only for a moment, bolting again to the left.

More figures ran ahead of them now. The first one Asala actually recognized was Vareth, but then Ser Durand appeared, too, and Khari broke away from the rest of the cluster to pursue him next. “Dammit, get back here! Get back—" Her pace slowed considerably, though it didn't seem to be because she was out of energy. Rather, all of the figures had come back together in the same place, slowing themselves and stopping, four pairs of eyes fixed on Khari: two different shades of brown, a green, and a light blue-grey.

Though she'd sprinted quite a distance, neither their speed nor the duration of their dash could have justified the harsh, jagged sound of Khari's breath. “Wait... wait for me..."

As one, they vanished, something like a plume of smoke roiling and coalescing in the mirror where they had been. In their place stood a much more familiar figure. Asala knew the patterns on his dark face well, if probably not quite so well as Khari did. The image of Romulus touched a hand to the glass from the other side, flattening his palm against it for a moment. But then he used it to push away, heading down the next hallway.

“Oh no you don't—" Khari jumped back into her mad dash, glass crunching heavily under her boots and shards of it flying back where she kicked it up as she ran, falling back to the ground with light tinkling sounds that echoed strangely in the hall. This time, when they rounded the corner, there was a door sitting ajar; Khari crashed bodily into it, apparently without a thought for the proven danger of thresholds in this place. It slammed back into one of the mirrors, cracking it where the knob was; several chunks broke off and hit the floor below.

By the time Asala could catch up, Khari had stopped again, this time for a very obvious reason: the door had led to a dead end. All the figures were gone, but the mirrors were not: this room seemed to be roughly octagonal in shape, all sides of it seamless mirror from floor to ceiling. With a noise caught somewhere between frustration and anger, Khari threw herself at the mirror, but even under the impact of her bodyweight, it didn't shatter. She left a long scratch in it where her shoulder armor caught, but nothing else.

"Khari..." Asala said quietly, though she added nothing to it. She did not wish to admonish her, clearly whatever she saw in the mirrors affected her and she doubted anything she could say would make it better. Truly, the only thing that may make it all better was to defeat the demon and leave the manor in one piece. She stepped forward slowly and gently laid a hand on Khari's shoulder, hoping its weight would be enough to reassure her. She glanced down at her, but when she looked back up to the mirror, she found it had changed once more.

Instead of either of their reflections, it showed a small child, about half the size that Asala stood now. It was a... familiar child, with long stark white hair, and a pair of nubs that would soon grow into horns protruding from her forehead. Golden eyes stared at them in shock, and then mild panic was beginning to crease her features. Asala sighed deeply to collect herself and then shook her head, the child on the other side mimicking her. Both Asala and the reflection took a step forward toward the mirror, stopped, both staring at each other-- studying one another. Soon, Asala's eyes fell to the child's neck, where an iron collar lay.

Both winced at the sight of it, and her hand floated up to her neck. While the child wore the collar, Asala felt nothing but the neckline of her cloak at her own. "It is... me," Asala stated. She had not seen herself then but... she remembered the collar. When her magic had manifested, she fainted, and did not remember what happened, only what came after. Darkness in a cold room. Tammy, distress and disappointment written on her face. And then she was alone for what felt like an eternity-- until Tammy returned. Asala swallowed thickly, feeling the memory weigh heavily on her shoulders.

She hadn't noticed at the time, but she was clenching her fist. She glanced down at it and brought it up to to look at it, the reflection doing the same. As she opened her hand, she could see the indentations where her nails had dug into her palm. Then she turned it over, so that the palm faced the mirror. She called upon the fade, and wreathed her hand in a warm pink light, that of the spirit of compassion. While her hand glowed, the Asala's in the mirror did not. She then shook her head and turned toward Khari, and away from the mirror. "No. It is not," she stated firmly. Not any more. She had only seen nine summers then, and it had felt like a lifetime since. She had grown since then, and she was no longer alone.

"We should try to find the demon, quickly. It has no right to play with our memories like this."

It took Khari several moments to respond in any recognizable way. When she did, it was to shake her whole body fiercely, almost like a dog shaking off water. Heaving a breath at the end of it, she nodded firmly, then reached up and back, her hand closing over the sword hilt just behind her shoulder. “Gonna see how dead the end is." The blade hissed free with a rasp, and Khari bounded forward. This time, her motion wasn't at all frantic; rather, it was controlled, deliberate, and perhaps more effectively forceful.

She swung the sword into the mirror, and it cracked, spiderwebbing almost all the way to the ceiling. A second blow created more cracks and a dull screech, and the third one shattered the mirror, the pieces in front of Khari falling in a cascade that forced her to step back. She was breathing quite heavily, but like her motions, her breaths were controlled now.

The wall she'd exposed looked bare, without a door or anything of the kind, and Khari made a disgruntled noise, grimacing and narrowing her eyes. “How 'bout it, then? You're a mage, anything weird going on magically here?" Her tone had a bit of an edge to it, but it was easy to tell that the sharpness wasn't meant for Asala.

Asala nodded and raised her hand again, this time calling upon a dispel. Soon, a wave of green light materialized and washed over the now bare wall, though it did not do anything noticeable. It was a faint hope that something would have happened, but it did not hurt to at least try it in her eyes. Still, while she reached into the fade to cast the spell, something had felt off. While the entire manor was off, this had been a more focused feeling, like there was something different around them. Asala's eyes fell from the wall to the ground, and the many shards of glass Khari had created. She then knelt, careful not to kneel into any of the glass and passed a hand over the glass.

She was right, something was different. On the second pass, she felt it again and began to carefully brush away the pieces of mirror with a barrier, so as not to accidentally cut herself. However, it soon touched something, and Asala could feel the magic emanating from it through the barrier. She glanced up at Khari for a moment, letting the barrier vanish before she reached down to find whatever it was she had felt. After flicking away some of the shards of mirror, she found what she'd been feeling. It was glass, but not a piece of the mirror Khari had broken. She picked it up and held it so that Khari could see it too. It was almost like a lens, perfectly circular, and holding a sort of magical air about it.

It was doubtful Khari would be able to sense the last part, but she at least seemed to recognize that this was a strange find. “I definitely didn't break anything into a perfect circle." She blinked at it, tilting her head. “Is it magic or something? Can you make it work?"

Asala nodded and attempted to do as she was asked. A funneled a bit of magic into the lens, and the effect was immediately apparent. The lens lit up as it activated, and their surroundings took on a hazy appearance. Fear of the unknown gripped her for a moment, but she continued to feed the lens magic, until the room around them soon bled away until they were left standing in what appeared to be an ordinary room. Asala glanced from side to side, surprised at the sudden and abrupt change. The mirrors on the walls were now gone, and in fact, a few of the walls were gone as well, leaving them in a rather nondescript room, or would be if it would not be for the dust.

While she gawked for a second or two, Asala quickly reached out for another magelight spell, and unlike her last few attempts, this one actually cast light. "Oh, thank goodness," she said, relief dripping from her voice. Finally, she stood and took in their new surroundings. Now with light, Asala could see a door on the far wall. she gestured in its direction and spoke, "There's a door."

“Well then what are we standing around for? Let's take it." Khari, apparently now able to see as well, eyed the shelving unit she'd inadvertently destroyed—probably where the lens had come from. Shaking her head a bit, she grabbed the door handle. pausing for only a moment when it opened to total darkness again. “C'mon, or we'll get separated again."

"Right," Asala nodded, pushing the ball magelight through the door before following soon after.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
They should've arrived at the next floor by now, right?

Vesryn caught himself thinking about how annoyingly narrow the stairwell was, and how tight the spiral was. Uncomfortable for someone in his amount of armor, though he was able to fit. The spin of the spiral shouldn't have been enough to make him dizzy, but he could feel it beginning to settle in. If there was just a window or something, some way he could see the outside, everything would be better, but sadly the house was not that kind.

"Ves, wait." Stel's tone was pitched low and urgent when she spoke from behind him. The sound of her footsteps halted, at which point it became clear that they were the only other footsteps within earshot. "Khari and Asala aren't... they're gone."

He turned abruptly at the sound of her voice, again subtly taking his axe in both hands and partially expecting a threat. As before, the threat wasn't one that an axe had a chance of dealing with. His mouth hung ajar momentarily, staring around the bend of the stairwell's spiral at where he expected Asala and Khari to be, but it was as Stel said: they were gone.

"There wasn't even a door this time," he said, his tone halfway to a complaint. "How could they just... damn it." He grimaced, quickly trying to think of what was best to do. Saraya was of little help at the moment, as her ability to give specific instructions was limited. She just felt about as uncomfortable as he did to be remaining where they were standing.

"I think we need to get out of this stairwell." It meant refusing to go back and look for Khari and Asala, but somehow Vesryn could guess that they would find nothing. Something in this house was working very hard to split them up. Divide and conquer was a simple enough tactic. He held out a gloved hand to her. "Probably safer if we don't let go of each other."

She hesitated for a moment, shifting to look behind her, but she must have been thinking something similar, because it didn't take her more than that moment to reach forward and take his hand. "I—all right." Her unease was not hard to detect.

"We'll find them, but not in here," he promised her, for what it was worth. There was something unnatural about the stairwell, he didn't need to be a mage to figure that out. Grasping her hand firmly so as to leave no chance of it slipping, he turned his gaze back forward and they started ahead.

The stairwell twisted on and on until he was certain they would reach the top of a tower of some sort rather than just another floor of the house. But when at last the air shifted and they stepped out onto a floor, Vesryn frowned. It was dark, and the angle was different, but... "This... this is where we just were." He said it with some degree of certainty, despite it being seemingly impossible. It was the same hall, with the same doors, the same place where they'd started up the stairs. Unless there was an exact replica hallway at the top that he hadn't been able to see when entering the house to begin with.

"But we were walking up the entire time, we..." He turned to look at the stairs, to confirm that they had in fact been going up the whole time, but when he turned his eyes to see behind Stel, all he found was a wall, smooth and covered, like the stairwell had never been there at all. He turned fully, setting down his axe and placing his hand on the flat surface, pushing against it, testing for weakness, but it was as solid as a castle battlement. He curled his hand into a fist and picked up his axe again.

"I know you didn't accidentally take us into the Fade again. So what is this place?"

Stel let out a breath; it sounded like she'd been holding it for a while. "I don't know," she admitted. "I've never heard of anything like this place before." At the mention of the Fade, though, she glanced down at her mark, as well as she could considering that the hand bearing it was wrapped around her sword still. She seemed to think better of that, though, and flipped it in her grip, sliding it home in the sheath. It did seem rather unlikely that whatever they faced here would be so kind as to allow them to confront it directly.

They lost a bit of light, but Stel focused on her mark, and the green scar brightened noticeably, letting her shift her palm out and cast its greenish pall over the hallway. "If not the stairs, then... I suppose we have to try a different door. Maybe it's a labyrinth or something. Only one way out." From the sound of it, she didn't like the guess, though whether that was because she thought it was implausible or something else was harder to say.

Her hand tightened a bit around his, and she stepped towards one of them. Strangely, it seemed to be ajar already. It almost certainly hadn't been the first time they were here. Pushing it open with the side of her fist, Stel peered in as well as she could without crossing the threshold. "It's... I can't tell for sure, but it looks like a gallery? Maybe if we can find out whose house this was..." Glancing down, she carefully put one foot over the break between hall and room as if ready to snatch it back at a moment's notice.

But it landed normally, and nothing happened when she shifted her weight forward to step the rest of the way in, so it seemed they were safe for now. The light level changed as soon as they were both inside: or rather, several lights came on at once. Magelights, blue-purple in color, flickered to life beneath what seemed to be a series of portrait frames on the walls. Stel moved them towards the first one before abruptly stopping, transfixed.

This close, he could see the first of the paintings. It wasn't so much a portrait as a scene, but it had the same sort of oil-paint style. They were looking at the back of a small child, unidentifiable save for the simple blue dress and disheveled fall of black hair. She stood in front of a half-open door, light from outside spilling onto her and casting a long shadow. Indiscernible figures were beyond the door, nothing more than vague, dark shapes, given the impression of movement away.

Vesryn frowned at it. The sudden appearance of light implied to him that whatever force was controlling the house, it wanted them to be able to see these. He wasn't sure, then, if it was better to fight it or go along with it, but if magic or demons were involved here, and he had to imagine they were, going along with them was rarely a wise idea. Still, he scrutinized the painting a moment. "I'm no art critic, but that seems a rather odd subject for a piece to hang on your wall."

"It's me." Stel shook her head. "I think. Maybe if—" She took several quick steps, soft footfalls echoing in the almost-empty gallery.

The second painting was obviously of her, captured with eerie accuracy. The only real difference between the woman in the painting and Stel as she was now were what seemed to be about half a decade and armor. In the painting, she was curled upon herself, knees clutched to her chest, looking at something that could not be seen in the frame with wide, terrified eyes. A shadow fell over her—large and humanoid in shape, but there was no clue in the painting itself as to what person had cast it.

There was no doubt that Stel herself knew, though—abstract things that had never actually been wouldn't have arrested her the way this had. She wasn't even breathing, not for several moments, and he was close enough to sense how stiff she'd become. She seemed almost to have forgotten he was present; her hand loosened around his until she wasn't actually holding onto him at all, and her eyes glazed over, unfocused.

"Hey." Vesryn squeezed her hand, quickly securing his axe across his back to free up his other hand and winding around to stand in front of Stel, blocking her view of the painting in front of her. It was obviously born of magic; no matter how many people of influence Stel knew, he couldn't believe someone that lived in the Emerald Graves would have reason to make multiple paintings depicting her. In less than flattering lights, as well. He carefully placed his other hand near where her shoulder met with her neck. "Stay with me. Talk to me, let's figure this out. It's targeting you. Has to be a demon, right? What is it making you feel?"

Stel blinked several times, emerging from whatever strange torpor she'd been lulled into. And it did seem to be that—as though she'd been asleep and was only just waking, fixing bleary eyes on him for several long moments before she even looked to recognize who he was. "I..." Her brows furrowed; she seemed to struggle to speak, and failed the first few times she tried. "I'm scared. Alone; I felt alone."

Once she'd said it, she only looked even more confused. "But that's... I've never heard of a demon like this. It's... it's in our heads, Ves, or at least mine. As much as Nightmare was, if it can do... that." Her breath trembled when it left her; she shook her head almost as if clearing the last vestiges of drowsiness from herself.

"I'm scared, too," he admitted, smiling uneasily. He was relieved just to see her refocus, brought out of whatever spell the place had put her under for a second. "Gods, even Saraya's scared. But let's all be scared together. We're not alone, and we're not going to be." Quite honestly, he wanted to hug her, as he was finding the act of holding onto something right now to be especially comforting, but they needed to keep moving, not sit still and allow this place to torment them. "What do you think, keep going, or head back?" He had no desire for her to subject herself to more of whatever the house wanted her to feel. Fear, loneliness... but he was confident that as long as he was able to stay with her, she would make it through this room, and this place.

She took a moment to collect herself; it was a process he by now knew how to track. A deep breath, a self-conscious straightening of her posture, and a careful smoothing of her facial expression. The last was imperfect this time—he could still see the tension there, especially the tight discomfort settled around her eyes. "I think... we should keep going. I doubt we'll be able to get out of here or find the others by going back." It went without saying that they needed to do both of those things.

"Let's... let's go. It's probably better if I don't see many more of those, but I'm guessing the door will be on the far end." She swallowed, steeling herself, then nodded to indicate she was ready to proceed.

He nodded, taking his hand off her shoulder, though he remained attached to her by the other, their fingers laced together for security more than anything. Keeping their heads down for the most part, they walked past the remaining fires lighting up works of cruel art on the walls, not bothering to take any of them in. The door was on the far end, as Stel expected, and Vesryn pushed it open, making sure it held that way until both of them were fully on the other side. Only then did he allow it to close, and allow himself to take in where they had ended up.

It seemed to be an extension of the art gallery, but this room looked older, the stonework of a slightly different, more archaic design. In the cracks here and there was green, vines possibly from outside, but it seemed more to be growing from the walls than through them. The chamber was lit by more magefire, this time burning in braziers placed periodically throughout the central line of the room, which was an elongated rectangle with them on the far end.

The fires cast blue-green lights on life-sized statues on either side of them, creating shadows that crawled and flickered up on the walls behind them. Vesryn approached the first on his left, noticing almost immediately the stone figure's elven traits: the ears, the body structure, the armor, which was quite strikingly like his own. But the statue was not him, as the hair was quite different, closer cut and combed to one side. The face was impossible to see, as the statue was posed such that his face was hidden deliberately behind his arm, as though he didn't wish to look upon what was in front of him.

"I'm not sure I get the point of..." he trailed off, feeling something well up inside of him, at which point he gasped quite audibly, taking a step back and feeling a constricting, choking in his chest, a tightening in his throat. His eyes watered, threatening tears, the overall feeling most similar to that darkest moment in the Fade, surrounded by bodies that rose and tried to kill him and Stel. The tears would not be held back, and soon a few spilled unbidden down his face.

He blinked through them, taking a step back forward at the insistent urging in his mind. He found himself wanting, needing to see the face, but there was simply no angle at which he could stand that it was not shielded by the elf's plate-covered arm.

"Ves?" Stel was clearly alarmed by the suddenness and strength of the reaction, but she'd seen something like it once before, and it didn't take her long to put the pieces together. "It's Saraya, isn't it?" The sentence didn't quite end the right way, as though there were another question she almost asked instead or as well, but she stayed close, moving voluntarily with him when he went forward, shifting slightly sideways so as to study him instead of the statue, no doubt.

"She knows this person," he explained, his voice uncomfortably restricted. It was such a weird state to be in, experiencing feelings that were not his own. Emotional reactions at things that stirred nothing in him. "He was important somehow. What about the others?" He whirled around, taking swift steps to the room's other side, trusting Stel to keep up. On the other side was a robed figure, an elven woman judging by her figure, her face buried in her hands as though she was crying.

"This one, too. She feels... she feels their loss. She misses them." He sniffed, wiping more tears from his eyes. "I think... sometimes she almost forgets them, but seeing them like this, even without their faces, brings it rushing back. Like she lost them yesterday." Maybe she couldn't remember their faces? If all of this was constructed out of something a demon could find in their own minds... but all the faces of the dead in the Fade, she had remembered them all there. What made these different?

He turned to find the next, moving deeper into the room. The next one stopped him cold, stricken with fear for a moment. A figure of an elven mage, staff gripped tightly in both hands, fingers intensely clutching the wood, aggressively pointing the focused end down towards the ground, where Vesryn felt a foreign urge to sink. The mage hid his face in his shoulder, but somehow Vesryn could imagine him snarling. He could feel hate in the way the man stood.

Saraya didn't want to look at him, and swiftly they backed away and turned, finding themselves mere inches from the sharpened point of an arrow. A woman in lighter ancient armor held it drawn back, stone bowstring taut with tension, her face hooded and lowered to the ground. There was so little by which to tell who she was, but again Saraya knew, and this one hurt as well. "I don't know what she hopes to find," he admitted, even as she pulled him away, on to the next.

His heart nearly stopped for the next. A tall elven man, dressed in elegant robes or perhaps a noble's attire of ages past, with curly hair and a proud warrior's figure. He shielded his eyes with one hand, again giving off the impression of crying, while the other hand was outstretched towards Vesryn, as if telling him not to come any closer. He gasped in a breath. "She loved this one. Loved him very much."

Alone was what Estella had reported feeling, and Vesryn felt it now like he never had. Grief and shame and loss and endless isolation. He backed up steadily, unable to look at the curly-haired elf any longer, and fearing what the next would be, but requiring to look at it. Before he could, however, he felt a sharp puncturing pain in the back of his left leg, and he stumbled. A knife, quite real and sharp steel, had pierced his leg where the armor was weak behind the knee, inflicting rather significant damage. He cried out briefly, losing his balance from the sudden pain in his leg. His weight carried him a few steps further into the room before he collapsed to his knees.

The knife was held by a child, and elf child, so short that the strike to the back of Vesryn's legs had been done at a natural height. It was a young boy, curly headed like the man across the room from him, dressed in a little armor set to match. He hid his face like all the others, tucking it into his elbow and lashing out blindly.

And then he noticed what he'd fallen to his knees before. Not a statue, but a mosaic of some kind, the pieces of stone all varying shades of green, but seeming to depict a great emerald dragon, the one thing willing to stare down at him, if only to breathe stone fire down the painted wall at where he knelt. The eyes seemed to glow with energy, though the rest of the dragon's figure was quite stylized and unrealistic. Saraya took note of it, and felt there was no better place for her to remain at the moment, than on the ground in the path of the flames.

A soft touch at his leg, followed by the familiar warmth of a healing spell, preceded Stel's voice by a fair margin. It was far from expert, as was the case with all her magic, but it was enough that the bleeding stopped, at least. A moment later, she shuffled up to sit on her legs beside him. After a pause for hesitation, ingrained into almost everything she did as such pauses were, she lifted her hand to his back, placing it atop his armor where it protected the spot between his shoulder blades.

She leaned slightly into him, putting her cheek against his arm. It couldn't have been comfortable, with the plate there, but she didn't shift around or complain. "Let me know when you're ready to move and I'll help you stand," she said softly, then let herself fall quiet again. Something about the way she said it implied the plural 'you.'

He didn't want to stand or move. Not particularly. His armor felt ten times heavier, and somehow that wasn't so bad. He remained still for a long moment, content to just have Stel at his side. Though he felt Saraya's emotions at times as his own, he was still distinctly aware that the crushing despair, the hopelessness he felt here was not his own, but hers. And if he felt anything of his own, it was sorrow for what she had been forced to endure for so many years, every time she came close to losing her memory and forgetting leading to her just remembering again, and having the pain dredged up fresh again.

"She feels hopeless sometimes," he confided to her, quietly. "Not for us, and what we're doing, but just for herself. No matter how much we're able to do, she and I... every connection she ever had is gone. She can never have anything like what we have. Never speak to anyone. Never touch anyone. She's hardly real anymore." His eyes wandered up to the green dragon mural. He knew what it was full well. The rest of it he'd need to parse through later, if Saraya was willing to be open to him when he wanted to try.

"It can make her feel like she did when I first found her. Impossibly alone in the world. Desiring only to rejoin these people." He glanced one more time at the little boy with the knife on his right, but Saraya directed his gaze back at the dragon, more specifically the base of the mural.

"I'm sorry," she replied, releasing a slow, heavy breath. She turned her eyes up, apparently fixing them on the dragon's, though she was a little too far in his peripherals to be certain. "I wish... I wish there was something we could do." Solutions to those kinds of problems, however, weren't within even the Inquisition's power to fix—not by a long shot.

"But it can't be helping to stay here, can it? To be forced to remember like this by a demon or... whatever this is." Her concern was perhaps warranted; even apart from the possible ramifications for Saraya's mentality, there were other dangers. "It's not... it's not like with Nightmare, right? Not interfering with the connection?"

"No." He shook his head slightly. "And I know... she knows, it isn't helping. But I think some part of her feels it's deserved." As odd as that sounded, that was how he felt, or what he felt of her. That this was where she belonged. But it wasn't right, and Saraya could recognize as well as Vesryn could that remaining here would kill them both, and possibly Stel too. And that was unacceptable.

"I'm ready. Let's go." He let her help him back to his feet, his leg still mostly unsteady beneath him. But with just a bit of lean on her it wasn't unbearable, and they made their way to the nearby door at the end of the hall. He didn't bother looking back at the statues before grabbing the handle and letting the door swing open.

The hallway they entered after that was extremely mundane by comparison. Aside from the same general feeling of forlorn-ness that seemed to pervade the entire mansion, nothing seemed too distinctive. Either the entity commanding it was beginning to weaken, had decided they were poor targets, or it only controlled certain parts of the house to such a large degree.

Stel opened several doors as they traversed the hallway, but the rooms they inspected proved to have little of interest, just more of the same pristine furniture they'd seen in the foyer, styled for different rooms: an office, a child's bedroom, a lounge. Nothing stuck out as obviously important, and they were almost at the end and a staircase down when she opened the final door on their right.

When she did, it was only to bodily collide with another person. Khari staggered backwards upon impact, nearly hitting Asala behind her. “Damn—hold on." She blinked at the both of them for a moment before lunging, wrapping Stel in a hug. “Found you! Or you found us, not sure which." She let go and took half a step back. “Uh... it is really you, right? Haven't seen any illusions like actual people in here so far, but I guess it could happen."

The impact nearly sent Stel to the floor—Khari was considerably more solid than she was, and had been moving quite a bit faster. But if anything, the hug kept her upright, and it didn't take her long to regain her balance. "I don't think that's in its repertoire, no. It probably would have already done so if it could have." She sighed, but if anything, her body language was more relaxed than it had been in a while. Perhaps it was the effect of the extra company—it stood to reason that Loneliness would be less powerful in the face of camaraderie, after all.

A laugh escaped Vesryn, breathy and genuine, and he clapped Khari on the shoulder in greeting, shifting as much weight as he could onto his good leg. He imagined he probably looked something of a mess, but he was hardly ashamed of that. "It's good to see you both." He soon noticed the object that Asala carried, some kind of lens, by the looks of it magical. "What's that you've found?"

"I am unsure," Asala answered, looking at the lens in her hand. "But when I activated it, it showed us the true form of the room we were in, not the one the demon wanted us to see."

“Doesn't seem to be doing much of anything here, though." Khari glanced around, then shrugged. “Still no Zee or Cy, huh? Seems like we should keep looking."

The lens proved to be at least somewhat effective on a few of the other rooms they entered; if they looked through it, they could see what the house really looked like: decrepit, dingy, and covered in spiderwebs. After they came across a doorway with a giant cobweb stretched across it, Khari stopped trying to look through the device, leaving it to the others.

They passed downstairs, without incident this time. When they reached the landing, Khari paused, cocking her head as though she'd heard something. A moment later, the rest of them could hear it, too, shuffling footsteps, followed by a door creaking open at the end of the hall. She tensed, hand reaching back for her sword, but the figures that appeared from behind the door were familiar, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief.

“Zee, Cy! We're over here."

Cyrus's eyes found them first; his posture eased considerably when they did. “Excellent. Wasn't sure where this one would go." He said it like he had expectations for the doors in general, which was admittedly a bit of an improvement over the rest of them.

"Cy," Stel breathed, tone laden with relief. "Zee. It's... really good to see you." Pursing her lips, she made eye contact with her brother. "Any idea what we're dealing with? We must have done something right, if we all wound up in the same place again."

“Loneliness demon." Cyrus's answer was immediate, certain. “I believe it has possessed the house as a whole. Getting out of here will likely require finding the locus of its control and forcing it to manifest, so that we can slay it." He shifted his grip slightly on what seemed to be a book he was carrying under his arm, then eyed the lens in Asala's hand keenly. “May I?" He held a hand out towards her, clearly requesting that she hand over the object.

Once she had, he studied it for a moment, blinking in something like surprise when he peered through it. “Interesting..." Tilting his head, he opened the book with one hand, arm braced against the spine, flipping a few pages with the other until he reached what appeared to be a specific one. It was hard to see the illustration well, but it didn't matter after a moment anyway—the writing on the pages shifted. For several long moments, Cyrus scanned new words, brow furrowed, and then he closed the book with a snap.

“Is there a child's room around here somewhere?"

Admittedly Vesryn had not been paying all that much attention to their surroundings after leaving the room with the elven statues behind. All the house had done up to that point was target either him or Stel in a very personal way. But one of the rooms they had passed on their way here did indeed stand out in his mind, as soon as Cyrus mentioned it.

"There is, actually. We passed it not long before we came here, it isn't far." He limped a step away, beckoning. "Come on, it's just this way."

Cyrus nodded. “I think we'll find what we want there."

Khari followed willingly enough, but her skepticism emerged in her tone if nowhere else. “Which is... what, exactly? And how do you even know?"

“I'm not sure exactly what. Hopefully being able to see the room as it is will provide some hint. As for how..." Cyrus tapped the cover of the book. “This fell off a bookshelf in the library. I suspected it might be important, and it was. The journal belongs to a child. A little girl. She describes being spoken to in her dreams by a friend. It stands to reason that she's the conduit the creature used to enter this plane."

Khari frowned. “Makes sense... but why would it drop the answers into your hands like that? The lens was kind of an easy find too, actually."

Cyrus lifted his shoulders, though his expression did not match the lightness of the gesture. “There's a reason such demons are rare. Their existence is unstable. They feed off of loneliness, but that is an emotion that seeks its own end in a way that Pride or Envy or even Despair don't. Loneliness is a craving for company." He paused, then continued. “Perhaps it wants to be seen."

They arrived in front of the door, then, and Khari opened it back up. Initially, it just looked as it had the first time Vesryn and Estella passed it. But then the lens in Cyrus's hand glimmered, and their surroundings changed, illusion shimmering away like a mirage in the desert.

What it left behind was a rather grim picture. The smell hit them all first, old rot, flesh and wood alike. The source was clearly the desiccated corpse laid out on the bed, a small body that could not have been more than four feet and a few inches tall. Khari sucked a breath in through her teeth, and immediately seemed to regret it, lifting her hand to her face and fitting it over her nose and mouth. “Shit."

Cyrus's expression was grim, but unsurprised. “Her thoughts and feelings would have guided the demon into the world. It's likely to be trapped in a sentimental object. If you were a lonely little girl, where would you put something like that?" He seemed to be asking the room as a whole.

The query provoked an obvious reaction in Stel, who swallowed thickly and stepped past her brother and Khari into the room. "I'd keep it with me," she said, without hesitation. She lingered a moment more, steeling herself for the implications of that statement, and then crossed the room to the bed, old floorboards creaking underneath her. Though the body was half-rotted away, she was careful with it, shifting the little girl's clothes around gently and pursing her lips when she found a pocket.

When she drew her hand away, there was a small object in it. Opening her fingers, Stel uncovered a wooden figurine, carved in the shape of a large dog. "What... what should we do with it?"

A quaking tremor beneath their feet answered first, as if the whole house shuddered at once. Cyrus braced himself on the doorframe; Khari nearly fell backwards into Zee before regaining her balance. “I don't think it liked that."

“Destroy it. That will force the demon to appear."

Estella didn't look especially happy to be doing it, but she nodded, returning her eyes to the figure. She exhaled; flame bloomed at her fingertips and licked up the wood, blackening it and then burning it away entirely. She was left with only ashes in her hand, but for a moment, nothing happened.

Then the house shuddered again, and the ashes gusted away from Stel's hand. Where they fell to the floor, a glowing circle appeared, and from it there appeared what could only have been the demon. In sharp contrast to its more impressive kin, this one was rather small and pitiful, almost like a heavily-deformed child, lumpy grey flesh tufted unevenly with white hair. It hunched, enough that its knuckles dragged the ground, and peered up at them with doleful, watery pale eyes.

Vesryn wondered how many people had ever laid eyes on such a demon before. He stepped forward, his intention clearly communicated by the way he hefted his axe. He had to strongly remind himself that this was not, in fact, a child, that the real child's body was in the bed across the room, and this thing was responsible for the child's death. Not entirely, of course, if he was understanding what had happened here, but all the same, it had to die.

He'd forced himself to strike down things he had no wish to attack before, and as before, he allowed Saraya to do what he was unsure of, and guide his axe back, steadying his weight beneath him, steeling his heart. With one swift, surehanded motion he brought the weapon down, allowing his eyes to close as it found its mark, and letting the sound and the feel confirm that the demon was dead.

Withdrawing the weapon once it was done, he took only a step back towards the others before the house gave another great groan around them, this one much more consistent and urgent. The dying moans of a structure only kept up by this creature's hidden and immense power. He sought his friends' eyes. "We need to move."

And move they did.

It was initially difficult to get their bearings in the house, given that the decaying edifice bore almost no resemblance to the building they'd entered. But fortunately the complete lack of direction they'd all had to deal with when they were getting turned around constantly was no longer present, and they eventually came upon the first hallway they'd entered.

Khari crashed through the door into the foyer, and that was indeed where it spit them out. The front door took more work, locked as it still seemed to be from the outside, but between Asala's magic and Vesryn's axe, they got through with time to spare. The manor collapsed slowly behind them, until it was only a still pile of ruins.

Khari heaved a sigh, bracing her hands on her knees for several breaths. Straightening, she glanced back at the house with a deep frown. “Let's... not ever do that again."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari shifted, her back leaning a bit deeper into the plush upholstery of the armchair. The way it was shaped made it kind of difficult to pull her legs up and cross them underneath her, but she did it anyway. It made her feel a little less like she was sinking into the furniture. Normally, she would have thought chairs this roomy were kind of excessive, but she could definitely understand why Leon had to have big furniture.

Letting her hands fall into her lap and trying not to fidget with them, she glanced up. The commander himself was sitting at his desk, probably wondering just what the heck this was all about. SĂ©verine was there, too, but apparently they hadn't been discussing anything too urgent, because they'd let her in anyway. Now she kind of felt like she was intruding. Despite all appearances to the contrary, she didn't particularly relish the feeling. Maybe this wasn't really relevant enough to bring to someone with a million other things to be doing, anyway.

Sighing heavily, she decided to try and keep it short. “Uh, so." She was off to a great start on the relevance. There was a curl brushing against her neck, the rough ends of the hairs irritating and ticklish at the same time. She shoved it behind a tapered ear. “Back in the Graves. You... kind of almost put me in charge of a group." Really, he'd probably just meant to appoint her as the navigator, but she'd made it sound like being put in charge in her own head, and it had made her really uncomfortable.

“But... basically when we got to the ruin, Ves just... did all that. Told us how to arrange ourselves, where to go, when to move and all that." She shook her head, dislodging the damn piece of hair, which promptly fell back against her skin. She tucked it back again. “Not that I minded, honestly. He's... better at that, than me." Or Saraya was, but from where Khari sat, that distinction didn't make much difference, and she wasn't going to mention Saraya in front of SĂ©verine anyway.

She grimaced. “I don't know how to do any of that stuff. To be a leader or someone who tells other people what to do. In any situation, really, but especially in a situation like that. But it made me realize that I probably should know. Strategy, and formation, and pretty much anything besides 'put the people with armor in the front and the mages in the back.'" Khari's brows furrowed; she fixed him with a stare that was probably a little harder than she meant it to be.

“I used to think because of how I fight, because I have to get mad, I'd never be able to do any of that. But you know how to do all of it, and I've seen you. If you don't get mad like I do, you do something close." And that was a crucial similarity. It invalidated her excuse. “How do you do both?"

Leon leaned forward at his desk, hands together and chin braced on his knuckles. He listened attentively until Khari had explained everything, then canted his head slightly to the side. If he found the question unusual, he made no sign of it, though a vague look of discomfort flitted over his face for a split second when she mentioned his own approach to battle. When she finished speaking, he let the silence linger a few moments more, then expelled a breath through his nose rather heavily.

"There's no one rule or trick," he said, leaning back in his chair and letting his arms fall to the rests. It creaked slightly under his weight. "One part of it is, as you put it, knowing tactics, though I'd say there's much more to being an effective leader than that. The other half is managing what you need to in the thick of things, yes." He blinked at her, his expression forming into a slight smile. "But there is no reason a berserker can't lead on a battlefield. Your style wouldn't be like everyone else's, but that's not necessarily a bad thing." He shrugged. "Most of the real strategy happens before the battle actually begins. After that, you do have to be able to stay aware enough to decide when to change your tactics, but that's not quite the same thing, which is why I can do it, and you could as well."

She hadn't figured it would be simple. But Khari was well-aware that this was an area in which she was dangerously deficient. Chevaliers were expected to be capable of command; one of the most obvious functions of the job was serving as an officer in the Orlesian army. Back when she'd been thinking of nothing but getting there in the first place, she'd sort of figured she could work that part out later, but now... she wanted to be able to do the job, in its entirety, even before she was allowed to do it.

Besides, it couldn't hurt the Inquisition, and her current preoccupation with helping it, if she knew all of this. Maybe if she'd been more strategy-minded, she'd have been able to see through Ser Durand's deception. Or notice the trap they triggered in the Graves had a hidden component, or any of a bunch of other important things. It was one thing to keep training until she was the best weapon she could be. But she also had to know how to use the skills she wanted to have, or she risked being manipulated again. Put to someone else's use without her knowledge, like a fool. And she didn't want that.

Pulling in a deep breath, she slapped her hands onto her knees and leaned forward. “Teach me. Please." She grimaced, but didn't drop her eye contact with Leon. “I want to be better at this. I want to be better at everything, but this is something I don't even know how to learn, never mind how to do." He was busy and she knew it, and maybe that made her selfish for asking. But this was important, and she didn't want to ask anyone else. It had to be Leon; he clearly understood what problems she was likely going to run up against trying to do this. And he, she thought more than anyone in the Inquisition, really was a leader. Not just a person in a position of power, but someone who knew how to command.

For a moment, Leon's eyes rounded. But a moment later, he laughed. Not loudly, more like a breathy chuckle than anything. He shook his head faintly, then spoke. "I'm not sure what I expected. Perhaps I should have known you'd ask." Something clearly amused him about either the request or the manner in which she'd made it, but he didn't explain, so it was hard to say exactly what. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck with a large, callused hand, studying her. "It's going to be a lot of reading, at first," he cautioned. "And some of the books are dry. I'm sure Ser SĂ©verine can attest to that—the old strategy manuals are no trainee's favorite work. I know I used to prefer everything else but latrine duty."

He half-smiled, making it unclear just how serious he was about that. "But... if you're willing to put up with boring reading and tasks that probably won't make sense to you at first, then... yes. I'll teach you." He paused, moving his attention to Sev.

"And you, Captain? I'm sure the advice of someone who's moved up a command structure as you have would also be valuable to Khari, if you don't mind lending a bit of it. Perhaps some of mine would be useful to you, as well? You aren't obligated, of course."

SĂ©verine had been observing the conversation thus far with interest, not at all looking down on Khari's request to learn. Not visually, anyway. Though from what small experience Khari had around the Orlesian woman, she wasn't really one to hide her judgements or feelings behind a mask, metal or otherwise. She sat with legs crossed beside Leon's table, which carried a few maps of what looked like the Emerald Graves, recently drawn. There were marks along the roads running through the forest, dotted trails marking possible routes of the Red Templars, circled spots pointing out caves, ruins, ravines, other shelters both natural and otherwise that they might make use of in their operations.

Given that, it seemed likely she and the Commander had been discussing the events of the Emerald Graves before she arrived, but whatever it was, it wasn't urgent enough to send her away. "I might be able to offer a few things. Templar training is nothing to scoff at, after all, even if I did bumble my way through most of it." She became thoughtful for a moment, possibly going over what she might be able to contribute. "I've found I can command capably enough. Tell soldiers where they need to be, what they need to do, what they might have to die for..." Her expression became quite sober by the end of that. "But in my experience there's a great difference between commanders and leaders. I've met many commanders, but only a few real leaders."

She tilted her head towards Leon. "And that's something I've yet to even begin learning."

Khari hadn't even figured there was a difference, but now that she thought about it, there had to be. “Well... I probably need to learn both, so all the help is appreciated." She offered Sev a grin, relaxing back a little, though her hands remained on her knees. “And I'll read all the boring books you want, honest. Lay 'em on me."

She might not have had any ambitions to be a templar, but she sure as hell wasn't about to turn her nose up at learning anything templars learned, either. Good strategy was good strategy, and she was sure that some of the anti-magic things they knew would be helpful even for someone like her, who'd never taken lyrium in her life and didn't plan to.

Leon nodded, still smiling a bit himself, and stood, picking his chair up rather than letting it scrape against the floor. He went to the bookshelf next to his desk, scanning it until he found what he wanted. With an index finger, he tugged at a smallish book with a blue leather cover, and a slightly larger one, in plain black binding. The first was unmarked, but when he handed them to her, Khari could see plainly that the black one was a copy of the Qun.

"You can start here," Leon said. "The blue one is a treatise on warfare that Kordillus I wrote for his son. The second, as you can see, is a translation of the Tome of Koslun. The third Canto, in particular, is essentially a guide to battle strategy. Don't take either of them as absolute truth, of course, but there are valuable lessons in both."

He paused a moment, then stepped away. "I believe I've heard you play chess. Do you have a set?"

The Qun, huh? She wouldn't have expected that, but it made sense when he explained it. Few people were as good as the Qunari at organized warfare. “Something tells me this isn't standard templar curriculum." Khari snorted and waved the book at him with false admonishment. But she thought it was actually a good thing. It meant she was learning what Leon thought it was best for her to know. And the other book, the blue one... that was just going to be really interesting. Kordillus Drakon was one of the most effective military leaders in history. Anything he had to say would be worth reading.

“And I play, yeah. Pretty well, too. I don't have my own set, but I bet Cy'd let me borrow his. Why?"

Leon shrugged. "It's a good way to get a sense of someone's existing strategic strengths and weaknesses. I'd like to play you both at some point, if that's all right. We'll set up some regular time to meet once the two of us dealt with the rest of this." He gestured at the table SĂ©verine occupied, and whatever had been keeping their attention before Khari entered. Probably the fallout from all that stuff with the Reds.

"In the meantime... I think you have some reading to do."

Khari stacked the books in her lap, then gripped them in both hands and stood. She was doing a pretty poor job of containing her enthusiasm, probably, but she didn't care, and she doubted they did either. Offering up a toothy smile, she nodded once.

“I think I do."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
This was not Khari's usual kind of spar.

But in a sense, it had been almost a foregone conclusion from the moment they'd met, back in the Emerald Graves. She liked to think she'd learned enough to recognize a master of the art when she saw one, and Amalia was no doubt a master at this whole fighting thing. Ithilian, too, but she also liked to think she knew the difference between someone who might indulge her masochistic tendency to challenge people far above her skill level and someone who would tell her to piss off. And as intimidating as she looked, it was Amalia of the two of them who would indulge.

One thing she was already much better at than she had been an hour ago was falling down hard and springing back up again quickly, even when she wasn't able to divert her momentum into a roll or anything. Amalia, in the opposite move from Mick's usual, had her sparring with no armor, just the clothes on her back, a rapidly-dirtying blue tunic and an ordinary pair of thick trousers. Despite the season, her face was red with exertion, sweat beading on her forehead and sliding down her face to drip off her chin. She had no weapons, just herself, and Amalia was punishing her for not knowing how to make better use of that fact.

“Oof!" She hit the ground hard on her back, failing to curl around herself in enough time to swing out of it the way she was trying to learn here. So she had to roll sideways and scramble to her feet the old fashioned way instead, taking several hasty steps backwards to avoid the fist flying for where her head was just about to be. She nearly fell again, steadying herself at the last minute. Her tongue darted out to wet her chapped lips; Khari tasted a coppery tang where the lower one had been split by Amalia's opening sucker-punch.

She swallowed and closed her mouth before she charged again; she'd already accidentally half-shredded the inside of her cheek when she'd failed to set her jaw the right way before and fell. So far, Amalia had made no attempt to follow her to the ground; either she wasn't the grappling type or simply chose not to. Either way, Khari wanted to force them there—it was the only chance she had to do anything that wasn't getting her ass handed to her. On her lunge, she made a grab for Amalia's waist, trying to tackle her into the snow.

Amalia's hand caught her arm before it could hit her and throw her balance off, and she pivoted smoothly, wearing Khari's momentum out before taking control of it. When she was facing exactly the opposite direction she'd been heading a moment ago, she felt the strange weight of Amalia... rolling over her back, it had to be, landing on Khari's other side. Khari's arm was now crossed uncomfortably across her own back, and Amalia used her grip on it to keep her from regaining her balance, even as she swept her feet out from underneath her.

She moved away while Khari ate snow again, though, as uninterested in following up as she had been throughout the whole match. It was the only way in which her utter ruthlessness was softened. She did not shy away from causing Khari pain, but she also did not hit her when she was already down, nor did she seem to be using every advantage she gained. Instead, she made them obvious, then backed off without a word, letting Khari stand and try once more.

"Again." That was, in fact, the only thing she'd said since they started, but she'd repeated it enough times to lose track of, at this point. Her expression was stoic; it was clear enough that she was used to doing this for hours, because her stamina didn't seem to be flagging. Her dark complexion showed some red from the exertion, but the clouds her breath formed were steady and regular, and she wasn't sweating nearly as much as Khari was.

Khari grinned back at her impassive face. This woman was brutal, and incredible at what she did, and fighting her, even like this, was exhilarating. She knew a lesson when she saw one, and though Amalia wasn't making her observations obvious, she was giving Khari plenty of opportunities to recognize her own mistakes and correct them. It was a mental challenge as well as a physical one—she was coming to appreciate the value of those lately.

She dare not spare the moment it would take to glance at their small audience, instead dropping her stance a little bit, holding her arms loose at her sides and beginning a slow circle, placing her feet carefully in the snow they were churning up beneath them. Mick, Ithilian, and Leon were all here, probably pretty amused by how it was going. But Khari didn't mind that. She'd never minded that kind of thing. Tilting her head to the side a little, she narrowed her eyes. “How 'bout you come to me this time?"

Amalia obliged, her motion sudden and explosive. The scrape of her boots against the snow when she lunged was just about all the warning there was; she struck fast, thrusting the heel of her hand for Khari's solar plexus. When it was blocked, she didn't waste time trying to turn matters into a contest of strength, instead pushing off the arm used to block and reversing her direction, pivoting behind Khari and wrapping an arm around her neck in a tight hold centered at the crook of her elbow.

The intent of it didn't seem to be to knock her out, though; Amalia's legs wound tightly around her waist afterwards, and she threw them both backwards into the snow, rolling them over and locking Khari's legs in place with her knees. The arm retreated from its chokehold, pressing in a solid bar on her shoulder blades instead. She was, for the moment, pinned.

There were about a dozen ways someone with a knife could have killed her in that course of movement, and probably a few more she was missing. Point taken. Khari tried to throw her opponent off her, but Amalia was solidly-placed, and wouldn't dislodge easily. Still... her arms were free.

Khari shuffled them to her sides, pressing her palms into the ground and shoving upward with all her strength at once. It worked a little better than she expected it to—Amalia was solid, but she definitely wasn't heavy, and she didn't quite seem to be expecting Khari to know how to handle a situation like this one. She managed to scramble to her feet again. Grappling probably wasn't going to help much, after all. Not if she knew a chokehold like that.

No sooner was she up than Amalia was directly in front of her, the index and middle fingers of her right hand resting on Khari's forehead, just at the fingertips. "Your tenacity is impressive," she said, the sentiment apparently genuine. A very small smile touched the corner of her mouth, lifting it just a little. It softened her whole face, which could have been quite harsh otherwise, between the scar and the mismatched eyes and the hard, almost masculine lines of her bone structure. "While I've no doubt that you have more passes still in you, I think it best that we stop here for today."

She let her hand fall away and took a step backward, inclining her head slightly.

Khari's eyes rounded slightly. “Today? You mean you'll do this again sometime?" She tried not to grin too widely at the thought, and probably failed. She was covered in dirt, melted snow, still-frozen snow, and sweat, so she probably made for quite the ridiculous image, hair askew and all, but she couldn't have cared less if she tried.

Amalia blinked. For a moment, she looked slightly surprised by something, though it wasn't clear what. Then her expression became thoughtful. "A glutton for punishment, aren't you?" From anyone else, that would probably have been a joke, but the serious tone with which she said it made it seem more like an observation than anything. "I... perhaps. It will depend on how circumstances develop. But I am not opposed in principle."

"She hasn't had a good sparring partner in a while," Ithilian said, approaching the pair from the side. He'd watched the match seated on a bench nearby, dressed warmly but not seeming too distressed by the cold. "I'm not much competition, and the Venatori go limp too easily." The degree to which he was joking about either subject was hard to tell.

“Still not sure she does." Khari admitted as much easily, then shrugged, her smile inching wider. “But if she beats on me enough, she might get one out of the deal. I'm fun that way, right Leon?" She raised her voice just enough to include the commander in the conversation, and Mick as well if he wanted.

Actually, come to think of it... “The Commander here only fights with his hands, too. I'd pay good money to watch them have a match." She was completely serious about it, too. Having fought and lost terribly to both of them, Khari couldn't say with complete confidence who'd win. Just looking at them, Leon was the obvious choice, but Amalia could clearly be ruthless on a par with Rilien if she got serious enough, and that might be enough to make up the difference. Plus, she was fast as hell.

"I think I'll defer," Leon replied. "I'm more fond of my dignity than you are of yours, Khari." Still, it was obvious enough that he was thinking about it, or had been thinking about it, and the way Amalia's eyes narrowed just slightly was a fair indication that she was, too. Neither of them commented further, though.

"I do not think I have met someone who fights like you before," Amalia said, directing the words to Khari. "It is not entirely dissimilar from the sten, in the beresaad." She paused, then her tone picked up a note of slight amusement. "But smaller."

Khari scrunched her face. Rather than genuine offense, however, it was more to keep herself from laughing than anything. “Convenient, right? I'm like a travel-sized bear. No one sees it coming." She bared her teeth in a grin, rubbing her hands together for both warmth and effect. Truthfully, she'd take that for a compliment. The Qunari were among the most formidable warriors in Thedas, physically and tactically. Her close read-throughs of the Qun had convinced her of the second part. The first needed no further proof than their success.

Speaking of which... “Amalia. That's Qunlat, right? This guy made me read the third Canto, so I've picked up a few of the original words, too." She poked Leon in the arm with her index finger. She knew both of them were people Stel knew from Kirkwall, people Lia considered like family, but really other than that she hadn't learned much at all. This was her first time really talking to them since the Graves. It was kind of a weird pair, a Qunari and a Dalish; both of them after a Magister. That part wasn't so hard to believe.

That actually seemed to surprise Amalia; her eyes flickered from Khari to Leon and back again. She crossed her arms loosely over her body. "It is. I am Tal-Vashoth, but the name is..." she shrugged. "I never found one I felt better for me, and so it remains."

A slight pause followed. Perhaps the follow-up was obvious enough. "And your name is Dalish." No doubt that wasn't the only thing. It seemed to be an invitation to elaborate on the strange nature of her fighting style, but Amalia didn't seem inclined to press too hard about it, which might have been why she never actually formed the question itself.

“Yup." Khari let the end of the word pop a little, her smile fading until it was something a little wry. “Haven't forgotten all of it, but... I'm not too good at the sneaky-arrow bit. So I learned other stuff instead. Leon helps, but that part's mostly Mick these days." She tipped her head towards the man in question. “Chevalier stuff."

"How to stab things without being stabbed in turn, mostly," Michaël clarified with a grin. The man had watched the spar with apparent interest from a distance. Perhaps making mental notes on what to include on her own training, or devising new ways to make her sore. "The theory is simple in comparison."

He then chuckled to himself lightly, and continued. "Of course, I am sure you are acquainted with the Chevalier stuff yourselves," he said, drawing the words out to tease Khari a bit. "You two were friends of Commander Lucien's, yes? He... may be the best example of what a Chevalier should be," he said to both Ithilian and Amalia.

"Still are," Ithilian said, studying the chevalier with his one remaining eye. "Of a sort. My daughter worked in his company before she came to join the Inquisition. We haven't spoken recently. Too busy on both sides, I'm sure."

Amalia tilted her head at Khari. "If your goal is to be as he is, you've chosen a difficult road. But also one with obvious merit."

She nodded once, then grimaced slightly. "Perhaps we could move our discussion indoors." She didn't outright say she was cold, but it was a fair guess that she was.

Khari nodded easily. “It's lunchtime anyway. Let's all get something to eat!" She clapped her hands together and turned on her heel, headed for the mess.

She almost couldn't think of better company.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
On the Firstday of the year 9:43 Dragon, the Inquisition marshaled the elite of their forces for an operation on the snow-covered, frozen-through lake below their home at Skyhold.

All of the Irregulars had been called into action, and a number of personal friends and allies. Rom normally would've reluctantly made his way out into the snow, bundled head to toe in furs and cloaks, but the operation in question sounded promisingly fun, in large part because it was going to be directed by Khari. Some other kind of exercise the young Dalish had practiced in their spare time, he suspected. If that was the case, he was absolutely interested, and made his way out the gate with almost a spring in his step. It was hampered a bit by the deep snow.

The surface was a little more packed down on the lake's surface, but still soft from the fresh layer made by last night's snowfall. A small crowd had assembled below, some of them easily recognizable from a distance, like Khari from her red hair or Vesryn from his lion's pelt cloak. He looked to be one of the later arrivals, but not the last. Out on the lake a sort of large playing area had been established with Inquisition flags marking separate zones, which appeared to have been altered somewhat significantly since the last time Rom had seen them. The snow had been sculpted quite intentionally, from the looks of it, laid out to resemble uneven terrain punctuated by walls of varying heights and angles, placed somewhat irregularly. There were even some pillars made out of ice jutting out of the landscape, a few straight upwards, and others leaned or collapsed. Most likely, magic had been needed to achieve that particular effect.

He made his way over to Khari, waving to a few of the others in greeting on his way. He stopped next to her, a grin working its way onto his face. "Happy Firstday to you. What's all this?"

“Happy Firstday!" She grinned back. Presently, Khari stood near to the center of the field, next to Leon. They'd been talking about something that seemed to have caught her interest; her enthusiasm was palpable. “We're playing something called capture the flag. Leon's teaching me how to be a strategist, so I'm having a match against him today."

She turned her attention to the commander for a moment, resting her hands on her hips. “So... are we gonna give everyone the rules now? Looks like most everybody I invited showed up." The last few did seem to be trickling in now, among them Lia, Ithilian, and Amalia even. She'd apparently asked quite a number to be here—at a glance, it looked like thirty or thirty-five people.

"I think we can do that, yes." Leon clapped his hands together loud enough to draw attention, then hopped up into a low snow wall to make sure everyone could see him. Not that he really needed to worry much about that in general. "Happy Firstday, everyone. I'm happy to see all of you here to help with our exercises today. For those of you who don't know yet, we're going to be playing a game of capture the flag. The team captains will be myself and Khari—for today at least, we're the commanders, and you're the armies, as it were." He paused there, smiling mildly.

"If you've never played before, the game is really quite simple. One half of this field belongs to each team. Crossing into enemy territory puts you at risk—if you are captured, you have to enter the designated prison area. Capture occurs if you're brought to the ground or incapacitated in some way, but do avoid any actual knockouts, of course." He pointed to two opposite corners of the fields, delineated by rough squares bounded by snow walls about as tall as Rom was.

"If you can breach the prison, you can free your allies by touching them. The final goal, of course, is to capture the enemy flag and bring it back to your own side." Another pause. When it was clear everyone followed, he continued. "Of course, it goes without saying that offensive magic is not allowed, but barriers are fine. One per caster at a time, though, and if it gets broken, you have to keep it down for ten seconds. Imprisoned mages may not cast. Please do follow the rulings of our designated referees when they arise." He gestured slightly behind him, where Lady Marceline, her assistants, and Zee's navigator Nixium stood.

"Now if that all makes sense, go ahead and gather here so we can split the teams."

Khari hopped up on the wall next to Leon as everyone else gathered closer. They had apparently decided already that she was picking first. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cast her eyes over the assembled members of the Inquisition. It was an impressive group, to say the least, warriors, scouts, mages, and people who slid freely between groups. It was unlikely there were many poor choices, but it was also easy to see that this was part of the strategy of the game as well.

It wasn't more than a few seconds before her jade-green eyes met his, though. She flashed her teeth in a wide smile. “I pick Rom." Not even a bit of hesitation in the decision, either.

He grinned back as he walked over to join her side. "Smart choice." From the sounds of the rules, he would be very good at this game, since bringing people to the ground was something he knew how to do quite well, and there were few enough people here that he felt would be difficult to get into that state. Half of them were going to end up on his team.

Not Amalia, though. The Tal-Vashoth woman was first picked by Leon, and Rom couldn't help but feel that was in direct reply to Khari's pick. Judging from what he'd heard of how her spar with Khari had gone, Amalia was going to be the toughest person to pin down here. Well, except perhaps for Estella, who was next picked by Khari. Teleportation seemed just a bit unfair, especially now that the other Inquisitor seemed to have gotten a solid understanding of how to do it at will with her mark.

The picks continued, back and forth. Asala to Leon, the chevalier Mick to Khari, Rilien to Leon, the Dalish Ithilian to Khari. The one-eyed elf shared a look and an amused twist of his lips with Amalia as he made his way onto the other team. Vesryn was picked next by Leon, giving a sweeping bow to the audience as he joined his side. He'd pulled the lion's head of his cloak up over his hair, looking rather ridiculous, but he seemed to enjoy it. Indeed, the steadily growing crowd on the hillsides surrounding the playing area seemed to enjoy it as well. Rom wondered if this wasn't going to become a regular diversion for the Inquisition. He could already see it potentially becoming quite competitive.

On and on the picking went, until all of the players were divided. Khari's team received an extra member, their 16th, due to the uneven amount, but Rom suspected the tiny advantage wouldn't amount to much. He largely tuned out most of the initial round of trash talking going one way or the other, instead making his way out onto the playing field with the others on his team to survey the landscape. There was going to be a lot more to this than just speed and hand to hand ability.

He could see Lia quietly pointing something out about the other side's terrain to Ithilian next to her. The older elf looked to be indulging her enthusiasm as best as he was able. Aurora and Astraia, also picked to be on Khari's team, stood nearby undoubtedly talking tactics as well, though an unmistakable grin was present on Aurora's face. Estella and her fellow Argent Lion Donnelly were seemingly not too concerned with strategics, already shoving playfully at each other a bit. Clearly, at least some of those present were glad for the reprieve the game represented.

It was easy to pick out a few of the more familiar faces on the other side as well. Cyrus stood with his arms crossed immediately next to Asala, squinting at Rom's side of the field and speaking to her, it looked like. Probably about how to make best strategic use of her magic, or something similar. Vesryn busied himself by packing down a snowball, surely the first of many. Leon was speaking to Amalia, it looked like, though he wasn't facing them, so it was hard to say for sure. Her face indicated a certain degree of amusement; her eyes periodically scanned the opposite side of the field. Rilien was there too; it wasn't long before Leon called his whole team towards himself.

Zahra had taken a stand next to two of her crew-mates, Nuka and Garland. Though, there was a sour look on her face as she gently shoved him away from her, planting one of her hands on her hips. Perhaps, exasperated that they’d been chosen on the same team. The bearded carpenter had taken to leering at her, excitedly discussing what sounded like some sort of strategy. Apparently, Nuka was having none of it. The dwarf’s arms were crossed over her chest as she scanned the perceived battlefield. From Leon’s side, Sparrow had placed herself near Amalia and Rilien. She, too, seemed to be scanning the field. Her smile was far more somber than Aurora’s, though still present. There was a sense that she was trying to appear much less enthusiastic than she was.

Once everyone was in place and more or less organized, Khari clapped her hands together. “All right everybody, strategy time!" The group gathered in a loose circle relatively quickly, more than a few of them looking pretty interested in how they were going to be approaching the game.

“First thing's first: we have an even number, so everyone pick yourself a partner." She clapped Rom on the shoulder with some exuberance. “There's a lot of sneaky types on the other team, and you can hardly defend if someone tackles you from behind, so watch your partner's back and trust them to do the same for you." There was a bit of shuffling around as everyone complied.

“All right. Lia, Ithilian, I want you guys on high ground. If they try and flank us or pull anything funny, signal us. If it's important to not shout it at me, just run it to me or something. You've got discretion if you need to come down, but we need information on their movements. Leon's a crafty bastard." She crossed her arms. “Stel and Donnelly, you're the prison rescue team. If we lose more than four people, try and get them out. Stay with the main group otherwise."

With a moment's more consideration, she glanced at her mentor. “Mick, you and Pierre are in charge of guarding our prison. We're gonna try and get their mages out of the game as soon as we can, so we need to make sure they stay out. Astraia, Zee, you guys are guarding the flag. Everyone else is with me—right in the thick of it. Mages first. It's not even really worth going after the flag until Asala's out anyway. Probably Harellan, too. Make sense?"

Zahra’s mouth twisted into a grin as she nodded her head, moving to Astraia’s side. There was no doubt that she’d do everything in her power to make sure that their flag remained out of grubby hands. “Aye, Commander,” she gave a mock salute, accompanied by a sly wink, “Sorry—always wanted to say that.”

"Would Leon even let them cross the border, do you think?" Estella considered that for a moment, and then her eyes lit with understanding. "Oh. Our first move is a kidnapping, then." She nodded, half-smiling. Her partner Donnelly was full-out grinning, clearly eager to get started.

"Can we do that?" Astraia asked, lowering the scarf from her face and glancing at the assembled crew of women overlooking the playing field, those that would be officiating the match. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands without her staff, but instead chose to crouch in the snow, poking her fingers into the snow for balance.

Rom shrugged. "We can until they tell us we can't." She laughed quietly back at him. Rom certainly had no qualms with playing a little dirty, and obviously Khari didn't either. This was no war, after all.

Their plan settled, the team prepared to engage the enemy. Lia and Ithilian had soon passed from sight when Rom looked away for a moment, but he didn't doubt they'd picked out separate locations high up on their side to use as concealed lookout points. Good for surprising those that wandered too close as well as keeping track of the playing field. Astraia and Zee hung back, while the rest formed up in a loose group along the center.

A few moments later, the game was officially underway.

Khari's strategy, unsurprisingly, involved leading from the front. She charged across the line in the middle of the field with intent, sidestepping Widget's attempt to grab her by the legs and bring her down immediately. Leon's side looked to have a few more people in the field team than they did, which meant fewer in other places, but from where they were, it wasn't easy to see who was where.

What had been a charge was forced to a halt, the teams fanning out and trying to choose their targets wisely. In enemy territory, they'd have to be more careful—they could hold down their foes or run around them, but taking them out for longer than that wasn't possible on their own turf. Khari was eyeing Cor, who stood directly in her way, arms out to either side, knees bent.

She almost certainly didn't notice the fact that Cyrus was trying to flank her, edging closer as if to get within lunging distance.

Rom, however, was doing his job as Khari's partner on the field, and made his move on Cyrus just as he committed to the flank attack on Khari. There wasn't any chance to get him thrown in their jail since they were on the enemy side, but Rom could at least get Cyrus thrown in the snow. He wasn't a weak opponent in the slightest, but the opening advantage Rom had in the engagement allowed him to get leverage underneath Cyrus after a few moves, at which point he lifted him up end over end and dumped him on his back in the snow.

Dashing away a few steps, Rom glanced to make sure Khari had handled her own end of things. "Not sure this push is going to work..."

They were certainly meeting with a formidable defense. Leon's group had been more cautious, and sent fewer people over the center line. Most of those that had crossed returned shortly anyway, a sure sign of a fake-out, designed to close the attackers in and prevent them from escaping. Not easy, as Cyrus had discovered, but certainly a strategy that took into account Khari's tendency to aggression.

The defenders weren't tentative on their own ground; Leon himself was quite the opposite, taking Reed to ground before evading a bodycheck from Hissrad, one of the few people on their team who could nearly match him for size. He wound up locked with the Lion hands closed around the Qunari's backswept horns, both of them struggling to keep traction in the snow. In the end, it was Hissrad who fell, Leon pinning him to the ground with an armbar. With a low chuckle, he rose again, jogging obligingly to the jail.

On the other side, one of Khari's mages in Aurora found her advance halted by one of Leon's in Harellan. The two were locked up in fisticuffs, which Aurora appeared to be quite a deft practitioner in, and brought to mind Amalia in her movements, but Harellan seemed able to counter her at every turn. Still, Aurora was enjoying herself, if the happy grin spread across her face was anything to go by.

One of Leon’s more brutish mages, Sparrow, was sneaking behind the lines towards Aurora’s flank. Slugging through the snow in furtive, careful steps. Quietly. What she intended to do was anyone’s guess, but it appeared as if her goal was interrupted when a roar ripped through the sound of brawling at their sides—it belonged to a much shorter individual, Khari’s wee dwarf plowing through the snow as if she were parting through the tides.

Snow flew from her hands, as she closed the distance and flung herself bodily into the white-haired woman. From the widening of Sparrow’s eyes, she certainly hadn’t expected it. They tumbled into the snow. Somehow, Sparrow managed to roll away from Nuka’s hands; regaining her feet as soon as the dwarf had. Now, they circled each other. Hands held out wide, eyes focused. Snow stuck to their clothes and hair, but there was a sense that they were having fun.

To the side, past the grappling pair, Brialle was moving much quicker through the snow. Perhaps her lithe frame had to do with it, or else she had more tricks up her sleeves than she’d shown the others. A soft hum sounded and disappeared just as quickly.

Overall, the defenders' tactics left them in a good position—several of Khari's players were taken prisoner within a relatively short span of time. In addition to Reed and Hissrad, Leon managed to bring down Garland, and Cyrus just barely caught Thalia on her way back over the line to their side. Nuka, despite valiant effort, wound up a prisoner as well, when Sparrow got an assist from Rashad.

Khari looked unsure about ordering the retreat when a cry went up from behind. It was only then that two conspicuous absences made sense: neither Amalia nor Rilien had made an appearance on the field, and they seemed odd choices for guarding either their flag or their prison. Apparently, they'd made an early attempt to take the other flag, and Astraia and Zee must have been having some trouble holding them off.

“Shit. Back over the line, guys, we can't let them get the flag!" Khari broke away from Cor and charged back, knocking Rhys to the side to make way for the withdrawal.

Fortunately, the intervention of Ithilian and Lia prevented the attempted theft, but neither Rilien nor Amalia was captured as a result, only repelled. The prisoner count was looking very good for the other team. Their next move almost certainly had to be evening the odds a bit; Khari's attention swung to Estella and Donnelly. “If we keep them busy, can you get past Ves?"

Estella exhaled a soft breath, halfway to a laugh, from the sound of it. "We'll see what we can do." She paused, exchanged a look with Donnelly, then grimaced. "Just, uh... make sure we don't have to get past Leon, Amalia, or Rilien." They veered off after that, ducking behind a snow wall and disappearing from sight.

With a heavy numerical advantage, Leon clearly felt comfortable taking the offensive. He and the majority of his field team crossed the center line. The commander wore a smile edged with a fair bit more confidence than he usually displayed. He opened his arms out to either side, arching an eyebrow at Khari in obvious invitation.

Rom was tempted to laugh. He might've, if the invitation hadn't spelled serious danger for their team here. "If ever there was a time not to accept a challenge..." He left unsaid that this was probably it. If Khari was going to be bringing Leon down, however unlikely that was, it wasn't going to happen in time for them to save their flag. It was the quickest people they needed to keep engaged, not the strongest. With their numbers thinned momentarily, Ithilian and Lia had made their way down from their positions to shore up the defense. Lia swooped in quietly to take out Cor from behind, sending him off to their prison with a grin.

"Their defense is weak now, Khari!" she advised, though what exactly should be done about that was left to their leader. Their own defense was hampered and not going to last long, not until Estella could get back with their imprisoned friends.

“No mercy!" Khari grinned. “Bring 'em all down!" She looked very tempted to engage Leon, all caution to the contrary, but she did eventually avoid him, moving to head off the light-footed Brialle instead.

They fought more to avoid being overwhelmed than anything, often finding themselves in two-on-one situations where they had to just prevent themselves from getting pinned down. Eventually the opening became clear: Leon's side was weak in defense, only a few kept in reserve. "This might be our chance," he said to Khari beside him, shoving Cyrus away to create some space. Their defense would crumble quickly without them, with even with them it wasn't going great, and it was hard to say if Estella and Donnelly would be successful in time, or if they'd succeed at all. Best to make a show of it rather than crumble slowly.

They made a break for it, taking off out of their own zone and into enemy territory. Rom could hear Signy call out their move from somewhere on his right, but with any luck there wouldn't be more than one or two people capable of responding to the attack. Before long both the flag and the prison came in sight.

They arrived just as Estella and Donnelly were making their move. Or rather, Estella was. Donnelly remained just out of Vesryn's line of sight, meaning that Estella was clearly the decoy. She jogged in a half-circle, not attempting to conceal her presence, waving jauntily at the other team's prison guard.

"So, Ves." She smiled, pulling to a stop several feet beyond his immediate reach, but close enough that it was more or less a taunt in and of itself. Settling her hands on her hips, she tilted her head to the side. "How do you figure this is going to go?"

"Well, the jail's getting pretty cramped, but I think we can find a spot for you," he smiled mischievously back at her, a fat snowball already in hand. He had a few more ready to go behind him, a personal arsenal he'd been working on since his arrival there. "A lovely suite for your extended stay." He lobbed the snowball at her head, not hard enough to hurt if it actually hit, and then made a lunging reach, trying to ensnare her arm.

"Sounds quai—" Estella yelped, ducking the snowball, but not quite twisting far enough away to avoid the grab. That, however, might have been quite intentional, because she stepped in towards him without needing to be pulled, hooking one of her feet behind one of his and trying to bring them both to ground.

That was Donnelly's signal, clearly; he sprinted from behind cover and towards the jail cell, ducking inside and touching Hissrad's shoulder first.

The prison warden didn't seem to care all that much that his charges were escaping. He and Estella had both gone to the ground, and despite the fact that she was already out once she was down and not pinning Vesryn, his greatest concern seemed to be shoving snow in her hair while laughing. The templar captain SĂ©verine made a swift run away from her defense of the flag to help slow the escaping prisoners, leaving only Asala there on guard. Rom took that as their cue to move in. It was the best chance they'd get.

“If you can pin her, I've got the barrier." Khari split off from his trajectory slightly, as though to go around slightly and approach from the side. With only one barrier, Asala'a options would certainly be limited.

"Huh, well... Help?" She asked impotently. A quick glance around would reveal no one within distance to swoop in and save, in spite of her frantic glances to find evidence to the contrary. Once they began to encroach however, Asala decided to apparently go on the offensive, her hands lit up with fade energy as she called on a barrier. Instead of enveloping herself in one of her bubbles, one sprang to life around the flag while she took a step backward. There, she settled into a martial arts stance, knees bent, hands extended, and elbows loose.

It lasted all the way up until Khari and Rom took one more step toward her, where she immediately abandoned it, and began to run around the bubble, trying to keep her distance from them. "Two against one isn't fair!" she whined as she ran.

Khari snorted. “Two against one and a barrier, you mean." She seemed less inclined to care about chasing Asala and more about breaking the barrier to get at the flag, which was probably wise if they only had a limited amount of time before defenders would be rushing back towards it again. She threw herself into the bubble shoulder first, bouncing off mostly harmlessly, then grunted and tried again. The hit was harder that time. No doubt enough of them would do the job, but they might not have time for so many hits.

"Khari," Rom said, grabbing her shoulder when she reared back for another strike. Asala's barriers had stood up to more than punches, and he doubted they had the time to beat them down. Instead, he gestured for her to circle around the flag to the left, while he took the right. Asala's barriers were stronger, but she was not faster than either of them, and would probably find it harder to keep a shield up while being tackled to the ground.

“Right." Khari stepped back from the shield, then immediately went left, picking up into a sprint with her usual indefatigable energy. Her arms, she spread out to either side, watching Asala intently to try and pick out the direction she'd flee in. The grin on her face suggested that she was not intimidated by Asala's full foot in height advantage.

And obviously, she did not want to test Khari's ferocity. Instead of trying to get around her, Asala turned tail and ran away from her, letting out an exaggerated squeal as she fled. Laughter punctuated each yelp, however, so at least she was having fun.

Rom was more efficient than ferocious, diving to ensnare Asala's legs and bring her down. Immediately he scrambled for her hands, pinning them to the ground and making sure she had no easy way to continue casting her barriers. He could hear heavy footfalls coming their way, though, obviously not Khari's. Turning to look, he saw SĂ©verine rushing back, apparently having done all she could with the escaping prisoners. Rom met Khari's eyes, wild with excitement. "Get the flag, go!"

She made a lunge for it, snatching it up from where it had been staked in the ground, pole and all. It wouldn't make a bit of difference if SĂ©verine managed to catch her, so she bolted, sprinting at full tilt towards the center line. Following her trajectory, he could see a commotion on their side of the field. Even as Khari just barely brushed by the templar captain's outstretched hands, their own flag was airborne, Amalia tossing it deftly to Rilien and immediately throwing herself at the closest of those giving chase, which looked to be Aurora.

They went to the ground, and Rilien was across the line three strides later, flag in-hand and victory conditions met. Khari stopped only about three yards from the line, brandishing the flag in her hand with some humor at Leon.

“You sneaky bastard. We were this close." she gestured to the roughly ten feet separating herself from the line.

Leon smiled in his usual mild fashion. "That you were." He didn't seem like he'd been particularly concerned, though. "Now... what do you think I'm going to say about your opener?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella was nearly soaked through from melted snow, flakes of it yet clinging to her clothes and in particular her hair. Ves's fault, of course. But the game had taken a fair amount of effort out of everyone, so she was far from alone in her bedraggled appearance. Those were offset by the clear enjoyment on most of the faces present; in addition to being physically demanding, the game had been a lot of fun, something she thought they all sorely needed. Though her team were not the victors, she was feeling pretty good, all things considered.

She wasn't sure exactly who suggested heading to the Herald's Rest afterwards to warm up by the tavern's fires, but most everyone seemed to think it was a good idea, and so they began their trek back to Skyhold proper, passing under the gates with most of the conversation still revolving around the game. Khari and Leon seemed to be taking that most seriously; probably he was giving her actual feedback on her strategy. That was what it had been for, after all. Estella couldn't help but smile to herself at the thought. Khari was really... it was almost like she could see her friend finding herself, and growing into that person she was going to be someday. She hadn't ever really seen something like that before. It was pretty incredible.

The main gate closed behind them, meaning that the tavern was in sight. Estella tried to dust a few more snowflakes off herself; the group of them would be tracking a lot of water into the pub, after all. She squeezed a fair bit more out of her ponytail.

"I think hot food and a fire are going to be just about perfect at the moment," she mused. She was walking closest to Ves and Cy, so they were probably the only ones who heard. Not that she particularly required a response to that.

"Add drinks to that and it might just be enough to recover from my wrath," Ves added teasingly. He'd taken the lion's pelt off his head, the cloak draped over his shoulders normally now. He hadn't exerted himself quite as much as most of the others, the majority of his efforts going into playfully harassing Estella. Apparently his team had been more than enough to carry him to victory.

"The wrath of Lord Snowball," Romulus added from behind them, having overheard Ves's louder voice. "A terrible thing to witness."

Vesryn turned to walk backwards, grinning in surprise. "Was that a joke from the Lord Inquisitor?" He glanced at Estella, lowering his voice. "It's a sign, I think. Going to be a good year." He turned back around, walking with a spring in his step. He'd pointed out a few Inquisition soldiers on their way back up, who had taken to using their shields as makeshift sleds. Some were more effective than others at it, but Vesryn had been certain his own tower shield would outdo them all. No doubt he'd want to try it before long.

"And here we are." He made sure to be the first of their three to reach the door to the Herald's Rest, pulling it open for her and Cy. "After you..." The look in his eye had become mischievous again, giving away that he knew something she didn't.

The Herald’s Rest looked entirely transformed—as if they’d stepped into another tavern altogether. It certainly wasn’t anything Estella remembered. Someone had gone to great lengths to decorate every nook and cranny; including the rafters overhead. Long streamers of purple and blues hung from the wooden beams. Paper stars were tied to their ends, folded in varying sizes. The wind moved them about as Vesryn opened the door. The light was softer here, perhaps intentionally so. Several decorative lanterns offered a warm ambiance, set in the middle of each table. Flickering candlelight shone a soft ember, though if one were to glance at the ceiling
 small, shadowy stars painted there. Dancing each time the light flickered.

The fireplace had been lit and decorated as well. Though some space had been left in the center, bereft of any furniture. There were, however, a pair of chairs and lutes, set off to the side. Cards, dice, and several unusual games were set atop one of the furthest tables. Some of the residents of the tavern were moving to designated locations behind the bar, all grins as the door was pushed open.

All of the tables had been pushed together in a horseshoe shape, and as if the Maker had heard Estella’s musing wish, they had already been prepared for a feast. Brialle was setting the last of the plates across the tables; expression merry. Clearly she’d disappeared sometime during the festivities. Now, it became clear where she’d gone off to. She brushed her hands off across the front of her apron and gave a little flourish towards the tables, neatly set with an array of silver platters. Cups and plates, as well as folded napkins were set at each table. Gaudy pillows and soft furs were placed along the benches. The arrangement was stifling to say the least. It was difficult to know where to begin.

The smell greeted them soon after they passed the threshold of the door. The largest table had a platter of still-sizzling round roast in a bed of jewel-sized potatoes, paired with onions, garlic and various herbs, as well as four bowls of cooked vegetables at its side. Another platter took up most of the space: several roasted pheasants and stuffed birds arrayed in a line. To the side, various cheeses and freshly-baked breads; cakes and tarts and small, fist-sized pies. The selection of wine was impressive, as well. Each table had three bottles surrounding the lanterns. Squinting from the door, the bottles themselves looked awfully familiar to Estella. Off to the side, three casks of something sat at the ready.

There was a larger cake, as well. Set across the nearest table, candles already lit. Whoever had done it had taken measures to layer it three times, with white icing as the filling. Strawberries and raspberries were set across the lip.

It became clear what this was: a celebration.

There were only a few things Estella could think of to be celebrating in quite this fashion. And for it to be this day in particular—could it really be? Her hand moved up to her mouth; she turned around, backing a few paces more into the room, only to observe Cy and Zee exchanging some kind of mutual congratulations in gestures. She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat, letting her hand drop a few inches, just enough to speak.

"Is... is this...?"

Her brother arched an eyebrow, clearly somewhat amused by her reaction. “What else would it be?" He tilted his head to the side, his tone softening along with his expression, shifting from the wry to the wholly sincere. “Happy birthday, Stellulam."

Estella made a soft noise, something akin to a muffled squeak. All of this was really...?

She'd never really celebrated her birthday. There hadn't been a whole lot of cause to do so, in Tevinter, and any recognition of the event was usually something quiet, swallowed up easily by the more general festive mood of Firstday. And after, well. Maybe there'd been more to celebrate, but she'd never really told anyone when it was. So she knew right away that the idea had to have been Cyrus's—and surely he was the only one who knew her preferred brandy. But this had Zee's fingerprints all over it, even before considering that Brialle was certainly responsible for the food itself. And the look on Ves's face could only mean he'd known as well, and probably had something to do with it all.

It was kind of funny, that in the middle of this big beautiful decorated room with all the things to look at, she couldn't quite make herself turn around. "I'm... everyone, I... you're going to make me cry," she said, only half-joking. She could feel emotion welling up in her chest, pressing against her heart in a way that was wonderful and terrible and made her feel so full of warmth and love and happiness.

Her lips trembled; Estella did the only thing she could thing to do. She launched herself for her brother, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. She could feel him return it just as strongly, his arms around her shoulders. They were still dripping water on the floor and all, but it bothered him no more than her. "Thank you, Cy." she mumbled it into his shirt, then let go with one arm to motion the other two over as well. "You're not getting out of this either. Blame yourselves for helping."

"Best Firstday ever?" Ves asked, making his way over to them as the others took up the door, everyone piling into the tavern's warmth. He worked himself into the hug, pressing his lips briefly against the wet hair on the side of Estella's head. "I think so. Happy birthday, you two."

A laugh sounded as Zahra entered through the door. Her footsteps sounded jaunty. There was a little skip in her step as she approached them. Though it was the expression on her lips that said it all. Like a kitten who’d gotten into all the milk. She weaseled her way into the hug and settled a hand softly against the back of Estella’s head, “Happy birthday, Stel. You too, Cy.” She patted Vesryn on the back with her other hand and grinned broadly, “Knew you could do it, Ves. Well done.”

“All right, all right. This is all very touching, but the rest of us can't eat till you sit down, Stel, so park it." Khari, all big grins and false huffiness, pointed to an empty bench near the center of things, just big enough to seat the four of them still standing.

Cyrus snorted under his breath, breaking the hug first and gesturing the rest of them to precede him. He sat on Stel's left, between her and Zee, leaving the right side for Vesryn. True to form among friends, there wasn't really any standing on ceremony after that, and everyone happily dug in. Cy poured a snifter full from one of the bottles of brandy; up close there was no mistaking that it was the honeyed kind from Vol Dorma. He pushed it towards her with a knowing smile. “Remember the time we drank an entire bottle of this next to the pond in the Chantry garden?"

"I remember," Estella replied archly, "but I'm quite surprised you do." He'd done most of the drinking, after all. They were fifteen, and he'd stolen it from Cassius, and it was more his idea than hers to even do it, but that was sort of the way of things back then.

Glancing across the table, she noted that Asala didn't have any sort of cup next to her. "Do you want to try some, Asala? It's my favorite—it's sweet enough that it won't burn too much, if you're not used to drinking." She took up the half-empty bottle and set it down halfway across the table, so Asala could reach it easily if she so desired.

“Of course, she would,” Zahra’s grin only widened as she stood up and reached over the table. She filled Asala’s cup with the brandy and set the bottle back down on the table. Like always, it didn’t seem as if she would take no for an answer. There was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she plopped back down in her chair and filled her own glass with red wine, watching her from her peripherals. Her expression hadn’t simpered in the slightest. “There’s no better day to let loose. You know, have a little fun. Unless it’s a little too strong for you.”

It sounded awfully like a challenge.

Asala pursed her lips and stuck her tongue out at Zee in response to her challenge. The glass in front of her, however, she gave a more tentative gaze before she took a hold of it. She held it up in front of her for a moment, before looking at everyone else who had gathered around and shrugged. "Cheers," she said, taking a drink of the brandy. The reaction was subtle at first, but still noticeable. Her shoulders hitch slightly and there was a twitch to her head as she guided the glass back down to the table. She tried to hide a small cough before she nodded. "It's good," she smiled through another twitch.

Estella raised her brows a little—it probably wasn't entirely wise to take Zee's advice in this particular case, but she knew that their raider friend wouldn't do any real harm, so she elected to keep her silence about it.

As the food gradually disappeared, a few of the partygoers stood, mingling more freely amongst themselves. Not long after, Rilien and Brialle both took up the lutes next to the chairs. It seemed minimal conferral was necessary before they struck upon a song they both knew, and music filled the tavern, a light sort of tune that made for easy dancing. Eventually, Larissa made her way up toward them too, adding her practiced voice to the song. No few of the guests took the easy hint, while others lingered in their seats.

There was just enough brandy warming Estella's body for her to turn to Ves. "What do you think?" she asked, half smiling. "Am I clear to dance in public, or would that be far too embarrassing for the both of us?" She knew she'd improved considerably, of course—the words were too light to be completely serious.

"I think if they don't like your dancing, they'll just have to deal with it." Ves looked pleasantly surprised that she'd asked first, and pushed his chair back. It had been adorned with his white pelt since he sat down, the combined heat of the tavern and the brandy and the bodies prompting him to dress as though it were summer. She'd never known him to flush from embarrassment, so it was likely the brandy that colored his face as he stood and offered his hand down to her. "Shall we?"

She nodded, fitting her hand into his and rising to extract herself from the bench. They slid easily into the small knot of other dancers, and Estella didn't let herself think about how well she was remembering the motions, or how clumsy she was or was not being. It was her birthday party, dammit, and he was right. If she was dancing badly, everyone else could just deal with it.

Around them, others joined the floor; Lia and Astraia to one end, Khari and Cor not trying very hard to follow any recognizable pattern in another. It looked like either Aurora had asked Donnelly to join her or the other way around, because they were in the mix as well. Donnelly was far too red in the face for it to be entirely because of alcohol, but he was grinning like a fool. Estella almost laughed at him, but she kind of knew what that felt like, these days.

“I don't think I need to ask if you can dance." Surprise of all surprises, Cy was the speaker, his tone more playful than she'd heard in a while. He swept a deliberately overly-fancy bow at Zee of all people, his smile entirely facetious. “So I suppose what is left to ask is whether you'd do me the honor, dear Captain."

From the looks of it, Zahra had a smudge of red across her cheeks as well. A mixture of wine, and brandy and whatever else she’d extracted from the ridiculously large kegs pushed up into the corner of the tavern. She inclined her head at him and arched a sly eyebrow as she took up his hand in hers and rose from her seat. A laugh was ready on her lips. Perhaps, because he was right about her knowing how to dance. Or else, he’d surprised her in some other way. Drunk or no, her movements were languid. Graceful, even. “With pleasure.”

Surprisingly enough, she allowed him to lead her on between the other dancers and twirled to the beat of the quickened notes. Brialle and Larissa’s dulcet voices rose around them, as they sang something merrier. She danced as if no one was watching anyway. All wild hair and toothy grins. Though it appeared as if she were still being attentive to Cyrus’ lead.

When the first song ended and the next began, the partners rotated freely. Estella wound up with her brother, and then Cor, and then Khari, which made her grin. They found themselves next to Zee again, who had apparently dragged Asala onto the floor at some point. On their other side, a perplexed-looking Leon was attempting to mimic Sparrow's steps. Estella was sure that if he was used to any kind of dancing, this wasn't it, but he was catching on.

Asala appeared to have been trying to attack the drinks that Zee had poured her, as she had vibrant flush to her face, and her steps were anything but sure. However, the blush stripped away what inhibitions she might've had, since she was laughing and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. On one pass, she was close enough to hear her speak. "You have... the prettiest hair," Asala said cheerily, having plucked a lock from Zee's shoulders and running her fingers through it.

Apparently, this was not at all what Zahra was expecting. A spluttering cough sounded. If it was at all possible, her ears reddened a more mottled shade. Her cough transformed itself into nervous chuckle as she spun her in a circle. Perhaps, to cause a bit of distance, before dragging her back in and taking up one of her hands, eyes alight. “Y-yes, well. Thank you, kitten.” Whatever momentary lapse of composure there was soon disappeared as she lead them into a more sprightly dance, tossing her head in another one of her telltale laughs.

It wasn't long after that someone—Leon, it seemed—produced a deck of cards from somewhere. He waved them slightly at the assembled. "Anyone interested in playing? I'm open to suggestions for games."

Estella glanced at Khari, then shrugged. "How about it?"

“Sure!" Khari, slightly red under her freckles and vallaslin, likely wouldn't have minded just about anything at the moment. Linking her arm with Estella's, she walked them over to the table, which a few people were hastily clearing off. “What are we gonna play?"

“Wicked Grace is the standard in these situations, is it not?" The sly look on Cyrus's face suggested that the input was meant more to provide him some amusement than to encourage adherence to any sort of tradition. “Who are the contenders, then?" He made a show of glancing around.

“How devious,” The cooed statement was more of a tease than anything else as Zahra approached the table and plopped down in one of the benches. Elbows already placed on the table. It seemed as if she were already volunteering to play as well. She smiled and arched one of her eyebrows, “I take it you won’t be joining us?”

Off to her right side, and a few seats down, Sparrow had already seated herself and was scouring the table for the other contenders. There was a slight tilt to her lips, barely a smile, though from her posture, she seemed confident in her ability to participate. She hadn’t said a word. Perhaps, that was the beginning of the game she planned to play.

Marceline on the other hand seemed to float toward the table, taking a seat on the other side deftly. Unsurprisingly she had a wine glass in hand, and she held it close to her mouth as she eyed the other contenders. A rather predatory look had fixed itself on her face, though she was smiling, but for what it was worth did seem to be enjoying herself, if the tiny stain of wine on her collar was anything to go by. "It has been a long time since I last played Wicked Grace, so forgive me if I seem rusty," she said with a quick flutter in the corner of her lips. Michaël however, backed down shaking his head as he found a seat within watching distance.

Asala on the other looked like she thought about it, but before she decided anything turned toward Cyrus with a little sway. "Wicked Grace?" She asked.

Estella wasn't quite close enough to hear whatever words her brother used to explain the key points of the game, but her face soon lit up in a blush, and she shook her head intently. A moment passed however and she glanced at the table, and she spoke again, loud enough for Estella to hear. "I think I will watch, thank you."

"I'm in," Romulus declared, rejoining the group now that the dancing was done. He looked quite at ease with the idea of playing cards. Perhaps it was something he'd gained experience in back in Tevinter.

Vesryn no doubt had experience as well, as anyone that had spent time in a mercenary company would. "Well, at least I won't have far to go after I've lost my clothes to you all," said Vesryn, picking his spot at the table and plopping himself down into it. "Shame, really." It seemed he had experience both at winning and losing, and it was hard to tell which one he was looking forward to more, judging by the gleam in his eye.

Estella situated herself at the table as well, next to Khari, settling into her chair while Leon shuffled his deck and dealt everyone their hands. It looked like there were going to be eight players in total, then: herself, Leon, Ves, Romulus, Khari, Zee, Sparrow, and Marcy. She wasn't exactly surprised that Cy was electing not to participate, but she didn't comment on the choice, preferring not to risk making him uncomfortable about it.

When her first two cards were in front of her, she slid them facedown to the edge of the table and turned the corners up for a quick look. Not great, but not bad. She could make something of that—the game was mostly about bluffing anyway.

The turn started to the dealer's left, with Khari.

Along with the cards, everyone had received a small stack of chips, the necessary skill buffer before clothing items started to go. Khari looked at her cards, picking them up rather than leaving them on the table, but she held them close to her chest. Picking up two chips from the top of her pile, she gave them a little toss into the middle, starting the bet off relatively conservatively.

Estella matched the bet, more interested in using the first round to gauge strategy and the comparative strength of everyone's Gracefaces rather than winning it outright. Rilien had taught her to play, after all, and he always had an eye to the long game.

Romulus folded immediately, apparently having received quite a dreadful hand and not feeling like attempting a bluff. Ves, however, went for a raise, doubling the amount that Khari had thrown in. "Don't be shy now, little bear. No glory in that."

“No glory in losing, either." Khari apparently wasn't going to be so easily goaded this time around.

"This is not the best game to play, if one is indeed shy," Lady Marceline mused, as she too folded.

Sparrow made a small noise in the back of her throat as she folded as well. A sigh sifted from her lips as she arched an eyebrow and watched the others. Her expression bore a fine resemblance to a mask; comparatively calmer to the aggression she’d shown on the battlefield. Though, she kept one of her elbows on the table, fingers loose.

Zahra tossed her head back in a laugh, fanning her face with her cards. It was difficult to tell if she had a good Graceface, a decent set of cards, or was just enjoying herself. Her eyes were alight as she, too, raised the bet by one, pinching the chips from her little pile and pushing them forward, “Let’s be honest, that’s the best part of the game.”

The first hand went to Estella, when her cards proved superior to those few who'd stuck out the betting rounds. It was enough that she pulled forward a sizeable number of chips. Over the next few, she built her lead, and learned quite quickly that the ones to watch for were Leon, Lady Marceline, Romulus, and Sparrow. By what she guessed was the halfway point in the game, she had a stack of chips about triple the size of the one she'd started with. Leon had about broken even, and looked a little relieved by the fact when the game temporarily paused for cake and he actually took stock of the others.

Romulus had won and lost, but his losses were almost always modest, and his wins were substantial. It left him with more than he started with, but not as much as Estella had accrued. It was enough that he was starting to look quietly pleased with himself, though he was able to keep any tells related to his hands well in check. He spent most of the break observing the other piles of chips, or lack thereof in the case of those that started losing clothing.

Ves was among the first of these, having already lost his boots. Instead of his socks he'd elected to lose his shirt instead, claiming that he put quite a great value on the warmth of his toes. Truly, he looked more entertained by losing than the successful players did by winning, and before long he'd put the lion's pelt on his head again, the paws of which settled somewhere over his abdominal muscles. He was obviously enjoying himself, and the effect he knew he could have on others, whether it was wanted or not. He did actually seem to be trying, he was just... rather recklessly brave with his cards when there was no reason to be, and made bluffs that were all too easy to call.

Estella had stopped looking at him directly, which was thankfully easy enough given that he was next to her, but that just made things difficult for other reasons. Fortunately, she was good at nothing so much as narrowing her focus when she needed to, and compartmentalizing. Both were talents she was making good use of presently.

Khari was down to one sock, but she obviously had very different priorities from Ves when it came to which articles she was willing to lose, as her shirt remained quite in place. The fault in her strategy was simply that her Graceface—like her face at every other time—was very readable; she actually knew quite well when to fold and when to hold, so to speak.

Cyrus seemed to be highly amused by what unfolded in front of him; he'd insinuated himself between Estella and Khari, and only a few well-placed elbows had stopped him from giving hints to the opposition.

Zahra’s expression had twisted itself with each bluff called and article lost—she’d been accumulating a pile of clothes at the foot of her chair, rather than any chips she’d been so confident in winning. She didn’t seem to particularly mind losing her clothes, but appeared more frustrated at the fact that she’d been caught trying to steal from the discard pile. Her Graceface hadn’t held up nearly as well as she may have hoped for. She’d lost her boots and socks and was in the process of unfastening her vest, revealing lacy undergarments, mumbling something about another bloody awful hand and cursed cards.

Sparrow was doing much better than her nearly naked neighbour. In fact, it didn’t appear as if she were missing anything at all. Estella may have spotted her remove one of her boots
 but aside from that, she’d been slowly gaining on her. The expression on her face hadn’t changed, though a pinch of amusement crinkled at the corners of her eyes.

Marceline had not been lying when she said she had been rusty, losing a number of her chips due to playing overly cautiously. However, as her wine glass steadily drained, she grew bolder, and it didn't help matters that she seemed to have slid back into the groove of it by the intermission, having begun the process of winning her chips back. The fact did not seem to be lost on her, as she began to exude an air of confidence, or perhaps it was just her Graceface. It was always hard to tell with Marceline, but for once, she did seem to be enjoying herself, laughing easier as the flush on her cheeks grew.

Asala on the other hand, had spent her time wandering around the table and taking peeks at everyone's cards. The sway she'd obtained had gotten worse, as she held another glass of whatever Zee had deigned to pour her. She'd apparently gotten over the bite of the alcohol, or maybe had enough that it didn't matter any more. Either way, the liquor had done its job of getting her to open up and act without any of her lingering reticence. Eventually, she came to hover behind Vesryn, her attention divided between his cards and the lion's pelt on his head. At least, until the pelt won out, and she began to lovingly stroke its head.

"If you lose," she started, swaying slightly in the breeze, "I want to wear him. If you lose. But I believe in you." She added with a beaming smile.

"Ah, but first I would have to bet him," Ves replied, tilting his head back so that his eyes could peer up at the drunken Qunari from between two of the lion's teeth. Apparently he didn't mind being pet by her, or at least he was more skilled at concealing those reactions. "And there are some things I'm not willing to leave to chance." He grinned, though, and pushed the pelt back from his head. "Who am I to deny that face, though? Go on, try not to get any of that brandy on it." He shrugged off the pelt and handed it up to her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to undress me."

“Think you're doing plenty of that all by yourself, Ves." Khari rolled her eyes at him in an exaggerated fashion, taking a large gulp from her tankard in the meantime.

She appeared to think the next round was one worth staking her luck on, though, because her remaining sock went in the initial round, followed by her shirt, something which she didn't appear to have any real reservations about. The cloth bands she used to bind herself weren't even half as racy as Zee's undergarments, to be sure. Her training had clearly been good for her; she grinned a little and flexed her bicep, patting the swell of muscle with her other hand. “You're welcome, everyone." Her tone was quite sarcastic, but either the drink or a considerable amount of self-confidence meant she did at least seem to be quite unashamed.

For just a moment, Estella's blank visage cracked; she snickered. Romulus shifted more in his seat than he had since the game started, but by the time Estella could direct her gaze in his direction, he'd fixed his eyes firmly on his cards.

Rather surprisingly, Asala didn't blush at Ves's remark, and seemed to have handled it smoothly. She accepted the lion's pelt giddily and threw it over her head, her horns spaced just right so that they framed the lion's snout. She spun a bit in place, letting the rest of the cloak flutter, before she settled down and continuing to pet the paw that was draped over her chest. She adjusted for a moment before she finally looked back down to Vesyrn. "It is not me you should worry about, Ves," she said, before tossing a gaze toward Estella and her pile of chips.

After that, her neck sunk into her shoulders as she giggled to herself, and began to make her rounds around the table again, probably on the lookout for more clothing to steal.

The round continued, a few people losing additional chips or articles to the betting. When everyone left turned over their cards, Khari cursed. Her hand was only the second-strongest, meaning Romulus took the round. “I'm out." She declared it firmly. “I like you guys a lot, but not enough to take my pants off." She eyed her tunic, and then Romulus, tipping her head sideways and grinning at him.

“Do best friend ever privileges get me my tunic back, or are you gonna leave me out in the cold?"

Romulus was either surprised that he'd won, or more likely just flustered at the situation he'd been caught in, which was probably obvious to almost everyone in the room, save for those that had consumed copious amounts of drink and the particularly oblivious. "Uh, yeah," he laughed awkwardly, taking his secured chips and pushing the tunic back in her direction.

"Well, probably best for me to quit now, while I'm ahead," Ves said, smiling slyly at Estella. "It seems my attempt to throw you off your game was unsuccessful. Remarkable focus you have there."

She cleared her throat, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, careful to meet his. He hardly needed her to confirm that he was testing her concentration. He knew it already, the smarmy rakehell. "Is that what that was?" she replied with feigned obliviousness, tone light and airy. "I hadn't noticed."

Zahra hadn’t fared well at all. The neat pile of clothes had become an unruly mess kicked to the side of her chair. There was a pull to her thick eyebrows as she leaned closer to the table in what may have been an attempt to hide her breasts, arms crossed over them. She’d already peeled off her pants, though she’d been lucky enough to have been knocked out of the game before she entirely embarrassed herself. Whether it was the warmth of brandy in her belly that made her not care at her state of undress or some sort of unspoken habit, she didn’t seem all that disturbed.

“I’m out,” The captain waggled her eyebrows at them and lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug, “The flirting at this table is palpable though. Very entertaining.” It appeared she didn’t mind so much. The losing bit. Her grin had already begun pulling up the corners of her mouth.

Sparrow hummed a sound of assent before sliding her own cards across the table. A smile stretched the scar across her face, seeming far more genuine, and breaking the composure she’d built so far, “Me too.” Her state of undress was far less discernible, though she bent to pull on her socks and lace her boots. Afterwards, she rose from her seat and inclined her head in a nod before wandering off towards the fireplace where Brialle, Rilien and Larissa still lingered. Possibly discussing music and the like.

That left four: Leon, Estella, Romulus, and Lady Marceline.

Leon put up a valiant effort, but he was clearly not as experienced a player as the others, and his ability to hide his tells only served so well against three people who understood the strategic components of this particular game very well. He recused himself after the loss of his shirt, which Estella returned to him right after, given the apparent discomfort it caused him.

She couldn't really fathom why, but perhaps he was self-conscious about the number of scars he had. That, she could certainly relate to.

Getting from three to two took much longer, at which point Romulus lost out by a narrow margin and took his leave from the table. Lady Marceline was a crafty opponent, but Stel had played this game against someone with literally no tells, and had refined her Graceface to compete. Though the margin of victory wasn't wide, it was more than enough to ensure that even her boots remained on her person, and Lady Marceline conceded about an hour after the game had begun.

At that point, she stood, recognizing the signs of the party winding down. Most of the guests had things to do in the morning and had understandably left during the game, and the tavern was beginning to look a bit like a ruin. Estella caught sight of Asala under a table and flinched.

"That floor is not going to be comfortable," she mused, glancing at Leon. "Can you help me with her?"

He nodded. "Of course."

Estella crouched next to the Qunari woman, picking someone's sock off one of her horns with a fondly-exasperated sigh. Ves's pelt proved a little harder to extract, but she was sure he'd prefer to get it back intact and relatively clean, so they worked it out from underneath Asala and returned it to its rightful owner.

She doubted Leon needed any help carrying her, but at least she could open the doors. After a few goodbyes, thank-yous, and a gesture towards Asala in lieu of a lengthier explanation, they departed.

After the healer was safe in bed—and turned on her side—Leon left a glass of water and a health potion on her nightstand, along with a note in Estella's handwriting.

Water first, then the potion. You had a bit too much fun last night, but there's nothing to worry about.

And for once, there really wasn't.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The room Khari shared with Widget in the barracks admittedly wasn't much. Bunk beds, pushed up both of the side walls. Since the other pair had never been filled, they just had one each, and had more or less divided the room along the center line, though neither of them was remotely territorial about it. Widget's half had a small desk, usually covered with mechanical bits and pieces or charts that Khari didn't know how to make much sense of. Khari's just had various pieces of armor, stacked as nicely as she could get them, whatever weapons she was borrowing from the armory, and then clothes, folded and stuffed into a loaner trunk at the end of her bottom bunk. Her desk had a couple of books on it, at least.

The Inquisition was never getting back the one Stel had given her, but she was pretty good about returning anything else she took in a timely manner, at least.

Right now, her half also had a few souvenirs from the visit back to her clan she'd made near the end of last year. One item in particular might have been at home in a room belonging to any other Dalish elf, but definitely not Khari. She kept forgetting it was there, actually, and being reminded only when she staggered back into her room at the end of a long day of training, dog-tired and in need of the sleep she snatched between the late hours of the night and the hour before sunrise, when she got up to do it all again.

But Mick was doing something or other with his family today, and so Khari had an unusual amount of free time. When she walked past the bow yet again, she finally found herself in a position to do something about it.

Better yet... she might be able to kill two birds with one arrow. Metaphorically, at least. Khari was a shit shot, and she didn't really care to spend the time she'd need to change that. A bow was hardly useful to someone who spent her time in the middle of melee, and had to get in people's faces to fight. But that didn't change the fact that her mom made really damn good ones, nor the fact that Khari was just a little bit of a shit, and a little bit petty. So she'd stolen it, of course, in the wee hours before departing Dirthavaren with Rom.

Great. There was the other bird.

Shaking her head to herself, Khari unbuckled her vambraces, shucking her armor like a snake sloughing off old skin, stacking it with the rest and wiping herself down before donning a new shirt, a white one with billowy sleeves, and then shrugging a leather vest on over. It was still cold as, well, the mountains in winter, so she pulled on her cloak, too, then shrugged the strung bow over her shoulder. It felt weird, but thankfully it would only be temporary.

Whoever had designed Skyhold had been smart enough to know that the tavern went right near the barracks, so it didn't take too long to get there. Ducking in through the door, Khari was immediately smothered in the familiar bubble of warmth from the constantly-burning fires, and let out a soft breath. It didn't take her long to find who she was looking for—Zee was in her usual spot, and apparently Stel was with. That worked out pretty well, she supposed.

“It's a party and I wasn't invited. That's cruel, you guys." She grinned, obviously not even slightly offended, and waved slightly from where she was before traipsing over to where they sat, plopping herself down on the bench next to Stel, on one of those squashy pillows Zee seemed to have filled the place with. The bow knocked awkwardly against the wood, reminding her of its presence. Oh. Right.

Shrugging it off her shoulder, Khari lifted it and set it down on the table. “I got you a thing, Zee. Stole it, actually. From my folks. Figured you might like it even better if it was contraband." Her grin spread, and she retracted her hand, leaving the gleaming length of polished ironbark on the tabletop. It had been stained dark, left to soak in dark purple berry dye of all things. It had a really nice color because of it, almost black but still just barely a mulberry hue. Not without purpose—it would be harder to see that way than if it had been left the pale shade of natural ironbark. It was carved with the traditional symbols and designs of Andruil. There was no getting around that with her mom. She might be a craftsperson now, but she'd been a huntress first, and Khari knew she still was one, in her heart.

It appeared as if Zee was knee-deep into whatever boisterous conversation she was having Stel, hands gesturing wildly and lips pulled into a smile. There may have been a waggle of eyebrows, though Khari hadn’t been close enough to hear the subject at hand. As soon as she’d plopped down at their table, she’d turned her head and swung her languid gaze in her direction, feigning an apologetic pout, “But you’re always so busy with
 all that sweating and running and swinging heavy things.” She knuckled at her nose, “Besides, you know the party never starts without you.”

She’d chosen to wear one of her loose brown vests and a billowy, laced shirt underneath, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Whatever furred cloak she’d been wearing was draped across the top of the bench she was lounging in. Those who were in the Herald’s Rest appeared to be simply eating or huddled by the fire, holding their hands out. Some of her crew lingered in the background and it appeared as if Brialle had taken up a peculiar-sounding instrument in hand, strumming soft notes and humming along with it. Her practices had become more frequent as of late, possibly due to the endless inspiration the Inquisition provided.

There was a moment of startled silence when Khari settled the bow across the table. She uncrossed her leg and abruptly stood up, hands planted across the surface of the table. It nearly upset the glasses she and Stel had there, though they maintained their balance. “Bloody hell...” it came out as a whisper, disbelief coloring her features. She reached over and traced a fingertip down the limb, slipping her it off the bow’s neck. Only then did she snatch it up in her hands, moving away from the table in order to inspect it properly. She turned it this way and that, towards the light of the lantern. Plucked at the bowstring, and briefly brought herself into position, as if she had an enemy in her sights.

The excitement had only grown since first sighting the bow. A shit-eating grin curled across her mouth as she spun back towards Khari, bow tucked close to her chest. Whatever tests she’d been doing while they sat there appeared to have been successful. The result was clear. She’d rejected so many others before. But this one was different. “You stole it for me?” Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and she laughed. Loudly. “It’s wonderful. The weight. The feel. It’s—I haven’t seen such craftsmanship in ages, I mean it. Thank you. Thank you.”

Like a child who’d been given candy on their nameday, Zee’s jubilation was as palpable as the warmth of the fireplace.

"From your family?" Stel wore an obvious smile, watching Zee handle her new bow with the obvious joy she had. Perhaps it was infectious. "So it's Dalish, then? Looks like you got the best, Zee." She raised her glass to her lips and took a sip, clearly quite amused, and inclined to prod things along.

Khari huffed a laugh, leaning her elbows on the table and picking up what had previously been Zee's glass. Wine, by the look of it. That'd do, and it wasn't like her pirate friend would care if she stole a bit. Tipping it back, she took a hearty swallow, swiping the pad of her thumb along her lower lip to catch the slight excess there. “You got it. My mom's the head crafter for the clan. That's her work—she invented that dye from scratch. Pretty, isn't it?"

Just because she'd once carried around the ugliest banged-up sword in the Inquisition didn't mean she failed to appreciate that kind of thing. It was a good bow. She knew that without knowing the first thing about them, because her mom wasn't the kind of person who ever cut a corner or took a shortcut or left anything to chance or the hands of lesser craftsmen. Khari'd been on the foul end of that relentless perfectionism before. It felt kinda nice to have something to show for it. That bow might save Zee's life someday. But she'd happily settle for the grin on her face if it never needed to. “Test it out later and tell me how it shoots. I'll pass it along next time I write."

“Ironbark?” It wasn’t a question but rather an awed mumble, as Zee held up the bow to her face, and inspected it further. From the looks of it, she’d at least heard of it though it wasn’t likely she’d ever seen it up close before, or held something crafted from it in her hands. Her eyes were dancing as she tapped her finger along the traditional engravings swirled across the sides, twisting it around to reveal a hare and a hawk on its underbelly. While she may not have understood who or what Andruil stood for, she certainly reveled in its beauty.

“It’s far more than that,” she cooed against the grain of the wood, pressing it to her cheek, “Your mother’s a genius, I’ll have you know. I’ve never seen such a bow before. And I’ve seen many.” The way she said it sounded lewd. Most of what she said did. Just as a swordsman preferred the feel of certain blades, so did archers. She nodded her head and finally plopped back down on the bench. She did, however, keep the bow set on the table, taking up most of her space.

“Oh I will,” if it hadn’t been for the company at hand, she may have run off to do just that, “and you better pass along my compliments. It may just cancel out the whole stolen-gift bit. Though, if your parents are anything like mine, maybe not.” She snorted. From how excited she’d been, even if Khari’s mother were to demand the bow back
 she might have needed to pry the thing from her cold, dead fingers.

“Yeah, I won't lie.... probably not. But they'll just have to deal with that." In a way, it was a return, a variation on a theme. A defiance on her part, but one turned to a purpose, not just useless raging against things she felt were keeping her down. She probably could have asked, and been given what she asked for. But she couldn't quite make herself do it yet, so she stole. It was a half-step forward, and maybe she'd get lucky and her folks would understand that.

One of the tavern's waitresses approached, bearing an empty cup for Khari, who accepted it with thanks and a grin, immediately grabbing the neck of the half-empty wine bottle sitting on the table near Stel's elbow. Several inches filled the tumbler before Khari was satisfied with how it looked and let the burgundy stream taper off. Several swallows later, she set it down against the wood with a thud and a near-slosh, sighing a bit too heavily for the situation.

Eying the other two for a moment, Khari leaned forward against the table, linking her legs together at the ankle and smiling. Seeing them just made her feel happier. Weird, how that worked. She figured that was what friendship must be about. The real kind, where people were honest with her and she was honest with them. It was... good. Better than good. “Glad you like it, then. Sorry I didn't steal you anything, Stel. I figure Ril's got you nice and covered, as far as equipment goes, and we honestly don't make much else. Unless you want an aravel. Do you want an aravel?" It was mostly a joke, but she feigned seriousness as well as she could. Surely not well enough to fool either of them, with how perceptive they were.

Estella laughed softly, shaking her head with fondness and rolling her eyes as she took another sip of her drink. She was certainly much more careful about it than Khari had been. More moderate. That was normal, though. "I think you'd have had quite a time trying to steal an aravel out from under their noses," she pointed out. "Also not sure what I'd do with one, exactly. They're for sleeping, right? And transport?"

A short hum accompanied Khari's nod. She wasn't being near as careful as Stel about how much of the wine she was having, mostly because she was trying to work around to a question she still wasn't completely sure how to ask. Wine was supposed to be pretty good for stuff like that; hopefully by the time she had a decent buzz going, it'd just... come to her. Like a flash of inspiration, or... something.

“Yeah. Uh... land-ships, I guess. Though my clan's actually work in the water still, unlike some people's. All different sizes, too. They're pretty convenient, if you live on the move." She figured if she was talking this much about aravels to people who would never need or possibly even see one, she really needed to get on with her question. Or it'd just kind of sit there. Awkwardly. At the back of her mind. Ugh.

Pursing her lips, she rolled some of the wine around in her mouth for a bit, letting the dull sting engulf her tongue before she swallowed. “Uh. Can I ask you guys a, uh... personal question?" Her eyes flickered from one to the other. It wasn't like she could really ask anyone else about this.

Zahra had been watching her intently. Occasionally her gaze drifted to her cup and then back to her face as if she were trying to sort something out in her head. Or read her face. Whichever it was, she appeared to be waiting for something to happen, or Khari to say something. As soon as the question was posed, she pursed her lips around a smile, and tilted her head to the side, “Of course. I was waiting for something the way you’ve been slogging that back. What’s on your mind?”

Come to think of it, she'd probably been pretty obvious about that. Khari glanced down at her glass, now empty. Given the speed she'd been drinking at, she was beginning to feel slightly fuzzy around the edges. It'd have to do. She took a look around the tavern, confirming that no one else was really in earshot, then pitched her voice lower anyway.

“Uh, so..." She sucked in a breath, held it between her teeth, then let it out in a gust. “I think I have a problem. And I really, really want to make it go away. Because it could fuck everything up, and I don't want to fuck this up." Sighing, she slid her arms forward across the table until she was half-laying on it, as much as she could be while keeping her seat. For a moment, she left her forehead pressed to the varnished wood, but then she turned her face to the side, using one eye to look at them over her outstretched arm. When she spoke next, it was barely more than mumbling.

“I'm... shit. I'm attracted to Rom."

That was the word people used, right? Attracted? For when you noticed the way another person looked even if you hadn't before and thought it was... nice. Better than nice. And then it got kind of awkward as hell because she felt the really uncomfortable churning in her guts and started paying attention to things like how he smelled, which was ridiculous and not what she should be focusing on. It was distracting, and she was pretty bad at hiding things, which meant he was probably going to catch on pretty soon. She didn't dare contemplate the possibility that he already had. She'd been hiding it as well as she'd ever hidden anything. She hoped.

At least until she'd blabbed it to these two, anyway.

A thick silence followed her words.

It collapsed in on itself as soon as Zee’s hand smacked down on the table, and she erupted in a roar of laughter. Tossing her head and curls, rocking back in the bench with her hands clutching her belly. Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes as she wiped at them with her palms and knuckles, obviously attempting to stifle her laughter to form intelligible words. Her first couple of attempts only ended in chortling snorts, and waving hands, with hoarse sorry, sorry.

A few intakes of breath later, and she managed gotten a hold of herself. Enough to wipe at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt and regain her composure, red-faced and still sporting a wobbly smile. It was difficult where she’d begun to find it funny or why the hell she’d found it so hilarious in the first place, but it appeared as if she were preparing to say something. Possibly useful. Hard to tell with someone like her. The knowing look in her eyes, however, was impossible to mistake for anything else, as if she’d known all along.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. I shouldn’t be laughing. That was just a little more adorable than I was expecting.” She huffed out another breath and eyed her over the table. Not quite seriously, but something a little closer to that and a little further away from the tease Khari may have expected from her. She held up one finger, “First of all. Why do you think that would ruin anything?” Another finger joined it as she tilted her head to the side, “Secondly. There’s nothing wrong with that. Being attracted to him. Doing something about it, if that’s what you want.”

Her expression flattened itself out and she waggled another finger up. Three. “What if it’s mutual? What would you do, then? You’ll never know if you don’t say anything and that, I promise you, is worse.”

Stel didn't look entirely unamused, either, but she was a lot more graceful about it, constraining things to a subtle little smile that was basically her equivalent of laughter anyway. "I think I understand what you're worried about," she said. "It doesn't take a genius to see how close the two of you are. I'm sure this just feels like a layer of complication you don't need. But... I don't think it'll automatically ruin anything. Can I ask when you came to this realization?"

Khari groaned softly, turning her face back down into the wood for a while. It wasn't easy to mortify or embarrass her, she knew that for a fact. She didn't have a proper amount of shame, as she'd been told many times before. But shit, this was embarrassing. Grimacing, she lifted her head, folding her arms under it and resting sideways again.

“I don't know. It was kinda..." She wasn't certain gradual was the right word, because it had honestly hit her like a wall all at once when she actually did the realizing part. Probably the actual getting there part had been more gradual. “I mean, it's not my fault, right? He pretty much treats shirts as optional at all times. You know that." She scrunched her nose at Zee in particular. “I hardly noticed at first, but I mean, come on." She smacked a palm on the table, rattling a few of the objects resting on it, then pushed herself abruptly up into a sitting position.

That, as it turned out, was not the smartest idea. For a moment, her vision blurred, head swimming. She blinked a few times, taking slow breaths until it passed. “I'm dense, not blind." Funny how the difference had never really come back to bite her before now. She'd lived around men her entire life. Just... not men like Rom.

“And anyway, it could, you know. Ruin everything. It's like... I've never had friends like this before. Like him. Like you guys, even. If everything gets weird because I do what I usually do and just... blurt out what I really think—" She shook her head. “I can't ruin it. I can't. It's too important." She didn't even want to take the chance. “Even if I could, and even if he, uh, reciprocated—" She almost couldn't let herself consider it.

“What then? He's the Lord Inquisitor, and I'm... I don't know. Not the kind of person that..." Her thoughts were a mess. Maybe that was how it'd be, too. A huge mess. She certainly couldn't imagine how it'd work. “I'm a crazy elf who wants to be a knight."

“Oh?” Zee’s expression had toned itself down considerably. She, at least, appeared to be listening intently. Soaking up the information. Whirling it in her brain. Though from the looks of it
 not to make another joke, though it appeared as if she’d enjoyed Khari’s little display of embarrassment. “I think you mean, you’re an amazing person just like he is. The strongest person I know, personally. And I think he’s never met someone quite like you. In a good way.”

She glanced sidelong at Stel and smiled. It was softer this time, as if she were taking cues. “There’s a saying about seeing something for the first time, and not being able to unsee it ever again. That’s a little like this. It could. When has that made you ever give up before?” A fingertip traced its way across the bow once more, “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”

Plates rattled in the foreground as some of the barmaids picked them up. Almost peculiar with such a serious conversation taking place. She exhaled softly. “This is too important. That’s what you said.” She inclined her head towards Stel and arched an eyebrow, “My suggestion isn’t going to be easy at all. Probably harder than any training you’ve ever done.” A humming noise sounded. Reflective in nature, “So, what do you think she should do, Stel?”

Stel huffed softly, lifting her shoulders. "Well... I'm hardly impartial here. But, well. I think you should take some time to think about this a little more. See if maybe you can't see it making sense after all." She tipped her head a little to the side. "One thing I would say, though... don't you think you might be selling him a little short? Even if the worst happened, you brought this up and it was weird for a while... you don't really think he'd abandon your friendship over it, do you? And surely you wouldn't either." Her mouth tugged upwards on the left, leaving her with a soft half-smile.

"So... it might be awkward for a while, but you'd recover. Probably be able to laugh about it, in time. That's hardly ruining anything, is it?" She turned to Zee. "But what were you going to suggest?"

Zee’s mouth formed a line, and sidled into another pout. “You took the words out of my mouth.” A toothy grin stretched across her face as she leaned forward and reached across the table, “Minus the waiting bit. I’m not one for patiently waiting
 but I suppose that can’t hurt.” It was clear that Stel and Zee both believed in her. In him as well.

She patted Khari on the arm and then dramatically plopped backwards, dropping the bow in her lap. “I agree with Stel. If your positions were reverse, I know that you’d fight tooth and nail to make sure that didn’t happen. He would too.” He’d never let her down before, so why would he start now?

“Huh." She hadn't really thought about it in those terms before. At the same time... she knew Rom wasn't like most people. It wasn't that he was weak or anything, he just... had had a very different life from everyone else she knew. She couldn't predict how things would go because she just had no way of knowing where and when that was going to make a difference. Maybe it would in a case like this, and maybe it wouldn't. For all they'd shared, he'd spoken so little of his history. Of who he'd used to be, and which parts of it were harder to let go of, or simple to relinquish. So much of their friendship had been about now. And about the future. The past had butted in where it showed up at all. They hadn't exactly welcomed it into the dynamic, so to speak.

Maybe that was an oversight. Khari liked to pretend she didn't care about it at all. And it didn't matter, to her, not as much as the rest. But she knew it mattered to him. She grimaced.

“I... yeah. I'm gonna think about it, and then... I dunno. Try something. Maybe. I guess." It was hardly the wholehearted commitment she liked to attack life with, but Khari was pretty good at identifying when she didn't get stuff, and she might have just found something she needed to try harder to understand first.

But, well. First things first. “Thanks, guys. For talking it out with me. I mean it."

This friendship stuff had way more benefits than she'd ever thought it would.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella had only seldom been to Halamshiral during her years in Orlais with the Lions. Usually if they were in the region, they simply stayed at Lydes, Commander Lucien's home, which was the next dukedom west, so to speak. Despite this, though, she remembered it well. Aside from the cities of Lydes and Arlesans, it was the only major Orlesian settlement without an Alienage, though the reason was a little more insidious in this case: the entire place was mostly populated by elves, and so the majority of the city was theirs to mixed results, while the walled-off High Quarter contained the estates belonging to nobility.

It wasn't entirely unlike Kirkwall would have been, if Lowtown had been mostly elves and melded with the Alienage. There were better and worse parts, but it did tend quite heavily to worse. The path in off the Imperial Highway was quite neat, however, the cobblestones relatively smooth under Nox's feet.

She rode at the front of the Inquisition's formation not because of any particular desire to do so, but because she was the one who knew the way. The other Lions in the army had volunteered to be in charge of the supplies, and thus they were about a day behind, meaning she was the only one who knew how to get to the seldom-used Drakon estate within the city proper. It wasn't too far from the Winter Palace, but after a while, all the fanciest houses started to blend together, she supposed.

They were not alone in entering the city today; another group was slightly ahead of them, a noble of some sort and his household, she supposed. The area was rife with evidence that more had passed this way; where usually there were merchant carts on the street, they had all been cleared away to create the widest possible thoroughfare, and a crowd had gathered along the pedestrian paths to watch the travelers arrive. Someone was flying the Inquisition's banner in the formation behind her, she was sure. They must have been, because the crowd was thickening with onlookers, and she could occasionally hear calls of her name or title, or Romulus's, or just general murmuring with the word 'Inquisition' interspersed.

She resisted the urge to pull up the hood on her cloak and blend back into the column of riders. The feeling of so many eyes on them—on her—would almost certainly never cease to make her profoundly uneasy. The best she could do was refuse to let it show.

If the eyes were making Ves uncomfortable, he certainly wasn't showing it. He rode beside Estella in his armor and lion cloak to brace against the air, which was still crisp and quite cool as winter waned. His smile was controlled, but appearing entirely earnest. Not giddy or overly excited, but obviously in good spirits. He offered brief waves and nods to those that caught his eye, or those that greeted him first. Few if any knew his name, but it wasn't hard to see he made about as much if not more of an impression on the elves that heavily populated the city than the Inquisitors themselves. Certainly more than Romulus, who rode somewhere behind them, quiet as a mouse.

"I do believe we're the oddest assemblage of individuals they've ever seen," Ves commented quietly, just for Estella to hear, or any riding particularly close behind her. He offered another wave, flashing a charming smile. Champion of the Inquisition, indeed.

Khari seemed to be enjoying herself, too; a glance back proved that she was the one bearing the standard, the pole of the banner fitted into a special cup on the left side of her saddle. She waved back at anyone who seemed to be waving at her, or even in her general direction, though her anonymity was such that it was hard to imagine anyone knowing her name in particular.

“We're still the oddest assemblage I've ever seen." Cyrus's words were laconic, drawling. He didn't look precisely comfortable, but he sat his saddle with good posture, not making quite the same attempt to stay beneath notice as Romulus was.

"Agreed," Marceline noted, tossing him a sidelong smirk. She rode in the saddle of her own personal black Orlesian charger as comfortable as ever, the eyes of the crowds ineffective against her.

Asala however, was a different story. She had her shoulders up to her ears in an attempt to make a shell of herself, and also rode beside Leon, probably in hopes of hiding in his shadow.

Zahra seemed most comfortable in this situation, which wasn’t all that surprising given her aptitude for soaking in attention. A smile wriggled itself on her face as she reigned her buckskin steed closer to Asala’s flank and leaned forward in her saddle, propping an elbow on the saddle-horn and resting her chin across her knuckles. She seemed pleased by those who cat-called names, the Inquisition, or whatever else as they passed. Faces peering up at them. Waggling fingers pointing. “No need to hide, kitten. They’re just curious. Big goddamn heroes, and all that.”

Their progress took them over Halamshiral's main thoroughfare and eventually to the gates of the High Quarter. They loomed tall, thick bars of wrought iron set in pale sandstone, pulled, she'd once been told, from quarries far to the west, where it was mined in the desert before transport. Carved into each of the square pillars on either side of the gate were reliefs of battle-scenes, moments from history long ago, gilded with gold and silver.

The gates were already open for the procession in front of them, and they were able to pass through without difficulty. The change in their surroundings was immediately obvious: there wasn't a house here Estella could ever dream of owning. They all bespoke old money and taste; only the most prominent and old families were allowed estates in Halamshiral, those with the title of Marquis or above, basically. Most of those were walled off too, but not so much that the chĂąteaux themselves weren't visible, planted upon each plot of land amidst elaborate gardens and increasingly-embellished architectural features.

She led the Inquisition towards the center of the Quarter, and then around to the left. The house she was aiming for was at the end of the row there, as imposing and grand as any of the others, its edifice primarily a matter of tawny stone blocks with graceful columns in the traditional Orlesian style supporting the entryway. It was large enough to have a few modest cylindrical towers amidst the complex silhouette of its roof, which was a cool, grey-blue slate. The best feature of the house itself was probably its many windows, the panels of glass inset into the stone and polished to a brilliant shine. The grounds were well-kept; the path towards the entrance was flanked by lawn, which gradually faded into flowerbeds and weeping willow trees, only just beginning to bud at this time of year. It was more subdued than ostentatious, but whoever kept them did not allow the house to overpower the grounds it rested upon.

They were greeted at the gate by a small group of people, most of them apparently servants, from the simple, tidy manner of their dress. But among them was a very familiar face.

Estella felt an immense sense of relief first, followed by a warm wave of affection. Nox was still moving when she swung off his saddle, hitting the ground lightly and running, dignity be damned.

Commander Lucien was exactly as she remembered him. Certainly a very tall man, his presence amounted to so much more than his height and his build. He carried himself with a certain kind of unshakable, quiet confidence, one that rolled off him in waves, like a warm ocean current and about as comforting, to her at least. He kept himself well, of course, dark brown hair trimmed to fall no further than his shoulders, a slight wave in the texture that did not lessen the impression of fastidious neatness. He wore his beard very close to his tanned face; it was only dark, even stubble at the moment. The armor he'd chosen was simple enough: chain and a few plates in gleaming, polished silverite. The cloak at his back was maroon, clasped at his left shoulder with a silver pin in the shape of a Lion, identical to the one she wore.

He opened his arms easily at her approach, and she jumped into them without a moment's hesitation. The soft oof he made was surely only for effect, and the fact that he ruffled her hair hard enough to muss it only for his own amusement.

"Well hello, Estella." He laughed softly when her arms tightened for a moment before she stepped away, both of them smiling. "It's good to see you." The words were a common sentiment, between comrades long parted, but his tone and bearing brought a distinctive, personal warmth to them that few others had.

"You, too," she replied, sure she couldn't quite manage the same but trying her best anyway.

His grey eyes narrowed a little, pulling at the thin white scar that bisected one eyebrow and continued on the cheekbone below. He moved his attention up to the others, then, where the house's servants were already assisting with the horses, leading them away towards a stable tucked off to the side of the property. "Made new friends, I see. Welcome, Inquisition. For as long as you're here, I hope you'll think of my house as yours." He swept a bow before those assembled, then straightened back to his full height.

"Accordingly... please call me Lucien."

"My house looks lovely, indeed," remarked Ves, striding up steadily and getting his first look at the Commander of the Argent Lions. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lucien. Vesryn Cormyth, at your service." He offered his arm out, apparently preferring something along the lines of a warrior's clasp to a handshake or salute. "I've heard many great things."

Lucien grasped his forearm without the faintest hesitation, grip firm but clearly not uncomfortably so. "I'm always concerned to learn that people have heard things. Living up to the reputation my friends give me isn't easy." With a slight nod, he let go of Ves's arm. "It's good to meet you as well, though. Nice to put faces to the names I've read about." He paused a moment, then glanced at the others.

"Might I ask which one of you is Romulus?"

He looked to have already been making his way towards the front, but upon having his name called Romulus drew up before Lucien. He'd been rehearsing greetings for just these moments, Estella knew, but something about actually standing in front of Lucien was obviously throwing him off. "I am, Commander. Uh, Lucien." He subtly grit his teeth for a passing moment, clearly displeased with himself, but pushed on. "My thanks for the invitation, and for allowing us a place to stay within Halamshiral."

Lucien's warmth didn't falter in the face of a little awkwardness. Estella knew it had faced far worse and survived, after all. "On the contrary," he said, "I am the one who owes the thanks, to you in particular. As events have been relayed to me, you helped my people on the day of the Conclave, and without that help, I'd have lost my lieutenant. My friend. Words aren't enough, but I hope you'll accept them anyway." He held out a hand, in much the same manner Ves had, his smile smaller but no less genuine than it had been.

"It was..." Romulus looked like he wanted to add something else, perhaps refute the need to thank him. It was nothing, or it was complicated, or he didn't have a real choice or say in the matter. Whatever he was thinking about saying, however, he kept inside, and instead grasped Lucien's arm, not nearly as enthusiastically as Ves had, but deliberately all the same. "You're welcome. I hope I can be of some use again here."

There was an odd, high-pitched noise from somewhere back in the crowd, soft and nearly impossible to hear. The source was difficult to identify, at least until a bright red head of unruly hair appeared next in the queue. Khari was wearing an easily-readable combination of excitement, awe, and nervousness splashed across her face, but the first clearly won out, because as no sooner had Romulus let go of Lucien's hand than she was there, wide-eyed and grinning.

“Hi." Her voice was strangely breathless, and she seemed to realize it, clearing her throat and smacking a hand against her sternum before trying again. “I'm, uh—you're Lucien Drakon. This is—this is amazing." She thrust out a hand, her face slightly too red for the chill alone to explain.

Lucien looked, to Estella who knew his expressions well, like he was trying to contain a bit of laughter. Admittedly, she was too. Khari, usually so full of bravado and confidence, was clearly more than a little flustered, but then Estella had expected about as much. He represented in a very obvious way essentially everything her friend wanted to be. The best example of it, in Estella's admittedly very biased opinion.

But he took Khari's arm exactly the same way he'd taken Ves's and Romulus's, patting her elbow once with his other hand. "So I am," he agreed amiably. "But now I'm at a disadvantage: you know my name, and I've no idea what to call you."

“Oh. Right. Khari—I'm Khari." She still looked a bit dazed, but at least the question returned her to some form of clarity, enough that she was able to remember to actually let go of his hand and allow the others to introduce themselves.

Cyrus did so with considerably less fanfare; Rilien needed no introduction at all, of course. Leon was next, the only member of the group Lucien had to look up at to any degree.

Zahra had been preoccupied the entire walk to his home. The grandeur of his estate. Things she probably hadn’t seen before, certainly not in a place like Halamshiral. It appeared as if she were sizing him up. Perhaps, quite literally. Seeing how Lucien was still much taller than she was. Her footsteps were far more assured than Khari’s, and her grip was about the same, mimicking the others by snatching up his forearm. She stared up at his face, and grinned wide, “Captain Zahra Tavish at your service, as well. Always nice to have a warm welcome. In a beautiful home.” A thick eyebrow raised as she released his arm, “We won’t make a mess. Promise.”

"Glad to hear it," Lucien said easily. "A pleasure, Zahra."

"Commander," Michaël greeted, a cheerful smile on his face. "It's good to see you again," he added, taking his turn to offer a handshake.

Marceline stood off to the side of her husband, Pierre standing next beside her. "Your Highness," she greeted amicably, dipping into a curtsy, while her son bowed.

Lucien looked slightly disappointed to be addressed so formally, but he recovered swiftly, graciously dipping his chin to Lady Marceline after he'd shaken Michaël's hand. "Nice to see you three again," he said, shaking his head. "Though it's almost like meeting a brand-new person every time I see Pierre, I must admit. You were what? Twelve the last time?" It seemed to be a basically rhetorical question, in any case.

With the introductions complete for now, Lucien took half a step backwards, gesturing at the house behind him. "I imagine you all might like to rest after your journey," he said, half-smiling. "As there's about a fortnight left until the Empress's fĂȘte, there is plenty of time to do just that. I reiterate that the grounds are open to you. If you've a wish to go out riding or use the practice ring on the property or wander the gardens, there's no need to ask. Both myself and my father will be in and out over the next two weeks; please feel free to ask either of us, or any of the staff, if you find yourself in need of something you lack. Your rooms are all in the south part of the house; I'll take you there now."

The southern wing of the manor proved to be every bit as rich and well-kept as the rest of it. The Drakons clearly favored furniture and furnishings selected for their craftsmanship. Most of it was deceptively simple, but made of materials like Antivan teak and the Imperium's marble, absent the gilt and flourish in favor of neatness and precision. Of note was the art—Estella recognized a few of the paintings she passed as Lucien's work, but others were definitely not, and she knew that for all his talents, he did not sculpt or throw clay, though whoever had chosen the decorations had an eye for such things as well.

The rooms proved more than spacious, grander by a considerable margin than most of those at Skyhold. She chose one near the end of the hall, what was left when everyone else had found a door. Pausing in front of it, she turned back to the man who had been her Commander.

It was peculiar, standing here with him now. She was an Inquisitor, and he in this moment clearly a Prince, and it was at once the same as and very different from being a Lieutenant and a Commander in the same mercenary company. Both of them had been runaways in one sense and exiles in another, and he'd always given her hope that she wouldn't have to be those things forever.

Now... Estella wasn't sure what to make of now.

He looked like he understood. Because of course he would—he was Commander Lucien, and he always did. He expelled a deep, slow breath, and reached forward to place a large hand on her shoulder. It didn't produce even the slightest hint of the fear it once had, only comfort. He squeezed, and she leaned into it a little, letting a tiny smile twist her mouth.

"Everything's changed," she murmured.

Lucien hummed, shaking his head. "Not everything." He eased his grip on her shoulder and patted it once before letting his hand drop. "Welcome back, Estella."

Even if it was only temporary and they both knew it, the words meant a lot to her. She swallowed thickly, then dipped her chin. "Thanks, Lucien."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
As expected, the training equipment here was really top-notch. Khari would have been envious if she hadn't been in the middle of taking full advantage of the fact.

A heavy practice blade in her hands, she stood on a narrow balance apparatus made from several poles lashed together, not entirely unlike the one at Skyhold. Bringing the blade down, Khari shifted her balance, moving her left foot from one of the support poles to another, landing lightly and firmly on the ball of it, just behind her toes. Shifting in a slow, controlled motion into a horizontal slice, she jumped, swinging it in a broad arc that twisted her around until she completed a half-circle, landing again. That time, she wobbled a bit, but stabilized quickly, moving back into her routine.

Khari's breath hissed out from between her teeth; she twisted herself another quarter turn and started back down the obstacle. They'd been here for a couple days now, long enough for her to learn that the guardsmen wouldn't be practicing anything for another couple of hours, so she was relishing the time to practice on her own.

The truth was, Khari didn't think she was going to be of any kind of help to anyone here. She'd do anything she could, of course, but she wasn't the kind of person who knew anything about politics, especially not politics as complicated as the Orlesian kind. All the lessons in talking to fancy people and all that were going... okay. But not great. She wasn't good at remembering how to phrase things, and whenever someone threw her a question she wasn't expecting, she fell back on her rougher, blunter mannerisms reactively. Honestly, it would probably be better for the Inquisition overall if she didn't go at all, but it was too dangerous to risk not taking enough people who could fight if that was needed.

They were trying to stop an assassination plot by Corypheus, after all. Grunting, Khari pushed the thoughts away and swung again, kicking out with one of her feet and pivoting on the other. A pommel strike to her invisible foe was followed up with a quick slash-thrust sequence, leaving her with three feet of beam on the other side. Running it, she jumped off the end, launching herself as high in the air as she could go, angling herself for a roll with her hangtime. She hit the dirt with an audible thud, softening the momentum by tucking in and springing back to her feet at the end. If anything staved off the feeling of uselessness, it was physical activity, so it made sense to keep at it. Maybe she could run around the High Quarter? That'd startle people, probably: a solitary, armed and armored elf doing wind sprints around their perfectly-kept houses.

It'd almost be worth it just for that.

But before she could so much as exit the ring to do that, a throat cleared some distance behind her. When she turned, it was to see Lucien there, dressed in light chain and a cloak, his own sword slung across his back, the hilt of it visible over his right shoulder. He leaned forward against the fence, forearms braced on one of the horizontal posts, hands loosely clasped together. "Good morning," he said. Even from that distance, it was impossible to mistake his good-humored expression: a slightly-crooked smile and the faint narrowing of his eyes. "I was wondering who it was that got out here so early every day. I thought it might be Estella, since she used to do the same thing."

If he was disappointed that it wasn't, he gave absolutely no indication of it. "You've got very nice footwork," he remarked instead. "If you don't mind me saying so."

Khari's breath, which had been even and deep, hitched awkwardly; she tried unsuccessfully to swallow down the sudden nervous lump in her throat. Shit, shit, shit. He'd seen her boring menial morning practice and she hadn't even known he was there. It wasn't exactly clear to her why that was such a bad thing, except that she really, really didn't want to look like her usual idiot self in front of him in particular. He was Lucien Drakon, for gods' sake. Chevalier. Commander of the Orlesian mercenary company, all the rest of them be damned. Prince. He'd killed dragons.

“Uh." She was clearly off to a spectacular start at not looking like an idiot. Khari felt herself flushing against her will. She'd always prided herself on being able to talk to just about anyone, but her tongue felt like a lead weight in her mouth right now. Probably because he was pretty much her hero. She knew the stories about him, both the public ones and the ones Stel had told her in a little more confidence, and not one of them made him out to be anything less than the most honorable, upstanding person she could imagine. He hardly even seemed human to her.

But there he was, right in front of her face. Apparently he thought her footwork was good. And she was gawking like a fool. “I mean, um. Thank you. For letting me use your stuff. Ril has some other stuff like it in Skyhold, but this is a really nice setup. That... I am probably stopping you from using. Am I in the way? I can get out of the way?"

Trying not to gape silently had clearly swung her much too far in the opposite direction.

Lucien held up a hand, palm facing out, near the level of his shoulder, accompanying the motion with a shake of his head. "You are not even slightly in my way," he replied. "Actually, I was thinking of going out into the city for a little while. But as my Lions are all busy elsewhere right now and the guards have their duties here, I'm afraid I'm rather bereft of bodyguards. Would you perhaps be willing to do me the favor, Khari? You seem properly equipped already, but you're welcome to anything in the armory if you want it."

The smile stretched a little further across his face. "Of course, if I'm interrupting you, you need only say so. I'm sure Rilien would go if I asked."

Khari's eyes got progressively rounder and wider as he spoke, and the words had to knock around in her head for a while before they properly settled. Not that it mattered, because she was speaking before thinking about it at all. What was there to think about? Absolutely nothing. “I'll do it." She was sweaty and awkward and her hair was probably a mess, but she wasn't about to decline.

Sliding her Inquisition-loaned zweihĂ€nder into the sheath at her back, she tried not to bounce over to him, and maintain something that looked halfway dignified instead. She failed. It was hard to care. “So, uh, where in town are we going?"

Lucien waited for her to reach him and hop the fence before he replied. "Oh, I've got some business with a few local merchants, is all. And there's a tailor we like to use here—I need to tell her there will be quite a large order incoming later today, once Lady Marceline has retrieved everyone's dimensions and all that." He shrugged. "Not the most exciting matters, I confess. But who knows? Perhaps we'll run into something interesting on the way."

That said, he led her to the front gate, closing it over behind them as they departed. He matched his stride to hers as they walked, apparently without much effort. They made for quite an odd duo, in the sheer physics of it; he wasn't quite as tall or broad as Leon, but it was a near-enough thing for the discrepancy to still be quite apparent. It wasn't the only one, though: Lucien's face was clearly widely-known, even after they exited the High Quarter. He answered to calls of his name, or 'Commander' more often than anything, and made frequent stops, pausing to peruse a fruit stand or trinket stall and chat amiably with its attendant. If he was in a hurry to complete his business, he was doing a very poor job of acting like it.

"Do you like apples, Khari?" He inquired, holding a shiny red one out towards her. He had a green one in his other hand; the fruit merchant was counting coins into his purse. "Estella might have mentioned you did." The expression on his face suggested the hypothetical was no such thing, and he'd been certain before he asked.

She accepted, grinning despite herself. “Well, she might have been right." Khari felt a little of the tension leave her. She bit into the apple with a crunch, surprised at how fresh it was at this time of year. She'd have thought winter too long started for fruit to be this easy to come by. Maybe cities were like that, though. Real ones, with lots of trade and imports and who knew what else. The flavor burst over her tongue, and she expelled a breath from her nose, feeling a little more like herself.

They wandered a bit further down the road. She was doing a pretty abysmal job at being a bodyguard, she supposed; she'd actually never been taught how to be one. But something like that was probably only a formality for him—it wasn't like she'd be able to handle anything he couldn't manage quite well by himself. She glanced at the sword on his back. It was an impressive piece of weaponry, ancient-looking, with a faint red light to it that must have been the enchantment. Everburn, she knew it was called.

She glanced away, fixing her eyes on his profile instead. “So, uh... what else has Stel mentioned about me? Did she ever get to the part about what I want to do with my life?" She couldn't quite force the words out herself, not without any kind of idea how he'd react to them. Normal people calling her stupid for wanting what she wanted was one thing. She could handle that. Khari didn't think she'd be able to handle the same thing from him, or even the gentle dismissal that admittedly seemed more likely based on what she'd seen so far of his personality.

He turned his head to meet her eyes, both brows lifting marginally. It took him a second to finish the bite he was working on, but he nodded in the meantime, and then swallowed. "You speak of your aspirations to become a chevalier? She has mentioned them, yes. She's quite confident that you have the work ethic for it, too. Having observed you at it just now, I think I am inclined to agree." His mouth quirked into a smile briefly, falling back into a pleasant sort of attentiveness after. "It's not just anyone who would practice by themselves, early in the morning, while on what is essentially a break from normal duties."

It wasn't a dismissal, and Khari relaxed the rest of the way. Perhaps too much, since her next words found their way to her lips before she'd given the the consideration Marcy was constantly reminding her she needed to have in front of important people. “Having the right work ethic doesn't mean I can do it, though." She grimaced. “I'm not a noble, or even a human. They'd never let me into the Academie. And no matter how much I learn, it's useless if no one ever values it, right?" She took another bite, this one almost angrily, wiping excess juice from her mouth with the pad of her thumb.

Lucien hummed in what sounded like a thoughtful sort of way. "It's definitely going to be hard for you," he said simply, lifting broad shoulders in a shrug. "The Academie teaches all the fundamentals: horsemanship, weapon techniques, general physical conditioning, strategy and tactics, bodyguarding and the defense of others." The last item, he said with a tone of amusement. Clearly he had noticed that she had no idea what she was doing in that respect.

"But you know... not every chevalier that ever became one did so by graduating from the Academie. Ser Aveline proved herself in the Grand Tourney. Ser Laurent du Lac's family was shamed all the way back in the Divine Age, and so he performed heroic deeds for Emperor Judicael I, and earned his knighthood that way." He paused a moment before turning them down a side street. "There are other options, is what I'm saying."

Khari considered that for a moment, almost unsure what to make of it. She was conscious of the fact that it was valuable advice, and that he wouldn't be giving it to her for no reason. Still, he had to see what she saw—that the most obvious obstacle wasn't just her lack of nobility. “Do you think people would really accept it? An elven chevalier?" It had always been the major stumbling block. The obvious problem. She'd ignored it as well as she could for as long as she could, but she couldn't pretend it wasn't a problem. Not anymore.

Lucien took his time responding to that one, navigating them down a few more streets in the process. He still got more than a few waves and greetings from the people, most of whom seemed to be elves out here. After a moment, he stopped, and then turned to her. "Let's take a small detour. There's something I want you to see."

He reversed direction, turning left where he'd been about to go right. the streets narrowed here; clearly they were headed for the slums. He paused at one crossroads, gesturing for her to step up beside them and look at what was in front of them.

It was, unsurprisingly, a vhenadahl, an old one, from the looks of it, situated in the middle of a large clearing. Lucien leaned his shoulder into the building next to him, smiling slightly. "Oh good, they're here today." With his chin, he gestured beneath the tree. Several children, ranging in age from about seven to probably fifteen or so, were playing some kind of war game, wooden swords in-hand. Their swings were clumsy and inelegant almost to a one, but some of the older ones looked like they'd been taught at least the basics at some point, and sometimes they stopped and corrected the younger ones.

"After Lord D'Artignon hired us to train his household in the basics of self-defense," Lucien explained, still watching the children, "some of the Lions decided to use their free time to offer the same to the citizens of slums like this one, and Alienages elsewhere. As a way of... giving them a chance for something." His smile faded, and he pressed his lips together. "But the trouble is, none of us can really show them what it might be a chance for. Only a few of us can serve as the role models they really need. Even then, people already know that elves can be mercenaries, just like they can be Bards. It's good to remind them, but it seldom inspires."

He sighed heavily through his nose. "And those of us who've ever been anything else, well... we're not elves. It's hard for them to aspire to what they can't even really imagine. They're not to blame for that. Most people have the same problem, after all." Lucien crossed his arms over his chest, watching as two of the older children dueled, a pair of girls armed with fake shortswords. "But it does mean little ever changes for them."

“It's the same for the Dalish." Khari swallowed, watching the two girls fight with their wooden swords and remembering a time when it had been her, with a stick in the woods, without anyone else to even pretend to spar against. “All we can imagine is the past, and so we never move forward. It's... it's why I left. Why I want this." She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. “I want them to know they can be anything." She almost whispered the words, then shook her head. “I want it to be true."

Lucien nodded slightly. The nearer of the two girls, the littler one, swept the taller one's feet out from underneath her, pointing the end of the mock-blade at her opponent's forehead before grinning broadly, exposing several missing teeth. Then she helped her up, and the chaotic melee resumed.

"Then what does it matter," he asked, "whether anyone else understands?" He turned from the match to look at her steadily. "If you get the title, you get the title. And people will hate you for it. They will call you things you do not deserve, ignore you at social functions, give you the worst tasks they can if they are in charge of your duty roster. They will do everything in their power to force you out, to humiliate you, to make you quit." His arms uncrossed and dropped to his sides.

"But those children will know that they can be chevaliers, because chevaliers can have pointed ears. Or even vallaslin. If you earn your way in, if you prove you belong in the order, they will know it too. A worthy trade, isn't it?"

“Yeah." Khari's brows furrowed. He hadn't told her anything she didn't already know, really. But something about the way he said it, or who it was coming from... that stuff mattered. Just like it would matter if she in particular became a chevalier. “Yeah, it is." Her free hand curled into a fist at her side. Abruptly, she turned to face him fully.

“I've been a pretty shitty bodyguard so far. Can you teach me how to do it better? If I'm gonna keep up with the Academie brats, I've gotta be good at everything."

Lucien smiled, a soft huff of laughter escaping him. "Of course. Follow me, and this time, walk about two paces behind and slightly to the left. If you're in my blind spot, an attacker can't be."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
Lady Marceline smiled as she opened the door to greet the last woman to arrive. Asala waited on the other side, a sheepish smile to her own lips and she timidly inclined her head and entered, quietly making her way toward the rest of the ladies. Marceline briefly pondered the thought that she was able to intimidate a Qunari woman for a moment, and what that said about her before she shrugged and shut the door behind her. Some days back she had asked for all the women of the Inquisition's Irregulars to gather together before the ball to help each other get dressed for the occasion. As they were representing the Inquisition, they would need to look their absolute best, and between them she expected they could do that. Some of them required a little polish, after all.

"Asala, there is food and drink over there if you find yourself hungry," she added, pointing toward the table at the far wall. They had plenty of time before the Ball, but they would not only need to get dressed and address the matter of their makeup, but also talk about the night's plans. With Asala finally having arrived, Marceline turned toward the gathered women and put her hands together, glancing between of them. "Now that we are all here, I believe we can finally begin. Unless there are any objections?"

Khari appeared to be eating the finger-sandwiches at a rate they weren't really meant for. Still dressed, as all of them were, in the ordinary, comfortable garments of a normal day; at least she wasn't getting crumbs on anything important. She raised a hand partway into the air. “Uh, yeah... remind me again why I can't wear trousers?" She shot a glare and an obvious frown in the direction of the garment bag she'd brought with her, not making any attempt to hide her distaste. “I mean, if Corypheus is really planning to assassinate some people, shouldn't we be able to move around better when we need to fight?"

Marceline didn't immediately answer. Instead she tossed glance toward Estella, wordlessly asking if she could field it instead. While she could have answered, it would sound so much more convincing if it came from Estella, and hopefully calm some of them down a little. Marceline hadn't missed the fact that some of them seemed a bit nervous about the steadily approaching ball.

Estella blinked, but to her credit she seemed to understand what was being asked of her. "The conventions of attire are pretty silly," she agreed, shaking her head. She was nursing a cup of tea, one leg over the other, only a slight bob in her foot to give so much as a hint that she might not be entirely free of nerves herself. "But one positive is that it's a lot easier to conceal something under a skirt than in what the men will be wearing. Not a whole sword, of course, but not nothing." She half-smiled into her teacup, taking a sip.

"I think you could get away with wearing your boots underneath, too, which is nice." That part seemed specifically directed at Khari. "Just don't step on anyone's toes or they'll be able to tell."

Khari seemed to consider that for a moment, but it was pretty clear that Estella had won her over even before the boots came into it. Probably because of the 'concealed weapons' part. “I guess I did kind of suck last time Ril tried to teach us how to do that. If the skirt makes it easier, I can deal with it." She sighed, stuffing another cucumber sandwich triangle whole into her mouth. They weren't too large, but even so she clearly hadn't quite grasped the concept of foods meant for nibbling delicately, to say the least. At least she swallowed before speaking.

“Okay. So how does this work, Marcy? I thought all dresses were the same, but then someone said something about slips and petty coats or something. What gives?"

It seemed as if Zahra had something else on her mind. It was difficult to tell if she was simply lost in thought or as nervous as the others were with the impending ball looming around the corner. Though, she didn’t seem like the type to be all that bothered by much. Balls, gowns, and pointy shoes included. Behaving herself would be another issue altogether. Like Khari, she’d chosen plainer fare of clothes; comfortable, easy to move in. Her eyebrows were drawn, and her gaze seemed focused on nothing in particular. She had her hands planted on her hips and offered no quips, no tease ready on her tongue. She did, however, turn to regard Marceline when Khari posed another pertinent question.

Marceline chuckled and shook her head, "Some Orlesian women would consider what you just said blasphemy. Most are rather proud of their dresses, and I can most certainly assure you that they are not all the same." Marceline thought about it for a moment before she added, "In fact, it is quite gauche to show up at a function in the same dress as someone else--but that is neither here nor there," she waved off. Glancing between Khari and Asala, who also seemed a bit confused herself, she realized that not all of them knew the mechanics of what went into a dress. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, letting her chin rest on the back of her hand for a moment as she slipped into thought on how to best explain in. She then glanced down at her own dress and shrugged, figuring that a demonstration would help more than just telling them what each bit was.

While it was not the dress she would wear for the ball, the fact remained that it was still a finely made dress would serve her purpose just fine. "The dresses we will wear tonight are not all just one piece, but multiple pieces. So it is not as if we can just put them on and be ready, which is why we need more time than the men," she explained. "That is the case for the dresses we will be wearing tonight, and just like the one I am wearing now," she stated, holding her arms up to give them a better view of the dress.

She then grabbed the shoulders of her own dress. "This part is the gown," she said, "And it goes to about here," she said, reached down to about her waist and picked up the tail. "This however," she continued, reaching for the article wrapping around her chest, "is a corset. They can either be worn under the gown, or over it. Asala," she said, glancing at the taller woman. She twitched at her name being called only for a moment before her attention focused entirely on her. "You need not worry about that. I... do not believe that they make them in your size," Marceline said with an apologetic smile, though Asala seemed relieved instead.

"After that you have the petticoat, or skirt, as Estella mentioned," she said, tugging at it, "And the slip, which goes underneath all of that," she pulled at the white garment that peaked out just below her neckline. "It is... complicated," she admitted, "But that is why I called you all here instead of just giving it to you and hoping for the best. I will ensure that each and every one of you will look your very best tonight."

"Well," Estella said, setting her teacup back down gently on its saucer. "I suppose we ought to get started, then." She stood, making her way to where several garment bags had been set carefully over a chair. Each bore a label, presumably the name of who it was for. "Let's see. Asala, this one's yours." She handed the longest of the bags to the young Qunari woman, then the next to Khari, and the third to Zahra.

"I've done this... a few times, anyway, so I can help with laces and things too if anyone needs it." She paused, tilting her head at the resident pirate captain. "What did you get, Zee? Nothing too complicated, I hope?" A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Huh?” Zahra seemed to almost startle as soon as Estella pushed the bag into her arms. It was gone just as quickly. A momentary lapse. A sheepish smile quickly tipped the corners of her lips up, however, and the faraway gaze sifted into amusement. She gave the bag a little shake, as if she could discern its contents that way and plopped down on a nearby chair, setting it at her feet.

“Let’s have a peek, then.” Royal purple fabric peeped out as she began pulling the contents out into her lap. She held it up to her cheek and laughed. It had certainly been chosen with care, seeing how it suited her dusky complexion. As soon as she pulled out the dress itself, she’d hopped back to her feet in order to hold it flush against her body. The details were exquisite, ribbed with green lace and off-white brocades patterned over a bare back. The middle appeared tighter, and draped down into ruffles below her waistline. It would most definitely need to be picked up to avoid tripping over. “Wow. You’ve really outdone yourself, Marcy. Not that I had any doubts.”

“You do look splendid, by the way.” She tossed her a wink and dug her hand further into the bag. From the sound of rattling at the bottom, there might have been jewelry included to finish the ensemble. She pulled out a matching green slip and the aforementioned corset. It was just as bit as glamorous as the other articles even if its purpose was to restrain and restrict. There was a pucker to her lips, as she pinched the corset between forefinger and thumb, “But must we wear these contraptions? They look
 painful.”

"They're not the most comfortable," Estella agreed, "but if you use them right, they aren't painful. The key is not to pull too tight." She carefully took the corset from Zahra's hand, reorienting it so that it was the right way up and giving her a broad smile. "If you want to start with the slip, we can go from there."

Khari was apparently quite far ahead, in that she'd already shucked off her ordinary clothing and donned the slip that came with her dress. It was quite simple, nothing more than plain ivory satin, which meant it probably wasn't going to show anywhere on the gown proper. Unfortunately, she seemed to have been stymied there. “Uh... how do I even get this part on? I feel like I'll rip it or something if I do it wrong."

She held the length of deep green fustian velvet away from her body like it was contagious. In fairness, it was a bit complicated-looking. The elbow-length sleeves, bodice, and a deep inverted triangle over each side and the back were embroidered with dark golden feather-pattern brocade, while the skirt layered beneath was a more humble, straightforward silk. It still looked entirely too elaborate for her comfort, and the way her face was scrunched was making that obvious enough. She shot Estella a look of clear puzzlement. “Help?"

"There's a joke in here about losing your pants in front of us," Estella replied with some humor, though she did move to assist, to her credit. "Uh, looks like yours is one where the corset actually goes on first, so... put that down for a moment."

In the meantime, Zahra seemed to be faring quite better. Whether or not it was from experience or dumb luck was anyone’s guess. She’d unbuttoned her tunic and slipped it off, as well as her pants; like Khari, modesty accounted for nothing at all. She pulled the slip over her head and pushed back any disobedient curls from her face, snatching up her own corset and turning to watch Estella and Khari expectantly. A soft, inflective hum sounded at the back of her throat.

Khari managed to bark a laugh, the line of her shoulders easing considerably. Tossing the gown rather too haphazardly over the edge of an armchair, she picked up the corset, turned it around several times, then apparently gave up. “Yeah, I have no idea how to work this. Lace me?" She held the whalebone-and-coutille contraption out towards Estella.

The Lady Inquisitor accepted it readily, moving to stand behind her friend and leaning around her so as to settle the band of reinforced fabric around Khari's abdomen. "Lift your arms for me?" When the elf complied, Estella loosely did the laces, then paused. "Uh, so this is the part that might smart a little. I'm going to pull this tight, but once you start moving around in it, it'll adjust a little, okay?" Another pause. "Maybe, uh... grab hold of the back of that chair or something. You're going to want to be braced."

Khari's mouth pulled to the side. “Uhhh... okay?" As Estella had advised, she leaned down at a slight angle and gripped the back of the nearest armchair, setting her feet wider apart for stability. Her braid fell forward over her shoulder in the process, ensuring no hair would get caught—never a pleasant experience, that. “Ready when you are. Let's do it." The seriousness was almost akin to someone gearing up for battle, which was perhaps fair enough, all things considered.

"All right, then." Estella had clearly caught on to the attitude with which Khari was approaching the whole thing, and was quite amused. "On three. One, two—" She pulled before three, tightening the thing while Khari was still relaxed and unprepared for it, her tug efficient and no more forceful than necessary. Deftly, she tied the laces to make sure they stayed where she'd gotten them, then stepped back.

“You said three!" Khari's protest was followed without pause by a grunt, and then a string of soft words under her breath, probably nothing suitable for polite company. At that distance, only Estella and Zahra would know for sure. She straightened, laying her palms on her ribcage and grimacing. “Okay, you're right, it doesn't hurt. But it's pretty ridiculously uncomfortable." She eyed the gown again and sighed. “I think I can figure this bit out, though. Thanks, Stel."

The look on Zahra’s face throughout the whole ordeal had paled considerably. A shadow of a smile and a snort sounded when she heard Khari’s string of choice curse words, spluttered out between her huffing complaint. The way she was holding the corset in her hands, slightly away from her body suggested she no longer wanted the thing bound around her midsection. Certainly not after witnessing that. “I, uh. That looked
 I don’t know. That was a little bit more than I imagined.”

She glanced towards Asala and arched her eyebrows, draping the corset across her shoulder. “Lucky for you there’s no death-trap your size. I’m green with envy.” She was dragging out the inevitable, plucking at the laces dangling from the backing. There was no excuse for her. This was in her size, after all. She glanced Estella’s way to ensure that she still had time to stall.

Estella seemed content to let her, merely offering a shrug. "You don't have to wear one. I certainly won't make you." She glanced at Marceline, though, as if unsure whether her opinion on that matter would be shared.

"To be fair, you all perhaps do not even need them to be that tight," Marceline answered. Like the others, she had also slipped out of her first dress and was now in the process of donning her second. She had already put on her slip, in her case a vibrant purple satin. However, she was currently working on sliding her gown on, with her corset resting on a nearby chair. From the exquisite look of it and magnificent embroidery, it was clear that it was meant to be worn on the outside. The gown she was currently working with was all black, with silver embroidery and white lace along the neckline, base, and sleeves. Her corset likewise sported the same color scheme, however, instead of more purple, there were accents of the Inquisition's russet along the side.

"Just tight enough so that they do not fall off during... strenuous activity,"' she noted with a raise of a brow. She of course, both meant dancing and foiling an assassination plot. There was a chance that some, if not all of them would need all of their mobility to ensure the night was a success, so she was more lax about their dress. "But no, with your physique, I do not believe a corset is necessary, if you would truly rather go without," she said with a shrug. It wouldn't make much of a difference if it was worn under their gown. "Though, you do lose a place to keep another blade," she said with a wink.

She finally slipped on her gown and reached behind her to lace what she could reach before glancing toward Asala. "Can you help? I cannot reach the top laces," she said as she turned and lifted her hair to give the woman access to them. Asala had also donned her slip, a soft gold, though she had not gotten to her gown yet. Instead, she stared at it as it sat in another chair, like it was about to bite her. The gown itself was a lovely white and gold piece, with darker gray accents to match her skin tone. When Marceline asked for her help, she twitched a bit before quietly nodding. "Um. Sure. These?" she asked, as she tugged at the lace.

"Yes, just make sure the top one is tied off with a bow," Marceline added.

Across the room, Khari's struggle with her gown continued. She apparently attempted pulling it over her head at first, before realizing that it was meant to be stepped into and fiddling with the ribbons at the back. “Seriously, why is every part of this so... fussy?" She scowled at the garment as though that would help anything, but apparently decided to slow down, taking more care with the fastenings. Her brows remained furrowed, however, a rather inordinate amount of concentration etched into face as she attempted to learn what was clearly an entirely new set of skills on the fly.

At one point, she yanked her hand back quickly, grimacing at it before popping her index finger into her mouth. At a guess, she must have caught it on one of the hooks meant to keep the ribbons in place. She gave no indication of pain, though, humming around the obstruction in a way that sounded like discontented grumbling more than anything. One of the phrases sounded suspiciously like 'torture device.'

A moment later, she glanced up and caught Marcy's eye. “Uh, so... I was gonna ask this earlier but I never really got the chance. What exactly is the plan? I know how to curtsy and introduce myself and pretend like I give a shit whether someone's a baron or a duke, but I still dunno what we're actually supposed to be looking for here." She blinked. “Am I just supposed to bodyguard? Because I can kinda do that, but that's not really what this is for, right?" She jabbed balefully at the dress.

"Correct," Marceline answered. Were she supposed to be seen as just a bodyguard, then she would have sent off for a suit of armor, but they would all need the mobility that being a patron of the ball gave them. In the meantime, Marceline had managed to get her gown tied on, with a nice bow at the top as instructed, and was now currently helping Asala slip into her own. She gestured which arms go into which holes, and how to step into it, before she began to tie the back on herself. In contrast to Marceline's tall and rather modest neckline, Asala's proved to be rather deeper and wider in order to show more of her ashen skin tone, which worked well with the dress she'd picked out for her.

"But regardless we should still watch out for each other and keep each other safe," she added, glancing around at Asala, who nodded in agreement. She smiled, and continued to work on her lacing. "First and foremost, in the future that Cyrus and Romulus saw, many of the key players of Orlesian nobility were assassinated," she paused for a moment before continuing, "Including myself. This ball presents the perfect opportunity to deal a blow to Orlais by taking out many important figures in a single night. We should ensure that they remain safe for the duration."

Marceline finished the last lace on Asala's dress, who spun once to test it. After it did not fly off she turned toward Marceline and dipped into a curtsy before she grinned. Marceline chuckled and nodded her approval, before Asala went back to her bag. Marceline then glanced at the rest and continued. "Corypheus undoubtedly has agents embedded within the court, so we must also find out who they are, and deal with them as well. However, this may prove to be difficult, if they are adept players of the Game," with that, she went to her own corset and began to wrap it around herself as well. She glanced back to Khari and shrugged. "Care to help?" She asked, indicating toward the laces on corset.

Khari looked dubious for a moment, but apparently any excuse to step away from her own issue was a welcome one. “Okay. Not too tight, right?" She walked around behind Marceline and took the laces in a firm grip, giving a few tentative tugs before she figured out the necessary amount of force to budge things.

“Say when, Marcy, because I sure don't know."

"That's enough," Marceline stated just before it reached the point of uncomfortable. As it was meant to be worn on the outside, it couldn't be loose, else it would be seen as sloppy, but fortunately the extra layers between her and it left enough room that it wasn't too terrible to wear. It was one of the reasons she preferred her corset on the outside.

After that, Marceline continued. "After all of that, we must also ensure that we win approval of the court. The people we meet tonight may have resources they are willing to share if we were to impress. At the very least, we do not wish for these people to dislike us. That would make my job... difficult, in the future," she said with a furrowed brow. She would have to deal with these people later, and it would be easier if they liked them.

"I would also like to see the peace talks reach a favorable resolution, though we are not to directly affect anything. We were invited as an impartial party, after all." Marceline added.

Estella, her garment bag draped over one arm, made a soft noise at that. "Well... impartial, maybe. But I'm not sure that will translate into inactive. Somehow I think that all of this is connected, and anything we do about the assassination plot will probably end up affecting the peace talks as well." She lifted her shoulders, meeting Marceline's eyes. "I can understand wanting to be neutral; I'm just not sure how realistic that is, all things considered."

With a small sigh and a slight shake of her head, she stepped behind a shoulder-height screen, tugging her tunic up over her head and then setting it over the top of the cover.

Marceline sighed and nodded in agreement, "You may be correct." If they were to foil an assassination directed toward Celene, then they would be seen as being on the loyalist side, and vice versa with Gaspard. Even then, if both were to be unaffected, that would not translate into a favorable result, and they needed one. Orlais needed to direct its focus on Corypheus, not on each other. Marceline, however, did not enjoy the idea of the Inquisition being the one who had a hand in deciding who won the throne in the end. But perhaps it was too late to think of such things. "In any case, we must be careful. At the very least, I wish to see everyone of the Inquisition leave the ball intact."

Khari snorted, tugging at the neckline of the dress she'd finally gotten herself into. It was much shallower than Asala's, but did extend all the way out to her shoulders, making it obvious that the elf's copious freckles were not limited to her face. “I think we can all agree about that." She grimaced, then shot a look at Zahra. “How're you doing there, Zee?" Bending, Khari started working her feet back into her boots, apparently taking Estella at her word that it would be acceptable to wear them.

Zahra’s response didn’t come quickly—she was focused on something else in the room. Peeping between her curls as she bent down to retrieve the corset she’d discarded moments ago. Though it may have been imagined, she seemed to be stealing glances across the room. Watching the flutter of gold spinning in a small circle. That is, until Khari swung a look in her direction and she turned away, chortling a quick laugh. She pushed her hair out of her face, “Getting by. This is a lot more difficult than I thought it’d be. Lords and ladies, I don’t know how they do it.”

There was a pause, as she watched Estella disappear behind one of the screens. She arched an eyebrow, “I thought we’d be all cozy with each other by now. Especially after that cheeky game of Wicked Grace.” Fortunately for the one in question, she hadn’t tiptoed over to invade her privacy. Though it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. What with that twinkle in her eye. Instead she hummed over her corset and let out a soft sigh.

"You'll recall that I won that," Estella retorted, flashing a small smile over the screen. "Less coziness involved in that."

Apparently Marceline’s suggestion had convinced Zahra that the corset might be useful as an extra utility. A belt of sorts, rather than a contraption made to make them look thinner. She stepped into it and pulled it up to her ribs, holding it in place with a strained look on her face. Her eyebrows were drawn together. Initially she tried to reach behind her back to reach the dangling laces, but found it nigh impossible no matter how much she stretched and wriggled her fingertips. “I, uh, I think I’ll need help getting this thing on too, if you wouldn’t mind. Gently.”

“Here, lemme." Khari, boots firmly on her feet, moved to help, a little more confident this time since she'd done it once already now. She seemed inclined to follow Zahra's instruction, though, and only pulled until the laces were snug. “I think that's all right, yeah?" She smacked the other woman on the bicep with the back of her hand. “Looking good, Zee. Fanciest pirate I ever saw."

Zahra stretched her arms above her head as if to test her mobility in the cursed contraption. She flashed Khari a thumbs up and grinned at her over her shoulder, “That’s perfect. Torsos intact. I can breathe.” There was a pause, as she knuckled at her nose, and scooped up her dress, slipping into it in much the same fashion as the others had done. Low-cut and baring her shoulders, as well as her back. Perfectly suitable for a pirate. “I’d say I clean up pretty well. So do you. Never thought I’d see you in a dress. Lucky me.”

She appeared as if she had something else to say, but a mischievous smile smothered it down as she retrieved her boots from behind one of the chairs. As if she thought better of it. Perhaps she would say something to Khari at a later time. She pulled her knee-high boots back on and ruffled the frills of her dress, assuring they could not be seen.

"Technically we're not done yet," Estella pointed out, carefully smoothing down her skirt as she stepped out from behind the screen.

The Lady Inquisitor, perhaps fittingly, had a slightly more ornate gown than most of the others, though not by much. The bodice, high collar, and deep, belled sleeves were all deep crimson, delicate lace layered over thick muslin. The lace became the upper skirt, draped neatly over a simple white silk petticoat, creating a striking contrast between the reflective, almost liquid shine of the silk and the fine details in the lace, evocative of swirling flames. A touch of the Inquisition, rendered subtly rather than overtly. Though the collar encircled her neck, there was a gap after that until her shoulders, where the sleeves started up again, saving it from perhaps being too conservative in that respect. The silhouette was clean, free of ruffles or frills, and rather elegant because of it.

She half-smiled at the others. "Hair and all that. Shouldn't take nearly as long, though."

Khari returned the smile with a grin. “Gods, you know you're just like... so pretty it's stupid, right?" She shook her head, which seemed to remind her about the hair comment, because she took her long braid in both hands after. “Dunno if there's much to be done about this." She flopped the end of it back and forth and rolled her eyes.

Estella looked a little pinker than usual at the compliment, but only shook her head by way of response.

At that point, however, their strategics were interrupted by a knock at the door. “If you are all decent, I am entering." The straightforward delivery and utterly flat tone could only belong to Ser Rilien.

Khari shrugged. “I'm never decent, but we're not naked."

With no reaction to the joke, the tranquil opened the door and stepped smoothly inside before closing it behind him. Under one arm, he carried some kind of box; the other hand went to the strap of a satchel he carried over his back. Clearly, his preparations were taken care of; the crisp, sienna-colored tunic he wore was considerably more embroidered than even his usual attire, in the Inquisition's gold, and tan trousers tucked neatly into his boots.

Striding to the nearest table, he eased the satchel off his shoulder and set it down; the heavy sound it made even with such care taken was a giveaway to what it contained. “You will want to arm yourselves. I have included sheaths and straps for various parts of the body; I suggest you take care with the concealment. If you are discovered to have weapons, this will end poorly for us."

“Rather foreboding of you, Rilien. Though you do look rather dashing. Are you dressing the boys as well?” Zahra waggled her eyebrows at him and flashed a smile, even if it wouldn’t be reciprocated. She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. She was already crossing towards the satchel he’d deposited on the table, snapping it open and rifling through its contents. She took two daggers with their accompanying straps; presumably one for her ankle, and another for her corset.

She hummed and held one up to her bust line. “Now, how does one hide a sharp, pointy object in a corset? Between the breasts? Up the back? I’d prefer not to gouge myself in the middle of a dance.” Modesty did not run in her veins. She seemed to be posing the question to Rilien as well—for whatever reason. Supposing a Spymaster would know these things just as well as a woman would.

"Usually the back," Estella replied. "Most corsets are structured enough that it won't show there, if the blade is thin enough. So you'll want to save the bigger one for your leg." She selected herself a couple of daggers as well, handing a pair to Khari, too. "I'm guessing Asala won't be needing any, and that Lady Marceline has her own." It didn't seem to be a question; more of a statement, and she briefly glanced at the two of them when she made it.

Lady Marceline glanced over toward Estella when she mentioned in her name. She'd taken a roll of fabric from a nearby table, and currently held it in her hands as she looked. Something of a knowing smile graced her features as she rolled the fabric out across the table, and displaying her own miniature arsenal. A number of blades of different sized waited for their proper homes on her person. "Of course I do," she answered and plucked the first up, testing its edge.

Asala on the other hand simply shrugged, her hands raised with palms facing out. "Magic," she noted before punctuating it by wiggling her fingers back and forth.

That reply more than clear, Estella addressed her teacher. "What's the box for, Rilien?"

Khari hiked up her skirt far enough to slide one of the knives into her left boot. The other went into the right, given that she didn't have anything on the outside to hold it with.

Rilien merely held the small box out towards Estella. “Your hair." He blinked, remaining where he was until she took it from him, and then glancing once around the room at the rest of them. “We're departing shortly. It is advisable to be on time. Ser Lucien ought not be more than fashionably late." As abruptly as he'd arrived, the Spymaster departed.

With the caution in mind, the rest of the preparations went quickly enough. Estella took care of Khari and Zahra's hair: to the elf's bright red mane, she only added a small crown braid, leaving the rest of it to fall naturally, if a bit tamer than usual. Zahra wound up with an Orlesian braid, a few choice waves left artfully loose to feather about her face and neck.

Her own, Estella braided back from both temples, gathering at the middle and allowing it to join the rest thereafter. When she opened the box, she smiled to herself: Rilien had either purchased, or—more likely—made an ornament out of what seemed to be mother-of-pearl and silverite, formed into a delicate, almost lifelike lily, which she pinned in one of the braids, just behind her left ear.

Marceline had added volume to her hair and rolled only the ends to give them a gentle curl. Her hair, as always, was immaculate, a point of pride for her, if she was being quite honest. She had managed to get it to a point where it had a nice bounce whenever she moved, which had been her initial goal. Otherwise, she left it be, confident that its natural black color would be more than enough to stand out. She however, did don an expensive silverite necklace, the gemstone of which was nothing other than a jewel of jet. Once she was satisfied, she moved to help Asala with her ornamentation.

Before she had started on her, She'd started the rolls for Asala's. Now, with enough time when she took the rollers out, her long white hair gaining some volume of its own as the curls sprung up. Asala took a moment to swing to and fro, watch as the curls that she could see bounce around her shoulders before she began to giggle. The laugh proved to be infectious as Marceline also found herself chuckling, before holding up a length of russet ribbon. She beckoned for the taller woman to bend down so that she could reach her hair without fetching a step stool. Once Asala acquiesced, Marceline began to tie the ribbon off just to the side of her horn, giving her that final bit of pop she was looking for.

With a bit of cosmetic work for those who wanted it, they were as ready as they were going to get, down to the matching masks, the one thing that would unify all of them as members of the Inquisition. Estella pulled in a breath, then glanced at Marceline. "I guess it's time, isn't it?"

"I do believe so," Marceline answered, tossing a glance at the rest of the ladies. "We should not keep them waiting, then. Yes?" she added, making her way toward the door before pulling the latch, and holding it for all of them to file through. Once they had all filed out, Marceline followed suit, and shut the door behind them.

Eventually they made their way back to the foyer, where they began to descend the staircase to the ground floor, where the men waited for them.

The gentlemen of the Inquisition had, of course, also cleaned up for the occasion, in colors almost as varied as the ones the women sported. In addition to Rilien, Leon had opted for Inquisition hues. Actually, it wouldn't be all that surprising if he'd asked the Spymaster to arrange them. He had never seemed the type to know much about anything sartorial outside of uniforms and armor. Indeed, his discomfort was a bit obvious; he tugged a bit at the white sleeves of the shirt under his doublet, which was russet and gold. He'd opted for the darker umber almost everywhere else, from his trousers to the tie keeping his hair neatly gathered at his nape.

"As I suspected." The amused comment was Lucien's. "The lot of you are going to make quite the impression, I should think." He made one of those himself, really, in the green and silver of House Drakon, with the trademark mask, designed to resemble a dragon's wings. There were only two of them left in the country, and neither was frequently spotted in court.

"Well, this is a sight I'd quite like to remember," Vesryn commented. His doublet of silk brocade was a deep blue, snugly fit across his upper body and fastened asymmetrically up the left side of his chest. His white blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, smooth and shiny, and rather prominently displaying his ears, something uncommon for him given the way his hair was typically left loose. Judging by his posture he wasn't ill at ease at all, even if he'd never been to any event of this particular sort. He softly touched Estella's upper arm as she passed, leaning in slightly to whisper something in her ear with a hint of a smirk. Whatever it was, it flushed her nearly as red as her gown, but she looked like she was trying to contain a smile, too.

The Lord Inquisitor was wearing more of a scowl, at least until he laid eyes on the women descending towards him. His left side was obscured by an inky black half cloak, draping down past his marked hand. His tunic was crisp darkened samite, a dark grey roughly the shade of his eyes. He tugged a bit awkwardly at the belt fastening the shirt in at his waist. His boots as well were dark, and they looked both soft and flexible. In all, it was a clean look, and much less flashy than Vesryn's, for a purpose that seemed rather obvious.

It was about as obvious as the way he gaped at Khari for a moment, before he collected himself, tearing his eyes away towards nothing in particular and clearing his throat. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered. "Does anyone else feel like an idiot?"

“You don't look like an idiot." Khari said it with confidence, shrugging her shoulders, the usual half-cocked grin firmly in place on her face. “We all clean up really fancy, yeah?" Her finery was doing a poor job of likewise rendering her mannerisms any more delicate or refined than usual. She was just Khari, same as always, only shuffling around slightly awkwardly trying not to trip on her hem.

“Goodness knows that's the important thing." Cyrus's tone was arid, but a trace of humor showed on his face. He'd elected for a familiar color scheme—they had to be his family's. Indigo and sable, accented with silver wherever metal or ornate threading was necessary. The cape he wore was in the Imperial style. Paludamentum, they were called, usually only donned by those with some history of military service. Perhaps that was appropriate, all things considered.

Rilien, hands folded into his sleeves, tilted his head. “We ought to be going. The carriages are waiting." As good as his word, he opened the door at the front of the foyer and held it open to allow the others to pass. “Do remember to keep your wits about you. Like us, others in attendance will be much more dangerous than they appear."

A whistle punctuated Rilien's words, issued from behind them. Marceline only had to glance up to find the culprit, Michaël was already replacing the fingers in his mouth with a stricken grin. Had she worn less makeup, it'd been easy enough to see the blush creep into her cheeks, but thankfully the only thing that betrayed her was a wobbly smile that only took a moment to right itself. He noticed it, of course. She knew he hadn't missed it. He never did.

Pierre however, coughed into his hand and turned away. Rolling her eyes at her son for the moment, she turned and gauged the rest of them. "If this is everybody, then Ser Rilien is correct. We should be making our way," she stated, before outstretching her arm. It wasn't a moment later that Michaël was by her side, taking it into his own.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
The Winter Palace was really big, and really... fancy.

Khari might have used a different word, like beautiful or something, except it didn't seem that way to her. It was overdone, in a way, gold and ivory and jewels and marble just dripping all over the place. There was hardly anywhere to rest her eyes that wasn't more shiny than the last spot, and this was just the exterior. She wasn't sure she could imagine a place that would make her feel less like she belonged. Considering just how ungainly she felt in all this silk and velvet, well... the impression probably wasn't wrong.

Good thing she didn't give a shit. She was here with her friends, for her friends, and everyone else could go take a long walk off a short pier if they didn't like it. Trying to keep that in mind, Khari trailed a bit behind some of the others, who all followed Lucien as he made his way up the central path leading to the entrance.

It was a chilly night; despite that there were quite a lot of people milling around in the garden. It wasn't completely impossible to overhear the whispers that followed as they passed, sliding through the air like hissing snakes. She could almost feel them on her skin. She thought she could make out words like Inquisition and Tevinter and elf, but that might have just been her imagination filling in the gaps. Grimacing, Khari picked up her feet and marched a little faster.

The building ahead loomed; the edifice actually kind of reminded her of a big cake—layers built in tiers around the same middle point, narrowing as her eyes moved up. The outside was white stone and pale blue slate, the windows arched to points that perfectly matched the open shapes leading out to balconies, verandas, and the like. Even the ivy was disciplined, reaching no further down or out than the groundskeepers wanted. Gold capped all the towers around the central bit, and the middle spire especially. A pennant that had to be five times her height and breadth hung from one of the upper floors down the very center line, its blue and gold giving the entire building a spine. Magelights lit the way up the path, bathing everything in silver and white.

She let out a soft breath, reassuring herself of the weight of the daggers in her boots. She wasn't afraid, exactly, but she was nervous. She knew how easily she could screw this up for everyone, and they needed to succeed. If Corypheus managed to tear apart Orlais, then... well, it would be bad news for everyone.

“I'm not impressed." She muttered that to Rom and Cy, who were closest to her. “I think they could have used more gold, don't you?" It didn't take particular adroitness to detect her sarcasm.

“Don't say that until you've seen the inside." Cyrus adjusted his mask, frowning slightly in the process.

Zahra seemed rather impressed by the sight of it all—the Winter Palace in all its glory. A far cry from anything she might have seen aboard the Riptide, trouncing about on the waves. A further contrast would’ve been the seaside fishing shacks she had once lived in, in Llomeryn or Khari’s flying land-ships jostling down woodland paths. She, did, however seem to grow anxious as they approached. Itched, rather. Her expression was pinched and she appeared to be looking across the crowd of garden-millers. Eyes raking. Searching faces.

She rounded up to Cyrus’s side, and let out a soft sigh. One that she may not have realized she was holding in. “Pulled out all the stops, didn’t they?” She smoothed her hands across the front of her dress and readjusted herself. A sliver of boot oft appeared whenever she took longer strides to match theirs. Short legs, and all that. “Hope the food is just as good.” As they’d been told before, having a glass of wine was acceptable. Anything more would hamper their ability to think properly. That wouldn’t do. Much to the captain’s dismay.

"There are many powerful players in attendance tonight, which means many people to try and impress," Marcy began, glancing over Mick's shoulder toward them. "So yes, I expect the food to be rather exquisite."

"And the wine," Mick added with a grin for Marcy's benefit.

It caused her to chuckle lightly and she nodded in agreement. "Especially the wine."

Khari was definitely not planning on partaking of any of that. They were here to stop an assassination, after all. Plus it was already going to be hard enough not to make a fool of herself. Any other night, maybe she'd have at least wanted to see what all the food fuss was about, but... she was close enough to losing her sandwiches from earlier at the moment anyway. She resisted the urge to sigh; they were approaching the entrance.

It took conscious effort to pull her spine straight, but she did it. Hell if she was going to let anyone here know this intimidated her. Lucien got them past the guards, and the massive double doors swung open to admit the Inquisition.

She nearly reeled backwards. Dazzling was the word she wanted, in the literal sense. Khari blinked several times and tried to find something to focus on that wasn't blindingly-gold. Her eyes settled on Rom, but that was a bad idea for other reasons, so she slid them to Zee instead. Dark purple was nice to look at.

“Okay, you were right, Cy, I take it back." After a bit more adjusting, the entranceway was less overwhelming and she could actually make out some of the details.

Warm light bathed the gold statues flanking either side of the long hallway; the arched ceiling above was supported by two rows of narrow marble columns in pale white. The floor tiles even had gold leaf in them, pressed into more marble and what looked like lapis or something else meant to capture the complementary blue. All the drapes were blue, too, pulled back away from gleaming windows which just reflected more light. Practically everything glittered, including the people. Khari glanced down at herself; apparently the embroidery in her gown was picking up some of it, too, glinting against the darker green. At least she wasn't in yellow like Asala. Marcy's black made a lot more sense now.

“So... what now? We go say hi to Celene or...?" She let her attention bounce between the several people who might have some kind of answer for her.

"For now, we wait to be formally announced," Marcy answered, finally allowing Mick the use of his arm again. "There are certain courtesies we much observe first, unfortunately," she added with an apologetic smile, though it was tinged with a bit of humor. "But until then," she said, looking away and to someone across the hall, "We socialize." She then turned to face the other party and gingerly curtsied in their direction.

That seemed to be a cue, and the group split themselves into more manageable groups. Probably a few people had an idea of how that was supposed to go, but she wasn't exactly one of them. What she did know was that while Marcy handled the first comers, Khari wound up with Rom and Leon. She wasn't sure how this was going to go, exactly—none of them were exactly the best at this court stuff.

“So... socialize, huh?" She tapped the toe of her boot against the ground. “Any ideas, guys? Because otherwise I'm probably gonna go talk to the first person I see, and I feel like that's probably not a great idea."

Perhaps fortunately, Leon didn't have to answer—their group was approached by a couple. They were both perhaps in their middle age, though it didn't show all that well on their deep complexions. The woman's gown was a rather bold shade of orange, like a tropical fruit, accented with green to temper the effect of the room's brightness, perhaps. The man whose arm she had in hers was dressed in the green to match, with an orange sash. His expression was something like fond exasperation; her eyes were lit with some combination of determination, enthusiasm, and curiosity, visible even despite the obstruction of the mask.

"Lord Inquisitor." She greeted Rom first, dropping into a curtsey that seemed to be directed at all three of them. "It's an honor to meet you. My name is Fiorella Costanza. This is my husband, Sabino." She gestured to the man beside her, who put his hand to his heart and bowed.

Khari knew Rom's reactions well enough to know that he almost had to contain a laugh. It was understandable, too; Fiorella had been Stel's default personality to assume in their practice sessions leading up to the event, whenever she'd needed to impersonate a noblewoman for them. If anything, Rom actually looked a little relieved behind the silverite of his mask. "Lady Fiorella, Lord Sabino," he bowed for them, a well practiced motion by now, "the honor is mine. I've heard nothing but good things from Estella. Please, call me Romulus." There had been some discussion as to whether or not to use his birth name, Tavio Abeita, over the one the Tevinter Chantry brothers had given him, but in the end it had of course been left up to Rom, and obviously he'd made his decision.

He gestured to the others with him. According to what they'd been taught, it was on him to introduce his choice of companions. "Allow me to introduce Ser Leonhardt Albrecht, Commander of our military forces, and Serah Kharisanna Istimaethoriel, a member of our force of Irregulars."

"And a pleasure to meet you both as well," Fiorella replied, apparently quite genuine in the sentiment. "I'm flattered to know Estella has spoken well of us—though admittedly not terribly surprised, all things considered."

Sabino nodded; now that the introductions were over, the other parties to the conversation could participate without breach of etiquette. "She speaks of you, as well. Good things, likewise. I'd say welcome, but... I don't think everyone here has a welcoming attitude, if you take my meaning." He grimaced a bit, and shook his head.

Fiorella pursed her lips. "That is true, I suppose. But please: I want you to know that we are glad to have you here. If you like, just call us by our names, and we're here if there's anything we can help you with. I don't think you'll find it easy, being here, but I trust that His Highness has a reason for inviting you. And that you had a reason to accept." For a moment, a flicker of worry passed over her face, but it was soon gone.

Khari, whose nose had been wrinkled for the duration of her introduction, felt her eyebrows hike up beneath her mask. That was awfully kind, but then... they did seem to be friends of Stel's, so maybe that just made good sense.

“Khari." She amended her introduction because they were friendly; she knew why her whole name was necessary here, after all. “And, uh... do you know who exactly's against us here? Or why?" Some parts of it were pretty obvious, but if they had some special information, it couldn't hurt to know, surely.

Fiorella half-smiled. "Your Inquisition is unconventional in the extreme, my dear," she replied, the lilt of her Antivan accent coming through quite clearly. "There are people who won't like that on principle. You did just walk three elves and a Qunari into the middle of the Empress's fĂȘte. A large number will take exception just to that, before your organization's politics are even considered. Don't... be too surprised if some people refuse to speak to you, in particular." She seemed to think the reason for that specifically needed no finer a point.

"It may sound unintuitive, but if it were only rampant racism, you might have an easier time," Sabino added. "But there's also the fact that both of your leaders are from the Imperium, in one fashion or another. They certainly have Imperial names." He paused, expression softening slightly. "It's quite a strong name, by the way. Romulus. Has a bit of weight to it."

"And if we do bring politics into it?" Leon asked, glancing about the room as though to spot a threat. As though any threat would so easily reveal itself here.

With a sigh, Fiorella shook her head. "Well... we are here with the ostensible aim of ending the Civil War. Your Inquisition is already known to have aided the Empress's forces, at one point. But you arrived with the Crown Prince. He's not officially in contention for the throne—that's between Her Majesty and the Grand Duke. But that doesn't stop some people from wondering. From seeing you as a threat to their position, whatever it may be. I don't envy your task, to say the least."

"We'll do our best to navigate our way through," Rom promised. For all his rehearsal of how to act around them, he actually looked mostly at ease. These two were an easy pair to speak with, at any rate. "Any other names you think we should be aware of here? People to watch out for?" If the Empress or the Grand Duke were going to try anything tonight, they almost certainly wouldn't be doing it in person, after all.

Fiorella hesitated, meaning Sabino was quicker on the draw with a reply. "Lady Elodie is still not pleased with the outcome of Lord Julien's trial—Estella was involved in that. She's also generally very unpleasant, but she has the Empress's ear. I would be careful around her. And also... The Grand Duke's sister, Florianne. She's in the inner circles of both parties in a Civil War. If she's not planning something, I'm the court jester." His tone was quite dry, suggesting nothing of the sort.

Khari committed the names to memory, though she really had no idea who they referred to. She might have heard about Elodie from Stel once or twice, but she didn't remember the exact context. Something about her last time in Orlais. Still... now if they met, Khari would know to be on the lookout. Not that she planned on being anything but with anyone around here.

But the conversation had reached the time limit of politeness; Fiorella and Sabino took their leave with one more round of bows—much less formal—all the way around, and Khari heaved a sigh.

“Maybe we'll get lucky and everyone we run into will be like them."

She wasn't counting on it, though.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
So far Rom was managing to stay afloat solely because there wasn't much required by him in the way of conversation-making.

The predictions they'd made in their practice were proving to be right; everyone wanted to meet the Inquisition, more specifically the Inquisitors themselves, which meant that there was barely time for more than introductions before they needed to move on to someone else. The nobles themselves seemed to realize this, most not attempting to take up more than a few seconds of his time. Those that did were more often than not muscled in on by others before they could offer much. Rom was well-practiced in introductions by this point, though Khari's full name became a serious mouthful after the first few times he said it. He hoped she could forgive him for the excessive use of it.

Estella was likewise buried in eager Orlesians hoping to meet her. It was hard to tell, but Rom suspected the Lady Inquisitor was drawing a larger crowd than the Lord, though not by much. She was certainly more approachable, but it could be easily argued that Rom was more intriguing. The stories about him were somewhat wilder and more varied. Not to say rumor about Estella had been anything resembling mundane. He shared a sympathetic look with her when they passed once; it was all he had time for.

He was eager to be moving on, to get all these introductions out of the way so they could get to the real work they were here for. At some point they would be called inside the ballroom to introduce themselves to the Empress, but until then they were supposedly meant to enjoy themselves socializing. Rom had started out focused, taking down names and linking them with the variety of masks he saw, hoping he might be able to remember most, if not all of them. Now, though... he could barely remember most of the names right after they were said. Many of them had such thick Orlesian accents he couldn't even understand them on the first try, and the masks and dresses and doublets all started to blend together after a time.

"Is this the Lord Inquisitor, then?" asked a man in a burgundy doublet, drawing Rom's attention to his left. His mask was gold, or gilded rather, with a supremely pointed nose and eyebrows that gave him the look of being perpetually amused. He leaned against the nearby banister. "I've caught you at last. Lord Jaspar Droz, of Jader." That explained his much less severe accent. Jader was situated right on the border of Ferelden, and saw much wider range in its population.

"A pleasure, Lord Jaspar," Rom greeted with a short bow, the motion almost subconscious by this point. "I am the Lord Inquisitor, yes. My name is Romulus. Allow me to introduce—"

"Ser Leonhardt Albrecht and Serah Kharisanna Istimaethoriel, yes, yes," Jaspar interrupted. "We have limited time, so perhaps we can skip what I've already overheard." He cleared his throat, taking a step away from the banister towards them. "I've been following the Inquisition's work quite closely. A bit hard not to, in Jader. Quite remarkable things you've done."

Next to Rom, Khari shifted a bit; one of her hands found her hip. She'd been struggling a bit as the introductions continued; it was obvious enough that her attention had flagged, but something about the cadence or tone Lord Jaspar used snapped it back into focus on the conversation. “Not that surprising, is it?" She bared her teeth in a smile that didn't quite reach genuine friendliness. Though perhaps one would have to be familiar with her inventory of them to know that. “Tends to be what happens when you put a bunch of remarkable people in an exceptional situation."

"We have done what we can with our lot," Leon added, considerably more modestly. Rom had been able to glean that he had at least some experience with events like this; he'd taught as much as he learned at the etiquette practices, and seemed to have a considerable amount of endurance for repetitive introductions. Though it would clearly be a mistake to say he was enjoying himself, as they'd been urged to do. The natural fact that his height and coloration made him stand out in a crowd bothered him a little more here than it did among soldiers, apparently—he held himself just uncomfortably enough that it was noticeable. "But there is yet much to do."

"Indeed," Jaspar said, nodding, "what the Inquisition intends to do in the future has been a subject of much debate among the nobility." Through the slits in his mask Rom could see his eyes narrow. "You have already demonstrated great audacity, building an army that answers to no nation, occupying a fortress in Fereldan lands, marching your army through southern Orlais when it pleases you..." Though the words were phrased almost as accusation, the tone that accompanied them was entirely pleasant, in the obviously disingenuous way. Somehow it made it seem more acidic than if he were spitting with anger.

"Makes the good people of Orlais wonder what your intentions truly are. You in particular, Lord Inquisitor." Jaspar tilted his head at Rom slightly, examining him. Not for the first time Rom wished he were without his own mask, as he felt foolish behind it. Such a stupid quirk of their culture. "There are many who believe you showed your true colors when you attempted to prop yourself up as a descendant of blessed Andraste herself. As if being declared the Lady's Herald was not enough!"

"I was deceived by a carefully constructed lie," Rom said. "We all were." He was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. The air was not as cool in here as it had been outside, with all the people waiting for the ceremonies to officially begin.

Jaspar scoffed softly. "Of course, of course. A lie the Inquisition seemed all too ready to go along with." His eyes then shifted to Khari, and he hummed in thought momentarily. "Istimaethoriel... no city elf name. I'd not be surprised to see Dalish markings behind that mask of yours. Tell me, elf, did you believe your Herald to be descended from Andraste herself, as apparently all the Inquisition's leadership did?"

“Didn't matter to me when they said he was, didn't matter to me when they said he wasn't." Khari tilted her chin up a little; it wasn't hard to read the stubborn twist to her mouth. Mask or not, she might as well have been barefaced. The honesty practically rolled off her in waves. “He's a leader worth following, with a cause worth fighting for, no matter whose blood he is." She shrugged, but her expression was too hard for the motion to have any of the carelessness it might have otherwise implied. “I don't need any god's authority to tell me that. My eyes'll do just fine."

"Silly of me to expect any kind of piety from an elf, I suppose," Jaspar said, almost laughing as though it were indeed a rather funny joke he'd just told. Of all the possible subjects, this was the one Rom felt the worst about discussing, if only because he still felt he had no decent way of justifying it. His motives had been selfish above all. It hadn't been about the Inquisition or Andraste or the Maker for him, but about the rush of finding out who his family had been, and trying to do something, anything to feel like he belonged to that.

"You are still a High Seeker, are you not Ser Leonhardt?" Rom started looking about as Jaspar continued, wondering if anyone else would come to muscle in here, but he seemed to have chosen his moment well. "As of when the Inquisition came through Jader on this mad quest, the Herald had not yet been named Inquisitor. This leads me to believe you granted him the title after he was proven a fraud. Does this Inquisition make a habit of rewarding heresy? Idiocy? Both?"

"The heretics are dead," Leon replied mildly, blinking at Jaspar with an unperturbed expression. "The Lord Inquisitor killed them both himself, actually." He tilted his head a few degrees to the side. "It was due to him the deception was discovered, and due to him it was ended. The sacrifice of what could have been great personal gain for the sake of the truth over deception and right over wrong is best rewarded wherever it occurs, I have found."

He glanced for a moment at Rom, and then his eyes moved briefly to Khari. "I have been most pleased to discover that ours is, above all else, an organization of faith. Faith that what is best in us and the world will triumph. I have learned a great many lessons in it myself, some of them from impious elves. I find that this fact does not sit so poorly with my own faith in the Maker."

Rom was immensely grateful that he had his friends at his back for this. They'd worded his defense far better than he could have hoped to do himself. Even Lord Jaspar, who seemed so intent on despising him, obviously had to reconsider his next move. In the end, he smiled pleasantly. "Well spoken, Ser. It's plain to see the Inquisition did not come to Halamshiral unprepared. As for your Lord Inquisitor, I will have to reserve judge—"

A bell sounded clearly, cutting through the din of conversation permeating the room. It seemed it was time, then, for the formal introductions to the Empress and the court to take place. Rom bowed his head rather than wait for Jaspar to finish his thought. "It's been a pleasure, Lord Jaspar. I hope you have a pleasant evening." Accepting the nod of the man's head as enough of a farewell, Rom led the way towards the great double doors separating them from the ballroom. He walked closed enough to nearly bump shoulders with Khari. "Thanks for that, both of you."

Leon actually smiled a bit at that. "Not at all. I didn't even have to say anything untrue."

“What Leon said." Khari leaned slightly sideways to knock her bare shoulder into his arm for just a moment. “We've got your back." She pushed a sigh through her nose; observing the flow of the crowd in front of them. “Marcy says I don't get to meet the really important people, though, so I'm gonna have to watch it from a bit further away this time." From the way her mask shifted, she'd wrinkled her nose in a familiar fashion.

“You'll do fine anyhow. If it's really an emergency, give the signal and I'll sneak behind her and make funny faces or something. I'll bring Zee with me." She patted his back once, firmly, before breaking off to walk next to Vesryn and the aforementioned pirate who, along with Asala, weren't really noble enough to merit a direct introduction to the Empress. Zahra’s demeanor belied a remarkably indifferent proclivity. She had been watching. Intently. However, she didn’t seem to like Jaspar’s attitude. Nobles be damned. She did appear to be relieved that she hadn’t needed to say anything at all though. As soon as Khari joined them at their sides, she shifted and made a comment. Barely audible. Her smile was indicative of a joke.

Rom couldn't help but grin, the upward turn of his lips just visible below the bottom of his mask. Unlike dealing with random lords that took issue with the Inquisition's actions, Rom had done a great deal of practicing for meeting the Empress. Likely he wouldn't have to say much, as the formal introductions would be very brief, after which point the Empress would undoubtedly have more pressing matters to attend to. Still, there would be words exchanged, and Rom wanted to make sure the ones that came out of his mouth did nothing to damage the Inquisition.

A small group of guards permitted the Inquisition's party of nobles to enter the grand ballroom, with the others soon following behind, though they were directed to the sides rather than the staircase leading down and through the center of the room. Rom's eyes had just about absorbed all the gold, marble, and glittering surfaces they could handle for one night, but the ceiling in here was vaulted much higher than the entryway had been, the walls draped in banners of royal blue.

A crier noted their entrance, withdrawing the scroll at his back and unfurling it as Lucien led the party down the steps. There they waited for the announcement, which was only a few seconds in the coming. "And now, presenting: His Imperial Highness Lucien Thibault Drakon, Prince of the Empire, Duke of Lydes, and Commander of the Argent Lions. And accompanying him..." A pause, as the crier took in the first few names on the list.

"The Heralds of Andraste: Lady Inquisitor Estella Severa Calligenia Avenarius, and Lord Inquisitor Romulus." He almost wished he had a few more names, so as to not seem as a footnote compared to the others he stood with, but Rom did his best not to seem that way, and stood with straight-backed posture as he had been instructed.

The woman on the other side of the ballroom floor from them, behind a marble railing atop the mirrored staircase, needed no introduction. Empress Celene Valmont I looked radiant as expected, at least from this distance. Her hair was a very light blonde, done up in an elaborate bun to keep it out of the way of the glittering ornament of what appeared to be a large sun affixed to the back of her dress. Her color for the night was unsurprisingly blue, and her mask, unlike many of the others, exposed her nose and much of her cheeks, doing little to hide her somewhat gaunt features. She curtsied to the three that were presented to her.

They returned it, bows from Romulus and Lucien, and a graceful curtsy from Estella. The ballroom floor had been left empty and clear for them to cross, and Lucien started them forward, keeping only a pace in front of the Inquisitors. Estella shot a brief glance at Rom, wearing a small smile. "Shall we?" The question was soft, just a little offering of solidarity.

He was glad for it, and glad that they had been introduced side by side. Nodding, they walked that way, remaining just a pace behind the Crown Prince, who proved to be an easy man to follow. He had a presence that neither of them could hope to match, and Rom had a feeling there were just as many eyes on Lucien as the two newcomer Inquisitors.

"Accompanying the Inquisitors," the crier continued, as they made their way slowly across the ballroom floor, "High Seeker Leonhardt Engelram Albrecht, Commander of the Inquisition."

"Lady Marceline Élise BenoĂźt, Comtesse of the West Banks and Ambassador for the Inquisition, and her husband Lord MichaĂ«l Durant BenoĂźt, Comte of the West Banks."

The pair had entered as one, Lady Marceline's arm wound around Michaël's. She curtsied, while her husband slipped into a deep bow. From the smile apparent on her face, she seemed rather proud of the moment, having been formally introduced, while Michaël at the very least seemed happy for his wife, as his eyes were on her as much as they were on the royalty.

"Lord Cyrus Tullius Aquila Avenarius, Praefectus of Vantania." At this point it seemed the flurry of Tevinter names were starting to wear thin on the Orlesians, and unlike the other two Cyrus was not an Inquisitor or Herald of Andraste. The welcome was not openly impolite, but still of a perceptibly different mood.

Since Cyrus was behind them, it was impossible to know exactly how he reacted to that fact, but it was hard to imagine him letting it bother him much. His initial reception within the Inquisition had been openly chilly—there were still some members of staff who never got within ten feet of him. It seemed unlikely this would perturb him if that didn't.

"And Serah Rilien Falavel, Seneschal of the Inquisition."

Surprisingly, Rilien seemed rather more popular than most; or at least people were interested to note his appearance, from the slight hum of murmuring that passed through the crowd at that announcement.

Though it seemed much longer than it probably actually was, the distance they had to cross did not last forever, and the bows and curtsies were repeated when they reached speaking distance, standing on the other raised side of the ballroom floor. Celene occupied the balcony in front of and above them, alone for the moment, though no doubt her closest attendants were not far.

As befitted her status, the Empress was the first to speak. "Lucien. It has been quite some time since you graced our court with your presence. You even managed to nudge our Lord-General into an appearance, we've seen." The cadence of her words was light, practiced, diplomatic; even the humor seemed pre-planned, lacking the spontaneity of genuine amusement. Were it not for the familiar form of address, it would have been impossible to tell they were related at all.

"Your Majesty," Lucien rose with apparent ease from his bow, but he didn't refer so casually to the Empress as she did to him. "It has been some time; it is my hope that no more such prolonged absences will be necessary." Despite his relative formality, he still managed to sound quite genuine, almost warm.

Celene inclined her head, just faintly. "And such interesting guests you've brought with you. Lady Inquisitor, Lord Inquisitor. We've heard much of the both of you. We daresay you're the talk of Orlais these days. Perhaps the talk of Thedas, in time." An inscrutable smile curled her lips, painted petal-pink. "Tell us, how do you find Halamshiral?"

"I've never seen a city like it, Your Majesty," Rom replied truthfully. This was indeed one of the questions that had been expected. The proper responses, as he'd learned, involved not piling on false compliments and kissing feet. The Orlesians preferred things to be more interesting than that. "It feels like a place where the unexpected might occur around every corner."

The Empress's expression did not falter. "So it is," she agreed. "And we do believe you have brought quite a bit of the unexpected with you, as well." Behind her mask, her eyes narrowed just a fraction. "The unexpected comes in many flavors, Inquisition. Which, we wonder, are you?"

Estella straightened, giving a visual cue that she would field that one. Reading it easily, Celene turned her attention to the other Inquisitor.

"The moment we said, I doubt it would any longer be so unexpected," she replied. "So I'm sure Your Majesty will understand if we can't say."

The sharp look in Celene's face only grew more acute, but it seemed to be in some sense the correct answer, for she did not press, instead moving the topic onwards. "In that case, perhaps we will observe it in action. Welcome to the Winter Palace, Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom. We look forward to the night's events." A graceful decline of her chin dismissed them, and Celene herself turned from the group to depart, leaving them to climb the stairs to the left and ascend back to the upper level.

That went well enough, Rom thought. The others were arriving behind him by now, and the attention of the ballroom was steadily dispersing as the guests turned their eyes on each other. Rom tugged a bit at the hem of his tunic, wishing his clothes would start to feel more comfortable. If nothing else, he supposed it kept him on edge. He exhaled a breath now that he was certain the entire ballroom wouldn't hear it and take note.

"I suppose we should be getting to work, then."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leon suppressed the urge to sigh. He could feel a headache building behind his temples; he wasn't sure if it was a side-effect of his condition or just the stress and frustration that was trying to negotiate this rather perilous, rather ridiculous territory. Perhaps it was both.

So far, he'd had to fend off quite a lot of people asking for the opinion of a High Seeker on the other notable succession crisis of the moment. He'd made it firmly clear he had nothing to say about who should be the next Divine. It was a matter he'd need to think about eventually, but at the moment, he didn't have the mental energy to spare. He wasn't about to lean the weight of his position in any particular direction until he had.

Giving up on suppression, he heaved the sigh stuck in his chest when the latest gaggle of people moved off. Those had seemed much more interested in flirting with the Lord Inquisitor than anything else. It had rather quickly cracked the practiced demeanor Romulus had assumed for the introductions, to the point that Leon had actively interceded on his behalf. At least they'd gotten the hint once he started looming.

"Feel free to take a minute," Leon told him. "We can run interference for a bit here if you need some air or something." Regaining the centered, measured attitude he'd started with might be a matter of more than a few seconds, after all. That was just to be expected of ordinary, non-courtier mortals like themselves.

He looked very much like he wished he had a hood to pull up over his head. "We're wasting time," he said, through partially gritted teeth. "I don't need air, I just need something to do. Something I'm useful at." Obviously he didn't think that trading pleasant greetings or flirting with random nobility was contained in that category of things.

Leon could understand the frustration, though there was little to be done about it. "Unfortunately there will be no such tasks until someone unearths them," he pointed out. "And that is a matter of talking to people." He didn't like it either, but that was simply the nature of the beast, so to speak.

Pursing his lips, he glanced from Asala to Khari. The former still seemed a little dazzled by their surroundings, but few were brave enough to approach her anyway, though she got quite a lot of distasteful looks. Almost as many as Khari, who was making effort to be included in the conversation at least.

Maybe a group like this would have more success with martial types. In Leon's experience, chevaliers were at least a fraction more direct than their non-military counterparts. "Find us some soldiers, Khari?" She'd know how to spot them, and probably not mind doing so.

Khari blinked, as if snapping out of some thought or another. Not a pleasant one, judging by the downturn of her mouth. Her enthusiasm seemed to return a bit in the face of the job she was being asked to do, though, and she crossed her arms over her middle, humming thoughtfully and scanning the crowd.

A lot of the nobles were rather soft-looking, which made sense given their lifestyles, but every once in a while, there were one or two who looked to have more active pastimes. Disambiguating those from the actual chevaliers in the group would be the trickier part. Khari pulled her lower lip between her teeth and chewed for several long moments, then released it and grinned. “Them. Definitely them."

A jerk of her chin indicated who they were. A small cluster of younger individuals, only three. All of them were more modestly-dressed than average, but they were all also in quite good physical condition, and held their arms ever so slightly away from themselves, as though they were used to working around a sword-hilt or something similar. Two men and a woman, the man placed at the center with a slightly more mature appearance than the other two. They had matching tawny hair and similar-enough facial features to suggest familial relation of some stripe.

“Those are chevaliers, or I'll eat my damn dress." She struck off in their direction, shoes striking the marble-tiled floor with authoritative beats, clearly expecting the others to follow her now that she'd found what she was asked to find.

Their approach was obvious, and there was simply no way any of the three didn't notice it. The younger of the two men actually turned his head in their direction, eyes rounding slightly; he leaned down to speak to the woman, who shook her head and glanced at the other. His face remained stony. He scanned over them with an appraising stare, but then his eyes settled somewhere over Leon's shoulder.

“Well met." Khari, either sensitive to the fact the Romulus wasn't much in the mood to keep repeating the same greetings and introductions or else simply forgetting that he was supposed to, curtsied like she'd been taught. “I'm Kharisanna Istimaethoriel. This is Lord Inquisitor Romulus, High Seeker Leonhardt Albrecht, and Serah Asala Kaaras." To her credit, the formalized words were smooth, like she'd practiced them, too. “We're with the Inquisition."

She paused politely for the return introductions.

A heartbeat passed.

Then another.

The younger man and the woman exchanged glances, both of them shifting their eyes to the eldest. He continued to stare right through the whole lot of them. They might as well have been air.

Khari's brows furrowed. She looked from the two to the one, frown deepening. “Hey. I'm talking to you." Still nothing. Her fists clenched at her sides.

If anything, the pounding in his head was worsening, but this time it was just because he was angry. Leon was extremely practiced in the art of self-control, however, and forced a reasonably-neutral expression onto his face. He knew what this was.

"Sers. I am High Seeker Leonhardt Albrecht, and these are my companions, Lord Inquisitor Romulus, Serah Kharisanna Istimaethoriel, and Serah Asala Kaaras." The words rumbled out of him, the slight harshness to them likely excusable as his bass being sonorous by nature.

Romulus had looked like he was about to speak up before Leon had intervened. Whatever his words were going to be, they certainly weren't going to be a repeat of the introduction. For the moment, he held his tongue to see how they would respond.

Unsurprisingly, there was a response this time. The eldest man blinked, pale blue eyes coming back into focus, and inclined himself in a minimally-polite bow. "High Seeker. Lord Inquisitor. My name is Thédore Blancheflor. These are my cousins: Ser Marine Blancheflor and Ser Jean Blancheflor. We serve in the Lord-General's fourth regiment."

The other two looked considerably relieved at the slight shift in atmosphere, offering a much deeper bow and curtsy than their cousin had.

“Oh yeah?" Khari's tone was low, almost tremulous. But it was quite clear that it wasn't fear that caused the quake. “And what about me and Asala, huh? The Lord-General fine with you just ignoring people right in front of your face? Bet that works real well on the field, huh?"

"Um—" Jean parted his lips to speak, but Marine's hand on his shoulder silenced him. She shook her head, expression uncomfortable. ThĂ©odore didn't respond to her that time, either.

Khari looked about two seconds away from grabbing him by the neck of his doublet and forcing him to acknowledge her existence one way or another.

Marine had apparently caught onto the fact, her eyes moving between Khari and her cousin apprehensively. "Théo..." She let her sentence trail off before it was more than a word.

He turned his whole head to look down his nose at her. "Yes, Marine?"

She cleared her throat. "Shouldn't you...?"

"What? Acknowledge an honorless knife ear and her heathen ashfaced friend? I think not."

That had done it. Khari snarled and threw herself at him, something Théodore seemed to have anticipated, because he caught her outstretched arms in his hands. She still managed to get them in his shirt, yanking down with strength he clearly had not expected her to have. His nose collided with her head and crunched; she released and shoved him backward. Reflexively, he let go, hands moving to his face.

“Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you, you little shit!" Khari glowered at him, lips peeled back from her teeth. “And take back what you said about Asala!"

Asala was the next to move, although she went to Khari instead. Her slender arms wrapped the smaller woman's belly as she began to tug backward and away from the confrontation. "Khari, please. That's enough," she said in her firm, but also gentle way. Her face had a hard line to it, though if that was because of the man's words or because of the effort of attempting to pull Khari away, it was unclear.

Khari didn't resist; arguably, she hadn't looked too much like she was about to strike again, though perhaps safe was better than sorry. Actually at the moment she looked surprised more than anything, as though she'd only just realized what she'd done and was no longer nearly so certain of its wisdom.

Rom watched the pair of them only long enough to make sure that Khari wasn't going to go after him again. At that point he shifted his eyes back to the chevaliers, watching them for the same. Though the night had just begun, he looked more than a little tired.

The altercation had clearly drawn the attention of most of the room; a murmur was sweeping through the crowd, and it sounded distinctly uncomplimentary to Leon's ears. He regretted not being slightly quicker to react to Khari's obvious agitation, but a small part of him wondered if he'd really have stopped her. Necessity would have demanded it, and he'd have answered that, but...

"What's going on here?" The new voice carried a ponderous gravitas with it, and the murmurs were nearly immediately quelled. A man strode towards them, dressed in formal armor, gleaming silverite with a dragon clearly emblazoned on the front. A deep green cloak fastened at his shoulders nearly skimmed the ground behind him. Though his hair was more grey than brown, the flinty color of his eyes was vaguely familiar.

Guillame Drakon didn't look much like his son otherwise, aside from being almost as tall and having a bit of similarity in the nose and jaw. The brow beneath his mask was much thicker, his angles hewn more roughly overall. In his wake trailed a woman in blue, with pin-straight red hair to her shoulders and a slightly pinched look to her features, but the same warriors' build as the three Blancheflors.

"Lord-General." Théodore had managed to set his own nose at this point; he seemed to be tolerating what must have been quite a lot of pain very well. He held the bridge of it between his forefinger and thumb, using his free right hand to salute his commanding officer. "This woman attacked me."

“With provocation." Khari was still not resisting Asala, but she did try to shrug her off so as to be able to stand independently and address the Lord-General. “Bastard wouldn't even look at me, then called my friend 'ashfaced.' Figured he ought to know what happens when you ignore dangerous people right under your damn nose."

"The situation is as described," Leon added. "Please accept our apologies, Lord-General. It was not our intention to begin an altercation." He offered a short bow.

Guy grunted. "Of course not." Crossing his arms, he fixed his attention on Théodore. "The Inquisition has apologized, Captain. Now I'm obligated to do the same on your behalf. Think about that next time you decide to make an ass of yourself in public." His scowl deepened, but he was clearly a man of his word, because he returned Leon's bow with one of the same.

"You have my apologies as well, for the actions of my men." He rose, glancing over the lot of them before sighing heavily and turning on his heel to leave, gesturing the three Blancheflors after him. That took care of the diplomatic motions of resolution, and though the courtiers were still clearly whispering about it, their attention more or less dispersed with his departure.

His aide, however, remained, smiling somewhat uncomfortably at them, particularly Khari and Romulus, whom she seemed to recognize. "Sorry about all that," she added. "I hope this won't damage things too much. Théodore doesn't speak for all of us."

“Doesn't speak much at all, seems like." Khari's tone was sour, but not as harsh as it could have been. Perhaps it had dawned on her what damage she might have done to their cause had the Lord-General not been a reasonable man. What damage she might have done anyway. Pushing out a harsh breath, she offered the woman an awkward smile. “But thanks, Vi. I think if we're not any worse off with you, it's only fair that you're not any worse off with us."

"Seems fair to me." Reaching forward a bit, the chevalier patted Khari's shoulder once before drawing back. "Come see me after all this is over," she added. "I've got some... news you might be interested in. Until then... good luck out there." Dipping her head to all of them, she left in the same direction as the Lord-General had.

Along her way, she passed by a familiar face. "I believe congratulations are in order, Lieutenant-Commander," Michaël greeted with a warm smile. There was a bit of pride for his countryman in his words.

She dipped her head, a slightly subdued smile making a brief appearance on her face. "Appreciated, Ser Michaël."

Once she was gone, his attention turned back toward the others, and Khari in particular. There was a thin frown on his face, mild disappointment in place of his usual jovial grin. It was apparent that he had witnessed their earlier altercation, and he didn't approve, but there was something else too. Almost like he felt like he was in a dilemma. The reason why soon became apparent. "I want to say I am disappointed, and I probably should as well, but... I cannot say I wouldn't be any less angry if someone had insulted my friend too. Asala especially," he revealed with a slight shrug of his shoulder.

Khari seemed resigned to her chastening, such as it were, maintaining a silence that she was clearly trying not to make sullen, though her face hadn't quite lost the glower since the Lord-General's aide left.

"I want you to know, however," he started again, tossing his gaze back toward where the chevaliers had exited. "That there will be many others who share his sentiment, and some will not be as polite," He then turned back toward her, and offered a comforting smile. "It is something to think on, to be sure. But I did not come to lecture you," he said.

"I bring news from Marcy and Cyrus. Apparently there are servants that have gone missing, along with a Herald," he said, glancing at Romulus, before correcting himself, "Not ours, of course. They're accounted for obviously," he said with a smile and nod at Romulus. "They've taken to investigating the Herald, but wanted someone else to look into the servants."

Leon stroked his chin, feeling a frown form over his face. "Missing servants? It's going to be a bit difficult to inquire, considering that most of the areas servants would be in are off-limits." He doubted any of them would want to speak within earshot of twenty nobles about such a thing. They were probably quite expected to remain discreet at any cost. Of course... he couldn't say he cared that much about the limits placed on accessible areas of the building.

"Perhaps this last incident will serve a purpose after all. No one will be surprised if we make ourselves scarce for a few minutes at least. As long as we're back quickly enough, it shouldn't be all that suspicious." Leon turned his attention to Romulus, arching an eyebrow under his mask. "Your orders, Lord Inquisitor?" The question was at least slightly facetious, but only in the phrasing.

He'd been looking for something productive to do. This might just be it.

"Sounds like exactly what we should be doing right now," Romulus answered, without much hesitation. "We're obviously not doing much to help here."

Leon nodded. With the decision made, the issue became approaching it tactically. No doubt the highest concentration of servants would currently be moving in and out of the kitchens. He'd been aware of them for most of the night, but now he tracked their movements in particular. They seemed to all be appearing from back outside the entrance to the ballroom, which made sense—most likely some hallway off the main entry to the castle led to the servants' living and working areas.

"Well, our exit's this way," he said, nodding towards it. Their party wasn't exactly the one he would have chosen for sneaking around anywhere, aside from himself and Romulus. Khari had make quite the obvious point about her discretion already this evening, and there was simply no way Asala would go unnoticed anywhere around here. To say nothing of her ability to get around smoothly, which wasn't the best.

But that might work in their favor; perhaps they could draw or divert attention while the quieter half the team actually ventured into the servants' area. For now, Leon led the way through the crowd, which like most crowds he'd ever encountered, parted easily for him. The eyes followed as they moved, but as he'd initially suspected, the departure didn't appear to surprise anyone. It would take a while for them to be missed.

From the ballroom proper, they headed down an ancillary hallway, still apparently quite open to guests, though much less populated. There, Leon paused; there appeared to be a pair of servants waiting outside the door he thought might lead where they wanted to go, occasionally opening the large door for someone burdened down with trays, empty going in or full coming out. Perhaps they would be willing to speak.

Perhaps that would have to do with who addressed them. He was probably the worst choice, by appearance alone, though not in other ways. Still, he glanced at the others. "Anyone feeling confident enough to lead here?"

"I will," Romulus offered. He didn't look particularly happy about it, but then, that had become his obvious emotional state for just about everything they'd done in the Winter Palace. But it didn't seem that Khari was very eager to try out her people skills again so soon, and neither was Asala, though probably for different reasons. Romulus, then, made his way over to the servants slowly and obviously, making his intent of speaking with them quite clear in the approach. He also removed his mask; there were few enough around to see it done, and the servants themselves only had the simplest of disguises.

"I don't mean to bring you any trouble," he began, speaking softly. "I know you're probably not supposed to speak to me, but I was hoping you might be able to spare just a moment." He paused, finding each of their eyes for a moment, though he did not stare at either for too long. "I'm Romulus."

From the ears protruding slightly beyond their unadorned masks, both servants were elves; the one on the left was perhaps a middle-aged woman, the other a boy probably barely in the latter half of his teenage years, thin and gangly in the limbs. They exchanged a look, and then the woman spoke. "Syl. This is Pol." She pursed her lips, glancing behind him to where the others were clearly still in earshot. "If they can look busy, we can talk."

Leon took the hint immediately, turning himself around and leaning his back against a wall a little further off. Close enough to hear, but not to look like he had anything to do with the servants or their conversation. He also used his body to block a bit of visibility, gesturing Asala over so she could do the same. He trusted Khari to understand that it would be better for her to remain on Romulus's other side, watching in the other direction.

Asala did as instructed, shuffling over next to Leon, and then proceeded to make herself seem busy by adjusting and readjusting the jewelry and ribbon Marceline had put on her. Or at least, what she thought a busy person looked like.

He sighed. "You don't have to do anything in particular, Asala. Just talk to me as you would normally. The important thing is that we don't draw undue attention to Romulus." Which undoubtedly a large group of distinctive-looking people would do if they just stood in a cluster with him.

"Oh," she stated flatly, letting her hands fall to her side, "Right."

"Thank you," Romulus said to the elves, glancing at them both, but he directed his conversation towards the older of the two. "We're with the Inquisition, trying to make sure nothing burns down the Winter Palace tonight, or kills anyone trying to make peace. We'd heard some of the servants are missing. Have you heard anything like that?" He posed the question somewhat carefully. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, of course, that some of the servants might be up to no good at all, and that might be why they'd vanished. But it was also possible that innocents among them had simply gotten caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and paid the price for it.

"Perhaps," Syl hedged, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Or perhaps just disclosing the information to a stranger. "Perhaps not. Why would you want to know about that, messere?"

Khari hadn't strayed far from Romulus, and at that turn in the conversation, she abandoned the pretense of staring absently out a window and grimaced. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching her too closely, she returned to his side, her body language about as nonthreatening as it was possible for someone with her energy and vigor to be. She was not taller than either of the other two elves, but her presence was more impressive by several orders of magnitude.

She took off her mask, too, either following Romulus's cue or assuming her vallaslin might win her some credibility. When she did, she sighed, as though the simple action had relieved her of some much heavier burden. Meeting eyes first with Syl and then Pol, Khari dredged up half a smile from somewhere. “Because it matters." The smile fell.

“I've spent all of two hours in this place, and I don't know how you guys do it all the time. I guess you have to. But I know that if I was in this situation all the time, where people just get to ignore me, to treat me like—" Her voice cracked just slightly; she swallowed and continued as though it hadn't. “Treat me like I don't exist. Like I don't matter. I might start to believe everyone thought that way."

Glancing once at Romulus, she met Syl's eyes and pursed her lips. “But that's wrong. Some people do care. Some people do think it matters. And we're a few of them. If your friends are missing, we want to help find them."

Pol's eyes were rounded in surprise by the end of it. He looked half like he might fall over at the sheer certainty of Khari's words, and half like he might not mind if he did. Syl's response was a little more measured, but even she had clearly not been expecting an answer like that. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Khari's face, as if tracing over the patterns on her skin, and then she nodded, a bit reluctantly, but firmly all the same.

"Three," she said quietly. "Some of us, we... we work for a certain employer. Nothing major usually, just... collecting information. She wanted us to keep an eye on the garden tonight—along with everywhere else. But the first girl we sent, Vela, she didn't come back to report on time."

Pol finally reassembled his expression into something a little less awestruck and grimaced. "We thought... sometimes the guards, if they catch an elf alone..." The sentence didn't really need to finish. "So we sent two more to investigate, so no one would be alone."

"They didn't come back either," Syl finished. "I wish I could tell you more, but that's all any of us know. We're not sending anyone else—we can't risk it." Her lips thinned into a flat line. "If you care as much as you say you do, Inquisition, then... find who is doing this, and make them pay for it."

"That's what I'm best at," Romulus said, slowly lifting his mask back up to his face. He checked for a moment behind him, making sure the screen of Leon and Asala was still in place. He then rounded back on the servants. "Since the garden is restricted to us tonight... can you recommend a route we can take? Some way that will help us keep out of sight?"

Pol raised a hand to his mouth, crooking his index finger and biting down on the knuckle. It seemed to be equal parts a contemplative gesture and a nervous one; he hummed a bit awkwardly. "You know how you went through the entranceway to get here? If you hang a left in the foyer, it takes you into this big fancy gallery hallway. It's not empty, but some of the statues are big enough that you can hide behind them and cross the room without being seen if you're patient and quiet. Should be a door on the other side that'll get you to the garden eventually. I'll have it unlocked in half an hour for sure." He glanced between Romulus and Khari, as if to check whether that would serve their purposes.

"Thank you, Pol." Romulus nodded. "That should be more than enough. And don't worry; we never saw you." Having gotten what they needed from them, they bid short farewells and departed, Romulus and Khari regrouping with Leon and Asala. No longer needing to pretend being busy, they headed back for the ballroom.

"The others will want to hear about this," he said, stating the obvious. "And if I'm going to be sneaking through this palace, I think I might need a change of companions. No offense."

“I dunno what you're talking about." Khari rolled her eyes. “Clearly, I am the most subtle, discreet person ever." The sarcasm in her tone was thick; obviously the previous incident was still close to the forefront of her thoughts.

“Practically invisible, even."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Intrigue in Halamshiral was no exaggeration and as much as Zahra had begun hating the Game they spoke of, it breathed life through the palace’s hallways. A necessary evil. Perhaps it was the same throughout all of Orlais. She’d have to ask Rillien someday. She supposed he was the only one aside from Marceline that might have an idea why they operated that way. Tittering behind their hands; like clever foxes crawling into hen houses. Just as deadly as a blade poised against someone’s spine. Difficult waters to navigate. One she didn’t envy anyone having to live through each day. No one else seemed at all bothered by any of it. Some even seemed to enjoy it. Chaos.

Reconvening with the others was their only option if they wanted to move forward and keep their foothold, even she understood that. Snippets of information clasped in the palm of a frighteningly clever mentor. Someone named Q. As bullheaded as she could be, she understood the necessity for anonymity. Keeping things hush-hush. No one wanted to paint a target on their own back by aligning themselves with the Inquisition. Speaking such a thing aloud would be foolish. Even if it wasn’t true, she felt like the walls had ears. It reminded her a little of the Raiders of the Waking Sea
 though raiders were far more uncouth in their methods. Affiliate yourself with the wrong ship and risk the ire of another. The end result would be the same.

She walked slightly ahead of Vesryn and Stel, cutting through the crowd with the ease of someone who didn’t particularly care about raising her voice in order to get people to move out of the way. Only occasionally pausing to make sure she hadn’t lost them in a wayward horde of people, fluttering fans and tossing their head in laughter. High-pitched. Coquettish. Eyes still hounded their footsteps—though she’d noted long ago who they seemed so enthralled with. The Lady Inquisitor on the arm of an elven lad. It brought back Stel’s earlier conversation. Of how it might affect things in the future. For her, for him. It only made the determined jut of her chin harsher, returning sterner glares that bellied what the fuck are you looking at without so much as uttering a word.

As soon as they reentered the main chamber where dancing was supposed to take place, Zahra spotted Khari and the others walking back in as well. She drew a hand up towards her mask and crooked a finger. Beckoning them over. Though a better place would be crucial to speaking openly. Too many ears. Too many eyes. She glanced around the room and spotted a fairly empty balcony. A couple were just walking back inside, and from what she could see from where she stood, it spanned wide, and was deep enough to station themselves away from the large, blue double-doors.

“This way. There’s a much better place to talk over there,” she led the way once more, and settled herself against the white-gilded railing surrounding the balcony. There were various potted plants to accompany them, but little else. As she’d surmised, they were alone.

Vesryn unwound his arm from Stel's so that he could take a moment to stretch and breathe in a bit of the cooler night air. It was a lot less stuffy out here than it was inside. He turned about to settle his rear on the balcony railing, momentarily pulling the mask from his face so he could rub at a spot. Perhaps it was ill-fitting in some way. "It's interesting, as parties go, but not at all my style. Can't imagine how anyone could enjoy this regularly." He did, however, offer a momentary grin to Stel. "Though it isn't all bad."

She shook her head faintly, half a smile appearing on her face only to fade a moment later. "Sure, if we don't think about the murder plots and all the staring." With a short sigh, she turned to the others, giving no sign of any fatigue she might be feeling, though surely there had to be some. "Anyway... did anyone come across anything interesting? We've got a few things, for sure, but I'm not sure they're all connected."

“Lady Aurelie believes that someone close to the Empress is going to make a move tonight. Most likely a woman." Rilien went ahead and elaborated upon Stel's remark, speaking for their group's discoveries in his usual clipped, efficient manner. His hands disappeared into his sleeves; he had to be keeping weapons in there, surely. “Also, Q of the Cendredoights has been in contact. She wants a meeting with Estella. A discreet one." He clearly expected this to mean something to at least a few of those present. Maybe just the leadership, though from the way Cyrus crossed his arms and shifted his weight to the left, it might've rung a bell for him, too.

“A final note: there is a chance something of importance is occurring in the palace gardens tonight as well, though we know not what."

"It has something to do with the fact that several servants are missing, most likely," Leon replied. He held his mask loosely at his side as well, a few red marks on his face where it had pressed slightly awkwardly into his fair skin. It didn't seem to sit too well on his angles. They were hardly custom-molded, after all—there hadn't been nearly enough time for that. "There are three thus far, and they were all sent to the gardens beforehand." He paused, his brows knitting thoughtfully. "The woman we spoke to mentioned that they all work for the same employer, gathering information. If Q is here, it wouldn't surprise me if that was her. Might be worth asking her about, but we're going to need to investigate in any case."

Reaching up, he rubbed at the back of his neck, as though trying to ease some ache there. "I understand there was also some kind of missing member of the Council of Heralds?" He glanced towards the third group, none of whom had yet spoken.

Cyrus, leaning sideways against the balcony rail, dipped his head in a small nod. “Some fellow named Philippe. Had a rather unpleasant encounter with the Grand Duke earlier this evening. It seems likely to me that Gaspard is planning something, but I don't think he did that. He was too candid about the earlier altercation. Very upset that the lot of them won't acknowledge his claim to the throne, though. If he thinks he's out of peaceful options..."

"Then he might be bringing his civil war here," Vesryn finished. He blinked, rubbing a moment longer at his head before he returned the mask into place. "I didn't meet him, but from what I've heard he isn't the sort to employ assassins. If he wanted to try something the brute force way, well... he would need a fairly significant force to muscle his way into control of the palace."

"And he'd need to hide its approach as well," Rom added. "Only the guards are openly carrying weapons, and while there's no lack of them, there's no way they've all been bought by Gaspard." He exhaled, taking a moment to adjust the collar of his shirt. "In any case, I'm going to investigate the missing servants. We have a way in to the restricted areas, but I'd rather not go alone." It went without saying that none of them should go anywhere on their own tonight. But anyone going with Rom into off-limits parts of the palace would need a certain degree of subtlety, which immediately ruled out a few of their number.

"I should meet Q," Estella added, smoothing her hands down her skirt in what might have been a nervous gesture. "To the extent possible, it might be best to bring only the familiar faces to that. She wouldn't want to be any more widely-known than absolutely necessary."

Leon looked to agree, considering the rest of the others for a moment. "That's Cyrus, Vesryn, and Rilien, then. I'll go with you, Romulus, but we should take at least one other." His eyes landed on Zahra. "Captain? Would you be averse?"

Zahra tipped an imaginary hat and offered up a bright, shit-eating grin, “Of course. I’m at your service, darling.” A lot of this was going straight over the top of her head—she certainly wasn’t acquainted with anyone of noble-blood outside of the Inquisition. Assassins and bards. Bought guardsmen and missing people. It was enough to warrant a headache. Fortunately she was in good company.

Marceline had leaned against the railing, allowing the cool breeze to tussle the ends of her hair as she listened along with the plan. Unlike Vesryn and Leon, she did not remove her mask. In fact, she seemed comfortable in it, but of course with Marceline that was to be expected. Her mask had to have been custom made for someone like her, and probably fit better than any one of theirs. However, she was not the one to speak, but rather her husband, who had also decided to keep his mask on. "That leaves Asala, Khari, Marcy and I," Michaël stated, splitting looks between them before landing on Marceline.

A thoughtful line spread across her mouth and she nodded in agreement. "We should remain behind, so that the Inquisition maintains a presence. We can also deflect any questions that may come up concerning your whereabouts in the interim," she answered.

“Very well." Rilien paused, satisfied with the arrangement insofar as he ever seemed satisfied with anything, but then his eyes moved back towards the ballroom, almost as if perceiving something the rest had not yet noticed. “The Grand Duchess is approaching us." It went without saying that everyone not currently wearing a mask ought to replace it, and that all strategic discussions needed to cease immediately. The last thing they wanted to be doing was giving anything important away to anyone who could not be trusted implicitly.

Leon replaced his mask with a grimace. "Bit irregular, for someone with that much rank to approach us, isn't it?" Though the question was surely pertinent, there was no time to answer it.

The woman who must have been the Grand Duchess crossed the threshold onto the balcony they occupied, only then announcing her presence at all. Indeed, she'd been entirely silent up to then as far as the general noise level allowed them to differentiate. She might have been able to approach undetected quite a bit more closely if not for Rilien. Now that she had their attention, though, she picked up one side of her full grey skirt and curtsied. Light from the mage-lanterns inside glinted off the silverite of her mask when she straightened. "Inquisition," she greeted, half-smiling. Her accent was a delicate touch on the edges of her voice rather than the thick filter it was in some other cases. Though her hair had long gone light grey with age, it seemed, her posture showed no hint of it, and the near half-circle of the mask left the lines around her dark eyes hidden.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but Her Majesty wished you to know that the dancing will begin at the top of the hour. She understands your time here had thus far proven to be... trying, in some respects." Her eyes flickered very obviously to Khari there, a slight shift in her body language suggesting some kind of reaction quickly concealed. A slight tilting-up of the chin, a straightening of her spine. What if anything it indicated wasn't clear—it was gone much too quickly.

"It is her hope that you may yet find greater cause to enjoy yourselves—and perhaps that some of the demeanors that have chilled to you might yet warm once more." She paused, appearing almost hesitant for a moment, then continued in a lower voice. "I have the same hope. It was not effortless to arrange for these negotiations, I'm sure you can imagine. I would like very much for them to be successful." She seemed to be implying something with that, though as ever with these people, it was hard to say what.

"As do we your Highness, I assure you," Marceline answered. At some point during her approach, she'd gently pushed herself off of the railing in order to stand straight and proper in order to receive the Grand Duchess. Upon her intrusion, Marceline returned the curtsy in a timely fashion and listened with a pleasant smile to her lips. Her smile never faltered as the duchess spoke. "I thank you for your concern, and for taking the time to come speak to us," she with a grateful tilt of her head. "I believe that once the Inquisition and those who comprise her are better understood, that the attitudes toward us will indeed shift for the better."

Marceline's smile shifted again, a subtle thing, not unlike the shifting of the duchess's posture a moment ago, though hers felt lighter in action. "However, the Inquisition has always been an organization of action, so perhaps the dancing will be the perfect opportunity for us to begin demonstrating such."

"Then I look forward to seeing it. The unexpected is always an interesting touch on things, no?" She curtsied again, apparently requiring no reply to her question. Not drawing out her departure, she disappeared, leaving them to make their way back into the castle's interior alone.

Stel was frowning slightly. Zahra was close enough to hear her mutter something under her breath about a garden or something, but if she had some insight, she wasn't inclined to share it. "The top of the hour is probably only forty minutes from now," she pointed out. "We need to be quick, to make it back in time. We'll definitely be missed if we don't, now."

The wheels were back in motion. Time was of the essence. Forty minutes. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Zahra couldn’t shake the feeling that there was much hidden between the Grand Duchess’ words. A mask behind a mask; an annoyance, in her opinion. She figured Khari would agree with her on that one. The quicker they dealt with this business the better. They hadn’t had time to warm to anything since coming into the palace, with their hackles raised and blades at the ready.

She pushed herself away from the railing and straightened her shoulders with a soft exhale. They’d be splitting up again and scouring the enormous palace for who-knows-what. Information. Missing servants. A Herald. She just hoped that it wouldn’t cause them more trouble than they were already biting off. Not that she doubted in their success. She’d been betting on them since the beginning
 even so, she settled her hand on Stel’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze, rounding to her side, “Smooth sails. Let’s get this done.”

Good luck. As if they ever needed it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
Asala might never have felt so out of place in her entire life. As a Qunari, there were more than a few places that she felt like she just didn't belong, but here in Orlais, in the middle of what was perhaps the most extravagant (and dangerous) party she had ever witnessed, felt like more like a fish out of water. The stares she received most certainly didn't help, and no matter how far she retreated into her shoulders, there was no way to make herself smaller to hide amongst the crowd. No, with her height, and her horns, and her gleaming dress, she stood out and she was keenly aware of it as well. Maybe it was for the better, however, as maybe she took some of the attention away from the others who had ought to be with her as well.

She had obediently followed Marceline and her husband as they reentered the ballroom, and toward the refreshments. Like everything else in the palace, the food too looked spectacular, and was provided with an obvious attention to detail. Dainty sandwiches, salads, various baked goods, vibrant fruits, and all different types of hors d'oeuvre, not to mention an entire table set aside for the beverages. Asala had settled on nibbling on a small cheese sandwich, while it appeared that Michaël was comfortable enough to take a number of the heavier sandwiches to eat.

Lady Marceline, on the other hand, hovered over the beverage table, and appeared to be eyeing the bottles of wine. "Did your mother send a shipment?" Michaël asked after politely swallowing the bite of his sandwich.

She eventually answered with a affirming nod. "She did, with our Storm Age vintage. It appears to be moderately popular," she replied, a bit of pride in her voice, and a smile at the elf who was pouring the drinks behind the table. Marceline then pointing toward a specific bottle. Eventually, a glass was poured and offered to her, which she accepted with a gracious dip. Marceline must have caught Asala watching her, because she answered the unasked question. "Do not worry, I do not plan on over imbibing," she said with a comforting smile.

Khari, on the other hand, was not eating, which given the presence of obviously-delicious food, was extremely unusual. Asala had seen her at meal times; for someone of her relatively-small size, she could really pack away food. Which made sense, given the near-constant exercise she did. If anything, though, she was a little... absent at the moment. Staring out into the room, watching the colors and people sporting them pass by with an unusually-blank expression. Like she wasn't quite seeing them at all.

It appeared that Michaël had noticed as well, as he soon diverted his focus from his food to her. He quietly watched her for a moment or two, before he finally spoke up. "How are you doing there, Khari?" he asked kindly. As if to second the inquiry, Asala quickly nodded her head in agreement.

She looked startled for a moment, as though surprised to have been addressed. Khari cleared her throat, shaking her head slightly and sending several vibrant curls askew. Even the thick braid nested a few inches behind her hairline wasn't doing a great deal to stop the artless tumble of them. “Oh, uh... yeah. Fine, thanks." She didn't sound particularly convincing even to Asala, and her smile was strained. “Kinda can't wait for this to be over, though."

"Me too," Asala replied quietly in between nibbles of her sandwich. At the very least, it gave her hands something to do. Without it, she had no idea what to do with her arms.

Michaël sighed through his nose, a noncommittal sound if she'd ever heard one. He glanced between the two of them, causing Asala to drop her gaze at least for a second. "It will not become any easier I'm afraid," he answered honestly. Asala initially thought that he was talking about the rest of the night, but after watching him observe Khari for an extra moment she was no longer sure.

Khari grimaced in response; clearly there was some other meaning to the statement, and she'd picked up on it. “Yeah, I know. It's just..." The grimace became a scowl; she waved a hand halfheartedly out at the crowd. “I know how to prove what I can do. But I can't do that if no one even gives me a chance. If they won't even acknowledge that I exist. If I was dirt, fine, but I'm not nothing." A muscle in her jaw flexed—she was clenching her teeth quite hard, but then she relaxed it and sighed. “Whatever. I'll get over it. And then I'll get used to it, if I have to."

"You'll get a chance to prove it to them," Michaël answered confidently and with no hesitation. "You are too damned persistent not to get yourself one," he said with a shake of his head. "And we both know you won't get used to it, if you have anything to say about it. You'll work at it until you drop like you do everything else. It's actually quite impressive."

"You are... tenacious," Asala agreed with what she hoped was confident smile. Confidence in her.

Michaël then gently jostled her with his elbow and lowered his plate so that she could take one of the sandwiches if she pleased. "For what it's worth, I think you got Théo to acknowledge you. Hard to ignore a broken nose," he said with one of the grins Asala usually saw him with.

Khari managed to dredge up a smile from somewhere. “Yeah. Guess he probably won't be forgetting me anytime soon, huh?" She didn't look completely at ease with the thought, but she did relax a little and pick up a sandwich from the plate. “I'm gonna regret this if I have to fight later." She took a large bite anyway.

She didn't have long to finish it. Not two or three minutes later, a man nervously approached the cluster of them. Well, not a man in the stricter sense, as he was quite clearly an elf, greying blond hair not quite concealing his ears. He was better-dressed than most, though, and didn't hold himself in quite the same hunched way as most of the others around here tended to. He had melancholy features, like he was more used to worrying or fretting than letting such things go. Though this didn't make him look especially brave, it was Lady Marceline he approached, which said otherwise, in a certain way.

Sketching a hasty bow, he spoke in a low voice. "Forgive my rudeness, milady, but I'm afraid there is little time." He rose, words flowing from him rapidly as water from a cliff face. "I serve House D'Artignon. My employer requests the presence of Lady Estella, but I do not know where to find her, and the matter is of considerable urgency. Would you perhaps be able to act in her stead?"

Marceline spared a solitary glance toward their direction, before the began to speak to the man who'd addressed her. "Perhaps, but I would like a few more details than what you have given me first, if possible." She was careful with her tone, though it was clear it was guarded. She spared another glance toward them, and relented a little, "But I suppose if it is as urgent as you say, if you would prefer, we could walk as you fill us in?" She stated, as she sat her half empty wine glass on the table.

For a moment, his placidity cracked; he looked caught somewhere between exasperation and concern. "Yes, please, let us hurry. I will explain as we go." With a quick glance to confirm that they were indeed following, he spoke in an even lower voice, soft enough that Asala could only barely hear it. "The guest wing—Lord Philippe Leroy has been killed. It's only a matter of time before others discover the same, but there are... complications. Ones Lord Julien believed it would be wise for all of you to know about first."

They passed into the foyer as he spoke, moving around the edges of the crowd as fast as they could without drawing overt attention to themselves. They got a few aside glances, but nothing that lasted too long, and then the man ducked into a side hallway, thankfully not one of those off limits. They'd surely have been noticed if it were.

With another turn, they found themselves in a lavishly-appointed corridor, rich blue and gold carpet runners laid over the darker grey marble tiles. At regular intervals were luxuriant art pieces, both paintings and vases and the like. The frames and ceramics were often gilt in gold or silver, pieces of precious gems inlaid to complex, ornate patterns, many of them with floral or animal motifs. Even the end tables some of them rested on were works of art in wood: kept relatively simple so as not to compete for attention, but nonetheless striking in their own way.

About halfway down the hall, a door was open. Upon hearing the noise of their approach, a man leaned out, his lips pursing for a moment beneath his fox-themed mask. His eyes were as bright a gold as any Qunari's, but he was in any other sense obviously quite human. "Gauvain? Stel's still with Q?"

The elf inclined his head. "I believe so, my lord." It was obvious enough that they were Inquisition, though, from the masks, and the man—Lord Julien, presumably—apparently decided this was sufficient. He didn't bother to bow or anything, sacrificing such niceties for the sake of time.

"I don't think anyone else has seen this yet, but you're going to want to be the first. Come in, but don't touch anything." He disappeared back into the room, clearly expecting them to heed him.

“Stel's definitely mentioned a Julien." Khari shrugged her shoulders and went in first, brushing a bit past Lady Marceline to do it. “Any friend of hers is worth the benefit of the doubt, as far as I'm concerned."

"Agreed," Marceline noted. Apparently the appearance of the lord himself put her at ease, at least that's what Asala figured. Marceline slipped into the room on the heels of Khari, with Michaël and Asala herself bringing up the rear.

The room was even more richly-decorated than the hallway, by quite a lot. The rugs here were patterned, embroidered at the edges, and brightly-colored enough that they were surely of Rivaini make. The furniture balanced them by being mostly in neutrals like cream and taupe, sumptuously threaded with even more embroidery in close colors, making the details subtle rather than overpowering. The exception to this was the large, four-poster bed, its curtains currently pulled back and tied to the dark wooden posts.

Slumped on the floor, his back against the foot of the bed, was a man, the handle of a dagger sticking out of his chest. A small amount of blood had run down the front of his light grey doublet, streaking it to his waist. The mask on his face was porcelain, detailed in metallic paint that probably contained actual gold and silver. The shoulder-pads of his shirt drooped awkwardly, suggesting a struggle, but the bedclothes and the rest of the room were remarkably neat, all things considered.

Asala frowned and sunk a little at the sight of the body. Corpses weren't an unusual sight, at least not in their business, but... to be so near a gilded affair. Though she knew that it was dangerous, she had not truly felt it until now. Asala looked toward Marceline, a found that she did not seem the least bit surprised. Disappointed, she'd gathered from her quiet sigh, but not surprised. However, it was Michaël who was the first to speak. He had taken up a crouched position near the corpse in order to get a better look, before glancing up to Marceline. "It appears we have found our missing Herald," he said dryly. He then took one long meaningful glance at the dagger embedded into his chest and then looked back to his wife.

"I see it too, Micky," she noted. It made Asala take a closer look at the dagger, and on inspection, it bore a black lion. "It is Gaspard's," she revealed, folding her arms across her chest. In the meantime, Asala had drawn near the body, and had just began to reach out to touch his wrist before being interrupted. "Asala. Be careful," Marceline warned. "Try not to disturb him too much," she added.

"Uh, yes. Of course," she replied, and gently pressed her fingers to his wrist. There was no pulse, but that much was obvious. What was not as obvious was the warmth that remained. She then took a look at the blood on his chest, before she nodded, deciding on something. "He was only recently killed," she stated, carefully retrieving her fingers, "He is still warm, and the blood is still fresh." She then stood back up, and took a careful step backward. The man was far too gone for her to do anything else for him.

“Uh, so." Khari remained a little further back perhaps still following the instruction not to touch anything. “I'm not exactly an expert here, but I do stab things a lot, and he probably should have bled way more than that if the stab wound was the thing that killed him." She reached up to scratch an itch on her head, frowning slightly in the process. “Makes me think he was probably stabbed after he died, you know? Blood's not moving around anymore, so not as much will come out." She shrugged, letting her arm fall back to her side with a soft thud against her skirt.

Gauvain looked rather surprised, but Julien clearly did not. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "I thought the same, which is why I asked you here. I... know someone who is much more familiar with the dead. She may be able to tell us more about the exact cause of Lord Leroy's death, but I think it's fairly clear that someone is framing Gaspard for it." Lifting one hand partway, he scratched at his chin with the side of his thumb. "This setup—luring someone into a bedroom for the obvious and then killing them there—this is a classic Bard's ploy. There'd have been more of a struggle if he was outright attacked. I'm guessing poison or something like that. Than, as you said, the attempt to frame Gaspard."

His lips thinned as he compressed them. "But it's very obvious, the dagger. Almost too obvious. Few people I know would take such a thing at face value. But if the assailant wishes us to know it was a framing... to what end? Who would care if Gaspard is framed for something he doubtless didn't do?" He sounded like he already had a hypothesis, but he refrained from giving it at this point if so, glancing at the others instead.

"Gaspard most certainly would," Marceline answered simply, which caused a brow to raise on Asala's face. "The Grand Duke is too straight forward. He is one of the few that I can think of that would mistake this attempt as the actual thing," she added with a sigh.

"Quite." Julien loosened his arms, only to clasp them again at the small of his back. "And given the fact that this wing is not restricted for the party, it is only a matter of time before Gaspard is informed of what happened here. We could try to hide it, but it seems clear to me that someone has it in for him, so to speak. Far be it from me to strategize on the Inquisition's behalf, but were I you, I would allow him to find out then have him followed. If he springs a trap, you can thereby thwart it and gain some valuable information in the process, I should expect."

“Trigger the trap we know about so he doesn't end up triggering something we don't." Khari contemplated this for a moment, then shrugged. “Seems like a good idea to me. Maybe we could get some dirt on him, too." Clearly, though, she wasn't planning to make the decision herself; she glanced at MichaĂ«l and Lady Marceline. “It's almost time for the dancing, too, so he probably won't be able to leave until after, right? The others will be back by then."

Marceline held an arm out toward her husband, which he took and used to help himself out of his kneeling position. After he was back on his feet, she answered. "That appears to be our best option at the moment," she stated, though she appeared to be a little uncomfortable about the idea. However, she must have seen it as a necessity because she did not try to offer an alternative or put up any resistance. "The others should know regardless. We are not the best suited for stealth, after all. That task will inevitably fall to some of the others."

Before they took their leave, however, Marceline turned toward Julien and dipped into an appreciative bow. "Thank you, Lord Julien, for this opportunity you've given us, and I know Estella will be appreciative as well."

He inclined his head in a gracious nod, offering the barest trace of a smile. "I aim to please." The words were heavy with something—irony, maybe—but they seemed genuine enough. "We'll take care of this in the meantime. Tread carefully, Inquisition. We're well and truly in the deep end now."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Getting the servants back to the kitchen proved to be a bit of a task, considering the fact that they both had to be carried, and their captive dragged, while still maintaining as much stealth as possible. Not a simple task by any estimation, but fortunately the kitchens were before they needed to worry overmuch about running into anyone they did not know.

Syl was present when the other two were brought in; her relief was palpable, and her gratitude such that she acquiesced easily when Leon asked her convey the hostage—alive—to the Lord-General, along with a message penned hastily in Leon's own handwriting. He was confident that if anyone would have a place to keep the man under guard while the Inquisition moved about, it would be him. He was also quite sure that it would be done; Lucien had indicated that his father was a reliable ally.

Of course, this alone did not solve all of their problems. Though he'd made some effort not to end up soaked, Leon hadn't cared about that nearly enough to actually avoid water, and so there were several large, slightly-darker patches on the umber-colored tunic he wore. Hopefully they would dry soon. He'd at least managed to avoid blood, having needed no knives to aid him in the fight. The same could not be said for the other two; though he could notice the darker patches on Zahra's dress or Romulus's shirt, he hoped that was only because he knew to look, and not because they were obvious in general. The kitchen servants gave them towels to take care of what they could, but Leon was keenly feeling the time.

No sooner had they departed the kitchen than a deep chime rang out over the grounds—the top of the hour approached. Shooting at glance at the other two, Leon abandoned the effort at stealth for the moment and broke into a run. Fortunately, the side hallways had been emptied due to the hour, and there was no one to spot three members of the Inquisition moving as fast as they could reasonably manage for the ballroom.

The chimes were still ringing when they made it to their destination, though it looked as though most everyone was already lining up for the first dance, partners in tow. Leon tsked under his breath. "You two go," he said quietly, glancing around. "I'll figure something out." It would look quite bad for them if any of them abstained, but for no one would it look worse than Romulus.

Romulus had hastily thrown his mask back on only a few seconds prior. Close inspection of him revealed that there was a bit of a tremor running through him, though it might be unfair to say that he looked particularly nervous. He had practiced this part quite thoroughly in Skyhold, learning the steps and repeating them until he could perform the routine blindfolded even in a crowd. Still, he didn't look enthused at all now that the time to do it for real had come.

He shrugged slightly at Zahra. "Looks like we're partners to start."

“I couldn’t pick a better one.” There was a sense that Zahra was saying it more for his benefit then her own. She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress, and readjusted the mask on her face. It had been sitting slightly askew; and there was a stubborn twig stuck in her hair just above her ear. Besides that she looked a little worse for wear from tussle they’d just experienced. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away.

She inclined her head in the direction of the dance floor and linked her arm through his, leading him out towards it. From what Leon could see from their retreating backs, she’d given his arm a squeeze and whispered something under her breath. You’re okay. Let’s do this. The words were lost with the last chime. No doubt she’d had her own lessons in Skyhold
 though they might’ve had more to do with etiquette than anything else, light on her feet as she was.

Leon, meanwhile, had a bit of a conundrum on his hands: he needed to find someone who might not mind doing him a favor and dancing. Not a terribly simple matter when the majority of the dancing crowd was ready to go. He also hadn't exactly spend much of his time so far meeting new people, which meant options were quite few. He couldn't reasonably expect himself to convince anyone he'd been admiring them from afar, either: plenty of kinds of lies came easily to him, but he was still an awkward Chantry boy at heart in this one particular way.

"Ser Leonhardt!" The call wasn't loud enough to be called shouting or yelling, but it did carry well. He turned towards the source, finding that Lady Fiorella was making her way towards him. Lord Sabino was nowhere to be seen. She paused just a moment to curtsy, then spoke in a much lower voice. "Forgive me the presumption, but you have the look of a fellow rather at a loss." She half-smiled.

"I'm not sure where you've been for the last near-hour, but I'm going to guess you were not filling your dance card."

She had him there. "No, milady," he admitted. "I'm afraid it's quite empty."

"Well, not exactly an exciting way to help, but I did promise I would, so perhaps you wouldn't mind dancing with little old me?" It was clearly a joke; though she was considerably older than him, she didn't qualify as 'old' in his perception. Little was rather true, though; she couldn't have been any taller than Khari. Perhaps an inch or two shorter, even.

He felt a stab of his usual discomfit with his own size, but shook his head. Mostly he was relieved. "It isn't the most glamorous favor," he said, nodding his agreement, "but I would very much appreciate it all the same."

"Good. Let's hurry before they start without us." Lady Fiorella took his arm and navigated them through the crowd, chuckling under her breath. "I never have this easy a time moving around at these things. I think they're all scared to run into you." For some reason, this clearly amused her greatly.

They made it to the end of the line of dancers in the nick of time. Leon glanced down the row, noting that for the most part, the members of the Inquisition had started paired with one another. Matters were becoming more urgent; whatever plots were in motion were surely nearing their completion already. The best thing to do would be to figure out what they were doing without wasting time. If he planned this right, he might be able to get all the information he needed during the dance itself. Worth trying, anyway. He memorized the initial arrangement of the dancers and did some internal calculation. Unsurprisingly, Vesryn and Estella were together. Lined up next to them were Cyrus and Rilien, then Marceline and Michaël, then Khari and Asala. Several pairs of other courtiers, then Lucien and the Lord-General's aide, more strangers, and then Romulus and Zahra, who'd clearly found their places.

This was feasible. The opening dance would involve a lot of partner switching. If he could remember how the pattern went far enough in advance, he might be able to get to speak with the few people necessary to cover the bases, so to speak. The strategic puzzle of it was rather a nice distraction from the fact that he'd surely be exchanging a lot of empty pleasantries with courtiers in the meantime.

From the side of the room, the Bards began to play. Leon took a step forward, meeting Lady Fiorella's raised hand with his own, grateful that only minimal contact was necessary at any point, and also that Orlesians generally didn't care who led, who followed, or what gender combinations were involved.

He spent the first part of the dance letting the adrenaline come down from the fight and run earlier, a process which was always quite slow for him. A side-effect, perhaps, of his condition. Lady Fiorella didn't try to force conversation, for which he was grateful. Then the first switch came, and Leon found his left palm pressed to Lady Marceline's right.

"Gaspard planned to hold the nobles hostage if the Heralds didn't hand him the crown," he said without preamble. "We've got a witness to this effect in the Lord-General's custody. Was everything uneventful in here?"

"Not as such, no," she replied. "There was an incident with one of the Heralds, Phillipe, the one Gaspard was seen with earlier. Lord Julien found him murdered, with Gaspard's blade still stuck in his chest," she explained just as quickly. She let a glance fall around them for a moment before she quickly continued, "It would be obvious to everyone that someone is attempting to frame him from the scene, save the Grand Duke himself. Julien suggested that we trail Gaspard once he hears, in order to gather more information."

It wasn't entirely surprising that the missing Herald was dead, nor that someone would frame Gaspard for it. That the frame-up was obvious rather than subtle was a bit odd, but Marceline's hypothesis explained that well enough. He thought about it for a bit, then sighed softly.

"He's not the most dissembling man, no. It shouldn't be that difficult to follow him. Perhaps you could take Khari, Vesryn, and Cyrus to do it? The important part would be stopping the trap, whatever it turns out to be." If it was a straightforward attempt at murder, those three would indubitably be a lot of help. If not, well, they'd still do as well as anyone else.

"Ooh! I'm sorry," Leon overheard Asala's voice from behind Marceline. A look up revealed the woman in question, dancing with Romulus. Apparently, she must have accidentally stepped on his toes, as she stared at their feet, and looked a little bashful about the incident.

Romulus was grimacing. He didn't have the hardest boots, and Asala was not a small woman. "Relax," he reminded her. "I've seen you do this right before."

"That was different," she pouted quietly. As quickly as they came however, they faded back into the rest of the crowd.

Marceline considered Leon's words for a moment as well, before she too nodded in agreement. "Yes, we will be able to handle it. I will pass the plan along."

To his left, Estella transitioned easily from Rilien's company to Lucien's; she seemed about as relaxed as she could be, given the situation. No doubt her good fortune in partners thus far had a great deal to do with that.

Leon turned with the music, away from Marceline, and then found himself needing to adjust down by several inches. It was not an unwelcome change, however; he spared his first genuine smile of the dance for Khari. "Broken any toes yet?"

She grinned at him. “Nope. Still just the nose. I like Cy and Asala, though. Worked extra hard not to step on them." She fell silent as the footwork moved through one of the more complex sequences. She wasn't practiced enough yet that she could do those without thinking about them, but to her credit, she was quite smooth in her motions when she was able to concentrate like this. “I'm guessing Marcy told you about the dead guy and the dagger, right?" Apparently, she'd been able to keep track of at least some of the partner-switching as well.

Khari's dress swished softly around her ankles as they spun apart, then back together again. She seemed to particularly enjoy that part. “Also, uh... why are you wet, Leon?" She raised an eyebrow at a rapidly-drying spot on his shoulder.

"There was a bit of an altercation near a water feature," he confessed. "I'll tell you about it in more detail later if you like, but the short version is that Gaspard hired some mercenaries and we ran afoul of them in our investigations of the garden." He shook his head slightly, lifting his hand to spin her again, this time still in contact for the process. "Anything else I should know on your end?"

“I missed a fight?" Khari gave an exaggerated groan of frustration. “I always miss the fun part." With a huff, he completed her spin and took a step backwards before they both moved to the left.

Leon was pretty sure she usually was the 'fun part' of whatever situation she was in, but he neglected to make the point at this particular moment.

“Stop making that face, I’m not even stepping on your toes,” came a familiar voice off to Leon’s right shoulder, carrying itself to his opposing side. A flash of royal purple came into his view and fluttered in a circle. It appeared as if Cyrus was leading Zahra, obviously being the superior dancer; though she was trying to wrest some sort of control and failing miserably. To her credit, she was keeping up. Barely.

“What face? I'm not making any face in particular; I'm in fact always this handsome. The mask is a tragedy, I know." From the lofty tone of Cyrus's voice, he wasn't being at all serious; he seemed to be enjoying himself, actually. “I'm only being careful. The boots are a charmingly-rebellious touch, just not necessarily one I want touching me, you understand."

There was a loud ha sound as Zahra attempted to force Cyrus into a spin and was instead forced to slide her foot forward, chasing his retreating feet with hers, like a fox on a hunt. “My apologies, serah lordling. How presumptuous of me to dismiss your allure.” Her voice had lauded into a noxious, feigned cadence. Perhaps her best impression of the ladies she’d seen in Orlais.

There was a stomping noise. Then another laugh. Genuine, this time. It was apparent she’d missed her mark.

“I'll do my best to recover from the utter heartbreak you have just dealt me, dear captain. But I fear I shall never be the same. I hope you can live with the guilt of ruining me for anyone else." Cyrus gracefully stepped out from another attempt to stomp on his feet, grinning at Zahra in a way that suggested he was goading her more than actually concerned with stopping her from doing so. They faded from earshot after that, swallowed temporarily by the throng.

“Actually though." Khari, having been momentarily distracted by Zahra and Cyrus's exchange, returned to the matter at hand. “Yes. Ril says Lucien thinks someone's trying to kill him. He wants to use himself as bait to draw them out, and is asking for some of us to go with, just in case." From the way her mouth pulled to the side, she doubted very much he'd need it.

It was... quite the risky plan. Leon presumed this was some diluted version of the evidence Lucien had for this conclusion, but even if so. His brows furrowed beneath his mask; his lips thinned contemplatively, and he almost missed a step in the next sequence, distracted as he was. Fortunately, he avoided crushing Khari's toes. He doubted she would have cared even if he had—he'd seen her ignore levels of pain that would probably bring most to their knees. He still had no desire to inflict any on her.

He had a feeling Estella and Rilien would both want to be present for that, and he couldn't blame them. Lucien was more than just an ally to them, and more than just a potential claimant for the throne. He wouldn't keep them from assisting him if it were possible. He didn't think they'd be quite enough alone, though, and mentally he ran through the list of who was left.

"If Rilien and Estella go, could you be sure Asala knows to go as well?" It was very important to keep Lucien alive, and no doubt between them, that group would manage about as well as anyone."I believe Lady Marceline will be collecting you for another assassination problem," he added. He knew she was Asala's partner to begin with, which meant she'd surely wind up with her at the end as well. It made her ideal for passing the message, in any case.

Khari brightened a little at this suggestion. “Sure. I'll make sure everyone knows. Looks like it's time to switch, though. I'll see you in a bit, Leon." She stepped away, the smoothness of her gait hitching awkwardly when she caught sight of the person moving in exactly the opposite direction. Apparently Romulus was her next partner, and it seemed Khari was a bit nonplussed by that. She recovered quickly, though, and finished her movement without hesitation.

“Look at you. Four partners in, and dancing still hasn't killed ya."

A bit of his tension seemed to ease at that. Or maybe it just shifted into something else. "We'll see when we're done here, I guess." The dancers shifted, and they passed out of sight.

Not far from Leon, Estella and Cyrus met up as well; the latter tossed him a jaunty mock-salute when they made accidental eye contact. The twins had quite possibly learned dancing in each others' company; they certainly seemed to move like they were very familiar with this dimension of each other in addition to the rest.

Leon, for his part, found himself partnered with Zahra. "Dizzy yet? I can't tell if I'm spinning or the room is."

Zahra’s laugh came easily as she took his hand in hers and momentarily swayed. Possibly to keep from spinning anymore than they had to. “I think it’s a bit of both. For once, I’m glad I haven’t had anything to drink.” She made a humming sound in the back of her throat and grinned wider, waggling an eyebrow and leading them further away from an oncoming couple. Strangers, from the looks of it.

A sweep of purple followed her steps as she followed through another spin, albeit at a slower pace. Casual. Languid. It enabled her to swing back in towards his chest and draw herself closer, hand poised to their side—close enough to speak without being heard. The height difference was on par with Khari’s; distinctive enough to warrant bending down, though she occasionally bobbed up, bringing herself up on her toes. “Anything of note?”

Leon scoffed softly, a sound of humor rather than irritation, though he sobered quickly enough with the question. "Quite a lot. So far we have two attempted assassinations upcoming, and people who are going to try and stop both. Did Cyrus or Vesryn have anything of interest to pass on? I haven't been able to speak with anyone who went to the meeting with Q."

From the expression on Zahra’s face, she seemed halfway between an exasperated sigh and a groan that might’ve said she expected such impossible odds stacked against them. She pursed her lips and spun them in a slow circle, before back-stepping into a square pattern. “Apparently Corypheus isn’t the only schemer here. Q wants the Empress deposed. We’re to steal a document hidden in the royal wing library. Personal offices. A contract of payment for Gaspard’s head.”

This time, she allowed the sigh to slip past her lips, “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Oh wonderful. At least that was a very big clue as to who wanted Gaspard dead. If they could find the contract and it did tie back to Celene, that would be a bit of news every bit as revelatory as the mercenary in the Lord-General's custody. "I suppose the three of us could take care of that," he said. "When you end up back with Romulus, please do let him know. We only have about another hour until midnight, when the unmasking happens. I'm sure everyone else plans to have their plans in order by then; if we want to do the same, we'd best be on time."

He'd been reliably informed on more than one occasion that Orlesians really had a fondness for the dramatic. Leon couldn't help but feel even they'd be getting their fill of it by the time the night was done.

Zahra nodded her head and suddenly leaned back in a dramatic bow. Pegging on the fact that Leon wouldn’t allow her to fall in an embarrassing heap. As soon as she straightened up in his arms and allowed him to relegate her pace, she glanced to the side of him and offered him a thoughtful smile, “Hopefully after all this is said in done, we can finally eat some of this Orlesian food I’ve been hearing so much about and not
 actually eating.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
"We will wait here and keep an eye on the Grand Duke," Marceline explained. After the dancing had wound down and they had all split off to accomplish their respective tasks, Marceline found a spot within eyeshot of Gaspard in order to monitor him. Fortunately, it appeared he had not been notified yet of the attempted framing, as he wore the same sour disposition Cyrus and she had first found him in. It was not any worse, at least. She had picked a location that would give them a good line of sight to the Duke, but also keep them out of his notice, unless he knew to specifically look for them, which, soon enough, he would have more pressing matters to attend to than looking in their general direction.

It did not take long. "Marcy, over there," Michaël said quietly and gestured with his eyes. Following his gaze, Marceline saw who most likely was an attendant of Gaspard's bearing making a beeline toward the Grand Duke with a purpose in his gait and an urgency in his shoulders. "Must have waited until the dancing concluded," Michaël surmised and Marceline agreed. They watched as Gaspard's bodyguard, Henri, let the man pass by without issue, and then as the attendant leaned over to whisper the news into the Duke's ear. Even beneath the mask, Gaspard's outrage was easily noticed. Marceline frowned and quietly sighed, disappointed in the Duke for being so easy to read.

His lack of tact made their part easier though, and she was thankful enough for that. Gaspard ordered something tersely to both the attendant and Henri, before making his way across the ballroom and toward the exit, bodyguard in tow. "Now's our chance," she said, glancing between them.

“Oh yes. Very inconspicuous, the lot of us." Cyrus glanced at Vesryn on his left and Khari on his right, then back at Marceline and MichaĂ«l, sighing slightly. “Let's follow at a distance, perhaps."

Khari shrugged. “I mean, we're okay for now. They foyer's still a public location." Albeit one with many fewer people in it now that the ballroom proper had become more crowded. They stuck to the edges of the room, keeping their pace unhurried so as to avoid looking too obviously like they had somewhere in particular to be. There just wasn't anything unobtrusive about any of them, though, so how well they went beneath notice was debatable at best.

The foyer had significantly fewer occupants; they were able to use the massive lion statues and other architectural flourishes to mask their presences to some degree, though the hope was to go unnoticed more than to be truly hidden. Unfortunately, Gaspard hung a right, which led into one of the guest wings. If they followed him in there, even he was bound to notice—those weren't exactly large hallways.

In the front, Khari paused at the threshold, then grimaced. “That's gonna be a pain to fight in. Narrow and cramped, and nowhere to hide either." To say nothing of the lack of armor and preferred weaponry on all fronts. Still, it was clear enough that they had no choice. She leaned sideways to glance into the hallway one more time, then moved in, apparently expecting that the others would follow.

“I'll... watch the back, then." Cyrus gestured for the others to precede him.

By the time Marceline rounded the corner, Gaspard was already disappearing around the next. At a guess, he was headed for his own room in the Winter Palace, though why there instead of to the scene of the frame-up was unclear. If he'd wanted to see the scene for himself, he should have taken a left from the foyer, but that was clearly not his intent, or at least not yet.

Moving carefully and as quietly as they could manage, they maintained a safe following distance. Or what had seemed like one. Unfortunately, no sooner had they turned the third time than they came face-to-face with Gaspard. He'd drawn a knife from somewhere, the tip of it now resting only a few inches from Khari's nose. She didn't move, though she looked like she was trying to decide if she wanted to chance it.

"So it was you, then. I should have known something was off when the lot of you appeared here. What interest could you possibly have in the governance of this country, save to place your ally on a throne he does not have a right to?" He spoke low, words heavy with disgust. It thickened his accent considerably.

"None, save that our country finally sees a swift end to this war you and the Empress forced upon us," Marceline said, throwing his disgust back into his face. Her lips were turned into a deep frown as she silently cursed themselves for getting caught, though there was not much they could do about it now. "You only weaken yourselves while allowing Corypheus's position to grow stronger. He would see us all dead, and our country in ruins."

"And what is your point?" Gaspard scowled at them, but his hand was steady. "I have nothing to do with that. But you, oh you are willing to frame me for murder just to have your way? I would march against Corypheus just as soon as a lily-hearted boy raised with the silverest of spoons."

Whatever the best response to that might have been, there turned out to be no time for it. A soft whistle reached Marceline's ears; a moment later, Gaspard jerked forward, taking half a step to steady himself. The way he turned slightly made it clear that he'd just been shot, but the arrow seemed to have missed its mark by a few inches: it was embedded in the meat of his deltoid muscle rather than the spinal column at the nape of his neck less than a hand-span away.

The inches made a lot of difference, however. Whatever Marceline or anyone else thought of him, Gaspard was a chevalier, and he dealt with pain like one, sucking in a sharp breath and turning. Apparently he'd decided he was mistaken, or at least that the unseen threat was the one to face first, though he did not put his back to them. Instead, he reached back with his free arm and snapped the arrow off halfway down the shaft, leaving the front part in his body for the moment, then strafed sideways along the wall.

"Merde," he hissed, scanning the hallway for the assassin's likely location. "My cousin is as much a coward as ever. Show yourself, rat!"

"The rat is fleeing, I'm afraid," Vesryn said, taking off down the hall. Apparently he'd caught sight of movement, at least before it took off around a corner and out of sight. The elf looked back briefly as he ran. "Make sure no one else shoots him!"

He shortened his steps into little chops as he reached the corner, drawing a small knife from his bracer and flipping the blade around in his hand. Pulling up at the corner, he hurled it end over end down the hall. Vesryn had never been known to utilize any number of small-weapon attacks like that in any previous engagements, but despite that it seemed the blade flew more or less truly. A thud followed; it sounded more like someone crashing into the wall than losing their feet, like an impact with plaster instead of carpet or stone.

“Not to add to the excitement here, but we have more company." From behind the rest of them, Cyrus drew a knife from each of his boots, taking an ordinary grip on one of them and a reverse on the other. He was still near the corner they'd just turned, and put his back to the wall on their side just in time for a glistening ice dagger to whistle past. “They seem to be Venatori."

“Finally. Something to do." Khari only drew one knife, but apparently the word Venatori was more than enough incentive to send her charging around the corner and towards them. She disappeared from sight, but a few more bits of spellwork collided with the wall immediately after. At least that meant they hadn't collided with her.

Michaël sighed loudly and tossed his head back to Marceline. "Keep the Grand Duke safe, I'll go help her," he stated before rolling his shoulders and taking off after her. He didn't need daggers in order to be dangerous, though he was certainly no Leon. He stutter-stepped to dodge a spell before he too slipped around the corner behind it, adding even more chaos in the hall. She followed him to the corner, and pressed up against the wall beside Cyrus and drew a dagger from one of her sleeves.

Marceline shook her head before glancing back to Gaspard. "I think more people than just the Empress want you dead, your Highness," she stated.

"As always," he replied flatly. He started around the corner, clearly not inclined to wait around for his would-be killers to come to him. He brushed off Marceline's attempt to stop him, and so she was forced to follow instead.

The hallway was more or less chaos. Khari had made it about halfway down, to the main part of the Venatori line, but others had swarmed behind her, some of them engaging Michaël. Several broke off to make a run for Gaspard upon spotting him. He met the first one with his knife, stabbing the woman in the eye before her shortsword could do any more than graze his arm. He swiftly picked it up, throwing the knife into another's chest cavity and shifting the sturdier shortsword to his right hand. He seemed to be having trouble moving his left too much, probably because of the arrow.

Further up, Khari had found herself surrounded. Her knife was already red with Venatori blood, but there were quite a lot of them crowding her into a small space, against the far wall. Baring her teeth, she lunged sideways, her hands closing over what looked like a Towers Age Nevarran urn. When it cracked over the head of the nearest mage, it no longer looked like anything but shards of ceramic and a pathetic bit of dust drifting towards the ground.

The mage reeled, giving Khari enough room to plant her back against the wall and shove him away from her with both legs, dress and all. He slammed against the wall opposite, his head snapping back onto the corner of an elaborate picture frame, and fell to the ground, leaving a red smear behind. She cut down the next with a pivot and a slash, spattering the entire front of her bodice with more red, dull against the garment's forest-green.

Cyrus's first and second knives both found the back of a rogue trying to flank MichaĂ«l. With a heave, he swung the still-alive Venatori around to intercept a hastily-thrown fireball, ducking down behind his living shield and then casting the charred corpse off his blades with a foot. “Fireballs in a hallway." His voice was an irritated mutter, just loud enough for Marceline to catch the gist over the general noise. “Going to kill everyone with aim like that, never mind Gaspard."

Marceline noticed the sluggishness Gaspard moved with his left, and chose to shore up that side of his defense, plastering herself to his weaker side. She needn't wait long before a Venatori attempted to exploit it. She took a step away from his side to intercept, her thin dagger streaking forward to embed in his chest. Instead of that, however, he was quick enough to brush the dagger aside with his shortsword. As planned, however, as she had used the attack as a distraction to draw a second knife from inside her corset, and that one saw no resistance as it punched through his chest. With the threat dealt with, she took a step backward and retook her position on Gaspard's weakened flank.

She glanced up ahead to see Michaël forcibly snatch a Venatori by the throat, and slam him against the nearest wall before delivering a pair of heavy punches to the midsection. He glanced up to see a mage preparing a spell, but managed to drag the one in his hand to the front to take a ice spike to the back, before bodily throwing him down the hall. "I think that works for them too," he answered Cyrus, dodging the next individual.

The tight quarters made things tricky, but it was quite clear that the Venatori were no more accustomed to it than they were, and had indeed likely met a much more powerful resistance than they were expecting. Though a few more wounds went around, it didn't take more than five minutes of pitched battle in the hallway before the assailants were dead and the Inquisition—as well as Gaspard—were still standing.

The Grand Duke sheathed his knife, sliding the whole thing into his belt. Apparently, he was no longer concerned with the prohibition on such things. Maybe that made sense. "The assassin. Where is he?" His tone suggested restraint, but how long it would hold was hard to say. The bodies and blood stains in the hall certainly didn't faze him. No doubt he'd seen much worse before, and likely quite recently.

"She... is right here," Vesryn appeared from around the corner, breathing heavily and carrying with him the smaller form of the bard that had loosed the arrow still remaining in Gaspard's back. He carried her bow in hand, the other carrying the unmoving form of the assassin. "Out cold, but alive for the moment." It appeared as though his knife had found her lower left side on her back, a wound which bled freely now since Vesryn had removed it. She also bled from a head wound, where he had presumably struck her in order to incapacitate her.

Dumping the body at Gaspard's feet, Vesryn took a few seconds to catch his breath, surveying the destruction and violence covering the hallway. "It seems... I missed the dance here."

Gaspard grunted, crouching and patting down the Bard's pockets. "Of course," he muttered. "Aurelie's not stupid enough to let them take their masks with them." Apparently that had been what he was looking for. Clearly deciding it didn't matter, he spared the lot of them a nod, almost but not quite begrudgingly. "I apologize for accusing you," he said. But that was all he said—at least to them—before he turned, making his way back down the hall in the direction he'd come from.

"My cousin is going to pay for this."

Marceline spared one last glance behind them to the corpses of the Venatori still warm on the ground. She sighed and shook her head before she turned toward her husband. "Micky, can you please help Vesryn carry the bard? We should follow the Grand Duke with haste," she explained, before following her own advice.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari almost felt bad for the poor sucker they were escorting back to the ballroom. Sure, she'd killed Philippe or whoever that guy was, but Celene had probably hired her for that, too, so it was easy enough for her to figure that she was likely to get the short end of the stick here. Maybe it shouldn't be—Khari knew assassination wasn't exactly the honorable thing to do. Maybe it was just personal bias that meant she always blamed the employers for it and not the assassins themselves.

They also had a spitting-mad Gaspard in tow, which was bound to make things interesting. Khari wasn't really certain how this was all going to happen, exactly, but she was willing to bet he was going to waste no time accusing Celene of trying to kill him with Venatori, or something else ridiculous. They had the bodies in the hall to prove that the Venatori had been around, but even if Celene was a power-hungry bitch, she really didn't seem like the type to fancy colluding with Corypheus and a nutty Tevinter supremacist cult.

Apparently, thinking about this kind of thing was Khari's life now.

Hopefully the others had their evidence in hand, because there was no way Gaspard was going to wait politely for anyone to make any extra inquiries. She practically had to jog to keep up with him, though the people like Cy and Ves with longer legs were managing a little better. “This oughta be interesting." She aimed the comment at no one in particular, but she did hear Cyrus snicker. At least someone was having fun.

"Hopefully not too interesting," Vesryn said, having finished catching his breath only a few seconds earlier. "I'm not sure how much more interest this palace can take."

The crowd actively got out of Gaspard's way; though she couldn't see the expression on his face, it was probably murderous or somewhere close. He stomped through the foyer, then into the ballroom, where it looked like the dancing had ceased. The Empress was back up on the upper balcony, and the music had faded to something more subdued, but whatever was going on stopped abruptly when Gaspard raised his voice.

"Celene!" He certainly could make his tone booming. Probably a field-command thing. Almost comically-synchronized, a roomful of nobles and guests turned around to face him. Face them.

Celene, for her part, did not react overmuch. "Dear cousin," she intoned, in a sort of half-friendly, half-condescending way that was hard to pin down exactly. "Whatever has you so upset? We should hate for any of our honored guests to—"

"Cut the platitudes, Celene. You hired a Bard to kill me, and you failed." Gaspard pointed back towards where Mick and Ves were transporting said Bard. "That's still a crime under the law, and you've lost your right to call yourself anyone's Empress!"

A murmur of surprise passed through the room, like ripples over a pond. Clearly, either the news or the manner in which it was being delivered was quite surprising to the gathered crowd. It had to be the second—assassinations were pretty normal here, after all.

Rom made a rather quiet approach on Khari's right flank. The attention of the room was pretty firmly situated on Gaspard and Celene, their dispute quite clearly coming to a climax before the eyes of the entirety of Orlais's highest nobility. Rom took in the last arrivals to the scene himself, noting the half of an arrow still lodged in Gaspard's back, and the blood decorating some of the Inquisition's members, Khari included.

"This should be good," he murmured, close enough to her ear for only her to hear, what with the way the room was still murmuring in surprise and confusion. "We got what we need on Celene. Leon handed it off." He took his eyes away from the scene for a moment, inspecting her dress. "They get you anywhere?"

She shook her head, grinning. It was probably weird that she was this glad to have been in a fight just now, but it was about the first time all night she'd felt like a help instead of a hindrance, and the adrenaline was slow to come down. “Nah. It's all Venatori blood." She was curious as to what he'd mentioned, though, and returned her attention to the stand-off between Celene and Gaspard.

"Have we now?" Celene remained nonplussed, her hands delicately folded in front of her, the very picture of demure innocence. It almost suited her, which was uncanny considering all they knew about the kind of person she was. Perhaps she was just that good an actress. "We are quite sorry to hear that someone tried to take your life, Grand Duke, but we are unsure why you believe we were responsible for such a thing."

This close, Khari could see Gaspard's jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. "Don't be coy. The assailant is one of Dame Cygne's Bards. You are the one who insisted that only they be allowed inside the Winter Palace this evening!" At that, a few of the more knowledgeable eyes in the room swung to Aurelie herself, who wore a much more neutral expression than either Gaspard or Celene did, almost disinterested.

"Again, dear Gaspard, if that is so, we are sorry to hear it, but we selected entertainment for this evening to ensure delightful music, not your death." Celene seemed a little less sanguine now, almost as though she were growing irritated at his persistence.

"You—" Gaspard didn't get very far before he was interrupted.

A throat cleared conspicuously from the right side of the ballroom, where the herald who'd announced the guests held a new piece of parchment aloft. "On this day, 23 Wintermarch of the forty-third year of the Dragon Age, Her Majesty Celene Valmont I does promise the sum of five hundred royals to the organization Le Nichoir, and its proprietor, Lady Aurelie Montblanc, for services to take place on 2 Drakonis of the same year. These services are to include musicianship and entertainment for a fĂȘte at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral, as well as the elimination of Gaspard de Chalons from contention to the crown of Orlais, by whatever means deemed most expedient and appropriate, to be carried out by the agent Wren."

There was quite a resounding silence after that; the herald folded the document back at its creases and returned it to the waiting hand of a tall nobleman with a fox mask—Julien. He smiled, leaning forward against the balcony rail on his side. "You were saying, Your Majesty?" There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice.

Khari felt her grin spread over her face. Oh, this was good. “Nice." She breathed the word on an exhale, reaching out for Rom's shoulder and squeezing. More jubilant displays of excitement would probably have to wait, so the did her best to contain herself, but if she hopped a little in place, well... no one was looking in this direction anyway.

"Not a bad story, how we got that," Rom said, smiling. "I'll tell you when we're done here."

The Inquisition's condemnation by proxy had an obvious effect on the crowd, too; the muttering increased in volume, and the general tenor of it took on a hostile edge. More than one disdainful look was leveled at the top of the balcony where the Empress stood.

Gaspard, riding the wave of success, took it upon himself to meet eyes with some of the guards. "Arrest her—for attempted murder and conspiring with the Venatori."

"Actually." This time, the voice that stopped proceedings was quite familiar. Estella stepped free of Lucien and Asala. "I contest the last claim. The Venatori serve Corypheus, not the Empress, and one of his agents was discovered among us tonight." She stood calmly, hands clasped in front of her, and tilted her head at Gaspard. "No doubt this agent wished death upon the both of you, as well as upon His Highness Lucien." She gestured behind her, where Rilien appeared, holding Florianne by the arm.

Her hands had been bound behind her back, and she seemed to have taken a few blows, but she was otherwise unharmed. The way she was dressed must have been the style of those harlequins someone had mentioned earlier in the night. Assassins with the House of Repose, or something like that.

Gaspard's mouth fell open. Clearly, he had not been expecting his own sister to be responsible for sending the Venatori to kill him.

Khari was pretty surprised, too. Florianne hadn't seemed any less suspicious than anyone else, but she wouldn't have picked her to actually be a trained assassin like Aurelie, much less one who worked for Corypheus. “Wait... how'd we figure that one out?"

"Offered her bait she couldn't pass up," Rom explained quietly. "Crown Prince and Lady Inquisitor in the same spot, with Rilien and Asala watching over them. Drew her into an attack."

"I suppose that's one way to do it," Ves commented from Khari's other side, keeping his voice low. "Doesn't look like she gave any of them too much trouble."

The Grand Duke now clearly wasn't sure how to feel about things, but he recovered enough to find his voice, at least. "Then arrest them both." He shook his head. "Celene has invalidated her claim to the throne, and in so doing, invalidated her line of succession. There is only one way to answer this." He crossed his arms over his chest, still clearly ignoring his injuries, and leveled a hard stare at a cluster of people in light grey. They were dressed pretty similarly to Philippe, so it must be some kind of official uniform for the Council of Heralds.

They all looked at each other, obviously as surprised by the turn of events as anyone. It was hard to get a read on the crowd overall, though some people were nodding, as if to express agreement with Gaspard's implication. Not too far away, the Costanzas exchanged a more worried glance. After all, if Celene's entire line of succession were invalidated because of what she'd done, then it would return to Judicael I's, and there was no longer anyone in front of Gaspard there.

There was general confusion for a few more moments, and then the grand double doors from the foyer flew open, one of them slamming back against the wall. In strode a very irritated-looking Guillame Drakon, followed somewhat more sedately by Violette, who escorted yet another prisoner in much the same manner as Rilien had kept hold of Florianne.

"Give it a fucking rest, Gaspard, you're just as guilty as them and you damn well know it." The Lord-General was obviously not inclined to mince his words for the sake of politeness. There were even a few scandalized gasps at the crudeness of his language.

Khari snorted, biting down on her knuckle to stifle the cackle that threatened. This had to be that merc Rom's group had captured a couple hours ago. But seriously, if the court found this kind of language offensive, they should hear her talk... ever. It was pretty ridiculous that that bothered them when they could watch a whole drama unfold like this with mere avid interest. Apparently, the Lord-General's brusque mannerisms were more obscene than the fact that no fewer than three of the people closest to the crown had all tried to kill each other for it.

This part, though... this part was gonna be fun. She moved her eyes to Gaspard, waiting to see what he'd do.

He wasn't half as good at keeping a Graceface as Celene had been. Though she wasn't bothering anymore, either. Two guards stood on either side of her, and her hands were in shackles, but she let a satisfied little smile curl her lip, quite able to read the writing on the wall here, no doubt. Maybe it was some consolation that her rival was going to go down with her.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Lord-General," Gaspard tried, but by this point the crowd was primed for the evidence to be legitimate before it had even been properly presented, and the dissenting murmurs were loud.

Guy rolled his eyes obviously enough that Khari could see it, and gestured Violette forward with one hand. She pulled her prisoner along with her, and the Lord-General glared at him. "Speak."

"Uh—" The man's accent was very Fereldan. He clearly wasn't in great shape; it looked like a lump was forming on his head where he'd been hit, but they were definitely battle-wounds, not the kind you got when someone was deliberately and methodically inflicting pain. "The Grand Duke, Lords. And Ladies. He, uh—hired m'boss's company. We were hiding out in the gardens, supposed to come in on his signal, y'see. Menace the nobles and the Council till they gave him the crown. Maybe cut a few up if anyone got mouthy."

It seemed to be particularly offensive that the men hired for this were Fereldan. Or maybe that they were mercenaries. It was hard to say which, but given the longstanding rivalry between the two countries, the first seemed a bit more likely.

"While we're arresting people," Guy added, meeting the eyes of another cluster of guards. These ones appeared to answer to him directly. "Arrest him, too." They moved to do it, careful not to bother his wounds too much, but he received no more quarter than Celene, Florianne, or the mercenary did.

"Well, now." Julien took over the narrative from there. And that's what it was, quite apparently: a dramatic narrative, planned in pieces, to keep attention and move events along swiftly and efficiently. No doubt Rilien had had some part in constructing it. Maybe some of the others had, too. The best thing about it was that no part of it was false. "As that seems to invalidate Gaspard's line of succession, I do believe we're back at Judicael's again. Where does that put us, o esteemed peers of the Council?" He folded his hands behind him with the air of someone who knew exactly what the answer to his question was.

Still, for whatever reason, the Council conferred on it for several tense minutes, during which everyone else in the hall waited for the verdict. It was almost possible to feel it, the way the sum total of held breaths and bowstring muscles gave the whole thing the feel of standing on eggshells. Or needles. Like one false move would bring the whole thing crashing down.

Khari was certainly feeling it. She knew the answer had to be the obvious one, but these people were really good at dragging it out. She wondered what the holdup was. Surely everyone had the really important bloodlines memorized, right? She couldn't believe they'd need to consult charts or anything.

“Taking their time, aren't they?" Apparently Cyrus thought the same. She rolled her eyes so he could see, causing a wry lift of half his mouth.

"We are dealing with the lines of succession," Marcy noted, tossing them a glance. "I believe the delay can be forgiven, considering."

“Hurry up and wait, so they say,” Zahra lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug and glanced down at her own dress. There was a section near the leg that was torn. Possibly from whatever had happened before, during the heist.

At last, one of the Heralds stepped away from the cluster of them to address the crowd. "Given the invalidation of both Grand Duchess Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard's lines of succession," he said, demoting Celene at the moment he spoke her title, "the Emperor of Orlais is Lucien Drakon."

The tension snapped, and the room exploded in noise. Lots of clamoring, even some shouting; no few people cheered. Others looked scandalized, or shouted questions at the Council, but there was little chance of any of them being heard over the furor.

“Ha. Yes!" Given all the noise already filling the room, Khari no longer saw any reason to dampen her enthusiasm. “Eat it, you poncy bastards!" She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that this was the right choice, not just for the Inquisition, but for Orlesians. She didn't always think of herself as one of them, but she was, and in this moment, she was pretty damn all right with that.

Rom snorted a laugh next to her, breaking into a full blown grin at her reaction. He didn't offer any taunting words of his own, but he did clap her on the shoulder and squeeze briefly.

Beside them, Mick rolled his eyes at her antics, but regardless smiled and clapped his hands, though for a moment he did lean forward to speak into Marcy's ear. Whatever he said must had been funny, because it caused her to laugh and nod in agreement.

Zahra’s smile couldn’t have been wider, until it broke out into a full grin. Teeth bared. She looked as pleased as the rest of them at the results, clapping Khari's shoulder from behind and rocking back on her heels, pleased as kitten doused in milk.

Across the room, Stel gave Lucien a bit of a nudge, and he made his way carefully nearer to the balcony where Celene had once stood, before pausing en route and seeming to change his mind. Instead, he descended the stairs to the ballroom floor, where the majority of the watchers were gathered. Those on the upper level crowded around the banisters. He raised a hand for quiet, which was nearly immediate. No doubt even those that didn't like the news would want to know what he had to say.

"Before I begin," he said, his tone dry, "I would like to ensure that there are no more doors to be kicked down, hostages to be dragged in, or accusations to be shouted across the room?" In the pause, there was scattered laughter, but no such interruptions were forthcoming. Lucien's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "Good. Frankly I'm not sure we can handle much more as it is."

His tone sobered to match his expression. "No doubt that was all very fast for you. I know it was for me. I can truthfully say that I did not arrive here tonight planning to leave an Emperor. And I allow for the possibility that, in the course of their trials, either my aunt or my cousins might be found not guilty of the crimes of which they are accused. If such a thing occurs, you have my assurance that I will not contend to keep this title in their places." He paused a moment, pursing his lips. "Nevertheless, it is clear that in the meantime, I will have to assume the mantle in full, because what is upon us now is a disaster in full. Our armies are depleted. Many of our lands lay barren, a result of a war that was by all accounts both short and exceedingly bloody. Our people suffer, and if that were what I had to contend with upon ascension, it would be a tall task."

Folding his hands behind his back, Lucien cast his eyes over the assembled, both in front of and above where he stood. "But that is not the extent of it. An enemy unlike any we have faced before has arrived upon our doorstep. Infiltrated our court, where many of us have doubtlessly believed ourselves safe from unfamiliar dangers." He glanced once at Florianne, but only briefly. "We have been distracted by our own disagreements for too long. One way or another, those have found temporary resolution tonight. I intend to use that time to prepare us to face down Corypheus, who is a danger not just to some of us, but to us all. I hope that as I do so, I can count on your support and your advice, as all new leaders are wise to do." He favored the assembled with a small smile, genuine as ever, then nodded to the guards.

"See to it that they are taken care of, please." As the prisoners were escorted away, Lucien pulled in another breath. "If I may, I think I might call this the most thorough unmasking that has ever occurred at such an event. In that spirit, let us all be known to each other." Reaching up to his own face, he took hold of the edges of his mask in either hand, and lifted it up and away.

The rest of the court followed suit, dropping their arms back to their sides. There was something about it—perhaps just the timing or the events—that made the effect particularly striking. People blinked at each other as though they were looking at their neighbors for the first time, almost, though surely at least some of them were more familiar with each other than that.

Finally, she could get this thing off her face. Khari peeled it away without hesitation, breathing a relieved sigh in the process. Really, if they liked decorating their faces this much, they should just do the logical thing and get tattoos. Wouldn't be so weird to connect them to families, either: that was what at least some Rivaini did, if Rom was anything to go by.

Speaking of... Khari shot him a huge grin. “Pretty sure we just made a whole regime change happen." If anyone had asked her about the things she thought she'd be doing at this point in her life... not even she'd have dared to dream as big as toppling a dynasty. Because that was what they'd done—they'd usurped the Valmonts, and put someone with the name Drakon back on the Orlesian throne. This was the kind of shit people wrote entire history books about.

Obviously, defeating Corypheus would be like that, too, but they hadn't actually done that part yet.

Ves removed his own mask as he walked past them. He looked a bit more tired than she was used to seeing him, but it was understandable given the unusual work they'd been forced into. He offered both of them a smile. "Not bad for a night's work, little bear."

He disappeared into the crowd of nobles, probably off to regroup with Stel. Rom had his arms crossed, free of his mask now and looking over the crowd as if surveying his handiwork. Their handiwork, since tonight had only been possible through contributions that all of them had made, whether it was picking locks, navigating conversation, or smashing vases over Venatori heads. "It was about as painful as I expected," Rom admitted, probably referring to the night as a whole. "But hey, at least we made it worthwhile."

Both Mick and Marcy had removed their masks, and she now leaned back against him, with his arms wound around her. With their faces bare, they both seemed immensely relieved, and for once relaxed. Even Marcy's expression was soft and gentle, apparently reveling in their success with her husband.

Off to Romulus’s right side, Zahra hefted her mask off and tucked it under her armpit. It seemed as if she already had a destination in mind. Nearly trouncing towards a nearby servant standing off to the side with a tray poised atop his palm. This time, she wouldn’t be interrupted. She didn’t stop to talk to anyone, only swept up her lace and leaned against the wall beside him. Words were exchanged as the platter was lowered and she began plucking small morsels into her mouth, eyeing him whenever he was foolish enough to pull it away thinking she was done.

With a short, shallow bow to the crowd, Lucien placed his hand over his heart. "Please, stay and partake if you still wish to. And take care on your travels home. Each of you will be needed in the days to come." His address concluded, he once more ascended the stairs, leaving events to resume in his wake.

Rom glanced sideways at Khari. "You hungry? I could go for something to eat right about now."

“Starving." She knocked his elbow with hers, letting her mood—tired, but pretty damn fantastic otherwise—manifest itself as playfulness. Close enough, anyway. “Let's go."

Changing the fate of the world had a way of working up an appetite.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella shifted, reaching up where she sat and stretching. It proved to be a good idea. She could hear a couple of her vertebrae pop softly back into better placement. She'd been sitting sideways on the couch in her office for the better part of the last two hours explaining the long version of the Halamshiral story to Lia; it was probably about time to get up and move a little, for the sake of her health if nothing else. "And... that's about the whole thing, actually. I think I've collected most of the parts, but you might have to ask some of the others for more details on their contributions." It was certainly, when collected, quite the tale.

Lia had gotten the most important parts of the story shortly after she'd returned to Skyhold, but this was the first time she'd heard it all in detail. Judging by her expression she was indeed judging it more like fanciful story than fact. If she hadn't been a part of the Inquisition from the beginning she might've even been doubting it, but no matter how strange Halamshiral had been, the Inquisition had been involved in stranger still already.

"So..." she hesitated, leaning forward in her chair to put her elbows on her knees. "Do we know what's going to happen to the Lions? With Lucien being Emperor now and all?"

Estella shook her head. "I honestly don't know," she replied, pursing her lips. "He wouldn't leave us out in the cold, I know that. But it's hard to imagine anyone but him leading, isn't it?" No doubt plenty in their number were qualified to do so, but they would by nature be stepping into shoes that were impossible to fill. "I'm sure he'll tell us something more official soon."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She seemed to be thinking about it for a second. Lia had never said she didn't plan to go back once she was no longer needed in the Inquisition, or once the Inquisition was no longer needed in general. But before there had always been a stable picture of what she'd be going back to, and who she'd be accepting as her Commander again. Regardless, she didn't seem inclined to think on it too long, and shook her head.

Something about the window caught her attention, and her eyes widened momentarily. "Oh! Didn't realize how long I'd been here. I should go get ready, gotta check over all the emplacements around the fortress again." She'd taken a few days to relax after returning wearily from the Emerald Graves, but apparently that time was up. "Storm or otherwise." She stood, already heading for the door, but she turned to walk backwards as she went. "We should get dinner sometime, I've got more questions. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Estella promised, adding it to her mental schedule. She'd gotten better at keeping one, to be sure, though there was nothing else on it for today.

Maybe after she got her circulation going again she could work on the lesson plan for Asala's next attempts at Tevene. She liked having those; a structured reminder of what she was meant to be teaching was a comfort to her. She didn't think she could do what Cyrus did, and just lecture off-the-cuff about any topic she had knowledge of. Probably better not to try and emulate her brother's style in that.

Glancing to the other side of the room, she grinned. "Khari, I don't believe the makers of that sofa intended for it to be used in quite such a fashion."

“Then they lacked inspiration." Khari was, in fact, upside-down on the other couch, her head hanging just above the floor where her braid pooled in a long coil. Her bare feet, by contrast, were thrown over the back. She'd clearly been like that a while, if the slight redness of her face was anything to go by, but none of that constituted an explanation for why she'd bothered to do such a thing.

She was otherwise apparently at the same occupation as Estella had been before Lia's visit: reading for pleasure. She didn't do it as often, but with winter giving one last big protest to spring outside in the form of a storm that was half-rain and half-snow, there wasn't as much else to do as usual. She'd borrowed one of Estella's books this time, a translated Nevarran epic about a dragonslayer and a shapeshifter who favored drake form. From the periodic spurts of laughter, she'd found it quite entertaining.

Pulling herself up out of her absurd position, she flopped bodily onto the sofa, setting the book on the coffee table in front of it. “This one was pretty good." Apparently, she'd finished the whole thing. “There were only a couple elves in it, though, and most of them were servants. You'd think they could have made the shapeshifter Dalish at least, but I guess some of the humor wouldn't have been as funny if he wasn't so big."

Estella hummed. "I think they could have managed," she said, lifting her shoulders. "I think I have some other ones with better elven characters, if you want a list, but they can be hard to find." Rather a shame. It was unfortunate that the elves that showed up in books were usually angry Dalish or timid servant stereotypes. She'd met plenty of people who bore a resemblance to one or the other, but plenty more that hadn't. Estella had never once doubted the importance Khari placed on getting herself into songs and stories as well as history.

"But if you're done for now, do you want to take a walk? I was thinking of heading to the main hall for something to eat soon anyway, and we could check on the storm." Her own window wasn't the best; it looked out over the sheer cliffs Skyhold was built on, which was breathtaking when she could see more than a few feet out, but not so good for getting a sense of what the grounds looked like.

With another bodily heave, Khari righted herself so that her feet touched the rug and her head was above them again, reaching down to pull her boots towards her so she could slide them on. “Sounds good to me. I think we got some apples in from somewhere the other day. I heard a rumor there was going to be pie." No doubt this was exciting news, as far as the everyday kind of news went.

It didn't take more than a couple additional minutes before they headed out, taking a long, circuitous route around the castle to stretch their legs before they'd have to settle down again. For a while it was quiet, but as usual, Khari was the first to break the silence. “Did anyone tell you? About what Lucien did with Bi—Ser Durand?"

Estella had thought to ask, but she'd also thought it was probably better not to pry unless Khari wanted to share. She likely had a right, as Inquisitor, to know what happened to someone who had once been a prisoner of the Inquisition, but it was a right she wasn't interested in invoking. She shook her head. "I never asked," she replied. "Did you?"

Khari sighed. “Vi told me. After Halamshiral, when Lucien was still seeing people and some of us were eating. Pulled me aside and asked if I wanted to know." She grimaced, though it seemed to be an expression more inwardly-directed than anything, somehow. “I honestly... wasn't sure. Lucien seems like a really good guy, but I'm sure he has to be hard sometimes, too. I wasn't sure what I'd do if I found out he'd been executed, you know?"

She drew to a stop in front of one of the bigger windows in the hallway, turning her head towards it and watching the snow fall for several long heartbeats. “But he wasn't." Her shoulders fell as she exhaled heavily, swallowing. “He's not a chevalier anymore, but Lucien only kept him in prison for a year and a day. Now the Lions have him training small troops of guards for some of the villages he used to help."

It sounded like a very Lucien-esque sort of punishment. Something punitive for the damage he'd done, but also a recognition that at the core of an unworthy action, there had been a worthy motive. And an unwillingness to let someone with as much talent for training people as Durand clearly had sit uselessly in a dungeon somewhere. Still... there was a sense in which it might be seen as too soft, even if it resulted in the most good in the end. And it was a very personal thing for Khari, too.

"How do you feel about it?" Estella asked cautiously, unwilling to assume anything until Khari had said so herself. She, too, turned to glance out the window; the sky was growing dark very quickly, even though it was still only about four hours past midday. The weather's doing, no doubt; the snow fell in large, sleety chunks that she imagined almost made plopping noises against the ground. She hoped Leon had been able to cover his garden with tarps in enough time.

Her answer was, initially at least, a vague noise that didn't convey anything much. Khari crossed her arms where she stood, blinking and, it seemed, focusing her attention on their reflections in the thick glass. Hers looked to meet Estella's eyes. “I dunno." The admission was unusually quiet. “Every time I think I'm getting a grip on what honor really is, or what it means, I do something stupid or find a question I can't answer. And I prove I still have a long way to go." She shook her head, pulling her braid over her shoulder.

“I couldn't give any answers I liked when I tried to explain it to Rom after the whole thing with Ser Durand, and I think that was because I didn't really understand what I was talking about. And then... I thought I was doing better, but then Halamshiral happened and I broke a guy's nose for being an asshole to me, and I really don't think that was the honorable thing to do, either." She pulled a face, sighing gustily. Her breath, even from several inches away, fogged the chilly glass where it touched.

Khari reached up and touched a finger to it, sketching out a crude feather in the fog. “But I know now. How much chevaliers have to be able to do. And if all I can do is the physical stuff... then what good am I gonna be to anyone?" It was a worry she'd voiced before, in a vaguer form. Her concern that all she was good for was fighting. It seemed especially sharp now, pointed in a way it hadn't been then. No doubt the reliance on politicking and courtesy at the Winter Palace had distilled it for her.

Estella stepped in a little closer beside her, close enough that she could feel the cold emanating from the window as well as the heat from Khari. Their shoulders brushed incidentally; Estella turned it into a more deliberate nudge. "It sounds like you're asking why you aren't already perfect at doing the right thing all the time," she observed, a hint of a wry smile turning her mouth. "I can tell you with absolute certainty that everyone has that particular shortcoming." She pursed her lips.

"I don't have honor figured out myself, you know, and I've been lucky enough to know some of the most honorable people in the world by any definition." Perhaps that might have been exaggeration in most contexts, but she really didn't think it was in hers. Lucien was the obvious candidate, but not nearly the only one. Nostariel had been honorable in a sense too, and Sophia definitely was. Even some of her friends in the Inquisition had impressive amounts of it, Khari included.

She took a deep breath, then leaned forward and exhaled, letting the window fog on purpose. By this point in life, she wasn't a terrible sketch artist, even if the medium was a bit childish, and she had a decent-looking knight in her patch before long, mounted and carrying a lance. "But... as far as I know, that man who ignored you because of the fact that you're an elf... he wasn't honorable, either. I don't think you reacted in the best way—" she smiled in a conciliatory sort of manner—"but what I do know is that you reacted in an understandable way."

It seemed to be precious little comfort to Khari, unfortunately, who stared hard at the little drawing in the fog like it held all the answers. When she spoke, it was slowly, like something waking up after a long hibernation. Like she was trying to get her bearings. “If it was just for me, I might be okay with that." Her hand dropped back limply to her side. “But it's not. I keep telling myself I have to be better for the Dalish, for all the elves that might come after me. But the other side to that is that every mistake I make reflects on all of us. And I make so many stupid mistakes, Stel. What if I just make things worse for them because I can't keep my temper in check, or because I don't always think things through all the way before I do them?" It was clearly bothering her a great deal. Clearly had been bothering her for some time.

Estella paused to consider that. "I understand wanting to be better, I really do." She shook her head. How long had the same thoughts plagued her? They still did. Not about her temper, per se, as she'd never had much of one, but about various other things. Her judgement, her leadership, her ability to make difficult decisions or somehow suddenly know who deserved what, as it felt like she should whenever she sat on that throne. But there was no switch that flipped and made it so. Just like there was no perceptible sensation that Khari would feel if she ever managed to get honor 'right.'

"But you can't hold yourself against perfection, Khari. There's no such thing. For what it's worth, I think you're doing exactly the right thing now. You're taking your mistakes and learning from them. Just like you do in sparring. Never the same one twice, right?" Her lips thinned; finding the exact words she wanted was difficult. "If you talked to Lucien about it, he'd tell you it took a lot of years and a lot of hard lessons for him to understand what honor was. I know I'm still learning all the time. It's not a bad thing that you're doing the same. To me it seems like the worst thing would be to give up now, when you've already come so far."

“I didn't say I was giving up." Khari delivered the words in an almost-grumpy tone, but there was clearly nothing in it that was actually aggressive. “You're right Stel. I know you are. It's just... harder to remember when I mess up." She grimaced. “And I messed up a lot this time."

Expelling a heavy breath, she shook her head, smiling slightly and reaching over to give the knight's helmet a rather excessive plume. “There. Now he's Ves."

Estella snorted. "The tallhelm's not that silly."

Khari glanced at her, lifting an eyebrow. “It is and you know it. You can still make fun of him even if you can't quit making big eyes at him, you know. In fact I encourage it." She grinned.

"I don't do anything of the sort," she protested, though she wasn't actually sure whether that was true or not. This fact was still mortifying, though by all rights she probably should have been more comfortable with the idea by now. Maybe she would be, eventually. "And I do make fun of him. Fairly often. I just think the tallhelm's not that silly."

It was pretty clear that Khari wasn't buying it. “Uh-huh." Her deadpan might have impressed Rilien, but it was swiftly dashed when she smiled broadly again, slinging an arm easily over Estella's shoulders and starting them both forward again down the hall. “So does this mean he's literally a knight in shining armor? It does, doesn't it? He's got the white horse and everything." She was clearly ribbing her now, and rather enjoying herself, if the facetious look on her face was anything to go by. “Kinda figured that'd be my job, but whatever. I'm not mad. Just disappointed." She sighed in a suitably overdramatic fashion.

Estella sighed, too, though it lacked the melodrama. "In the unlikely event I ever find myself locked in any towers, I'll let you both race to see who rescues me first, and we can decide who gets the title that way." Her tone was arid; she rolled her eyes to give emphasis to it.

Khari cackled, façade of seriousness vanishing quite immediately. “So you're saying I have a chance." After her amusement had worn itself out, though, her expression sobered. “Actually, I was gonna ask you a favor. You think I could practice being a bodyguard with you? Lucien gave me a few pointers, but I really need to actually do it sometimes. I figure maybe we could ask Ril to plan a couple assassinations on you or something. If I can stop him, I bet I could stop anybody."

It wasn't a terrible idea, actually. "If you want to, sure. I don't think he'd have a problem with it. Maybe you could also ask Rom?" It would probably be better to work with a variety of scenarios, and while she didn't doubt Rilien's creativity, another perspective surely couldn't hurt.

“Uh... not sure how well that would go, honestly." Khari grimaced and dropped her arm. “But... maybe. I dunno." There was obvious uncertainty there, and it had appeared quite suddenly at that. It was hard to say exactly where it stemmed from.

Estella paused for a moment, though she did match Khari's walking pace still. She glanced at her friend's expression, wondering if it was better to ask or to leave the topic be. Khari was apparently quite uncomfortable with it, but maybe that meant she needed to examine why. Cautiously, she ventured the question. "Are you worried because he might not like the suggestion, or because you don't feel comfortable asking?" She supposed she could see something in the former; no doubt Rom's attitudes towards what he'd once done were complicated. Maybe Khari knew something she didn't, as far as that went.

“Both? Kind of? I don't know." Khari made an agitated noise and shook her head. “I can talk to him normally most of the time. I'm not... losing my head about it or anything. Except I just... it's always right there, you know? What I'm not saying." Her footsteps got heavier, until she was scuffing the stone with each tread, almost stomping. Khari's emotions always manifested physically in very obvious ways. No doubt it was quite difficult to try containing a particular one which was, by her own admission, very hard to ignore.

She stopped suddenly, rounding on Stel. Her posture was almost aggressive, but that could only be frustration. “How do you even tell someone that? What words do you use? I've tried, you know, to figure it out. But everything just sounds so stupid."

A soft breath escaped Estella. "I know, believe me." She shrugged, a slight smile appearing again. "But in a way the feeling itself is stupid, right? It's not about what's rational or sensible or safe. It's... putting yourself in a vulnerable position, giving someone else the power to hurt you in a way no one else can. It's a risk—probably a really stupid one." Her tone was soft, more cajoling than informative, because she knew Khari had to know this already, in some way. "But... Maker, Khari, if it works... there's nothing else like it in the world." Even just speaking of it, she could feel the echoes of dizzy affection in her chest, and that other, more solid thing that lay underneath. The trust. The knowledge that even on the days when the euphoria was harder to find, there would still be something wonderful to hold onto.

"I won't push you. It's a personal decision you have to make, and only you can decide what outweighs what. But I think we both know enough about you to say that you're not the kind of person who lets considerations about what's sensible or rational get in the way of what you really want." And that could be a weakness, for sure. Just like it was at Halamshiral. But it could also be a strength. Because it was never the people who were worried about being sensible who achieved the most. Who reached the furthest and changed everyone's ideas about what was possible.

And maybe that trait, which Estella truly believed was going to make history someday, would also help Khari change her own life, for the better. Possibly Rom's life, too—there wasn't a doubt in her own mind that they were good for each other, as they were or as something more than that.

Khari considered that for a long moment, her body language deflating until it was more or less normal again. In the end, she snorted. “I think you might have just called me an idiot, Stel."

"Maybe," Estella conceded with a grin. "But you're the best kind of idiot there is."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Reading Chryseis's words had a way of making Rom deeply uncomfortable, even if what she said had nothing to do with him.

Maybe it was made worse because he'd insisted on writing the letter to her himself, the one asking for her aid in their efforts against Marcus Alesius, and securing a way into Minrathous for the Inquisition. Her reply was little more than a confirmation that she would indeed help them as she had promised to do so in the letter that had officially released the slave Romulus from her service. She made no demands in exchange for her aid, only inquired after the health and condition of her father, who was still a prisoner of theirs.

The end was what made his skin crawl, where she stated she "looked forward to working with him again." Harmless words from anyone else, but naturally Rom was inclined to read too much into them. He'd have to reply back, let her know how her father was doing, as she had a right to know. But he couldn't help but wish that Rilien hadn't seen fit to share the letter with him at all.

Setting it aside on his desk, he decided he needed to work. Something physical to put his mind elsewhere. Yesterday's storm had passed, leaving him with a clear and bright morning immediately following to do with as he pleased. He settled on starting through his personal routines, flexibility and strength work. He removed his shirt and got to it.

The stretching went as usual, leaving him limber and loose, but he paused before starting his pull-up sets. His eyes settled on his alchemy station, the small vial he'd left there for himself the night before. He'd almost felt the need to take something before sleeping, but had resisted. It left him rolling in bed most of the night, and tired come the morning. He'd already taken one draught immediately after waking, and now he felt the need to take another. Boost his stamina.

He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. It was getting worse. The reactions to it were getting stronger. He'd always been playing with concoctions he barely understood, but before the Inquisition he rarely needed to take them so frequently. Threats in Minrathous were lethal, but they weren't what the Inquisition faced. He didn't have the same investment then that he had now. A nearly all-consuming desire to be at his best for what he'd come to care so much about. The people, the cause, the place to belong to. All of it.

He tried to get through his reps without it. It started out well enough, but over the course of the hour he started to hit his limits far sooner than he was comfortable with. Beads of sweat rolled down his back and chest, his breathing came heavily, and he was forced to stop each time he began to feel sick, taking a moment to stop and drink. After the third time of this, he remained in the chair by the "mouth" at the edge of the room, letting the air cool him. Khari would probably arrive for practice soon enough. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to finish before she did.

It wasn't more than a couple of minutes before he heard her approaching, probably sooner than usual, since she seemed to be speaking. Khari talked to herself on occasion, to be sure, but her tone this time definitely suggested an audience of some kind, which was confirmed when they came into earshot. “—can't believe you've never actually been down this way, but yeah. He's right here. Hey Rom, we're coming in!"

The door was open, but Khari pushed it a bit wider before stepping inside, Leon of all people in tow. The commander ducked slightly under the doorway; it was only barely taller than he was. Likely they'd just finished some kind of tactics lesson. Khari's fingers were never covered in ink except when Leon made her draw out maps and diagrams and models for planning strategy. They were now, though, and a few drops had spattered her bare forearms, too, where she'd rolled up her sleeves to the elbows. She caught sight of him in the chair and did a slight double-take, clearly expecting him to still be at his sets.

“Am I late? Or did you finish early today?"

"No, you're, uh... yeah. Finished early." He almost wished he were flustered for what had become the usual reason, but here he hadn't been quite quick enough to come up with an excuse. Maybe it was the appearance of Leon this time that threw him off, or maybe he just wasn't thinking as fast as normal. Likely some combination of it all. He wiped his face with a towel, hoping he didn't look quite as bad as he felt. "Something you need me for, Leon?" They didn't really have conversations here, as Khari had indirectly pointed out on her way in, so he had to assume Leon had a purpose in coming.

Leon, perhaps not surprisingly a rather observant man, seemed to have noticed the stumble, but he didn't seem inclined to press on it. Instead, he offered a slight smile. "Well, I confess to some interest in the training you two get up to, but I don't mean to intrude." He glanced once at Khari, clearly trying to decide if whatever he meant to say next should be said in her company or not. In the end, though, he went ahead.

"I'm... ironically, I'm actually here to inquire after your health. I noticed you weren't quite... as alert as I'd have expected, at certain points during the Halamshiral events. I'd understand if it was merely the setting, of course, but... it seemed only right that I ask." Rom had made a rather similar query at one point, after all, and received rather more dire news in response than anticipated.

“Wait, really?" Khari had obviously not noticed anything of the sort, and was quite surprised to hear that Leon had. Her interest in the answer was immediately obvious, however. Her brows knit together, and she shot Rom a look of clear concern. Her hands, comfortably settled at her hips, dropped and hung there, as though she weren't quite sure what to do with them.

Rom knew what points Leon was talking about without needing to ask. He'd been a bit lost in the fight in that hedge maze, with Gaspard's Fereldan mercenaries. Right after he'd taken quite the strong dose. Honestly, it had been quite a bit worse than he expected, but he probably took it too soon after the last one. The strain of everything that had happened before no doubt contributed to that; Halamshiral had been stressful from start to finish. When not in a fight it gave him focus, clarity, quicker thinking, but during the fight it had a way of dulling things. Pain was among them, but the adrenaline must have been interacting with something else.

"I'm fine, uh... I was just out of it." It was a weak excuse and he knew it. He reached for his shirt, barely in arm's reach where he'd dropped it on the floor, and pulled it over his head. To give him something to do with himself for a few seconds, and to hide his face for that period.

When the seconds were done and he could see them again, Khari was wearing a very different expression, much more skeptical, and her hands were back on her hips. Her lips thinned. “'Out of it?' She echoed the words with a tone that suggested disbelief, glancing once at Leon and then back to him. “Out of it how, Rom? You're usually about the most focused person I know. Hell, you do pretty much all of your training by yourself—" She paused; he could almost see the realization click into place.

“You didn't finish early today, did you?" She looked around the room, eyes flickering over the various pieces of equipment, almost as if trying to figure out if they'd all been recently used and wiped down or not. “What's—what's really going on?" Probably the fact that he'd tried to brush past the topic had done more to convince her that it mattered than just about anything else could have.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. There wasn't any getting out of this, but it had already brought him a headache. "It's the potions, the tonics," he said, gesturing haphazardly towards where one of them still sat on the alchemy table, the little vial still stoppered by the cork. "I've had to take them more and more recently." It was difficult to admit, honestly. That he had to take them. Or that he felt that way, at least. As far as anyone else had known it was entirely his choice to take them, that he wasn't their prisoner in any way.

"And I've had to make them stronger," he continued. "I know I was going to have to tell someone eventually, I just... Halamshiral was too important. It wasn't the right time to try to figure something else out." He wanted to stand, as he felt almost like he was being interrogated sitting in front of them, but at the same time, he wondered if it might make him feel too sick. This was embarrassing enough already. "I tried to go without it today, but... I don't think I can." Exhaling heavily, his eyes sought the potion again. "Can you hand me that, Khari?"

Her eyes fell to it, too. She reached over, taking the vial in her hand and staring at it for several long seconds. For once, her face was unreadable. “Can I ask a stupid question first?" Not that there was really much choice; she was the one holding the potion, and she seemed to realize that a moment after she spoke. “Is it... is this a choice you're making? Is it something you want, or something you... need?" She didn't quite sound sure that need was the right contrast word, but no better ones came to mind. At least none that she replaced it with.

He held out his hand when she picked it up, but when it became clear she wouldn't immediately hand it over, he let the hand fall to rest on his leg. His fingers were shaking slightly, but he curled them into a fist to make it stop. "It was never a choice," he admitted readily. "Chryseis had me take them. She taught me to make more. And I've always had reasons to need them." Reasons involving survival. The first time he'd ever really spoken to Khari, back in the Hinterlands in what seemed like another life, he'd taken a resistance tonic that let him walk right through a mage's fireball. He probably would've died several times over if not for them. "I don't know what will happen to me if I stop. This isn't... this isn't well documented alchemy I've been practicing." Again he held his hand palm up.

She bit her lip, something tightening around her eyes to lend her a look of discomfort. But she did hand it to him; ink-blue fingertips lingered against the roughened skin of his hand for a heartbeat too long, but then she dragged them away. “Do you want to stop?" It was an unusually-gentle tone, for her, one that hearkened back to the basement at Haven, when she'd been struggling to understand his attitudes towards the pieces of his life that were nothing like any piece of hers.

It took a significant amount of self control not to snatch it from her hand as soon as it was in reach. With as steady a motion as he could manage, he removed the cork and downed it. Instantly it hit, flooding his limbs with energy, his breathing made easy as if the room suddenly had twice the air in it from before. He shuddered slightly, exhaling a rush of breath in a mix of relief, and quite honestly pleasure. It wasn't the best taste, but the sensation was euphoric. He wiped the last of the sweat from his forehead with a towel, and could feel that no more would be needed.

"I do," he said softly. "I want to stop. But, uh... I don't want to die. Obviously." He couldn't imagine a way of doing this that wouldn't be dangerous. There were no easy cures or magic for this sort of thing. "And I want to be at my best. Physically. For the Inquisition, I need to be."

Leon, arms crossed, reentered the conversation at that point. "I know a few things about substance dependence, but I couldn't possibly have a particular recommendation for your case. I think, though, that if you brought what you know of your tonics to Rilien and told him you wanted to safely stop using them, he might well have a better answer than you'd get anywhere else." The suggestion almost came across like an apology, from his intonation. Possibly for bringing the matter up with an audience. He clearly hadn't expected the answer Rom had ended up giving.

"Of course, that's entirely up to you. I could hardly fault you for deciding against it, given... well, given everything. But if you've got a chance to live free of this—" he cut himself off, smiling sympathetically. "Well, you don't need my advice. If there's any way I can help, though, just say the word."

Khari nodded, though she still looked troubled by something. “Wish you'd mentioned it before." The words were mostly murmured, but she was close enough for him to catch them anyway. Clearing her throat, she quite visibly forced her expression to brighten. “But Leon's right. We're here for you if you want our help with anything. Which you probably knew already." Her smile was lopsided as usual, but also a little awkward. She wasn't much good at concealing anything.

"There's a lot that I'm not proud of," he said, almost before he'd realized it. After that, it was too late to take it back. "Things that I wanted to leave behind, in Minrathous. If I'd known this was going to start hounding me like this... well, guess it doesn't matter now." He hadn't told her, or anyone, until pressed about it, and that was that. He hadn't even told Zee about it, and she was learning alchemy from him. He truly hadn't known how difficult the dependence would become, and how quickly, but then again, the unpredictable tended to happen when demons were thrown into the mix. Rare ingredients in his old life, but in the Inquisition they were never in short supply.

"I'll ask Rilien if he has any advice. Need to write a letter anyway. Might as well ask my teacher for help, too." He wasn't sure what Chryseis would think about him trying to stop, but she likely knew more than anyone on this particular subject. It was worth a try, at least. He got to his feet, meeting Khari's eyes, a bit awkward himself. "Think we can call off practice today?"

She nodded slightly, waving a hand. “Sure." A short pause. “Uh... you mind if I still hang around, or d'you want me to, you know." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards the door.

"No, stay. If you want." He made his way up to the desk, rearranging a few candles to provide better light to write by. "You can help me write this. You're very tactful, after all." Tactful enough to break a chevalier's nose. He grinned a little at her.

That got a laugh out of her—a short bark of one, but a laugh all the same. “They should just give me Marcy's job, I know. What d'you think Leon? Promotion in my future?"

"Well, you did get an apology out of the Lord-General. I'll think about it and get back to you." Leon shook his head. "Sorry to intrude, Romulus. Best of luck with the letters." He inclined his head, and showed himself out.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Vesryn was getting better at weathering the storm on his own, but Khari was also hitting harder than ever.

She'd improved markedly since he first fought against her in Haven, and it was safe to say that here, in Rilien's tower in Skyhold, without Saraya's help, he was not fighting nearly as well. The purpose of the session was largely for his benefit, as he doubted Khari gained much of anything from landing hit after hit on him other than a decent workout. And with Romulus still gone on the Riptide to parts in Rivain and back, the little bear had more time to spend training with Vesryn instead, which he tried his best to see as a gift in disguise.

"Not getting tired, are you?" he asked once they had a moment to breathe, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. The question was quite rhetorical; he knew full well that Khari could do this all day, especially with Stel nearby to tag one of them out occasionally and take her own turns. With Cyrus gone as well, the three of them had been putting in far more dedicated practice, and Vesryn liked to think it was paying dividends for all of them. They couldn't know when the next time would be that their skill would be needed.

Vesryn stood his ground for her next attack, deflecting several swift and heavy slashes aside. He'd been working especially hard on not absorbing the full force of her swings with his guard, instead precisely redirecting them aside, forcing her to expend more energy than him and giving him a better chance of finding windows to counterattack. He'd found a few earlier, but none this time. Khari was getting less reckless with her offense all the time, and made fewer mistakes than before, especially against him. They'd practiced enough to know each other's tendencies.

The engagement ended with Khari stepping around Vesryn when he whiffed on an attempted counter, her own blade whacking across his upper back with a loud clang of metal. He pitched forward and nearly fell, instead merely stumbling a few steps with a grimace. Expelling a few breaths, he removed his helmet as he turned. "Well played." His eyes found Stel at the side of the practice ring. "Think you could tire her out a bit more for me? I might have a chance then."

"I'm not convinced tiring her out is really possible, but I'll do my best to contribute." Stel offered them both a smile, uncrossing her arms and letting them drop. There was something to be gained from watching each other spar as well, something she tended to take as much advantage of as she could. "Let's switch things around a bit, Khari. Small arms?" She crossed to one of the many racks of practice weapons, picking out a pair of daggers and tossing one to the elf. They were made of metal, but the edges blunted so they wouldn't cut each other to ribbons. That didn't stop them from smarting a great deal if they connected, though.

They did this quite often—changing the parameters of their fights, so as to prepare themselves for as many different kinds of situation as possible. It had done a great deal to show them that they all had valuable things to teach and learn. Khari was easily the most relentless of them, but the advantage was Estella's on the days they chose not to use armor. None of them was entirely outclassed by anyone else unless Rilien elected to demonstrate something, which he occasionally did, all the more to their collective benefit. Or, of course, unless Khari decided she wanted to spar Saraya on some particular occasion.

Khari caught the dagger easily, stabbing her practice claymore into the sand outside the ring and leaving it there. She peeled down her dark hood, lifting her open-faced helm off as well, though the metal mask over the lower half her face remained intact. It was on balance much wiser to have as much peripheral vision as possible when fighting Stel—she was extremely mobile in the ring and had caught Khari by surprise more than once, particularly on the occasions when she added her mark's powers into the mix.

White teeth flashed in the mask's gaps. “Watch out, Stel. I've been practicing with these, you know. Knifed my share of Venatori at Halamshiral in my fancy dress and all." She moved through a sequence of motions which was by now long-familiar, testing herself for any damage she'd failed to notice before. She'd taught them how to do the same; apparently it was a standard chevalier practice, in case adrenaline dulled the pain of an injury so much that it went beneath notice. Probably more a risk for someone who fought like she did than anyone else.

"Then you'll have to show me what you've learned," Stel quipped back, and they both dropped into their ready stances. As she often did, Stel attacked first, darting forward quickly and going directly for the sliver of skin between Khari's gorget and the underside of her chin.

Her aim was accurate, but Khari stepped aside at the last moment to divert it before Stel could adjust, half-turning so she was at ninety degrees and aiming for Stel's less-armored side. She hit only air—Stel rolled away and back to her feet swiftly, lunging again to make up the distance while Khari was pulling her strike back.

That was the rhythm of things for several minutes. They moved as lightly and quickly as their feet and reaction times would allow, aiming for weak spots when they could and suitably-distracting ones when they could not. Actual hits were few and far between; Khari sustained the majority of those, when her armor meant she could afford them. Occasionally, their weapons met with a clang—Khari was considerably stronger than Stel, but Stel was the more precise of the two. Her deflections were likewise exact, and so she didn't require strength she did not have, and the match continued quite evenly for some time.

Both of them had come a long way—all four of them had, in point of fact, and it showed. Stel feinted, half-lunging before she pulled up and switched her knife from one hand to the other to come in from the other side. Khari was fooled almost for a moment too long, but managed to get her gauntlet in the way for a block. The knife hit with a scrape before Stel withdrew it and jumped back to reset the distance. They were both understandably wary of closing to range on the other's terms, and the ebb and flow of their motion was nearly constant as they ventured forward and withdrew again.

But over time it became clear that Stel was the superior combatant in this style: Khari was clearly not all that accustomed to the short, light blade in her hands, and at times seemed almost to forget she was wielding it instead of a much longer one. One such mistake eventually cost her the match, a faltering in her guard allowing Stel to step in close and catch her arm, lifting it up over her head and resting the blunt tip of her tagger at her friend's unprotected armpit.

Khari conceded with a breathy laugh. “I know there's a big artery there, but death by armpit-stabbing would just be an embarrassing way to go, right?"

Stel grinned back at her, eyes narrowing with the force of her smile. "I'll be sure to aim for somewhere more dignified next time." Releasing Khari's arm, she stepped back. "What do you think, Ves? Want to go another round with the Red Bear of Skyhold?"

"I do love getting mauled," he said, shrugging and hefting up his shield and a blunted spear. "Perhaps this will give you a bit more trouble, though." He didn't usually prefer the shield and spear combination for single combat, but against Khari he'd rarely used it at all. Perhaps he'd be able to catch her off guard once or twice. He enjoyed watching her and Stel fight, and enjoyed a little more watching Stel win, but beating Khari himself would probably outdo both.

Khari considered the arrangement for a moment, tucking the knife into her belt and hefting her sword from the sand to lay across her shoulders. Her helmet went back on her head, too. This was, after all, an entirely different kind of fighting than the kind she'd just been doing. She tilted her head at him, then, a familiar glint in her light green eyes. “Saraya hasn't had a go at me in a while. Does she fancy helping you beat the tar out of me again? I could go for it."

Khari was right; it wasn't every day she asked for this. Probably because the fights between her and Vesryn-with-Saraya always tended to be a little more intense than the ones without. Each side feeling they had a little bit of something to prove, perhaps. For Khari, that she was actually improving and coming closer to being on Saraya's level. And for Saraya, almost the opposite, that Khari's chevalier training wasn't nearly enough to best her. Vesryn didn't think Saraya would be okay with losing to anyone, let alone Khari.

But, today Vesryn was willing to have another go at it. It had been a long session of practice already, and he honestly hadn't been looking forward to another round of being pounded on by Khari's relentlessness. "Sounds like a wonderful way to end an afternoon." He slid his tallhelm down into place, leveling his spear at her and showing her the face of his shield. "Your move."

Khari didn't immediately take it, at least not in the usual way. she knew by this point that she had to be at her best if she was to last more than a few minutes, which was something she could at least reliably do now. Partly because she'd gotten smarter about fighting at least as much as she'd gotten physically stronger or faster. She started to circle; Vesryn turned to keep the shield between them.

When she darted in, they hadn't even finished a quarter-turn. His thrust was turned aside by a deft parry, but she wasn't quick enough to hit a second time before he'd checked her with the shield. The hit was hard enough that she went to the ground, rolling out of it before the blunt polearm could find her and attacking again.

She was, as ever, utterly relentless, but his blocks needed no fine-tuning now, and he was able to turn each blow aside with the minimum effort necessary to deflect her. That was quite a bit more than it had been, but still not enough to wear him down quickly. Her own defenses had improved, but she continued to mostly rely on dodging, turning what would have been devastating center-mass hits with a sharper spear into less major injuries: there he clipped her hip, there skimmed over the side of her ribcage instead of finding the thinner chainmail protecting her near the waist.

The shield seemed to give her more trouble than the spear; it wasn't much smaller than she was, in all honesty, so perhaps that was understandable. She was slowly starting to get the hang of working around it as much as possible, though; her footwork resembled Stel's a great deal more than it had once done. Light, but solid. Her sorties against him resulted in losing her footing only about half of the time, and she was always quick to find it again. The fact that she took "injuries" despite her mobility was something she just seemed to accept as part of the course of the fight—as long as they were light enough, there was no reason to declare the match over.

She turned another stab, spinning out of the way of the shield, but her attempt to hit him in the side was interrupted by the low sweep of the spear; she was forced to jump back to avoid it. A gap appeared in her guard on the left side, but she ducked his thrust and lunged when he went for it. A deception, then. Khari tsked when he shifted, the blow she'd meant to deal him turned aside by his shield with the change, and sprinted out of range when her miss left her open for real.

"You'll bleed to death before you get a hit in at this rate," Vesryn said, though the tone of the taunt didn't have nearly the bite it once carried, back in Haven. The flow of the fight was easy enough to see. If they both attempted to wear the other down Vesryn would win, as he'd already landed a number of light hits on her, and even small victories on her part wouldn't help her catch up now. Her weapon wasn't built for it, either. She would hope for the heavy blow, no doubt, trying to break down the door of the tower and end the siege quickly before her "wounds" could catch up with her.

Which, for Khari, would take a very long time, but then, Saraya had no issue with a prolonged combat.

It certainly didn't seem to provoke her the way it once had, either. Khari laughed, a little breathlessly from exertion, and shook her head, subtly enough that she didn't have to take her eyes off him to do it. “I'm not patient enough to bleed to death."

They reengaged, Vesryn feinting a spear thrust and then taking an aggressive step forward, aiming for a shield bash to plant her flat on her back when she dodged. The plan worked as Saraya expected; Khari dodged left, the spear thrust didn't follow through, and she should've absorbed the hit of the shield fully. Only she didn't. Somehow it didn't make it there in time, and suddenly Khari was on his left side, heavy blade rushing diagonally down at him.

He rotated quickly, getting the shield up just in time for her blade to clang loudly against it, a full impact that was distinctly different from the usual glancing scrapes and turned aside blows. It was enough to knock Vesryn back a step, and it almost felt as if the air itself changed in the room. An ooh escaped Vesryn, not entirely devoid of uncertainty. He was actually a bit confused as to what had happened. Either he was slower than he and Saraya thought, or Khari had suddenly gotten much faster than he remembered.

Vesryn didn't recall anything colliding with his head, but suddenly he felt more unstable than before. Not enough to let it show, with Saraya's help, but for a moment there was the oddest sensation in his extremities like his hands and feet didn't quite belong to him. Wouldn't fully obey him. By the uncertainty he felt in his motions, they weren't quite obeying Saraya either.

He frowned, but Khari had clearly sensed blood in the water, encouraged by getting very close to the decisive hit she needed. She charged back in, batting aside a thrust that was more defensive than anything in nature. Her next swing was aimed high, head level, probably intending to force Vesryn's shield off the ground somewhat, giving her an opening to then go low for a trip. Only the shield remained firmly rooted in place, and actually sunk lower, the bottom rim of it touching the sand just before the blow arrived.

Vesryn's weight started to tip forward against his will just as Khari's blade collided with his helmet. His vision was violently twisted to the side, all his senses overpowered by an earsplitting ring of metal on metal, before everything went black.

He knew not how much time passed, but when his senses started to return, he was immediately met with a powerful throb in his head, one that he couldn't immediately identify. Surely the collision it had just suffered with Khari's blade had something to do with it. He groaned, the sound muted in his ears, but steadily it gained clarity, and he could discern that Stel was speaking to him. He could barely see her, though she was no more than a foot from him.

He felt the sensation of her fingers on the sides of his face; clearly she'd removed his helm at some point. There was a fuzzy, bluish-purple light at the periphery of his vision—her magic. He didn't feel anything, though, that would correspond to any spell. Gradually, her words became slightly clearer. He caught his name a few times, the tone of it clearly worried, but devoid of any panic or hysteria.

He blinked at her rapidly, trying to force himself to see her more clearly. It helped a little. He was having trouble parsing through what he was feeling, besides the physical pain. His body felt like his own again, but he felt a foreign sinking feeling from Saraya. A troubled, disturbed realization that had yet to really sink in for Vesryn. He reached up to grab Stel's hand with his own, and smiled. "Hello, you. I'm, uh... alright? I think?" He really didn't know, to be honest, but instinctively he knew that not being okay was against his nature. He tried to push himself up, but even the first foot of lifting his head off the ground came with wooziness, and it definitely showed on his face.

A bit of relief flickered across her face, probably at the fact that he was at least speaking clearly, but when he tried to move, she shifted her free hand to his shoulder and shook her head slightly. "Forgive me if I feel the need for a second opinion," she said quietly. "I sent Khari for Harellan and Astraia. I wasn't sure if the problem was something physical, or..." her mouth turned down, etching a frown into her visage. "I think you're okay where Khari hit you, mostly, but, well. Can't hurt to be sure."

It didn't take more than a few minutes for all of them to arrive; they'd clearly been sprinting. Khari stood back several feet, letting the mages get a little closer with as little crowding as possible. Harellan looked immediately to Stel. "Diagnostics?"

She looked uncertain. "I'm not really sure. Something doesn't seem quite right, but I can't tell if that's just where he was hit, or..." Stel cut herself off, a hint of frustration pinching her face about the eyes. Her grip on Vesryn's hand tightened enough for him to feel the difference.

The elven man hummed thoughtfully, kneeling next to her at Vesryn's side. He passed a hand several inches over his forehead, then back again, his palm and fingers green in the same way Stel's were violet. He frowned slightly, a small line appearing between his brows. "How does the connection feel, Vesryn?"

"It's... fine now," he said, a little uncomfortable with the rapidly increasing number of people kneeling next to him. Astraia quickly took up a spot by his head on the other side from Stel and Harellan, discarding her staff and lighting a spell in her hand before her knees even hit the sand. Vesryn was halfway to waving her off before he decided that it was quite futile. "It was during the fight, it just... I felt sluggish, like falling asleep quite suddenly, like my hands and legs just wouldn't respond. I couldn't balance."

"Gods, this bruise..." Astraia said breathlessly. He could see sweat forming on her brow, which was creased with worry. "You're lucky your skull is still in one piece. Thank your helmet, I guess." She looked up suddenly, at Khari, unable to hide the bit of anger that broke through in her expression. "Were you trying to kill him or something? What happened?"

“What?" Khari looked genuinely surprised for a moment—the absence of her mask made it easy to tell—but it was swiftly chased away by obvious guilt. “No, of course not. I was—sparring him. With Saraya. I never expected the hit to land, and he went out of it at the wrong moment. I couldn't pull the blow by the time I realized." Her grimace deepened; she met his eyes then. “I'm sorry, Ves. I didn't mean to... to do that." She gestured vaguely to the side of her own head.

"I know." He grabbed Astraia's hand, and she looked back down at him. "Relax, Skygirl. It wasn't her fault. She had every reason not to hold anything back. I was kicking her ass up until that point." Despite his best efforts, he was starting to feel a little frustrated. Astraia acting like he could've died. Estella worried and sending Khari rushing for help from Harellan, who immediately began inquiring after Saraya.

Even if all of them were absolutely right.

"Forgive my glibness," he said to all four of them, "someone has to make up for all the negativity swirling around in my head right now." Saraya was clearly convinced that this was the worst of signs, the last thing she wanted to happen to them. Vesryn couldn't argue with that, and the implications were frightening to say the least. What if it happened again, in a battle where his opponent wouldn't go running for aid after downing him? What if it happened when he was needed to protect someone he cared about? He shook the thoughts from his head, but the cobwebs remained. He was resolved to ignore them. "Help me up? Or are we just going to lie here in the sand a while longer?"

Stel cleared her throat. "Best not, or none of us will stop finding it for weeks." It was hardly her most shining attempt at humor, but she managed a small smile and stood, using their already-linked hands to help leverage him up as well. Once he was standing, she hugged him, and not particularly gingerly, either. "I'm sorry I made a fuss," she said, barely audible. "I'm glad you're okay." She wasn't nearly naĂŻve enough not to have grasped the same implications as everyone else, so it was fair to suppose she meant okay right now.

Had she not hugged him, he might've fallen over again, as his balance at the moment was atrocious. He had no idea what to attribute that to, however, since it was likely that he was more than a little concussed, helmet or no. "It's alright," he said. "You know I'd make a fuss for you, too." Once he finally felt he wasn't in danger of falling over anymore, he slowly released Stel from his grasp, looking uncertainly at Harellan. "I'll, uh... let you know when the headache fades?"

If the headache faded. That remained to be seen.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
The ride to the western edge of Lake Celestine was probably about twice as long as the one to Halamshiral—perhaps even more than that, though the average speed of the smaller party was quite a lot more than one where over a dozen people were marching. This one also involved a great deal less fanfare, which was a relief, to be sure.

About five days after they'd set out from Skyhold, they'd hit the boundary of the small town that housed Lady Marceline's estate. Estella had found the trip to be easy travel; the central-southern region of Orlais was flat plain and gentle hills, dotted with large cottages and what seemed to be vacation homes for nobility. They'd been able to see the buildings of the town proper on the horizon for about an hour and a half before they'd arrived. One or double-storied, mostly, with white siding edged in darker wood, suggesting fresh coats of paint. The clay-tiled roofs were gently-sloped, usually in dark red-brown, with small chimneys tucked to one side or another. It was definitely a smaller town, not on the order of a Lydes or an Arlesans, let alone a Val Fermin, but it seemed to trade on that fact to deliver a sense of quiet intimacy.

The homes they passed bespoke a comfortable average wealth; no doubt a town this size could manage it. It wasn't big enough for an Alienage—most settlements this small barely had elves to begin with, as they tended to congregate together in the locations which would accommodate as much. Indeed, the several people passing by on the street seemed to be universally human, a few offering waves to Lady Marceline or Ser MichaĂ«l if they were recognized. The presence of a handful of identifying articles picking the party out as Inquisition didn't seem to pose any of the residents any concern, which was perhaps to be expected.

The streets under Nox's feet were cobblestoned; the horses made a fair amount of noise as they clopped along, but the bustle of activity was just voluminous enough that they weren't uncomfortably loud, blending instead into the quaint music of everyday provincial life. She could smell fresh bread and coffee, the scents no doubt issuing from one of the numerous eateries along the central path. The town square, as it were, was actually circular, paved in the same manner as the roads, with a large fountain set at the center of it, featuring a stylized cluster of three owls, which Estella recognized from Lady Marceline's heraldry. She must have kept it after she married.

In all, it was well-maintained; the air it had was... studied warmth. Picturesque, and a little self-aware in that sort of beauty. Estella wondered for an absurd moment if someone watched all the hedges, lying in wait for one wayward branch to dare ruin the image of tranquil symmetry. No doubt it would be cut at once, and discipline returned in kind. She stifled a snort and decided now was a very good time to venture some sort of conversation, before her thoughts took her even stranger places.

"Does the town have a name?" she asked, aiming the question at the three in the party who might know. "I can't imagine it's just called 'West Bank.'"

Being back in her homeland seemed to have put Lady Marceline in high spirits, and the usual controlled countenance she wore was stripped away and replaced instead by a genuine warmth and fondness. Pride was also present in the way a single corner of her lips fluttered upward, but it was subtle and subdued. She had spent the trip through town with a lingering gaze on the buildings and the gentle rolling hills past them, with a number of larger cottages dotting the landscape beyond. She apparently was so immersed in the vista and the thoughts that it brought that she was momentarily surprised when Estella spoke.

However, it wasn't Marceline that replied. "Coeur-trésor," Pierre answered, tossing a glance at his mother for a moment, before looking back to Estella. "Literally, the heart's treasure," he continued, as Marceline nodded approvingly. "We call it that because we like to think it's a little treasure in the heartland. It's a quiet place, but lovely, as you can see," he finished with a proud smile of his own.

A moment passed before a chuckling broke the silence, from none other than Michaël. "Sounds like someone has been working on their sales pitch. Are you going to try to sell her one of those cottages too?" He said, laughing again, before reaching over his horse and ruffling the young man's hair. Pierre for his part, simply crossed his arms and pouted mockingly. "No, the boy is right. It is a pleasant town, far more scenic than the estate I grew up on in Val Chevin," He added for Estella's benefit.

"Regardless," Marceline finally spoke, "If you do find yourself in desire of a summer cottage, let me know. I am sure we can work out a deal," She said with a humorous smile and a playful wink.

“Smells nice." Khari made the observation while unhooking her mask from the lower half of her face, lifting a hand to her jaw to smooth the slight marks the metal had made on her skin. She dropped her hood, too, exposing her pointed ears with seemingly little concern. “But then I guess sewage isn't really an issue in a place this small. Anyone out here farm, or are you just running a tourist trap?" She grinned, as if to reinforce the light nature of the question. Or maybe she just smiled for the sake of smiling. Khari was more prone to it than most.

"They do," Marceline answered, taking the jest with a smile of her own. "We lease some of the land to the farmers. Mostly grains and orchards--" she paused for a moment to point out a small bakery they passed. The sweet smell of bread and pastries wafted from the shop and lingered as they made their way. "Most of these cafes use local ingredients. That one in particular bakes one of my favorite apple tarts." A want appeared in her eyes for a moment, like she wanted to stop and pick one up that instant, but she apparently decided against it as she tore her attention away from it. No doubt that she would be back later though.

"We, of course, also run our vineyard. Because what is Orlais without its wine?"

Estella had a feeling it was only a matter of time before the wine came up; it was rarer to see Lady Marceline without a glass in-hand than with one, particularly once midday had passed. It might have almost been concerning, but no doubt someone closer to her would have noticed if it were really cause for worry.

Slipping out of the conversation for a moment and allowing it to flow on without her, she dropped Nox back slightly so that she was riding even with Vesryn. He'd been unusually quiet on the trip; it hadn't escaped her that his headache didn't seem to have abated, either. It was part of the reason she'd so readily agreed to go in the first place. She wasn't so naĂŻve as to believe that his problems would be solved by a little fresh air and sunshine, but... surely a bit of a break from constant training couldn't hurt anything.

"Hey," she said softly, leaning back a little so she could sling her far leg over Nox's neck, repositioning herself sideways in her saddle. He was so well-trained that this didn't bother him in the slightest, of course, and he kept on following Khari's roan in front of him. "Copper for your thoughts?"

He smiled back at her, though the expression didn't have its usual enthusiasm. "It's beautiful," he said, apparently choosing to state the obvious. He rode light, and hadn't so much as bothered to bring any of his larger weapons or his shield, or really any of his armor. He hadn't donned it since the day Khari had knocked him unconscious in training. Though he was clearly trying to conceal how he felt, he was no expert at it, and Estella could tell easily enough that the pain was not insignificant, and that it bothered him more often than not. Still, he'd had a few more bright moments since leaving than he had lingering around Skyhold, even if now did not seem to be one of them.

"My apologies for the silence," he said, more for the group at large. "I've just been enjoying the sights here. It's been refreshing to travel without having somewhere to be urgently." His hands momentarily left the reins of his horse, and he flexed and stretched his hands and fingers. "We should have housed the Inquisition here. Probably not as defensible, but much kinder weather, and the proximity to wine... excellent for morale, I'm sure."

Khari snorted. “Not as great for skill. Don't think this would work out so well if we all took the field drunk off our arses." She paused, shooting an obvious glance at Asala. “Unless we wanted to kill them with laughter, I guess."

"Or while naked," Asala added innocently, though it only took a moment to reveal that she was valiantly attempting to fight off a grin. A fight she was very obviously losing.

Soon after, the path they followed led them out of the little town and down along another rustic road. Eventually, the fields on either side of the party slowly morphed from gentle rolling hill to hills striped with rows upon rows of grape vineyards. Every so often they could pick out an individual in the distance still tending to the vines, a few even pausing in their work to gawk at them. Once they realized who they watched however, they soon waved which was soon mirrored by Marceline or either Michaël or Pierre.

A few minutes more, and what had to be Marceline's familial estate appeared in the distance. It had the same design as the cottages that had dotted the landscape on the way into town, only... more. A large gateway led into the estate grounds proper, the lettering above made out of wrought iron spelling out Lecuyer Vineyards. Below the lettering, what had to had been their coat of arms was impressed upon even more black iron. An owl perched atop a shield with a vine of grapes wrapping around the base.

The grounds itself felt rustic in nature, but still managed a regal air. The home itself was large, containing who knew how many rooms. A flight of stairs led onto a porch, a row of white marble columns holding up a balcony above. Vines and ivy clung to the marble and brick, causing the home to feel cozy, in spite of its size. Off to the side, a stable waited, that also led out into a clearing-- where a couple of horses could be seen lazily grazing.

Once they crossed through the gate, they were greeted first by a few stable hands emerging from the stables. "Milord, Milady," the oldest one among them greeted, taking both Marceline's and Michaël's reins in his hands.

"Take care of them, Felix. They've had a long journey," Michaël asked, swinging off of his horse and landing on the ground with a solid thud. He then moved to his wife, and where he aided her off of her horse.

Felix chuckled and nodded, "Aye ser, there won't be a more pampered creature than these horses, on my word." The rest of the stable hands also set about their tasks of gathering the horses of the others. They were not the only ones who had come to greet them however. From atop the stairs that led into the house, an older pair watched. Pierre sent a excited wave their direction, which they of course returned and took as their cue to approach.

The man they recognized as Marceline's father. Now that he was out of his armor and he wasn't covered in blood, Lucas seemed far healthier than he had when they first met him. He still walked with slight limp as he approached, but he appeared to be trying his best to hide it. The woman, on the other hand, they had not met, but stood to reason was Marceline's mother, if nothing more than the similarities between them.

Once upon a time, her dark silver hair appeared to have been the same color as Marceline's, though they had matching blue ocean eyes-- age hadn't yet stolen their spark. A thin smile spread across her lips, which only grew as Pierre approached and wrapped her in a hug. "What did I tell you about growing, hm?" she asked, returning the hug, "Not without my permission." She added with a warm laugh.

Lucas on the other hand received a hug from Marceline instead. "It is good to see you are well father. I hope you have been resting," she asked, pulling back from. He opened his mouth to answer, but had his wife answer for him instead.

"Of course he hasn't. Rest doesn't suit him," she said, coming to stand beside him, answering a hug from Marceline as well. "You should know, you get it from him."

Lucas smiled and shrugged. "She is not wrong, rest doesn't suit me, I'm afraid. Idle hands, and all that," he answered, ruffling Pierre's hair as he spoke.

Marceline then then turned toward the rest of her party, "Let me introduce you all," she said, gesturing toward her parents. "These are my parents. Some of you have already met my father, Lucas, and this is my mother, Gabrielle," she said, both inclining their head as they were introduced.

Estella let a little smile linger on her face, a polite one, and curtsied a bit by way of introduction. "Nice to meet you." It was, after all, her first time becoming acquainted with both of them. "I'm Estella, and these are my friends. Vesryn, Khari, and Asala." She straightened, tilting her head to the side. "You've a lovely home. Thank you so much for allowing us to stay here."

Lady Gabrielle shook her head at that, raising her hand perhaps in an effort to ward off any more compliments or thanks. "No thanks necessary, Marcy insisted that our home is your home for the duration of your stay, and I agreed," she said warmly, before turning to nod in greeting to the others. "Come, surely you are tired from the trip here? We will show you to your rooms."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Stel was right: it was a lovely home. In a lovely place. Here Vesryn could almost forget what was out there in other parts of the world, waiting to do battle with the Inquisition.

But no matter the tranquility he found himself in, the pain would not go away. Sometimes it faded, to the point of simply being uncomfortable, and in those moments he could find an hour or two of sleep. He considered himself lucky to have gotten any the night before. Lady Marceline's family was wonderful, of course, but Vesryn found himself keeping to the edges of conversation, unable to focus on much. His appetite hadn't entirely fled, so he managed to avoid insulting the cooking when they sat down together for an impressive supper. After that it seemed like a blur, a rapid decline until it came time to rest. His head pounded several hours into the night until it finally abated, and he was granted the mercy of sleep.

It didn't last long, though, and he was up and awake earlier than he would've liked the next morning. He dressed himself and crept carefully out of the room and down the hall, not wishing to disturb any of the others by stumbling like a fool. His sight wavered and blurred alarmingly sometimes, but it hadn't done so here. He found his way out onto the balcony, where several wicker chairs with comfortable cushions were situated around small tables and footrests. He sank down into one.

The air was still and cool, the late spring morning not yet tinged with all the heat summer would soon offer. The sun hadn't yet made its way above the horizon, but the day's first light was already reaching the town and the estate. The sky held only a sparse offering of scattered clouds. It was shaping up to be another pleasant day. He glanced through the balcony's railing towards the stables, seeing one of the stablehands already tending to their mounts. As he understood it, they were going to be teaching Asala to ride properly once everyone was up and ready. That was bound to be a difficult task. One no doubt the others were more suited to at present. Vesryn simply hoped he'd remain atop his horse.

It wasn't more than a few minutes afterwards that he heard soft treads passing down the same hallway behind the balcony. They paused, and then the door slid softly forward on its hinges, and Stel stepped out onto the balcony, too, letting it fall closed behind her. She'd obviously just come from a bath, as her hair was still quite damp and yet loose. She glanced a moment at the emerging light in the distance, then sighed quietly and perched herself on the arm of his chair.

"Good morning," she said, taking up one of his hands in one of her own and resting both at her knee. It had clearly been a much more rejuvenating night for her than him—she seemed quite fully awake, lacking any of the minute signs of fatigue he was used to seeing. It clearly wasn't beyond her that his sleep hadn't been so peaceful, however. "Nothing different last night?"

"I managed more sleep here than I did at Skyhold," he said, and it was the truth. Despite how often in his life he slept in the relative silence of the world's remote places, he'd never been bothered by noise, and had experience with that, too. The Alienage was always cramped and rarely quiet, mercenaries were commonly lacking in manners, and though the Dalish he spent time with lived deep in the forests, they too slept in often uncomfortably close quarters. But for once, the noise of the Herald's Rest was enough to bother him, sudden and unexpected sounds like the twang of a terribly out of tune note from the bard's lute, buried in his mind.

He supposed he looked worse for wear at this point. Sleep had never been a difficulty for him, and now that it was he expected it was showing. It occurred to him he might end up looking like Cyrus after some of those strings of nights where he stayed awake for impossibly long hours, doing whatever his mind led him to. A dreadful thought.

"I suppose I'll need to find somewhere else once we get back," he said, tracing his thumb over her hand and letting his head rest softly against her arm. "I've heard the Undercroft is peaceful. Perhaps the Lord Inquisitor will lend me his couch."

Close as they were, it was impossible to miss the soft huff that escaped her, the beginning of a laugh that never quite came to be in full. She was quiet for a moment, but then shifted a bit. Not enough to dislodge him; if anything it made things slightly more comfortable. "Or..." she said softly, drawing out the word with a hint of what was perhaps uncertainty. Tentativeness, at least. "You could sleep with me. Next to me." The second sentence was hastily added to the first, fast enough that she almost tripped over it.

"I just mean, um, there's a whole half of my bed I don't use. And my tower's quiet. And you probably shouldn't be trying to sleep on anyone's couch. Since those aren't really made for sleeping." She ceased talking with a soft click of her teeth—no doubt she'd noticed she was rambling and tried to put a stop to it.

A soft cough followed. "If you want to, that is."

He wouldn't deny the thought had occurred to him. Skyhold's keep in general would be very quiet at night. And while he wasn't sure that proximity to Stel was helping him, it felt that way more often than not. He did so adore her.

"I'd love to," he answered, not raising the volume of his voice any more than he needed to. "We can give it a try. So long as my problem doesn't disturb your rest. You need it as much as I do, with everything you take on." It was tempting to be joking or tease her about her amusing and honestly endearing uncertainty, but he found he didn't have it in him for the topic. Too early in the morning, perhaps.

"Shall we see what the breakfast plan is? I'm famished." An overstatement, but he was hungry, and for Stel's sake he figured he wouldn't linger on the subject of them sleeping together for too long.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," she replied, standing first. She kept hold of his hand, though, equal parts physical support and a more emotional sort of solidarity. "Given the precedent, I'm sure it'll be quite fancy."

It was indeed, but the choice of breakfast dishes all proved to be quite light, considering that there was a decent amount of activity planned for the day, and there were likely many more meals to come. Though he and Stel were among the first to rise, it wasn't long before the morning's light stirred the others, and they dragged themselves downstairs towards the smell of delicious food.

An hour or so later they were dressed for riding, and Vesryn could feel the trouble returning in full force. He believed no one had seen him fumbling with the laces on his boots like a child, but it was hard to be sure. In any case, he was the last one out to the stables, accepting his horse's reins from the stablehand and offering his thanks in return. They looked to have been well cared for, rivaling Skyhold's service no doubt.

Before he could doubt himself overmuch Vesryn slipped his foot into the stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle, managing to make it seem a lot smoother than he felt. He fell in behind the others. "So, where are we headed?"

"There's a place that I liked to ride not far from here," Marceline said, her palms resting on the polished pommel of her saddle. The horse she sat astride was a black mare, which was hardly surprising, though there was a white stripe down the center of her forehead, mixing in with the black in her mane as well. Marceline's posture was relaxed, her shoulders hunched as she rested on the pommel as she patiently waited for everyone to get ready. Beside her Pierre also rode a horse of his own, though his was a russet stallion. His seemed eager for the exercise, as he pawed at the ground which Pierre tried to comfort by petting his mane.

"It's an old trail at the edge of our vineyard. You can see the lakeside from atop the hills there-- do not worry," she added, turning toward Asala, who had an unsteady grip on her own reins. "They are gentle hills. Almost as gentle as your horse," Marceline said with a comforting smile. Asala seemed to accept that, as she smiled and nodded. The horse that Lady Marceline picked out for her was an older palomino mare, and as gentle as she said it was. No doubt that was why she had chosen that one for her.

That was all Pierre and his horse apparently needed. With the destination set, he finally urged the horse forward. "I know the way. Father and I sometimes like to race that trail," he said.

Marceline chuckled in response, "So did my father and I, when I was younger."

“Probably best to save any racing for when all of us can sit halfway decent at a trot, never mind faster." Khari, who'd volunteered the observation, obviously had no such problem herself, but she was studying Asala's posture with something approaching consternation. “Seriously, Asala, how many times have you ridden now? Because if you sit that stiff all the time I'm surprised you've never cramped."

Letting go of her reins, Khari used her legs to steer her red roan over to Asala's side, tapping her firmly on the back with a gloved palm. “Don't slouch. Roll your shoulders back, and loosen up your hips so you move with her. The more of a burden you are, the less a horse wants to carry you, and it has nothing to do with weight." She crossed her arms over her chest. “No one else here looks like a sack of potatoes in a saddle, do they?" Her words themselves were blunt as ever, and she wasn't making any particular effort to soften her demeanor for Asala or condescend to her, but there was also no harshness in her tone.

There was a visible snap in body language with each instruction Asala was given. The bluntness in Khari's words however did not seem to affect her any, though there was a noticeable pout to her lips, but that may have very well been there regardless of the the words used. "I want to believe I'm better than a sack of potatoes," she muttered through the pout. Marceline smiled and nodded, guiding her own horse toward her.

"Fleur will do most of the work herself, you just need to trust her," Marceline noted.

“Heels down, balls of your feet on the stirrup." Khari actually reached down to reposition Asala's left foot, showing no concern about her balance in her seat in the process. Gripping the Qunari woman's heel, she slid it back out a bit, then angled it the way she wanted. “That'll feel unnatural for a while, but you'll get used to it. Always check: shoulders, back, arse, heels. Then relax and move with her. The more you try to hold on, the more you're likely to fall. Steady grip on the reins, but not too tight. Pretend this is fun." She grinned, straightening her own posture and clicking her tongue.

Still with her arms free, Khari moved her horse into a trot, circling around to Asala's other side by way of demonstration, holding them out to her sides like a gliding bird or something similar. “Not your arms that keep you on, ever. And it's not even really your legs, either. It's your feet and your rear."

Asala snickered. "Maybe when I am sure that I will not fall off, I won't have to pretend," she said. She listened to Khari's advice, and though she was still stiff in her body language, she did manage to urge the horse forward slowly. She also held the reins awkwardly, but she did have a steady grip like she was told. Perhaps after getting accustomed to it, she'd relax a little. But as it were with Asala, it appeared to take her a while to get comfortable with anything. Still, they managed to get her moving, which was a step in the right direction.

"We are all here for you, so no need to worry," Marceline added, taking up a perch not too far from her, most likely in order to keep an eye on her.

Their pace was a slow one, to be sure, comfortable and easy. As promised, they were soon greeted with a rather sweeping vista, cresting a hill just high enough to spot the glasslike sheet of sunlit water that must have been Lake Celestine. It was quite a ways in the distance, still, but not hard to see. On the other side, orderly columns of seasoned wood bearing the growth of spring ran back towards the manor home in disciplined corridors of pale green. The sun was far enough overhead that the lazy rose-gold light of morning had faded, leaving everything perhaps as crisp and clear in view as it would ever get. It smelled like mulch, thick and musky, dulled by the sharp plant-flavor of juvenile grapevines. Earthy.

“So this is where you grew up, huh?" Khari directed the words at Marceline, arching both brows slightly. “Somehow, it's not that surprising."

"Is it not?" Marceline asked, appearing somewhat surprised herself by the admission. She then chuckled it off with good humor and nodded, "Thank you. I ran these rows with bare feet countless times in my youth," she said, gesturing toward the growing grapevines off to their side, "Even sneaked a few grapes along the way," she added with feigned mischievousness. "They also made for a good hiding spot when the vines were full as well. My parents had to track me down on a few occasions in order to start my lessons." She paused for a moment, her eyes drifting back to Pierre who had assumed the lead spot. "Pierre used to do the same for Micky and I as well," she added with a slight melancholy to her tone.

Eventually, she turned back to Khari and nodded. "If you cannot tell," she said, her smile returning in full force, "I am far more partial to this view," she continued, gesturing toward the lake, "Than of the glitz and gilt of a place like Halamshiral. Between us, I found it far too gaudy."

"Considering that about half of it was plated in gold, I'm not sure who wouldn't," Stel agreed easily, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "It's a bit... I don't know. Almost lonely out here though, isn't it? I suppose I only say that because I grew up in a very big city, crammed in with a bunch of other people." She smiled ruefully. "Not exactly used to this much space." A breeze drifted in, warm enough to be comfortable, dimming the heavier smells with an infusion of fresh air from over the lake.

Lady Marceline thought about it for a moment and agreed. "Perhaps. I have never felt lonely here. I always have had my family, and Coeur-trésor is lively, if a bit quaint in comparison to some of the cities," she said with a smile. "But no, it is not like a big city. I spent the time I attended college in Val Royeaux living in our estate there, and I will give you that the pace is indeed much quicker there than here. But..." she said, wistfully, turning her eyes back toward the rows of young vines to be. "I have never been able to relax like when I'm home. I forget how much I miss it until I come back," she admitted with cheerful huff.

"Must be nice," Vesryn commented from near the rear of the group, "having a place so removed from everything, somewhere you can return when you need a retreat from it all." He was focusing on the conversation as best he could, that and Asala's riding. Khari was perfectly capable of teaching her basics, and he was having a bit of trouble finding a way into the conversation, but thinking and watching and not letting his focus remain in his head was at least somewhat helpful.

"I imagine for most of us Skyhold has become that place, to a certain extent. There's always a lot going on of course, but up there in the mountains it can feel pretty far removed from the world we're saving." Peaceful places were a bit harder to find, with how large the Inquisition had grown, but it wasn't impossible. More often than not, it felt like home for him. Far more than Denerim ever did.

"I can see that," Marceline nodded in agreement, though she still tossed a glance toward her home. "Still, this will always be home for me. Hopefully one that I can retire to one day," she added with a doubtful smile. "At the very least, I do not plan on filing paperwork while I am here. I was beginning to believe that I very well may have had ink for blood."

Asala chuckled at that. The light talk around her must have had a relaxing effect for her, because she no longer appeared as tense as when she began, and actually rode with her arms no longer awkwardly propped up. Afterward, she to nodded in agreement. "Ash-Rethsaam has much of the same feel, to be honest. To Skyhold, I mean," she added. "So far removed from everything and everyone, but everybody in it working toward a singular goal. Ensuring that our home remains strong... In both of our cases, I suppose," she said thoughtfully.

Lady Marceline nodded in quiet approval, "Agreed."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The whiskey burned like fire on the way down, but Khari managed to choke it back in two swallows, exhaling heavily and slamming the glass against the light cedar bar counter to a chorus of cheers and applause. She was hardly the sort to spend too much time in such places, and definitely wasn't anyone's hard-drinking bar regular, but she could hold her own when the situation called for it.

And, well, she figured that since Mick had invited her on the grand tour of all five of the little town's bars, pubs, and alehouses, the occasion called for it.

Accepting the silvers slid across the slightly-sticky wooden slab from a good-natured fellow patron, she gave him a bright grin and tucked the coin away in her belt-purse. “Pleasure doing business, serah. If you don't remember this in the morning, rest assured that I shall not forget your valiant-but-doomed efforts to best me." She snapped a jaunty salute to more laughter, then half-sat, half-fell back into her stool, grimacing at the lack of cushion. It was pretty obvious to her that she was mostly a novelty here, an amusement because she was outright strange for a place like this. And places like this, she knew from some experience, were places where 'strange' was really strange, not something a person could find around every corner like at Skyhold.

But she'd been in enough such places before, and she was well-used to being weird in a world where no one else really was. If she was more spectacle than person, well... that was all right for an evening. When the bartender slid her another, she frowned at it and shoved the thick-bottomed glass to her left, where Mick was sitting. “Think I'd better switch to water for a while."

"Lightweight," Mick prodded in jest as he accepted the offered drink. He then made a big show of taking a heavy drought from the glass as if to drive it home. He too seemed like a novelty in the first quaint tavern they'd found themselves in, though after the initial glances his way, he seemed to have settled in with the rest of the patrons. Apparently, he had been something of a regular himself when he had lived there, as the bartender had initially brought him a drink without asking him what he was having. That, or he had already made an immediate impression the last time he was there, and had been hard to forget.

"I would not quit my day job if I were you, if you were thinking of becoming a professional barfly," he said with a waggle of eyebrows and a chuckle. To his merit, he didn't seem to concerned about being considered strange--though that was unsurprising. There didn't appear to be much that would put Mick off.

Khari rolled her eyes at him, accepting the water handed her way with a nod for the bartender, who seemed to be quite on top of things. Maybe because there weren't that many people in here. “Well there goes my fallback plan." She let the sarcasm in her tone convey the untruth of the matter, swallowing a few mouthfuls of water. She didn't think she was especially drunk yet, but this was only bar number two, so it was better to pace herself.

Setting the glass back down, she swiped the pad of her thumb over her lip, dabbing it off on the napkin in front of her. Small pub it might be, but the place still managed to be fancy enough for cloth napkins; she really shouldn't be surprised. This town was cozy and manicured and just the slightest bit pretentious down to its bones. Or in this case, its solid-wood slabs and wrought-iron accents and fresh, still-a-bit-stinky coats of white paint. “Your home town anything like this, Mick?" She gestured to encompass all of the above, though she didn't quite explain. Even she knew it wasn't polite to take issue with accommodations that were, in truth, quite nice.

But he seemed a little less... pastoral, as a personality. A little more real, in the ways Khari understood reality. Maybe that was his life instead of his birthplace, though. Pushing a curl behind her ear, she took another swallow, eyeing him speculatively over the rim of the glass.

Mick shook his head with a grin, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the side of his glass. "Most definitely not. I was born and raised in Val Chevin with three older brothers. Granted, it is no Val Royeaux, no matter how hard it tries to be, but it was pleasant enough. The seaside is nice no matter where you are--though my family's estate was more in the middle of the city... and faced away from the sea," he explained, indicating the direction and placement with his fingers. "There's a hustle in the city that you do not find here, everything runs at a quicker pace so you have to be just as fast to keep up," he shrugged.

He thought about it for a moment before he nodded, "After that, when I decided to become a Chevalier, I studied at the Academie in Val Royeaux, and was stationed there when I met Marcy. I guess I didn't really get out of the cities until I started seeing her." He paused again, and continued, "And when I was shipped off here and there with my unit," He added.

Khari nodded slightly. She knew enough to know what chevaliers did during times of peace: there were never any bandit shortages, that was for sure. When there wasn't any direct conflict to be had, there was plenty of unit training to do, too. Big Bear had even made his unit do some of that stuff. She was too young and dumb to ever be put in charge of a formation or anything, but she'd learned to ride and march with one. How to set up a military camp on all kinds of terrain, how to look after horses with nothing but a field kit... all that shit was like breathing now, though it'd been a while since she needed to use any of it. Probably took a bit longer for noble kids to learn. Khari had never had grooms or servants to do anything for her, and so it wasn't exactly a surprise when she was expected to set up her own damn tent.

If she thought about it hard enough, she could almost smell the mix of dirt, ash, armor polish, sweat, and horse that had made up that part of her life. If she thought about it a little harder, she could almost imagine what it would smell like if she added blood and misery. “You fought in the civil war, right? What was that like?" She'd seen the trenches, at least. But one thing Khari struggled to imagine was lifting her sword for a cause she didn't really believe in. And she'd never have been able to make herself believe in that one. She counted herself lucky that if she ever did make it into the chevaliers, the Emperor she'd be serving wasn't the kind of man to mobilize his army for anything that wasn't both necessary and important.

Mick frowned, and his entire demeanor shifted. In fact, a quiet had descended upon the little pub. He took a glance inside his mug and internally gauged it before lifting it to his lips and downing the rest of it in only a few swigs. "A fucking nightmare," he answered succinctly and before he waved the bartender over. "Let's get out of here," he said to her aside, "We still need to hit the others before we get thoroughly sloshed." He then attempted to pay off their tab, but was subsequently waved off by the bartender. Mick smiled and nodded his appreciation, before looking back to Khari and jerking his head toward the door.

He didn't wait for her either, standing up and making his way toward it, apparently assuming she'd be close behind. Outside the bar, there was a chill to the night air, but not uncomfortable so. The lanterns that hung along the street the bar was on were lit, and in the distance across the fields of farms and vineyards dots of fire light twinkled from the spattering of homes. Mick looked both ways down the street before deciding on a direction and then taking it. As he walked, he appeared to still be in thought, undoubtedly from her previous question. If judging by how uncomfortable he had seemed on Dirthavaren, they were not pleasant memories.

Finally, he broke his silence. "Bandits are one thing," he began, "It is something else entirely when you have to fight your countrymen, people I could have very well attended the Academie with. Fucking masks we wear when we fight... I could have very well killed one of my brothers and I wouldn't know it," he added, spitting to the side.

Khari had thought that was what the designs on the masks were for—so that a person could identify the one beneath it without being able to see their face. But probably a lot of that got lost on the field, in the middle of pitched battle, or from the distance the army would use for shooting arrows. “Would it be better? To know whether you killed someone you were close with?" It wasn't exactly the kind of situation where he could have called an armistice just because he ran into an officer he knew and liked.

She pursed her lips. “I like to pretend sometimes. That I can't remember the faces of the people I kill." Her vallaslin pulled as she frowned. “That the Haze makes it all blur together. But it doesn't—I can see all the little details, clear as day." The way she fought meant she was always up close and personal with her opponents. She couldn't keep them at spear's distance, much less bow's distance. “I like fighting. It's what I'm best at. But killing is hard, and it hurts, and I think that's good. That doesn't mean you should torture yourself about it."

Mick laughed, but it was one without any humor. "You say that like I have a choice. I did what I had to, doesn't mean it still doesn't keep me up at night," he stated, slipping into another frown. His pace slowed down as the approached an alley, and a different thought seemed to enter his head. He tilted to the side as he tried to remember something, and apparently decided on it he nodded and turned back to Khari. "This way, this one is a little more hidden," he said, taking the alley. "At least, it should be this way," he added quietly.

"I do not like to fight," he revealed, before tilting his head to the other side, and clarified, "But I don't hate it either. It's a more of a chore, a means to an end. It was what I was good at, like you, so I did it." He chuckled again, "Marcy would try to say that there are other things I'm good at, but," Mick said, pointing between them, "I get you."

Khari let her chin dip a little; this late, the air outside was crisp enough that a cloak might not have been unwarranted, but she'd come without one and the alcohol was making her feel warm enough for now anyway. She exhaled heavily, turning her eyes up to the stars. A little different here than at Skyhold, and both of those different from her clan's camp in Dirthavaren. But she found the raven easily enough anyway before her eyes fell back to the road so she didn't trip.

“It's not a chore for me. It... makes me feel alive." The admission was slow, like it didn't want to leave. And maybe she didn't want it to. It was a hell of a thing to admit, really. Most people she knew were like Mick. Fighting was a necessity, the means to an end. But for Khari... fighting was the end, as often as not. “That's—that's sick, isn't it? Wrong. That I feel something like that." She shook her head. “That the world makes the most sense that way."

"Not really," Mick said just as easily. He slowed to a halt and then gestured toward the door of the newest store front. It was another tavern, though this one seemed less... fancy than the other, though it still somehow seemed manicured, even in this alley. He took a step toward the door and pushed it open, allowing Khari to file in before him. "The farmhands like this one, with it not being on the main street and all," he offered, following her inside.

It was like he said, the inside had more of a rougher feel to it, where the gilt was thinner. It was clear that this one was for the workers instead of the visitors or upper crust. And Mick still fit right in. He offered a wave to the bartender before they found their seats, a little table off to the side of the bar. "It's not much different from what you said about fighting and killing," Mick continued, "If you enjoyed the killing, then I would be willing to call you sick." He leaned back in his seat, and flashed two fingers back to the bartender before leaning back to continue the conversation. "But fighting? I'd call that... energetic." He flashed her a smile, perhaps opting for the most polite word he could think of.

Khari snorted, but her frown had gone, replaced with a very small smile. “You say energetic, but somehow all I hear is crazy." She allowed herself to grin, then, accepting the drink the bartender slid across the table. “Thanks, Mick." She only let her tone stay sober for the two quiet words, before she pitched it up again, back into something that matched the way he described her. Energetic. She liked thinking of it as 'verve,' because that seemed like one of those words that didn't usually get applied to people like her. And that was half the fun: being what she wasn't supposed to be. “Three of five, right? I've got this."

Turning around so her back was to the counter, Khari leaned against it and surveyed the patrons. Mostly laborers in this one, common folk with dirt on their clothes. She didn't mind that at all.

“...all right, then. Which one of you guys thinks you can drink me under the table?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
While the others spent time recuperating in Orlais, Rom took his own rest in Skyhold.

He put the peaceful time to good use, aggressively fighting against the necessity of using his particular brand of potions, and he was making very good progress. He wasn't free of them yet, but he felt that within the month he could be. Leon and Rilien both agreed with the assessment, which was reassuring. He'd stopped making new draughts altogether, practicing alchemy now mostly so he could continue instructing Zahra. For all her bluster Zee was a pretty good student, when she had the desire to learn. And in this field, she did.

His energy to keep himself in prime condition had flagged steadily, a result of the drawbacks of his recent efforts. It wasn't like he was turning into a weakling or anything remotely close, but it did bother him to know he might not be as strong as before, as fast or as decisive. When his life or the lives of his friends sometimes hung on a razor's edge, it disturbed him to think he'd only succeeded before because of this. To think he might fail in the future because of it. But he would just have to hope everything would continue to work out. He'd have to have faith.

Rom decided a walk was in order after he was satisfied with the work he'd put in for the day. The late afternoon sun greeted him as he made his way out of the keep, a pair of guards closing the great doors behind him. The days were finally starting to seem much longer, as summer rapidly approached. There were big things coming, he could feel. Hopefully good things.

His walk took him down past the drill yards, where mages were just beginning an afternoon session. More and more templars were beginning to work with them, and while the relations would never be comfortable, they were at least starting to seem cooperative. Their Captain, SĂ©verine, always made sure to be among them. Rom continued on, down the steps towards the front gate, past the fortress well, the stables. The curiously different sound of a large halla greeted him from inside. A rowdy one, if some of the stablehands were to be believed, and only well behaved for a few different handlers. Rom had never been the best with mounts of any kind. He headed for the stairs, looking to make his way up to the battlements.

“Huh. Well, this figures." Khari's was an easily-recognizable voice; she peered down at him from the top of the staircase, apparently about to descend it. For just a second, her brows knit, an almost anxious sort of surprise pulling at her features before it disappeared, replaced by something a little more normal for her: a set expression that he recognized as resolve. “I was just going to find you, and here you are." She flashed a momentary smile, then gestured towards herself. “Planning on a walk? I'll go with, if you don't mind."

Khari coming to find Rom was hardly unusual, but there was something unusual about her today, even if Rom could quite decipher what it was. "Figured I'd walk the wall, just cooling down." He normally didn't cool down with walks, but he'd been making a habit of it lately, and getting outside more was refreshing.

He let it go unsaid that he didn't mind, since it very rarely needed to be said, and together they made their way back to the top of the wall. A pair of guards outside the nearest tower greeted him by his title, and he offered a salute in return. That was something he would never get used to. He and Khari walked along the wall, Rom closer to the outside edge of it, his right hand occasionally brushing against the stone crenelations.

"I've been feeling better," he said, preempting the question. "I'm glad we haven't had to deal with any Venatori lately, the rest's done me good." He glanced left at her. "What about you? How was... uh, forgot the town's name..." He was never very good with Orlesian anything.

“It had a weird name anyway." She shrugged. “It was all right, I guess. Marcy's staying a while longer, which means Mick is too, but that's okay. Everyone deserves a rest sometimes, I guess." She was not known for taking them herself, and no doubt she was working herself just as hard in her trainer's absence as she did in his presence, if not moreso.

Khari turned slightly, almost as if to verify his words about himself. For a moment, she studied his face, squinting as if the truth would be right there to see, when in fact the physical manifestations were only a very small part of the story. Still, it satisfied her, or at least seemed to, from the way she nodded and moved her eyes out over the wall instead.

“You had me worried, you know." Her lips paled where she pressed them together. A breeze from behind pushed several strands of hair into her face; she batted them back behind her ears with an irritated grumble before continuing. “I don't mean—it's not like you have to tell me everything. I get having secrets. Honestly, I do. I just... kinda figured you and me didn't need them. So I was pretty—I dunno. I didn't know what to think."

It hurt a bit, because Rom knew he had more. Worse ones, even. And telling her was... not at all easy. "I've got a lot that I want to just... let go of. And that was one of those things, but it wouldn't let go of me. Maybe the rest won't either." Maybe it would all come back and rear its ugly head when it seemed like he was making too much progress. It would come back and remind him of what he was, what he feared he still was. He should've told her about the potions, probably, but the rest... he didn't know.

"I'm sorry I worried you. I'm not proud of what I was, and... well you might've noticed I'm not the best at talking to people. I guess that includes my friends. I never know how to say any of the things I might want to, it always... comes out wrong, you know?" They were approaching one of the corners, a large square tower that overlooked the entire lake below. They'd played capture the flag down there like idiots last winter, and to be honest Rom was looking forward to doing it again when everything froze back over.

Khari seemed to recognize the spot, too; she picked up her feet a little faster to get to the crenelations, leaning out over them and sweeping her eyes over the landscape. She turned around, though, using her hands to assist herself in hopping up to sit on the wall, facing in towards him. She leaned her shoulder into the toothlike formation on her left, nodding slightly. “I was being stupid." She sighed heavily. “Only thinking about myself. And how I wanted to be the kind of person you could tell that stuff to. But it's not about me, and I was dumb for trying to make it that way."

She blinked, the jade color of her eyes almost washed out by the bright sunlight overhead, until they were just an indistinct, almost colorless pale hue. She shifted slightly, and the impression vanished. “You tell me what you want to tell me. And if some of the things you could say never get said, then I'm fine with that. But I'm not gonna judge you, Rom. Not for anything but who you are now. I just wanted you to know I'd decided that."

Rom very much hoped she could hold to that. The idea was immensely comforting, even if the thought of talking about all the things he couldn't figure out how to say made him feel distinctly uneasy. And he hoped he could hold to the kind of person he wanted to be, the one that would be judged. Because it wouldn't be just Khari judging his actions. Not in the position he now occupied. Only a fool would ever think the world was a kind and forgiving place. That fool died in Rom the day he was shipped away from the Chantry house in Minrathous.

"That's good to hear," he said. "Really, I mean it." He shifted a bit awkwardly on the spot, noting that she'd taken a seat on the wall when they'd originally come up here to walk. "Did you want to keep going, or...?"

This fact seemed to dawn on her as well, if a bit belatedly. “Uh, yeah. I just—I've got one more thing to say first." She hopped down off the wall, shifting her weight between her feet, as if she'd temporarily lost the easy confidence with which she so typically held herself. Focusing on a spot over his shoulder, she pulled in a breath, her shoulders lifting with the force of it. The expression on her face went through several shifts in the ten seconds that followed, almost too rapidly to pin down.

Abruptly, she dragged her eyes back to his. “I like you. I think you're funny and interesting and I always feel like I can rely on you. But you knew that part already." A pause; the tips of her ears were slowly turning red. “You're also really handsome. And sometimes I think about kissing you. Pretty often actually. Like now, for instance. So." Khari frowned slightly, then plowed forward again just as rapidly.

“If, uh... if you've ever maybe considered kissing me, too, you should know that I would absolutely be more than okay with it if you did at some point. And if you haven't, well... that's also fine. I can just, you know, never mention any of this again. Ever." By this point, the blotchy red-pink had spread over most of her face and neck as well. She cleared her throat.

“We can keep walking now."

He really didn't know how he could be this colossally stupid. It made sense now. A lot of things made sense now. He could feel the heat immediately rushing to his face as well, and with it came panic. How many times had he tried to say something like this to her? How many times had he come so close? Of course she would be the one to do it first, she didn't let anything get in her way, not for long at least. And now it was out in the open, and all he had to do was tell her he felt exactly the same way.

And yet, he took a step back, unsure where to put his eyes, because if he put them on her, it was like he was seeing her altogether differently now. And not in a worse way, not at all, just... different. It was jarring, it was frightening, and it was entirely too much. "Um... I don't, uh..." He struggled for words, then grimaced because he'd paused after I don't. "I do, I have, it's just... every time I think, it's... uh. Shit." His grimace grew until it seemed like he was actually in pain. "Not the thought, I'm just doing that thing. It's not coming out right. What I mean to say is..." He tried his absolute best to hold her eyes, like he'd practiced for the Orlesian nobility. This was a thousand times more difficult.

"I... I can't."

Khari's shoulders, held high and tense, collapsed downwards into a slump. She closed her eyes, took in a breath, and opened them again on the exhale. “I sorta figured, somehow." She attempted a smile, but it trembled, then fell, unable to remain. She'd never been particularly good at faking things. “It's oka—" Her voice cracked. “It's okay."

The silence that fell then lingered for several long moments. Khari seemed suddenly very interested in the toes of her boots, from her posture, but it was easy to see that she wasn't really looking at anything in particular. Rather, she seemed deep in thought. “Can I—can I know why?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, "you can. It's like you said: we don't need secrets. But before you jump to any conclusions, it's... probably not what you think." She seemed to be taking it that way, as though this was a rejection, and he was determined not to let it turn out that way. She needed to understand that first. "Khari, you're... you're beautiful, and I've always thought that. You're also an unstoppable force of nature, and I don't think you have any idea how attractive that is to me."

He'd said it, and honestly... it didn't sound that bad now that it was out. It didn't sound that different from the way it went every time he rehearsed it in his head. But all of those times never had what he now needed to follow it with. And this... he'd never practiced this. It was hard enough to think about, let alone say.

"So," he said, exhaling a gusty breath, "with that out of the way, do you remember Redcliffe, the first time we met Chryseis together?"

It took her a little bit longer to adjust her frame of mind to accommodate the new information, clearly. Perhaps that was understandable: she had to do it twice. For a moment, her face was blank, but it was easy to see her putting things together—it was in the way her eyes looked. She lifted her head, nodding once, slow and careful. “Yeah, sure." Khari was no longer even attempting to keep walking, but her uncomfortable shifting had stopped, too, as she narrowed her focus to the conversation alone. “In the Chantry." The relevance wasn't clear to her, but she must have assumed he'd be getting to that, because she didn't ask outright.

He knew she remembered. Even then they'd been more than good enough of friends for her to know that meeting her there was extremely difficult for him. He'd still been in the mindset of a slave at that time, intent on returning to her when the Breach was closed. "You'll remember then that everyone else left when the talking was done, and I stayed behind with Chryseis." He imagined the different breed of tension between them might have been apparent to others, but he didn't think Khari would catch on. She wasn't known for picking these sorts of things up especially quickly.

"She had me, uh... we had sex. In one of the back rooms." He hadn't even thought about it at the time, the fact that it had occurred in a Chantry building. Some Herald of Andraste he was. "That was part of our arrangement, as domina and slave. Ever since her husband died, that was another way in which I... served her." He hated saying it, hated revealing anything about this part of his life, but he trusted her when she said she wouldn't judge him. He believed she would do her best to understand. If it was even possible for her to understand something like this.

“Oh. Oh." She clearly understood something. Grimacing, Khari reached up and tugged at the shell of one ear, a nervous gesture he hadn't seen her use in a while. Right on the heels of that, however, her expression morphed swiftly into fury. “Served her? Arrangement? She raped you, Rom. That's what it's called when one of the people doesn't have any choice." The muscles in her jaw jumped as she ground her teeth. “Fucking sick fucks and their godsdamn—"

Her hand reached behind her, more reflex than conscious thought; for a split second, she looked confused when it closed only over air. The tiny moment of pause was enough to avert what looked to be building into a righteous temper, though. Khari forced a slow breath out through her nose, dragging both hands down her face. “Shit. Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know and I just—ugh."

"It's okay. It's not your fault." Her reaction was more or less what he'd expected, once she understood. Anger. She cared about him, and what Chryseis did to him damaged him, that much was clear. Rom thought about it often. He never felt he could be impartial about judging such a thing, considering that he had been one of the parties involved. Chryseis had been grieving, and frustrated, and more than anything alone. She let almost no one see a side of her that could be considered vulnerable, but Rom... he likely knew her better at the time he left than her own father did. And while he didn't really have a choice in the matter, she never demanded it of him. She never threatened him if he refused her.

By the time she asked it of him, she didn't need to. He was utterly obedient, and if she needed to be served in that way, he did it without question, without complaint, without a second thought. Sometimes he wondered if he even looked forward to it. If he helped her, she would think more clearly, she would treat him and the other slaves more reasonably. Truly, it was only when he freed himself of her, and when he met Khari and began to think of her in a different way, that he understood how much Chryseis had cursed him.

"I've tried to move on, but... I can't. Not yet. I need to be free of her first, rid of her." That was the most terrifying thought of all. Confronting her, forcing her to address this. She could declare him a free man, to do with his life as he pleased, but words written on the page would not remove the claws from his back. "There's something coming. We'll see her again, I know it. When we do, I'm going to find a way to end this. And then... then we can come back to this conversation."

Khari crossed her arms, gripping her biceps in her hands and squeezing until her knuckles were white. Though it must have hurt at least somewhat, it seemed to clear the last vestiges of anger from her. She swallowed, then let out a short breath. “Okay." She nodded firmly. “'Til you bring it up again, everything's just going to be like it has been. Even if you never do, we've got a pretty excellent thing here, and I don't mean to lose it." She grinned, the expression a bit more subdued than usual, but still genuine. It looked like it belonged on her face.

“Can I hug you, though? I really want to right now."

Rather than give her permission he went ahead and hugged her first, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He let his fingers twist through some of her mass of red hair. "No matter what happens, we're never going to lose this."

Her hands bunched in the back of his shirt; Khari took a deep, shaky breath and squeezed.

“Good."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
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"You have chosen, and spilled the blood
Of innocence for power. I pity your folly,
But still more do I pity those whose lives you have taken
In pursuit of selfish goals.
No more will you bear the Light.
To darkness flee, and be gone from My sight!"
-Canticle of Silence 3:7
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"I've found Lucius."

Leon blinked. The words took a while to sink in; perhaps it had something to do with the incessant pounding in the back of his head. The headache had been there for three days now, though he was given to understand that he still had it better than Vesryn. His brows furrowed—perhaps he should have been trying to summon the wherewithal for more complex inquiries, but at the moment, the only question that would come to him was the glaringly-obvious one.

"Where?"

Shifting her weight so that it was even over both feet, Ophelia crossed her arms over her chest. She still wore a heavy traveling cloak, covered in a fine layer of road-dust, dulling the olive-colored fabric even further, until it was a muted taupe. Likewise, her armor was still in place, save the helmet. That hung by two of her fingers, hooked into a gap in the visor. She studied him; Leon tried to erase any indication of the discomfort he was in, but he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. Ophelia could be almost as difficult to read as Rilien, at times.

She made no immediate comment, however, perhaps in deference to the other presences in the room. He'd been in the middle of a strategy lesson with Khari and Captain SĂ©verine when Reed had shuffled in and announced he had a visitor. Ophelia's eyes flicked to each of them once, then settled again on him. "Kasos."

Hardly a wonder he'd been so difficult to track down. It would have been impossible to close in on him by sightings—no civilians had any reason to go that far outside Cumberland. Still... it wasn't all that far. Straight across the Waking Sea from Jader. Grimacing, Leon reached down to his lowest desk drawer, sliding a key from his pocket and unlocking it, shifting aside the false bottom and withdrawing a slim file.

Moving away from the desk and towards one of the cork-bark slabs mounted on the wall, he opened the file and extracted what he was looking for—a rather small square map. The parchment was only perhaps a foot wide, and the layout of a keep depicted on it was more a sketch than anything a proper cartographer would have done. He had one like it of every major Seeker outpost, though the hidden ones like this were unlabeled, useless to anyone who did not know what they corresponded with. Leon pinned it to the board and stepped back.

"Any idea what he's doing there? It's a well-built fort, but it's certainly not the most defensible location he could have chosen." It was small, for one, its siege defenses minimal, and though its location would likely preclude direct attack... there were other options.

"At a guess? He was after something in the repository, though I've no idea what. Otherwise, Kasos's primary advantage is being small, out of the way, and unlikely to be checked. No one knows of it but us. Maybe some elves. They won't bother him, I'm sure." Ophelia pursed her lips. "As long as he doesn't know we're coming, he's probably counting on being hidden."

"We should act quickly on this, then," SĂ©verine offered. "Before he gets wind that we're coming." She looked visibly more uncomfortable than usual, but then high ranking Seekers other than Leon typically had that effect on templars. There hadn't been any time to prepare for the visit, either. SĂ©verine was out of her armor and in training gear at the moment, but news of Lucius obviously took precedence over training, tactical or physical. "A small group, perhaps?" She shrugged. "Whatever the plan is, I'd like to be there. Finish the job Cullen gave me."

Leon nodded slightly, frowning as he took a closer look at the map. The details of the location came back to him in flashes of memory—it had been quite a while ago that he'd visited Kasos, and they hadn't stayed long. Ophelia had wanted him to be at least somewhat familiar with every location the Seekers kept hidden from the rest of the world. Considering the state of things now, he was grateful for that foresight. "The exact location of the fortress is in the mountains east of Cumberland," he said, tapping a finger on the right spot where it appeared on his larger map of the continent. "Where they touch the Planasene Forest."

Several possible strategies came to mind, all with various groupings of people that would make for the best execution of the strategies. He discarded several right away, then turned to glance over at Khari. He supposed this was as good an exercise as any. Serious, yes, but that was all the more reason to ask her what she thought. "Khari, suppose that you were in charge of planning a strategy for this. The fortress is surrounded by mountains on two sides, walled on the other two. There is one gate on each wall, guarded at all times by no fewer than three people. Probably Red Templars or trained Seekers. The number of other combat-ready people in the fortress is unknown, but it probably can't hold more than a hundred." He stepped sideways, and gestured for her to approach.

"All the Inquisition's resources are available to you, and in any case, the four of us are going. What do you suggest?"

“Uh." For a moment, Khari was unable to mask her surprise. No doubt at being consulted on something this obviously important. But to her credit, she rallied quickly, approaching the maps and tilting her head back to get a better look at the small one, where the fortress itself was sketched out. “Well, like Sev said, our big advantage is probably that no one knows we're coming, and I'm guessing Lucius probably has people scouting on a pretty regular basis. It's what I'd do." She reached up to pull at the shell of one ear, humming under her breath and rocking back on her heels.

For a moment, she was silent, pensively so. “I probably wouldn't take that many people. Better chance of not running into those scouts and keeping it so he doesn't know we're around. But if there could be a hundred guys in there... I dunno. I think we'd want to stay sneaky even after we got there. So... sail to Cumberland, go in through the Vimmarks. How tall are the cliffs on the mountain-sides? Could we go in from above?" She paused, then backpedaled. “I mean, I'm assuming we want to know what he's doing first, but that we might also need to fight."

"One of the cliffs is short enough to climb down, I think." Ophelia seemed interested in the fact that he'd asked Khari what to do; by now she'd no doubt caught on to why. "Of course, if you needed to make a quick escape, going up is much slower."

Leon made a vague sound of agreement. "It might be the best way in, but it would almost certainly not be a good way out. Is there any way to mitigate that, or would it be better to try another method of getting inside?" He put that question to SĂ©verine.

She stood as well and approached the sketch of the outpost's layout, squinting slightly. "If these were bandits or other untrained fighters I'd suggest a feigned frontal attack and then retreat. Just a distraction to split them up while others get inside. But I don't think anything like that would work against Red Templars or Seekers. Still..." She crossed an arm over her chest, bringing the other up to rest a finger on her lip momentarily.

"We have excellent scouts, and they've already proven their ability to operate and provide information without being detected by Red Templars. Perhaps there's a way inside from below, rather than from above." She gestured to the two sides of the outpost uncovered by mountains. "Only two walls makes a place defensible, but also easy to surround and besiege. If I were defending a place like that, I'd want a more subtle route that supplies could be brought through in emergencies."

"Sound," Leon replied, smiling at the both of them. "A small party overall is a very good idea, and some of those are going to be from our scout corps. We'll rely on them to get us more detailed information on the building and any potential modifications Lucius has made to it, and then enter from either above or below as the parameters allow. We will also keep them stationed nearby the gates, in the event that we're made and need to exit in a more direct fashion. That way, they'll be able to help cover our retreat with ranged fire."

He glanced once at Ophelia, who nodded slightly. "Now, as for the composition of this smaller group, what makes the most sense?" That one went back to Khari; Leon trusted she understood that the arch of his eyebrow was her cue to attempt it.

The elf crossed her arms, taking a step back from the maps. “Well, we need people who can adapt to whatever strategy turns out to be the best one at the time. That means Irregulars. No mages, since there are Reds and Seekers pretty much exclusively. We want someone strong, but quiet enough not to risk discovery any more than we already are. Not both Inquisitors, for the obvious reasons. Ves is in bad shape right now, so the obvious pick is Rom. And I think we run it with just the five of us. The difference between five and fifteen isn't gonna matter if it turns into a brawl, and five is easier to sneak places." She seemed relatively confident in that one, at least, perhaps because it wasn't exactly uncommon logic, for some of the Inquisition's smaller-scale operations.

"Agreed." Leon stepped away from the group, picking up a piece of blank parchment from his desk to draft the orders for the scouts. He'd also have to write Rilien a memorandum—much of this was bound to be of interest to him as well, and they'd need his agents in Cumberland to make preparations for their arrival, including horses. "I'll take care of asking him, but we need to act before this information is too old. We'll leave tomorrow morning. Pack lightly, please." He paused, in case there were additional questions.

"Looking forward to it, Leon," SĂ©verine said, her tone matching her words. She turned to face their visitor, pressing her first to her chest. "High Seeker." With that she took her leave, nodding to Reed on her way out.

“What she said." Khari reached over to smack Leon's bicep in a friendly manner, then nodded to Ophelia too. “Should be an adventure." She followed SĂ©verine, clearly eager to get to her own preparations.

"She's quite different, the elf," Ophelia noted as Reed closed the door behind himself, the last out save Leon and his teacher. Without bothering to ask, she crossed to a small cabinet next to his book shelf and opened it, taking down the dusty bottle of whiskey Verena had sent him more than a year ago now. Pouring herself a few fingers, she repeated the same for him, setting his on the end of his desk and pulling her cloak off by the clasp, tossing it over a seldom-used chair and taking one of the more comfortable ones in front of his desk. She hadn't worn the armor to travel, though no doubt she had it with her.

Leon sighed, taking his own chair and obligingly moving the glass closer to himself, though he felt no particular temptation to drink from it at this point. He kept a flask on his person, but that was because alcohol had many purposes, only one of which was to be consumed. "She is," he said with a short shrug.

Ophelia looked unimpressed with the answer. "You like her. You like both of them." She took a swallow of the amber liquid in her glass, narrowing her dark eyes at him over the lip of the glass. "Enough that you haven't explained things to them."

Leon grimaced. "Is this really the time for this discussion, Ophelia?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "If it were up to you, Leon, it wouldn't be time until it was too late. I'm not saying you have to tell them; you do what you like. But don't pretend you're waiting for the right time to say it." She paused, taking another slow drink. "Which one are you training to replace you? I'd have thought the Templar, but now I'm not so sure."

This was why he hated talking to Ophelia. He'd never learned how to hide anything from her, and she knew his mind better than anyone ever had. Probably better than anyone ever would, sad as that thought was for reasons that had nothing to do with her. "Neither," he said, though he wasn't sure it was true. He'd thought about it, certainly—about who would command the army if he expired before the task was done. "Maybe. Captain SĂ©verine has goals and interests that extend too far beyond the Inquisition itself. She'll be a good leader someday, but not of this. And Khari... I don't know." He struggled to find the words.

"She's... different."

Ophelia snorted, a small half-smile flashing across her face for a moment. "Fair enough."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Somehow, Rom had yet to come face to face with many Red Templars at all.

He'd encountered a few of them at Haven alongside the Venatori, but the events of that night were such a blur of chaos and death that he hardly could remember the details. It had been Estella that first encountered them with the others at Therinfal before that, and her again in the Emerald Graves. What he learned from traveling through the Vimmarks was that description of them rarely did them justice.

Lia and a few hand picked scouts led them towards Kasos from where they left Zee and her crew in Cumberland, on horses that Rilien's agents provided. Sturdy Fereldan mounts, good for climbing and the forging ahead over difficult terrain, if lacking in outright speed. There was no use for speed, as they had to slow and even change courses several times to avoid Red Templar patrols that Signy or one of the other forward scouts spotted ahead of them.

Even the most human-looking of them were horrifying to look upon, with growths of the scarlet-shaded crystals sprouting from their skin at odd angles, their armor molding with their flesh as their bodies were twisted out of shape by the corrupted lyrium. They exuded strength in equal measure to their horror. Being caught by any of them would mean a hard fight.

Thankfully they managed to avoid being seen, and the travel itself was not overly difficult given it was summertime and the mountains were not cloaked in snow. In fact it seemed likely that these peaks didn't see that much snow even in winter, as the forested areas that decorated their slopes were almost tropical in nature. Any farther north and the heat would've begun to become oppressive.

"We're getting close," Lia said, pulling her horse to a stop. "We should go on foot from here."

They did so, dismounting and using their last chance to gear up before they would make their approach. Lighter armor was the order of the day, and preferably nothing that would catch and reflect the sunlight. Any steel was best kept covered by leather or cloth until they could get inside. SĂ©verine had armed herself with a short sword in addition to her flail, the smaller weapon being preferable for the tight quarters they might find themselves in. Her armor was templar gear of a lighter issue, consisting mostly of scale mail and smaller segmented plates over more exposed areas, though she carried her kite shield upon her back still. Khari wore a suit of chainmail between her ordinary clothing and a loose shirt she was using for camouflage. There wasn't much helping the fact that her preferred weapon was too large for closer quarters, but there was also a long, curved knife on her right hip, which she no doubt intended to use to make do if necessary.

Lia took her bow in hand, a deft hand adeptly twirling an arrow in the other. "The tunnel's going to be your way in. I don't think they wanted to draw any attention to it. It may not even be guarded, but you should still be ready for anything on the inside." Rom could agree with that much. Sometimes the entrances that appeared most vulnerable could prove to be the deadliest, to the unwary.

"If you need to make a retreat, we'll try to cover you as best we can," Lia continued, "but I can't promise much until you're outside of the walls. And even then, Red Templars often ignore arrows that would stop a normal fighter in their tracks."

"I understand." Leon smiled mildly and gave a short nod. Neither he nor the woman he'd introduced as his teacher, Ophelia, needed to worry about how close the quarters would be, unless of course one of them needed to duck—Ophelia was quite tall herself. Like SĂ©verine and Khari, they'd worn somewhat less armor than usual, disguised under cloaks. "Go ahead and take your positions. We'll make our way to the passage. With any luck, we'll be out in an hour." He paused. "If we haven't returned in three, assume we've been captured and get word back to Skyhold."

"Understood," Lia responded. "Good luck in there."

With that, the five of them broke off from the small scout party. They were still a ways out, and no doubt patrols would be denser this close to Kasos itself. Leon dropped back to the rear, glancing once at Rom. "Can you take point?"

He nodded wordlessly, and led the way steadily forward. The foliage was dense here, trees and bushes and tall grass in abundance. It made for good visual cover, but it was hard to move quietly, so they were sure to take things slow. That said, Rom liked to think that no patrol of hulking Red Templars could be quieter than they were, so he hoped they would hear any enemies coming before they themselves were detected.

"That's it there," SĂ©verine pointed out, looking through the trees in the distance ahead of them. What they could mostly see was one of the walls, dark grey stone similar in color to the cliffs that rose behind. A few small towers jutted upwards over the upper crenelations, but the castle had not been built to stand out much from its surroundings. Probably why it had survived so long and been repurposed as some sort of repository for artifacts for a group that specialized in secrets.

The captain was about to start forward when Rom's hand seized her shoulder and kept her back. He touched his ear, indicating she should listen. Indeed, when they focused they could hear heavy steps and the soft crunching of grass, twigs, and dirt underneath some hefty boot. Rom pointed down next, and they sank low, concealing themselves behind trees, rocks, and bushes thick enough to obscure them.

The Red Templar patrol proved to be a group of three. One was a knight, one of the brawnier varieties, ballooned in size by the effects of the red lyrium, their armor horrifically sinking into their very skin. The second was a newer-looking member of the order, judging by the lack of progress the corruption had made. She carried a bow in her hands, and attempted to hide her face under a cowl. The third was a shadow, a lithe and lighter killer, with spikes of the red lyrium growing out of his arms long enough to become proper blades. He seemed the most watchful of the three.

Their patrol route brought them perilously close in front of the five of them, enough that Rom could begin feeling the effects of the corruption that wafted off of them. Simply sitting in it was slightly dizzying, and he could feel his stomach slowly starting to turn. He couldn't even imagine what the effect felt like on mages. Perhaps the absence of his potions was making matters worse. Regardless, if they could just keep quiet for a moment, the patrol would hopefully pass them by.

The first two moved past, the rhythmic thuds of their footsteps indication of an almost automatic approach to patrol. They didn't even look around much. The last was out of step, pausing often to listen before hastening to catch up. It was during one such erratic pause that one of the people behind him—probably Khari—shifted at the wrong moment, rustling the detritus that carpeted the forest floor beneath them.

The noise ceased, but the damage had been done. The shadow paused, his head whipping in their direction. They were close enough to see his eyes, red like the lyrium, faintly aglow in the dim light that made it through the canopy of trees. He raked them over the underbrush, searching for the source of the sound, but whoever had made it did not make the error a second time, and though he took half a step in Rom's direction, parting the fronds of the closest fern, the fading thuds of his fellows' treads alerted him to their continued departure, and he hesitated only a moment more before hurrying after them.

By unspoken consensus, they waited a bit longer than strictly necessary after he'd disappeared before emerging from their hiding spots. From there, it was nearly a straight shot to the tunnel's entrance, which wasn't more than a moderately-sized crack in a short cliff-face. It was obscured by moss and the thick, ropy vines of some plant that hugged most of the rock shelf, making it almost impossible to see if one wasn't looking for it specifically.

Ophelia took one look at it and grimaced. "Better not get any tighter than that inside," she muttered. She'd fit well enough, but it was a genuine question whether it would accommodate someone of Leon's dimensions. If he'd been in full plate, he'd have definitely needed to remove it. "I'll check."

Pushing away a few of the biggest vines, she turned sideways to fit inside, footsteps shuffling for a moment before she disappeared entirely. Fortunately, it didn't take her long to reappear; she just put a hand far enough back out to gesture them forward, and they filed in.

The tunnel itself was only big enough for a single-file line, and Leon had to remain half-turned to the side, head and shoulders ducked awkwardly, but they could move through it well enough otherwise. The walls and floor were smooth, evidence of the deliberate nature of the construction, but it definitely didn't seem like a supply tunnel. Most likely, it had served instead as an emergency escape route for the most important of the castle's one-time residents; such things were not uncommon in old castles, or even particularly-elaborate new manor homes. Disuse was evident in the cracks, though—in a few places, tree roots had penetrated the stone slabs and slithered across the floor, making it more perilous to navigate than its makers had intended. The passage seemed to run along the cliff-face, for a while, angling down eventually and escaping even the roots until the only peril was the occasional trickle of groundwater. The air smelled stale, and a little earthy; nothing unexpected.

Rom was not uncomfortable with tight spaces. He was not a particularly small man in any of his dimensions, but he was used to being cramped, confined, so much so that he often did it to himself. There was some comfort to living underneath Skyhold's keep, not within it. Thus the passageway didn't bother him in the least, though he imagined pretty much everyone else was not as pleased with the situation. SĂ©verine's breathing had become noticeably more measured and forced. Khari was, for once, fortunate to be short, and the shape of her weapon was more ungainly than she was in here, the tip of it occasionally touching the side walls with a soft scrape of metal on rock.

Eventually the ground began to slope upwards again, and Rom could sense they were getting closer, if only because the passageway began to subtly widen a foot or so when they approached the exit. When it suddenly came to a halt, they were faced with a sheer rock wall that could be ascended by way of a set of old, rusty iron rungs fastened into the wall. Rom found himself glad he wasn't the first to test them. Rearranging their order wasn't really possible in a space this tight, so it was Ophelia who went up first, Leon second, and Rom after him. Khari followed shortly behind him, with SĂ©verine bringing up the rear.

At the top Rom clambered up into what appeared to be a storage area of some sort, though it didn't look like it was being used for anything. Probably since the outpost wasn't commonly occupied by anyone. More alarming was the fact that there didn't seem to be a way out. Even with their eyes adjusted by now, it was extremely dark, and there was no obviously visible door. Immediately SĂ©verine began to breathe as though she were running, when in fact the climbing up here had been the most physical activity they'd done all day.

"Check the walls," Ophelia advised. "Might be a lever or switch. This room was probably designed to be undetectable from the other side, but there's probably another passage out." The rustle of her cloak was the only indication that she'd moved to follow her own advice.

"Shouldn't be much longer," Leon added quietly, most likely for SĂ©verine's benefit. "We're looking for anything that feels or sounds irregular." That, he added for the group at large.

Khari shuffled a lot more than the others did, a dull thud sounding as she ran into something. It sounded like the wall. “Fuck. That was my finger." A breath hissed in between her teeth, but then she fell quiet, feeling along the wall with the rest of them. The room wasn't very large; it only took her another few moments before she spoke up again. “Uh... I don't really know what I'm doing, but there's something weird about this wall. The mortar's all chalky and it doesn't seem... right?"

"Let me see," Rom said, following the sound of her voice to the wall she was on. He reached out, his hand accidentally finding Khari's head and hair before the wall. "Er, sorry." Once he was finally touching the wall, he could see why she thought it was strange. Compared to the others he'd touched, which were smooth and well-finished, this one was poorly done. A hasty job, meaning that wherever it had been sealed off from was likely another room, not just the solid rock wall that served as foundation.

"There should be something on the other side of this wall, if we can get through." He wasn't going to bash it open himself, though. He supposed he could use his mark, but he preferred not to create a violent blast of brick pieces in a confined space with his friends. Best to let the many physical powerhouses with him figure something out.

"Are we hitting something?" SĂ©verine asked, obviously still working to control herself. "I wouldn't mind hitting something right now."

"By all means, then," Leon replied. "I don't... anticipate anyone being down here if they believe it is blocked off so thoroughly, but everyone should remain ready just in case."

"Alright, then." SĂ©verine pulled her shield from her back and slid her arm into it, rolling her shoulder a few times. "Everyone get to the back wall. Don't want to break anyone's nose on accident."

When she had enough room to swing, she did so with a grunt of effort, ramming the rim of her shield into the wall. As loud as the clangs were, Rom knew the crack of his mark's bursts were quite a bit louder, like a clap of thunder from a few feet away. After a few strikes SĂ©verine had created a small gap through which light was filtering into the room from whatever lay beyond. It encouraged the captain, and she smashed at the wall until it was starting to crumble.

Stepping back a few paces, SĂ©verine charged forward and rammed it behind the face of her shield, busting through the wall enough that she tipped over and fell into the next room amidst the wall's rubble. Quickly she got back to her feet and put her back to a wall on the other side, what looked like a more proper storage room, and one still in use. Torchlight on the wall illuminated the way out into a corridor. They had to shield their eyes from it for a moment in order to adjust.

"Much better," SĂ©verine said between breaths.

"Agreed." Ophelia stepped over the rubble next, casting her eyes around the room. She must not have seen anything of interest in the crates and boxes arranged neatly in the space, stacked against the far wall. The floor was bare, too, and so the group of them picked their way to the door, pausing to listen for any reaction to the noise they'd made. When there wasn't any, Leon opened it, putting them out in the corridor.

From the absence of windows, it was clearly a basement or at least a level built underground. The most immediate sensation, however, was the smell. Rom recognized it easily: blood and decay. The stench of rotting corpses and living people probably halfway there. There was also a faint hint of sickness on the air, the taint of red lyrium, but it wasn't yet enough to cause any of them any real nausea. Not like when the patrol had passed by.

Leon's jaw clenched. "Looks like we're going up."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
The hallway was dank, the smell nearly overpowering. Khari had mentioned the feeling of nearby red lyrium as well, though Leon himself couldn't feel anything, as was usually the case for him. It was quiet, too, nothing to fill the space except the small rustles and scuffs of their movement. At least not until they'd been walking for a couple of minutes.

He stilled then, holding up a hand so the others behind him would know to do the same. Cocking his head, Leon furrowed his brows and strained to listen. He could hear... someone groaning. Softly; pained. The kind of sound that was threaded through labored breathing, an unintended expression of agony. Someone was dying.

Leon started forward again, a little faster this time. The hall up ahead ended, splitting off to the right and to the left. The dying person—and the worst of the smell—were both to the left, so he went that way, rounding the corner in front of the others. The turn put them into a cell block, perhaps once fully occupied, but now more mausoleum or mass grave than anything.

Resisting the nearly-overpowering urge to raise his hand to his nose, Leon steadily moved forward, peering into the first cell on the right. The dim light made it hard to see much, but there was a torch in this room, at least, throwing wan light and deep shadows over the haphazard pile of corpses on the cell's floor. They were in varying states of decay, from ones that looked almost fresh to others that must have been present for weeks, shriveled and darkening. Someone clearly did not care if the prisoners died from disease... or didn't expect them to last long enough for it to be a problem.

There was another soft sound, pulling his attention away from the bodies towards a cell closer to the end of the block. Leon padded over, passing cells both occupied and empty, but seemingly none with living people inside. The source of the noise was a woman, propped against a corner in the cage closest to the stairs, legs sprawled in front of her. Her breaths were ragged and irregular, her eyes closed over in such a way that he couldn't be sure if she were awake or asleep. Her skin was a waxy, pallid white yellowed by torchlight, the veins underneath it bruise-dark. The sickly contrast spiderwebbed over her visible flesh.

"Can someone get us in there?" Leon cast around for a key, but no such thing was visible. He doubted there would even be much to do for the poor woman, but... worst-case scenario, she was still their best clue as to what was happening here and what lay ahead. There was a lock built into the cell door, sturdy enough that it wouldn't break from percussive force alone.

Romulus had not resisted the urge to cover his nose, doing so with the cloth mask he'd had draped around his neck, which he used to conceal the lower half of his face and protect against some of the stench. He nodded wordlessly to Leon's request, being the obvious candidate for quietly getting through doors in the group. Pulling off his targe shield, he kneeled before the lock and got to work with lockpicks drawn from his bracer.

SĂ©verine kept watch from the rear, her shield covering their back, sword held loosely but ready. If it were possible, she actually looked more comfortable here than she had in the tightly enclosed room, but it wasn't as though she was enjoying herself. Just masking it about as well as Romulus's facial concealment was able to.

A click signaled the defeat of the lock at the Inquisitor's hands, and he stood, picking his shield back up from where he'd propped it against the cell bars, and pulling the door open to allow Leon to enter. His eyes wandered to the bodies in the cell he'd opened, lingering for a moment and giving him a troubled expression. He pondered for a moment before speaking, perhaps wondering if it was prudent.

"They've been vivisected," he said finally. "Experimented on or studied by being cut open while still alive." He didn't have to add that such a thing was a particularly gruesome fate.

Now closer, Leon was able to see that he was quite right—the bodies bore evidence of regular incisions; he recognized some of the cuts from books on field surgery and Mortalitasi practices. He didn't linger long, however, instead making his way to the woman. He didn't recognize her, and he didn't know if that was a relief or a shame. Crouching beside her, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, attempting to either get her attention or stir her awake.

Her expression shifted; she took in a heavier breath through her teeth, hissing with some pain he could not see. Her eyes snapped open, and Leon pulled in a sharp breath of his own. They were dull, glowing red. It took her longer than it should have to focus them. She blinked several times before she recognized there was a face in front of her, and Leon stilled her attempt to move by tightening his grip just fractionally. "Easy," he said softly.

"You're not—" The woman's voice was raw and raspy, trailing off into a weak cough. A fine mist spattered the cloak over his chest; Leon grimaced.

"We're here to help you," he added, though at this point it was obvious there was no chance for that. Not in her case specifically, at least.

She seemed to know that, too. "Gia," she rasped. "I am—I was a Seeker, in Nevarra. Lucius—" A shuddering cough interrupted her words. Leon grimaced; all he had on his belt was whiskey, and that would hurt much more than it would help. He glanced back up to find that Ophelia was already holding her waterskin out towards him.

Gia had significant difficulty drinking even with help, more of it ran down her chin than her throat, without a doubt. But she shook her head after, and he withdrew it, handing it back over his shoulder to his teacher. "He gathered us," she continued. "Brought us here, told us we were mustering to move against a threat. He made us take... red lyrium."

"They didn't die from being cut," Ophelia put in. "But there's no crystals on them."

Gia dipped her chin once before her head fell back against the wall behind her. "I think... he was surprised when nothing happened. He brought in these people. Tevinters, in robes. They... they did the cutting, increased the doses. It's... it's poison, if you take enough."

As was just about anything. Leon swallowed thickly. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Is the Lord Seeker still here?"

"I think so." Gia's breaths were coming harder now, more gasps or pants than anything; it was taxing whatever reserves of energy she had left just to speak. She managed to find Leon's eyes, though; he felt distinctly like he was being looked into, though perhaps that was only the color. "Please... kill him. For what he's done. He's mad, and he's destroyed—" Another cough. "Everything I ever cared about. Kill him."

"We will." Leon wasn't honestly sure that was true. If the Lord Seeker had left, there might be no opportunity. Even if he was here, there were no guarantees. But it was what she needed to hear, and so he said it.

Gia relaxed a little. "Good. And... if you could, would you...?"

Leon did not need to ask what she meant. He turned around, eyes landing on Khari first. "Can I borrow your knife?" It would be less painful than the way he'd do it with his hands, at least.

Khari had clearly been engrossed in Gia's story, and had to tear herself from the grip of horrified fascination in order to answer him properly. Physically shaking herself she gathered her wherewithal. “Oh. Uh. Right, sure." She reached down to her belt and slid the curved knife carefully from the sheath at her hip, walking her fingers down the length until she was holding the blade, handing it towards him hilt-first. “There's really not... anything else we can do?" Her eyes fell to Gia, mouth thinning. She clearly knew. That didn't make it easy to accept.

So Leon said what he supposed she needed to hear as well. "There isn't." Quiet, but certain. He took hold of the knife with a grateful nod, turning back around to the younger Seeker. "It will only hurt for a moment."

Gia dredged up a wry smile. "You don't know that, but I'm about to find out." She pulled in a deep breath, and relaxed the rest of the way back against the wall. "Do it."

With a nod, Leon moved. Quick and decisive, he slid the knife across the major artery in her throat. Blood welled thickly from the wound—she was dead in seconds. Thinning his lips, Leon wiped the blade off on the edge of his cloak and stood, handing it back to Khari. "It seems there are Venatori here as well as Red Templars. We need to disrupt whatever research they're doing, and destroy whatever records they have of it." However mad Lucius might be now, he wasn't the kind to torture people this way merely for the pleasure of it. The way Gia had spoken of it made the efforts sound calculated, experimental, and therefore probably to some important end that Corypheus wanted or needed to know about. Nothing good could come of leaving that knowledge in these hands.

"They've probably converted most of the rooms above, but the biggest one is the main dining hall. I think we're best off starting there." They all had a rough idea of the layout, too, from his own map. There was little point in trying to decide anything now, when the plan could change thirty seconds in the future depending on what they found.

SĂ©verine took point, leading the way with shield. Romulus paused only to give Khari a brief squeeze on the shoulder, but it was obvious that he was of the same mind Leon was. Death was the kindest thing they could give to the woman. Assuming a spot in the middle of their line formation, Romulus drew his blade again.

They moved slowly and quietly, finding a nearby set of stairs that took them up to the next floor. They slowed even further here, as they could hear the ominous sounds of others moving about above them, almost certainly Red Templars judging by the weight behind the noises. SĂ©verine took measured steps up, checking the way forward carefully as they arrived in another hallway, clear for the moment to at least escape the stairs and gain level footing.

Unfortunately, their luck did not hold. Though the hallway they emerged into was clear, a trio of reds turned a corner at the end, putting them face-to-face with the Inquisition, only about fifteen feet of space separating them. That wasn't going to last, either: the templar in the lead immediately hurled himself forward. He was one of the larger and bulkier knights, crystallized protrusions of lyrium giving ridges to his arms and spine. One had even erupted from his forehead, slightly off-center and jagged. The two behind him were both shadows, and they charged in at his flanks. The hallways was just large enough to accommodate all three of them across, meaning that there was no way all five of Leon's party would be able to meet them at once.

He certainly intended to, however, and stepped forward to be beside SĂ©verine; Ophelia moved up next to him on the other side, leaving Romulus and Khari to watch the rear. No doubt the noise would draw others in short order anyway. Leon took a few strides out to absorb the knight's dash, successfully stepping around him and using his own momentum to trip him, taking the both of them to the ground, where the templar's sword would be of much less use. One of the shadows drew up short at that, aiming the long protrusion on its left arm for his face.

SĂ©verine intercepted the strike with her shield, following up with a swift thrust of the short sword into a gap on the templar's side. He growled in discomfort more than overwhelming pain, but all the same SĂ©verine strongarmed him into the wall, where they proceeded to struggle for positioning. With Ophelia engaging the other, and Leon locked in a deadly engagement in the center, a sort of battle line had formed that it was difficult for either Romulus or Khari to contribute to without risking a hit on their allies.

"Quick, over the top," the Inquisitor suggested, sheathing his blade and briefly putting his back to the fight so he could present Khari with a foothold she could use. Obviously he meant to help throw the elf over the trio of fights, so she could tip one or more quickly in their favor by attacking from behind.

She didn't waste the opportunity, backing up quickly a few paces to get a running start, stepping up into the foothold he'd made with his hands. With Romulus's assistance, she sailed over the heads of all three Red Templars, one of the shadows only narrowly missing her when it tried to stab upwards with an arm blade.

By the time Khari had landed on the other side, her knife was in her hand, and it didn't take her more than half a second to decide where to put it, lunging for where Leon and his opponent were tangled on the floor and driving the blade up under the knight's helm. There was a dull scraping sound, no doubt where the knife encountered lyrium, but it was both long and sharp enough to do the job anyway. Even a red couldn't function with a dagger in the brain. She pulled it out again and backed up a step, giving him space to move while she assessed her new options.

Back on his feet, Leon gestured for Khari to help SĂ©verine, and himself moved to where Ophelia was hammering away at the other shadow with armored fists, striking mostly for the softer parts of its body. If the impact sounds were anything to go by, she'd nearly completely caved in his ribs, but of course what would completely incapacitate most people only inconvenienced a Red Templar. Drawing back, Ophelia kicked upwards, striking the shadow's helm. He staggered; Leon stepped in and grabbed him from behind, fitting his arms under the templar's armpits and pulling him back against his chest. There wasn't a lot he could do from this lock position, but there was plenty Ophelia could.

Stepping forward, she tore the shadow's helmet off, exposing a face half-caked with red lyrium crystals, then took his head in both hands, wrenching sideways. He struggled, kicking back ineffectually against Leon. Their strength was formidable, but they were no more skilled than they had been before, and it was positioning that sealed his fate. His neck snapped, and he went limp in the Seeker's arms.

Meanwhile SĂ©verine had maintained enough awareness of the fight to know that she had help to her side, and twisted the shadow in her grip in that direction as an attempted stab glanced off her armor. The templar was served up for an easy stab in the back by Khari, and SĂ©verine plunged her short sword down into him at the neck, sinking it in nearly up to the hilt. She twisted, and with a choked cough the shadow stilled. The two women pulled their weapons free, and SĂ©verine pushed the templar over onto his back.

She pulled up, looking expectantly down the hall but finding nothing. "That was too loud," she said. "I thought more would come for sure."

"As did I." Leon felt himself beginning to scowl. He wondered if all of this hadn't been a little too easy, from the unguarded tunnel to the unwatched prison to the utter lack of reinforcements now that they had definitely been found. "I'm beginning to believe we're expected."

Ophelia's expression was hard. "You think this was a trap. That he let it slip where he was in hopes of luring us here."

He shrugged. "In his position, it's what I'd do. Now I'm almost sure he's in the main hall. And I doubt we're getting out of here without confronting him."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
A trap, huh?

Khari glanced between the others, registering the looks on their faces and concluding that it was probably going to be difficult to survive springing it. Not that they had much choice, anymore. Lucius had to know they were here, and he wasn't just going to let them go without pushing them into it. Sheathing her knife, she went for the greatsword on her back instead, shrugging her shoulders. “Okay. I mean, it's gonna be hard, but we knew that already. Might as well just go do it."

Hell, maybe if they could just kill Lucius, that would be enough to at least give them a chance against the rest. One thing she'd learned during her time with the Inquisition was that leaders, whether they were the best fighters or not, were absolutely necessary. Even big, scary powerful forces tended to fall to pieces if they went down. They'd probably only won at Adamant because they'd managed to fuck with the way the hierarchy went among the Wardens there. Corypheus knew it, too, considering all the trouble he'd gone to in his attempt to take out the leaders in Orlais.

Not that she was overly eager to follow Darkspawn logic, but strategy was strategy, and they knew what theirs had to be. All they had to do now was give it their best shot. And she had faith that it'd be good enough. It always was.

No one seemed that inclined to linger, anyway, but Leon looked a bit in his own head. He was holding a glass vial in his hand, she saw, his thumb brushing over the cork in it repeatedly, like he was trying to decide whether to open it or not. Khari wasn't sure what that was about, but he wouldn't waste the time if it wasn't important, so she shifted to take her turn at point, figuring that'd give him the rest of the walk to decide.

Navigating was just a matter of remembering what was where, and she'd studied the map for long enough to know how to point them at their destination. They didn't encounter any resistance on the way, not even another patrol, making it more likely that it really was a trap. They didn't pass any exits—those were further to the front of the building. They'd probably be heavily-guarded, to keep the party from getting out. Didn't really matter much anyway, as far as she was concerned.

The Lord Seeker needed to answer for what he'd done. Khari didn't pretend she knew what was right all the time, but she knew that much.

As it turned out, the main hall's door was already cracked open. Only an ominous silence greeted them at this point, and she couldn't see anything through the crack—it was too dark for that. Pausing, she turned back over her shoulder, shifting her grip on her sword to level it out in front of her. “Ready?"

SĂ©verine had sheathed the short sword in favor of her flail, no doubt expecting there to be more room to swing in the main hall. For the moment she held the chain against the handle, both to reduce noise and to prevent accidentally touching anyone with the spiked metal ball on the end of it. "Let's have it done," she said, her expression conveying more anger than nervousness.

Rom nodded as well, and didn't feel the need to voice anything. He'd pulled his mask down, eyes locked at the space where the door was cracked open. He looked a little more tentative than usual, but he'd never backed down from a fight when there was one in front of him. She hadn't seen him take anything today, before or during the mission, so perhaps that was it. This fight was going to be all him, no unfair advantages applied.

Leon used the moment's pause to down the contents of the glass vial, shaking his head a little at the taste of it and replacing the empty vessel at his belt. Ophelia cracked her neck both ways, then nodded.

Jaw set, Leon stepped in front of Khari and pushed the door open.

It swung back smoothly on its hinges, but the motion was clearly a trigger for some kind of mechanism, because all at once, magelight torches lit on either side of the room, brightly enough that Leon's step hitched. He nearly reeled back, but then the sound of a low whistle cutting through the air reached them and he reacted to it seemingly on pure instinct, snatching the arrow out of the air with his right hand. It snapped in his hand, and he actually growled, the sound echoing softly in his helmet. Throwing it aside the remains, he burst forward, making a direct line for the most impressively-armored man in the room.

That man—surely the Lord Seeker—wasn't wearing a helm, but was otherwise in well-wrought full plate, a halberd resting easily in one hand. Arrayed about the hall in organized columns were Venatori and Red Templars both. Any remaining doubt that this was an organized trap was dashed. The mages volleyed various elemental attacks at the charging Seeker, but by either luck or reflex, he bypassed them all, still barreling forward.

The numbers were bad: there were at least twenty reds here, and ten more Venatori, a few of them wearing the white robes of the most elite mages under Marcus's command. They wasted no time in moving to engage the Inquisition, either.

So Khari didn't waste time going to them. Even she registered a bit of trepidation at the sheer number of opponents to be had here, but even that disappeared when she took a deep breath and let the Haze come over her, sinking into the part of herself that was—would always be—hurt and furious and violent. The details around her seemed to sharpen in her vision, in her hearing. The haptic feedback from her body swallowed more deliberate thinking, sharpening her natural instincts. Those in turn drove her forward, the fight-or-flight dilemma resolved in the same way she always resolved it.

Sensation, raw and visceral, hummed beneath her skin when she swung for the first Red Templar to come within range. A shadow who'd gone in for a flank and found her more mobile than expected. Her sword shrieked where it scraped against the crystalline arm-blades on the other woman's body. The dizzy-sick feeling of being so close to the lyrium didn't even register. Not anymore. Khari's lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent snarl; she pushed forward, breaking the lock with a hard step in and changing her angle.

Her blade found the weak spot just under the templar's chestplate, slipping in and bursting out the other side. But these were not so easily put down as any ordinary foe, and she anticipated that, twisting the sword with both her hands and then kicking the woman off the end of it, chopping into the sliver of skin between her gorget and her helmet when she staggered backwards from the blow. She dropped.

A mace caught her across the back of her chainmail, knocking the wind from her and throwing her to the ground. Khari rolled, blindly choosing to angle to the left, just in time to avoid the follow-up, which slammed into the stone floor where she'd just been. Finding her feet, she whirled, putting her back to the wall and dismissing the pain ricocheting up her spine as irrelevant. All pain was irrelevant. Nothing mattered as much as bringing the next one down.

She lunged.

SĂ©verine took on several enemies at once on one of Khari's sides, helping her avoid being surrounded for the moment. The templar's flail swung about in wide arcs, forcing all in front of her to think twice about rushing in. Each time it connected a small burst of red lyrium shards flew through the air, and she was quick to get her weapon moving again, constantly moving. The hits weren't lethal immediately, but all inflicted damage on the fallen templars. The first to die to her weapon was a Venatori whose helm proved insufficient against the spiked ball. The flail crunched through his skull, momentarily getting stuck as a red flood poured out. SĂ©verine had to plant a boot to his chest to free her weapon again.

It was a moment longer than she had at her disposal, and a barehanded knight took advantage on her unshielded side. His lyrium-hardened punch found her ribs on the right side, denting her scale mail and sending her stumbling unfortunately right into Khari mid-swing, with enough force to upset both of their balances. The knight pressed in, a hand grappling around her throat while the other tried to secure her wrist.

After a moment of fruitless struggle, she was relieved when Rom hurled himself onto the knight's back as best he could, his blade already dripping with blood. It was his marked hand he struck with, however, managing to get a hold on the knight's shoulder and unleashing a powerful blast that swallowed that lyrium encrusted upper arm, bursting the rest in a shower of red. Rom lost his grip immediately after, falling to the ground. He was forced to roll away from a downward stab of a less-corrupted Red Templar, who he dealt with quickly, finding an opening and driving his blade up into her throat. SĂ©verine discarded the knight that had grabbed her, and threw herself back into the fray.

Up ahead, Leon had at last reached the Lord Seeker, who was doing his apparent best to keep him at bay with the halberd, which gave him a significant reach advantage. The fact that there were two extremely large Red Templar knights at either side of him was no doubt helping with that, though like Khari, Leon seemed to be unconcerned with pain right now, if he even felt it. Knocking aside a heavy two-handed blow from one of the knights, Leon intercepted a downward swing of the halberd, catching the blade in his hand and using it to pull Lucius forward. He was heedless of the crimson spatter that dropped to the stone, evidence that the blade had cut into the thinner protection offered by the inside of his gauntlets.

Lucius lurched, and Leon had time to get in one powerful blow to the Lord Seeker's face, crunching his nose in with a low crack audible even to Khari. But any chance of a more fatal follow-up was precluded by the intervention of another knight, who drove a spear for Leon, forcing him to take a step back, lest his chainmail fail against the enhanced strength given by corrupt lyrium.

Lucius's face twisted. "Ugh, barbaric. I had almost managed to forget you were Ophelia's brat." He didn't dwell on the injury, though, not even as it gushed blood down his lips and chin. Instead, he firmed his grip on his halberd and swung again.

Ophelia herself had torn into the sole cluster of archers, including the one who fired the first arrow. He was unmoving on the floor, but there were plenty of others, and no few of them had drawn blades now that she was so close. Her ferocity was more contained than Leon's or Khari's: she placed her blows for maximum effect, every time. Already she'd felled three, but four more were surrounding her, and she clearly knew it, launching herself at one and physically bowling the smaller woman over to get clear of the knot. The moment any of them was truly surrounded would quite possibly be their last one.

Khari had found herself in a similar predicament, her mobility hampered by the fact that she didn't have much room to make use of it. She'd been separated from SĂ©verine by several yards as the fight wore on, and enemies had filled the gap. Between the suppressing fire some of the Venatori had shifted to using and the three Red Templars she was currently trying to handle, she'd seen better positioning, to say the least. That fact registered only dully, however, and she parried the next incoming blow, then swung around to sidestep the next. The third swept her feet out from under her with his poleaxe, and she went to the ground.

She attempted to roll away, but didn't make it too far before a heavy boot landed on her shoulder, hard enough that she'd definitely have a bruise if she survived this. The spearhead that followed was less merciful, punching through her chainmail into her belly. She shouted, a harsh yell as much fury as pain—more. One-handed, she swung her sword in a mighty arc, catching the templar's throat with the tip of the blade more by luck than anything. Clearly, they were not used to fighting those who could function in pain almost as well as they could.

Her wound pulled as she regained her feet, ducking under another swing of the poleax and stepping in, driving her pommel up into that one's chin. She could sense the other coming in behind her and dropped back to the floor—his blade ran through his ally instead of her, and Khari drew the knife from her hip, stabbing it viciously into the back of his knee, where both armor and crystals were less protection. He didn't react overmuch, but she'd clearly severed something important, because the leg collapsed underneath him, leaving him to try and rebalance. He didn't get the chance—still on the floor, she drove her sword up into his lower back, severing the flexible cord part of his spine. A chunk of crystal fell away when she pulled the sword back out.

She was slower to rise this time. Slow enough, in fact, that a Venatori's well-aimed ice spell caught her left leg, sealing it to the floor. Two more followed, until she was encased in ice from her foot to her hip on that side. The mage, one of the white-robes, readied what seemed to be a much larger spell, from the way it crackled and hissed at her fingertips.

A short crossbow bolt found the mage's side, lodging between her ribs. Rom had loosed it, and rushed the mage leading with his shield. Rather than unleash the charged lightning spell at the temporarily rooted Khari, she turned it on Rom to protect herself, unloading a torrent of disorganized lightning out in front of her. The spell was wide enough to catch several Red Templars caught in its path, but Rom was in the center of it, and received it in full.

Khari had seen Rom shrug off worse spells like they were mere annoyances, but this one stopped him in his tracks, and when the blinding light faded, the Inquisitor was shaking violently on the spot, barely able to remain upright. A knife-armed Red Templar took advantage, plunging the blade into his lower back, likely only missing the spine because it was a moving target. He withdrew the knife as quick as it went in, flipping it into a backhand grip to plunge it in somewhere much higher, but Rom managed to turn and catch his wrists. He was driven back to a wall, and there the two grappled for a moment, until Rom, smoking skin and all, headbutted the Red Templar to stun him. Gaining control of the man's hands, he pushed them down hard, plunging the dagger into the man's own abdomen. A swift knee up into his head was enough to knock him flat on his back, and knock him out cold while he bled.

In the meantime SĂ©verine had rushed in on the mage. Her shield glowed with a white light, one that was expelled forcefully when she bashed it across the mage's head, her templar ability purging the remaining mana from the Venatori woman. She dropped to her knees, unable to rise, and SĂ©verine brought her flail around in a long arc, uppercutting and wrenching the mage's head back grotesquely. She tipped over and did not rise.

Several enemies closed around her at once after that from multiple sides, too many to deal with at once. Her flail drove back one, her shield blocked another, but an arrow of all things slipped through two of them and punctured into her abdomen. The hit came just before a shadow rushed in with a low feint followed by a downward slash from the other blade protruding from his arm. It caught SĂ©verine across her unprotected face, opening a bloody line from her forehead above the right eye, across the bridge of her nose and down to her left cheek. She stumbled back, reeling under the blows that followed on her shield and struggling to get a breath with an arrow lodged in her.

By this point, Leon was bloodied, but he'd successfully felled the original two knights with the Lord Seeker. Of course, more had diverted from their positions elsewhere, along with several of the Venatori that had been supporting their allies from the edges of the fight. A fireball struck Leon square in the back; he roared and lunged for the offending mage, closing his hand around her throat and squeezing. Something popped, and he dropped her, leaving a bloody smear where his hand had been and whirling to face the red closest to him.

The shadow attempted to stab him, its lyrium blade tearing a gash in Leon's chainmail like it was ordinary leather, but the commander twisted, avoiding the worst of the blow and taking the appendage in both hands. The eyes showing through the gaps in his helmet were as much red as violet, though the hue was not the same luminescent crimson as that belonging to the templars. It was closer to scarlet, a touch of orange or gold or something else in it—whatever it was, it had to be the effects of that potion he'd taken before the fight. He gripped the lyrium arm and used it to swing the shadow, picking him up bodily and hurling him the few feet necessary to slam into a pair of Venatori. All three crashed to the ground in a heap; one of the mages was unlucky enough to be impaled on a red lyrium crystal protruding from the shadow's armor.

Another knight moved in behind him, jumping up onto Leon's back and wrenching his helmet off. It clanged against the stone where it hit the ground. Leon heaved, throwing the knight over his shoulder with great effort, bringing his boot down against the gap in the templar's helm where his face was. The knight fell still; whether he was unconscious or dead was hard to tell.

Lucius took the opportunity to slash at Leon's exposed face, splitting open his nose and cheek on the left side, down to the bone. He snarled, teeth bloody, and followed the halberd's retreat, taking hold of it beneath the blade with both hands and pulling. Lucius lost his grip, and Leon tossed the weapon away like a useless trinket. Blood ran freely over his armor, patches of it darkening his plain cloak. How much of it was his as opposed to someone else's was impossible to say, but his strength seemed only to grow with it in either case. Lucius took a step backwards, and another two reds converged upon Leon, who grabbed for the first and caught her by the shoulder, wrenching her head to the side to expose pallid skin, dark veins of corrupted lyrium splayed out beneath the nearly-translucent surface.

Rather than break her neck efficiently, as he'd done dozens of times before, Leon leaned down and bit her, tearing savagely into the flesh of her throat. She screamed—apparently some things were painful enough for even a Red Templar to feel pain. Or perhaps it was fear, instead. Either way, it didn't last long before she was limp, and Leon threw her down like chattel.

Abruptly, he staggered; the other Red Templar's longsword erupted from the center of his chest, coated in bright red blood. The shield on the templar's other arm lashed forward, catching him in the back of his head, and Leon fell to the floor, unmoving.

Ophelia lowered her shoulder into the templar responsible, carrying him away from his opportunity for any final blows, and shouted over the din. "We need to leave, now!"

That was probably true, but first—Khari had only two things she wanted to do. And since she was temporarily free of assailants, she was damn well going to do both.

The Lord Seeker was dangerous even when disarmed, something he proved when he dodged her first swing entirely, drawing a sidearm from his hip and slashing for her exposed face. She leaned back out of the way of it and retaliated, sweeping low for his legs and stepping in when he hopped backwards in enough time to avoid it. Her aggression and his current lack of protection backed him up against the wall quickly, and though he managed to land a slash just under her jawline, the long fight with Leon had clearly worn him down, and without a Red Templar's endurance, he could not hold her off forever.

The edge of her sword found his chin, and she drove it up and back, striking the wall behind him with the tip before she wrenched it back out. Once that was done, she hurried back to Leon, where a predicament presented itself. She couldn't carry him with her sword strapped over her back, nor would one arm be sufficient, especially not in her injured state. Grimly, she tossed the blade aside, kneeling to situate him over her shoulder as well as she could. He was heavy, probably moreso than anything she'd managed to lift in training yet, and his height made it even more awkward. Still, she did her best to distribute his weight the way Mick had taught her—evenly across her shoulders.

Her wound damn near screamed at her when she tried to stand; she pulled a breath in through clenched teeth and returned to her knees. Maybe it would work if she were already standing, but there was no way she could get there on her own.

"On your feet!" Rom shouted from behind her. Before she could make the attempt his arms were looped under hers. "Now." He lifted with her, and the two sets of legs proved sufficient to get Khari's feet under her, stable enough to carry Leon, though the progress would be slow.

Rom came around in front of her, intercepting a Red Templar on the way. He blocked a downward strike with his shield, plunging his blade multiple times into the enemy's abdomen until the wounds were big enough for some of the man's innards to spill partway out. He shoved him off and turned to look at Khari, spattered head to toe with blood, and almost no way to tell how much of it was his. He gestured for her to get moving, and continued guarding the way forward for her. Somewhere behind her the clashes of metal and lyrium on shield and armor continued, as SĂ©verine watched her back. A pained grunt escaped her when she took another hit, but Khari didn't hear the sound of her falling, and that was all that really mattered at this point.

Ophelia led the way out, directing them no doubt more from her mental map of the place than anything. As Khari had predicted, the Templars and Venatori both were considerably less organized without their leader, and though the reds still seemed willing to engage, the Venatori were much more inclined to retreat and not face potential death. The lyrium warriors must have heeded their commands, at least in part, for those they met on the way out were few in number, and almost never in groups of more than two. The three in front of her were able to handle them without Khari's help.

Leon's teacher paused in front of one door, eyes narrowing. "Get him out," she said gesturing further down the same hall. "I'll take care of the research. Don't wait up—I can find my own way back, and you need a healer." Without pausing to allow argument, she opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

The rest of the path out was straightforward, and though they were slow, their progress was steady. By the time they were loaded up onto their horses and a few miles out, they could see a plume of smoke rising from Kasos, orange tongues of fire lighting up the windows.

Though they traveled through the night, Leon did not stir.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari set her chin atop the stack of books she carried, shuffling up the stairs onto the battlements in a way that was admittedly less-than-graceful. It wasn't so much that the tomes were too heavy—she'd been consistent and ambitious enough in her exercise and training that she didn't often run into that issue anymore. Rather, they were just awkward to carry, piled on top of one another and also taking some pretty steep stone stairs.

But she could handle it, brushing off the offer from assistance one of the guards on the wall started before he could properly finish it, hitting the last stair with a sigh of relief and striking off towards Leon's office. It was actually kind of hot today, which happened even in Skyhold, at least smack in the middle of summer like this. She didn't envy the patrolmen their heavy armor in the heat, and had kept her own attire to a sleeveless tunic and the loosest pair of trousers she had. Hell, even her shoes were the kind that left her heels and toes uncovered. Kind of elfy, for her, but practicality won out on a day like today every time.

She didn't bother to knock when she got to the office, in part because that would have probably involved dropping all the books. The door was cracked, probably a concession to the temperature, and she shouldered it open. “Sorry I'm late, Leon." she said, moving immediately to the table where he usually had her do strategy exercises and dropping the books with a heavy thud. “Chess match with Cy ran late. He's getting a lot better. Almost had me this time." Khari could never quite get over the little bit of glee she felt at being able to regularly hand an actual genius his ass at a game for smart people.

She exhaled at being relieved of her burden, rolling her shoulders and shaking her arms out. After a bit of contemplation, she took hold of her long, haphazard ponytail and curled it around itself several times until all of it was off her neck, shifting a couple pins around on her head to make it stay there. Even the office was hot, but at least this way the sweat beading on the back of her neck might actually help cool her down instead of making her feel like she was slowly melting.

Leon didn't seem to be handling the heat any better than she was; probably in part because he was still wearing full sleeves for some reason. He never seemed to want to expose much of his skin, even when it would make sense to do it, and today wasn't an exception, clearly. He glanced up from his work when she entered, smiling with what seemed to be a slight edge of strain, but he refrained from speaking until she'd settled a bit.

"It's not a problem," he said mildly. "I was trying to catch up on some of the things I fell behind on while we were at Kasos anyway." And the week he'd spent in the infirmary after, no doubt. "Are you done reading those already? You really can't do anything halfway, can you?" He sounded vaguely impressed, or maybe just bewildered.

The latter was a reaction she was pretty used to. Khari grinned at him, then nodded once. “You bet. I read the history of the first Blight one twice, too." She was pretty proud of herself, actually, though it wasn't like it had been hard. The account had been gripping, narrated firsthand from one of the first Grey Wardens. Probably ever, since it was the first Blight and all. She had no idea where Leon got all these rare books from, though being a Seeker no doubt had something to do with it. It occurred to Khari, not for the first time, that by the time he was done with her, she'd probably have one of the best strategic and tactical educations of anyone in Thedas, for the books alone. Never mind how good he was at explaining things to her.

There was something a little bit humbling about that. A lot humbling, really. She took her customary seat at the table, pulling the quill and inkwell on it a little closer to herself. She wasn't sure if she'd be drawing maps, plotting assaults, or what today, but she was looking forward to it.

Leon tilted his head at her, leaning forward a bit in his seat to brace himself against his desk on his forearms. "All right, so tell me: how did the Grey Wardens first start? What's the tactically relevant information about their capabilities during the first Blight?"

Khari pursed her lips, but it didn't take her long to come up with the answer. Tactically relevant meant cutting out all the unnecessary stuff and providing as much detail as she could about the who, when, and where. Also how. Especially how. “Minus three hundred five Ancient." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “They were all veterans; they all knew what fighting darkspawn was like already, so they didn't have to waste any time training new people, and they discarded all the previous alliances they had, so they could move when and how they wanted, without having to answer to anyone else. That gave them mobility, tactical fluidity, and experience all at the same time."

Not so unlike the Inquisition, in that sense—or at least the Irregulars. Except not all of them had been particularly experienced beforehand. “Their first leader was Carinus, or so the stories say. Some scholars debate his existence at all, but the ones who acknowledge him say he was already a leader before, and was convinced of the danger of the darkspawn, and the connection between them and the Blight itself. They put themselves to getting information first, and from everywhere. Tevinter blood mages, elven slaves... everywhere. That helped them figure out the Joining, which was and is their biggest advantage over the 'spawn."

Her brows knit. “Actually, we're a lot like them, I think. They had the Joining, we have the marks. And the people to help us figure out the use we can best put them to, and the independence. Probably some of the governments at the time didn't like them much, either, but the book never said anything about that."

Leon smiled, clearly pleased. "The analogy had occurred to me as well," he admitted, "though perhaps it is best not made too frequently. We might be thought of as putting on airs were we to dare it publicly." The Wardens of the first Blight at least were considered unequivocal heroes, and that had been and still was the attitude of many towards their current incarnation, the events at Adamant notwithstanding. "We'd best take care to emulate only part of their history, however." Leon seemed to be thinking along that line, anyway.

He took a deep breath then, pausing before he exhaled it softly. "In any case, well done. I've got a few more for you to read, and perhaps some planning exercises as well, but... first I'd like to tell you something, if you don't mind." Leon's face wore an expression that was hard to place, as if it had been caught somewhere between melancholy and... something else. Acceptance, maybe, or thoughtfulness.

Khari might be pretty socially oblivious on the best of days, but even she knew this had to be something important. She stiffened almost by reflex, but then forced herself to relax, blinking large green eyes over at Leon. She didn't like the look on his face—hated it, in fact. He might be a pretty serious guy on the average day, maybe, but she knew all about the dry-bone sense of humor under it, and the fact that she couldn't sense it now bothered her. He shouldn't have any reason to look so fucking sad.

But even she had a feeling she wasn't going to get what she wanted on this one. “Is it about what happened at Kasos, before that guy stabbed you?" Khari had seen a lot of battlefield ferocity. Hell, she was probably one of the worst offenders she'd ever met when it came to sheer carnage. That was what happened when keeping herself alive meant tapping into her anger and letting it loose. But Leon that day... he'd made everything she was capable of look like a skinny kid with a stick all over again. In more ways than one, and not all of them good.

He grimaced; his jaw tightened. "Yes," he replied softly. "And no." Looking indecisive for a moment, Leon stood, crossing to the table she was seated at and taking the chair directly across from her. The table was only about two feet wide, creating a sense of very little space, considering how much he towered even with his posture hunched, as it was now.

He looked down at his hands, presently ungloved. They had become so mottled with damage and scar tissue over time that his knuckles were white spiderwebbed over shiny pink, gradually receding into the parts of his hands that weren't quite so frequently destroyed. But even there, lines crisscrossed, slashes of paler tissue knotted subtly over his already-fair skin. There was a new one forming over his palm, where he'd stopped the Lord Seeker's halberd mid-swing. He usually wore at least thin leather to cover them, but not when it was just them. "I don't know why, but somehow it's much harder to tell you this than it has been to tell anyone else."

Khari wasn't really sure why either, but she didn't like where this was going. “Because I'm so awesome it's intimidating to talk to me?" The grin she stretched across her face wavered and disappeared quickly, unable to quite penetrate the cloud of discomfort settling over their little corner of the room. Instead, she thinned her lips, ducking her head to meet his eyes. It wasn't so hard, considering the height difference. “Hey Leon... whatever it is, you know you're still great, right? Nobody can change my mind about that—not even you. I'm a stubborn sonuvabitch once I've decided I like somebody."

He exhaled a soft huff at that, though it wasn't quite even, like his breath would have shaken if he'd released it more slowly. "I know you are," he replied, dipping his head but choosing not to break eye contact. "Maybe that's what I'm worried about." He didn't explain that, though, instead visibly gathering himself to get around to what he wanted to say. "I'm... I'm dying, Khari. And not slowly. This might be the last summer I get." His throat worked as he swallowed, but he fell silent, regarding her with a clear mix of expectancy and resignation.

It felt like all the air had left her lungs. Like all at once, everything that kept her moving and active and alive had just... stopped. Heartbeat, breathing, train of thought, everything. She didn't know how long it lasted, how long she just stared at him, searching for the joke or the trick or the caveat she somehow knew she wouldn't find. He wouldn't joke about something like that. It wasn't the kind of thing anyone should joke about.

So he was telling the truth.

That thought started her brain going again, and the rest of her along with it. Khari shook herself, swallowing back the lump that had risen in her throat. “You're—but—how? Why?" She wasn't sure that was coherent, but then she also wasn't sure she could manage coherent right now. This wasn't the kind of bad news that she could just take in her stride, because it wasn't the kind where the setback was temporary, or where a little more practice, or effort, or just time would help it work itself out. And she knew without having to ask that there wasn't a damn thing she could do. That didn't quite hurt the most, but maybe the second-most.

Leon dropped his eyes to the table again, running a finger along the edge of a diagram she'd drawn during her last lesson. He'd had her running mock scenarios on some of the Inquisition's previous battles. The image was of Haven the night Corypheus attacked. "Reaver tonic," he said. "Repeated doses. I can explain the alchemy to you if you want, but it's not important." He shook his head faintly. "You know, if I were more like you, I wouldn't have this problem. But all my strength, all my... capability. It's borrowed. Not my own. This is just the debt coming due." He sounded almost wry. Like he'd accepted that much. Perhaps he had—he'd surely known it was coming for quite some time.

"I'm going to last as long as I can. Maybe it'll be longer than I think. But this... it's not the kind of thing willpower or strength can resolve. My body is decaying. Healing magic won't stop it. I wish I could say something more optimistic, but my position demands realism."

Khari felt her lower lip tremble. Probably she should be angry. Angry at him for not telling her, angry that the world had treated him this way, that this was his lot. Angry at the inevitability of it and angry that he seemed to think he deserved it—that it was just the price he owed for being what he was. And she was, she thought, angry about all of that. She could feel it in her guts, a slow volcanic simmer. But more than that—worse than that—was the chill she felt, a little higher up in her chest, like someone had found a way to shoot an ice spell directly at her heart.

“You can't—you can't die." Her voice cracked, but she didn't care. “Who's gonna command the army? Or get out there and practice with the troops first thing in the morning? Or lead the charges from the front, or quiz me on all the books I read, or teach me how not to be a big idiot, or beat me at capture the flag or—" Her teeth clicked shut. She could say a million other things, about how other army commanders wouldn't have cared enough to look after a bunch of orphaned kittens or talked to an elf in the ranks like she deserved to be taken seriously, or stuttered hilariously when she told him how impressed she was with his conditioning. Mostly they were selfish things, though, and really they all came down to one basic point.

“You make me feel like it's gonna be okay, Leon. Like we've really got a chance, like what we do matters, and I don't—fuck." She couldn't even finish her sentences right. There was a hot sting at the back of her eyes; she could feel the pressure building behind her cheekbones.

Leon looked like he didn't know what to do with himself. Almost shellshocked, like someone as strong as he was had punched him square in the jaw. "I tried not to make any friends," he said, almost too low to hear. Reaching up, he dragged both hands down his face, letting them land heavily on the table again. His eyes weren't any drier than hers. "I did my best to set things up so that it would be simple, to keep them moving if it happened while I was here." He exhaled, the tremble in his breath obvious now. The faintest hint of a wry smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "But you really don't make it easy for people not to be your friend. Before I knew it, I had more than one, even."

He shook his head, hands closing into fists where they rested. "My whole life, I've managed to be more or less alone. Solitary. Willing to give up whatever was necessary to do my duty. And now, when I really can't let myself be otherwise, suddenly I—" He grimaced. "Suddenly I just want to live."

Khari gritted her teeth hard to stop whatever it was that fought to tear free of her. Probably a sob, or a hiccup, or something like that. Instead, she gripped the edge of the table, pulling herself up onto it and lunging forward, scattering papers and knocking over her neat stack of books. They didn't matter. What mattered a lot more was the fact that he was within hug range now, and that was what she did, leaning forward and throwing her arms around his neck. She didn't have anything to give him but this. No advice, no solution or cure or anything. Just this.

That was what scared her about having friends. About caring about people. Situations just like now—where someone she wanted to help was suffering and there was nothing at all she could do. He said he hadn't wanted to make friends, and she understood perfectly well why. Because this hurt a million times more than it would have if they'd never mattered to each other. He could have died content enough with what he'd done, and she wouldn't have had to watch it from such a near distance. Her fingers tightened in the roughspun fabric over his back, forehead resting against his shoulder. Even with her knees on the tabletop, he was so damn tall.

Leon went from stiff to slack underneath her, less relaxing than surrendering, like the whole thing was inevitable. Cautiously at first, he slid his thick arms around her middle, leaning his head a bit so his chin rested on her crown. When she remained where she was, he tightened his grip a little, a heavy breath gusting over her head. "When it happens, I—will you be there?"

She didn't want to think about it. Khari didn't want to plan what she would be doing on the day Leon died, because she didn't want to face the fact that he would. She didn't want to believe she'd have to wake up some morning and learn that it was the last day she'd get to spend with her friend. But it was worse than that, because Leon was something more than just her friend—a word that, on its own, she threw around too easily. He was a teacher and a mentor, but that wasn't quite right, either. She didn't have a word for what it was, and that frustrated her, too. All she knew was how important it was.

“If." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling two warm fat tears leak out of their corners. Khari couldn't bring herself to give a shit. If there was anything worth crying over, something like this was it. “If it happens, I'll—" She choked, then sobbed, unable to make it stop. “I'll tell you the stupidest fucking jokes, and give you the best fucking hug you've had in your whole fucking life, Leon. Whatever you want. Whatever—" She turned her face into his shoulder, unable to say anything else.

Something landed on her head, like the first raindrop on a cloudy day, but warmer. He shook in her grip, a strained chuckle and maybe something else bubbling partway up in his chest. "It'll be difficult to beat this one," he said, rubbing her back a little with one huge hand. "But I'll hold you to that."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
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There, in the heart of them, sang a Lady radiant
And clad in armor of bright steel.
She paused her song to look upon Shartan,
And said to him: "All souls who take up the sword
Against Tevinter are welcome here.
Rest, and tell us of your battles."
-Canticle of Shartan 9:23
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The Riptide was smooth under her feet as it glided into the harbor. Estella stood at the very prow of the boat, watching the familiar line of docks get closer. The boom-chain across the slave statues hadn't been used in a very long time, but it wasn't necessary to create a very real sense of foreboding. A lot about Kirkwall could do that—perhaps, in time, when things were more peaceful and there were resources for such projects, Sophia might have them removed. But even the darkness of the city's visible history couldn't stop the flutter of anticipation in the Lady Inquisitor's belly.

Kirkwall. The place her life had changed forever.

Maybe that was a little bit dramatic, but that didn't stop it from being true. She'd come here half-dead, lost and alone. Certain that there was nothing for her in the world any longer, and that even if there had been anything, she wouldn't have deserved it. Because of what she'd done. Who she was. But somehow... the people she'd met here had given her a place to belong, people to belong with. The best parts of life, held out freely for her at every juncture, in patient hands that were willing to wait for her to decide it was okay for her to accept them. They'd made something out of her. Out of... not out of nothing, though she'd have thought so once. But out of someone broken. The city of chains had set her free.

Someone called out behind her, no doubt giving some signal to help guide the boat into port. Estella turned away from the docks in front of her, knowing that her old barracks were a mere stone's throw away, if she made the right turns. The temptation to visit there first was overwhelming, but she knew she couldn't do that. Instead, she headed starboard as the ship drifted into place, stopped by its anchor in the water, and the crew lowered the gangplank to the dock.

Rather than any large, official-looking greeting party assembled on the dock, the group from the Inquisition was met by a pair of Kirkwall city guards a comfortable distance on either side of a beardless dwarf. He was a familiar sight to Estella, a little less stocky than some of his kind, with golden blonde hair swept back from his face and kept in a short ponytail. He was dressed in his usual style, a longcoat with rolled up sleeves, and a shirt opened up halfway down his hairy chest. As ever, his uniquely advanced crossbow was slung across his back, his most precious possession.

"Stardust," he greeted amicably. "You're looking well. I figured all that saving the world would've chewed you up, but here you are, still in one piece. It's good to see you." He turned his attention to the others of the shore party as they made their way off the boat. "Varric Tethras, at your service. Queenie sent me to walk you up to Hightown. You're a little early; we might even beat her back to the Keep."

"Varric!" Estella smiled brightly. She'd not have guessed that he'd be leading the welcoming party, so to speak, but neither was she all that surprised. He always seemed to have a ear against every door, so to speak, and if anyone knew what was going on in Kirkwall better than he did these days, she'd be surprised. "It's good to see you, too. We got a nice wind on the sea, I suppose."

She paused long enough for the others to descend. "I'm sure the introductions will repeat like they always do, but this is Khari, Leon, SĂ©verine, and Lady Marceline. I'll save the titles for when they're really necessary." They certainly weren't right now—though she had no doubt they'd soon be in much more official company. If they were being taken straight to Hightown, it seemed there was little time to waste. "Lead on."

"Right this way," he said with a slight flourish of his hand. "I hope you all like stairs." The guards assigned to him kept at a reasonable distance to allow the visitors to walk alongside Varric if they wanted.

The city had changed in a number of subtle ways since Estella had last been there. The streets were cleaner in both the figurative and literal senses, though it could just be that any suspicious figures had enough sense to get out of sight when an Inquisition party and city guards came up the street. There was no hiding, however, that the bustle and activity in the city was higher now than it ever had been a few years ago, in the aftermath of all the chaos the rift between mage and templar caused. It seemed in the quiet afforded by peace Kirkwall became what it was meant to be again. A port city with connections to Orlais, Ferelden, and the other Marcher states, a hub of trade.

Varric hadn't been kidding about the stairs, though of course Estella had no need of the warning. Kirkwall was a very vertical city, and still unable to escape the correlation between altitude and prosperity. That said, there was noticeable improvement to Lowtown as well once they entered it properly, and no few passerby greeted Varric as he led them onwards.

"I'll give anyone who wants one a full tour once Queenie's done with you, but for now..." He paused at a crossroads, at the base of a much more impressive set of stairs leading steeply upwards towards the pale stone walls surrounding Hightown. "This here's the top of Lowtown. Foundry district to the west, Alienage to the east, docks to the south the way we came, and markets everywhere you look. If you'll look behind you," he waited for anyone who chose to do so, "you'll see my pride and joy. Temporary hideout of Wardens and Viscountesses alike."

There was a touch of melancholy to go along with the pride of his last words there, for reasons Estella did not need to guess at. Behind them was Varric's beloved watering hole, The Hanged Man. It seemed it too had seen some renovations, though it remained to be seen if the quality of the drinks had improved at all.

"You'll have to stop by for a game of Wicked Grace before you leave. Can't say I've had much of a challenge since you left, Stardust."

Estella's smile grew; she almost laughed. "Can't say I really have either, Varric. You might have to take it easy on me; I haven't needed a good graceface in a while."

He grinned at her, and gestured for them to follow again. "Alright, up we go."

Lady Marceline took the stairs easily, gliding upwardly behind the dwarf. "If you do not mind me asking, Ser Varric," she began, taking in the view as she spoke. "But if the Viscountess is not currently at the Keep, then where might she be?" She asked. "I understand she is a rather active leader," Marceline added. She appeared to ask out of personal curiosity than any official sense, and waited for the answer with a raised brow.

Varric laughed a bit awkwardly. "None of this ser business is necessary, first off." He didn't seem offended by it at all, however. "No matter what titles Queenie wants to give me, I'm no noble. Not here, anyway. As for her whereabouts, she took her shiny new citizen-army out beyond the walls for some training exercises. Getting the commoners and nobility to run some drills side by side. We should catch them on their way back in."

Khari had mostly been listing slightly off to the side, untroubled by the number of stairs and using the opportunity to take in a place she'd never been before. At the mention of a citizen army and drills, however, her attention returned predictably enough to the group and the conversation. She clearly hadn't been tuning it out entirely. “A militia? Last I heard, Kirkwall had a city guard and some famous mercs, discounting the criminal guilds. Starting up an army's a pretty bold move for a midsized Marcher city." From her tone, it was clearly boldness she personally appreciated.

Varric took a brief moment to make another appraisal of Khari, deciding something. "I'd say Qunari armies and mage-templar wars have convinced this city it could use something a little more formidable, Red. For defensive purposes only, of course. I hear that was something Queenie repeatedly had to convince some representatives from Ostwick of." That was unsurprising. The Free Marcher states all dutifully watched one another, wary of any move that could be seen as a power grab. The building of an army was certainly something that would cause some alarm.

"With any luck the city will never need the army, and we'll get along fine with our mercs and guards. For now it's a nice team building exercise. Even got a few elves in the infantry. Her Excellence turns away no volunteers, but that's no surprise. She's spent more time in Lowtown than the rest of the nobility combined."

Next to Estella, Leon reached up to scratch the bridge of his nose. He wasn't showing it, but the stairs might have been wearing on him a little more than the others. Understandable, considering how recently he'd been on the cusp of death—Estells understood that the sword he'd been stabbed with had only barely missed his heart. "Defensive or not, I would be unsurprised if this proved to be the beginning of a trend in standing armies for the Free Marches," he remarked thoughtfully. "And that will get just about everyone's attention."

It would certainly get Tevinter's, Estella thought. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing by any means, and no doubt Sophia had weighed all the factors very carefully. The possible implications spun out in her thoughts, but she put them aside for now. They were here to help with a more immediate problem, it seemed like, and though she'd never not be concerned with her friends and this place that had done so much for her, there was a time for everything.

"And how have you been yourself, Varric? The Hanged Man's looking... nicer."

"Not too much, I hope," he answered with a laugh. "We've still got to fit in with the rest of Lowtown. But it's been good, these last few years. Turns out there's time for productivity when there's less excitement. Aside from running The Hanged Man, Queenie's named me one of her advisors. She can't escape the Keep as much as she used to, so she makes use of me to keep her up to date on what Lowtown needs. It's been a good deal." The two of them went back a number of years. When Estella had first arrived in Kirkwall Sophia had actually been living in The Hanged Man.

"And of course there's been more time to write. Got a few things with my editor I think you might be interested in. I'll make sure Skyhold gets copies." It seemed they were finally reaching the top of the stairs. SĂ©verine gave Leon a subtly concerned look, but made no mention of it, instead turning her eyes on the Hightown market.

It was more colorful than before, with many stalls that would not have been out of place in Val Royeaux for their lavishness. Of course, Kirkwall received traders from all over Thedas, and nearly everything from jewelry to exotic northern fruits could be found in Hightown. They hadn't come to shop, however, and Varric led them up the last few smaller flights of stairs, onto the most impressive streets the city had to offer.

Before them was the intentionally intimidating approach to the Viscountess's Keep, a wide, stone-paved road flanked by rows of white pillars and covered walkways on other side, leading up to yet more wide steps that would take them into the keep itself, the towers of which soared into the air. To their right was Hightown's main street, lined with rows of trees casting merciful shade to protect citizens from the harsh summer sun. Beyond would be the chantry building, fully reconstructed after its destruction at the outbreak of the mage-templar war, though Sophia had elected a more modest design for the city's place of worship.

Far to their left they could see the city gates, which were just now opening. The city guards stepped aside for a column of riders fully armored in shining steel, their horses similarly geared. The riders came in at a trot, carrying lances with tips pointing straight up to the clouds. They had a definite aura about them, perhaps not the same deadly confidence a fully trained group of chevaliers carried, but all the same a certain pride that conveyed that they were formidable.

At their head was the Viscountess, armored head to toe and unmistakable atop a white destrier. An attendant immediately approached to receive her lance and helm, but her hand-and-a-half sword remained sheathed across her back. Spotting the party Varric had retrieved, she dismounted and handed off her reins, approaching them on foot. Her golden hair was bound up in several braids around her head to restrain it underneath the helmet, and a gleam of sweat could be seen drying across her brow. She pulled off her gloves and tucked them underneath her belt as she came before them.

"Looks like I made it back just in time," she said, smiling at them all. "Thank you for escorting them, Varric."

"It was my pleasure." Varric bowed perhaps more deeply than was necessary before he turned to Estella. "I leave you in most capable hands. See you around, Stardust." He grinned, and took his leave.

"It's good to see you again, Estella, Lady Marceline. SĂ©verine." She nodded in greeting to the templar captain, who saluted and bowed her head in return. "Ser Leonhardt." Sophia had met most of them briefly when she visited Skyhold, but it would seem she hadn't met the last member of their group yet, judging by how her smile grew slightly. "And you must be Khari. I don't believe we've met, but I've heard many good things about you from the Lady Inquisitor." She offered her hand for Khari to shake.

Khari grinned, accepting the handshake with no reservations whatsoever. “Stel would say good things about a bereskarn. It's nice to meet you, Lady Sophia." She blinked. “Unless I can drop the 'Lady' part, in which case it's great." She seemed pretty confident that Sophia wouldn't mind. Probably because that's how Estella always referred to her.

"Of course," she conceded, turning to see the ranks of Kirkwall's infantry passing through the gate behind the last of the mounted troops. Whoever had outfitted them had done excellent work. They didn't appear as any cobbled-together militia, with each soldier only wearing what he or she could scrounge up before being sent off to battle. The majority of their protection came from mail, with some added plate guarding the most vulnerable areas, and hardened leather covering the rest. Those armed with crossbows went without the plate, but all troops were equipped with sturdy steel helmets.

It didn't match the impressive plate the members of the city guard wore, but then, there were much fewer of them. They walked in alongside the infantry, though as the last ranks filed in and the gates were closed behind them all were allowed to disperse. It would seem their weapons and armor were their own to take back to their homes. Obviously pleased, Sophia gestured for the others to follow her. "Come, we should get inside, have something to drink. There's much to discuss, and not all of it pleasant."

As they made their way towards the Keep a rider made his way alongside them. He was plainly one of the nobles, sitting with an ease in the saddle that implied years of experience. He was also extremely handsome, with shoulder-length waves of thick brown hair, and the way he carried himself said that he both knew it, and enjoyed it. Not unlike Ves, in that respect. He smiled down at Sophia. "I think that went very well, Excellency. Perhaps we could discuss it tonight, over dinner?"

"Perhaps. If other matters do not keep me." She glanced at the Inquisition party walking beside her. "Everyone, this is Lord William Alston, Baron of Rose Hall." Indeed, the flower had been emblazoned on the face of the shield across his back.

"And Captain of the Queen's Companions," he added, his smile morphing to a grin.

"An unofficial name, at least for the moment." Sophia made the correction with some irritation. It wasn't hard to tell that this William had been using it for some time, and also ignoring her reservations about it.

"You're with the Inquisition," he pointed out, noting the crests a few of them wore. His eyes then went to Sophia. "I wasn't aware we were receiving them."

"They'll be staying a short time," Sophia assured him. "Lady Inquisitor Estella is a personal friend of mine, and of Kirkwall's. She needs no one's permission to return here."

"Lady Inquisitor," William repeated, as though he'd only just now seen Estella walking with them. He dismounted, the group coming to a temporary halt as he bowed. "Forgive my rudeness, I did not recognize you. It's an honor."

Estella would hardly have expected anyone to recognize her on sight. It wasn't as though she presented herself in such a way as to make her position obvious. Distracted by the mention of 'Queen's Companions,' she almost took too long to catch up with the rest of the conversation, but her reply was timely enough. "No need to apologize, milord," she replied easily, "and certainly no need to be so formal. As Sophia mentioned, I'm a friend, and we're here mostly because of that." She liked to think she was getting a little better at dealing with this sort of response, though—the first few times had felt a lot more awkward than this one did.

He lifted his head and smiled at her. "Ah, wonderful." He looked back to Sophia. "Allow me to get out of your way, then."

"We'll speak later," she promised. "But you've done well. The cavalry are looking very promising."

He bowed his thanks, before turning to smoothly step up into the saddle again, and turn his horse around, rejoining some of the others of his group. Mercifully no one else approached or stopped Sophia on their way in, and it wasn't long before they were in the cooler shade of the Keep's interior.

Unlike the rest of the city, the Keep looked more or less the same as it had before, with no great change in the decor from the way Sophia's father had left it. Long rugs of crimson trimmed in gold covered pathways of dark stone. The entryway had always had a cold feel to it, but it was difficult to avoid with how high the ceiling was, how massive the pillars were. There was a new falcon statue against one of the walls, in the direction of the guard quarters.

Sophia led them towards her office rather than the throne room, taking them left and up a short flight of stairs. On the balcony her seneschal, Bran, awaited her, though he merely nodded in greeting upon seeing she was accompanied by several guests. He opened one of the doors and let them in.

She kept her workplace tidy and well organized. Ample space greeted them as they first entered, room to meet with guests such as themselves, while a smaller table with two chairs around was tucked into the near right corner for speaking with just one visitor more personally. The floor was covered by a large square rug, deep burgundy in color, probably Antivan. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves, each one filled to the brim with tomes that looked to be either historical or informational in nature. On the opposite wall was a prominently displayed painting, the style of it immediately familiar to Estella. The woman portrayed could only be Sophia's mother, judging by the likeness.

"I'm afraid water's all I have on hand at the moment," Sophia said, pointing to a pitcher and cups on one of the corner tables. "I'd have prepared a better greeting for you, but I didn't want to make a show of your arrival. This matter with the red lyrium is somewhat sensitive, and if word spread about why you were coming we might lose an opportunity." She unbuckled her sword sheath, propping it against her desk before she took a seat in the chair behind. "Ash can explain the situation more fully, he should be along shortly."

It did not take him long to arrive either. His footsteps were heard before he was, and after a muffled exchange with Bran behind the door, he allowed him in. Ashton strode into the office with his bow unstrung and hanging from his quiver, which also hung from two fingers over his shoulder. He did not arrive alone either, a stalwart looking Mabari hound padding gently at his side. He looked better than Estella had last seen him. A faint smile even managed to linger in the corner of his lips. His hair was a mess, undoubtedly the helmet that he carried under his other arm was to blame, and his plate still bore evidence of activity, with a fine layer of dust on the shoulders, and sand on his boots.

He inclined his head toward their visitors, the faint smile growing stronger with their sight. "Stel," he greeted first, before turning toward the rest of them, "Uh, Inquisition." The Mabari fixed her gaze on Estella as well, before she loped up to her and stared up expectantly, panting softly and wagging what little of a tail she had. Ashton chuckled as he made his way toward an empty chair and dumped his gear into it. "Think Snuffy wants some love, Stel," he laughed, pouring himself a glass of water.

And Estella was happy to give it, kneeling down to put herself on a level with the hound and reaching over to scrub her hands over Snuffy's neck and back, pausing to scratch at a particularly favorite spot over one of her hips. "And how are you, Serah Princess von Snufflynose?" she asked, voice pitched higher than usual.

Snuffy loved it. Her spine straightened and her eyes closed as she gave into the scratching. It caused Ash to grin from the sight of it. "Didn't miss much, did I?" he asked, before taking a drink.

"Not yet," Estella replied, giving Snuffy and her many unnecessary titles one last pat before she stood again. "We were hoping you could give us the rundown on the situation, actually." She offered a half-formed smile. "It's good to see you, but seems best to save the catching up for after the rest of this."

"Alas, duty calls. As always," he said with a mock bow, before taking one last drink. He then made his way over to Sophia's desk, and chose an unoccupied corner to take a seat. "You already know we've run into some issues involving red lyrium," he said, pausing for a second to reflect. "Well, recent issues, I should say," he amended with a shake of his head. Undoubtedly he was referring back to Meredith and her red lyrium induced madness those few years back. He shrugged and continued.

"Well, the gist is we believe that red lyrium is being smuggled into the city," he laid out flat for them. He let that sink in for a moment, before he continued and explained further. "Thanks to Varric and his many, many, eyes and ears in the city, we were able to track down and apprehend a Red-- alive, believe it or not," he sighed deeply at that and shook his head again, "It... was not easy, though I bet you already knew that," he added with a half smile.

Snuffy had drifted away from Estella by now, and took up a seat on the other side of Ashton. He let his hand dangle loosely so that it rested on top of her head, where he absently scratched as he spoke. "She was part of a crew that was trying to bring the red lyrium into the city," he glanced at Sophia before returning back to the Inquisition. "We believe that her people haven't noticed her capture yet, so our thoughts were that if we were able to get her to cooperate... Well, it would make our job rooting out the rest of the smuggling operations a hell of a lot easier."

He leaned back after than, using a hand to prop himself against Sophia's desk. "My bet is on bad stuff going down in Darktown--well, worse then usual," he added with a shrug. "We just don't know where to aim without any useful information yet." He scratched at the shadow that was starting to grow in on his chin. At least it appeared he was shaving regularly again. "We're kind of pressed for time too, with the Red that we have," he added with a raise of his brow.

"Turn the Red Templar against her side before she dies, then?" SĂ©verine stood with arms crossed, taking in the situation. "Well, she's already a traitor, perhaps she'll be one twice over."

"It may be that this is new ground for all of us," Sophia pointed out. "But I trust you all to handle this with care, and act decisively to do what is best for Kirkwall. I'd go with you, but sadly I can't be spending my time rooting out evil in Darktown anymore. Still, I do the best I can from here, and that means sending you." She pushed back to her feet. "If you need any rest, feel free to take a moment here in the Keep. When you're ready, Ash will take you to the Gallows to meet with the prisoner. Cullen will be waiting for you there."

"We won't fail, Excellency," SĂ©verine promised, pressing a gauntlet to her heart.

Estella nodded. It wouldn't be an easy task, from the sounds of it, but... they could do this. "Leave it to us, Sophia."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by Talisman
It wasn't long after that Ashton had guided the Inquisition back down the numerous stairs from the keep and to the dock that faced the Gallows. After a short talk with the ferrymaster, they were all presently waiting patiently on the barge that would take them across the water to the Gallows. Ashton glanced upward at the towers that waited for the across the water and shook his head. They always looked so ominous as he approached them, though fortunately he had gotten used to them by now, on account of him basically working there. Still, he couldn't help but wonder about the thoughts crossing the minds of the others. Stel would have been used to it as well, he supposed, but the others...

"Heh, I'm sorry for the oppressive vibe the Gallows give. I should probably talk to Sophia about painting it a more cheerful color, or maybe changing the name," he chuckled. As he spoke, Snuffy had ventured away from his side and currently stood at the bow of the barge, watching their course resolutely and dutifully. "Though at this point, I think it might be too ingrained with the rest of the city. And besides, who wants to risk breaking the law and ending up getting sent to a place called the Gallows?" He added with a waggle of brows.

Lady Marceline glanced between him and the place in question before acquiescing with a nod of her head. "It is certainly a... deterrent," she agreed.

"It's no prettier on the inside, either," SĂ©verine commented, though the look she gave one of the towers was somewhat strange. Not fondness, but... respect, perhaps. As a former Kirkwall templar, she too had spent a great deal of time on the island fortress. "No sense hiding what it is, though. A prison and a dungeon, and a formidable one at that. Some of the slave imagery could use an overhaul, no doubt, but the fortress itself will always be strong, and I have a feeling the name will stay stuck, too."

Some of the slave imagery she mentioned went along with Meredith. The red lyrium idol piece she'd worked into her sword was powerful enough to animate the slave statues meant to intimidate all who passed through, and their subsequent destruction meant that their metal could be melted down and put to use elsewhere.

A group of templars awaited their arrival on the docks, their leader wearing a pelt of dark fur of some kind across his shoulders, hands resting on the pommel of the sword sheathed at his hip. Cullen Rutherford was lucky to be as well liked as he was in the city. A more hated Knight-Commander would have been kicked out by the nobility already, but even though Cullen had supported Meredith until her madness became apparent, he then did what he could to bring her down, and restore the city afterwards, a fact not lost on its people.

SĂ©verine was the first off the barge when it came in reach of the dock. Cullen offered her a smile, which she returned in full along with a salute. "Knight-Commander," she greeted. "We're here to help."

"Welcome home, Knight-Captain," he swept his eyes over the others as they disembarked. "And thank you for coming on short notice, Inquisition. High Seeker Leonhardt," his gaze settled on the tall Ander, "SĂ©verine's written about your efforts. I'm glad the Inquisition has you at its head. I believe there are some matters we should discuss, once this business is dealt with."

The Inquisition's own commander inclined his head, a mild smile on his face. "Knight-Commander. I look forward to it." He touched a hand to his chest just briefly, but did not divert the topic from the matters at hand.

"If you'll follow me," Cullen said, leading them off the docks and into the Gallows proper. There was a certain emptiness to it now, like the fortress was half dead already and gasping for air. There were likely a lot of factors contributing to that. The Circle tower had been unoccupied for years, any tomes or artifacts of value in its halls long since cleared out. Neither Cullen's templars nor the city guard had any use for it, so it simply sat in silence. The Gallows themselves were not as filled with prisoners as they had been in the years of Meredith's rule, or Marlowe Dumar's before her. Crime had been driven down, and though it could never be eliminated altogether, it had been a long time since a group like the Coterie had held any real power in Kirkwall.

The Knight-Commander took them into the dungeons, the prison cells, which were housed in the largest tower rather than beneath the earth, and operated by a constant shift from the guard, while the others were stationed in the Viscountess's Keep. Ashton had walked their halls a number of times, and not always as a guard. Cullen didn't take them up to the general holding cells, but rather to those in the base of the tower, the darkest cells with the smallest flames to provide light. Isolation cells, for the especially troublesome prisoners. It went without saying that a red templar would qualify as such.

Cullen stopped outside of the cell in question, which was guarded by a pair of city guards, and turned to face the others. "We haven't been able to get so much as a name. She won't speak to any templars, and so far the city guard haven't fared much better. It might be best if you wait here with me, SĂ©verine."

She couldn't help but show some disappointment, but nodded her acceptance. "As you say, Knight-Commander."

"Any questions before you begin? She can't hear us out here."

Leon hummed, a low rumble of sound, then crossed his arms. "What have you tried so far?" he asked. "And how have her conditions been, in general? It would help to know where we're starting." He sounded like someone who'd conducted more than his fair share of interrogations. Probably had, being a Seeker and all.

"The Gallows are not kind," Cullen admitted immediately. "Normally smuggling wouldn't put a prisoner on this level, but we can't put her in more open cells. The red lyrium, it... well, I'm sure you've already experienced the effects of exposure to it. We can't subject the other prisoners to that, so we were forced to put her here." He obviously wasn't fond of the result, but it was clear that there was nothing to be done about it.

"We haven't tried any physical means of interrogation," he continued. "Not that she hasn't suffered anyway. She grows sicker by the day without red lyrium. Rarely keeps any food down. At this rate, it seems she'll be dead within the week. This has made getting information from her problematic. Likely she doesn't see the point in doing much of anything."

"Grim," SĂ©verine remarked. "It sounds like a rough hand isn't what's needed here, if she would be welcoming of death."

"Then maybe we try a gentle one," Leon concluded, turning his eyes for a moment to Stel. Admittedly, she was a natural choice for such an approach—she didn't have the intimidating appearance most of the others shared.

She noticed, brows knitting, but then nodded slowly. "I'll help however everyone thinks is best, but this is Kirkwall. It's up to Ash how we go in, I think."

"You guys are the experts on all this red business. Our usual tactics haven't worked, so I'll follow your lead on this," Ashton stated. It wasn't like they were interrogating an undisciplined bandit who'd sell out his mates for a slice of bread, after. The templar was trained and drilled, and chances were wouldn't spill anything unless she thought it was her idea. She wasn't their usual customer, that much was certain. Even Cullen's templars couldn't get anything out of her--the Inquisition was their best bet.

Ashton leaned forward a bit, casting his gaze downward to the faithful hound that had been listening intently to their exchange. "Think you can stand guard out here and keep these two in line for me?" he asked, tossing a wink in his guards' direction. Snuffy accepted the order easily, though the lingering gaze that she'd given him told him that she wasn't entirely excited about it. He smiled as he watched her take up a watchful position in front one of the guards.

"Welp, shall we?" He asked the others, gesturing toward the door leading into the cell.Well

"Good luck," Cullen said, and the guards opened the door.

A single little torch burned on the wall left of the door, but it didn't even cast enough light to illuminate the corners of the room. The back right corner was quite obviously where their prisoner kept herself, judging by the fact that she herself was something of a light source. The woman sat against a wall curled into a round shape, stripped of her armor, wearing only the shirt and pants that had been underneath the disguise they'd caught her in.

As Ashton had heard it, her red lyrium corruption wasn't all that bad yet, but it was still difficult to look at, especially when the person bearing it was no longer threatening. The most notable bits of red lyrium were the ones that had begun to grow from the left side of her face, along her jawline and up her cheek, ending somewhere near the temple and eating away at the hairline there. Her hair was inky black, almost invisible in the darkness, thick and long, going down to the middle of her back.

Her color was terribly pale, and her skin seemed... thin, almost deathly so, though perhaps it was simply an illusion cast by the fact that many of the veins running down her arm were quite clearly visible, pulsating with a low red light in a way that was clearing causing her almost constant pain. She scratched at her side near the ribs with her hand, both arms crossed around her and tucking her knees into her chest. She looked young, no more than mid twenties. She'd lost a remarkable amount of weight since they'd captured her. Her body was consuming itself, it seemed, in the absence of any red lyrium.

She shook, either from cold chills or pain, but probably not fear. Her eyes shot up to the guests in her cell as soon as they entered. One iris was a hazel green color, while the one closer to the lyrium was turning scarlet. Her cracked and dry lips remained sealed as the door was shut behind Ashton. It wasn't long before they could feel the red lyrium emanate from her in waves. Unpleasant, to say the least.

“Shit." That was Khari, muttering the word under her breath in a tone caught somewhere between pity and revulsion. Not loud enough to make it much past Ashton, though, and she clearly didn't intend to do much of the talking herself, planting her back against the near wall and crossing her arms loosely over herself.

Stel didn't react too much, either to the captive's appearance or the sick feeling of red lyrium in the room. Her face was that deliberately-neutral one she wore for card games at the Hanged Man, the one she'd learned from Rilien, who almost always had it on. She pulled in a long, slow breath through her nose, then carefully moved to the same corner of the cell as the red templar, her motions smooth, deliberate, and careful. She stopped about three feet from the prisoner, then lowered herself until she was sitting, crossing her legs beneath her and resting her hands on her knees.

"What's your name?" she asked quietly.

"You're the Inquisitor," she said, her voice incredibly quiet, only able to be heard due to the heavy silence in the cell, only interrupting by the sounds of their breathing, shifting of their gear, and the low burn of the little torch on the wall. "I... I saw you, at Therinfal. We were to capture you, k-kill the others. It—" She turned her head into her shoulder and coughed violently. A wet sound, and when she turned back her lips were stained red. She wiped at them ineffectually.

"No one should know my name."

Stel brought her hands together in her lap, keeping her eyes on where they folded together for a moment before lifting them instead to the prisoner's eyes. "You don't have to tell me if you really think so," she said, tipping her head a bit to the side. "But I'd like to know. And I'd like you to call me Estella. Seems to me the problem started because we forgot to think of each other as people with names and lives and things to live for." She didn't put any finer a point on it than that, though, leaving the statement to sit in the still air between them.

"I have none of those things." Her hand reached up to tug away strands of hair that the red lyrium on the side of her head was encroaching on. "Just this song, now." A hint of a melancholy smile appeared. Her teeth were yellowed and decaying as badly as the rest of her. "It was sweet, once. Now it's like dagger tips running along the inside of my skull. I wish the daggers would just cut deeper, and be done with it."

Her eyes wandered to the others in the room, and she took in a long, shaky breath. "You can call me Em."

"Em," Stel repeated, nodding slightly. She shifted slightly where she sat, the only indication she'd given that the red lyrium was uncomfortable to be around. "The Guard-Captain said you were captured on the docks here in the city. Can you tell me what you were doing there?"

That was something that hadn't yet become clear, even after Varric's people had identified her as a Red. She'd been going somewhere, and clearly with purpose, but she didn't have any lyrium on her person, so she clearly wasn't transporting it herself.

She thought for a minute, then apparently deemed it okay to respond. "Leaving." She swallowed, the action clearly causing her some pain. "The others said I'd stayed too long, moved too much, taken too much. I had to go, or... this would happen. Guess it was too late." She smiled again, her eyes falling to her knees. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead, though she still appeared to be shaking from the cold.

"It's how the operation works. Never the same people for too long. Except for me. The weak link." Her eyes went to Ashton. "There's a red storm building beneath your feet. Meredith's vengeance. You might think it's your city. But you'll think differently when the Red Templars wash over it."

Ashton frowned and leaned heavily against the back wall. He felt tired just hearing the words slide out of her mouth. Same old song he thought to himself. He wondered if they would ever be free of Meredith's influence. Or if Kirkwall would ever not be in danger from within. He sighed and shrugged, the usual mirth in his character replaced by the veteran stoicism he'd earned through out the years.

"I doubt it," he answered flatly. It didn't matter if the city was finally at peace, or if the flames of battle were consuming it, Kirkwall would always be his city, his home. It always had been, no matter what she faced, or what she will face. If the red was expecting him to answer with anything more, then she'd be sorely disappointed. He didn't have a whole lot to say to threats, and he trusted Estella to be able to extract the information they needed.

Estella expelled a breath through her nose. It was slightly uneven, something he might not have noticed but for the utter quiet that pervaded otherwise. "Is that... something you want, Em? For this to go through, for the Red Templars to take Kirkwall?"

"I can't remember wanting anything other than the red for..." She let out a breath, her eyes listing sideways for a moment before she righted them again. "I don't know how long its been. I should be like the others by now. Pillars sprouting from my back, not these little pebbles." She then succumbed to another bout of racking coughs, the shaking growing so violent that she tipped over onto her side, cheek pressed into the wet, dirty floor beneath them. Splotches of blood further dampened it.

"I can't—" It was all she could manage for the moment, as tears streamed from her eyes, her limbs tense and locked like a drawn back arm of a catapult.

Stel hissed, a sympathetic sound, and lifted herself to her knees, shuffling over towards Em and carefully laying a hand on one of her shoulders, deliberately avoiding any actual red lyrium crystals, no doubt. Her brows knit and her eyes closed, a line appearing in the skin just above her nose as she focused on... something. Whatever she was doing didn't have any visible effect, not even the soft blue light Nos's healing magic had once caused.

A few moments later, the coughing stopped, as did the shaking. Em moved her face from the small pool of blood that had formed there, slowly and steadily rising back to her seated position, obviously confused. She blinked several times, the look in her eyes more clear now than it had been before. More focused. "The song... it hasn't been this quiet since..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence, and instead looked at Stel's hand. "What did you do to me?"

A thin smile preceded the answer. "What I could. Just a little bit of magic is all." She retracted her hand, settling back on her legs and resting the palms of her hands on her thighs. "Is there anything you can tell us about what's coming? The storm?"

She seemed almost to answer, but then hesitated, confused. Debating internally, or perhaps questioning if her current line of thought was correct, or if all the previous ones for years were correct instead. In the end, her decision seemed clear, but still conflicted. "It's brewing below the surface. In Darktown. Places the Coterie once owned, sitting abandoned. Now red. I followed orders, went where I was directed on the docks, received a box, delivered it to Darktown. They prepare it, make it small, and hand it off to others."

An idea struck her, one that required her to take in a breath before she could say it. "We could do it tonight, if the spot hasn't changed. Go there, kill the one that arrives in my place, wait for the shipment. Let me take the box, and follow me. I'll take you to the red hole, get you inside. You kill them all, destroy their operation." She swallowed, a tremor running through her that was obviously nervousness more than chill or pain. "I have a condition, though."

"What's the condition?" Stel looked like she had an idea, and from the grim expression she wore, she didn't much seem to like it, but whatever the hypothesis was, she did not make it aloud.

"You have to kill me," she said, sounding very certain of it. "If not you, someone. After it's over. There's too much red in that place, I—I may even try to kill you. And I'm dead already. The templars would kill me for betraying them. The red templars will kill me for helping you. And the red itself is killing me, with either its presence or its absence." She almost reached to grab Stel, but stopped halfway, withdrawing the red lyrium encrusted hand when she realized the danger. "Make an end of it, and make it quick."

Pressing her lips together, Stel nodded slightly. It seemed likely that this was exactly what she'd guessed. "I... understand," she said quietly. "And I'll do what you ask myself, if you help us as you've promised."

Ashton pushed himself off of the wall at that, though he still kept his arms crossed. He wasn't exactly ecstatic about the idea of trusting a red, but with nothing else to go on, it was a chance that he believed they needed to take. It was unlikely they'd find another red templar that'd be willing to help them, even harder than trying to capture another alive. He left his frown visible to everyone in the cell, but nodded. "It's an opportunity," he admitted, "One we probably won't find again."

He turned toward Leon and spoke, "I'll let Sophia know and gather a few of my finest. Stel?" He added, flicking his attention in her direction. A small smile formed in the corner of his mouth. "Bet some of the Lions would want to be there too," he said.

"I don't doubt it," she said, a faint smile appearing over her face for just a moment before it dropped, and she stood. "I'll collect whoever's available, and then we'll come back for you, Em. Shouldn't be too long." She glanced between the others for a moment, then nodded. "We all need to be at the docks by nightfall."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leon's armor hadn't felt this heavy in a long time.

It was something he put down to the fact that he was still recovering from his injuries, a piece of information he was doing his best to make obvious. No doubt most of the others had noticed anyway; they were as a rule observant, and three of them at least knew him quite well. Certainly well enough to spot something like this. It wasn't so bad right now, when he just stood at the docks, awaiting Ashton's arrival with his contingent of guards. The last lingering fingers of sunset were fading now, disappearing quickly behind the horizon, slightly off-angle from the harbor itself.

Estella had managed to find two Lions who were not occupied with other work at the moment, either for the Viscountess or private contracts. They'd introduced themselves as Ainsley and Farah, and they way they stood together implied long and close familiarity, a unit within a unit. Both wore powerful-looking longbows, and the arrow Ainsley was twirling between her fingers had a heavy, barbed head on it, no doubt chosen with red templars specifically in mind. Each also wore a sidearm, in case things drew closer than arrow-range, no doubt.

Otherwise, it was himself, Estella, Khari, SĂ©verine, and whatever forces Ashton brought to bear. Along with, of course, their red ally Em. Leon couldn't say he was entirely convinced of her intentions, but he was naturally suspicious, and for now, willing to let things play out. He couldn't fault Estella's approach to the conversation, at least.

Pursing his lips together, Leon drew up the hood on his cloak, obscuring his pale hair in hopes of preventing it from catching much light. Ainsley and Farah did the same, though the others weren't in much danger of it.

They needn't wait long before Ashton and his guards finally came into their sight line. It appeared that he had brought a pair of guards with, along with his mabari. He was speaking with one as they walked side-by-side, an olive skinned woman with an ugly scar slicing diagonally across her face. She stood shorter than Ashton, though not by much, and she carried a shield and longsword on her back. Her features were hard and there was a certain intensity about her. The other walked slightly behind and was a fair haired man with a youthful expression. He was shorter than the other two, and more lightly armored. A pair of shortswords rested on either hip revealing him to likely be more of a specialist than the usual rank-and-file. Each had their helmets tucked beneath their arm.

Ashton seemed to have even prepared Snuffy for their foray, as her fur was dyed with what to be be kaddis in patterns that brought to mind the symbols associated with Kirkwall. Noticeably, each guard had a matching streak of kaddis along the armor of their right arm. Once within distance, Ashton gave them a wave and approached. "Hey guys," Ashton greeted, though a bit more subdued from his usual jovial nature. "My finest, like I said. Lieutenant Vesper," he gestured toward the woman, whom delivered a succinct nod, "and Sergeant Samuel, though he prefers Sammy," he added, with a wink to the man. Samuel in turn gave them a light-hearted salute with a pair of fingers.

Em watched the introductions from a short distance away, clearly having no intention to take part in them. Her hood was drawn up over her head, the cowl concealing most of her features from the light save for her eyes, which she was intentionally keeping towards the ground. Apparently she'd worn no armor on her person when she was captured, and only concealable weapons, all of which had been confiscated by the guard. Her clothes had been given back to her. They were in shoddy condition, but mostly hidden by her cloak. Also hidden was the knife that Estella had parted with and given to her, though by her stance Leon could tell her hand rested on the knife's hilt, and had rarely left it since the weapon was received.

It had been given since their plan required the young red templar to put herself in a large amount of danger, effectively acting as bait and hoping the others wouldn't immediately think her a traitor. SĂ©verine had briefly voiced her disagreement, but the captain knew the Inquisitor's tendencies well enough to know that if she parted with the knife, she had reasons for doing so, belief to back it up.

When all confirmed they were ready to begin, Em led them deeper into the docks, away from the most common landing sites and warehouses. Kirkwall's docks were extensive, with a number of the storage areas directly accessible to the sea. On the edges of the docks were places still abandoned, rarely in use, or simply not watched over at night, if the owner had no means of surveillance or proper security. It was to one of these warehouses that Em led them, though she stopped before entering an alleyway.

"Shipments are nightly," she explained. "Can't say when exactly, but this was the place I was sent to. Someone should be along soon. We need to kill them, there's no time for capture."

“Lemme at 'em." Khari's tone was quite dry, but Leon could tell she was a bit restless, perhaps on the grounds that her role so far in the proceedings had been limited. She was no interrogator, no negotiator, even if he was slowly making a strategist of her. But this was well within her skillset. “Drop them quickly, right? I can do that." Her eyes moved to a position near the likeliest entrance, and the rest of her followed.

Leon himself stayed closer to the center, taking up a post behind some unloaded cargo, crouching slightly to maintain a sight line to the entrance Khari had chosen without putting himself in one from the other direction. Estella chose a doorway with an awning, and her archer friends went a little higher, onto the first-story roof of a nearby customs building. Em was able to conceal herself behind the same cargo Leon was using, and SĂ©verine took up a position close by, no doubt to keep an eye on the red templar. Ashton found himself an elevated position, though on the opposite end of the alley from the Lions. Vesper apparently had the same idea as Leon and SĂ©verine and found a spot to crouch behind some barrels, with Snuffy quietly accompanying her while Sammy pressed himself against another doorway.

It didn't take long after they'd settled in their places for the promised courier to arrive. The agent moved with some stealth, a large cowl drawn up around his features. From the shape of him, he was far from the most advanced stages of lyrium growth, probably two dozen doses better off than Em. There weren't any visibly-protruding crystals, though a soft red glint gave away the fact that the stuff had crept in behind his eyes, lending them the same unearthly light as most of his compatriots.

He paused a moment several yards from where Khari was hidden, glancing around warily, but the near-disaster at Kasos did not repeat itself, and she made no noise or subtle movement that risked giving away her position. Apparently satisfied, he hurried forward again, treads falling almost silently on the flagstones of the dockside pathway.

Khari was just as quiet when she appeared behind him, the dull whistle of her sword through the air far too late a warning to save the red templar's life. The blade cleaved deeply into his neck, stopped only by the bones of his neck, and he fell with nothing more than a wet gurgle and a dull thud.

Em approached the body almost as soon as he'd fallen, reaching out to put a hand on the wall of the nearby warehouse building. The movement seemed to be doing her some good, or perhaps that was just the help that Estella was able to occasionally give her, helping her fight off the red lyrium's effects for the time being. "Good, this is good," she said, looking down at the body to confirm that he was also taking the red lyrium. "This means they'll be here soon. A boat, with the red."

Her hands were on the red templar only a few seconds after Khari had pulled her blade from his neck, rifling through his pockets and the inside of his cloak, perhaps searching for something. Whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it, but she stood again and looked to Estella. "I need to do the next part alone, inside. Smugglers will come, and give me the box with the red. No one interferes. The smugglers don't need to die, and we can't risk the box." There were some obvious risks, of course. Em was much shakier than the red templar they'd just killed, and the smugglers were undoubtedly dangerous. And it remained to be seen how well she'd handle receiving a box full of the substance that her life depended on.

This was easily the diciest part of the plan, and Leon liked it the least. Still, it made sense to avoid the unnecessary deaths if possible. He nodded slightly, but said nothing further—the plan was already agreed upon, and there was little time for deviation now.

Estella emerged from her hiding place to stand next to Em, reaching out to place a hand on the other woman's elbow. "You can do this, Em," she said, almost too quietly to reach Leon. "You're strong enough." It was hard to tell, but it looked like she was using her magic again, probably trying to give the other woman as much assistance as possible before she was forced to confront the source of her weakness.

She refused to meet Estella's eyes, dipping the rim of her hood down in a half-hearted sort of nod. "Thank you," she said.

They moved into the warehouse carefully, to find two large rowboats hanging from the ceiling by thick ropes, and several large piles of poorly organized crates of varying sizes. The floor was packed down dirt, which gently sloped down into the water at the house's edge, going just far enough that the water wouldn't be disruptive during high tide.

Hiding positions were taken up again, though this time there was no plan to intervene unless absolutely necessary. Em leaned up against one of the walls, moonlight just barely hitting her feet, water coming and going and brushing against the toes of her boots. As these things tended to go, it quickly became a tedious and constantly tense wait, as the smugglers did not immediately show themselves, and the other red templar's arrival didn't necessarily mean the exchange was imminent. They had to be patient. Em scratched at her arm more than once, and rolled her neck to try to loosen something up in her upper back.

A sound broke up the rhythm of the gentle waves. Oars, dipping into the water and coming out dripping. A rowboat soon came into view, gliding along the water from somewhere even further out on the docks, or perhaps not even. It was a small craft, only big enough for the two of them and their cargo, a small but dense looking chest with handles on either side, and no obvious way to open it.

The rowboat brushed up against the shore, the first of the hooded and cloaked smugglers hopping out. "You look familiar," he said to Em, his voice gravelly and low. "Didn't we deliver to you last week?"

"Other guy got himself killed," she answered, eyeing the chest. "I'm taking the boxes until they find someone else."

"If you see your Red Hawke, tell him the sovereigns need to start coming in quicker. Getting hard to move cargo in Kirkwall these days."

"You'll have your gold. Give me the box." No more words were exchanged. The two smugglers hauled out the little chest and set it at Em's feet, before they stepped back into their boat and pushed away from the shore, disappearing as quietly as they came. Em waited until the sound of their oars was gone before she stooped to pick up the chest by its handles, and made her way back to the others. They emerged from their hiding places.

"Straight to Darktown now," she said. "Keep your distance. There will be lookouts. If you can spot them, kill them quietly. When we get to the door, I'll try to get us in. As soon as it's open you need to rush them, cut them down before they can organize."

“Uh... about how many are we expecting here?" Khari glanced down at the box once, then reached up to tug at her ear. “Also, what was all that about a red hawk?"

"The Red Hawke is the leader," she answered simply. "We won't see him, I've never met him. But he leads the Red Templars now."

"Hawke?" SĂ©verine repeated, eyebrow raised, her tone skeptical. "With an 'e' on the end?" Em nodded, causing SĂ©verine to expel a quiet gust of air that might've been a laugh. "Maker's breath..."

"Fifteen, maybe twenty in total," Em said, answering Khari's original question. "No knights, no ascended. Maybe a few shadows. They won't be ready for you." She glanced at SĂ©verine. "We need to leave now. Time to talk about leaders later."

Leon figured there might not be that much time later, considering their informant's current condition, but SĂ©verine had clearly recognized the name and that was good enough for the moment. The priority had to be disrupting this particular operation right now. There was an order to everything, as he'd once pointed out in an attempt to encourage the Knight-Captain.

Though he had been listening to the conversation at hand, Ashton found a moment to have a different one. "Sergeant, remind me to order your unit to patrol the docks a couple of nights when we get back to the barracks. I want those smugglers caught," he ordered in a serious vein. When Em stated their need to leave, his attention snapped back to her, and he nodded. "Let's not keep them waiting then," he said with a fairly serious frown.

"Can you stay above for our trip to Darktown?" That, Leon directed at the two Lions.

Farah nodded. "Help us spot, and we'll get rid of the lookouts for you." She glanced once at Ainsley, who grinned almost as widely as Khari tended to, and the two of them disappeared, no doubt off to gain altitude once more.

It was fortunate that they had; near one of the entrances, Leon paused at a corner and glanced around it, spotting a hooded figure leaning casually against the wall of a building. Would have been easy to miss her if they'd just followed their route directly. He whistled lowly, and the sharp hum of an arrow through the air answered, striking the lookout beneath her hood and dropping her.

The red templar's feet were disappearing into a nearby alley by the time they passed, Ainsley winking as they passed. With the body moved off the main road, soft footfalls put her back on one of the roofs, and so she and her teammate remained, until everyone was forced to descend together into the underground section of the city.

As with the other regions of Kirkwall, Darktown proved to be quite literally named, especially now that it was night. They had to descend a long flight of stairs carved out of the rock before they could enter it properly, and by then they were very much underneath Lowtown, or perhaps far, far below Hightown. Any lighting came from torches or little braziers that were sporadically placed along walls, illuminating only a small radius before the heavy darkness stopped their advance. As Leon had heard it told, Darktown used to be a far busier place, back in the years when Kirkwall had been nearly overrun by Fereldan refugees fleeing from the Blight.

The refugees were either gone, dead, or moved up to become permanent residents, but poverty was much harder to eradicate, as was the criminal underworld. To these groups Darktown would always belong, barring extreme measures such as the destruction, burning, or collapsing of entrances to this place, which it seemed unlikely the Viscountess would consider. The guards and the templars did not make patrols down here unless they were after something very specific, something worth risking life and limb. The risk was easy to see; any shadow could hide a knife well enough here.

At the moment, they were the knives in the shadows, trailing along behind Em as she made her way through twists and turns, moving swift enough to appear in a hurry, as she would be normally, but not going too fast to lose her escort. She looked to be struggling a little with the weight of the chest after a time. She was still quite weak, physically, and the effects of Estella's magic were hardly permanent.

She made it to their destination unassisted, however. It was an inconspicuous door deep in Darktown with no obvious markings to speak of, simply set into the wall. Em glanced once behind her, then turned and quietly kicked the bottom of the door.

A few seconds later, a little window at eye level swung open on its hinges from the other side. A door guard, inspecting the visitor. Em kept her hood down, holding the chest of red lyrium so that the guard could see. No words were exchanged. The guard closed the view hole, and an uncomfortable few seconds passed before the sound of a bolt unlocking reached their ears. The door swung open, and Em slipped inside.

Khari slipped after, drawing her sword from its place at her back as she moved. Though the door was nearly closed by the time she got there, she shouldered it back open with abrupt force, throwing the guard forward when he didn't let go of the inside handle fast enough. Swiftly, her sword found his chest, skewering him and emerging from his back. With her elbow, she threw the door wide, and then disappeared inside after Em.

The rest of them filed in afterwards, into a small entry area, with the only way forward being a long hallway that eventually bent a sharp left out of sight. In typical Darktown fashion there was nothing to speak on in the room save for a single dying old chair. Em waited until the last of the team was inside, and the door was shut behind them.

"Around the corner," she whispered. "It'll open up. Templars everywhere. Kill them all. There's a back exit, a hatch that drops into the sewers. Someone needs to reach it, block it off, or some will escape."

"Understood, we'll take it from here," SĂ©verine said, shouldering her way past the red templar to the front of the group, shield and short sword in hand. "Let's make this quick."

They moved swiftly and quietly down the hall, and then charged around the corner, SĂ©verine's shield leading the way. The hall led into a much larger room, what had likely once been a Coterie safe house or even an armory. The reds were working at tables on similar chests to the one Em had brought in, the red lyrium exposed to the air. They were creating draughts of it, converting it into consumable forms. There were perhaps ten working, and five more sleeping in makeshift bunks, with a pair of shadows watching over the operation. The workers wore no armor, save for those that could no longer remove pieces of theirs, but all were armed with bladed weapons, and a few had shields on hand. SĂ©verine cut on down before he could turn to defend himself, but after that the fight was on. The shadows charged aggressively into the attacking group with arm blades of red lyrium, trying to disrupt them, inflict wounds, and then retreat. Neither engaged an enemy for long.

Perhaps most alarming was that two or three of the templars in the room didn't appear corrupted at all. One them immediately made a break for a hatch at the rear of the room.

Khari, for once at an advantage due to her size, ducked under one of the shadows' blade-arms, making a break for the back hatch. She managed to bring her sword around and slam it into the wood, holding it down and preventing the would-be escapee from bolting. She lashed out with her foot, catching the half-stooped man in the temple with the steel-plated toe of her boot. He dropped immediately, but there was another swinging for her with a one-handed axe, and she didn't have time to pull her blade free of the trapdoor to block.

The swing fell wide of its mark, and reason was soon apparent. One of Ashton's guards, Samuel judging by the weaponry he used, had gripped the templar's collar and yanked backward. Once Khari was out of immediate danger, Samuel's shortsword slipped beneath his target's arm and bit deep beneath the armpit twice, leaving the templar to fall limply to the ground. Sammy spared one glance for Khari, though his helmet obscured his expression, though he did give her a sharp tilt of his head before slipping off to find another target, though he never strayed too far from the trapdoor.

On the other hand Ashton hung back and let the reds come to him. And Snuffy, it seemed. A red set his eyes on the captain, but before he could reach him, the red found the mabari's teeth embedded deep into his calf. The moment's hesitation was all it took for Ashton to clean up, plunging his sole longsword into his chest. Snuffy dodged the now dead weight deftly and fell into practiced step beside Ashton. Vesper added the weight of her shield to SĂ©verine's, apparently deciding to stick close to the templar to pool their strength.

For once, Leon was the last into a fight instead of the first. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be a particularly arduous one, in the sense that these templars were unprepared, and few of them were even properly reds, lacking the obvious signs of lyrium tainting. Something to think about later, but assuredly not now.

The Lady Inquisitor engaged the shadow Khari had ducked under, preventing him from chasing her down as she went. Leon moved to intercept a dagger-wielding fighter intent on flanking her. The wound in his chest stretched uncomfortably when he reached out to seize the woman by her collar; his grip faltered before he could finish pulling her back into a hold. She still staggered, and that was enough to let him disarm her—the knife clattered away on the floor. Leon adjusted his movements, focusing on blows that didn't require strength or much movement to deliver; the sort that needed precise positioning and not much else. He struck with his elbows and knees, until he could maneuver himself behind her and wrap an arm around her neck from behind, bracing his other hand on the back of her head.

He held it a few moments past when she went limp, to be sure she wasn't bluffing, then dropped her and moved to the next.

As far as fights went, it wasn't even close. Since her near-miss, Khari had allowed no more openings, and with her sword back in her hands, stood over the trapdoor, cleaving into anyone who even attempted to get near. So far, that had been two more reds, both now still on the floor at her feet. She fended off an attack from a third even now, keeping herself planted solidly on her spot, adjusting much more smoothly to the cramped quarters and stationary positioning than she would have even as little as a few months ago. The scant light from the small sconces on the walls glinted off a coating of dark blood on the zweihÀnder before she plunged it up into another woman's armpit, yanking it out again with enough force to throw an arc of red off the blade and onto the already-stained wooden floor.

Estella kept herself a little more mobile, but with a shorter, lighter blade, that was easier to do. She seemed to be keeping track of which templars had the lyrium corruption and which did not—the deadliness of her force increased considerably when the signs of red lyrium use were obvious, and she'd felled at least one of the others without actually killing him, though no doubt the severed hamstring on his left leg was exceedingly painful. Wisely, she'd elected not to use magic in the engagement, saving herself the pain of being smited as a result.

Leon took another warrior's knees out from underneath him, following him down with a heavy punch to the face, gravity lending the strength that escaped him otherwise for the moment. The nose under his gauntlet caved in, and he stomped on the back of the templar's knee when he tried to roll aside of the follow up. The wet crunch of the impact was enough to inform him of his success; his opponent passed out from the pain a few seconds later. He glanced up, assessing the state of the rest.

Vesper had broken off from SĂ©verine's flank and currently found herself in a stand off with another red, her large shield standing between him and her. He attempted a feint to get past it, but Vesper proved to be a more seasoned warrior than he, and he was met with the flat side of the shield. However, it was not Vesper that struck first, nor the templar, but Snuffy. Once again, her fangs found an uncorrupted part of his calf and she pulled. In the confusion, Vesper let a bit of aid by pushing him with her shield, and then disengaged. Snuffy cleaned up afterward, sinking her teeth into his exposed throat.

The numbers had quickly turned against the red templars, and the last few were being felled. SĂ©verine had managed to pin the second of the two shadows in a corner of the room, using her shield to intercept any attempts to escape. It took several thrusts of her blade to fell the heavily corrupted templar, but after the fourth strike he fell, gurgling out his last breaths before he stilled.

Em had entered the room behind them, knife drawn. She made her way quickly over to the templar Estella had hamstrung, falling to her knees and plunging the blade into the back of his neck with force. She held it there until he ceased his struggling entirely. Her hood concealed her face, but in the open air of the room she wavered forward on her knees, as though she was about to collapse. The effect of the red lyrium was much stronger in here, enough that she began to cough quietly.

Estella quickly sheathed her sword, tsking softly under her breath. She took the few steps necessary to put herself in front of Em, then crouched there, one hand on her own knee, the other reaching towards the red templar, almost as if to touch her, only to pull up short. "Em, are you—" She seemed to think better of the obvious question. Probably something she'd been doing a lot recently, and not just here, for that matter. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Make the song stop," she said, fairly urgently. She kept her head down, still kneeling over the dead templar's corpse. "It makes you forget, forget everything. What you are, what you believe, what you fight for. When it's quiet, sometimes you can remember, but then there's sickness, and pain, and the pull to the red, and you forget again."

She looked up, eye glowing dull red under the hood, her hand clutching the knife tight enough that it shook, her skin ghostly white. Her eyes locked on Estella's, and she coiled in place, making her intentions quite obvious. "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!"

She lunged at Estella with the knife.

At that range, with the positioning she had, not even someone as fleet as the Lady Inquisitor could hope to avoid the lunge entirely. In the time it took anyone else to react, Estella's head slammed back against the ground, but she instinctively raised her arm to protect herself, something that likely saved her from the worst, as it meant Em's lyrium-encrusted free hand closed around her bracer instead of touching her skin directly, or—worse—cutting into it.

She didn't have as much luck fending off the dagger, and it sliced into her just under her jawline, tracing a red ribbon from about halfway down her neck up and back to just beneath her ear. Blood welled from the wound, but it was much less dire than it could have been.

The pain might even have been a favor, for it certainly seemed to snap Estella out of her daze, and her hands closed over Em's forearm, wrenching it and the knife to the side. She got her knee between them, and rolled them both with an impressive heave that also unfortunately made it very dangerous for anyone else to intercede immediately. That seemed to be all she needed, however, because she made eye contact with Em, pinning the red templar's free arm with her knee and maintaining a tight hold on the other.

"I promised," she murmured, expelling a shaky breath. Her eyes closed with it, and a few tense moments later, Em went slack beneath her. Estella didn't move for several more, but then she set the templar's arm down carefully, and climbed off her, struggling somewhat to get her feet underneath her. She looked vaguely sick, though whether that was red lyrium exposure or something else entirely was hard to tell. Immediately, her hand pressed to the bleeding wound at her neck, trying to staunch the flow.

"D-does anyone have a potion? I don't think I've got enough left to..." She staggered sideways and leaned her shoulder heavily against the wall.

"Here," SĂ©verine offered, sheathing her sword. She'd been looking for a way to intervene after Em attacked Estella, but once the Lady Inquisitor handled it herself SĂ©verine replaced her sword with a potion from her belt, offering it to Estella.

"The Viscountess won't be pleased to hear about any of this," she said.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari was pretty sure Sev was right about Sophia's feelings on the matter. Not that she really had to deal with it; the others were doing most of the breaking of bad news. The elf stood off to one side of the Viscountess's office, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed over her middle. Even for a spacious study, it was pretty full of people, most of them bristling with weapons: their little adventure party, minus the Lions and Ashton's people, but along with Marcy, the Knight-Commander, and of course Sophia herself.

They'd just gotten to the part about the hideout in Darktown and their discovery there. It probably sucked to learn that an entire cell of reds had been using your city to move their shitty lyrium around for long enough to be that established, with their own supply lines and regular deliveries. She didn't know the whole story about what had happened here with Meredith and all that, but there was no way red lyrium wasn't a sore subject around here.

To her credit, Sophia seemed to be taking the news evenly, evaluating it with a level head. It was probably one of the worst things she could wake up to in the morning. Unlike the day before, she looked the part of the noblewoman rather than the warrior. Free Marcher style wasn't nearly as extravagant as Orlesian, but it was still remarkable that anyone could look so put together after what was undoubtedly a nerve wracking night of waiting, and an early morning filled with bad news.

"And there were uncorrupted templars among them?" she asked.

Sev nodded. "Yes, Excellency. A few that showed no signs of change from the red lyrium, assuming they'd taken any at all." She hesitated then, looking to Cullen. "I'm worried they may have infiltrated your ranks. Outside of the Inquisition, this is the other seat of templar power in the south. They must hope to topple it."

"I trust most of my templars," Cullen responded. "But certainly not all. Corruption won't be allowed to spread in the ranks. I'll make sure of it."

"Your injury," Sophia said, pointing out the slash Stel had taken to the neck. "This was the red templar captive's work? Did you learn anything from her, apart from the operation she was a part of?"

Estella nodded, probably to both things. "She said the leader of the Red Templars was someone named Hawke." Her fingers moved almost automatically to the wound, which was already scabbing over thanks to the potion, though it would probably leave some form of scar. "SĂ©verine seemed to know who he was?" Her eyes moved to the Knight-Captain as she said that.

Cullen reacted to the name as well, though it was Sev who answered. "He was a Knight-Captain here in Kirkwall, before I left. Around my age. An intense sort, certainly none too happy, but..." She looked to Cullen for an explanation. "What happened to him?"

"Carver Hawke left the Order almost a year ago. He was... troubled, I think, before he left. Something to do with Elias Pike's return to Kirkwall. He harbored a particular hatred for that mage. I know many of us did, but for him it was personal."

"His sister," Sev said. "Bethany, I think it was. A twin sister. She was a mage in the tower. I remember him saying it was why he became a templar. She died in the chaos after the Chantry explosion."

"And Carver blamed Pike for it," Sophia concluded. "I saw justice done to him as best I could myself. Was he not satisfied with that?"

"I'm not sure," Cullen said. "He visited the Gallows often while Pike was awaiting his fate there. I've no idea what they spoke about, but Hawke became increasingly distant. It was perhaps a week or two after Pike's death that he left the city."

Khari felt her lips pull into a frown at that. “Pike was a pretty unstable piece of shit." And that was putting it mildly. “I can't see him convincing anyone of anything, especially not someone who hated his guts. Unless he was trying to convince him that he needed to go to crazy extremes to stop even crazier mages. Dunno anyone who could make a better case for that than him."

Sophia nodded her agreement. "Regardless of how it happened, at least our enemy has a face and a name now," she said. "This isn't something we can fight with subtlety anymore, I don't think. The lyrium you found, it was destroyed?"

"As best we could," Sev said. "It's a dangerous process that can potentially affect a templar doing it, so only those we trust should be allowed anywhere near it." Cullen nodded in approval of that. "You might also speak with Varric, see if any of his contacts could provide an alternate method."

"Good idea. Either way, there will be more found that needs disposing of." She made sure to catch her guard captain's eyes next. "Ash, we have work to do. The smuggling needs to stop, first of all. Heavy patrols of the docks will make things difficult for them, and I'd rather scare them off than try to catch them and risk letting more lyrium slip into Darktown." She expelled a breath, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"And I think it's time we started kicking some doors down. Work with Varric, get whatever information you can on other possible red lyrium sites. When we have leads I want to hit them hard and fast. I think the guard and the Lions together should be up for the task. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I'll get with my Lieutenants and Sergeants and we'll draw up a few action plans for you to review," he said. It appeared that he already had a few ideas stirring around in his head. In fact, Sophia's admissions seemed to invigorate the man, and he seemed eager to get to work. "That being said, we will definitely ramp up patrols in the docks. I had already intended to have Sammy and his unit put some eyes in the shadows, but I'll also get Vesper to get some muscle there as well. Hard and fast," he agreed with a confident smile.

"Any suggestions from the Inquisition?" he asked, turning his eyes toward them.

"Don't touch the lyrium directly, and be extremely careful when you handle it. Including what's on their bodies. It nearly killed one of ours, even in liquid form." Leon said as much with a shrug. "Also, any time you know you're facing reds, bring three men for every one you're expecting, and then more on top of that for the ones you aren't."

"Whatever they're planning, they won't find Kirkwall an easy target," Sophia promised. "We're far more capable of defending ourselves than we ever have been in the past." A thought seemed to occur to her, and she stood. "I refuse to let this dominate my entire day, as well. There's something I'd like you to see, Inquisition." Her eyes found Khari. "From what I've heard, I think you'll like it."

"Perhaps Leon and I could speak to you alone, Knight-Commander?" Sev asked, glancing at Leon before her eyes returned to Cullen. "There are some templar matters to discuss, among other things." Cullen nodded.

They split up from there, with Sophia leading them out of her office and out of her keep, while Leon, Sev, and Cullen remained behind to discuss their templar matters, and Ash set to work on his duties as guard captain. Sophia took Khari, Stel, and Marcy down the steps and away from the keep, along one of Hightown's narrower streets. "I've heard you're aiming to become a chevalier," she said to Khari. "Not the easiest field to break into. How's your progress been?"

Khari hummed. “I mean, still kinda waiting for an opportunity to actually break the, uh, ceiling, if you know what I mean, but... the training's going really well, I think." She offered Sophia a grin. “I'm not sure if it was Stel or Lucien that told you that, but either way, I'm pretty damn flattered."

"Maybe they both did," she said, returning the smile. "You have a way of making impressions on people. We have no chevaliers here, but between you and me, I am rather proud of what we've created. I think it's brought the entire city closer together. Through here." She led them to a wide gate flanked by city guards, who pushed them open for their Viscountess with a salute.

It was a training facility, quite simply, with a wide open courtyard of soft dirt, rectangular in shape and extending far ahead of them. The training grounds were exposed to the sky, with pillars and awnings surrounding it and providing shaded areas, a number of doors leading to armories, storage spaces, and the like. Stables were found off to their right, certainly not the only ones in Hightown. These were likely horses belonging either to the nobility, or to Sophia herself. They looked to be war horses all, strong and swift and fierce.

There was a melee ring in one of the far corners of the grounds, but the most obvious draw was the long wooden fence running along the length. A horse was thundering down its length away from them, an armored rider bearing down on a shield and weight-armed dummy with a lowered lance. With a crack the lance connected, punching the shield away and sending the weighted bag swinging around, but the rider was well beyond it by the time it would've struck his head. A few other nobles looked on, some tending to their horses while they waited for a turn, either against the dummy or against each other.

"Always a safe bet to find him here," Sophia remarked. The rider wheeled about and removed his helmet, revealing himself to be the same one that had ridden up to them the day before, William Alston. He trotted his horse back over to them, laying the lance across his lap. By the sheen of sweat on his brow, he'd been at it for a while already.

"Good morning Your Excellence, Inquisition. Come to see the Companions in action?"

"I thought they might be interested in seeing one of Kirkwall's undertakings, yes." She turned to Khari. "I also thought Khari might be interested in joining you for some practice. Have you worked with a lance much?"

Khari's eyes lit up; she'd shifted up onto the front of her feet before she'd actually thought about it, as if to better observe the goings-on. At the offer, she glanced quickly between William and Sophia, confirming that what she'd just heard had actually been said. If possible, her smile stretched wider. “I prefer swords, but Mick makes me practice everything. Ser MichaĂ«l, I mean." She gestured vaguely in Marcy's direction, half-forgetting and half-not-really-being-concerned that not everyone would know who he was. “Skyhold doesn't have an actual jousting setup, though; can I really use it?"

She tried to brook her obvious enthusiasm, but she wasn't successful.

"Absolutely," Sophia assured her. She paused for a moment, and then explained further. "Truth be told, I'm hoping word about this can reach the Alienage. I won't force anyone, but I want them to know the rest of this city is open to them. Not everyone can do what an Irregular of the Inquisition can, but if they hear an elf was able to take her turn at the joust in Hightown, I think it can only do good things."

"Some of the others took some convincing," William admitted from atop his horse, "but personally, I get tired of riding against the same people day in, day out. Some fresh meat is always welcome." He grinned. "If you're interested in a few tilts after getting warmed up."

Khari certainly didn't mind being the first. It was pretty much what she'd dedicated her life to being, and any step forward was one worth taking. She nodded, a little more seriously this time. “Give me a few minutes to loosen myself up and some equipment to ride with, and I'll take you up on that."

She found that all of it was readily provided, including the heavy lance and shield, though she left those on the ground while she mounted, making sure the saddle was on right and the horse beneath her was responsive. It was a blood bay color, with a broad stripe on its nose concealed beneath practice barding. Confirming that everything was where it was meant to be, she fitted the helmet down over her head, her vision narrowing to several vertical slits in the visor. Her breaths echoed in the space between her face and the cool steel.

“Hey Stel, can you hand me my lance and shield?"

"Do I get to be the squire, then?" Stel's reply was clearly intended for humor, and she obligingly handed up the shield first, waiting for Khari to get it set in the position she wanted before lifting the lance as well. It was wooden all the way down, without the metal tip used in less friendly circumstances, but it was still about ten feet long and somewhat unwieldy, painted in red and gold stripes. Stel foisted it up with both hands, holding it mostly level so Khari could tuck it against herself. "Good luck out there. Show them what you're made of, okay?" She flashed a smile and stepped back.

“Gritty sand and backtalk, and they're all gonna know it. I promise to be a better target than a quintain, at least." Khari figured her chances at actually winning a match were pretty low, but she might be able to break a lance or two on him if she tried hard enough. Shifting her grip just under the vamplate protecting her hand, she lodged the lance into a better couched position, steering the horse around with her legs to line herself up with the her side of the lists. There she stopped him, checking everything to make sure it was in order, then moved her eyes to the spectators.

“Someone want to call the rounds? I'm ready whenever Will is."

The young baron lifted his lance at the other end. "Morgan! Get off your ass and get the flag, will you?" A man who appeared to be the youngest of the Companions that were present almost jumped out of his bench upon being addressed, and rushed to grab a short crimson flag decorated with the white falcon symbol of Sophia's house. He rushed out to the center of the track, pausing to look both ways at the riders, checking to see they were both prepared.

Will pushed his visor down into place, his horse stamping about in anticipation. The flag was lifted, and he charged.

Khari wasn't quite as quick to react, but half a second later, she was charging too. The three-beat rhythm of the horse's canter smoothed out into the four-beat of a full gallop. Khari leveled her lance and pulled in a breath. It didn't take more than five seconds for contact. She knew on the half-stride in that she'd placed her lance slightly too high, and instead of splintering, it skidded off the side of Will's shield with an uncomfortable screech. She felt a heavy impact in her arm at the same time, and twisted slightly on instinct. A crack sounded, but not the shattering of a full break.

Then they rushed past one another, and Khari started pulling the horse up underneath her, her breath leaving her in a slightly-shaky rush. There was something exhilarating about that. About everything going into what was basically just a single moment. Wheeling herself around, she stood in her stirrups to readjust her seat.

Will's lance had broken, a split down the middle rendering it unusable, but it was a near thing, not a resounding loss on her part. That wasn't bad; she knew she could do better. Khari rolled her shoulders in the armor, grinning despite herself.

“Let's do that again."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella couldn't quite keep the smile off her face, watching Khari insist on multiple tilts, visibly improving with each one. Sophia, Marceline, and herself had moved into the shade, and were now seated well out of the way of any potential flying splinters or things of that nature. Honestly, it felt nice to be off her feet—she hadn't been able to sleep much after last night, and a lingering feeling of discomfort, guilt, and residual disgust sat heavily in the pit of her stomach. It was something she knew she'd need to spend some time with later, but she didn't think she was ready for that right now. And Khari, as she so often did, was proving to be a magnificent distraction.

There were others to choose from, though, and as the riders reset after the last round, Estella glanced at Sophia beside her. "I noticed Baron Alston seems quite convinced that the proper name for his group is the Queen's Companions," she observed, moving a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What's going on there?"

"A rather tiresome battle of semantics," she answered, crossing her legs and pulling her long braid over her shoulder. She folded her hands in her lap. "It's probably my own fault for encouraging them in other areas. There's a faction of the nobility that believes we should do away with the titles of Viscount and Viscountess. They want to declare me Queen of Kirkwall and the surrounding territories, for all the Free Marches and the rest of the world to hear. I doubt Orlais or Nevarra or Ferelden care much what my people call me, but the other Marcher states certainly would."

The next tilt proved inconclusive, both riders finding the other's shield as they passed, and afterwards William brought his horse around to Khari's end, instructing two of his fellows to take their turn next. He pulled up beside her, removing his helm and starting to offer some critique.

"This business with the citizen army has them on edge as it is. I'm not against the principle of independence and self-sufficiency for Kirkwall, but I won't have it harm relations with our neighbors. Starkhaven in particular offered valuable aid after the mage-templar battle, and I haven't forgotten it."

"Mhm, I can see where such a declaration would sit uneasily with the rest of the Free Marches in addition to the army. The other city-states may see such an act a threat to their independence, and fear that you may attempt to encroach upon it as a result," Marceline agreed simply.

"I'm maybe having a little trouble seeing the importance," Estella admitted freely. "You already do exactly the kinds of things a Queen would do in the first place, now that the Templars are in no danger of ruling Kirkwall from the Gallows. The standing army could be an issue, but I can't see any reason to care what your people call you if nothing actually changes." Then again, there didn't seem to be much point in anyone insisting on 'Queen,' either, unless... "Is it a sticking point for the nobles here because Viscount and Viscountess are holdovers from when Kirkwall was an Orlesian colony? I guess I could understand wanting to shed the implication."

"That is the usual argument for the change," Sophia said, nodding. She paused as two riders charged each other, one of them soundly outdoing the other with a solid hit against the other's miss, leaving the recipient of the hit leaned back heavily in the saddle, though they managed to remain in the seat. "I no longer need to grapple with and appease factions like templars and Qunari as my father tried to do. Cullen is thankfully willing consider all my advice on how the templars should function in Kirkwall, and the noble council's only true power would be choosing a new ruler if I were to die or be unable to lead. Any other power they have was granted by me, so in all but name, I am a monarch."

She exhaled a rather annoyed breath, something else occurring to her. "It is also a hereditary position. The council does love to remind me of that, and how I have no heir as of yet." That was a complex situation that Estella was fairly familiar with just by virtue of knowing and being good friends with the two people most involved.

"But this Queen business is probably locked in its course," she said. "The reliance on the templars was the first thing to be targeted, but our connections to Orlesian and even Tevinter occupiers in our history came soon after. I have engineers devising a way to bring down those slave statues without destroying any of the city, or the chains guarding the docks, but it's a long ways out. We have no navy as of yet, so those chains are the best defense we have against attack from the sea." They certainly were formidable, and could stop any ship larger than a rowboat from slipping through.

"I'll just have to keep convincing the other Marcher states that I have no expansionist plans towards them, even after I have an army and they call me Queen."

"That much, I can relate to," Estella replied wryly. "As our efforts to convince... everywhere else in the world that we don't intend to use our army for nefarious purposes are definitely still ongoing." Part of her wondered if they'd ever be able to do that, or if the political climate of Thedas just couldn't handle another independent power. The Wardens had collapsed rather dramatically, the Chantry was trying to build itself back up out of shambles since the Conclave. Perhaps there was a lesson in there, about trying to stably hold power without a border to go along with it. She hoped not—the Inquisition had to do better than the Chantry or the Wardens in this respect right now. They couldn't afford not to.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, smiling slightly as she jumped her thoughts to a slightly different track. "If it's any consolation, at least your nobles seem to like you. Lucien's in a bit of a bind with his. The solution's probably the same, though: time enough to convince the people you need to convince that you mean what you say."

That brought a small smile to her face, though it was a touch melancholy. They hadn't seen each other in quite a long time now, both held by their respective duties, and while Estella knew they wrote often to one another, it wasn't at all the same as being able to see someone you cared deeply about every day. Or even once in a while. "He's not very Orlesian in the ways they're used to in their rulers, is he?" She reached up to brush hair from her face and behind her ear. "I don't think I properly thanked you or the Inquisition for that. For your role at Halamshiral. Though I'm not actually sure what the extent of that role was. The stories I've heard conflict wildly, and Lucien has a way of understating things, specifically with regards to himself."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he politely asked the throne to surrender to him first," Ashton answered. It seemed he and Snuffy had finally returned from their duties. He was still armed, and still bore the full guard captain regalia, though now both Ash and Snuffy were without their kaddis, and he carried a folder beneath his arm. He paused for a second to think about it and shook his head with nostalgia in his eyes. "Damn, I miss that," Ash added, and genuinely too. Snuffy stared at him for a moment before she decided to make for the shade without him, but it wasn't long before he followed behind.

He held up the folder in his hands and shook it a bit before shaking it a bit, "Some rough plans to start with, we'll polish them as we get more information. I also had a nice talk with Varric, and he'll have his people keep their ears to the ground. He'll let us know as soon as he hears something," he explained to Sophia before tucking the folder back beneath his arm. "How is Lucien doing by the way? I wish I could visit more," he said, a mild pout forming at his lips.

Estella supposed she had seen him most recently, but six months was hardly more up-to-date than anyone would be who wrote him regularly. But there was information that letters along could not convey. "He's keeping well," she said with a slight nod. "Busier than I can possibly imagine, of course, but... he's in good health, and mostly good spirits, I think." She looked down at the hands folded in her lap for a moment, then up at Sophia. "It doesn't take any particularly-brilliant skills at observing to know you're never far from his mind, though."

She didn't exactly know what words to give the expression he'd worn, when he'd said of Sophia that she was very far away. Melancholy was accurate, but not quite enough, somehow. Just like Sophia, though, he continued to dedicate himself to his work even with that weight always close at hand. It was a remarkable kind of strength they shared. No doubt one most people lacked.

"As for Halamshiral, well... we helped." She wouldn't deny that much. "It seemed like there was a new assassination plot around every corner, and each one with a different target, Lucien included. Thankfully, none of them got too far."

"It sounds like absolute madness," Sophia said, shaking her head slightly. "And I've lived through a nightmarish party or two." She looked out to the practice field again, where Khari was preparing to take another turn. "All of your Irregulars attended, didn't they? I'm having trouble imagining Khari blending in well."

"She broke someone's nose," Estella replied, half-smiling. In retrospect, the incident was an amusing anecdote. Perhaps Khari would come to see it that way one day, too, even if it did distress her in the aftermath for legitimate reasons. "Looked lovely in her dress, though. I can confirm."

Sophia laughed softly at that, wearing the brightest smile they'd seen of her for this visit. "Somehow I don't have trouble believing that," she said. "Either part." From the sounds of it she didn't seem overly condemning of the nose breaking. Possibly assuming there was an understandable reason behind it, given the way her friends spoke of her. And it wasn't as though it had negatively affected the result of the night in the end.

"Well I'm glad you were there to help him, everyone who was involved. I wish I could have been, too." The melancholy, the subdued longing, returned very quickly, for reasons that were quite clear. Though Lucien had lived through many great events, large and small, that defined his life and the person he was, becoming Emperor of Orlais was no doubt among the most important of them. And her duty to her city and her people had kept her from being there to see.

"He's already been making some changes," she said, possibly trying to avoid shifting conversation in the direction her previous words would lead to. "He's working on appointing a true advisory circle. I suppose it's scandalous among the Orlesians for their ruler to act like they might not know everything under the sun. He has a far greater task than I did when I stepped into my role here, so I'm sure he could use all the help he can get. I don't envy him."

They both had power to change things for the better, and appreciated the chance to use it, but Estella knew them both well enough to know they saw their reigns as duty and not at all privilege. She'd seen first hand how long it had taken Sophia to accept that she deserved the chance to serve her people, her home, as their Viscountess. And soon their Queen, unless SĂ©verine's offer was one she was willing to take up.

"Have you thought at all about the after, Estella?" she asked. "When things have calmed down? I imagine it's difficult to think about. It was for me."

"It is," she agreed quietly, pursing her lips. "So much is uncertain that I can't even clearly see the trajectory to the end of it, sometimes. I know what we have to do, but I don't yet know exactly how, and I suppose that makes it hard to predict anything. And uncomfortable to try." She found that any such thoughts abruptly led her down one of two paths, neither of them particularly useful: the ideal end to it all, where everything was halcyon and wonderful, however unlikely that might be. And on the other hand, one of the thousand ways it could all go wrong. The afters she wouldn't be alive to see. Or worse, the afters where she would see, and miss someone important. Someones, sometimes.

She shook her head, clasping her fingers together and watching another pair of jousters tilt at each other. They scored a mutual hit, one breaking his lance on the other, but then falling sideways from the saddle, forced off by the placement of the opponent's thrust. It might be that breaking the lance over Corypheus would send the Inquisition tumbling, too—their balance was already so precarious.

"I think for people in our positions, in these situations, it's probably better not to." She spoke as though she had a fair amount of experience trying. "However you think it will turn out, something will change. Not necessarily for the worse, though. Especially if you do what you can to help, every single day." She looked to Estella, reaching slightly to place a hand on her forearm. "So don't try to take on too many days at once. You've made it this far. I know you can make it the rest of the way."

It was shortly after that William and Khari approached them, on foot this time, having removed the training gear required for the jousting. The baron waited to make sure he was welcome to speak, bowing slightly.

Sophia pulled her hand back into her lap, smiling down at them. "How did she fare?"

"She's got talent," he answered confidently. "Still pretty sloppy on her technique, but... no worse than you were the first few weeks, Excellency."

"Is that so?" Sophia lifted an eyebrow, but certainly didn't seem offended. "Maybe we can ride against each other next time you visit, Khari." She glanced down at her dress. "I'm afraid I'm not dressed for it at the moment."

Khari seemed pleased by the suggestion, a warm gleam in her eyes that suggested she was genuinely enjoying herself. “I'll hold you to that, Sophia. I'd never pass up a chance to add 'unhorsing a Viscountess' to my accomplishments. Or Queen, or whatever you are by then." She waved a hand, the title clearly entirely unimportant from her point of view.

"Bold words," Sophia answered, obviously enjoying herself as well. "I'd better keep practicing."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The little group picked their way down from Skyhold toward the lakeside that rest below the keep. Asala always thought it was a lovely spot, and utilitarian when necessary. However, today's visit was more of the latter variety, though the former was always a plus in her book. She had decided to take Leon up on his suggestion and start practicing on her tactics, or at the very least learn how to do things so that she wouldn't inadvertently get in the others' way. For this little excursion, she had obviously asked Khari to come along, and Astraia as well. At the very least, she had hoped to learn the basics by the days end. Or the basics of basics. She was no soldier, nor had she ever had to learn how to work as part of unit. She'd never even considered how her magic might have affected the others, not until Leon brought it up. Bluntly, but still.

"So, uh, any initial suggestions? Ideas? I must admit, I am... a bit out of my element," Asala asked with an apologetic smile.

Khari hummed, taking a few more steps forward and half-turning back around to face them. “Well, this part's pretty flat, so your options would be limited. Leon said you wanted to learn crowd control. You could still do some of that here." She crossed her arms loosely over her body and shrugged. “Say I'm standing right here, out in the open like this, right? And I'm way outnumbered. What can you do to help me that's not gonna stop me from moving around when I need to?"

"I guess..." Asala began looking around trying to find a satisfactory answer. Khari was correct, the place was flat, and nothing stood out to her that would lend itself to accomplishing the goal. That meant she'd have to come up with something on her own. She tilted her head and glanced back toward Khari. "Uh, I guess I would... Protect your back?" she answered, summoning a barrier behind her in demonstration.

“Putting a wall to my back isn't exactly going to help me stay mobile, is it?" Khari arched an eyebrow. “But putting walls in front of them? Much better idea when fighting with someone like me. Defense isn't just about shielding individual people. Castles are defenses. High ground is a defense. Choke points are a defense. You have the ability to either create or at least take advantage of all of those things, without putting a barrier anywhere near me."

She pursed her lips, glancing around as though looking for something in particular. “No doubt trying to all of that at once would be impossible, and we're all just going to have to live with the fact that magic shields aren't as good as stone walls. But this is battle—even a few seconds' delay can make all the difference between killing and getting killed." She took several more large steps backwards, putting distance between them. “So right now, pretend that barriers won't work at all if they're closer than ten feet to me. The Venatori are coming in from over there." She pointed across the field. “And it's just the three of us. We've got to set ourselves up so we don't die. What do you do?"

Astraia had been leaning on her staff for the moment, listening to the exchange at the edge, but once Khari set up the situation, she lowered the staff slightly, taking one hand from it and lifting it palm up in the direction of the "Venatori." Several mounds of dirt raised from the ground, thin and no more than three feet tall, packed enough to stay together. She continued until there were ten of them. Visual aids, it would seem. She could probably move them easily enough, too.

"Delay... them?" Asala asked, though her answer was shaky. However, she did make an effort to turn toward Astraia smile and nod her appreciation for the visuals. "To uh, prepare ourselves better? Or at the very least... Delay a few of them, so that they do not overrun us all at one time?" she asked again. If she could somehow negate their numbers, then they had a better chance of standing up to them. Only dealing with two or three at a time would be a whole lot better than having to face them all at once.

With that, she turned toward the earthen figures. From her hands a barrier sprung to life, rather short, but not short enough to simply climb over. Rather, it was wide, covering most of the intended trajectory of the figures. She then waved her hands back and forth, causing the barrier to shift with them.

"That seems like a good idea," Astraia agreed. The two dirt mounds caught on their side of the barrier were scattered to the wind, representative of Khari hacking them down or any other unfortunate end for them. Two more popped up on the other side. "Rather than spread them out," She pushed the figures away from one another, spacing them roughly evenly, "you could also try to trick them, maybe? Give them a reason to group up close to each other, even in an open space like this. Lots of magic is more useful when the targets aren't spread out."

Asala tilted her head as she listened, taking in all the advice she could. It was sound, of course, Asala had personally witnessed the damage a well placed fireball could do to a group of enemies. If she could force them to group up like that for her allies, then... She turned her attention back to the barrier and began to twist and turn her hands. The barrier responded to her commands, bending and warping so as to make a rounded L-shape. She then motioned for the barrier to begin moving back and forth, in an attempt to corral the earth figures.

"Say... Something like this?" she asked, glancing back toward them.

Khari reached up to scratch her head. “Keeping it moving like that seems like a lot of work. Can't you just kinda make a funnel and leave it standing? Sure they might break it eventually, but it'd give you time and resources to do other stuff." She looked skeptically at the moving barrier, frowning slightly for a reason that was not clear. "Like... if Leon's standing in a choke point and getting fed one enemy at a time because there are barriers mimicking natural terrain, the battle's over, you know?" She shrugged. “Or Astraia here throws in a chain lightning and fries them all because they're wasting time trying to take it down."

Asala frowned at that and let the glow die from her hands. "Leave it standing? Er," she said glancing back toward the figures. While she had been working on creating static armor from her barriers, creating a static wall was something else entirely. "Well, you see. The thing is, I am unable to, uh, just set a barrier up," she added. "I have to constantly feed them mana in order for them to, uh, stay. Otherwise they will implode on themselves," she said with a glance to her feet. It was also why repelling attacks took more energy than just summoning a barrier. It took more energy for the shield to keep its form and shape under duress.

"But... I can funnel them," she said, the glow returning to her hands. This time, she kept her hands further a part, and concentrated harder. Controlling two barriers at a time was more difficult than just one large one after all. A pair of them flashed to life, and slowly molded into large rounded funnel, the mouth of which just wide enough to let through two at a time. She didn't say much after that, focusing on the two barriers she just erected.

They kept at the practice, forming barriers into different shapes, some of which held better than others, until Asala was struggling to alter them, at which point Khari called a halt. “Take a breather. We can go looking for some different terrain while you rest a bit." Apparently, hiking through the mountains was what counted as 'rest' for Khari. Probably just because it wasn't actively practicing anything. She didn't ever seem to run out of energy.

Flashing a grin, she struck out south, picking a steep upward slope that would take them up the side of the mountain. The footing mostly seemed solid, but it was probably a better idea to step where the others did, just to make sure. Glancing back over her shoulder, Khari met eyes with Astraia for a moment. “Don't see you a lot, Astraia. Stuff's going well for you with the mages and all that?" Though her words weren't especially delicate, she did seem interested in the answer.

"Mostly," was the one she gave. Like Khari, Astraia didn't seem bothered by the hike, though she certainly didn't seem to thrive on physical activity the way the red-haired elf did. "I'm getting better, but not as fast anymore. I still can't aim most spells well at all. I can usually get the effect I want, but it'll be too much of it, or in the wrong place." Her hair jingled softly with each upward step they took. She still hadn't gotten out of the habit of ornamenting it with many things that she found. Nor had it seen much of a cut in a long while.

"I'm keeping at it, though. The practice is good for keeping my mind off things, if nothing else." She didn't have to specify what she was trying to avoid. Vesryn had been steadily growing worse lately, the second time in recent memory Astraia had needed to watch either friend or family fighting a losing battle with a sickness of some unbeatable kind. "There's been more time for it lately. No battles, nothing major in the infirmary since you got back from Kasos with the Commander." She shook her head. "I don't know how you and the others do stuff like that so often. Just... throw yourself at the most dangerous things like that."

“Someone has to, right?" Khari dropped back to walk a little more in line with them when the trail evened out a bit, rolling her shoulders. “I'm pretty good at being cavalier with my own safety, I guess. Believe it or not, it's something you can get used to, with enough time." Her expression sobered at that, brows knitting together. “It helps knowing that there are people with you that you can trust, though."

She was quiet a moment, then spoke up again. “Did you ever learn to actually fight with your staff, or is it just a conduit? Sometimes when I feel like I'm hitting a wall with one thing, all I need to do is change to something else for a while."

"Fight with it?" she repeated, as though the idea had been quite foreign to her. "No, I've never really thought to try that. I'm... well, I'm really small, obviously, and it always seemed like if I needed to defend myself, my magic would serve me better than anything I could do physically." She had a point. Astraia was even shorter than Khari, and where Khari had built muscle Astraia was quite thin. Slender, in the way the elves often were.

"Do you think I should?" She sounded a little daunted by the thought. "Some of the other mages do. Aurora does, but that's because, well." She made a brief punching motion, referencing the mage captain's rather unique style. As of yet Astraia didn't seem to have much of a style, save for slinging powerful spells when absolutely required, and hoping they only harmed her enemies.

“It couldn't hurt to know how, could it? If it goes well, you have an option if someone gets too close for the bigger spells to be safe. If it doesn't, it might be good exercise at least. I bet Cy knows how to use one, and he kinda seems like he needs more to do these days. Or Harellan, maybe." Khari stopped speaking for a moment to mount a ledge about as high as her chest, pulling herself up smoothly.

“And if you're good enough with a physical weapon like that, you can take people out without doing them any permanent harm. I dunno much about magic, but it seems harder to guarantee that unless you use something all defensive like Asala does." She glanced a moment at the Qunari woman, then stepped away from the ledge so the other two could climb it.

"And I don't know if I'll ever have the control to maintain anything like that." Constant, sustained spells didn't seem to be her strength, though she wasn't faring poorly at new healing techniques she was learning. "Maybe I will ask Cy." She seemed to think on it a moment longer after she said it, before nodding to herself. She certainly spent a decent amount of her time around him, often going up to his tower after she was finished at the infirmary or training with the other mages, either to read or talk or stargaze. She made no mention of Harellan, and if she thought that was as plausible.

"What about you, Asala? Anything else on your mind?" She looked back after asking the question, likely to check if Asala was able to keep up. "Should we slow down?"

Asala flashed a bright smile upon mention of her name "No, no. I am fine, thank you," she said. Despite her words, sweat was beginning to form in her hairline. She was certainly not as athletic as Khari, by far, and Astraia was Dalish--some path finding was to be expected she supposed. Fortunately, the ledge was not as tall for her as it was for the others. She put her back to it and lifted herself onto it in a seated position. Before spinning around and standing however, she extended a hand for Astraia to take. Khari was right, of course. Earth was far too blunt and powerful to be reliably nonlethal, and one needed very specific control to render someone unconscious with lightning. She certainly would not wish to risk it.

"I have not used a staff myself in quite sometime," she said, tapping the focusing crystal that hung around her neck. Instead of being embedded in a staff, Cyrus had fashioned her a necklace out of one. "Though, if you do go to see Cyrus, I would not mind accompanying you. I am afraid I have not visited as much as I should," she said with a frown. Between all of her studies and practicing with Ethne, she hadn't really found the time to visit, and thinking about it now made her feel guilty.

"Okay," she acquiesced. "I'll try to let you know ahead of time." There was something else to her words, a slight bit of unease, but whatever was behind it she kept under the surface, choosing instead to look around at their climb.

"Have you ever had to fight in a place like this, Khari? A mountainside, steep paths? I imagine that would make things difficult."

“Well, not falling off is pretty important, obviously." Khari cracked another grin. “But yeah, in a place like this, a lot of the bottleneck stuff will already be set up for you. So probably the best uses of your barriers are going to be enhancing what's already there, or creating more space for your allies. So." She clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Can you make barriers strong enough to stand on?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Even Zahra noted how strong she’d gotten over the past few months. The fact that it was discernible, rather than felt, spoke volumes about how she felt about her progress. Muscles she’d never known to exist had begun to form. Biceps. Shoulders. Everything she needed to lance an arrow clear through someone’s skull. An archer’s dream. She felt strong. Stronger, in any case. No longer did she huff and puff up the stairway like she was on the brink of death. An improvement on her endurance. Not only had she begun regularly concocting her own little potions—under Rom’s supervision and frequent recommendations that she should practice self-restriction or else she’d find herself much in the same place he had, but she’d also stayed true to a regimen. A rarity, given her lack of conviction in most things.

Alchemy was a tool; not a crutch to lean herself on.

It was a reminder she took seriously, even if her impatience was in conflict. She could tell by the pinch of his brows whenever they had their lessons that it was no laughing matter. How would she have fared in his place? Not so well if her drinking was anything to go by. Sailors, and pirates, by default linked arms with some sort of dependency. Whether it was freedom or liquor or any other kind of unsavory inclination, they were bound and doomed once their boots hit the boards of a ship. Usually. There were exemptions. She hadn’t met one yet.

This was a perfect day to test her mettle. The day was in full flight and she had already delivered the questionable challenge letters underneath Khari and Rom’s doorways; a wink of levity in her slanted scrawl. All sloping letters and eccentric spirals; the wording was ridiculous, but she assumed they would’ve understood it anyhow. She hadn’t actually sparred with anyone besides Marcy and Ril. One was planned, and the other was quite impromptu. She’d learned much from both
 but had always wanted to toss dirt with those two. The sun had fortunately dipped behind a formation of clouds, allowing a little shade across the training grounds.

Favoring a lighter fare of clothing for the smarmy weather, Zahra had chosen a fitted leather vest and billowy, dark brown trousers that were rolled to her knees. As was common in Skyhold, she’d forgone shoes. She stretched her arms over her head in a wide arc and let them fall back to her sides again; a grin already set on her face as she awaited their arrival.

Khari was the first to show, lightly-armored compared to usual, like she wasn't quite sure if she were going to be needing it or not. She was still doing up some of the pieces as she walked actually, an enterprise that was clearly frustrating her. Grumbling, she came to a stop a few feet from Zahra, blowing a puff of air upwards to force a stray red curl out of her face. It worked for about two seconds before the lock fell back down in exactly the same spot.

The issue was one of lacing—it seemed she hadn't threaded them through beforehand like she probably should have, and was now effectively trying to stitch herself into the hardened leather plates. “Why is this harder to get into than plate?" One of the laces finally fit through the eyelet, but that still left her at an awkward angle, considering that they ran down her sides beneath either arm.

Zahra’s attempt to withhold laughter ended in an unwomanly snort—not so unlike her usual bouts of laughter, though she doubled over, and planted her hands on her knees, before finally straightening and crossing the yard towards her. So many laces, it was a wonder that Khari had enough patience to put any of it on. “Let me, let me,” she grinned wide, and circled around to Khari’s side, flapping her fingers away so that she could finish lace them up herself.

It wasn’t difficult to do from her angle. A second pair of hands was essential, or there’d be a lot of frustration. She wondered if this was the reason knights had those assistants, yes. Squires. Did templars have the same kind of person trailing along beside them? Chevalier? Someone who would help when they were needed. Learning along the way. Someday, she supposed, Khari would have someone like that at her side, teaching them what it meant to be a warrior. She hoped so.

“Here I was thinking that anything made of steel would be a bloody racket to get into.” She gave her a pat and stepped off to the side, “I don’t know how you do it.”

"Lots of practice, if I had to guess." It seemed Rom wasn't long after Khari, though he'd emerged from the main keep, geared up as he usually was by baring his arms up past the shoulders, with his leather armor only where it was needed. No doubt he didn't struggle putting that on, or taking it off. Sometimes it seemed like he didn't ever leave home without it, or his blades. The ones he wore today weren't sharp and deadly like the others, though, more useful for painfully prodding weak spots to let his opponent know that in a real fight they'd be bleeding all over the place now.

He pulled on a second bracer, the protection extending along the top of his hand to protect his knuckles as well. He flexed his hand to test the tightness of it, apparently finding it adequate. "So what are we up for today, Zee?" He seemed in a decent mood. Possibly from his continued recovery from those potions of his. She hadn't seen him take one in quite a while now. Not since she'd made it back to Skyhold at least. He was quite possibly done with them altogether.

That Zahra was wearing the least amount of armor hadn’t escaped her, but she was an archer, and usually only bore leather bracers and little else; even when using her rapiers. Movement was a priority. She was beginning to realize that it was her main strength and she only just had begun working on her endurance to meet the requirements of lasting more than a few minutes. Her window was small, but she was optimistic that she’d improve with time.

She clapped her hands together and wandered to the center of the training grounds. “I’ve seen both of you spar before. And while you’ve been away, I’ve been training quite a bit.” An eyebrow rose, inquiringly. She spun into a slow, languid circle, hands sweeping out to her sides. “I figured it’d be fun to see the fruit of my labors.” She pulled her hands back to her sides and grinned wide, teeth bared, “With bets, for flavor.”

Khari blinked, crossing her arms, though not in a particularly aggressive way. “Wait, what are we betting? Because if this is another game where we have to take our clothes off, I'm not drunk enough to play it."

“No, no, not thatkind of game,” Zahra waggled her eyebrows and stepped off to the side of the grounds, hunching over to pick up her blunt blades. They were somewhat thinner. Perfect for swinging blades with as much precision as rapiers. Clearly not as sharp as those made for penetrating the thin defenses leather armor allotted. But, enough to let someone know that if they’d been sharper, they would have done damage to hobble them.

“Bets to see who can take someone down the quickest,” she tapped her blade on the ground and tipped her head to the side, “They don’t need to be as tawdry as those, unless you want them to be. Stripping our clothes would be awfully strange.” Her lips curled into another smile, crinkling the corner’s of her eyes, “Personally, I’d love an extra piece of pie at our meals.” She rolled her shoulder into a stretch and shrugged her shoulders, working out the kinks. Challenges always pushed her to her limits, this was no different.

Rom looked a little amused by the idea. He made his way over to the edge of the practice ring, allowing the two women to occupy the center. "If you can take down Khari at all, I'll get you all the pie you can handle." There was no doubt he was capable of it. Being Lord Inquisitor had its benefits, after all, and one of them included the ability to nab anything he wanted from Skyhold's kitchens. It was something he'd been known to do, from time to time.

He put his back to the wooden fence, stepping up to sit on the highest rung of it. "Enough pie to undo all the work you've been doing lately."

Khari grinned, apparently pleased with the direction of the conversation for some reason or another. “That's not a whole lot of incentive for me, but this is a spar, so I really don't need any. Pie's nice though." She considered the ring around them, then reached back over her shoulder to pull forward her own weapon. It was certainly much heavier than anything Zahra would ever bother to use, and quite a lot longer as well.

He was right. It’d undo all her hard work—though she figured that all she needed to do was train even harder to allow herself the satisfaction of an extra pastry on her plate. Skyhold’s pastries were divine. Zahra lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug and stepped off to the center of the grounds, grin tempering itself into a smile, “Bragging rights are just as good.”

It was a challenge. A small taunt. She could already see the flicker in Khari’s eyes; the woman always loved a good fight whether it was with her fists or her ridiculously large sword. Sparring was a battle in itself. It was one of the things she loved so much about her. For a moment she glanced at her own thin blades and decidedly tossed one to the side, drawing one of her hands at the middle of her back: fingers splayed.

What Zahra lacked in ferocity and brutish strength, she made up for in agility. Flexibility. Grace, in a sense. Rapiers were used by those who could dance; and if she’d learned anything from Marcy
 fencing was a calculated art that relied on reflexes, and calculated movements. Attributes she could take advantage of. Temper like steel. She drew her foot backwards and slowly sidestepped to Khari’s right, blade poised vertically. Waiting.

It would no doubt be an exaggeration to call anything Khari did in a spar or a battle dancing. They'd fought alongside each other often enough for Zahra to know that. But the Khari that looked back at her now was clearly a very different one from the early days, when she'd have risen to the bait like a hungry shark. Instead, her expression was almost blank, like she wasn't even paying attention to what Zahra had said, only the way in which she was standing. Assessing, analyzing. Strategizing.

But when she moved, she exploded. With a sudden lunge, Khari brought her sword around faster than anyone had a right to move something that large, going in for an efficient overhead cleave. It wasn't actually aimed for Zahra's head, of course—even a practice blade would do a lot of damage if it hit there. Instead, she went in for the forward shoulder.

It surprised Zahra when Khari hurtled forward after the minuet of non-action—she’d been watching her closely. Looking for chinks in her posture, in her stance, perhaps. There was no doubt that she’d learned much from Leon and Lucien both; she was redefining what it meant to be a chevalier, all on her own.

However, she had misjudged her speed. It forced her into an awkward position of sidestepping to the left, twisting her torso sideways, and bringing her rapier to clang against the flat side of Khari’s blade. It did nothing but allow her enough time to stumble off to the side. Bare instincts, rather than anything else. If she’d taken any longer than a second to react, she would’ve caught her arm in the downward cleave.

This left her in an unfortunate position where she couldn’t take a second swing. Not how she’d originally planned. Instead, Zahra took a few more circling steps, kicking up dirt, and attempted a forward thrust towards Khari’s belly.

Khari shifted to the side slightly, just enough that the blade skimmed past the surface of her armor instead of posing any genuine threat. Unlike Zahra's dodge, it didn't unbalance her much; she stepped closer and went in for a pommel strike to the sternum.

Zahra only backpedaledenough for Khari’s strike to fall shy of her chest. A few inches, at best. She’d watched Khari enough times from across the grounds to know how she moved, but even still, she was surprised by just how quick her movements were. She was a far cry from the woman she’d met on the shoreline, baring her teeth against dragons and giants. Wide-eyed and curious; a beast of a woman who railed at the chance to battle against something much larger than herself.

She supposed that that Khari was still there, under the surface. Whatever her lessons had taught her proved much more efficient in a duel. Any attempt to taunt her proved fruitless. She couldn’t even catch her eye. As she rounded at her elbow, she couldn’t help but think of a chess board. Where once Khari had moved about with a relentless fury, she moved with purpose. Guessing where she’d move before she planted her foot down.

After parrying a few more strikes, twirling out of reach, Zahra managed to catch Khari’s shoulder, after receiving a few blows of her own. Instinctive. Quick strikes. Ineffective compared to Khari’s furious strength. But if they had been true blades, they may have been enough to send someone to their knees. She leveled one at the back of her leg. Enough to hobble, if it had been a true battle. She couldn’t help but grin as she set her blade in front of her face, and stepped into her, attempting to stall the downward strike at the base; catching the pommel. A rapier would falter against a much larger sword, unless the combatants were close enough to snatch at their wrist.

She had. Though, not particularly successfully.

The stand-still didn’t last as long as she wished it would. Panting as she was. Sweat trickled down her spine, and dripped off her chin. Khari managed to slip closer still, slipping her arm beneath her armpit, tossing her off her feet. Into the air. The world turned upside down. Even if she’d wanted to halt her momentum, she doubted she could. She hadn’t expected it. Not until she landed on her back and her breath heaved out of her. Her rapier clattered off to the side. It took her a moment to curl into herself, before she started laughing. Cackling.

“Strong as a bear, you are,” it came out as a wheeze, bared through teeth, “Guess you win this one.”

Khari grinned in reply, the narrow, dauntless focus of a moment ago dissolving as though it had never been there and leaving only the gregarious elf woman behind in its wake. Like someone had snapped and produced light in a dark room, chasing away the shadow and foreboding all at once. Staking her practice sword in the ground, she made her way over to Zahra, offering a hand to help her back to her feet. “Sorry I threw you. Don't get a chance to practice that, usually. Most of the people I fight are a bit too heavy for it, and Stel's too slippery."

Zahra reached up and grabbed onto Khari’s hand, letting her pull her back up. She planted her hands on her hips and rolled her shoulders, stretching out the ache in her back. She’d definitely feel it tomorrow. The grin hadn’t left her face, though. She never wanted anyone to go easy on her. It would’ve been insulting otherwise. “That’s alright. Surprised me, that’s all.”

Jokes aside. She noted the difference. Her lack of endurance had improved. She doubted she would’ve been able to last that long against Khari before, not with her relentless style of fighting. It was something, at least. There would be times in the future where a bow would not be at her fingertips, where she’d have to square off against someone much stronger than she. “Here I was thinking I’d made all the progress,” once she steadied her breathing, she sidled to Khari’s side and slung one of her arms around her shoulders, hugging her close, “Alas, I don’t think I’ve got slippery in me.”

She hummed low in her throat and waggled her eyebrows in Rom’s direction. A challenge, in not so many words. “I don’t think I’ll be winning any pies today, but this, I think, is good enough.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
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"A dog might slink back to the hand it has bitten
And be forgiven, but a slave never.
If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight."
-Canticle of Shartan 9:7
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Somehow the raven knew to find him specifically. Dark wings, dark words.

Rom didn't know when to expect it, but some feeling in his gut told him it would be soon. Chryseis didn't allow things to go unfinished forever, and had a way of making progress even where none was to be found. He couldn't say he expected it to be made quite like this, but then the Venatori were not a force to be trifled with, and Chryseis's resources in Tevinter had become somewhat limited of late.

The raven that carried the message had flown into his quarters through the mouth of the undercroft's cavern, flapping to a perch on his armor stand and waiting patiently. There was an unnatural light to its eyes, some spell that Chryseis had learned. He'd never seen her turn into an animal of any kind, as she had little interest in it, but dominating minds and thoughts was very much her strength. It was a simple enough task to get a raven to deliver a message for her. And a simple enough task for the Venatori to see its direction, predict its contents, and let it go.

He held eye contact with the dark bird for a few seconds, wondering if she could see him through it. If she could, she'd read the thoughts written on his face and know he was pondering just tearing up the message, scattering it to the winds and letting her die. She was formidable, but those she faced were too, and to fight them on her own would surely mean her death. Only with a strong reminder of her purpose and what it meant for his friends and his cause did he stay his hand. They needed this. For Vesryn, Estella, Cyrus, Ithilian, Amalia. For Zee to have a chance to resolve things with her family. For the Inquisition.

He folded the paper carefully in his hands and made his way out to the door. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs drew his gaze up, where he found Khari on her way down. It was about time for them to train together, something they'd continued to do after the conversation they'd had on the walls. It was undoubtedly a little more awkward now, but neither of them made any mention of it.

"We're gonna have to call it off today," he said from his doorway, holding up the folded letter. "Chryseis is in Ferelden. I need you to get Estella and Rilien, bring them to the war room. I'll get Leon." It went without saying that he'd want her there as well.

Khari didn't waste time asking unnecessary questions—she nodded shortly and reversed direction, heading back down the hallway at a brisk clip. She hit the door just close enough to him that he could slide through the gap before it closed behind her, but then they peeled off in opposite directions, hers carrying her towards the Spymaster's tower.

Rom didn't have as far to go to get to Leon's tower, and the Commander didn't make himself difficult to find, nor did he question him any more than Khari had. Rom handed over the small letter to Leon on their way up to the war room so he could read for himself. The script was quite small, but Chryseis had always been precise with her letters, and there was no difficulty in making out any of the words.

They didn't have to wait long in the war room for Khari to return with Estella and Rilien, both dressed for the training they'd just had interrupted. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Rom stepped up to the map laid out on the table in front of them.

"Chryseis Viridius contacted me. She says she's in Ferelden. Venatori forced her from her home in Minrathous, and have pursued her the entire way." He paused. That information was a bit incredulous on its own, that the Venatori had neither captured her nor lost her trail. "They're using her as bait, well aware that she would contact the Inquisition for help. She recommends that we go anyway, and spring the trap."

Estella stepped up to the map table on the other side, her eyes falling to where Ferelden was laid out. Not a small country, by any means. "Where exactly in Ferelden is she?" She asked, reaching up to rub at the scar just beneath her jawline. A recent one; from Kirkwall, he understood. "And why not try to come here, I wonder? Jader would have made the most sense as a landing place, wouldn't it have?"

"I don't think she came by boat," he answered. He imagined several dead horses, to make it this far south in reasonable time. "And I expect any move she made was only because the Venatori allowed it. If she tried to make for Skyhold, they'd attack and kill her. If we go in force, they'll kill her. She might as well be their prisoner, but they allowed her to get this far because they know it'll tempt us to go after her." He pointed to a spot on the map, due east of Haven. "She's at an inn called the Bright Water, on the west banks of Lake Calenhad. No mention of the exact Venatori strength, but if they're avoiding notice from locals, it can't be much. A few elites."

Khari was frowning openly; it wasn't hard to figure out why. No doubt the idea of so directly aiding Chryseis didn't sit well with her. She crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at the the blue spot that represented Lake Calenhad. “So... who're we taking then? If this is anything like the last time we sprang a trap, it's going to go badly, but that was a lot of Reds and the Lord Seeker. This should be cake by comparison." Though the words themselves were dismissive, her tone didn't convey the same, not with the wry edge it carried.

Rom appreciated them all the same. This didn't seem likely to be as hard as Kasos, but the location was less than ideal. There were a few reasons why Chryseis might pick a place populated with civilians to wait for the trap to spring, and none of them were pleasant to think about. Even if he could see the logic behind it. "The trap is for me," he said, tilting his head slightly in thought. "Or an Inquisitor, at the very least. We have to assume they're watching the road in. If they see they aren't getting a chance at what they want, we might arrive to find only corpses and a burned inn. So it needs to be me." He certainly wasn't going to ask Estella to meet Chryseis for him and spring a trap, not when it had been his idea to use her help in the first place. And he did need to meet her.

"I'd like Asala to be there. I'm not seeing any way we get out clean, and we need to make sure Chryseis survives." He looked up from the map, to Leon. "I'd prefer if Khari and Zee can be there as well. And if you're up for another ambush, seems like you'd be well suited for the quarters and the enemies." He figured that was as large a group as the Venatori were willing to entertain combating, given that they had the advantage of surprise almost guaranteed to be on their side.

Leon smiled a bit, his eyes narrowing at the corners. "I believe you just suggested I would make a good barroom brawler because I punch things," he said, shaking his head minutely before his expression sobered. It was a mostly quite serious matter, after all. "I admit, to configure ourselves this way is to trigger the trap with rather more fingers than necessary, so to speak, but we almost have to, to make it seem worth the risk from their perspective."

No doubt the events at Kasos weighed heavily on him still, but as Khari had pointed out, this situation was considerably different for many reasons. After a moment more, he dipped his chin slowly. "I'm recovered enough to do this much. You may consider me at your disposal."

"Thank you." It was something of a weight off, to know he'd have many of those closest to him at his back. "It might be best if some of the scouts shadow us, but it should be at a distance. To cover us if we need to make an escape, or to catch any Venatori that try the same." Risk or not, he didn't think it best to chance them falling into Venatori hands. That would likely be worse than losing their way into Tevinter, if indeed Chryseis had arranged it.

"I think that's everything," he said. Nervousness was not something he showed often, but he was sure it was showing up now. "We should leave as soon as we're able. Once we have Chryseis, we can begin preparations for the journey north, however she recommends we make it." His eyes met Estella's as he said it. He knew she had been waiting for this day to come for a while as well, for her own reasons.

She wore an expression of vague unease, likely from multiple sources, but he watched her rid herself of it in her habitual way. Her shoulders lifted as she took in a deep breath, then offered a tentative smile. "I'll get that started here while you're gone. Be careful, Rom." She filed out first, followed closely by Leon, no doubt off to make his own preparations for a trip into the field.

Rilien glided out quietly after them, leaving Khari and Rom as the sole occupants of the large war room. She pulled her eyes up from the maps on the table and settled them on him. “So." She paused, clearly reaching for words that were not immediately ready to her tongue. “This probably isn't the way you were planning on meeting her next." She blinked, grimacing like she might have said something else, but whatever it was, she swallowed it instead.

"Honestly, this might be better than what I'd thought." The Venatori pursuing her were a rather obvious downside to things, but taking them out of the equation... "I thought we'd meet her in Minrathous. Then I'd just be waiting for it for weeks while we sailed there or something. I'd end up feeling as sick as you." He smiled slightly, remembering how well she'd fared on their journey to Llomerryn. "This way I'll just meet her before I even have time to think about it. And I've got friends with me, and we'll have much better things to do than talk about anything that happened in the past."

Maybe they would need to get to that eventually, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it. Rom did have some plans regarding that particular bridge, but he honestly didn't know if he should give voice to them. "Listen, uh... when we meet her, I honestly don't know what I'll do, or what she'll do. It's been a long time, and for all I know she might've changed as much as I have. Not necessarily in a good way, either. Just..." he hesitated, trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say. "Just do that thing you do, where you help me be a different person than I was before all of this. Maybe don't focus on her, but just me. If that makes sense." He felt a bit of heat rising to his cheeks, but ignored it. It was important to say.

Khari expelled a breath from her nose, a bit harder than necessary; her mouth pulled to the side. Clearly, she didn't take the request to be an easy one, but she nodded readily enough. “Okay." She pursed her lips, then nodded again, but more firmly. “I'll... uh, do my best. To help you. That's the important thing anyway." She cleared her throat, then smiled a bit. “But I think you'd be okay even if I didn't. You are a different person. You'll see."

"Thanks. I hope so." He knew he'd changed, but he wasn't willing to discount the possibility that he could revert, even if only temporarily. He also had to acknowledge that Khari's personality was not always the best in delicate situations. She'd shown as much at Halamshiral, thankfully not in a way that had caused lasting harm. She didn't know Chryseis, not like he knew her, so it was almost certainly better for her to follow his lead. As long as his lead was worth following. It was all very complicated, and to be honest he was looking forward to getting it over with.

"We'll handle the Venatori, and then we'll handle Chryseis." One way or another, he'd find a way to be rid of her. To purge whatever shadow she still had hanging over him, intentionally or not. But first they needed her help. He could wait, and endure her a little longer.

"Come on, we should get ready. Don't have much time to lose."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The Bright Water was fairly aptly named. As the Inquisition's small party approached it from the northwest, they could see moonlight reflecting off the surface of Lake Calenhad beyond, like a silvered mirror. They'd docked Riptide several miles up, to avoid spooking the Venatori, and now approached on foot, moving neither especially quietly nor in such a way as to make a production of their presence. Arguably they would have found actual stealth impossible, particularly considering that Asala was here. Khari knew she was next up on the list of not being able to keep it down, but the gap was more like a gulf, if she did say so herself.

They hadn't passed much of interest so far—just farmland, crops ripening that last touch before harvest, some of the leaves on ears of corn beginning to turn brown at the edges. This far south and at this time of night, the air was a little chilly; Khari was glad of her cloak, to be sure. A few times throughout the trek, she'd gotten the distinct sense that she was being observed, but none of the bastards had shown themselves, so she'd done her best to ignore it and keep moving.

But now they could see the inn ahead; it was a comfortably-sized building, two stories tall, sitting on a well-tended plot of land. Warm light poured from the windows, golden illumination pooling onto the surrounding lawn. She could make out smoke wafting regularly from the chimney, sure signs of a fire working to stave off the chill. In her traveling days, she'd have bypassed it, uncertain she'd be able to afford a room and too prideful to make any attempt to plead the fee down. She supposed that, with the Inquisition salary she got pretty regularly and never had much use for, that probably wouldn't be an issue anymore, but they weren't here for any purpose so mundane as staying the night and eating a hot meal. Much as she would have preferred that to what they were doing.

She stopped a good fifty yards from the building, turning over her shoulder to glance at the others. “So... are we just going in, or...?"

"In a moment." Rom was never the most talkative sort, but he'd been especially quiet on their way over, for the obvious reasons. He hadn't drawn up his hood or done anything else to conceal who and what he was. In the darkness a faint green light was usually visible emanating from his marked hand. None of the others needed to disguise themselves either, or hide the fact that they were ready for a fight. If anything, it might help warn the civilians in the area that they should avoid them. Trouble had a way of following them after all.

Rom took several moments to observe the inn, the surrounding area, the lakeside, the narrow extending a short ways out into it. Only big enough for a rowboat or something slightly larger. It wasn't clear what exactly he was looking for, or trying to read on the ground. Looking for signs of the Venatori, maybe. If he found any, he didn't comment on them. "I don't see where the Venatori would be hiding," he said, finally. "At least, not in numbers capable of ambushing us. They're probably inside already. Which means they're almost certainly disguised, trying to blend in." That wasn't a trick they'd seen before. The Venatori were usually pretty obvious with their bright white robes and obnoxiously pointy armor. And if they were mages, they didn't need to conceal weapons on their persons to be highly dangerous.

Leon considered this for a moment, crossing his arms and studying the building from afar. "The only other place I can think they might be would be the roof, counting on easy access through windows, or the upper floor, where they might need less by way of disguise, but both are less likely options." He glanced once at Khari, then back to the inn. "I think our best chance of figuring out who is whom is being proactive. Doing something that would make a trained Venatori agent react differently from a normal civilian. That would allow us to isolate and neutralize them while keeping the others out of harm's way."

He hummed. "If there were a way to draw them outside, that would be best, but I'm not convinced they wouldn't startle and kill Chryseis if we tried. So it will probably have to be once we're already in."

“Why not just kick the door down and force it?" Khari shrugged. “I mean, look: we do something really startling. Venatori react like they're trained to do, which is going for their magic or weapons. Civilians cower, or find cover, or whatever. We know who's who. Asala jumps in first, throws the best barrier she's got on Chryseis, and then we all get down to business. If we start the fight on our terms, we're most likely to end it that way, too. I don't like the idea of letting them strike at us first, and we're not out-subtling anyone as we are, in this group. We know what needs to happen, so let's just do it."

"If I might suggest a slight amendment," Leon offered, "the door will be drawing the initial attention, and whoever is first through it should be able to handle that. If Asala is shielding Chryseis, she is not shielding herself immediately." He glanced between them. "Better if some of us go in through the windows on the ground floor. I should likely handle the door, and the immediate retaliation that would result." He paused, his attention shifting to Rom. "And it might be better to know which windows go where, and where Chryseis actually is, before we kick over the hornet's nest."

"It would help," Asala added, repeatedly steepling her fingers together. A nervous twitch undoubtedly, "If we knew where she was before we entered," she agreed with Leon. "It would, uh, save me the time it would take trying to find her over the ruckus," she said with a shrug.

"Right," Rom said, tapping his knuckles lightly against Zee's forearm. "Think you can scout the place out for us? A few passes around the outside. Try not to be seen, but probably better to play it casual than full on sneak." It was likely a few people were already outside of the inn, on one side or the other. There would be no easy way to tell their intentions, or if they'd inadvertently tip off the Venatori if they reported it inside. Zee's appearance was also a little more subtle than Rom's, even avoiding taking the glowing hand into consideration.

Zahra’s eyes tore away from the building ahead of them and though her grin was a shade grimmer than usual, she stuck up her thumb and ambled away from them. Fortunately, she didn’t look too out of place here. It was an inn, and to anyone who spotted her, she may have well passed for a traveler. Just another face. A drunkard to anyone else lingering on the inn’s outskirts; they knew well enough she was an admirable actress.

She tugged her dark cloak tighter around her neck and headed towards the back of the building. There was another sound aside from her footsteps. A greeting of sorts. Slurred. Most assuredly hers. A mumbled response. Clearly uninterested. Nothing more. A moment later, and she reappeared at the opposing side of the building. She rounded back to Rom’s side, and regarded the others, “Chryseis is alone, sitting between two of the lakeside windows. Once we drop in there, we’d be swimming.” She paused for a moment and shuttered her eyes closed, “Northernmost is another window. It’s closest to the stairwell. Whoever goes through there will take a little longer to get to her. There’s more windows on the west wall. Bedrooms, and the hallway. The last one is in the south. Someone left it open a wee bit. Smells good. Good chance it’s the kitchen.”

There was a pull to her expression; as if she was unsure. She bobbed her head in a nod and reopened her eyes, “There’s a lot of bodies in there. This inn’s popular. Farmers mostly, I think. But
 if you’re right, and they’re disguised, it’ll be hard telling who’s who.”

“Probably best to draw the attention away from her." Khari figured that Asala could shield from outside if she could see her—according to Stel, she'd used barriers from behind a hedge before, so it'd be a similar principle. If everyone else was climbing in through windows other than those ones, any Venatori in the room would have to divide their attention. And the possibility of giving themselves away increased. “If Leon's going through the door and Asala's shielding from lakeside... then I guess we all go in a different way. I'll take the kitchen." She did best when making a fuss, not trying to avoid one. Might as well give the Venatori something else to worry about so they didn't all gang up on Leon for too long.

"I'll go in from the lakeside," Rom offered. With Asala shielding from the other window there, that side was covered. "That leaves the north window for Zee. Should give you a better view of what's happening, and you'll be the first to meet anyone coming down the stairs. I'm willing to guess most civilians will stay in their rooms if they hear this kind of noise, so be wary of anyone you see." He took a deep breath, cracking his knuckles. "Ready?"

Khari glanced at the others; everyone seemed to be in agreement. “Ready."

They split up, then, everyone taking up their positions. Khari kept low and moved to the window Zee had picked out as belonging to the kitchen. It did smell really nice. She'd have to do her best not to mess anything up on her way into the main room, but she did still intend to cause a commotion, since she'd probably reach the fight quicker than anyone but Leon did. Assuming he managed to start one. But Leon knew what he was doing—if anyone could force the Venatori to reveal themselves, it was him.

Loosening her sword a bit in the sheath at her back, Khari placed both palms on the windowsill, counting her breaths as the cooks moved about busily inside. Elves, most of them, all intent on bubbling pots or kitchen knives and vegetables. She kept to the side a bit to avoid spoiling things too early; the knight wasn't getting in on this assault until the bishop had initiated.

And he certainly initiated; it didn't take too long for her to hear a bang, followed by a splintering crack right on its heels, then another bang, probably as the broken door slammed back against the wall or maybe the floor. Several shouts followed, many pitched high with urgency and surprise, and the hissing sizzle of magic fire being conjured.

There was no better cue than that—Khari swung herself up and over the window-ledge and into the kitchen. It took a few seconds for anyone to even notice; all the cooks' eyes had swung to the door leading into the main part of the inn. "What's going—gah!" The speaker, an elven woman probably about Khari's own age, noticed her only partway through the sentence, and suddenly the room's attention had whiplashed back to her.

“I'd stay here if I were you. Better yet, go out that window. This could get ugly." Grinning, she reached back over her shoulder to unsheathe her blade, heading for the door as she did. The kitchen staff scurried to get out of her way, a few of them already heading for the window to take her advice, no doubt.

Pushing open the door, Khari emerged almost directly behind a man with sparks of lightning shifting between his fingers. From the fact that he was neither ducked nor covered, and looked to be aiming at Leon, she decided he was one of the Venatori. Her sword found his ribcage accordingly, erupting from his chest. Khari whistled sharply, drawing more hostile attention, and planted her boot in the mage's back, pushing him off her sword and fixing a bright green glare on the next, flourishing her sword and falling into a crouch, grin firmly in place. “Wanna dance?"

He did not want to dance, unless throwing a wide cone of flames in her direction could be considered as such. It was a delaying tactic, and one meant to cause more chaos than anything. The entire room had fallen into almost instant anarchy, as the patrons were temporarily at a loss as to what to do, and where to go. The main door was still mostly blocked by the towering figure of Leon, and other strange figures had come through all the windows, making it unclear if they were being attacked by the Inquisition or not, since by all appearances the mages in the room were defending themselves, and not obviously of Tevinter descent.

The fire caught quickly, igniting several tables and licking at the ceiling. One or two people were partially caught in the blast; a young woman screamed as she fell, trying to put out the flames that had stuck to her sleeve. The barrier in the room was already around Chryseis, who had gotten to her feet at her table, knife in hand. She was dressed like a traveler, and a poor one at that, her cloak torn and fraying at the edges. A thick spike of ice speared the barrier just after it came up, leaving a crack but no more.

Chryseis eyed the woman that had let loose the spell, sparking lightning at her own fingertips. She threw it at the barrier in front of her, the spell shocking it heavily, something it seemed she expected. "Get this thing away from me!" she shouted, lighting another spell.

Rom attacked the ice-slinging Venatori from behind, but her senses and reactions were quick, and she managed to turn and avoid both his grab and the first slice that came for her. They tangled, and soon fell, with Rom trying to end the fight quickly and failing. An older man tripped over them and fell. He'd still been carrying a mug of ale, but that went flying as he went down. Everywhere there were people cowering, hiding, looking for a safe escape route. These couldn't be all of the Venatori, so they had to assume some among the civilians were better at keeping their cool than these first few.

Leon stepped away from the door, throwing his Venatori opponent hard enough into an empty table that it split and collapsed. She did not rise. He diverted his attention momentarily to the panicked civilians, whether any of the Tevinter agents were among their number or not. "Get out!" he bellowed, the gentle rationality with which he would probably have normally approached this replaced by the urgency of trying to keep as many of them safe as possible in a very dangerous situation.

A few of those nearest the door were startled into compliance, making a break for the door and nearly tripping over themselves on the way out. One of those, however, unexpectedly veered off course. With a flash of steel, a short knife buried itself into the meat of Leon's shoulder, kept from anything more vital by the fact that he moved on reflex. His hand closed around his assailant's neck, lifting him off the ground and driving the heel of his free hand into the man's face. Under the blow, the fine cartilage of the Venatori's nose cracked, and he howled, managing to kick free of Leon and land more or less solidly, driving forward again with the knife, this time with a coat of magical frost on the blade.

Khari took a hard step forward and hewed him down from behind, but they punished her for it, an ice spike impaling her thigh, still held in the hand of the Venatori who'd conjured it. He swept her legs out from underneath her, putting her on her back with a hard whoosh as the air left her lungs. The pain, she could deal with—the larger problem was that she'd landed nearly against the wall, cutting off most of the obvious avenues for escape. Someone—presumably Marcus—had really taught these fuckers how to fight.

Growling, she lunged from her spot, hooking the crossguard of her sword around the back of his ankle and yanking, spilling him onto the floor. He grabbed the edge of a table to steady himself on the way down, spilling the food and liquid contents of it down on both of them. Unluckily, Khari found herself with ale in her eyes, and the Venatori used the opportunity to pin one of her arms, drawing a short blade with his free hand.

The Venatori’s face contorted as he leaned forward; dark eyes bulging and mouth gawping down at her. The sword he’d been holding clattered to the side. His fingers twitched. There was a croaking noise, a wet gurgle, before a froth of blood spilled from his lips and spattered onto Khari’s shoulder. The tip of a slender blade poked through his throat. Deliberately slow. It disappeared as soon as he slumped off to the side, the weight liberating the rapier.

Only then did Khari see Zee standing above them. Her expression unreadable. There were a few more spatters of blood on her face; a streak of it across her jawline. Whether it belonged to her or someone else was anyone’s guess. The tavern had turned chaotic. Tables flipped and streaks of lightning snapping above their heads. She was already offering to help her up, reaching down to grab onto her forearm, “You OK?”

Khari rolled her her feet with the assist. “All my parts are still working." Which meant she was fine to keep fighting.

At some point during the tilt, Asala had slipped in through the window stood next to Chryseis. "Stay close!" Asala asked of the woman. The barrier no longer surrounded her, but from the tone in Asala's voice, it seemed that she intended to protect her the best she could regardless. Instead of around Chryseis however, the barrier was alive in a different spot. Over near where Zee had entered, up the stairs that led into the second floor a barrier lived, cutting off access to and from the rooms upstairs. With the barrier in place, Asala split her attention between that and picking out spots to spring another in order to help them, just as she tried in her practice.

"Get out of the way!" Chryseis roared at the confused cluster of people in front of her. She thrust her hand out, a blast of arcane energy non-lethally throwing them onto their backs. All but one, anyway. One of the men in the group had instinctively shrouded himself with a magical shield of his own. Promptly realizing his exposure, he reared back with a fire spell, but Chryseis's stunning lightning struck him first, leaving him paralyzed momentarily. It was all she needed to rush forward and slice her blade across his throat. The blood fell unnaturally, drops of it hovering and circling around her hand, but the body collapsed normally enough.

Rom finished off the Venatori he'd been tangled with, getting back to his feet only for the first shock of a chain lightning spell to strike him in the back. From there the spell went wild, arcing in every direction and bouncing repeatedly on the bodies of Inquisition, civilians, and Venatori alike, leaving many who tried to escape momentarily pinned in place while they struggled to regain control of their bodies. It wasn't even clear where the spell had come from, but obviously they weren't out of the woods yet. Not to mention something was blasting Asala's barrier at the base of the stairs, steadily breaking it down.

Leon was among those hit by the lightning, but shook it off much more quickly than those surrounding him, returning to motion a moment after impact. He'd clearly taken note of the wear on the barrier, too, and hopped over a downed table to head towards the stairs. "Take it down, Asala, and do your best to get the civilians out. Push if you have to!" The sense of 'push' was obvious, if he was asking her specifically. He disappeared from sight as he passed into the short hallway beyond the barroom.

As ordered, Asala's barrier fizzled out soon after Leon left sight. With a new task at hand, she whipped toward the clusters of civilians and cupped her mouth to make herself be heard over the din. "If you are able, please leave!" she shouted in her firm, but gentle manner before she started to get more directly involved. She began to help individuals who needed her personally, her barriers flicking to life whenever necessary to protect them. As asked, some required more than that, and that was where her barrier encouraged them to move, while keeping them safe as well.

Someone had knocked Zee off her feet as the arcing lightning lit up the air, paralyzing those unfortunate enough to be in its path. The offending person was still grappled onto her shoulders, punching with his fists rather than with any noticeable weapon. She crashed into a table, splitting it in two with the weight of them both, spilling them onto the floor. Chairs were kicked away and whatever had been on the tables surface shattered on the floor, scattering across it. Mugs, glasses, plates; crunching underfoot.

The scuffle hadn’t lasted long. It took Zee a moment to reappear, shouldering her way from underneath the man’s immobile body. She heaved him off with a groan and tossed the shard of plate away; arm soaked to the elbow in red. Her face, however, had received the brunt of the damage. Her nose, and lip, bled freely. Swelling had begun to show just below her eye socket. From Khari’s vantage point, she was already pushing herself back to her feet, stooping to pick up her rapier, before bee-lining towards Rom.

Instead of offering her hand as she had with her, she hunkered down and slipped her arm around his back, shifting underneath his armpit, in an attempt to aid him back to his feet. Her words were inaudible, but a slip of a battered grin could be seen.

At this point, Khari was having more difficulty deciding who she needed to fight. The Venatori that had exposed themselves most obviously were dealt with, as were a few that had attempted stealthier maneuvers in the heat of the conflict. It was likely that those who remained knew the fight was lost, their numbers dwindled, and the smart thing for them to do would be to maintain their disguises and allow Asala to shepherd them out with the civilians. She wasn't sure there was any avoiding that—startling them into revealing themselves had probably exposed more than they would have noticed otherwise, and prevented anyone from being knifed in the back as of yet, but it wasn't a perfect solution to the issue.

Scanning the remains of the inn's front room, she tried to figure out if anyone else was obviously hostile. Maybe they'd managed to get them all; there was certainly no shortage of dead or incapacitated mages on the floor.

There was at least one left, though, and he came sliding in across the floor from where Leon had engaged him around the corner. He was dressed as a mercenary or adventurer perhaps, sword armed and leather armored over a long coat, with short brown hair and well groomed, curly beard. He might've been a decent-looking fellow under normal circumstances, but presently he was beaten and bruised, clearly scrambling and holding off panic.

He physically scrambled behind the nearby bar, grunting with the effort of it, and pulling a young woman to her feet with him, producing her from behind the counter where she'd been hiding like a sleight of hand trick. She looked to be a serving girl, perhaps even a child of the establishment's owner. Immediately the Venatori's sword was at her throat, his eyes rapidly shifting between the Inquisition members.

"Stay back!" he demanded, baring teeth. "I'll open her throat. I'm walking out, understand?" Chryseis exhaled an amused breath, droplets of blood still circling her bent fingers.

Leon emerged from the hallway then, the left half of his face a sheet of crimson where a blade had opened a long gash on his forehead. The eye on the same side was closed, though he reached up to wipe the blood off with his thumb and the side of his hand. The rest had a prominent burn, like he'd had to defend against a close-range fire spell with it. He spat a glob of blood to one side, split lip already swelling, but paused his motion as soon as he took proper stock of the situation.

"That's not the smart thing to do here," he rumbled, residual aggression or pain roughening the edges of his tone, though it was for the most part reasonable as he ever was. "Let the young lady go; it only gets worse for you if you don't." His eyes narrowed, like he was concentrating hard on something, or trying to make a particularly difficult decision, but the focus was entirely on the Venatori man with the hostage.

"Don't try anything, Seeker!" the Venatori demanded, putting his back to the wall and letting the blade's edge touch the girl's throat.

Chryseis rolled her eyes impatiently. "Enough of this." She hurled an arcane bolt at them, the magic missile striking the girl rather than the Venatori, but both of them were thrown back against the wall. The blade left a shallow cut across the throat during the collision, but the force was enough to separate them as they went down. The sword came up for a downwards stab that would end her, but before it could fall there was a low thrum of magic being called upon.

Blood magic, if the shifting of the blood around her hand, and the pools on the ground were anything to go by. For a moment it seemed like the firelight from the hearth and the braziers dimmed slightly, and then the Venatori shrieked in what could only be incredible pain, every muscle in his body seizing up. Chryseis twisted her hand, and the sword dropped to clatter against the ground, the man arching his back from his knees. A second shriek of pain followed when Chryseis pulled him onto his back with her magic, walking the necessary steps to be beside him.

"Decius, please," she said. "You must have known coming south would be the end of you. And with so few..." She clicked her tongue, then wrenched her hand sideways. Decius's next cry of pain was cut short as he was violently taken from consciousness, left sweating and breathing lightly on the ground.

A patron that had been cowering in one of the back corners, an elderly farmer by the looks of him, shakily got to his feet. "What... Maker's breath, what the hell was that? You—you're the Inquisition, aren't you?"

“Some of us are." Khari felt her lip curling, and not in any kind of smile, but she forced the expression down. She had to at least make their position clear here. “The disguised ones were Venatori. Tevinter cult. We're, uh... sorry about the intrusion." Shattered furniture, blood smeared all over the floors, and a pile of dead bodies were a bit more than an intrusion, but it was probably still the best word to use. Maybe.

"Can't breathe," came a weak voice from behind the counter. "I can't breathe."

It was Rom who nimbly climbed over the counter to hop down to her, carefully pulling her to a seated position with her back to the wall. "Slow down," he advised, his voice even and focused. "One breath at a time, it'll come back."

Chryseis noted the exchange with passing interest, but then turned her dark green eyes on Leon. "We'll want to bring this one with us, I think." She gestured to the unconscious Decius at her feet. "He's the leader." She looked around at the carnage and the destruction, some of the flames still trying to cling to wood here and there. "That was interesting."

Leon sighed heavily. "That's one word for it," he agreed. "Can someone tell me which of you is the innkeeper? I believe the Inquisition owes you for property damage."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The walk back to Skyhold was not a pleasant one.

The few scouts that joined them along the way helped secure their prisoner. Decius Catus. Rom knew him, but didn't know he'd joined the Venatori. It had been a number of years since last they met, and when he'd lived in Minrathous they hadn't regularly spoken about anything. Chryseis's alliance with the man's father was the most common thing that brought them together. In any case, he was an enemy now, and one they needed to handle with care. If he had been dispatched to follow Chryseis by Marcus himself, there was a good chance he had information that could help them.

He wasn't subtle in his avoidance of Chryseis on the road back. There was more than enough space for them to remain out of speaking distance the whole way, which he did. Working out their differences while still cooling from the heat of a fight would be unwise. They had a job to take care of first, and it was more important than anything she'd done to him in their history.

By the time they passed through Skyhold's gates again it was morning, and the fortress was waking up. Their return had obviously been announced before they reached the walls, as guards were there to meet them, and several from the infirmary's staff to check for any wounded still in need of care. For now the wounds had been taken care of by Asala, leaving nothing that required more immediate attention.

"I don't suppose there's time for me to sleep?" Chryseis asked to no one in particular, as they started up the steps towards the keep.

"If you would care to, you certainly may, milady" Leon replied, tone polite but slightly dry. "But you'll understand if we prefer to conduct our pressing business as soon as possible. There are matters of considerable urgency at hand." The cut on his forehead had been repaired by a combination of Asala's magic and potions, but it was still faintly pink. He, like all of them, really needed a wash.

He gestured over a nearby pair of Templars, who approached swiftly. "Take Lord Catus to a holding cell, please, and have extra guards posted until I send for him." When custody of Decius was remanded, he let out a breath and returned his attention to them, smiling mildly. "There is time enough to refresh ourselves, at least. I'll have someone show Lady Viridius a room, if the rest of you would like to avail yourselves of the opportunity. We'll reconvene in the interrogation room in an hour."

As the words were basically permission for them all to leave, it wasn't all that surprising that Khari also took them as a cue to relax. She'd been watching him for most of the way back, though she'd made an effort not to be intrusive about it. It certainly hadn't escaped her how much distance he kept between himself and Chryseis, and more often than not, she'd situated herself in that space, much closer to his side of it. Now, though, she stretched her arms over her head and heaved a sigh. “I won't lie: I like this armor, but I'll be happy to be out of it." She dropped her hands, letting one of them land on his shoulder. “See you in an hour, then?"

"Yeah." His left hand still held his shield, so he reached across with his right to briefly grasp near her wrist. He was being more subdued than usual, but he trusted the contact would be enough to convey what he wanted. Khari didn't normally sit in on the discussions that took place in the war room among Inquisition leaders, but he knew no one would keep her out of this one, and Rom in particular probably wouldn't even do it unless she was there.

Her gear wasn't kept in the keep, so they split at the stairs, with Rom ducking his way towards the undercroft as soon as he was inside. One of the Skyhold staff had prepared a washcloth and a bucket of clean water for his return. It was cold, like anything around Skyhold was as they began to move out of the summer season. Washing it over his face helped rid him of the drowsiness that had begun to build behind his eyes, willing them shut if he allowed it. There was more work yet to be done.

He exited his quarters near an hour later without his armor, armed only with his regular blade at his hip. He didn't wear it normally, but today was not a normal day. He'd also chosen to put on boots instead of sandals he might've worn otherwise. Subtle things that he was kidding himself if he thought Chryseis wouldn't notice. The others surely would as well.

She met him on the walk from the keep, in the great hall, a bit of extremely unfortunate timing that allowed her to fall in step beside him. Chryseis was shorter than he was, but had no trouble keeping up with his swift pace of walking, which he certainly didn't try to slow for her. "I'm pleased you came for me," she said, as they made their way out of the front doors. "Not a moment too soon, either. Decius was starting to get impatient."

"We came because we need your help," he replied, not content to let her speak at him as she once might have.

"Which I have offered freely." She obviously took note of his tone, and replied in kind. "In fact, working against the Venatori has cost me no small amount. There had better be blood at the end of this trail. Marcus's. I trust you can get it."

"It is what I do best. You saw to that." He honestly hadn't meant it as a threat, but he wondered if she took it that way. Hunting powerful mages was what he was best at, what she'd trained him to do, what his purpose had been. Eventually even the threat of it was sometimes enough to get what Chryseis wanted.

The guards allowed them down into the dungeons. The stairs were just wide enough for them to walk side by side, but Rom allowed Chryseis to go ahead of him. They found the others outside of the interrogation room. It seemed they were the last to arrive. Alongside Leon and Khari were Estella, Rilien, and Cyrus, who had no doubt been made aware what had happened, and who their prisoner was.

"Cyrus," Chryseis greeted, placing a smile on her lips. "It's good to see you again. I trust my father is well? I heard the Inquisition chose to make use of his talents."

“Chryseis." Cyrus inclined his head slightly, his tone difficult to place. He did not wear the facade of ebullience quite so easily as he once had, the intervening years having done much to sober his demeanor. He did smile slightly though, and it seemed real enough. “Little changes Cassius, as I'm sure you know. In this, his extended stay with us has proven no different." The smile disappeared at that. “It seems that your end of things has been a sight more eventful than his, actually." The words invited elaboration without demanding it—though he know doubt knew the minimal details of what had occurred, there was much missing from such an accounting.

"Indeed." It seemed the pleasantries were over already. Chryseis never had cared for introductions where she didn't feel they were needed or wanted. Apparently that included walking into rooms with leaders of the Inquisition. "I was driven from my home in a brazen attack led by this rat in here." She gestured to the closed door of the interrogation room. "Decius Catus. Old acquaintance, never liked him much. Talented, but stupid. Only successful through following the orders of his master to the letter. His talents are not worthless, when directed properly." Rom knew that the two had also been matched together, or at least attempted to be, by their respective fathers, but it had happened in a period when Chryseis had no interest in anyone but herself, and to force the issue likely would've ended in disaster.

"Why did they attack you?" Rom asked. He'd put some space in between the two of them since entering the room, re-positioning to stand nearer to Khari.

Chryseis turned away from the door. "I slipped, as much as it pains me to admit. Pushed too hard. They caught wind of my investigation. One of my slaves went missing. Captured and tortured, I think, Marcus is supposed to be quite good at that. However it happened, I became a presence in Minrathous that couldn't be tolerated. There are elements in the city, in the Magisterium, that support them, and they are difficult to root out. The attack on my estate was not stopped. So long as they limit themselves, the Venatori do as they please. I was forced to flee, to carry my information to you. Your way into Minrathous."

"And that is?" A bit of impatience seeped into Rom's tone. He hadn't come to hear Chryseis's woes.

"By ship," she answered. "Two ships, actually, your pirate woman's vessel is too recognizable. You'll take it to Afsaana, little village on the Rialto in western Rivain, where you'll board a trade vessel by the name of Jezzabelle. Her crew has been paid for. She will take a small party back 'round the coast, and west to Minrathous. They'll guide you into a private dock, where a slave of my ally Bastian Catus will meet you, and take you into the city."

“Wait... Catus?" Khari glanced towards the interrogation room, which even now held a man of that same name, something which obviously hadn't escaped her. “You sure he wants to help the allies of an ally more than he'd want to help his own... what? Kid? Seems like things would go to shit real fast if you're wrong about that."

Chryseis narrowed her eyes for a moment, as though she hadn't at all expected the elf to speak, and didn't at all like what the elf had to say. "Yes, I'm sure. Their differences drove Decius to join the cult in the first place. And now we will be delivering him back home, provided he is useful to us. I expect Bastian will be thanking us. His manor in the city will be a safe place to rest and prepare. From there you can launch your attack on Marcus."

Leon nodded slowly, turning for a moment to Rilien. "Can you please ensure that some of the people we have in Rivain watch this trade vessel for a while? I'd at least like a bird if something looks off before we get there."

“Of course." Rilien nodded like it was obvious. Then again, considering his area of expertise, perhaps to him it was.

With a nod, Leon reverted his attention to the rest of the group. "As it is, this plan seems to hinge on securing Decius's cooperation. I suspect this will not be an easy thing to do. I've often found that stupid people can be more intractable than the smart ones, if only because they don't always see what is to their own benefit." He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight a bit.

"It could be done without him, in the worst case scenario," Chryseis said, crossing her arms. "I've learned a fair amount about Marcus's magical defenses. Can't say I could bypass all of them with ease, but I believe I could get us in. But yes, having his cooperation would be ideal. That leaves the issue of securing it." She chose to look at the Lady Inquisitor finally, tilting her head up ever so slightly. "How is it your Inquisition normally handles these sorts of things?"

Estella cleared her throat softly. "We do not torture," she began, perhaps anticipating that such a question was likely to arise eventually. "In the cases where the subject of interrogation is particularly reticent, it is usually left to Leon or Rilien. Even if the rule is hard and fast, I do not delude myself into believing the subjects of interrogation are always... aware of that." No doubt much of the effectiveness the other two were able to demonstrate came from careful and assiduous use of the threat of prolonged pain, even if it was not actually an option.

A glint appeared in Rilien's hand, a rich golden potion in a small vial finding and reflecting back the room's light. “My methods are primarily alchemical. I have designed several tinctures that create varying levels of suggestibility, and another that makes it difficult to resist the urge to speak. These can be administered willingly or otherwise." He had not even a trace of Estella's merciful disposition, but it was clear enough that he was willing to follow her rules. “The downside is that he may be somewhat useless for some time after taking them. The side effects take a while to fade."

"I've also had some minor successes just... speaking to people. I do not know if that is likely to work here. You'd know better than I."

Chryseis hmmed both thoughtfully and with an undeniable hint of disappointment. Her eyes found Rom for a moment, and he resisted the urge to hide. Not that there was anywhere to hide here, but he had long dreaded this line of conversation coming about. Yet more from his past he'd never spoken of, about to come rearing back up. "I suppose the tinctures could help us glean information about the defenses I may have missed, but if his assistance is required in the city itself, we can't rely on drugging him. Hard to work complex magic in that state."

She glanced between Estella, Leon, and Rilien. "You don't torture, then? Seems you aren't making full use of your Lord Inquisitor's talents. Killing swiftly's not all he can do with a blade, after all." She settled her gaze on him. He imagined he looked like he was pleading her not to, and she immediately picked up on that. "You haven't told them, have you? Not surprising." She wandered a step towards the interrogation room, letting her fingers run across the surface of the door. "Romulus is an expert at inflicting pain. It's so much more visceral to work with a physical object than something magical. He can leave injures barely noticeable afterwards, yet cause excruciating pain that could make a member of the beresaad howl for mercy." She actually smiled a little at the thought.

"You're sure you won't make an exception? For your one ally in Minrathous? The father knows what the son's risked by betraying him like this. He might even do this himself after we deliver him."

“So fucking what?" Khari was just about snarling; it was clear that something about what Chryseis had just said had set her off, and the look on her face wasn't so different from the one she'd worn when that chevalier had insulted Asala. Worse.

Cyrus on her opposite side seemed to realize the same thing—he reached forward and gripped her by the shoulder, pulling backwards just enough that she had to make a decision about whether to resist or acquiesce to the obvious direction. For a very long, very still moment, it wasn't completely clear which one it would be, but in the end, her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she took the half-step backwards. “We're not sinking to anyone else's level. No exceptions for you fucks."

The man holding her sighed. “Yes, well, in any case, even from a purely pragmatic standpoint, we have a reputation to uphold. The long game, as it were. And while I know better than most people how effective pain is at ensuring compliance, it's quite risky. On the chance it fails, it tends to fail rather spectacularly."

"They're Venatori," was Chryseis's response, as though the word itself indeed carried a significant penalty as to their worth. "You'll skewer them in the back in roadside inns, but you won't inflict pain when it can gain you an advantage?" The idea seemed to confuse her greatly. "I'm so glad the Inquisition is preoccupied with childish notions of honor. Perhaps we'll offer Marcus a chance to properly arm himself before we attack? Warn the surrounding estates to stay off the streets an hour before we move?"

"This is pointless." Rom's voice cut through the small room louder than he intended it to, but he was not about to see words thrown back and forth between them until cooperation with Chryseis was no longer possible, let alone Decius. "It doesn't matter. Even if they wanted me to, I'm not torturing Decius."

"Then indeed, we are wasting time." She stepped away from the door, holding out her hands in invitation. "Do as you wish with him, and then let us prepare to leave. There are Venatori in my home that need to be killed."

Initially wordlessly, Rilien stepped past her, also apparently having decided that further discussion was unnecessary. “I will ply from him what may be plied. That may be all, but we will make do." So having said, he opened the door and disappeared within, letting it close softly behind him.



The preparations took only a day, and then the party setting out for the north made for Jader, and the Riptide. As far as the Irregulars went, it was a large excursion, but that was because there were multiple objectives to take care of. Estella, Vesryn, Cyrus, Harellan, and Astraia were boarding, but would be disembarking a day or so early, when they reached the northern edge of Arlathan Forest. He didn't envy their task any, even compared to his own. With him were Khari, Zahra, Leon, Asala, Chryseis, Decius, and the two most personally invested in the death of Marcus Alesius, the Dalish elf Ithilian, and the former Qunari Amalia. Welcome additions to any team.

For his part he'd been avoiding mostly everyone for the day of preparations, but Chryseis most of all. He wondered if some part of him had been broken, to serve so mindlessly a woman such as that. So consumed by her hatred and whatever target she chose to aim it at. That he used to find fulfillment in bringing her some measure of happiness, or her own near-equivalent, made him feel sick to his stomach. But the past was the past. Once this was done, it would hopefully be the past forever.

They were in Jader by midday after they left, departing Skyhold well before the sun came up. Before they'd left they received a letter from the Emperor of Orlais, Lucien Drakon, regarding a gift he planned to make, one that they could be in Jader to receive. Ships was the obvious answer. It remained apparent that having a friend such as Lucien Drakon was a key factor to the Inquisition's success.

For the moment Rom found himself on a hillside overlooking the sea, the docks not far below him, where Riptide was being prepared for the journey, loaded with last minute provisions. Astraia stood at the dock's edge, gazing out at the expanse of water with a mix of wonder and trepidation. Rom was content to enjoy the moment of relative quiet before being trapped on a ship with Chryseis for weeks.

As it turned out, however, the quiet was broken by an approaching pair of footsteps. Though she did not stride so boldly as usual, he could recognize that they belonged to Khari nevertheless. She came to a stop beside him, and for a moment joined him in staring at the water in front of them. She was fidgeting a little, a restless energy that could only mean she had something to say. Khari was only rarely ever still, but her movement was generally purposive, unlike this.

“I'm sorry." When she finally spoke, she blurted the words, grimacing when they came out a little too loudly for the surroundings. She tried again, this time at a better volume. “Sorry. I said I was gonna follow your lead and I... well, I didn't." She scrubbed her hands down her face, expelling a heavy breath. “Still trying to get the hang of this restraint thing. Probably shouldn't be around anyone who has to like us, but..." She shrugged, dropping her arms back to her sides with the motions. The reasons this case was an exception were very obvious. Unfortunately, they were also likely making the goal of restraint that much more difficult to achieve.

"And we said we'd try to be honest with each other, and... then another secret comes out. I wish I knew how to tell you these things before someone like her does it for me." She hadn't given all the details, but more than enough for Khari to get the picture. That Rom had tortured a number of people for her, that he did it enough to become very proficient at it. That she clearly enjoyed watching him do it.

"Fuck her." He crossed his arms, his eyes watching the horizon towards the west. "Fuck Chryseis, fuck restraint. She doesn't deserve it." He hated that Khari had opposed her, and that now she was apologizing for it. For standing up to her, for doing what she always did, and calling out bullshit where she saw it.

"There's going to come a time very soon where we don't need her anymore. When that time comes... I'm going to be rid of her, for good." There was no question as to what he meant, not with the way he said it. He meant to kill her himself, as soon as their job in Minrathous was through. It was what she'd trained him for, after all.

“Hang on a second here." Khari wore a pained expression, like she was warring with something internally. “I was with you right until that last part." Her mouth pursed, tension pulling her vallaslin taut. She licked her lips, clearly searching for words. “You don't have to kill her to be rid of her. And I don't... I don't think you should. She's not a threat to us. And as much as she might deserve it, as much as I really want to just..." She exhaled violently, a growl on the edges of the breath.

“This is one of those 'now' things, you know? The things that are gonna... define you. Better or worse. She hasn't hurt anyone more than you. You know what she's done better than anyone, and you've suffered it more than anyone. But... that's exactly why it's so important to really think about what you're gonna do here." Khari scoffed softly under her breath. “Not that I'm one to talk about thinking shit through."

He wasn't surprised at what she said, to be honest. Nor at how much he wanted her to say something else. It was a selfish desire, to want her to be on board with this. To let him do the wrong thing here, just this once, in this case where the victim would be most deserving of it. But of course she didn't want him to do that. Something she'd said in one of her worst moments came back. About good winning, every battle it fought. And this was one of those battles, there was no doubt about that. Several of them would be fought by the time they returned to Skyhold. If they returned at all. Nothing was guaranteed.

He exhaled heavily, the anger he'd let show having dissipated as quickly as it came. "Guess I'll have a lot of time to think about it. Probably for the best." He fell silent, getting started. It wasn't long, however, before he pointed out to the west. "Ships on the horizon."

It seemed to be a full fleet of them, actually—and not a minor one, either. As they came into view, he could count twenty in total, each with neutral white sails bearing no identifying marks of the Orlesian navy, though there was no mistaking where they came from. At the fore were four caravels, low-slung, swift and quiet, with triangular sails large in proportion to their bodies—scout ships, on most occasions. To the flanks bobbed five balingers, equipped with both oars and sails, their relatively spacious, flattened design making them ideal for the transport of large numbers.

Ten more were split between medium sized cogs—the standard warship of most navies—and larger, more impressive double-masted caraques. Those were almost exclusively Orlesian, though similar designs had made it to the other seafaring nations, like Antiva and Rivain as well as the Imperium. But the boat at the very center of the formation was the obvious flagship, and also obviously an attempt to answer the power and structure of a Qunari dreadnought. There were no fewer than four masts on it, all lined up along the dorsal line of the vessel, the second from the front being the largest. A prominent, beaklike prow helped the ship slice through the water, compensating for its obvious size with thoughtful engineering. The masts in the fore anchored pristine white square sails in place, the lateen rigs in the aft section were triangular, designed as auxiliaries for those in front, no doubt, to make the ship faster and more controllable. The design had to be relatively new, as he'd never seen anything like it.

Khari had clearly never seen boats this impressive, either; a small grin touched her mouth. “I almost regret being the worst sailor in the history of sailors." She turned slightly to aim the smile at him. “I bet Zee's gonna be over the moon. Think you can promote her to Admiral now?"

"I'll have a talk with the others about it." He couldn't help but grin back. "See if we can get her a new hat or something."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari sighed heavily, pressing her forehead to the vertical bar in front of her. As she tended to end up doing whenever she was on a boat, she was dangling her feet over the side, braced on the rails, and trying not to lose what little was left in her stomach.

The first part hadn't been so bad. In fact, she'd been well enough that she'd thought she might finally be getting used to sea travel. But apparently she'd only acclimated herself enough to make it out into open ocean after they'd crossed the Waking Sea in the Riptide, at which point she'd promptly become ill and miserable again all the way to Afsaana. She'd have appreciated a few more hours landbound to recover, but there hadn't been time for it, and so she'd reluctantly boarded the Jezabelle, which didn't even have the benefit of being Zee's ship and steered by Zee's navigator Nixium, which made it about a hundred times worse in Khari's expert opinion.

Stel had sat with her for large portions of the trip, others rotating their company too, because they were good like that, and the distraction of conversation had almost made the hot sun and salt breeze nice instead of terrible. She'd even managed to laugh pretty heartily at Leon's inescapable sunburn before she regretted it, the vigor of the merriment churning her lunch right out of her guts. She couldn't spend more than a few hours below at a time without it getting worse, so she napped sporadically and then dozed here on the deck.

And then they'd stopped right between Antiva and Tevinter, to drop off Stel, Cy, the equally ill-looking Ves, Harellan, and Astraia. Not that Ves's illness had much of anything to do with the water. She really hoped they found what they were looking for in that forest. It'd sure spooked the captain and crew enough to have to drop anchor nearby. Arlathan ran basically all the way up to the coast, and there were some pretty intense superstitions about its danger, apparently. Days more after that had passed in kind of a blur, but she figured they had to be getting close to Minrathous now. If she squinted, she swore she could make out a city on the horizon, but at this point it might just as well have been wishful thinking on her part.

But as the minutes passed, the shape of it turned out not to be an illusion. Rom joined her, looking out at it with a strange mix of emotions. Apprehension, certainly, but also a kind of excitement. Perhaps just the weight of expectation he'd piled onto this place after so long away, and so long at sea.

"Home," he said. "Once."

Minrathous was built on a massive, rocky island not far from the shore of the mainland, accessible by land only by crossing a single, wide bridge. By sea there were many more ways in; the city boasted the largest array of ports and shipyards in the world, a harbor which was not as well used for trade as it could be. The journey was both far, and perilous, with the constant threat of conflict lingering in northern waters.

The city rose in the center and shrank as it approached the water, with the impressive towers of the Minrathous Circle of Magi dominating everything else below. The buildings near the water, and in the lower parts of the city, were ramshackle and quite obviously falling apart. Even from a distance Minrathous had an aura of decay to it, a city slowly losing a battle against time. Despite that, its life and activity were obvious, with smoke rising from the buildings, lights in every corner, the undeniable taste of magic on the air. The city was rife with it.

They blended well into the masses of ships coming and going, pulling up their sails and rowing the rest of the way into the docks. The crew seemed to know how to navigate it somehow, even though after a short time every dock, every shipyard started to look the same. When they finally pulled into one, it was in a lightly used section, a shipyard sparsely occupied only by those who appeared to be the poorest and most meager of traders.

As the boat was tied to the dock, they passed into the shadow of one of the Circle towers. It seemed obvious that much of the city was cast in shadow by the structures towering over it. This seemed to be one of those places. It was quiet, but not too quiet. If there was an ambush waiting for them here, it was a damn good one.

The elf impatiently waiting for them to disembark didn't look capable of pulling off any kind of ambush. He was short, maybe an inch or two taller than Khari, with shaggy light brown hair and hazel green eyes. Very boyish in his appearance, though if this was the elf Rom had briefly described, he was in his mid twenties by now. Dressed in drab and worn linens of muted colors, he looked every bit the slave, right down to the flapping sandals that barely clung to his feet.

They didn't stop him from jogging out to greet the Inquisition, who were led forward by Rom onto the dock, their supplies for the operation gathered in their packs. The boat had been instructed to wait for them to complete their task before ferrying them back to Afsaana, but that didn't mean they needed to trust them to hang on to any of their things.

"Look at you!" the elf grinned broadly as he stopped in front of them, having eyes only for the Inquisitor. "I didn't believe the stories. My best friend, leading an Inquisition in the south of Thedas. I'm gonna be honest, I don't even know what that is." He looked up at Leon, seemingly undaunted by the man's size. "What are you? Some kind of special army?"

Leon shrugged, in the process of smearing some kind of ointment on his nose, which had seen the worst of the sunburn, as though he were any other sailor disembarking a ship for no special reason. "In a manner of speaking. An army with a very specific aim." He glanced about, then up at one of the spires. "I suppose information about us would be scarcer here than elsewhere—little of our business has yet reached so far north." Not none of it, though—that was why they were here in the first place.

He offered the elf a small smile then. "Forgive me. We were told you'd be meeting us here, but not your name. I'm Leonhardt—Leon, if you don't mind."

"I'm Brand. Slave to Magister Bastian Catus. More importantly, old friend of Rom's."

"Partner," Rom corrected, narrowing his eyes at the elf. "Friend is debatable."

"You forget how many doors I opened for you? Not all of them with lockpicks, either." He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "Guess you are still Rom, aren't you? So who are your new friends?"

He started on his right, working around behind him. "This is Zee, Asala, Ithilian, Amalia, and Khari." The elf's eyes lingered on the last to be introduced, widening slightly. He was certainly impressed with something.

"I like your sword."

Khari grinned. She was wearing a heavy zweihĂ€nder for the trip, the blade in total almost as tall as she was. It was no Intercessor, but she'd gotten used to it over time. “Thanks." She had a feeling they'd get along just fine, especially if he was an old partner-maybe-friend of Rom's. “Used to have a bigger one, but then I broke it on a demon."

Zahra inclined her head when her introduction came, grinning wide. It appeared she found something funny the way she was elbowing Leon’s side, waggling her eyebrows. All shades of inappropriate. She glanced over to Khari before swinging her gaze back to the small elf. “You wouldn’t believe me, but we’ve already met,” she allowed a theatrical pause to stretch between them and leaned slightly forward, “in my dreams.”

Her smile hadn’t tempered herself at all. If anything she seemed delighted by the acquaintance, though it was clear she wouldn’t have ever met him before. “You mentioned the sword bit too. And wrestling. And tender, sexy times. It was a riot.” As always, she didn’t seem the slightest bothered by any possible misunderstandings her words may have caused. Knowing Zee, she would have jumped at any opportunity to rattle and tease. This appeared to be one of those times; even if she hadn’t properly explained herself. The effect was probably intentional. “It’s nice to actually meet you.”

"Zee... for fuck's sake..."

Rom's hand had found his face partway through Zee's mentioning of whatever the hell that was. Something else Rom had never told her about, though from the contents it sounded a lot stranger, and probably a lot less important than other things.

A stifled giggle slipped between the fingers covering Asala's mouth. Of course, she then quickly averted her glance and pretended that it had belonged to anyone else.

Brand was a mix of lost, amused, and still slightly in awe of Khari, but he managed a laugh, albeit an awkward one. "Here I thought I was going to be the strange one in this meeting. You'll, uh... you'll have to explain that one to me."

"Later, please, or preferably not at all. We have Chryseis and Decius with us, they should be..." He turned, to see Chryseis leading the captive Decius from the boat, his hands still bound behind his back. His shoulders were sure to be incredibly sore by now, but they weren't especially concerned with his comfort, given his allegiances.

"Ah." Brand offered an awkward wave in between the taller Inquisition members. "Hey C. Hey D." Chryseis did not stop at the gathering, leading Decius around the others and past Brand.

"If you're all done socializing, there's work to do." She made eye contact with Brand only when she needed to speak with him. "I'm assuming we're getting our feet wet?"

"Unless you wanna walk the streets with a Qunari and a Venatori prisoner." She took that as answer enough, and walked onward. Brand turned back to the others. "She hasn't changed a bit, has she? Come on, we can talk on the way." He glanced down at their feet, looking for something. "Hope none of you are wearing nice boots."

Khari wrinkled her nose. “We're going into the sewers, aren't we?" It had to be what the 'feet wet' thing meant, plus it would be way less obvious than traveling at street level. Cloak and dagger wasn't really her thing, but she could see the need for it here. “And... to the Catus place?" That, she asked as they started walking, falling in just half a step behind Brand. She remembered Chryseis mentioning something like that maybe, even if she hadn't exactly been in a thoughtful state of mind at the time. She thought it was kind of odd that Rom's friend got away with calling that same woman by her initial alone when she'd always been domina to Rom back then, but maybe it was a difference Khari didn't understand, something to do with who supposedly owned whom. In any case she didn't know exactly how to ask about it, and she didn't want to do what she usually did and risk eating her own foot as a result.

"It's not sewers all the way, at least," Brand offered, as though that was indeed valuable consolation. "In some places it'll pass into the catacombs. Long dead things smell better than recently shat things. And B will make sure you all get a chance to bathe if you want. Before doing your thing."

"How considerate." The words came from near the rear of the group, where the other Dalish in their party, Ithilian, lingered with his partner Amalia. He was about as quiet as Rom had been back when Khari first met him, but maybe that was because he was in mostly unfamiliar company, having not been with the Inquisition nearly as long. When he did open his scarred mouth, it tended to be grouchy, like that.

Brand paid it no mind, undoubtedly used to comments like it from working with Rom and Chryseis in the past, if indeed he always spoke to her as he had on the docks. They soon left them behind, but hadn't quite reached the city proper before they found Chryseis paused at the nearest entrance into the subterranean section of the city, a thin doorway Leon would be lucky to make it through without turning, leading to a stairwell that ran down into the sewers. Brand found a torch at the bottom of the stairs, almost picking it up, but then he thought better of it, turning back to Chryseis.

"Magic light fends off the rats better." It was an effective argument, and Chryseis had soon cast a magelight spell that hovered out in front of the group as they walked, casting long tendrils of shadow out behind them. The sewer walkways were narrow and damp at all times, and the smell was about as putrid as expected for such a large city. Still, all the natives of the city seemed to know just where they were going, and they made good time underneath the city, which could often be heard humming with activity above their heads.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Amalia spoke up from the rear of the procession, apparently entirely unbothered by the stench of their surroundings. She seemed like the kind of woman who'd been through much worse, for whom minor inconveniences such as these were downright trivial. "I do not know how this city is organized. I assume the nobles are clustered together?"

"Yep." Brand took a left, leading them up a short flight of stairs and finally to an area not damp from near constant running fluids. "No room to build out on an island, so the city mostly goes up. Circle of Magi's the tallest place, that's the towers you probably saw sailing in. Ivory District isn't far, that's where the nobles are, and where we're headed. To the estate of my dominus, Bastian Catus."

They began to pass several rows of what could only be sarcophagi, but by their lack of ornament they carried bodies of lesser importance. No great mages of Tevinter buried down here, next to the sewers. Brand didn't seem concerned that they would run into anyone. "The poor are kept literally beneath the rest here. Better a slave than a refugee, I say. I don't have to steal for my meals." He pointed in a direction, though it wasn't really clear how he still knew which direction he was going down here. "West is the Proving Arena, jewel of the city. There's games tomorrow, I hear, might be a good idea to time whatever you're doing with those."

"You don't know why we're here?" Rom asked.

Brand shrugged. "Don't need to. B said to meet you at the docks, bring you all to him. If I need to get you somewhere else, I'll do that too. Way you're all dressed I'd guess you're expecting to kill some people here. That's not really my thing."

"The people are Venatori, I'll tell you that much," Rom offered. It seemed they were steadily leaving the sewers behind, as the smell faded to just what they now carried with them. More stairs followed, too narrow to take more than one at a time.

"That much I'd figured out." Brand scratched behind his pointed right ear. "Can't go a day anymore without hearing something about the Venatori."

They came to the base of a very long ladder, running up the wall almost far enough to pass into darkness before it reached a closed hatch. Brand turned and paused. "Wait here a second, I'll get it open. Probably best to go one at a time after that, this ladder's used to just holding little me up." Indeed, it didn't look like the sturdiest construction, nor the youngest. The elf ascended it swiftly, pausing to twist the dials of some kind of combination lock at the top. A few moments later it clicked, and he pushed the hatch open, climbing up inside. "Okay, come on up!" he called down to them.

One by one they made their way up the ladder, and when Khari's turn came she found herself climbing into what appeared to be a pantry. They were surrounded by shelves of wrapped and preserved foods, and the only door led out into a kitchen. Brand walked by a rotund elven woman in an apron, busy chopping slices of meat on a table. "Sorry about the smell, Fee," Brand apologized. "Few more guests than usual."

"And they had to come through the trap door?" she glanced suspiciously at them, but then turned with a start upon seeing Chryseis and Decius. "Magister Chryseis, Master Decius, forgive me, I didn't know you were coming."

"Would seem I'm no one's master anymore," the Venatori among them said in a low voice. Chryseis shoved him forward, ignoring the flustered elven woman.

"B's still upstairs?" Brand asked over his shoulder. Fee whipped her head back around.

"Your dominus is, yes." She turned back to her work, grumbling. "Boy never learned respect."

Rom seemed to have seen this type of exchange a time or two, as he didn't make anything in particular of it, instead gesturing for the others to follow him after Brand, Decius, and Chryseis. They left the kitchen behind as the cook wished them a pleasant stay, and promised a hot meal after they'd been given an opportunity to clean up.

Another staircase leading up deposited them in what appeared to be the living area of the magister's household, an expansive area that looked capable of seating half the Magisterium with the sheer numbers of couches, chairs, stools, rugs, and tables. It seemed they'd ascended a decent distance, as out the window they could see a view that managed to pierce through taller buildings around them and out to the sea beyond. Not the highest place in the city, but far from the underbelly, that was for sure.

By the time Khari had reached where the front of the group stood, she found their host already in conversation with the front of the pack. Bastian Catus was a well-groomed man, his hair kept short cut, a shade darker than his son's and accented by a touch of gray indicative of his age. His beard wasn't full as Decius's was, but rather shaved to leave an immaculately trimmed mustache and pointed goatee.

"You're a fool, and lucky to be alive," he was saying, to his son. Decius seemed resolved to keep his head lowered, and endure it, as there wasn't any denying it. "If you live through the coming days, perhaps you'll thank the Inquisition someday for their mercy." He nodded to Chryseis, and turned to look upon his guests. "I, at least, will thank you right now. You are free to use my house as your own for the day. Brand will show you to your rooms when you are ready, and baths have been prepared. I would not recommend setting foot outside until you are ready. The city has eyes, and they will find the sight of any of you most intriguing."

Leon nodded, glancing over the group as if he'd thought something similar himself. "You have our thanks for the use of your home, Magister Catus. We will do our best not to bring you trouble for it." It wasn't a hard guess that if their association became too widely-known, there would be repercussions. Maybe if they could topple the Venatori, people would say Bastian had been astute in seizing an unconventional opportunity. But they certainly wouldn't say that now.

"That would be most beneficial," Bastian agreed.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Having the opportunity to bathe after their little trek in the sewers had done wonders on Zahra’s mood. She’d even pulled Brand aside to regale him of the tale she’d brought up earlier. The Fade dream she’d promised she would never forget. Fine wine had loosened her tongue. Of course, all of this was out of Rom’s earshot—it would do her no good to keep up with that particular gibe. She was sure that he’d find some way to get back at her. She liked the wee elf. He was every bit as charming as his Fade-counterpart. She supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised if that’s what had been conjured from Rom’s dream.

It was strange, being there. Minrathous.

Even though she’d wanted to, she hadn’t asked Bastian if he knew the Contee family. Seeing how close they were to where her family might be, where her brother was being kept, Zahra struggled to keep herself focused on the task at hand. She hadn’t asked him. Not while they ate, nor when she lingered in the lounge; the perfect opportunity rearing its head. She could have. Easily. There were too many questions, and little to no answers. She wasn’t even sure why she hadn’t. A small part of her wondered if Decius knew anything about it. Minrathous was a big place. Bigger than anything she’d seen before.

He was with them. Maybe...

Her thoughts wandered as they were instructed to wade back through the smelly depths of the catacombs. Stinking sewers, more like. While she’d never been averse to getting her hands dirty
 this was a new level altogether. A necessary one. She made no complaints; but noted that she’d have to properly wash her boots when they returned to Skyhold. Leather had the nasty habit of retaining smell. She wrinkled her nose, and sidled beside the ladder, waiting for the others to climb down as well.

"You get used to it, if you give it a bit," Brand said, noticing Zahra's scrunched nose on his way down. He was the last to descend, and after a brief check that everyone was ready to move forward, he led them out, using another magelight from Chryseis. Decius had his hands bound in front of him this time rather than behind, as today he would need to actually cast and aim magic, in order to get them inside. Didn't mean they wanted to risk him running or trying to fight in the event that things turned sour. They had a way of doing that.

According to Brand, they were making for the north side of the city, though it was difficult to tell after a time. Direction was a difficult thing to keep track of underground, especially in any place as labyrinthine as these catacombs and sewers. Brand seemed to always know where he was going. No doubt he'd practically grown up in these darkest places of the city. It was remarkable he hadn't ended up a more morose person as a result. Perhaps his humor was the way he coped with it. Regardless, the key was apparently the direction of the sewer water flow, in the places where it could be heard or seen or felt. Following the flow would lead them down, towards the sea, whatever direction that happened to be.

When they left one section of the sewers, the water flowed against them. The south side. They passed through a section of the catacombs, without changing direction, and found it flowing with them. North side. They didn't spend very long there before Brand began to lead them back up. Decius was made to walk in the lead; if there were any magic defenses, there was no better way to ensure he defused them than to make him walk in the front.

When Decius stopped, so did the rest of the group. They were on a path leading up, almost out of the sewers by now. "Trap, D?" Brand asked.

The mage nodded. "Near here, and concealed. I can locate and remove them, but..." He grimaced, understanding that he was about to ask something he hadn't earned. He aimed it at Leon, possibly finding him to be the best target. "I'd really prefer to have my hands free for this. Tie my legs if you need to."

Zahra could see Leon consider the request, clearly debating it internally for several seconds before he nodded slightly. "Very well. Please be aware that if we trigger anything or you turn a spell on us, it will be very painful for you, regardless of whether any of us is in reach." He said it slowly, like the threat tasted sour on his tone, and in truth his tone wasn't all that threatening. Perhaps he thought the words were enough themselves, without any sort of show of intimidation otherwise.

Stepping forward, he bound Decius's feet first, clamping an iron manacle around each ankle. The chain between them was long enough for shuffling motion, or to do well enough if they had to climb another ladder, but there was no way he'd be running like that. Only once those were in place did the Seeker remove the bonds at the prisoner's arms, hooking those ones over his belt, presumably in case they once more became necessary.

"Thank you," Decius said, uneasily. "Now, where were they..." Being careful with his steps to not risk falling over accidentally, he shuffled forward and lit some kind of spell in his hands, glowing a light blue color. The stone all around them turned a slightly different color in its presence, more yellow instead of dull brown. All except for several bright red spots, where something could be seen worked into the very walls, and one spot on the floor.

"What's that one do?" Brand asked, curious, and probably not as concerned as he should have been.

"This one," Decius slowly approached the one on the wall to their left, "would incinerate you to ash before you could blink." Brand hmmed like it was just interesting information. Once he was close enough, Decius weaved a spell between his hands, and let it loose at the trap. The bright blue light coiled into the wall, and the red inscriptions faded. "Two more."

He repeated the process with the other two, and while it wasn't particularly exciting to wait, his warning about the traps was more than enough to keep them still. When they were gone, Brand cleared his throat.

"And I think this is where I leave you." He glanced up ahead, where the sun's light of day was clearly visible. "You're about out of here, and I'm no use against mages and magisters. Good luck, though. You guys seem alright." He winked at Zahra as he said it.

“We're not totally awful." Khari shrugged, then grinned slightly. “Thanks for the help, Brandywine. See you when we get back." Her tone indicated no doubt that they'd be back, either.

Being incinerated wasn’t on Zahra’s list of things she wanted to do in Minrathous. Bringing Decius was a good idea after all. They wouldn’t have made it nearly this far without his help, however forced it had been. Helpful. Even if he was dead weight with those manacles of his.

She stepped around Brand and grinned wide, thumping him softly in the chest with the back of her hand, “I’d say we’re pretty likable.” He was too. This friend of Rom’s—it was a shame, really. Having to serve someone in Minrathous. Coming back to Skyhold sounded much better. She thought he would’ve liked it there. Who wouldn’t? He would be free of shackles, however loose they appeared to be. “We’ll bring back some interesting stories. Promise. Make sure there’s plenty of wine left.”

"I'll steal some on the way back," he promised, before meeting eyes with his old friend. "Do your thing, Rom."

He grinned, ever so slightly, and clasped arms with the elf. "Don't step in shit on your way back."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever wished for me."

Chryseis sighed audibly. "If you're all quite finished, there's only so much time left in the day." Brand took the hint, and scampered off into the darkness of the sewers. There were torches they'd passed on the way. Hopefully he'd be able to find and light one of them.

"Not sure why anyone's in a hurry," Decius said, though he was the first to make his way forward, shuffling his little steps to get a head start. "Considering what you're up against." He turned so he could shuffle backwards, and searched out the quiet human woman among them, Amalia. "I heard about you. Is it true what they say? That Marcus killed you once? Suppose it can't be, if you're here now."

Honestly, she'd said maybe a handful of words on the entire way here, all the way from Skyhold, and most of those were to the equally-quiet Dalish man she was always with. A few for Khari now and then, Zahra had noticed, but very little otherwise. Just enough to confirm that she wasn't actually mute. She regarded Decius flatly, her eyes unusually mismatched, but both sharp. "He tried," she said, her voice quiet. It lacked no steadiness or surety, however. "It didn't take."

It seemed either he hadn't known what answer to expect, or he didn't expect that, as Decius was left without anything to say for a moment, before he turned back around. Perhaps it was just the manner in which she said it. Either way, they continued in silence, and stopped several more time to disarm similarly lethal traps blocking their path. Decius had a sharp memory to locate them all, and avoid the ones that didn't need disarming.

Eventually the way forward led them onto a low, quiet street on the surface. It was the first time they'd actually been outside with their faces showing since leaving the docks, and it was hard to shake the immediate feeling of being watched. It was clearly a poorer area, with buildings of multiple stories surrounding them on all sides, some with rooftops within reasonable climbing distance, others serving as the base of impressively tall towers that continued up and up into the sky, only held together still by magic at certain points in their height.

"It's up ahead," Chryseis warned them. She went without any staff, preferring instead a short, curved knife, and a free hand left for casting, or cutting in the event that there was a shortage of blood. "That door, there."

The street split into a Y-shape, but the building they wanted had an entrance right at the divergence, on a landing at the end of a short flight of stairs. It was another tower, and if the other magisters' locations were anything to go by, they would need to go up once they were inside. The street was more than a little exposed, with the buildings on both sides looking down on a pathway devoid of any useful cover.

Decius carefully made his way up one step at a time, still working with chained feet, and stopped before the door. It was metal, slightly rusted by time, with a single handle and no visible lock. "There's a field on the doorway," he explained, lighting a different spell in his hand and lifting it to the portal. "Unpleasant results if you pass through it while it's activated." It was hard for Zahra to tell what the exact magic workings were, but it seemed like a more complex thing for Decius to pick apart. He had to focus a great deal, like he was remembering very specific instructions. Likely the magic was beyond him, and only something he could perform by following Marcus's specifications.

Soon though, there was a sound like water running down the rock face of a cliff, and Decius grabbed the door handle, swinging it open. The field was present in the doorway, but it was a soft yellow color, and didn't look dangerous. "Quietly now. Inside."

Ithilian stepped forward, his hand lingering on the hilts of his blades. Two of them, anyway. Apparently he wanted to be the first inside, or felt it was his place to test the effectiveness of Decius's spell. He lifted his hand slowly to the magic barrier, touched his fingers to it, and nothing happened, save for a slight rippling of the magic effect where his fingers broke the surface. He stepped inside, and waited for the others to follow.

Amalia followed him, no weapons yet drawn, but she was bristling with them in general: knives of several shapes and sizes, potion flasks, and a few pouches distributed in easy-to-reach places about her person. Whatever was in there, it seemed clear that she'd prepared for it. The barrier rippled behind her as she passed through, the color steadying once she'd disappeared to the other side.

Easy peasy. They hadn’t run into any Venatori yet, their cover hadn’t been blown and they had two frightening warriors at their sides. If Decius hadn’t felt a shudder trickling down his spine at Amalia’s deadpan retort, she certainly had. Or else, he was lying. It was a good thing they were on the same side, because she wouldn’t have ever wanted to cross blades with her. Nor him. She wasn’t surprised when they were the first to step through the barrier.

All the more reason for her to go next. Zahra rolled her shoulders, and feathered her fingers across the pommel of her rapiers. Her ironbark bow was well within reach if she needed it. She hadn’t had the opportunity to actually put it to use. What better time then this? Trouble would find them soon enough. It always did. Especially when complex magic was involved and this place was rife with it. It almost made her uncomfortable with how little she understood it.

Almost. Not nearly enough to question the rippling thing covering the entirety of the doorway. She squeezed past Decius and stepped up to the barrier, brazen in her gait. Seeing how easily Amalia and Ithilian had walked past, she opted out of running a tentative hand across it. A hissing sound sang out as soon as her forearm and hand touched the barrier, “FUCK!”

There were no languid ripples; no effortless admittance. Her sleeve sizzled and burnt as if she’d stuck her arm over an open fire. Only then did she bodily recoil, hugging her arm to her chest, stumbling away from the accursed doorway. Her eyes flew wide, eyebrows drawing in. “What the bloody—” She rounded on Decius, “You said it was fine.”

"It was, it was, I deactivated it, as instructed!" Decius appeared to be panicking slightly at what he just saw. "It has to be—ah!" He had touched his own hand to it, as though Zahra had somehow done it wrong, only to find that it burned him just the same.

A small gasp escaped from someone, and after the soft rush of footsteps a gentle hand descended on her shoulder. A glance behind her would reveal a worried gaze from Asala. "Can I see?" she asked kindly, gesturing with the other hand for her to see the afflicted limb. In between fussing over Zahra, she did manage to spare a wary glare in Decius's direction-- though her eyes did linger on his own hand for a moment, before she returned to Zahra.

Zahra relented easily enough. It was difficult not to with how worried Asala looked. She unfurled her arm from her chest, holding it out to be inspected. Much of the fabric had burned clear away, reaching the flesh underneath. The burn itself was somewhat blistered and remarkably red. If she hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought that she had actually caught on fire. It had taken seconds. The barrier. Magic. She huffed softly and leaned out, looking at Decius from the side of Asala’s shoulder, “Well, clearly, it’s not. What do we do now?”

On the other side of the barrier, Ithilian had his blades drawn now, one a slightly curved and slender Dalish sword, the other a bone-carved knife with angry-looking enchantments worked into it. He touched the sword to the barrier's inside, finding that it hissed and left the tip of the sword glowing red hot. Not worth trying to pass back through, no doubt. It seemed they were stuck for the moment on the other side.

Meanwhile, Rom had started watching their surroundings as soon as something appeared wrong, and for good reason. An arrow came whistling in towards Decius's throat, but was intercepted by Rom's shield. "Venatori," he informed them calmly. The arrow had come from a rooftop to their left, but there were signs of movement on either side of them. More arrows soon to be on the way.

"No, no, no, no," Decius repeated, backing himself into a corner, as though he expected the Inquisition to execute him on the spot as well.

"An ambush," Chryseis declared. "Wonderful."

"Asala, we need this barrier down, as soon as possible." No doubt it wouldn't be a simple matter of dispelling it, if Decius didn't even understand it, and if it was as complex as someone like Marcus Alesius was capable of. And there were still the Venatori at their backs to deal with. "Zee, we need your bow on a roof." The Venatori were the ones with superior sight lines right now, but that didn't mean they couldn't take those positions for themselves. "Khari, help her get there?" It wouldn't be wise for them to split up too much, but sending Zahra off alone wasn't the best plan either.

"Make it fast, we've got our own on this side," Ithilian said from beyond the barrier. He was looking down as he said it; apparently the Venatori were coming up from below. The scarred elf grimaced, then got to work.

“You got it, Rom." Khari glanced around for no more than a few seconds, eyes alighting on a rundown house not too far away, at a nice angle from the entrance that stymied them. “That one. Let's get inside and get on the roof!" She took point herself, drawing the heavy sword from over her back and making a break for it, shouldering past a few more Venatori that were approaching on ground level. There wasn't time to stop for every one of them.

The home was surrounded by a little wooden fence, rickety and rotting at the posts. Khari cleared it in a leap, shifting her grip on the sword and taking hold of the doorknob with a hand. From the fact that it didn't open when she twisted, it was locked, but it was in such poor condition that it yielded under several insistent applications of her shoulder, falling open and allowing them inside.

A frightened squeak alerted them to the presence of a young woman, two small children clutching at her skirts. She was huddled in a corner, about as far away from the windows as she could possibly get them, wide, terrified blue eyes fixing on the intruders.

There was little time to reassure her that they weren't there to do any harm, though, because there was already a threat in the room: a Venatori operative. He hurled an ice spike at the doorway, forcing Khari to dodge to the side. The little house was so cramped that she nearly hit the wall in the process, and had to maneuver awkwardly to get her big sword around in time to knock down the next one, stepping in and striking him in the gut with her pommel. It gave her enough time to retrieve a shorter knife and find his throat with it.

Zahra, too, dashed to the side, opposite of Khari. She nearly tangled herself in a chair, before catching herself on the wall. The children were being scooted beneath a small table, out of sight. For the best. The house was too damn small to linger in any longer. They’d be at a disadvantage if they let anymore Venatori pool into the room. Besides, how the hell was Khari going to swing that monstrous blade? A wet gurgle signaled the operative’s last breath.

There. Once her eyes locked onto the staircase, she wasted no time vaulting towards it and only halted when she climbed the first few steps, nearly bumbling into another Venatori descending. Whether he hadn’t expected to bump into someone at such close proximity, it would be his undoing. He hadn’t had time to raise his hands or level his pike. She grabbed onto the front of his collar, braced herself against the stairs and leaned backwards, sending him tumbling past her down the stairs for Khari to finish off.

From the thunk of steel biting into the floorboards, she certainly had.

She bounded up the stairs two at a time, only slowing when she reached an old, shabby door. The upstairs was just as unremarkable as the rest. Quaint. This door, however, led out onto a flattened expanse. A rooftop. Perfect place to pincushion Venatori. Presumably, most of their archers had already taken position in prime locations. They’d need to go first to give the others some wiggle room.

Only when Khari joined her side did Zahra reach for her bow, slipping it off her back. Her heartbeat thumped quicker. She fought against the smile twitching at her lips; her blood sang in her temples. Not wholly unpleasant. This nameless bow of hers. It felt comfortable in her hands, like it belonged there. She gave her enough room to push the door clear, letting her take point once more, “Let’s get ‘em.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The Venatori bodies were already starting to collect in the streets, including one or two that had unceremoniously smacked against the ground at the end of their two-story fall, left in bloody heaps after Zee and Khari were through with them. Rom kept near the doorway at first, working with shield and handheld crossbow as best he could, and covering Asala's back. He was the only one with an actual shield in the group, though Leon's six and a half feet of heavy armor were good for it, too. Chryseis wasn't much for protection, choosing instead to sling powerful spells down the street, often with lingering effects of ice or fire that made forward progress difficult for the Venatori.

The arrows from one side of the street had stopped altogether, and the ones coming from the other had targets in two directions to deal with now. Zee had both good sight lines and good cover to work with using the rooftop's railing. There was a long and mostly unstable wooden plank connecting the rooftops on either side. Rom didn't have to wonder whether or not Khari was going to use that to get across and into the buildings on the other side.

Leon shored up the left side street for the moment, while Chryseis delayed advancing Venatori from the right. Rom shot down those that advanced up the way they'd come from, preferring to remain at Asala's back when he could, but descending the steps into the street when necessary. Ithilian and Amalia had been forced from the doorway by now, as there were more Venatori inside.

"Any luck, Asala?" Powerful blood magic wasn't her specialty, but she'd need to figure something out sooner or later.

"Uh, not yet," she replied, the yellow field still glowing in front of her. It did, however, look agitated, which meant whatever she was doing was having some sort of an effect. Suddenly, it popped and sizzled, causing her to recoil her hand back from the force and trying to shake some sort of pain out of it. The field on the other hand, remained strong "Not that," she spoke to herself, a twitch to the corner of her mouth. She gave her hand one more shake and then leaned forward, working on the spell once more.

Still on the left, Leon was serving as a one-man road block, something at which his size no doubt helped him succeed. That said... he wasn't moving at nearly his usual alacrity, nor were his blows landing either as hard or as precisely as Rom was accustomed to seeing them. The street was wide enough for more than a few of the cultists to confront him at once, and in the time that took him to down the first few, several more had swarmed into their places, the melee combatants backed up by mages.

The commander swept one woman's feet out from underneath her, stepping onto her throat with his left boot and raising an arm to deflect an incoming sword. It skidded off his gauntlet, but he missed the follow-up grab, too slow to seize hold of the swordsman before he skittered away on lighter feet. In the time it took him to recover from the miss, one of the mages in the rear had shot a fireball, clearly overzealous at what seemed an opportunity to get a good hit in on someone they'd no doubt heard much about already.

As though it had been timed, a body fell from the roof above, the limp corpse taking the fireball dead-on, leaving only cinders to lick towards Leon. When it hit the ground with a thud, it was still burning, the dead Venatori's clothes smoldering and forcing the others to take a step back. Khari had, perhaps intentionally, created an obstacle to help defend one of Leon's sides, at least for a moment. Indeed, she leaned down for just a moment, offering up a facetious grin.

“How's that for tactics? Hop to, Leon, or I'll have you beat in no time." She vanished again, presumably to deal with anyone left on the roof, or maybe the next one over if she could get there—no paths as convenient as the fallen plank were available, unless she dragged it across herself.

For the moment, they were holding them off, and it even seemed like the Venatori were pulling back, being a little more cautious in their attack. Skirmishing, really, trying to poke at the established defense for a weakness. The barrier wasn't showing any of those, unfortunately. If anything it looked angrier, having shifted in color back to an alarming red more indicative of the effect it had on those trying to pass through.

It wasn't long before Rom heard an ominous sound coming from Chryseis's side street, somewhere out of sight due to the wall of ice she'd been constructing and fortifying between the tall buildings. It was a heavy, constant beat, regular intervals like drums vibrating the earth under their feet. Boom, boom, boom, boom. Chryseis preemptively took several paces backwards from her wall, arcane magic ready at her fingertips.

The beats became irregular just as they reached the other side of the ice wall. A low, gravelly grunt preceded an explosion of ice shards in their direction, and through the shattered remains of the wall charged a stone golem, eight feet tall, rotund and broad-shoulders, magic runes carved along the length of its arms and around its collar. Silver-grey eyes glowed in its head, and it wasted no time charging at the nearest member of the group.

Chryseis let loose a mind blast that only served to delay it. A personal shield of arcane magic went up in front of her before the golem struck, punching through it and throwing her back. She tumbled back down the street until her back hit a wall and brought her to a stop. Rom reached her first, grabbing the back of her shirt and helping haul her to her feet. She seemed only just capable of staying upright. He might've been disappointed by that, but for all he knew they'd need her to win this now.

With the golem's charge came renewed attack from the Venatori behind it, preferring to use ranged weapons and magic in order to stay out of the way of its rather large swinging fists.

Leon felled another Venatori with a swift jab, turning back over his shoulder just long enough to assess what the problem was before his eyes flew back to the roof. "Khari! We need you back down here. Zahra, take the right side—arrows won't do much to that!" He didn't say it aloud, but the grimace on his face conveyed well enough that he doubted his bare hands would have much effect either, in his current condition. The conclusion was obvious: the burden of keeping the cultists at bay would fall to his fists and Zee's arrows, leaving the rest of them to protect Asala and deal with the golem itself.

The split in his attention cost him, brief as it was. A Venatori knife found a weak spot in his armor. Leon grunted and doubled over, grabbing the responsible party by the collar of his leathers and slamming his face into a knee. The knife, he left where is was, between two of his ribs in the place where his chestplate joined the armor on his back. It seemed to take him great effort to straighten again and block the next incoming blow, but he managed it, the axe clanging off his crossed arms.

“You got it!" From the sound of Khari's voice, she was on the move again, backtracking across the roofs to move from the left side of the alley where Leon was to the right, where the golem had entered. She came into view shortly after, her sword sheathed across her back, arms and legs pumping furiously as she sprinted across the reddish tiled slope, some of her treads actually pulling the shoddy work free of the roof's underlying surface.

She changed her angle, and then it became obvious just what she was planning to do about her exit from altitude. “Here we go!" With an excited ha! she gathered her legs under her and launched herself. For a moment, she seemed almost about to fly, to be propelled from beneath by some lucky wind and take to the sky for truth, but then gravity caught up with her and her arc came back down, pulling her towards the ground like any other wingless creature, wild hair streaming like a tattered pennant.

But she'd aimed herself well, and both hands gripped the golem's shoulder on the way down. She pulled herself in, a loud, echoing clang signaling the heavy impact of the rest of her body with the construct's stone back. She scrabbled a moment, her feet searching for purchase, but in the end it was by the strength of her arms alone that she began to pull herself upwards.

“Hey!" The shout was breathless, exhilarated and urgent all at once. “Where's the weak point on these things, anyhow?"

"Back of the head!" Chryseis called, still a bit breathless from the hit she took. She looked a bit like she didn't believe what she just saw. Rom, however, wasn't surprised at all, just concerned. "Where the head meets the neck!"

Khari didn't stop to second-guess the advice, drawing the short knife that served as her sidearm once she felt she was secure enough to spare the hand. Setting it between her teeth, she shuffled her way closer to the spot, pausing once when the golem's movement got a little too aggressive, and holding on mostly, it seemed, by sheer strength and willpower. The motion slowed just enough, though, and she jumped the final distance, catching herself so that one arm wrapped as far around its neck from behind as she could make it go. Her other hand took up the dagger, and she plunged it into the spot, perhaps spotting some crack in the stone not visible from any further away.

If she'd been an annoyance before, it was now the construct's obvious first priority to be rid of her, and it thrashed heavily, heaving itself around and nearly crushing a Venatori unlucky enough to have ventured too close. Khari held on for a few seconds, but then a momentous heave sent her flying again, and this time not half so gracefully as before.

She slammed front-first into the wall of Marcus's hideout, throwing her arms out to protect herself on instinct. The dull crack of one of them giving out underneath her was unmistakable, as was the thud when her head hit the siding right after. She fell, landing in a heap on the ground and rolling to her back, clearly fighting to pull in a breath, expression dazed. At least she was conscious.

Rom was in motion before she hit the ground, closing the distance quickly. "Asala!" he called, arriving at Khari's head. "Get Decius out of there, I have an idea." Healing would have to wait for all of them, but he needed to get Khari out of the way first.

"Come on," he said, more quietly, slipping his arms underneath her and pulling her away, trying to be careful while also using the speed necessary to get out of the way of the angry golem. "Chryseis! Give us a moment."

"This had better be good," she growled, moving to engage the golem before it could crush him and Khari. It seemed to ignore most of her spells, at least the damaging effects of them, but Chryseis was more prepared to dodge this time, and didn't immediately take a hit.

By the barrier, Decius held up his hands in a sort of surrender to Asala from where he was crouched against the wall. "I swear I didn't know this was going to happen." She might need to carry him, with the way his feet were chained together. He certainly wasn't going to be making good time away from the door on his own.

One last sizzling pop from the magic field and Asala stepped back. It appeared she attempted one last burst of magic in an effort to break through, but that failed as well as the barrier remained. She instead huffed loudly and shook her head and turned her focus instead toward Decius. "Sorry," she frowned apologetically before she leaned down and gripped him by the legs. She flipped him over her shoulder bodily and then turned away from the door, making her way anywhere else but there. Though not as strong as her size would suggest, it was enough to carry Decius away-- had he been a bigger man, it would perhaps had been a different story.

As they made their escape, Asala summoned a barrier over both herself and Decius, just in time as it turned out as a lightning bolt struck the surface soon after. She huffed again, but the shield held fast and settled soon after.

Rom regrouped with her in the safest area they could find down the street, letting go of Khari there and grabbing Asala's shoulder briefly. "I'm going after it," he said, sheathing his blade and discarding the shield. Wouldn't be useful against the front of the golem anyway. "I need you to make sure it stays on me. Don't let it turn on anyone else. We need to lead it to that barrier, and force it in." He figured either the golem would be destroyed by it, or it would destroy the barrier. Either way it was progress. Unless he died.

There wasn't any time to discuss the plan more, as Chryseis took an untimely arrow to her left side while engaged with the golem, from an archer soon picked off by Zee. The disruption to her focus caused the next swing from the golem to connect, tossing her back into the wall behind her. She hit it hard, and crumpled to the ground at its base. Rom took off, his mark already crackling with energy.

He jumped at the nearest hand, trying to make contact before he let loose the energy he was building up. The blast was enough to knock him on his back the other direction, and enough to remove a pair of fingers from the golem. It turned on Rom and charged, forcing him to dive out of the way. He relocated towards the steps leading up to the barrier, but the golem charged on until it hit a wall, and then turned towards Leon, approaching his backside. It seemed more agitated than it had to begin with, targeting whatever happened to be in front of it.

Fortunately, it was neither quiet nor subtle, and Leon was evidently able to sense its approach, because he strafed to the side, clearly unaware of the plan to keep it from ranging too far with barriers. One of the Venatori seized the opportunity and hurled a bolt of lightning at him, one that struck the knife still embedded in his side. The commander's knees buckled under the force of it, leaving him more or less at the mercy of the other cultists on his side.

It wasn't an advantage they had much opportunity to make use of, though, because Khari ran out from the side of a nearby building, having clearly decided she'd be of most use helping him out. Just in the nick of time, her good shoulder slammed into the closest Venatori, knocking him into two others and throwing off the follow-up spell aimed for Leon.

She stooped to pick up a discarded axe, no doubt unable to wield her sword with a broken arm, and bared her teeth, hacking forward into the nearest wayward limb with the stolen weapon. “Just a little more, Leon. Don't worry about the golem—Rom and Asala are gonna keep it away from us. Let's finish these fuckers."

As she said, one of Asala's barriers sprung to life, blocking off the access to their side of the street. It appeared to be thicker than usual, most likely created in order to better stand up to the golem. The woman herself kept well out of the way, having discarded Decius somewhere along a way. She kept a sight line with the golem just to be able to direct her barriers.

"Hey!" Rom yelled, standing in front of Marcus's barrier, unsure if the golem would respond to verbal cues. He pulled free his crossbow and fired a bolt at it for good measure, the projectile striking the golem in the brow and chipping off a small piece. That seemed to do the trick, and the golem thought twice about punching against the barrier from Asala it had run up against, turning on Rom instead. With a low roar it charged straight for him, pounding heavy steps that shook the street as it clambered up the stairs.

It made a leaping attempt at a smash that almost caught Rom off guard, but he had just enough space to roll out of the way to the side. That left the golem standing directly in front of the angry red barrier. His mark sparking to life, Rom pressed his hand against the construct's back and let loose a blast, taking small chunks out of it and making it stumble halfway forward. Not quite enough. He darted back a step. "Now, Asala!" he called. "Push it in!" No easy task, he was sure, but this seemed like their best chance.

A shield descended over the golem, bowed inward to try and trap it between the two barriers. It then began to constrict, soon brushing up against the back of the golem. Asala herself stepped out from where she was hiding, the magical glow of her barriers reaching up to her elbows. She strode forward, the clear effort of pushing such a solid creature written on her brow, as sweat began to bead and the look of exertion worked into her features. The magical glow on her arms only intensified as she walked, ramping up the strength of the barrier.

In the confined space it wasn't able to get much of a backswing on its punches, enabling the barrier to stay up longer, and within a few seconds it was pressed against the field preventing entry to Marcus's tower. There was a sizzling at first as the outer layer of stone on its back was scorched and burned away, but it soon built into a series of small explosions, the barrier violently fighting to keep the golem out, while Asala's barrier pushed it in. The runes on the surface of the golem's body lit up in a bright red hue, and flames soon covered the construct. It roared, rearing back with a fist that managed to punch and hold through the field, despite deafening cracks and small blasts.

The fist came back and punched Asala's barrier, shattering it, but it became obvious that little remained of the arm once it was done. The rest fell to pieces on the ground in front of it, and the golem staggered forward. Huge chunks had been burned away out of the back of it, too many for it to continue functioning, it seemed. It staggered forward heavily, wobbled, and then collapsed down the stairs in a heap of rubble, forcing Rom to backstep out of the way.

The street fell mostly to silence, the Venatori having given up the attack as well. Rom spared a glance for Khari and Leon, both injured pretty severely, but it seemed they'd managed to clean up their end of things. He looked back to Asala. "Nice work. Have another go at that barrier?" Indeed, it looked weakened, visibly flickering, and some of the doorway around it had been damaged by the golem's efforts to escape. Perhaps it had simply been forced to fend off too much with the golem's inhuman capability for endurance.

Asala exhaled deeply once and rolled her shoulders, wiping the sweat from her brow while she was at it. She took a glance at the wavering barrier and nodded. "Okay. I will try to hurry," she added with a look toward Leon and Khari.

"Thank you." Rom, meanwhile, made his way quickly over to Chryseis, who appeared to be unconscious, sitting slumped against the wall at the side of the street. She always came prepared he knew, and when he crouched at her side he rummaged first through the small bags on her belt, finding a few healing potions. He took them all, four in total, and carried them quickly back to the street on the other side of Marcus's entrance, offering them out to Khari and Leon.

"Drink these," he said, setting them down to empty his hands and let them decide how to split them. "Asala's working on the barrier. We need to be ready for more once we're inside." They had no idea what had happened to Ithilian and Amalia, but knowing the history they had with the magister, it could be even worse than what they'd encountered out here.

Still... there was an opportunity here. Leaving Khari and Leon to the potions and their healing, Rom made his way back over to Chryseis, who still had an arrow lodged in her side. She wasn't in great shape, but it didn't seem like she'd die if she was just left here, either. He returned to her side, crouching again and taking hold of the arrow. What to do with it was what he hesitated on.

She coughed, and stirred, and still he didn't let go of the arrow. Opening her eyes, she didn't seem surprised to find him there, but winced all the same as little motions of the arrowhead caused painful twinges in her abdomen.

"If you're going to do it, best do it now," she advised him. As ever, his intentions were plain as day to her, and likely had been from the time they met. "Before your friends come over here." He locked eyes with her, finding them almost uncaring, disinterested.

"I need you to be gone," he said quietly, unsure of why the words left him. Why he felt the need.

"If it needs to be done, why are you hesitating?" She coughed, her lips slightly painted with blood. "Why am I still alive? I've played my part. I have nothing left to offer you." Still he hesitated, and her lip curled into a snarl. "Do it. Or are you still a slave?"

“Gone's not dead." A metallic scrape accompanied the flat pronouncement; Khari's sword dragged slightly against the road until she planted it point down in the dirt, leaning heavily on it. The same hand gripped an empty potion bottle between her last two fingers. The other arm still hung at her side in a way that suggested serious injury, but her eyes were clear when they found Rom's. “And dead's not the same as gone. This isn't about her, or what she deserves. It's about you. What you deserve. The only one who can make you a slave anymore is you." She exhaled, the breath shaky, and her grip tightened on the handle of the sword. Her face was as easy to read as it had ever been: past the pain she was in, Khari was quite at ease.

She believed what she said. And more than that, she had faith in him. Trust. Enough of it that she didn't feel the need to say any more than she already had. Instead, she simply regarded him with open expectation, her head tilted slightly to the side, loose curls stuck to her neck with sweat and frizzing up from her crown, a half-formed smile curling her mouth.

"All of you talk about things too much, you know that?" Chryseis winced again, trying not to move while Rom still had the hand on the arrow in her. "If you're not going to do it, then could you please—gah!"

He pulled the arrow out of her, tossing it aside and backing away a step. She hissed out a breath in pain, pressing her hand to the wound, opening her potions pouch with the other and finding it empty. "Wonderful. Rob me, and then spare me."

Not a moment later, a loud pop punctuated Chryseis's sentence. It sounded as if it came from the barrier barring their way, and a look in that direction would reveal Asala scampering back away from the door--the popping perhaps startling her more than anyone else. After she'd scurried some distance from the now open door, a shield rose up in front of her to shield her from some blow back that fortunately never came. After a moment or two of nothing, she finally felt comfortable to let the shield fall, before tossing glances to all of her friends around her.

She took one last deep breath before a gentle pinkish light wrapped around her hands and she began to make her way toward Leon.

The removal of the barrier was enough to immediately draw Rom's attention away from Chryseis, and his blade and shield were soon in his hands again. "Anyone who still can, we need to get there."

There was no way of telling what had happened inside the tower.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
The past few days had been restless ones for Rom.

Of all the injured, he was perhaps the most intact, and so he was left to watch as Asala and Chryseis and even Bastian coordinated their efforts to keep everyone alive. There had been close calls. None came closer to death than Amalia, though somehow she'd managed to pull through. Chryseis knew healing well, though she rarely had any desire to perform it. He was certain she didn't have it here, either, but there was something about the dedication to her work that struck Rom. She had been assigned to save Amalia's life, and assist with the others where needed. Once Chryseis was given a task, she was loath to fail it, to leave it unfinished. Her dedication and drive were frightful in some ways, and utterly remarkable in others.

And it occurred to him that if he had used that arrow in her to tear her open and let her bleed out, thus supposedly freeing himself from her presence, he would have doomed Amalia by extension, or perhaps one of the others. That blood would've been on his hands. And the more he thought of it, the more he knew Khari was right. As she usually was. Death was not the way he was going to free himself from memories of slavery, of submission.

While she worked to heal, there was nothing to be done. They had managed to recover a large amount of papers after making it inside Marcus's hideout, but they would take a great deal of time to parse through, and Rom was not the ideal candidate for that. The others needed rest, though Khari was difficult to keep from action as ever, and Zee had avoided most of the injuries the others had suffered as well. What followed was a tense few days of waiting, and constant work by the healers in the house, to keep those most grievously injured alive. Eventually, it became clear that they would, in fact, survive, though the two among them that most desired the Venatori leader's death had not been able to claim it. Their situation was not his, he knew. Unlike Chryseis, Marcus would torment them in the physical realm as well as in their minds, if he wasn't dealt with. He felt guilty about not being able to help them, but that time had passed.

On the fifth day, Chryseis finally spent some of her waking hours away from the patients, who reportedly were not fond of her presence, and often asked her to leave. That Rom had no trouble believing. It gave him a chance to finally speak with her around sunset, when she took her drink out onto the balcony of Bastian's manor, with a wonderful view of the sunset and the glittering water far below.

"I imagine you want to speak to me," she said when she noticed his approach. Her voice was unusually quiet, perhaps just from tiredness. "I imagine this is also a first-time occurrence."

He remained standing, preferring not to sit next to her. "Want and need aren't the same thing."

"I suppose not. Out with it, then."

That was the first step down. Now for the rest. Rom crossed his arms, trying to figure out how he wanted to say it. "I'm trying to have a different life now. The Inquisition has given me a chance for it. It's just... every time I start to think I'm moving forward, I remember you. And I remember the terrible things that I've done for you. And I remember just what it was like to live here in your shadow, as your blade, doing anything and everything that you asked of me."

The way he put voice to the last words he spoke there implied that he was referring to some of the things Chryseis asked of him that did not require any violence. She noticed quite easily. "If this is about you and that insufferable elf woman, you have nothing to fear from me. Do as you please."

"It's not..." He exhaled, frustrated by her interpretation of things. "That's not what this is about. Maybe a little, but this isn't about any one thing. It's about moving on from our pasts."

"Our pasts?"

"I've killed people for you," he continued. "I've beaten and intimidated people for you. I've tortured for you, spied for you, destroyed lives for you, caused collateral damage, hurt people that had done you no wrong. I've been able to get this far because I've come to accept that even if that's who I was, it's not who I have to be always. It's painful at times, but I feel now that I'm getting close to who I really am, who I used to be before I ever was a slave."

She seemed confused by this. "And yet you claim the shadow of the memories hangs over you. Are you a new man or are you not?"

"I can't just shed everything all at once, it doesn't work like that. But piece by piece I'm trying, and it's working. There's just been one missing piece, and it's here. It's you."

He'd inched closer a little, lowering his voice with some uncertainty. It had taken him a few days to come around to this, that this was the way he wanted to solve things. Chryseis obviously wasn't seeing it yet. Another first occurrence, that for once she didn't see right through him. "I don't understand. If you want me to fix you somehow, I can't do that. I don't know what you—"

"I don't need you to fix me," he interrupted. "I want to fix you."

It might've been the first thing he'd ever said that caught her fully by surprise. She narrowed her eyes at him, as though trying to figure out if he might be an impostor, wearing a mask of Rom's face. "Excuse me?"

He expected this reaction, and had prepared what to say. "Something happened to us, when we were younger. Something we had no control over. Many somethings, in your case, but a few things in particular." He didn't need to spell them out for her. Her father trained her a certain way, taught her the same cruel path he tried to instill in Cyrus. In Chryseis, it took. But she fell in love, the kind that made cruelty and cold logical practicality seem irrelevant, and for a time she approached happiness. Then he was taken from her, and she was taken by rage and hate and her ability to use her power to destroy those that harmed her.

"You did things," he said, "things that offered you brief satisfaction at the cost of pieces of your humanity, pieces of who you had the potential to be. And you started to feel like you had nothing to look forward to or fight for, so you took up his dreams and hopes for your country, what he died for, and made it your goal. But you only knew cruel ways of bringing it to reality. While trying to rebuild Tevinter, you tore down yourself."

She'd stopped looking at him, instead taking a drink and staring out at the sea. He took it as a good sign, and pressed on. "It doesn't have to be that way. You don't have to be that way. You're one of the most intelligent, driven, determined, powerful people I know. You can find a way to be who you want to be, and still fight for the goal we set out for. Believe me when I say that there is nothing in this life more worthwhile."

She stared a moment longer, taking a long drink and wincing slightly at the burn as it went down her throat. "I remember a time not so long ago," she finally said, "when you could barely string a sentence together around me."

She left it at that, leaving Rom confused. He stood in silence, waiting for her to continue, but she did not. At last his patience ran out. "Chryseis...?"

"I'd like to be alone," she said, standing. "I have much to think about." She walked past him and stepped back inside, leaving him alone on the balcony. He couldn't be sure, but he felt as though he might've reached her. Something inside of her, that he'd seen as a adolescent, in private moments on her father's estate. In the brief period of marriage she enjoyed, and never again after. Maybe she would again now. And if he was responsible for her changing, even a little, then he knew he did the right thing.

It wasn't more than a couple minutes later that Khari appeared, her footfalls considerably softer than usual behind him. Understandable, considering that she wasn't wearing any shoes. No doubt it was a great deal warmer in Minrathous than she was used to, and like several of the others, she'd made concessions for the heat. Her shirt, loose and white, was sleeveless, and she'd taken to rolling her pant legs to her knees.

She walked right up to the railing and took it in both hands, hoisting herself up so she was sitting on the banister, facing inwards, swinging her feet freely in the air. “Just passed Chryseis in the hallway." She tilted her head at him. “Can't say I expected to see that look on her face at any point." Her tone invited elaboration, if he was inclined to give it.

He grinned, just a little. "I'm not sure how well it went, but... I did something. And I think it might just move things in the right direction." Rom wore sandals, and they flapped softly on his way over to the railing next to her. "It felt good to do something, after... well." He shrugged, feeling a little heavier. "After the fight. Hard to feel like it wasn't a defeat."

“I get what you mean." Khari shrugged, offering half a grin of her own. “On the other hand... you and Asala smashed up that golem pretty well, so there's a win for the books, right? And here I thought I was the reckless one." The smile grew until it encompassed her entire expression—apparently not even the lingering sense of loss was enough to dampen her mood for all that long.

For a moment, she looked over her shoulder, back out at Minrathous stained in the colors of sunset. They made her hair look like fire. “You know... it's kinda different from how I expected. The towers are pretty obnoxious, but I figured they'd be a bit more sinister or something." She wrinkled her nose. “Guess I was imagining it as 'the place that really sucked for some friends of mine' more than anything. It's pretty, though. Smells nicer than most cities, with all the water nearby."

He snorted at that. "Up here, maybe. You haven't seen where Brand would drag me to drink on coin he stole." He smiled at the thought, but in all honesty, it was foul down there. The streets stunk of piss everywhere, and worse sometimes, and the drinks were so watered down they were hardly recognizable. Well, Rom liked to think it was water they were thinned with, and nothing else. But it was something he'd enjoyed making Rom do. Buying something hard earned, he said, as though stealing was honest work. Rom appreciated it, even if he rarely said it back then. A brief chance to get away from it all, even if it felt like the city was burying him in the process.

"There are good people here, and others less so." He turned sideways, leaning his hip on the railing. "Same as any city, or any clan. They've been at war too long for their own good, but at this point I don't think it's something they can escape. Tends to sour them a little." Chryseis was perhaps the prime example of that. "And it did suck sometimes, but... despite everything, I'm happy with where it's landed me."

He grinned again at her, a little slyly, letting it reach his eyes. "You know I wouldn't have done this without you, right? As always. One of these days I'll figure out what the right thing is without you needing to be awesome and tell me."

Khari laughed, leaning back a little on the railing but in no apparent danger of overbalancing. “Well, if I have my way, I'm always going to be at least this awesome, so I guess you've got some catching up to do." Her expression softened a little, though, and for once she just looked happy. No edge of wryness or aggression or anything else—happiness in its simplest form. “But you know... I've got this feeling you're already well on the way. We're gonna win, you and I. The good in us both."

He smiled at her, and loved the way she looked. Despite the loss, the way things hadn't turned out perfectly. They never did, but there was still a way forward. Always, a way forward. "One more thing," he said. "Let me see if I can remember how you said it..."

He never remembered actually feeling confident about these things before, but somehow he did now. His smile morphed back to a grin, somewhat teasing in nature. "If, uh... I was maybe considering kissing you right now, would you absolutely be more than okay with that?"

For a moment, Khari looked quite surprised, eyes widening and grin faltering, but she recovered swiftly, leaning forward slightly where she sat. “I'm gonna make fun of you for flirting with me later, but right now?" She arched an eyebrow. “Absolutely."

The genuine attraction was causing his heart to beat much more quickly than normal, but Rom was surehanded in this, and didn't fumble or hesitate. He smiled as he slid a hand to the back of her neck, tracing his thumb along her jaw, twining fingers through her thick hair. He leaned in and kissed her, letting his other hand find her waist. One of her hands bunched in the front of his shirt, the other scrubbing blunt fingernails over his nape. She actually wasn't overly forceful or clumsy about it, either—though in this as all things, her enthusiasm was readily apparent.

"Oh, shit," came an excited elf's voice from inside, almost startling Rom enough to make him jump. He reluctantly pulled away from Khari and turned aggressive eyes on Brand, eavesdropping from just inside the still open door. Sneaky little shit. "Dreams have become reality."

Rom took an angry step towards him, enough to get a yelp out of him, and he darted off at a very swift walk. Rom scratched the back of his head for a moment, before an idea occurred to him, and he looked back at Khari.

"How much d'you think it would cost us to buy a slave from Bastian?"

“How about... one not-dead son?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The keening screech of metal-on-metal set Khari's teeth on edge; she bore down harder on Mick's crossed blades, strong enough now that both their arms shook with the exertion of trying to hold each other at bay. Snarling low in the back of her throat, she broke the lock first, backing up in swift strides, as long as her short legs would allow.

Once they had some distance, she rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck to both sides and shifting her grip a little on the practice blade, squeezing the hilt with her fingers before easing them again. Her breath, rapid but steady, clouded out in front of her, the biting winter chill long forgotten as her muscles warmed to the exertion. She was sweating now, beads dripping freely from her face and down her back, tickling her spine beneath the plate armor.

They sparred in the open today, as they often but not always did, and from the low buzz in her ears, she suspected they'd drawn a bit of a crowd. Though she in herself wasn't near as much a spectacle now as she'd once been—the regulars had gotten used to a lot, being with the Inquisition, and elves in armor was among the more minor oddities—her out-and-out matches were still pretty popular, whatever the reason. The spectators were nothing more than background noise at this point, though.

Pushing forward with all the strength in her legs, she lunged, swinging her sword hard for Mick's hip.

He didn't attempt to dodge, at least not outright. As she lunged, he reversed his grip on his far hand blade and brought it across his body so that it rested against the side Khari was aiming for. The maneuver, in conjunction with the armor he wore, was undoubtedly intended to dull the point of impact and spread the force out across the entire length of his blade. His other blade however went on the offensive, even as the other went to defend. He thrust the opposite sword forward no doubt in hope of catching her in the middle of her lunge. Still, it was a risk-reward tactic, standing in the path of her sword to try and deliver a blow himself.

Another clang pealed out like a particularly-obnoxious bell where their swords met. Khari let go of hers with one hand to enable her to twist out of the way of his second. When it whistled through the air beside her, she re-gripped and stepped in, following up with an attempt to strike him with just the pommel, near the joint of his elbow. Two swords were a pain to deal with; life would be a lot easier for her if she could disarm him of one of them.

Mick's height advantage came into play, and he simply jerked his elbow hard upward, avoiding the blow to the joint. He could not, however, jerk his entire frame out of the way. The pommel went past where the elbow had been and instead struck him under the arm, in the soft unarmored part of his armpit. The air in his lungs fell out of his mouth, and his brow furrowed, if only for a moment before he retaliated. The elbow that she had just missed began to come back down hard. Behind it followed the blade he had reversed the grip of, having had enough time to recock.

Khari got her sword in the way of his in enough time to avoid that issue, but in her maneuvering, she was forced to position herself under the incoming elbow, which collided with her helmet and dazed her for half a second. It was enough that she threw herself to the side, unwilling to risk some kind of heavier follow-up she wouldn't be able to anticipate.

Scrambling to her feet, she shook her head, things clearing up almost as quickly as they'd gone fuzzy. This time, she used her inverse of his height advantage, strafing in at an angle and swinging low, a sweep aimed for his legs.

He proved too aggressive in his approach. Mick must had seen her stumble and chosen the opportunity to press his advantage. It meant that he was too close when she went for his legs, and was unable to do much than accept it. He would not, however, accept it easily. As she whipped her blade around, he dropped one of his swords and reached out to grab her collar to take her down to the ground with him.

Khari's balance was good, but it was not keep-her-balance-when-suddenly-yanked-by-six-foot-something-of-armored-person good. She toppled with him, but fortunately kept her wits about her. Mick was a lot bigger than she was, but that was true of everyone, and she knew what to do when someone bigger than her was trying to take her to the ground. She twisted as far away from him as she could before they hit the ground, which was good because no part of her ended up pinned by any part of him, and she was quicker to right herself, abandoning her sword and lunging.

Which one of them won here would depend on who could pin, both faster and better.

It turned into a brawl pretty quickly, each trying to grapple the other and position themselves. While Mick held the size and strength advantage, Khari proved far more slippery than he expected as he could never hang on to her for more than a few moments at a time. It was clear that his size would prove more of a detriment, as Mick began to slow down, and the strength was beginning to ebb ever so slightly in his hands.

Khari waited him out, trying to keep her own motions minimal and precise, the way Rom had taught her, the way Amalia had reinforced by example. When he bungled a grab for her ankle, she seized the opportunity and surged forwards, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him against her side, reinforcing her hold by banding her other arm across her body. There was quite a lot of thrashing as Mick fought to get free, but she held on tenaciously, refusing to give up her grip until he hit the floor three times in surrender.

With a heavy exhale, she released him and fell back on to her rear, breathing hard. She couldn't help the exhilarated smile she wore, though—aside from a few points here and there in more formalized spars, she'd never beaten him in a match. But this one—this one had been hers. He hadn't pulled his blows or given her free recoveries or done any of that, and she felt a surge of pride alongside her happiness.

Pushing herself to her feet, she offered her hand down to Mick, helping pull him back to his feet. “Finally got you."

"Shit lass, when did you get so good on the ground?" Mick answered, opting to lay on his back for a few seconds more before finally accepting the offered hand. "You don't think Marcy saw, do you?" He asked craning her head to look behind him. Following his gaze revealed Marceline standing in the middle of the crowd, a coy and mischievous grin on her lips as she gave him a little wave. "Yep..." he answered himself, returning the wave.

Turning back to Khari however, he brightened. "'Bout damn time too," he answered, clasping her hard on the shoulder.

She gave him her best lopsided grin, turning her attention for the first time to the crowd. Quite a few of the onlookers were clapping, sheering, or just generally making noise. No doubt a lot of them knew just how long and hard she'd been working to get to this point, and she couldn't help but feel like it really was a milestone, of a sort. Taking Mick's arm in her hand, she lifted both over her head and swept and overly-dramatic bow, laughter rippling over those gathered until they began to disperse, back to their own training or whatever else they really should have been doing instead.

“Well, you know. What's worth doing takes time, and all that." Khari couldn't help but feel she was in a good place, right now. Her improvement had been steady since she joined the Inquisition, on more than one front. It felt like she was finally managing to put her life together the way she wanted it. A giddy sort of feeling stirred in her stomach; she couldn't wait to tell Rom about today. But first...

“I'm starving. You wanna get outta this armor and find something to eat?"

Mick thought about it for a moment before inclining his head in agreement. "Sounds like a good plan, where were you thinking?" He asked. The smirk he wore exposed the joke for what it was, as Skyhold wasn't exactly full of eateries. There was either the Keep, or the Herald's Rest. And the Rest had better ambiance.

“I dunno. Was thinking I'd wrestle a deer, then we could roast it in the yard." Khari didn't miss the opportunity to joke right back at him. Options in the plural at all was more than she was used to. The Dalish ate what the hunters and foragers could provide, and then she'd pretty much been either on her own or in military-style camps for most of her life, so... even having a menu was still kind of a novel experience.

She steered them for the Rest, though, slipping in and giving a small wave to Zee in her usual corner before she took a seat up at the bar. When they'd put in their orders for food, Khari let herself slouch a little, pulling the glass of watered wine a little closer to her. No ale so soon after a hard workout. Less ale in general, she'd been going for. It wasn't exactly the beverage of choice for anyone trying to keep themselves in the best condition possible.

While they waited for their food, Mick also relaxed, propping an elbow up on the table and resting his beard on his thumb. He tilted his head a little away from her and looked at her with mock suspicion. "Now, don't let this win get to your head. Next time you might not be so lucky," he said with an arched brow before winking and grinning at his own joke. Of course, just because she got one didn't mean he'd let any more go easily. He'd hold on tighter next time, more likely.

“Yuh-huh." She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. “Lucky for you, I'm not a dumbass, so I'll fight just as hard next time, too. Still got goals, you know. Can't start sitting on my ass just because I'm making good progress on 'em."

She could keep her head about this; she knew the road in front of her was still long. It was quite a distance from being able to fight as well as a chevalier to being one. That was going to take a lot more, and despite her discussion earlier in the year with Lucien, she still wasn't totally sure how she was meant to go about bridging the gap.

"Speaking of your goals," Mick continued matter-of-factly, the hand holding up his beard shifting in order to give him more of a pensive and thoughtful gaze. "Any thoughts on where to go from here?" He asked with another arched brow. "You've aptly demonstrated you can beat a chevalier-- and a damn fine one at that," he said, with no small amount of ruffling of plumage. "And it won't be long until the wins even up the losses. So what's the next step, if you don't mind me asking?"

Khari frowned. “The original plan didn't get quite this far." She had, in fact, run off half-cocked from her clan and her life with the Dalish. It'd been a damn stroke of luck that Ser Durand had agreed to teach her anything, but it had also exhausted her ideas. She'd had a few more since the, but nothing concrete.

“When I met Lucien, he said that I probably had a few options, just based on how people had gotten into the chevaliers without Academie training. He said that some people did it by winning tournies, and other people by performing heroic deeds for the empire." She grimaced. “Don't get me wrong, I'd be happy to do heroic deeds, but at this point I think Orlais isn't so interested in having them done." The civil war was over, and no doubt most people wanted a break in the fighting for a while. She could understand that, but it limited her opportunities.

“I've entered tournies before, but only small ones, usually open to mercenaries and other people as well, so they don't ask for sponsors or papers or anything. And that's kind of a pain, because I can't reveal my identity if I ever want to be able to do it again, so... I feel like I need something big. Something that people won't be able to sweep under the rug or ignore, you know? But anything that big is already closed off to me." It was like being under a dwarf-size ceiling and trying to break out of it, only to find that there weren't any exploitable cracks. She could blow the whole thing off with an explosive... but there weren't any around.

Her glass thudded back against the bar as she took a large swallow.

"Not... Necessarily," Mick answered thoughtfully. His elbow had rose from the table and now rested completely on his chest, giving him and even more thoughtful look. He held her in her eyes for a few long moments, working something out in his mind, and internally debating something. "Hmm," he murmured as if he was on the cusp of a decision before he finally shrugged. "There is always the Grand Tourney," he stated like it was the most simple thing in the world.

Khari's mouth pulled. “I'm not this drunk yet. Did you really just suggest that I enter the Grand Tourney? Once-every-four-years grandfather of all tournies? The one they hold in the Emperor's honor and invite all the fanciest blueblood chevalier officers to participate in? Because, you know, it's sort of an unofficial way of figuring out who's who? That Grand Tourney?" She took a large breath, having expended her previous one getting that all out with the kind of rapid-fire cadence an archer could envy.

Slowly, she raised a hand, folding down all of her fingers but the index one and pointing to her ear. “See these? These mean you're not passing me off as a relative. Or some obscure noble's kid. I'd need papers to enter that thing. Like... real ones. Even if I wore a helmet the whole time."

"What was that about not sitting on your ass?" Mick asked, "Because that sounds a lot like sitting-on-your-ass talk. Nothing risked, nothing gained." He said it like that explained everything, though soon her shook his head and looked back at her. Something in his eye all but outright said how serious about the idea he was. "I don't remember all of that stopping Aveline, do you? If you want something bad enough, you have to take it. It's not going to place itself in your lap."

By this point, he had shifted in his chair so that he was facing her, his hands firmly on his knees and his face about as serious as he could manage. "The paperwork, the sponsorship, the-- well, the helmet, Marcy and I can handle all of that," he said, but before she could reply, he held up a hand to cut off anything she could say.

"And yes, I know the personal risk involved," he said, crossing his arms. "Shit, there was already a risk involved with just training you like a chevalier. The Academie probably wouldn't like me giving their secrets out to elves, but..." Mick shrugged. "Fuck 'em. You're just as good as they are."

He chuckled to himself a little after that. "There's already a lot of upheaval in the world, what's one more flame to the fire?"

Well, if he was okay with all the implications of this—and he clearly was—she sure as hell wasn't going to needle him about the risks. The grin bloomed over her face in a matter of seconds, her eyes narrow with the force of it.

“If you're volunteering, then fuck yes I'll do it."

Screw entering. She was going to win.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Vesryn felt like he'd just turned twenty again, and was being put through his paces by Saraya and a mercenary company alike.

He wasn't even in full armor yet, like the red-headed berserker on his left was. He had to work his way back up to it, so much had he been weakened by his period of inactivity. More than atrophy, the time spent struggling with the effects of Saraya's bleed in his mind had physically damaged him, in ways he didn't even realize until it was stabilized. Aches and pains he'd never had before, like he was an old man. They were fading, but slowly.

Needless to say, keeping up with these two women at their absolute best was not an easy task. No one was more understanding than Stel, but Khari could be worse than Saraya was. Their rivalry was little more than vestiges now, but it was fun to attempt reviving it. It had always pushed both of them to be better, at least.

As for the passenger in his mind... she was quieter now, so to speak. Treading carefully. He didn't think she needed to, but if there was one thing he knew about Saraya, it was that she didn't change her mind quickly. When it came to her opinion of herself, that meant it could last thousands of years. Maybe forever. He still didn't know quite what to think, but the Inquisition was perfect proof that individuals could harbor great darkness in their pasts, and still move forward to do wonderful things. It changed things, now that he could no longer think of her as some infallible ideal of the elven past in his mind. She was just a person, as flawed as any of them.

"I feel like I'm intruding on some sacred ritual here," he said, noting one of the guards they passed watching them. It certainly was a break in the routine. "The two of you have done this together since Haven." He was willing to bet they'd both missed it, too. The journey north had disrupted a great many things.

Khari looked to be in high spirits this morning, though that was hardly unusual. The oncoming chill of winter did little to slow her down or dampen her enthusiasm, and though the cold and exertion had dyed her cheeks a splotchy red under the vallaslin, she managed to look quite arch when she glanced back at him. “I'd say it was fine, but we actually need to move faster than baby tortoises for the sacred ritual to work, so. Look alive, Ves." She reached over to give his back a good-natured smack, then increased her pace, a clear challenge in the acceleration.

On his right, Stel scoffed under her breath, but it sounded suspiciously like amusement. "And there she goes. She'll slow down again after half a mile or so, but she really likes to make me do intervals. Guess we'd better pick up the pace." Even though she said so, she matched his stride, choosing not to pull ahead as Khari had.

His reply was a grunted exhale, somewhere between frustration and just effort. He pushed himself forward faster, steadily gaining on Khari as Stel stuck beside him. "Hold on now, little bear," he called as he ran. "I need to ask you about something." The first he'd heard of it had been on the boat, but now that he was back in Skyhold, he heard several different versions, as the obvious source of the story couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. Friend of the Lord Inquisitor's, or so he'd gathered.

"Someone's been spreading rumors, about you and a certain Lord Inquisitor, and they're really starting to get out of hand. Perhaps you can enlighten us on exactly the truth of these rumors..."

The little bear glared back over her shoulder; it was hard to tell if the redness was still just temperature and effort or if there was also some embarrassment there. “Brandywine needs to shut his big stupid mouth." She paused to start them up a staircase, diverting from their existing path to do it. It might have been intentional punishment for the question, but it was just as likely that she'd already had the sadistic idea in mind.

By the time they'd drawn even again, Khari was heaving a large sigh. “Out of hand how?"

Stel coughed, though he could tell she was trying to disguise a laugh. "I, ah, might have heard a version the other day wherein undying love was declared. And marriage proposed. Before an audience. Very scandalous." Her grin grew until there wasn't really any hiding it anymore. "But you know... the tame version was plenty entertaining on its own. With the balcony and the kissing." Her eyes narrowed with the force of her mirth.

"Enjoyed yourself, I hope?"

Khari stuttered. “I d—what?" Her foot caught on a slightly-raised stone, nearly tripping and planting her face in the dirt. “What—what kind of question is that? And who said the—the other thing? Someone's face has a date with my knuckles." The red was definitely mostly embarrassment now. Almost as red as the curls bobbing with every tread.

"If it's scandalous we're hoping for, I've got another," Vesryn added. He knew Stel had endured her own round of teasing back when they'd first began together, and he had contributed to some of it himself. He didn't doubt she was enjoying the chance to shoot back. "Apparently a Skyhold servant stumbled on passionate lovemaking in the Undercroft. He exited without a word, and after describing the act to his fellow servants, a new trend of sorts was born in the camp. Lovers eschewing soft beds in favor of the cold, hard floor. Groundwork, it's being called. Infirmary's had to deal with an unusual amount of bruises already."

He didn't know if any of that had even a pinch of truth to it, but that was the rumor he'd heard. It was incredibly amusing to think that any pair of fools would actually try to imitate their supposed approach to the act, but then, knowing what they thought of their Inquisitors, it wasn't too hard to believe. Almost frightening, that.

The expression of abject horror on Khari's face had an almost-guilty edge to it, but before there was much hope of puzzling that out, she was waving her hands with almost-comical energy. “That did not happen! Not even—we don't—just no. What is wrong with people?" They were going down a different staircase now, Khari behaving almost as though rumors were something that could be outrun, if her pace was anything to go by.

“I could have gone my whole life without ever hearing that and it would have been better. Thanks, guys. You're the best friends ever."

Stel's was nearly breathless with laughter at that point, but a certain glint in her eye suggested she wasn't going to drop it just yet, either. "But that look on your face means you've thought about it. What did you say? —'I can't help it, he treats shirts like they're optional'? I think I'm remembering that right."

Khari made a noise in the back of her throat that probably verged on too high-pitched for most people to hear, rendered apparently inarticulate by their combined attack. As soon as their feet hit soft ground again, she launched herself at Stel, tackling her to the ground. “You—!" An inchoate shriek followed as they tussled; though it might have looked convincing to a someone less familiar with actual fighting, it was clearly not intended to do Stel any actual harm.

“Traitor! Turncoat! I'm revoking friend privileges!"

Finally, the plan came to fruition. Vesryn slowed to a stop, his legs and lungs immediately thanking him for it while he let himself be entertained by the scrapping that he absolutely was not going to intervene in. He wasn't entirely sure Khari wouldn't punch him, after all. He sank to the ground, leaning back on his hands and letting out a satisfied breath.

Stel was too busy laughing half-hysterically to put up more than a token resistance, and it wasn't too long before Khari had her pinned. Of course, even so cornered, the Lady Inquisitor was a crafty opponent, and she managed to free one of her hands and get it up to Khari's neck, where she walked her fingers lightly over one of the elf's pointed ears, the lightest of ghost-touches.

Khari's reaction was immediate; she ducked her head into her shoulders, trying to twist away from the touch. “Dammit, Stel—this isn't—fai-i-i-r." Apparently she was rather ticklish, if the fact that her words were frequently punctuated by squeamish laughter was anything to go by. “Stop—stop—uncle! I surrender!" She rolled off Stel, slapping a hand against each of her ears to protect them from further assault, curling into herself in an attempt to shield her neck, too, no doubt.

“Should have worn my helmet. Jerks."

Vesryn was content to watch Stel's victory unfoled, and wait until it was apparent that Khari's surrender would be accepted. Not the usual spot they ended their workout, sitting in the dirt at the base of the outer wall, but Vesryn figured it was worth it.

"All... perfectly warranted teasing aside, Khari, you're looking rather happy. Is that just from the Lord Inquisitor's radiant personality, or is there anything else we should know about?" She probably wouldn't even trust them with it, given the way they'd just turned something quite personal against her for their own amusement. Terrible people, they were.

Apparently her hands weren't enough to prevent her from hearing, though the glare she sent him when she cracked her eyes open might well have been capable of withering wood. With a fair amount of grumbling—including something that sounded like extra laps—she sat up, then stood, brushing herself off where dirt, snow, and the occasional clump of brown grass had lodged themselves in various armor pieces.

“Well I would have told you, but since neither of you has friend privileges anymore, I don't think I will." She sniffed, the attempt at aloofness rather ruined by the fact that she had a few bits of straw from the nearest practice ring in her hair.

Stel, quite undaunted by the blustering, set about picking the bits of debris from Khari's wild curls, letting them flutter back to the ground once they were extracted. "Now don't be like that," she said, half smiling. Her expression had a sort of earnestness to it that could only have been deliberate but came off as genuine all the same. "We're just happy you're happy, is all. Well, and also Ves wanted a breather."

Dusting off the other woman's shoulders a bit, Stel set her hands on them, catching and holding Khari's eyes, her own just a little wider than necessary. "Please tell us?"

“Dammit, Stel. I know what you're doing. Save the baby-animal eyes for Ves." Khari huffed, crossing her arms across her chest, but it was obvious her resistance was crumbling. Probably partly because Stel was the one asking, but also because she really did want to share the news. After a few more moments, she relented, sighing heavily. “Fine. For your information, I beat Mick in a spar yesterday."

She clearly couldn't contain the broad grin that broke over her face then, all recalcitrance burned away by enthusiasm. “He's gonna sponsor me in the Grand Tourney next year. Early, like around Wintersend. I'm gonna compete with actual chevaliers!" She bounced up and down on her feet a couple of times, failing to fully contain her giddiness at the thought, no doubt.

Stel didn't need to engineer either her surprise or her delight there. "The Grand Tourney? Really? That's amazing news, Khari!" She pulled her friend into a brief, strong hug. "How are you going to do it? With some sort of disguise?" Her hands slid down to Khari's upper arms, holding her at just arms' length and tilting her head. "I thought you had to have all kinds of papers and whatnot for that sort of thing."

Khari nodded; the question was apparently one she'd expected. “It's... a pretty fancy disguise, yeah. I mean the actual physical part's easy—just like a helmet and stuff. But they're gonna have to fake the paperwork to get me in, or have me enter as someone else or something. I dunno exactly what the plan is yet, but apparently Mick and Marcy are taking care of it." The details of it didn't seem to bother her much—not really surprising, all things considered.

Vesryn got to his feet as well, brushing the dirt and bits of snow from his hands and the back of his pants. "Those poor chevaliers. They have no idea what's coming for them." He smiled when he said it. Obviously they would all be extremely capable fighters, many having returned from the recently ended civil war, but Vesryn doubted any of them had fought their way through as much as Khari had. And not even just the physical battles. So many of them were privileged, born wealthy and given every opportunity to succeed. Khari had scrapped and fought for every chance she'd ever had. As long as she kept her head, Vesryn figured she could beat anyone.

"If you need any extra practice over the winter, I know Saraya will be willing to help." For the time being, it was safe again. That was the reason behind this training, to get him into fighting condition again. He felt his connection to Saraya more strongly than ever before, and soon enough he'd be a very good challenge for Khari. As for her opinion on the matter, like a great many things lately it seemed to have become more complicated.

Khari, of course, had no way of realizing that, and the grin she offered him was a bit wry in addition to plain-out exuberant. “I'll take you up on that. Promise." Nodding firmly, she patted Stel on the arm once and stepped away. “But first, we've gotta get you back in shape. If you don't get any faster, even Saraya's not gonna be able to help you much when it happens. One more mile!" She hopped back into a run, flipping around so that she was moving backwards and facing them. Just long enough to beckon them after her with a hand.

“And we're sprinting it 'cause you took a break!"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
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Maker, my enemies are abundant.
Many are those who rise up against me.
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,
Should they set themselves against me.

In the long hours of the night
When hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know
Your Light remains.
-Canticle of Trials 1:1-1:2
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Leon flexed his hands where they gripped the fencepost, little localized aches flaring to life in his joints until he eased them again. Today, the largest practice area was filled with a constantly-rotating stream of both templars and regulars, as they pooled their knowledge of shieldwork and other defensive techniques for a joint drill. He didn't want mages throwing live bolts at anyone—not yet—but it couldn't hurt for the ordinary soldiers to be a little more prepared for it.

No doubt they'd already been taught most of this; the Lions knew it, and the Lions did the drilling. But it was one thing to hear it from a mercenary, however well-practiced, and another to hear it from someone whose job it was to fend off the magical with the mundane. Likewise, though, most of the templars had never sat in a trench or had to hack their way through all that many armored and well-armed targets, unless they had the dubious distinction of being among those who got most up-close and personal with the Reds. It would be nice if they could all take away something new, but even if all they got was a few more hours at something they already understood, well—practice made perfect.

"They've improved again," he noted, speaking to the young elf on his left. Corvin stood almost against the fence, arms crossed, observing as Donnelly, Hissrad, and the templar Leanna moved among the formation, occasionally pausing to correct an angle or the placement of someone's foot. Much as with the Templars, Leon found the continued steady improvement of the regulars to be impressive, and a sign that he'd chosen the correct officers. And certainly, not all the regulars could boast any martial training prior to the Breach, so in that sense it was quite something.

Corvin nodded, fighting down a grin that made it halfway onto his face regardless. "Of course. Can't let the templars and the scouts do everything. Encouraging a little rivalry is a good motivator, I've found."

“I know the feeling." Khari spoke up from Corvin's other side, where she was bent slightly, forearms resting on the post as she studied the movements of the soldiers, who'd paired off in striker-defender teams to try some of the moves a little more live, so to speak. She had to project a bit to be heard over the clanging of practice weapons on practice shields. “D'you ever have problems with them getting restless? We go months at a time without rotating the roster so new people get sent out to the field bases, right?"

The Irregulars at least had a semi-steady flow of work to do, and the scouts as well. But it was rare that the Inquisition mobilized all of their standing forces for anything, and it was most often the mages and the regulars that remained in Skyhold while other parties ventured forth.

"Well, sure we do. Anyone gets restless after a while. But fortunately, most of these ladies and gents aren't really the sort that intend to make a life of fighting. Or weren't, before this. If you take out all the ex-mercs and soldiers, most of them know they need to keep working if they want to keep surviving. Tends to take the edge off the impatience. What's left are professional enough to deal with it, and when it gets really bad, they know they can ask me to rotate them out somewhere with less snow for a while." Corvin shrugged. "The average fighter isn't as keen for it as you or me, Khari. Most of them are here for the cause and the wage, and as long as both seem to be on track, they're fine not getting almost-dead on a regular basis."

Leon felt a small tug at the corner of his mouth. "You make it sound as though you're prone to that restlessness though, Captain."

Corvin huffed. "You bet I am, Commander. But I can recognize when what I'm doing is important. I promise I only complain on my off hours, and not to the troops." His smile flashed teeth for half a second before receding again. "Still, uh... if you ever need an extra guy on the field, I ain't gonna say no."

"That's how you do it," said SĂ©verine, coming to join them as she set her shield down, bottom rim at her feet, hand resting on the top. "Complain all you want, so long as it goes up the chain. Never down." Her breathing was still elevated, a result of running through a few drills herself when she didn't feel the need to watch over her templars. She did still have trouble sometimes stepping back and commanding, but she was good at it when she did.

She glanced at Corvin. "Have you heard from Lia, by chance? I haven't seen her since... well." Since her father came back with the others from Minrathous was the obvious finish to the sentence.

He hummed, mouth pulling downwards. "'Heard from' is a bit too strong a term, but yes. She had some kind of argument with her dad after he got back. Been mostly sticking to a solo watch in the mountains since, but I saw her earlier. Supply run—she might still be around. I figured it might be better not to bother her, but if you need her for something—" He halted, glancing over his shoulder, then turning fully around.

"Stel? What's wrong?"

The Lady Inquisitor had indeed appeared; she was making a beeline for their small group, a piece of parchment clutched too tightly in one hand. She wasn't quite running, but it was a near thing, a few jogging steps occasionally creeping into her otherwise brisk walk. She made a clear effort to smile, first at Corvin and then at the rest of them, but it slipped off her face almost immediately. "It's Kirkwall," she breathed. "We have to help—Kirkwall's under siege."

She handed the parchment to Leon, who immediately opened it, holding it far enough away from himself that the others could all read it as well.

Estella,

Kirkwall is under attack from within. The templars have been fractured. Knight-Commander Cullen is dead, and I know not what has become of Ash. Red Templars have all quarters of the city besieged, and we can't hold them for long. I've sent word to Lucien, but your army is our best hope.

Please hurry.

"Lady Sophia?" he asked, glancing back up at Estella. She nodded quick confirmation. It made sense, but Leon wasn't familiar enough with her handwriting to know for sure.

"Shit." Corvin's face had blanched. "Mom. Nera."

"Dead..." It was SĂ©verine who said the word, barely more than a whisper, reaching halfway out like she wanted to grab the parchment but then withdrawing her hand away. "I don't—how could they... no." She shook her head, paused, and then shook it more fervently. "No. No, he can't be dead." She turned her eyes on Estella, looking hurt. "You're sure this is... no, this must be a trick. Trying to draw our forces away."

"The Dumar seal was on it, SĂ©verine." Estella said it softly. "Even if she's somehow mistaken, or even if this letter was forged by someone else, something is happening in Kirkwall. We can't afford to hedge our bets."

She was right—Leon had no doubt of it. He also suspected that the loss was personal for SĂ©verine in a way it wouldn't be for almost anyone else. Unfortunately, there wasn't currently any time to give that the consideration it deserved. "We have to act as if it's genuine," he said. "Khari—get Romulus, Ithilian, Amalia, and find Lia. Bring them all to the War Room. Captain Pavell, break up the drills and get everyone ready to move. Estella, please find Captain Aurora—and Rilien, if he's not already aware." Leon paused and took a breath, waiting for the others to acknowledge and disperse before he turned his eyes back to SĂ©verine.

"I don't need the whole explanation," he said quietly. "But I do need to know whether you're going to be able to command our templars here. Even if you discover that what the letter says is true." There were all kinds of emotional entanglement that would make that difficult or impossible. He didn't care to assume what kind it was, and he had no desire to know if she didn't wish to share. But more important still was that they go into this situation—whatever it turned out to be—with clear heads and steady hearts.

Whatever it was she felt, she quite visibly buried it on the spot, somewhere deep inside her. She'd watched the others go in silence, unable to dredge up anything to keep them in place. She drew up straighter, letting a breath pass in and out before she attempted to speak. "I'll be able, Commander." The threat of her not commanding, if indeed that was how she chose to take it, seemed to be more than enough to keep her focused. "I'll get my templars in order, and meet you in the War Room."

Though it didn't ease his reservations about this entirely, Leon nodded anyway. He believed in her ability, and if she said she could handle it, he'd believe that, too. Pausing for a moment to make sure both SĂ©verine and Corvin were able to break up the drills efficiently, he headed up towards his office first, digging in his files until he found what he was looking for—a map of Kirkwall he'd had Donnelly draw up for him. It was considerably better than the standard sort, marking out a number of hidden Darktown passages and the like. The work of someone who'd been both local to the city and accustomed to moving around in all parts of it.

With this, he made his way to the War Room, finding that Rilien, Sparrow, Estella, and Aurora were already present. Khari must still be out retrieving the others. Leon spared them all a nod and made himself busy arranging the map. Maps, plural, really, considering that there were separate sheets for each major district of Kirkwall. He doubted there would be too much they'd be able to plan at this point, but it would be worth getting everyone's initial thoughts, anyway. Going in with a few flexible preliminary options was still preferable to going in blind.

Sparrow squared off at the opposite side of the table, particularly focused on the maps dedicated to the lower parts of Kirkwall. Lowtown, Darktown. Once Rilien’s home, as far as Leon knew. She prodded her finger in the middle of the parchment, talking in low tones, swinging her head from Rilien to Aurora. Ashton was mentioned, quite a few times.The scarred woman’s expression was grimmer than usual, though it was unsurprising considering the topic at hand. Rilien took this as calmly as he took everything, hands folded into his sleeves, but the tension in the air was thick nevertheless. Aurora too appeared calm on the surface, though the rhythmic tapping of fingers along the arm held crossed belied the emotions she felt beneath.

Khari's group was next to arrive; she stepped in first, looking a bit grim but otherwise the same as ever. Romulus was first in behind her, not bothering to hide that he was troubled by the news, but unlike many of the others, he had no personal connection to the city. Lia stepped in next, appearing to not even see many of the people in the room. Clearly she was distracted, either by the news or by something else, but she visibly shook it off and peered at the maps on the table.

Ithilian wasn't recovering quickly from the injury he'd sustained in Minrathous; his severed arm was still bandaged, the end of it just visible out of his sleeve. He watched Lia as he entered, stopping next to her, but not daring to say anything while the room was still silent. Amalia looked a good deal more recovered than her counterpart, but then it would have been difficult to tell otherwise, given how many layers she was wearing.

SĂ©verine was the last inside, helmet tucked beneath her arm. She closed the door with probably more force than was warranted, large though it was, and made her way to the front of the assembled group, glancing once over at the maps. She likely knew the city inside and out, as did many of the Kirkwall residents in the room.

"Are the ships ready to transport our forces?" she asked, her face still stripped of any emotion save for a steady urgency. "We'll never make it in time on foot."

“I've sent a bird to Jader." Rilien glanced once at SĂ©verine, then addressed the room at large. “For what it is worth, I expect we will be reinforced to some degree by Orlais."

“Really?" Khari sounded skeptical, shifting her weight and raising an eyebrow at the spymaster. “Lucien's not even crowned yet, and they just had a civil war. You think they'll throw in with another armed conflict so soon?"

The tranquil inclined his head, perhaps in acknowledgment of the point. “Allow me to further specify: I believe that when the Emperor finds himself stymied by nobility inclined to wield outdated treaties and his currently provisional authority against him, he will grow frustrated enough to take matters into his own hands. I expect a few particularly loyal naval and civilian ship captains to transport the majority of the Orlesian Lions and some of Ser Lucien's personal friends to Kirkwall as soon as he can gather them." He shifted his attention to Leon. “I imagine that will factor into our strategy, eventually."

"Entry will not be straightforward," Amalia spoke into the silence that followed Rilien's words. She crossed her arms over her chest. "No doubt by this point the besieging party has raised the boom chains, meaning that access to the harbor will be difficult."

Estella nodded. "And the Wounded Coast is notoriously difficult to land on. All the shipwrecks are what gave it the name. Maybe we can get a small group into the city and make lowering the chains a priority? That would let all the boats land and give us a point to push out from." She sounded like she wasn't quite sure if it were possible, but it wasn't a bad idea if they could find a way to manage it.

Leon turned to the other Kirkwall natives in the room, knowing they could have insight that he lacked. "What do the rest of you think?"

SĂ©verine took the input quite seriously, her expression lined with hard thought. "We may not need to get into the city to get the chains down, if we can get into the Gallows instead." She pointed to the two separate towers on either side of Lowtown, where the chains were connected, as well as operated. "Controls for the chains are here and here, but if we can capture the Gallows, assuming they are in fact occupied, we might be able to just destroy the chains from the other end."

She glanced back, towards the Lord Inquisitor. "Captain Zahra's ship is still equipped with a weapon recovered from a Qunari dreadnought, correct?" Romulus nodded that it was, seeming to follow her idea. SĂ©verine tapped her finger against the outline of the Gallows fortress. "That could make us a way in, then. If the Red Templars are busy fighting elsewhere in the city, they may only have a token force manning the Gallows itself." Still, a token force of Red Templars was nothing to be scoffed at, especially in the tight quarters of a fortress interior.

"We can attempt that first," Leon agreed. "If it works, much the better. If not, we may end up doing as Estella suggests." He turned his eyes back to Amalia. "We've only been of middling effectiveness with the device thus far. Might that be something you could instruct some of our people about?"

She considered that for a moment, then nodded. "I will. I believe there is a former Hissrad among the Lions as well. I will speak to him, and we will do this." She paused. "You may wish to consider configuring additional explosives with lyrium, if you have an engineer. Cannon shells would be ineffective if hurled from a more traditional siege weapon, but it would serve to weaken the wall before using the device on it."

“I will ask Sennesìa to devise something." Rilien took the idea in stride, apparently confident that their dwarven mechanist would be capable of it.

"Then it's a plan," Leon declared, casting his eyes around the room. "I suggest you all make your preparations for departure quickly. We leave within the day."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
SĂ©verine couldn't remember a time where she'd wanted to kill someone more strongly than this.

Not even when her mind had been addled by the power of Meredith's zeal. The thought of how close she came to ending up on the other side of this conflict sickened her, made her want to empty her stomach over the side of the ship. If a few things had gone differently... she could've been the one to kill Cullen. To lead the attack that had Kirkwall pinned and in desperate need of aid.

But she refused to believe the Knight-Commander was dead. Not until she saw his body. There were other bodies, strung up on the wave-drenched walls of the Gallows in front of them. Naked and pale, drained of blood from wounds suffered trying to fend off the surprise attack. Trying to dissuade them from attacking out of respect for the dead, perhaps. It wouldn't work. Nothing would stop her from breaking through. The dead wouldn't mind. If they were true templars, they would expect no less.

The chains were up, as expected, connecting to a point on the back of the fortress they couldn't see. They were impossibly thick, hovering dutifully above the water's surface, unbreakable by any means they had at their disposal, physical or magical. Tevinter magisters had forged them, so long ago, when this city had more slaves than citizens, the technique now lost to time. They'd bring them down, one way or another.

The Inquisition's fleet was arranged in an attack formation, swift ships prepared to unload troops front and center. The Red Templars had no ships of their own to speak of, no defense from sea attack other than the chains, and any ranged attacks they could throw from the towers of the fortress-prison. They were just out of range, for now, while the Riptide prepared to fire on the walls with their Qunari cannon.

They were signaled from their left, and SĂ©verine turned to see an Orlesian ship approaching. The Emperor's, no less, with Lucien visible on the deck. It seemed he intended to board, and be among the first to set foot on the Gallows and drive out the traitors. SĂ©verine glanced to Khari beside her. "Ready to fight alongside the Emperor?"

Khari seemed to be trying to contain her enthusiasm and failing. This wasn't nearly as personal for her, of course, but she was doing about as well as she could at respecting the fact that it was personal for a considerable number of others. Still, the question must have broken whatever filter was keeping the excitement at bay, because she grinned to hear it, just barely the right side of savage, for the moment. She tore her eyes away from the approaching ship long enough to nod.

“Those Reds don't have a snowball's chance in a bonfire."

The Orlesian vessel—solitary but every bit as impressive as the Inquisition's own flagship—pulled up alongside them at that point. Lucien waited for permission before nodding to two of his compatriots, who settled a board in between the boats with a solid thud. The Emperor himself was the first across it, stride sure and quick. He was clearly dressed for war, layered in immaculate silverite ringmail so bright it was almost white to the eye, the plates protecting key areas fashioned from the same. A helm was tucked under his arm, the hilt of Everburn visible over his shoulder, beneath the emerald-green cloak at his back. Lucien's face was set into grim lines; no doubt he took this about as personally as anyone could.

He nevertheless spared a smile for SĂ©verine and Khari both, clearly recognizing the latter, at least. Grey eyes swiftly found Rilien, the ranking Inquisition officer aboard, and it was to him that he initially addressed himself. "Ril. Is this the crew you're sending in first?" There certainly wasn't much time for pleasantries; the longer they spent here, the more time the Red Templars had to brace themselves for defense.

The spymaster inclined his head slightly, docile in demeanor as he ever was. “It is. And you wish to be among them, I take it." He looked for a moment as though he were deliberating about something—perhaps considering registering the obvious objection to such a plan: that it would be risking the not-yet-crowned monarch of a tenuously-peaceful, extremely powerful nation in a fight against enemies who could easily outdo most combatants.

He did not give voice to the argument.

Lucien seemed relieved that it was a discussion he didn't have to have. Given the stubborn set of his jaw, he would have insisted quite forcefully if pushed to it. Instead he expelled a breath and nodded. "I would. If possible, tell your men not to treat me any differently than another comrade. Or avoid telling them who I am altogether, if that would do. I've no desire to disrupt things, only to help."

SĂ©verine had a better Graceface than Khari when it came to her excitement, but perhaps that was because of the damper the situation put on her mood in general. Still, she had wanted to meet Lucien Drakon for so long. Meet him again, rather, though she didn't get the sense he recognized her. How would he?

"I'm afraid everyone knows who you are, Your Radiance," she said, failing to contain her smile entirely. "I'm Knight-Captain SĂ©verine Lacan. I'll be in command." She might've preferred Leon to lead instead, but... his condition made it unwise for him to push himself more than was required. She could do this. "The bombardment will begin shortly. The Red Templars will not keep us out." They couldn't. The city was visible beyond the Gallows, smoke rising from a hundred sources, Hightown among them. And even if this didn't work, Lia and the scouts were already making their landings on the Wounded Coast, dangerous though it was. They'd report back with whatever they could learn.

"Lucien, please," he replied, offering his free right arm for her to shake. "Can't say I much like the 'radiance' bit. I'm at your disposal if you can use me for anything as we go, Knight-Captain. Otherwise I'll just do whatever seems helpful." He released her hand and glanced at the elf beside her. "Good to see you again, Khari."

Behind him, the boarding plank disappeared, pulled back to the Orlesian ship. It seemed whoever was on board there would be waiting to move in the the bulk of the Inquisition's forces; probably for the best.

Khari's grin remained firmly in place. “If you didn't wanna be called 'Your Radiance,' you probably should have worn less-shiny armor." While undoubtedly energized by his mere presence, she didn't seem to show him much more deference than she showed anyone else. Not all that surprising, really.

Lucien managed a huff. No doubt it would have been a laugh in a less dire situation. Khari had that effect on people. "Maybe you're right. We'll see how shiny it is by the time we're done."

“Your Radiance has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” A clearly amused voice, cut through the din of slapping waves beating against the ship’s bow, breaking off towards the rocks jutting from the water. Deep pockets made for tricky navigating
 though it seemed as if the navigator was steering them quite ably, tutting over sea charts near the helm. A laugh wasn’t far behind it. Sparrow had been in the process of ascending the stairs leading to the main deck. Given her countenance, and the way she spoke, it wasn’t likely she’d be using any title anytime soon. At least, not without a quip.

She, too, wore clothes made for warring. Not nearly as shiny as Lucien’s fare, though she was decked head to toe in leathers; most noticeably was the large mace held in her hands, just as long as she was, and certainly of a heavier variety. The scar pulled on her face as she smiled, closing the distance in a striding gait. She stopped short of Lucien, planted the head of her mace on the ground with a thump and leaned in to wrap him in a one-armed hug. Once she broke free, she stepped to the side, and turned towards Kirkwall. “I’d say welcome home, but
”

Under the circumstances, it seemed reminiscent of when Meredith’s shadow loomed over it. An iron fist, and pure chaos. The city of chains under siege once more. Not by the Qunari, this time. She nodded her head and swung her gaze back to Lucien, “Aurora sends her warm regards. She’d of loved to see you in person, shiny armor and all. But, I wager we’ll bump into each other once we’re inside anyway.”

"With luck, I'm sure we will," Lucien replied, though his attention was drawn to the nearby Riptide, where it looked like Amalia and the Qunari Lion, Hissrad, were supervising the crew in placing heavy glass spheres into the catapults they'd brought aboard for the operation. Those would be the lyrium explosives, then, to soften the wall up a bit so the cannon could hopefully punch through. Amalia nodded to Hissrad once, then disappeared through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to see the cannon loaded and aimed.

SĂ©verine drew her short sword, dropping her helmet down into place. "Enough greetings. There's work to be done." She of all people could understand being thrilled to see Lucien, but they had a grim job to do, and it wasn't going to be painless.

A few moments later Rilien had given the signal to fire upon the Gallows wall. The catapults unloaded their spheres; they hurtled through the air and smashed against the stone, immediately igniting into a powerful blast, the force of which was easy to feel even from the boats, as was the heat from the blue-tinted blaze that erupted into the air around the points of impact. They weren't especially accurate, as it was hard to properly aim a siege weapon on rolling waters, but they didn't need to be. The blasts were meant to soften a large area for the more precise strike of the cannon that would follow.

They reloaded and let fly two more times, until SĂ©verine could smell the burnt lyrium on the air. From inside the Gallows, they could hear inhuman roars, battle cries from the Red Templars. Outside, the bodies they'd strung up were... less intact now, but SĂ©verine was resolved to ignore them. A heavy boom sounded out from Zahra's ship, and the sharp-eyed could catch the heavy metal object zip at blistering speeds into the wall, penetrating through the weakened stone and leaving a section of it crumbling down. A cloud of dust rose up into the air as the rubble collapsed down onto the rock below. There was just enough rocky ground between the wall and the crashing sea waves to make a landing, but it wouldn't be easy.

"Forward," she commanded, as soon as her eyes settled on a breach they could get through. The hole was wide enough for three or four to pass through simultaneously, and tall enough that even Lucien wouldn't need to duck. Their ship lurched forward, oars and a few sails taking them in. The approach would need to be precise. If any infantry missed the landing on the rocks, the waves would likely slam them against those rocks with force, assuming they didn't just sink and drown.

Red templars were already filling the breach, looking to meet them. Mostly their smaller, more typical infantry, though SĂ©verine spied one knight among them. Horrors began to rain down shards of lyrium on them from above, shooting it out of arrow slits and the battlements. Those with shields lifted them for cover, the rest finding shelter where they could. SĂ©verine could barely maintain her sight on the target, but thankfully the steering was sound, and before long the ship was just beginning to scrape the rock underneath it.

"Now!" she called. "Over the side!" She vaulted the ship's railing and fell a good five feet, boots thudding down against the rock. More came down behind her, though she heard one infantryman take a horror's red lyrium shard to the chest as soon as he lowered his shield. His body plunged into the sea. The first of many casualties. SĂ©verine led the charge, catching a sword on her shield and driving her own blade up in the opening. They had to get clear of the landing, so more troops could join them. They had to carve their way inside.

A coarse shout to her left alerted her to Khari's presence. The elf's size was actually something of an advantage here, as even without a shield she was a hard target for the horrors to strike, made only more difficult by the fact that she never did stay still for long. The first red to get in close enough to attack her in melee wound up with the point of her sword in his neck for his trouble, and she wrenched it to the side, taking his head half-off. Enough to kill even one of them, obviously. He crumpled, and she stepped over his corpse, and then forward even further, putting herself on the very front edge of the advancing Inquisition line.

Lucien wasn't about to be left behind, either, clearing a path in front of him with broad, efficient strokes of Everburn. The Emperor's sword glowed white-orange at the edges, the enchantment heating it enough to give that much more against the armor and occasional lyrium crystals that protruded from the red templars. He'd donned his helm, a design of dragon wings stretching back from the temples of it to run along the side of his head. Red projectiles still rained from above, glancing off it or his armor occasionally with slight ringing noises—just barely audible over the rest of the din.

Downing a footsoldier, Lucien stepped up in front of the knight before anyone else got there. His first swing towards her was blocked outright, a ridgelike growth on her arm deflecting the force of his blade. Several crunched under the force of the blow, flaking off as the weapon drew away again, steam hissing on the edge. He'd drawn blood, if not much. If he was surprised, he recovered quickly, sliding away from her attempted riposte and maneuvering his sword into the gap his body left. It slid past hers with a grating screech, impacting her cracked armor with more force than either SĂ©verine or Khari could bring to bear. That and Everburn's heated edge were all it took; with another shove, Lucien found the knight's heart inside one of the cracks, and she fell like a stone.

He tore the sword free, and did not look back.

There was a rattling laugh over the din of crashing steel and the squalor of death-moans, coming from Khari’s right side, a few paces behind where they’d stepped off the ship. It ripped into a battle roar, announcing that Sparrow had brought up the rear. She’d dipped beneath hurtling lyrium shards, and despite the pinched expression across her face, she seemed at home in the carnage, digging her heels into the sand and hurtling forward to face an oncoming red.

The over sized mace swung up like a hammer, hefted over her own head. Another shout rippled from her throat. As if she, too, was in pain. The man hadn’t had the chance to lift his weapon in defense, though he’d tried to recoil backwards, away from the blow. The mace vibrated, glowing a soft blue; humming as it sang through the air. It came down, violently. Smashing into the top of his head, crushing the skull beneath and pinning him at her feet. She placed her foot on his shoulder, tugged her mace out of the remnants of gore, and hurtled forward once more.

Whatever the Reds were expecting, it wasn't the soon-to-be-crowned Orlesian Emperor and Everburn. SĂ©verine might have engaged the enemy first, but Lucien was the first through the breach in the wall, as his ability to clear a path was simply unmatched. SĂ©verine could withstand a great deal behind her shield, but they didn't need defense right now. Khari was fighting with as much energy as SĂ©verine had ever seen, keeping up in Lucien's wake, and together along with Sparrow the four of them pushed into the tower, their soldiers behind them. Future waves of landing troops would only have the ranged attacks to deal with, at least until those could be cleared away as well.

The lower dungeon levels were for the most dangerous prisoners, typically mages in the time SĂ©verine had worked in this fortress, while the more common criminals were given the rooms with views. It seemed obvious now that it was the Red Templars trapped in here now, lacking the manpower to do anything more than slow them down. They cut them down as quickly as they came, often not pausing to finish downed enemies, letting the troops and templars behind them carry out the work.

The Reds did, however, form a plan to hold the hall, clustering four mutated horrors together at the far end of it, waiting for the infantry behind them to fall. Red templars with shields crouched before them, trying to establish a defensive wall, and soon there were dangerous lyrium spikes targeting them in close quarters. "Shields!" SĂ©verine called to her templars behind her. "Lucien, Khari, get back!" They were well armored, but she didn't want to test what would happen if they charged an oncoming wall of projectiles in tight spaces.

Lucien must have realized the same; he laid a hand briefly on Khari's shoulder and stepped back behind the forming shield wall. "Time to let the others do their work, hm?"

She shook herself a little, blinking as if to clear her vision, then grinned up at him. “I guess we could stand to share the fun a bit." She considered the line then, as the templars mustered into their wall. Her voice disappeared as SĂ©verine led the templars forward. They didn't practice this every day, given that magic and tight formations often didn't mix, but this was precisely what she did intend for it. Tight quarters and protection from missiles.

"Forward!" she ordered, and with a silent determination the templars moved forward at a steady pace, ignoring the red lyrium shards bouncing off their shields. The few that pierced through they ignored, even if they pierced parts of their arms. Just part of the job. As they neared they increased in speed, until they were almost at a run in unison. They slammed into the Red Templar shield wall with a loud clang of metal and armor, both sides pushing against the other, swords trying to slip through or over and find a body to bleed.

“Allez-hop!" A small thunder of full-sprint footsteps accompanied the words, followed by abrupt silence, then a soft laugh.

"Ç'est parti," Lucien quipped back.

They'd followed the front line closely, and the elf now went sailing over the battle line, boosted by the chevalier. She landed confidently on the other side, crooked smile baring a few too many teeth, perhaps. Khari didn't waste any time laying into the first of the horrors, ducking under the first hasty wave of red lyrium projectiles sent her way and lunging forward. Her sword arced in a low sweep, cutting the horror's relatively undistorted legs out from underneath him. She ended him with a swift downwards stab, and bounded to the next.

The distraction proved to be what they needed. The slight break in discipline of their line from having an elf jump over their heads let SĂ©verine get a strong push. The enemy in front of her had no support behind her, unlike SĂ©verine, and so she collapsed backwards, the Knight-Captain's weight falling down on her. SĂ©verine drove her sword into the woman's side, trying to find a weak point, but she was distracted by a sharp pain in her own back, as one of the other red templars turned his sword on her, hacking at her near her right shoulder.

The blade abruptly pulled away from SĂ©verine’s shoulder, followed by a hissed, "Got yer back.” From what she could see, Sparrow had jerked the assailant backwards by the back of his helmet, enough to for him to lose his balance. She kicked the back of his knee, and sent him falling to his face, swinging around to smash her mace down on whichever part of him she could reach before he squirmed away or got back to his feet. The mace found the back of his legs and they bowed inwards, conjuring a scream from the man’s mouth.

Another blow ended it.

Lucien was next through the line, deftly parrying away a reaching blade. He was certainly an obvious target, between the armor and his obvious skill and stature. No doubt that was on purpose; he seemed quite accustomed to handling having a great deal of aggression directed at himself, always able to turn Everburn or his armor into a blow when it was otherwise impossible to avoid. As he'd implied to Khari, the silverite did not remain unstained, blood mixed with red lyrium dust smeared across the chestplate and his gauntlets. None of it yet seemed to be his.

That very nearly changed as the remaining horror threw a barrage of red lyrium darts at him, but Lucien turned his head away in just enough time to prevent any from slipping inside the eyeslit of his helm, stepping in and swinging blind. His instincts were good, and though it wasn't a killing blow, it was enough to stagger the horror and allow SĂ©verine to finish him off.

It was a rout in the lower levels, and when SĂ©verine glanced back, she saw a large number of Inquisition troops making their way in behind her, the Inquisitors among them, along with Vesryn and Cyrus. They gave a controlled chase to the soon retreating red templars, fighting the ones who remained to fight up flights of stairs. SĂ©verine led the way, being the one most familiar with these halls out of anyone. Eventually they fought their way into the central chamber of the dungeons, and then out into the courtyard.

The sight was almost enough to turn SĂ©verine's stomach, even in the middle of the battle. Templar dead littered the courtyard, just left to rot where they'd fallen, their red counterparts leaving their marks on their bodies. She shook off the horror, realizing they were still in danger. There was still so much to be done.

"Khari," she said, turning to the elf. "Lead the regulars through the towers, clear every last one. We'll secure the headquarters."

She nodded briskly. “You've got it, Sev." Khari gestured for a cluster of the regulars to accompany her. At this point, they were so used to taking orders from an elf that they didn't even blink when it was a different one, falling neatly into formation and following her lead.

SĂ©verine started forward, with the Emperor and her templars at her back. At the Templar headquarters they'd find their best look at the chains blocking their ships from the harbor. And perhaps they would find Cullen, too.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella pushed a heavy breath through her nose. Already she was beginning to ache, perhaps more from the continued proximity of red lyrium than anything. It was in her arms especially, and oddly enough her teeth, making her jaw feel creaky and sore. Admittedly, the fighting had been rather pitched at the Gallows, even after the initial push was so successful. The time it had taken had given the remaining red templars plenty of opportunity to dig in to the more defensible areas, and trying to clear them out had not been pleasant, to say the least.

"Here." An arm appeared in her field of vision; Lucien was handing her a scrap of fabric that might once have belonged to just such a templar. It was clean, though, and wet from where he'd dipped it in the ocean. "You've blood on your face."

She glanced at him, offering a thin smile. "Thanks, Lucien." She hadn't even noticed, honestly, but it was probably better to be cautious. She didn't want to end up with an accidental case of red lyrium poisoning, after all. Carefully, Estella swiped at her face with the cloth, crouching by the edge of the water and wringing it clean before she went back a second time and did the same thing. She used the remaining water to slick her hair back, pulling stray black strands from in front of her eyes and patting them against her head. It helped her feel a little more human, at least. Less like a shambling automaton. So did Lucien's hand on her shoulder, offering a brief squeeze before it fell away.

They were waiting, now. While the Inquisition had managed to clear out the entirety of the Gallows, they'd had no luck at all in destroying the boom chains from this side. When Khari's group had gotten close enough to try, they'd found them protected by a growth of red crystals large enough to render even the non-magical in the party seriously ill. No doubt it would be fatal to stand too close for long, and it had been ruled too dangerous to even try destroying the lyrium itself.

So their options were few. No boats remained at the Gallows; all of them were harbor-side, and with the chains still up, none of the Inquisition ships were getting through either. Most of the army was still aboard, actually, unable to act without anywhere to land. Even here, where the hole in the side of the fortress had created a small place to come ashore, there wasn't near enough room for everyone. As day drew into evening, they had little choice but to wait for more information. Perhaps Lia and the others would have something they could work with.

Estella squeezed excess water out of the cloth and draped it over her neck, glancing to her left. Leon had come ashore for the rout, and now stood against the outer wall, planted on the thin strip of land between it and the sea, arms crossed and scanning for the approach of the scouts, no doubt.

Not far from where he stood, Khari was crouched by the water as well, using sand to scrub some more stubborn bits of blood and who knew what else off her gauntlets and sword. Neither would be back to pristine condition any time soon, but at least the joints and cutting edge would both remain functional. Rilien stood beside Sparrow, still as ever, with no sign of the impatience or expectancy that seemed to suffuse the air. On the other hand, Sparrow seemed intent on the stubborn, gory matter clinging to her mace, mouth pursed. Picking at whatever she could.

The caravel the scouts took to the Wounded Coast wasn't too much longer in the returning, easing in through the other impatiently waiting ships and pulling up alongside the slab of rock that they had to land on. Lia was the first one over the side, boots and pants still spattered with mud and dirt, but thankfully no blood. The elf hardly needed to get that close to be in combat, but her quiver looked to be full still as well, implying that they hadn't run into any trouble outside of the city.

Amalia followed her over, and then Ithilian. Despite the loss of his lower left arm he refused to be left behind, insisting on going with the other scouts to explore the outskirts. He didn't bother carrying a bow anymore, given the impossibility of him using it, but he did still have his knife. He required some assistance from his daughter getting down onto the rock without incident, but soon the caravel was pulling away again.

"No luck with the chain?" Lia asked, worry etched across her face.

Estella shook her head, rising from her crouch and brushing her hands off on her trousers. "Unfortunately no," she said, pursing her lips. "It's protected by a layer of red lyrium. Even if we could get close enough to try, it's too thick for any of the means at our disposal."

With a sigh, she glanced at Leon. The commander nodded and ducked back into the cannon-created entryway. "We were waiting for your report before we decided how to proceed. The others are in the mess." Everyone filed in, taking the short route to what had once been the dining hall for the rank-and-file templars here. It had been the site of a pitched battle, as the overturned tables and smears of blood on the floor would attest. But red templars didn't need to eat, and as a result, this had been one of the least-tainted rooms in the entire castle.

Someone had turned one of the tables and a pair of benches right-side-up, and there Rom and SĂ©verine already waited, Leon's maps once again laid out in front of them, along with an array of familiar wooden tokens. It was clear that this would not be a simple matter, strategically, and they needed to come up with something quickly, because there was no way anyone was swimming to shore.

SĂ©verine stood as soon as she saw them come in. Her expression was still grim, still frustrated. She hadn't found any sign of Knight-Commander Cullen in the Templar Headquarters, and while that meant his death couldn't yet be confirmed, she was clearly bothered by not knowing. No doubt also by being able to see Kirkwall without actually being able to get there and help.

"What's the situation?" she asked.

Lia took a deep breath, and began. "The Red Templars have seized all points of entry from the coast into Hightown. As far as we can tell, though, they don't have Hightown yet. There's definitely still fighting going on in there. My best guess is they established defensive positions at tighter points around the chantry building and the Viscountess's Keep. They're holding them off for now, but I can't say for how long."

"So how do we get the chains down?" Romulus asked, still seated and studying the maps. Quite the first visit to Kirkwall he was getting, as were many others. "How do we help them?"

"The way I see it, we have to go back to Stel's plan: get some people into the city, and go for the slave statue towers. They've gotta be guarded, but if we can just get one of them down, the ships could come through, and we could attack the docks in full."

"What's the status of the towers themselves, as far as you can tell?" Lucien folded his arms over his chest, studying the spot on the map where the nearest one stood. It was a familiar scene for Estella, really—still somehow more familiar than receiving such reports herself.

"Intact and working, I think." She didn't look entirely certain about that, but no doubt there had been a lot of ground to cover in a short period of time. "I don't think the Reds would want to damage them. If the towers come down, the chains would, too." Sadly, they were almost certainly out of range of any siege equipment they had on their ships. Even the Qunari cannon couldn't hope to fire that far.

"There are interesting things going on near either one, though," Lia continued. "The eastern tower isn't far from the Alienage, where there are definitely still people resisting. Safe to say the elves barricaded themselves in, as there's only one road that accesses it." As with Val Royeaux, it was meant to more easily trap them in the event that a purge needed to be carried out, but it also happened to make it a more naturally defensible position.

"And the western tower?" SĂ©verine asked. "Inside the foundry district."

"Right." Lia looked at the region of the city in question, where so many of Lowtown's residents made their living producing the goods that fueled the city's lifelines of trade. "The walls are too high there to get much of a look. But there's something happening. We didn't hear much fighting, but sometimes there would be these low booms and crashes." She shrugged, unable to comment further. "Easiest way to both of those places is through the docks, if we can get some people there without being seen. Not long until dark now."

“Well... we've got rowboats." Khari shrugged, shifting her weight. Estella could tell that she wasn't completely confident breaking into a strategic discussion of this sort, but as usual, she wasn't letting that stop her. “We couldn't send too many, obviously, in case they got spotted, but if we wanted to do this quietly, we could give it a shot."

Rilien nodded slowly. “That will need to be balanced with survivability. The Alienage is one matter, but whoever enters the Foundry District will be doing so blindly. There is a great deal of risk in that, and it will require skill to succeed." He paused, the uncanny smoothness of his face interrupted just momentarily by a small furrow in his brow. “I will go." He placed one of the bird tokens Estella knew to be his on the spot.

"You can't go alone," Estella protested immediately. She knew Rilien was subtler and more quiet than just about anyone, but if it came to a fight—she couldn't stand the thought of him facing whatever was in there alone. Even on the off-chance he was discovered. "I'll go with you, at least." He'd taught her how to move softly, and her mark was probably the single best chance of escape they had if things went really sour.

He shook his head exactly once. “No." Rilien's body language shifted just slightly; his grip on his own arms had tightened beneath his sleeves. “The danger is precisely the reason you in particular must not go."

“I’ll go with him,” Sparrow leaned heavily on her mace, both hands steepled together, chin resting atop them. Her expression softened a little, making the scar pull. She leveled Estella with a stare, and bobbed her head in a nod, straightening her posture, "Don't worry." If she went, there was no doubt she’d let anything befall Rilien, not without tearing the entire city down—even if he could fend for himself just as well. While she was not nearly as soft-treading as he was, her strength and personal involvement would make up for what she lacked.

It seemed quite unlikely that Rilien had not been expecting as much. “We will endeavor not to die." Estella recognized the dry statement as a form of humor, or whatever it was exactly that her teacher used instead.

With that worked out, it remained to decide who was going to tackle the Alienage side of things. Amalia glanced up from the map, meeting Stel's eyes as though she'd read the direction of her thoughts. "I can be part of the other group. Alone or partnered matters little; whatever you think is best."

It more or less went without saying that her usual companion-in-arms was a less obvious choice than he once would have been. Impressive as he was, Ithilian was now an elf with only one arm. Amalia clearly did not take this to disqualify him, and Estella didn't either, but if the groups were to be so small, it made sense to choose someone who could be as effective as possible at the task.

"I'll go with you." The offer came from Lia, though not without some nervousness, small hints in her voice only really perceptible to those that knew her well, as Estella did. There were several others in the room that could probably pick up on it, too. What it stemmed from was harder to say.

"You will not." That came from Ithilian. He moved his arms almost as though to cross them disapprovingly, but found himself incapable of it. His scowl grew. "I will."

Lia glanced at the others, obviously uncomfortable. "Dad..." She said the word very quietly, but still audible in the relative silence of the room. "You can't. Not like this. I know you don't want Amalia to go alone. We'll watch each other's backs." She looked at Amalia. "If that's all right with you."

Amalia took a moment to consider that. She didn't look terribly surprised by the suggestion, but then, Estella had never seen anything catch her off guard. She met Ithilian's eye first, some kind of conversation that the rest of the room couldn't follow taking place in the smallest change in their expressions. But then she turned her attention to Lia, and nodded slightly, just once.

"It is."

Well... that decided that. "Well..." Estella said into the silence. "I think that means the rest of us are going to have to wait things out on the ships. We should keep whoever plans to be in the vanguard on the same one." No doubt that would include most of the people in this room.

Ithilian didn't seem happy about it, but that was hardly a surprise. There wasn't much more to discuss, as it would be dark soon, dark enough for the boats to have a chance to slip through undetected by the Red Templars. The group began to disperse and see to whatever preparations needed to be made, though Lia asked Estella and Lucien to hold a moment.

"Some parts of Lowtown looked like they got hit pretty hard," she said, once they had a small moment of relative privacy. "I, uh... I think the barracks might not have made it. I hope the others had enough time to group together, wherever they are." It went without saying that an organized group of the Argent Lions made for a formidable opponent, one even a Red Templar army could have trouble with.

Lucien's mouth pulled to the side, but he nodded slowly. "I've no doubt Havard did whatever could be done," he said after a moment. Of course, it was still very much unknown what could have been done, or what condition any of their old friends were in. Estella felt a nervous flutter at the pit of her stomach, but she did her best to push it down. One step at a time—that was really the only option here.

Lia nodded, obviously nervous as well. "There's, uh... one other thing I wanted to ask you." She seemed to be asking it of Lucien specifically. "Can you talk to my dad while I'm gone, and... try to convince him to stay behind, once we get the chains down? He's—he's not ready to fight a battle. And he's never going to be again. I just need to know he'll be safe. He respects you, I think he'll listen. I hope he will."

He lifted a hand to rub at his short beard, frowning. "I can... make an attempt," he replied at last. "But if it's truly his desire to fight, I don't believe I'll be able to stop him. He cares about this place as much as any of us do, I think." His brows knit; the situation clearly pulled him two ways, but Estella knew well that Lucien wasn't the kind of leader who preferred to override the people he fought beside when there was disagreement.

"Okay. Thanks." The words left her in a bit of a rush, and suddenly she smiled awkwardly. "Have I mentioned how good it is to see you? Because it's really good to see you." She stretched out her arms, requesting a hug from the Emperor of Orlais. "Wish me luck?"

"The very best of luck." Lucien stepped into the hug, easily wrapping his arms around Lia. "And it's wonderful to see you again, too." He lifted one of his hands away, holding it out towards Estella, who grinned and happily stepped in as well, one arm around each of their backs.

She was still smiling when she stepped away. No doubt the battle ahead would be exceptionally difficult. But she believed more than ever that they'd succeed anyway.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
The stairs leading up to Hightown had never felt so numerous.

It was understandable: though there were no live opponents to inhibit their progress, there were still wounded among them, those whose injuries slowed them down but did not halt them, and the passage itself was lined with corpses. Militia members, city guard, templars, and the occasional noble. They vastly outnumbered the red templar dead, and it was obvious to anyone with the eyes to see it. The picture presented was hardly encouraging, and the anxiety hung thick over those moving towards Hightown.

No one could say exactly what they would find there. A battle still active and bloody if they were lucky, a field of the dead and red templars aplenty if they were not. Lucien, accustomed to setting aside his emotions for the sake of making it out of battle alive, found that he simply was not equal to that task in this case; the knot of dread in his gut only tightened as they moved forward, he at the head of the formation, the Inquisition's Irregulars and a few of his Lions just behind. Ashton and the remains of the militia and guard came after, and then the rest. It was by no means an inconsiderable force, but neither had Kirkwall's been, when this all began.

He wondered what would be left when it ended. His grip on Everburn tightened.

As they neared Hightown, some of the bodies began to be more purposefully displayed. Stripped of their armor and lashed to pikes driven into the earth on either side. Lucien didn't recognize any of the faces, but it wasn't difficult to guess who they were: templars, those that had stood in the way of the red tide as it advanced. They looked to have been dead for days.

The top of the stairs came in sight, as did a row of tower shields blocking the width of the entryway, sharp spears leveled in their direction from the front ranks of red templar infantry. Lucien could hear SĂ©verine's breath leave her in a rush beside him, and all he had to do was follow her gaze to the last body on the left. Knight-Commander Cullen was stripped as the others were, secured to a more sturdy pole and displayed as a warning for all attempting to enter Hightown to see. He was covered in wounds, but his face was left untouched. Clearly they wanted him to be recognized.

"Go back the way you came, Inquisition," a voice called out from behind the row of shields. Two of them parted, letting a tall, powerfully built man in glittering armor encased in red lyrium pass through, his glowing greatsword resting upon his shoulder. His face was concealed by a full helm, but it wasn't difficult to guess who he was, either.

"Traitor," SĂ©verine hissed, the chain of her flail clinking at her side. "You die today."

Carver Hawke shook his head. "My position is superior. Turn around, go back the way you came, and we'll settle this another time, on another field. Attack, and your forces will break, just as the Queen's did."

Lucien straightened to his full height. "Your position was more superior two hours ago, and yet here we are." Without taking his hands from the hilt of his sword, he gestured behind him with his head. "The people behind me make a living beating odds like these. Lay down your arms unless you want a demonstration."

He was of two minds: desperate to push forward, all the rest of this be damned. And still, despite everything, himself: someone who knew his obligations. And one of them was to allow the opportunity for surrender. No one ever took it, but that wasn't the point. Everyone here knew what this would come to.

"Ah, I've missed you Lucien," Ashton stated, though the little laugh he gave afterward was mirthless.

In the distance, there was an almost rhythmic boom, boom. Something smashing against a solid surface repeatedly, perhaps, only audible in the tense silence before the inevitable storm here. Carver seemed to pay it no mind. "Your head will make for an excellent gift to the Elder One, Emperor."

Without warning, a volley of arrows arced over the top of the red templar line, soaring down at the Inquisition's force at close range. "Shields!" was all SĂ©verine had time to cry before the unwary were struck, a few in the front ranks going down before barriers and bulwarks could catch the rest of them. By the time the volley had passed, Carver had disappeared back behind his defensive line, spears awaiting the Inquisition's uphill charge. Another volley would be only seconds away.

And the arrows were the most dangerous part of the situation. They were only dangerous as long as the line in front remained to protect them, but considering the walled gate at the top of the staircase, the battle would be uphill in more than one sense.

There was no time to waste. Lucien charged, the enchantment on Everburn heating the edges of the blade until they were silver-white. His initial position saw him to the line first, and he swung the blade in a controlled downward arc, cleaving the wooden shaft of the pike directly in front of him. His attempt to body-check the red templar behind it only pushed the man back a step, where he braced against the next stair and held, throwing the pole away and reaching for a longsword to pair with his shield instead. To Lucien's left, another sought to take advantage of his momentary stop, a second spear seeking the weakness in his armor beneath his arm.

But Khari was already there, half a pace behind and to his left, guarding his blind spot and stepping forward to meet the spear with her sword. A quick upward stroke deflected, sending the end of the thrust harmlessly over their heads, and with a snarl, she took another step up, thrusting her heavy sword for the templar responsible. It screeched off the gorget protecting the armored man's neck, and she was forced back down the very same step when he lashed out with his shield. Holding her position by her toes, she redirected her momentum, throwing herself forward against the line once more. It yielded no further for her than it had for him, but she didn't reel backwards either.

The army as a whole smashed into the red templar line next, a sudden deafening cacophany of steel on steel erupting where so recently there had been stillness and quiet. "Push!" SĂ©verine called out, not even bothering to use her weapon and simply lowering down behind her shield and driving her legs as hard as she could into the stairs.

"Where did the knights go?" Vesryn asked, driving into the line on Lucien's other side. His own shield matched any of the red templar ones for size, but unfortunately his spear was nearly useless in such tight quarters. The red templar spearmen not in the front ranks were really the only ones that could use theirs anymore, and they stabbed back and forth, aiming for faces, throats, anywhere they could shed blood. Every few seconds another cry of pain or gurgled shout sounded out from the Inquisition ranks, while arrows flew overhead all the while, striking barriers from the mages that covered their heads.

"Oh!" Vesryn suddenly shouted. "I have an idea! Where's the Lord Inquisitor? Someone get Romulus up here!"

"Clear a path!" further back in the ranks, Estella had clearly overheard the suggestion and either understood what Vesryn was talking about or else simply decided to take on faith that the idea was a good one. Lucien heard the rustle and clank of positions being shuffled, but now his job had become holding the templars to their current positioning, and he couldn't spare much attention to it.

A pike dug in at his side, where the front and back plates of his armor joined, and he hissed as it pierced the chainmail, the force behind it far greater than most people would ever have a chance to muster. It sank a few inches into his side before he could shift away from it and retaliate, closing a hand over the pike behind the head of it and pulling with controlled force. That was not the directional force his opponent was braced against, and he tumbled forward, Everburn finding the armpit beneath his outstretched spear-arm and severing the large artery there. He dropped, only for another to fill his place within moments.

"Get down behind me!" Vesryn loudly suggested to the two Inquisitors. Both of them were much more lightly armored, and not best positioned on the front lines of a heavy infantry crush for long. When he could spare a brief moment, Vesryn looked back and down at Romulus. "We need a rift, right over there, right now!"

The Lord Inquisitor clearly wasn't so sure that was a good idea, but at the moment they didn't seem to have any others. The Inquisition's second and third ranks were being bled by the red templars, who had higher ground and frankly better organization, given that their army wasn't cobbled together from half a dozen different forces. Already the stairs underneath them were stained with a fresh coat of red. Grimacing, Romulus lit up his marked palm with a volatile energy practically bursting from within. He moved it up as though his arm was submerged underwater; Vesryn instinctively turned aside a spear that thrust for the glowing light.

With a crackling and a snap like a spark of built up static electricity, the magic flew from his hands, finding a spot in the air somewhere above the ranks of the red templars. A rift to the Fade erupted out of thin air, blindingly bright green, howling with a seeming hunger to consume everything around it. The immediate targets were the red templars, the front ranks of their archers and the back ranks of the heavy infantry holding the Inquisition back.

"Hold onto someone!" Romulus yelled. With a pulse of energy many of the red templars were pulled right off the ground and into the rift, disintegrating as they went, their corporeal forms not surviving the journey to the other side. Cries of pain and fright went up from the red templar infantry as more and more were pulled into the void, the ones at the edge scrambling to get away from its reach.

And then, finally, it stopped, collapsing in on itself until it burst outwards, leaving bits of Fade-matter raining down on their heads. Suddenly there was a relative quiet, while both sides recoiled from the raw force of the rift magic.

"Push!" SĂ©verine roared.

As one, the Inquisition pushed behind Lucien. Without their ranks of infantry behind them, the spearmen in the front couldn't possibly hold the line against the force pressing up on them. They caved and fell, toppled over by the sheer weight of the attackers, slaughtered and trampled as SĂ©verine led the way into the newly formed breach in the defenses that they couldn't fill quickly enough. They set foot in what had been the Hightown markets, stalls cleared away for space. All they could see were the rearranging red templar formations, archers trying to scramble to a safe distance, melee infantry shoving past them to try to plug the hole. But this was not a foothold the Inquisition would give up.

And they continued to push, the point of the charge flattening out and the line broadening until those that had been trapped behind the lines were able to join the fray. Lucien kept moving, knowing that to stand still now was to invite defeat once again to their doorstep. The red templar ranks, broken but not shattered, scrambled to reassemble.

"This can't be all of them," he murmured, mostly to himself. Everburn cleaved through the chestplate of a more lightly-outfitted shadow, felling her at his feet; he grimaced and took another step forward. The numbers visible were not enough to have inspired Hawke's confidence. There must be more of them occupied elsewhere. No doubt they'd be finding out soon, one way or another.

Behind him, Estella joined the fight in earnest, the bright blade of her saber glimmering in the dim illumination afforded by Hightown at night. She sought and found another templar's neck, flaying into her with a precise, ruthless slash that felled her in one, right at the tiny gap between helmet and breastplate. Beside her, Corvin pushed back another, making a charge for the Lady Inquisitor's back, sending them right into Donnelly's path. The lieutenant's shield clanged heavily against the templar's helmet, dazing him just long enough for Hissrad to finish him off.

Khari kept herself in Rilien's usual position. As shadows went, she wasn't half as quiet, but her reach and her persistence made her rather effective cover for his back. Though her strikes were fueled by controlled fury, she did not lapse into impulsiveness or impatience, keeping her momentum steady and controlled.

Further down the line, Estella's brother Cyrus clustered with some of the Inquisition's mages, running interference so that they could choose their targets more freely. They'd positioned themselves at the formation's flank, but occasionally a red templar would try to move past the main line and lay into them, to stop the flow of spells from overhead or disrupt the barriers making the archers less effective. Each time, he interceded, focused more on pushing them back than killing them, though those that fell and did not move again were in the majority.

Asala stood near the back somewhere, but her presence was no less felt. Her barriers alternated between forming in midair to counter the volleys of arrows still trickling down on then, to winking into existence in the red templar's formations, throwing them off balance and corralling them to be dealt with at the Inquisition's leisure.

Meanwhile, closer to the front, Ashton had found himself a shield and used it in tandem with his sword. The surviving guardsmen had also rallied around their captain and displayed a precise efficiency together, each covering the others' backs. At one point, when a red overreached on striking down his lieutenant, Vesper held him in place with her shield just long enough for Ashton's blade to slip between his ribs. When another red sought to avenge him, he received the rim of the lieutenants shield to the bridge of the nose for his efforts, and was felled by another guardsmen's blade to the back.

In the midst of it all, Sparrow bugled through a gaggle of reds, face contorted in teeth-baring howl. There was blood on her face, though it was difficult to tell if it was hers, or the carnage she was causing with her mace, steeling herself in place for a wild, overarching swing. She compensated her erratic swings by vaulting forward, snatching whichever part of armor she could get her hands on: the bottom of a helm, the lip of a chestplate, and bodily wrenched them to the floor for someone else to finish off. She only stopped long enough to grapple both hands on the shaft of her weapon, steeling herself against another opponent.

Zahra stood off near the back with bow in hand, hair stuck to her forehead. She remained closer to Asala and the other remaining archers, deftly loosing arrows through the crowd. The sound of hissing soared over shoulders, arrows biting into exposed, fleshy bits. Armpits, necks, knees, gauntleted fingers. Aiming mostly to hamper and debilitate, carving a way for the others to push forward, or maiming them enough for them to lose hold on their weapons, rendering them vulnerable to attack.

The red templars steadily fell back as the front line of the Inquisition carved through them. Vesryn remained in the first line, his armor nearly polished to the same sheen as Lucien's, though it too was now heavily stained with the blood of their enemies. Romulus hadn't appeared in the fighting, and while it was possible he was simply hidden from sight as seemed to be his strength, more likely he'd found a decently safe spot to catch his breath after the effort that earned them their breakthrough.

But their enemy was not finished, as was made apparent by the rumbling that came closer and closer ahead of them. "Brace!" Vesryn called, lifting his spear and trying to slow their own advance. "Knights incoming, form up!"

It seemed the red templar knights had been held back, allowing the pawns to take the brunt of the Inquisition's wrath until they fought their way into more open space. Considering that most of the red, corrupted, hulking warriors fought without much in the way of weaponry, they were perhaps better suited for a brawling melee only possible when there was actual space to disrupt a formation. They charged forward now, their lesser infantry stepping aside and following in behind them.

A volley of red lyrium shards from red templar horrors whistled in overhead, cracking and hissing as they burned through barriers more quickly than arrows could. Before the enemy knights arrived, more arrows came in from behind, cutting down Inquisition regulars and Kirkwall militia alike where they were momentarily unprotected. Archers were positioned on the rooftops above and behind them, using the slanted roofs for cover in between shots.

Just after the first volley, the knights crashed into their line from the front, some of them crushing soldiers with a single swing, ripping and tearing, grabbing people and hurling them over their shoulders to be skewered by waiting ranks of foot soldiers. Carver charged in among them, his greatsword cleaving one of SĂ©verine's templars from the neck all the way through the rib cage. Plate armor seemed to melt like butter where the blade cut.

His appearance seemed to cue one of the Inquisition's own; Leon emerged from the back ranks and put himself directly in Carver's way, strafing aside from the first massive swing of the greatsword. It cleaved into the stone street below, throwing up shards of rock and clanging loud enough to be heard even at considerable distance. The Inquisition's commander seemed rightly wary of that strength—Lucien was under the impression that his own was at something under full muster at the moment. But he could understand the move anyway: even weakened, the Seeker would be less affected by the red lyrium than most, and his skill was still well above the average soldier's. If they wanted to contain Carver's damage, someone like him was the best option for it. SĂ©verine stepped in beside him, likely having more personal reasons for wanting to engage with the red templar leader.

Lucien kept at the knights, but these foes were far slower going than the others, stronger, faster, and hardier than ordinary red templars. It felt like for every one or two he managed to fell, he found himself with another wound even in spite of maximizing the advantage of his armor—they were just that strong. It stopped none of their blows outright, and so he had to turn it to deflect, something which took far more effort and attention. Eventually he was entirely on the defensive, juggling several foes at once, but with only minimal opportunity to strike back. He'd have to rely on Khari for that.

She did her best, orbiting around him like he was her center of gravity, striking out hard when she found the opportunity but never moving too far. When things got too dicey, she retreated behind the bulwark of his defense to reset herself, then moved forward again. In this way, a few more knights met their ends, distracted by him and unable to defend against the more aggressive prong of their assault. But even her relentlessness couldn't break through the wall of them, only keep it from moving any further forward.

A heavy shard of red lyrium caught Lucien in the shoulder, denting the armor there, and he grit his teeth. "Someone take care of the archers!" he barked, more harshly than he intended.

"Get ready to climb!" a mousey voice called somehow above the din. A moment later, a barrier began to form at the base of the building. It took a few seconds to grow in size and width, while also taking on a slight pinkish hue. Not too long after it was initially summoned, a wide ramp stretched from the ground to the lip of the roofs. "Go!" Asala called again, urgency dripping from the word. It was likely she would not be able to hold it for long until her reserves gave out, or the red templars sawed it down.

Cor, Donnelly, Hissrad, and Aurora took heed, thundering up the temporary ramp to where the archers and horrors had situated themselves above the battle. Corvin hit first, being faster than either of his two compatriots, and nearly always in the front. He cut a horror's legs out from underneath her, kicking her over the side and to the street below.

Donnelly stepped in front of him in just enough time to deflect a volley from one of the others with his shield, and then sidestep to run an archer through, finding a weak point in his armor where the red lyrium crystals growing from his body had ruptured it. Hissrad's greataxe split the helmet of another, and then the skull beneath it, the Qunari not even pausing before tearing it out and slamming it into the next. Aurora weaved in between the Lions, and used the momentum she built up to drive a heavy stone sheathed fist into the midsection of an archer. The force alone was enough to bend the red templar just slight enough to set up the uppercut that came next. The moment she connected with the archer's jaw, she cast the the stonefist in earnest. It was enough force to rock him onto his heels, and then his back. It only took another stonefist to start the red templar's slide off of the roof and to the cold hard ground below.

That relieved a considerable amount of the pressure on the Inquisition's forces, but it would not help them break the line. Not directly anyway. Lucien could feel himself beginning to flag, just the first signs of fatigue that hopefully would not set in too soon. To the left, Leon landed a heavy punch to Carver's shoulder, forcing him backwards a step, but the greatsword was in the way before anything could be made of it. The commander was bleeding from somewhere, it looked like, ribbons of it trailing down his bronzed chestplate.

They needed something more, or the line of knights would simply overwhelm them. Attrition was a battle they could not win, not when their foes were so nearly tireless.

“Stellulam!" Lucien could make out Cyrus's voice from somewhere to his right. “You've got to try it, at least. We can't hold like this!" What it was wasn't immediately clear, but he seemed to be quite convinced of the fact that they needed something Estella could do.

"All right!" she called back, frustration, a touch of panic, and certainty warring for control of her tone. Lucien was suddenly aware of a high-pitched hum, not entirely unlike the sound that Romulus's mark had made, but at a different frequency.

A loud crack followed, and from behind him, a green mist spilled out onto the battlefield. The visual effect was a slight distortion, maybe, but it was the way it felt that was truly strange. Like warmth had blanketed him, seeping beneath his armor to lay comfortably next to his skin. Stranger still... the red templars within the distortion had slowed, almost like they were fighting to move through water or mud. Slow. Much slower than they had been.

"It won't last long!" Estella's voice was all urgency now. Lucien didn't need to be told twice. Temporarily abandoning his defense for more aggressive maneuvers, he slammed Everburn into the red templar making a slow-motion stab for his midsection, hewing into the unprotected space between her shoulder and neck. She fell immediately, the strange magic no longer gripping her, and Lucien moved onto the next.

He didn't know how long they had, but they had to be fast. The effect wasn't global, but if they took advantage of the area Estella had managed to cover, they could cleave right through the line of knights.

Khari kept pace beside him, wrenching the helmet off one of the larger knights and then taking a half-step back to bring her sword down, execution-style, on the back of his neck. He'd already been half-bent into an oncoming charge; he had no hope of changing what he was doing fast enough to get away. Slowly, the expressions on the faces of the reds around them began to contort into shock and surprise—perhaps if they seemed to be moving slowly to the Inquisition, then Lucien and his allies had sped up to them.

Already, the effect began to fade. Carver, on the edges of the area to begin with, broke free first, suddenly accelerating in his attempt to fend off what might have been a finishing blow from SĂ©verine. They both overbalanced; Leon beside them recovered first, but not nearly fast enough to do more than push the Red Templars' leader back another few feet. It took the others more time, but eventually the mist faded and time regained its former balance.

It hadn't been for naught, though—the Inquisition had broken through the enemy lines at several points within Estella's radius. Slowly, the breaks became wedges, the Inquisition forcing the templars into smaller pockets, more easily isolated and flanked, and the numbers ever so slowly began to swing in their favor.

Carver's next swing at SĂ©verine was caught by her shield, but the greatsword cleaved partway through it from the top, slicing into part of her arm as well. She was bleeding from multiple wounds as well, but for the moment she had Carver's sword lodged in her shield, and she used it to force it up and open him to the bash of her shoulder that followed, enough to send him stumbling back to regain his footing. They were steadily making progress now, just as the first hints of morning's light could be seen in the sky behind them.

They had pushed all the way out of the market area when a heavy, rhythmic thudding started to come closer and closer. Looking ahead, they could see a monstrous red templar, easily larger than any of the knights, with an obscene amount of red lyrium growth covering its body. A behemoth, with one arm so encased in red lyrium that it formed a great maul, wide enough to crush multiple soldiers in a single blow. The other arm ended in a two-pronged blade of red lyrium, like a twin pair of razor sharp longswords held in a single hand. It ran forward with an almost ape-like tread, shifting its gait to smash aside a group of regulars, tossing broken bodies through the air back into their comrades. The knights were emboldened, renewing the attack, and the momentum the Inquisition had built up was suddenly lost, deflated like a held breath being expelled.

"Merde." There was no avoiding that thing. Lucien had never seen anything like it; the reports from Haven didn't do it justice. Leave it to Rilien's dry narration to leave out the sheer impact of such a creature on the morale of both sides.

The only remaining wedge in the line was the one he and Khari occupied. Lucien took a hard step forward, whistling sharply and drawing the behemoth's attention. It thundered towards him, abandoning the effort of crushing regulars beneath its red lyrium cudgel. Lucien held his ground as long as he could, then abruptly strafed to the side, swinging at it with Everburn as it passed him. The hit jarred his arms, and the creature stopped more suddenly than he'd judged it capable, throwing the larger of its arms back.

The blow caught Lucien head on, lifting him from his feet and hurling him several meters away. He hit the ground heavily, rolling an additional few before coming to a stop, his sword pinned beneath his body. Unfortunately, the behemoth had followed, and now raised the maul-arm, intent on crushing him beneath it.

From Lucien's left, there was a clang—someone dropping a sword or other weapon. It was followed by a raspy yell, and Khari interceded, throwing herself at the oncoming red lyrium hammerhead as it descended. Her jump put her at the right level, and she wrapped her arms around it, her weight and momentum knocking it off its trajectory just enough. It still slammed into the ground, but it did so a few inches to the right of Lucien's shoulder, with an elf attached.

She shrieked at the impact, something crunching under the lyrium. Perhaps it was just her armor. More likely, it was both of her legs and a few other bones besides. Her grip slackened, head lolling to the side. When the behemoth lifted his weapon away, she did not move.

Lucien felt panic grip him for some amount of time he could not properly quantify. Swallowing, he pushed it down. Khari had bought him time, and he couldn't think about just what it had cost her right now, because he needed to make good use of it. Rolling to the side, he freed Everburn and pushed himself back to his feet, trying not to contemplate the mess that was her lower half right now.

The behemoth's focus was back on him, and Lucien took several large steps away from where Khari had fallen.

Others were trying to move up to support him. Vesryn visibly moved in where Khari had fallen, watching Lucien's flank, and Asala was nearby in the space behind him, likely ensuring she would be around in case a barrier was needed to save Khari's life. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Vesryn took the pressure off of Lucien by engaging the behemoth, deflecting a stab of the heavy twin blades aside with his shield and thrusting into the opening with his spear. It sank into the behemoth's thigh, but seemed to do little. The maul came back around, and Vesryn reacted with impressive speed, dropping low and bracing himself, angling his shield precisely.

It was still a nearly impossible attack to block directly, and when it bounced off the steel it sent the elf stumbling back and struggling to find his balance. A knight took advantage of that, landing a hook across the side of his helmet, a second coming down on the top of his shield. The behemoth went for the distracted opponent, throwing a downward smash of the maul in an attempt to crush him.

Before the maul could connect, a soft bluish pink barrier sprung to life in front of them. Asala had taken the step forward that Vesryn had taken back, putting her in the path of the behemoth. The improved barrier held fast against the maul, but spiderweb cracks quickly began to form across the surface. The red lyrium had to have an affect on the magic, improved as it was, and it was all she could do to jostle Vesryn out of its immediate way.

The barrier could take no more and shattered under the maul's pressure. It continued its previous trajectory, though instead of crushing Vesryn outright, it struck Asala in the head. A loud, audible crack followed soon after as one of her horns was snapped in half, gouging her shoulder from the force of the strike. Her head rocked forward and she fell backward, blood flowing from both her head and now her shoulder. She was still awake, the barrier absorbing enough of the maul's weight to not kill, but her eyes were confused and glazed over, and her body stiffened as she crumbled to the ground.

From Lucien’s peripherals, he’d seen Zahra hunching over Asala’s prone form. A hand, fluttering to a throat. Only for a moment. Her mouth twisted, sour, before she sprinted to the behemoth’s flank. More like that not, she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing. Couldn’t possibly know how to combat such a monster. Arrows cut through the air, rebounding off crimson lyrium. Ineffective. Only then did she abandon her bow, in lieu of her rapiers; a soundless howl on her lips, ducking beneath a wild swing of its arm that mussed her hair. She was not so lucky the second time, misjudging the behemoth’s unpredictable movements. It’s arm crashed down from overhead. She had no time to move.

Sparrow’s roar sounded over the din of crushing metal. The sound of crackling barrier, and the inhuman rasp of the behemoth. She charged off from the side, flanged mace dragging on the ground behind her, sparking to life. A blueish, green hue that crackled up to the steel head. The behemoth’s arm slammed against the mace, sending a shower of electricity into the air, locking them into place, instead of biting into Zahra’s skull. She held it there, but bowed backwards against the force, red lyrium biting into her shoulders, her collarbone. Drawing blood in sluggish streams. Her face turned ashen, sickly pale. Her arms trembled.

The behemoth took advantage of her weakness, lifting its arm only long enough to send her tumbling head over heels backwards, tangled into a motionless heap.

His allies were collapsing around him, unconscious or barely awake, others still in the fight but only as a matter of time. Their line was collapsing, too, the red templars regaining the ground they'd lost in the Inquisition's push into Hightown. Lucien gritted his teeth, leveling Everburn out in front of him. Prolonged exposure to the lyrium was bringing a shake to his limbs, bone-deep, robbing him of the strength he'd been fortunate enough to keep for so long.

He'd have to keep it a while longer. Lucien slid his front foot forward, preparing to charge, but just as he was shifting his weight, he heard an unexpected sound. Hoofbeats—someone was approaching on horseback.

The Emperor of Orlais had never been the sort of man who prayed often, but in that moment, he did. He willed his thoughts to whoever would listen.

Please. Let that be her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
A week after the battle, Khari's knees were mostly functional.

Unfortunately, they were pretty much the only parts of her legs that were, just enough that she could bend where necessary, though it didn't work especially well, since her muscles were still healing after being reattached to her bones where they'd torn free beneath the crush of red lyrium and her own armor. She was splinted and bandaged from her hips through her thighs, and then again from shins to ankles. Even her feet were splinted, though those were smaller. The idea, apparently, was that keeping everything held in the right places would help her heal properly. There was only so much that magic could do; after a certain point, her recovery was on her.

Still... she wasn't allowed to be on her feet for a while yet; the sole poorly-considered attempt she'd made to walk had proven to her that she was getting nowhere on her own right now, either. Her legs simply could not support her weight, and even trying to make it work was painful in a way she'd never felt before. So she was trapped.

Khari couldn't abide being stuck in an infirmary while there was life happening outside of it. It was driving her up a wall, except not literally, because climbing was definitely on the list of things she was too injured to be doing. It was with perhaps more enthusiasm than anyone should have for something so foul that she downed what was left of the red potion in the vial she held, setting it down on the side-table next to her bed and exhaling heavily.

“I hate this." It wasn't the first time she'd said it, but it was the first time she'd said it today, at least. She was doing her best to not make Rom feel as agitated as she was, after all.

He looked tired, more than anything, sitting on a chair next to her bed with his feet propped up on a bedpost. As he'd reported it, Rom had worked his way back into the fighting after creating the rift that led to their breakthrough of the red templar lines. When he was told after the battle that he was only going to get in the way if he kept standing around her while they worked, he vented by trying to help chase down the fleeing templars. Sadly they were as swift as they were strong, and they really didn't tire at all, which meant that he was wasting his time. Others could follow their tracks, and see where they would lead to.

Since coming back, he'd mostly just stayed with her, except for moments when she slept, where he would sneak away and return with something to eat, better than the tasteless scraps the rest of the wounded had to put up with. He was especially good at hiding what he felt, but it still wasn't hard to see that some of the hit she'd taken had fallen on him, too.

"Well... this is what happens when you jump in front of a behemoth's fist." There was a touch of annoyance that he didn't try to hide to the words. It wasn't the first time they'd exchanged a conversation like this. One of the others had led him to call her idiotically brave, with as much admiration as condemnation. If he'd actually disapproved of what she'd done, they likely wouldn't be as close as they were. Still, he obviously wasn't enjoying watching her go through it.

Khari sighed. She needed to stop complaining. Wanted to, even, but there was just nothing to do here. “Yeah. In my defense though, I did it for an Emperor. If there's a good reason to jump in front of a behemoth's fist, 'stopping it from smashing the leader of the world's most powerful country and an all-around good guy' is probably it, right?" Her eyes fell to her lap, where her hands rested. Fuck, her legs ached. She could really use a good distraction right now.

Rom didn't contest the point. "As long as this doesn't become a regular thing. Seems like an Emperor should be paying people to do that kind of thing for him. Or better yet, not putting himself on the front lines of bloody battles." The last sentence was lowered to a murmur, as the door down the hall opened to let a new visitor into the infirmary, and it just so happened to be the very person they were discussing.

Lucien was humming, of all things, under his breath so that it wasn't apparent until he'd come a bit closer. It stopped when his eyes found them, though; he offered a small, somewhat-uncertain smile then. "Khari. Romulus," he said. It was hard to tell, but something about the situation seemed to be making him feel just slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps he'd expected she'd be by herself or something.

"I came to ask how you were feeling." His eyes fell to her legs; he grimaced sympathetically. "And also to thank you, inadequate as the words alone might be."

Khari felt not even a trace of his awkwardness, and grinned outright at him. “You're welcome. Heroic deeds for the Emperor, right?" She called back to their conversation in Halamshiral, tilting her head. “Doesn't get too much more heroic than that, I figure." Of course, that hadn't been her motive in the moment, which was probably good, since she wasn't sure it would have counted as 'heroic' if it had been. But she figured he knew that already.

“I'll make myself a household name yet—just you watch."

Lucien exhaled, the shape of it something like a sigh. There was a hint of exasperation around the edges, and he shook his head faintly, approaching a bit closer and pulling up a free chair. "I hope you do," he replied. "But I also hope you live to tell the tales yourself, if you take my meaning." He seemed to believe he'd made the point clear enough, at any rate.

"Honestly, though—is there anything else you need at the moment? I know the healers have been quite busy as a rule, but I'm sure I could find someone if there were."

No doubt he could—and no doubt whatever poor healer he found would be scared out of their mind. Because no matter how nice he was—and Khari was pretty sure he was one of the nicest people she'd ever get to meet—having an Emperor personally track you down and ask you to please see to extra pillows for his friend the crazy elf would probably be a daunting experience, to say the least. Khari tried to remember when this sort of thing had become normal for her; surely a couple of years back, even she would have been pretty cowed just being in the same room as some of the people she now called by their first names.

Life was strange.

“I need to get the hell outta this infirmary, is what I need." She'd intended to grumble it, but an idea struck her about halfway through, brightening her tone and completely ruining the effect. But... if the healers were intimidated by him—and they probably were—this could be perfect. “What's the going price on an Emperor's life, anyway? Can I cash in my good deed for a lift outside? Please?" She shot an aside glance at Rom, not totally sure he'd approve of the plan. Technically, she wasn't supposed to exert herself, after all.

He didn't seem totally against it, at least, and shrugged when the glance was received. "As long as we're not doing anything that's going to slow the recovery," he said, sparing a half second glance at Lucien before he looked back to Khari. He'd brought his feet down from the bedpost since Lucien came in, and he leaned forward a bit in his chair now. "You've got important work to be doing, and not a lot of time left to get ready for it."

Lucien looked undeniably curious about what Rom was alluding to, but he didn't go so far as to ask. Moving his eyes back to her, he shrugged, smiling with something close to fond exasperation. "I suppose it's worth that much. I think I can throw my authority around a little, get the infirmary's prisoner an afternoon in the sun, at least." Pushing himself from the chair, he sat on the edge of her mattress instead. "But you used the word lift, so I suppose that makes me the transport as well, doesn't it?"

“That's the idea." Khari grinned at him, shifting herself around until she could grab onto his shoulders from behind. “Knees aren't busted anymore, by the way, so don't worry about that part." She figured this probably counted as among the more shameless and ridiculous things she'd ever actually done, but that was just more reason to enjoy every second of it.

“I want the tour, too. You can show Rom and me all the interesting places in Kirkwall, and tell us stories about what it was like when you lived here." She smacked the back of his shoulder with one hand, entirely without sting.

Lucien sighed. If it was possible for an eyeroll to have a sound, that sigh was probably it. "Is she always like this?" he asked of Rom, though much like her hit, there was no bite to the question, or even any implied criticism. He stood slowly, adjusting his grip until she was comfortably braced on his back. The weight didn't seem to bother him any; considering she was without her armor, he'd probably carried gear that was heavier.

Rom couldn't help a little smile of his own. "Absolutely," he said. "It's good for morale." He got to his feet, apparently finding it refreshing to have the chance to stretch out his own legs.

“I'm the reason the Inquisition has huge snow fights in the middle of winter." Khari shrugged, adjusting to her new perch. This must be what tall people felt like all the time. Or, well, mostly. “Which makes me the best for morale."

"Ah, so that was you. I'd heard tell of the Firstday celebrations." Once assured that everyone was ready to go, Lucien exited through the infirmary through the same door he'd come in though. The Keep itself wasn't too different from most buildings of its kind, and was significantly smaller than Skyhold at that. But he pointed out the various sections of it as they went anyway.

He paused for a moment when they came to a large, arched double door. "In there is the throne room. That would be where the final confrontation with the Qunari took place. We had to fight our way up here from Lowtown, not entirely unlike the siege. But that conflict ended with single combat between Sophia and the Arishok." His tone was difficult to read; there was obvious pride and affection in it, but also something a great deal more solemn than that.

“Speaking of heroic deeds." Khari wasn't sure where the extra melancholy was coming from, but she'd heard that the rest of Sophia's family died in the conflict, so maybe it had something to do with that. The stories also said that she'd been pretty terribly injured in the fight, though much to Khari's irritation, actual details on the battle had always been sparing.

A thought occurred to her then, though. “How did it come to that situation, anyway?" What she wanted to ask, but wasn't quite obnoxious enough to, was why Lucien hadn't done the single combat part. Not that she thought Sophia was incapable of it—history bore out that she most definitely was—but it sort of seemed like the thing that a chevalier like Lucien would practically jump at the chance to do if it would spare someone else the trouble.

Though she hadn't asked it outright, he seemed to be able to detect the underlying question. Or perhaps it was just that he'd thought about it in the same terms himself. He parted his lips as if to speak, but at first all that came out was a short breath. It took him another few long seconds to work up to a reply.

"I'd have done it myself, with half the chance," he said quietly. "But as it was... the fight wasn't necessary, in the larger sense. The Qunari had what they'd come for, and they were perfectly willing to leave." No doubt not without cost, given the deaths involved even to get that far. "But it wasn't quite—sometimes, there are battles that belong to someone else. And not even a knight can stand in to fight them instead." He shook his head slightly.

"That fight had more to do with something inside Sophia than anything outside. If I'd tried to make it go any differently—tried to prevent it or intercede when it had begun, most of the people in the Keep that day would have died." His brows knit; he shifted his grip on her legs slightly, still careful not to jostle her.

"Of all the challenges I've ever faced, none is more difficult than learning to balance my own desire to solve other people's problems with the fact that sometimes even trying to do that would make them all the worse." He turned them away from the door, then, passing through the Keep's open entrance and at last to the fresh air outside.

Khari couldn't say she'd ever encountered a situation like that. Some situation where she had to stand aside and let someone else fight a battle all by themselves. Or, well, at least not a literal battle. She glanced down at Rom for a moment—and that was a pretty novel perspective, wasn't it? Scrunching her nose, she blew out a gusty sigh and propped her chin on Lucien's shoulder. They were nice for that; all broad and stuff. For a second, she wondered how he'd react if she told him some version of what she'd told Leon, a long time ago back in Haven.

But the topic was too serious for that kind of frivolity, however genuinely and harmlessly she'd mean what she said. “I dunno what I would have done in a situation like that." She ignored the slight twinges in her legs—it wasn't Lucien's fault the Keep had so many damn stairs. Whole city was like that. “Not that I think you did the wrong thing. I'm just not sure I'd have been able to do the right one."

Her whole life, Khari had confronted problems head-on, even when a more subtle approach had been called for. Even all the things she'd learned since joining the Inquisition were refinements on the technique, rather than true alternatives. It still came down to the fact that when she found danger, she planted herself in front of it. Or charged right for it. Having people to care about had only sharpened the instinct, not dulled it. “Maybe I'm not cut out for leadership." It was a difficult thing to admit, but the more she learned about command—real command, not just taking charge in the field—the more she suspected she wasn't cut out for it. Bad news, considering that chevaliers were often in real command of army units.

"Don't count yourself out," Lucien replied, reaching the bottom of the Keep's stairs and aiming them almost directly for Lowtown. No doubt that was where the majority of the stories he could tell took place. "If that particular balancing act is the most difficult thing to manage, well... you're in the same boat as a lot of very effective leaders, I think." Beneath her hands and chin, his shoulders lifted, before he remembered himself and aborted the shrug.

He fell silent for a moment, then continued. "I know I probably made it seem like you'll have to be better than almost anyone else to achieve what you want, and that's true. But it's not to say you have to be able to do absolutely everything perfectly. Honestly, it's mostly a matter of impressing the right people, vexing as that fact can be for other reasons."

Vexing was probably right. She hadn't exactly impressed all that many people at Halamshiral, for instance. Still... “Well, I'm pretty sure at least one of those people is you, Ser Emperor, ser. So—any tips?" Khari felt a grin tugging at her mouth. She probably wasn't doing too badly on that front, if he'd willingly agreed to carry her around Kirkwall on his back.

She heard him snort. "That much, you've already done—in a rather spectacular fashion, I might add." His hands gave her legs a careful squeeze where he held them, no doubt an improvised version of something he'd have done to her shoulder, were the positioning different. "So my only advice is keep being the person you are. And keep working on your skills, of course. That never hurts."

It still got to her, sometimes, how some people seemed to think that she was best as she was. How they didn't think she had to be different. Simple as the exhortation had been—mild and gentle and even lighthearted—it choked her up a little, a lump rising unexpectedly in her throat. She figured this must be what it felt like to have her heroes believe in her. Really believe. Her thoughts flickered to Big Bear for a moment, and she swallowed past the lump.

She knew what it was like for one of them to care about what she wanted. To care about her. That much, she recognized in hindsight, at least. But this was a damn sight more reassuring, after everything. This one honestly seemed to think that she could do what she'd set herself to trying. Clearing her throat, Khari suppressed the swelling emotion in her chest and throat and pasted a stupid grin on her face. “Well... nobody does me like I do. You got it, Lucien. Now tell us about Lowtown."

Maybe she'd figure out a way to express her gratitude at some point. But she didn't have the words for it today. Today, she just wanted stories about someone else's dumb shenanigans and to forget how much her legs hurt. First things first, or something like that.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
“Checkmate—ha!" Khari put down her wooden knight with a little more emphasis than was strictly necessary, narrowing her eyes across the board at Cyrus.

He put his arms up, palms out. “Yes, yes, you win. As usual. I surrender, and all that." He winced a little at the new scuff on his board, but it would buff out fine. She was pretty sure, anyway.

Khari leaned back, shifting a bit uncomfortably against the wall. Chess in the infirmary was not ideal, but they'd managed with Cyrus sitting at the foot of her bed and the board between them. She was sideways, her feet sicking out sideways off the mattress, still in braces, though nothing nearly so complicated as the ones she'd had on in Kirkwall. “You did good, though. Almost had me that time." She liked playing with Cy—he learned her strategies fast enough that she always had to come up with new ones or he'd win. And with so few ways to spend her time, she especially appreciated that he showed up daily. “By the way, did you bring it?"

A heavy breath left his nose as he packed away the pieces. “Yes—though I ask that you please not go overboard because you have it. I really don't want anyone blaming me if you do something rash."

She grinned. “I always do something rash—no one will think it's your fault."

He grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite hear, shaking his head and drawing the strings closed on the velvet bag that held the black half of the pieces. “Not the point."

“I know. The point is that you don't want me to get hurt, but you can't say that because you suck at feelings. You should really work on that."

He gave her a flat look. “You're still insufferable." When her grin only widened, he stood, probably to make his escape. Coward, running away from a gimp like her. He did pause, though. “It's under that brown cloak no one's claimed—you know the one. Figured it was better if no one saw, in case they guessed what you were up to."

“Awesome. Thanks, Cy. Same time tomorrow?"

“Of course."

Khari raised a hand in farewell, but as soon as Cyrus was gone, the smile dropped off her face, and she sighed. This was the long stretch in the afternoon when everyone was too busy to see her. Not that she begrudged them that, obviously; they all had a lot to do, and normally she would, too. But without being able to spar or run or do pretty much any kind of training at all, she was starting to feel like she really was going crazy. Standing still, while the rest of the Inquisition moved on ahead of her.

Maybe she should talk to Leon about it. Poor guy was—well, honestly the less she thought about his condition the better. It still lurked there at the edges of her mind, like a shadow in the forest she couldn't quite bring herself to look at it. Khari knew firsthand that dark things like that could swallow a person, and with nothing to do but stew in her own uselessness, she wasn't sure that thought wouldn't swallow her if she let it.

Glancing around, Khari confirmed that none of the medical staff were actually present. She liked most of the healers fine, but they had her doing things at an excruciatingly-slow pace, and didn't seem to trust her verdicts about what she was and was not capable of, which was more than a little annoying. She probably wouldn't have this problem if, like Leon, she'd convinced everyone she was responsible with her health and sensible in general. Even if he was actually just as bad as she was.

Or it could just be the fact that no one had to call her 'Commander.'

Working into a stand was a process, but one she'd sort of gotten used to over the past couple of weeks. Bracing her hand against the wall, Khari slid off the bed, then walked her arms up so she could lever herself into a stand with a bit of assistance from her knees, which wobbled, but held. Steps were harder, and she knew she couldn't yet manage many of them unassisted. But that was why she was doing this in the first place. She wasn't going to get anywhere if she kept doing laps around this infirmary room and had to sit down again before she'd really pushed her muscles hard enough to build them. Of all the things she knew, she was just about most certain about how conditioning worked.

The door had a cloak hook next to it; she shifted aside the brown one that had been there forever and grinned. Cy had left a bladeless staff for her to use as a walking stick. She almost cackled when she saw the note tied around the top part.

I'm serious—don't overdo it.

Walking was a lot easier with her new aid, though the stairs down to the bailey gave her more trouble than she'd anticipated, and her muscles were burning by the time she reached the bottom, breath coming in labored pants. Ugh. She hated this already.

Making it to Rilien's tower felt about as difficult as anything in her life ever had, at least physically. It wasn't great mentally, either—the weakness of her own body was anathema to Khari. She hadn't felt this pathetic since her very first days with Big Bear. But she made it, crossing over the threshold and shouldering the door open at the same time. Unfortunately, she failed to lift one of her feet high enough and tripped, losing her balance and nearly faceplanting into the dirt. At least she caught herself in time, with the arm not currently occupied with the staff.

Grimacing, she used it to push herself over onto her back. “I'm okay. No need for a rescue here. Just miscalculated a little, that's all."

"Aren't you supposed to be in hibernation still?" The question came from Ves, but he didn't sound at all surprised to see her, nor was there anything chiding in his tone. He appeared over her, armored sans his silly winged tallhelm and clearly in the midst of rigorous physical activity the likes of which Khari wasn't capable of just yet. He offered a gloved hand down to her, if she wanted it.

“Turns out I'm really bad at hibernating." Khari smacked her hand into his and returned his grip, accepting the help to her feet with minimal fuss. She had to lean heavily on her staff after that, but at least she didn't fall right back over. “Thanks. I decided they weren't letting me walk enough, so I designed my own exercise plan. It was going pretty okay until the doorway, I swear."

A soft click signaled Stel's practice sword sliding home into its sheath; she'd clearly enough been Ves's opponent. For quite some time, judging from the redness to her face. "Do you need to sit down? I can set up one of the targets if you wanted to practice throwing from a seat or something." She pushed a few shorter, loose hairs out of her face with one hand, laying them back against the crown of her head. "Only if you wanted to practice at all, I mean."

“I dunno." Khari pushed a breath out through her nose. “I came here to do something like that, I guess, or to ask if you guys wanted to take a walk at least even though I can't run, but—" She glanced down. It was strange, seeing parts of her own body this splinted up and injured. Knowing that she was this helpless. It rankled, and the fact that she didn't even have the steam left to train or anything like that made her feel like shit. Frustration bubbled under her skin, fizzing around in her nerves, but not going anywhere. There was nowhere for it to go. Nothing for her to push it into. Not when she lacked even the baseline ability to move the right way.

“You know, I shouldn't have interrupted. I'm sorry. I think I'm just gonna—go back." It would be hell even trying to get back up the stairs she'd climbed down, but she'd manage it somehow. And then crawl under her covers and contemplate her humiliation, or something.

"Are you sure?" Ves asked. He didn't normally sound concerned about her, or if he was, it was like with his last comment, veiled behind a tease or a prod of some kind. But he sounded concerned now. He glanced to Stel and then back. "We were just finishing with a round anyway, if you wanted to stay for a break. Or..." He failed to come up with anything, and shrugged. "I don't know. I just know that laying around and doing nothing can be the hardest thing for people like us. You don't need to go back if you don't want to."

Stel nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face a moment later. "Or, uh, I'm not sure how you'd feel about this, but I could probably help a bit. Sort of... dull the worst of it, so we can take that walk if you want. It's only a temporary fix, but it should help build your strength back up if you walk more, right?"

For a minute, Khari wondered if the healers had been holding out on her. But maybe this was one of those things that Stel had learned from Harellan or something—she didn't exactly know all the details, but she didn't need to. Ves was right: she'd be completely miserable if she left and didn't accomplish anything productive for all her effort even this far. If she really wasn't going to be interrupting anything important, well.

“I'd—that'd help a lot, I think. Thanks, Stel."

"It's no problem," Stel assured, stepping forward and placing her hands on Khari's shoulders. "Just give me a minute here; I kind of have to get a sense for you first." She shut her eyes, grip tightening just enough to be snug, though Khari didn't immediately feel anything different.

The actual process wasn't localized to just her legs. It felt kind of like being dunked in water, warm enough to be comfortable, and then like that heat sunk into her skin instead of staying outside of it. Tight muscles loosened, the sharp sparks of pain that lanced through her when she moved the wrong way dulled to a minor ache, more akin to the soreness the day after a particularly difficult training exercise. It was far from her usual condition, but it did permit more normal movement.

Blinking her eyes open, Stel stepped a pace back. "How's that? I can adjust it if something doesn't quite feel right."

“Amazing, is how that feels." The little aches that were left were pretty trivial, at least to Khari; it was alarming how sharp the contrast was, almost. Too bad it wasn't permanent. “Seriously. Magic hands." She grinned, already feeling about a hundred times better, then looped one arm through her friend's. “Just in case anymore doorways try to get me, though, I'm going to hang on to you and my stick. Last one to the garden's bringing me pie in my infirmary bed tomorrow."

"As long as I get to have some of it, I don't mind being the rear guard," Ves commented. He set down his training weapon along with his helmet on a wall mounted rack, and moved to join them.

“You, Ves, have got yourself a deal."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari groaned, dropping onto Rom's couch with altogether too dramatic a flop. Her legs were killing her—she immediately propped them up by placing her ankles on the far arm rest. A soft hiss escaped her when the stretch that required pulled against a burgeoning cramp in the left one. No potions today, though: she was going to have to take care of this the old-fashioned way.

Pulling herself up into a seated position, she wrapped her hands around either side of her left thigh, tightening her fingers and working out the ache that way, at least as well as she could. She certainly didn't have Stel's magic hands. Still, that she was hurting at all in this way was a sign of progress; her splints had come off way earlier than anyone thought—right around Firstday. From there, she'd set her own pace, increasing the length of her walks every day, adding in stairs, and then transitioning into running and squats and lunges and the rest of it. She still hadn't gone back to doing any of those things in the armor, but she'd be able to spar again soon, at least.

The date of the Grand Tourney loomed in her head like a massive deadline, and she knew her injury was costing her. The other people that were entering had likely been spending these last winter months training hard, refining their techniques, and everything else. She'd been spending them just trying to get back to where she'd been before Kirkwall, conditioning-wise, and she cringed to think of how rusty she was going to be when she went back to actual sparring and stuff. Next week. She'd be doing that next week, come rifts or dragons or red lyrium giants. She'd already blocked out the time with Ves and Stel.

In the meantime, she'd been spending most of her free time in the Undercroft. Rom had started writing letters for the Inquisition or something, and so whenever he had a stack of work to be doing, Khari read or stretched the way Amalia had shown her or did something else quiet so she wouldn't bother him. But she no longer saw the point in, well... not being around him as much as possible. There were a lot of things unsaid there, but Khari for once wasn't in any hurry about it. She didn't need the words, or any of the rest of it, right now. It was what it was, and it made pretty much everything else tolerable.

“So who's the Inquisition kissing up to today?" She asked the question more to distract herself than anything, something she was certain Rom would have no trouble recognizing.

"Most of Ferelden, actually," was Rom's answer, "Including the king, wrote him one earlier. I've heard he's not too bad, but some of these banns are, uh..." He trailed off, failing to come up with a proper way to describe them. "Well, some of them seem to think we're just renting this castle, and killing Corypheus is how we have to pay them."

He set down the quill, apparently done or at least taking a break from the one he was working on, and instead made his way over to the couch as well, plopping down behind where Khari was sat such that if she tipped back again she'd land across his legs. He threw an arm over the back of the couch. "They didn't even know this place existed, but now that it does, they like to think it's theirs because of the border it's just inside."

Since she could think of literally no reason not to, Khari eased herself backwards, scooting up a little further so that her head was resting on Rom's leg. Tilting her chin back a little to make better eye contact, she scoffed. “I'd like to see them try to deliver the eviction notice up here, when this is all over. It's not like they can fly in on dragons or anything." She waggled her fingers on the word 'dragons,' emphasizing exactly how little she thought of random banns trying to act like the Inquisition was doing them some kind of wrong.

It was kind of like saying it was illegal to steal someone else's garbage, or live in an abandoned building. No one else had been using it for anything important. Or anything at all. And it was the Inquisition that had made Skyhold livable again in the first place. It hadn't been when they got here, as far as Khari heard.

Well, if they did anything besides make a fuss about it, then that was a bridge to cross when it appeared.

Rom let one of his arms fall, laying it across Khari's abdomen, while his other hand toyed absently with a bit of the red hair now across his lap. His eyes stayed up, gazing out ahead of him, distant, thinking about something. Whatever it was, he didn't comment on it. It didn't seem like anything was bothering him, though. He glanced over at where her feet were propped on the arm rest.

"How's the recovery go—"

He was interrupted by the door opening in front of them. Brand slipped inside unannounced, as he usually did during the daytime. Only in the early and late hours of the day did the Tevinter elf ever seem to show any respect for privacy. He shivered now under his cloak, as ill-adapted to the cold here as Rom and the other northern-grown folk were back in Haven. He glanced at the pair of them on the couch, but of course it was nothing he hadn't seen before. The stupid rumors going around were proof of that.

"Got a few more for you," he said, heading over to Rom's desk and leaving a smaller stack of papers there. "Stel kept the lion's share, but I told her you'd be so disappointed if you didn't get any more work, and she parted with these."

Rom seemed to pay the extra work no mind. "You've been outside."

"Unlucky me. Had to go see Ril for a bit. Oh!" He clearly just remembered something. "I saw some guests at the gate. Pair riding in on a halla. Pretty cool. Thought you might want to know."

That certainly caught Khari's attention. Visitors on a halla would probably only be here for one of a very small number of people in the Inquisition, and she was... well, weirdly enough as it still was to think about, she could be among them.

Khari sat up, throwing her legs over the side until her socks hit the floor. “Feel like skipping out on work a bit longer? I kinda wanna see who that is."

"It's really cold out, just so you know," Brand warned. "I'm not sure what I expected it to be like, but... yeah. Cold."

Rom was already up, offering Khari a hand but grinning a little at Brand. "You'll get used to it. Maybe. In a few years."

“Or you freeze for the winter and melt again in spring, like the lake." Khari grinned, pulling herself to her feet with Rom's help. The stretching really helped; she wasn't up to long runs yet, but also in no danger of collapsing if she had to climb all the stairs to Leon's tower.

Going down stairs wasn't nearly as tough as all that, either. By the time they made it to the bailey, their mysterious guests were just disappearing into the stable building. Khari caught a flash of something vaguely familiar—the dark brown coat of a very large halla. It couldn't be, but—

Picking up the pace, she broke into a jog, calling ahead of herself. “Vareth?"

An excited giggle was her answer, and a moment later, a heavily-bundled, very small body shot from the entrance to the stable, the hood up over her head of flaxen hair falling back to her shoulders with her momentum. "It's the dread wolf and the big halla!"

Khari's eyes went wide; she crouched in time to hold her arms out and catch the fur-cloaked hellion streaking towards them. Senna laughed when Khari picked her up and spun her around, setting her back down so she could go attack Rom, too.

Her attack went low, the only place it could go, around one of Rom's legs. He feigned a cry and went down on his back in the few inches of snow on the ground, sending small clouds of it poofing up into the air and dusting them both.

"You've gotten ferocious since I saw you," Rom declared, mussing a small handful of snow against her hair as he sat up. "A little wolf in your own right." They got to their feet, Rom taking a second to brush the snow from his pants and sleeves before he offered a nod in greeting to the other elf. "Vareth."

He'd followed at a much more sedate pace, lugging what appeared to be a large sack behind him. Their antics had brought an easy smile to his face, though, and he returned Rom's gesture with warmth. "Lord Inquisitor. Khari. It's good to see you." He glanced at Senna, now preoccupied gathering snow into her hands, most likely planning some form of revenge on Rom. "She found out where I was going and insisted on coming with. I hope you don't mind; we don't have to stay long."

“Of course not." Khari crossed her arms, more to keep warm than anything else. “And you can stay as long as you want; there's space in the barracks." Hell, there were spare beds in her room; Widget wouldn't mind.

Vareth's response was cut off when a snowball smacked Khari in the back; she whipped around to see Senna already trying to make a break for it. Lunging, Khari scooped the little girl off her feet and threw her over her shoulder. Her right leg twinged, but it held. Senna shrieked and flailed, but Khari's grip was too strong for her to worm out of.

“How about we take this to the tavern for now? You guys must be hungry, huh?"

"That sounds good to me. We've brought more than just ourselves, after all, but I think news is better shared somewhere a bit warmer."

The Heralds' Rest wasn't far, and at this time of day, it didn't take them long at all to find a table and get themselves settled. Senna regarded everything with clear interest, hardly able to keep still in her seat while they waited for the food.

“So, uh... how is everyone?" Khari asked with a bit of apprehension, not quite able to disguise it. She'd been writing letters to Vareth pretty regularly, and she had a feeling he shared them with her parents at least, but... that was sort of a different thing from being in contact with them.

"Well," Vareth replied, pulling his tin tankard of mead closer to himself. "Winter in the Graves has been mild this year, which we really needed." No doubt the hunters they'd lost had a lot to do with that. But if the temperature had stayed relatively warm, then game would have been easier to find, and the foraging resources would have lasted longer.

Khari felt herself relax a little. "Good. That's good." She nodded, though it was obviously not necessary. Talking about her family was still—well. Vareth and Senna were one thing. She didn't think she'd have been able to handle seeing anyone else here. Not yet. "So, uh... did you tell them about the thing in my last letter?"

Vareth smiled slightly before it disappeared into his tankard as he took a sip. "I did." Glancing down to his side, he addressed Senna. "What did I tell the clan about Khari when her last letter came?"

Senna's eyes went wide; the reminder setting her to bouncing in her seat. "You're gonna be famous! You're gonna put on armor and use a sword and ride a horse!"

Technically, that was what the Tourney came down to, Khari figured. "I'm not so sure about the 'famous' part yet, but I'm working on it, I guess."

"Working on it, she says," Rom cut in softly. "She only saved the Orlesian Emperor's life in battle not so long ago. Small-time work, really."

That was a true story, but Khari felt her face heat up anyway. It only got worse when Vareth's expression grew keener.

"You left that part out of the letter."

"Uh... yeah. It was kind of a wash, actually. Banged up my legs real bad—I was in splints until about a week ago. I didn't, uh, want anyone to worry about it though. I'm getting better. Mostly." She stared resolutely into her own cup, clearing her throat.

Really, she should have been crowing about this. She'd certainly been able to poke some fun at Lucien about it, but—she figured that was just because he seemed like... such a real person. Getting some distance from it and thinking about what she'd really done—saved an Emperor—that was harder, somehow. It felt bigger. Maybe too big for her, which was a bad sign, considering.

"He's a nice guy. Lucien. He, uh—he carried me around on his back for a day when I needed to get out of the infirmary at Kirkwall." That was more her speed, honestly. Ridiculous antics, being indulged by people who seemed to like her, odd at that could still be sometimes.

"Vareth does that for me, too." Senna seemed to brighten as the discussion moved into familiar territory for a small child. "It's really fun."

Khari grinned and reached across the table to muss her hair. "Yeah it is. Don't wear him out too much, though. The clan still needs him."

Speaking of—they were actually quite interested to hear of your plans. They asked me to bring a few things along; a couple larger items that couldn't be sent by bird."

She blinked. Gifts from her clan were certainly not things she'd expected, but she accepted the package he handed across the table anyway, wrapped in a layer of oilcloth to protect it, no doubt, and secured with bark-twine.

Setting it down in front of her, she untied the string and pushed the wrapping to the side. "A cloak?" The base fabric was deep green, smooth through her fingers in a way that actually suggested silk more than anything. The embroidery on it was gold, though, metallic and so intricate she couldn't imagine any Dalish wasting so much time on an unnecessary cosmetic detail. The edges were gold, too, and the lining a green so dark it was almost black. It definitely wasn't stealthy, by any means. "Where'd they get this from?"

"Your mother made it." Vareth said the words softly, as though he knew just how hard they were going to hit her.

"Mom... made this? But it—" It wasn't anything a Dalish would ever use. It wouldn't blend with a forest or keep her especially warm in winter, and the materials to make it wouldn't have just been laying around. And the hours it must have taken one person with one needle to get all these details right...

Khari squeezed the corner of the cloak in her hands, feeling hot tears well in her eyes. It wasn't the first time her mother had made her cry, but this—this was completely different from that. "She... it's a parade cloak, Rom, look." Her voice cracked; her attempt to show it to him with casual enthusiasm amounted to nothing more than a vague wave of the material and a loud sniffle.

Rom could see how much it meant to her, that was obvious. He'd witnessed firsthand some of the difficulties she had with her parents, her mother in particular. What this particular gift represented was not lost on him. "It's beautiful," he said, likely lacking any better words for it. He reached to feel it for himself, running his thumb and forefinger along the fabric. He probably hadn't worn anything like it in his life either. "Fitting for a soon-to-be famous chevalier, I think."

Khari sniffed again, managing a smile this time, and a short, half-choked bubble of laughter. "Yeah. It is." Clearing her throat, she used her free hand to wipe at her eyes, trying to recompose herself. It felt like—she didn't even have the words for what it felt like. Something tied in a tight knot in her guts had loosened, and there were so many other things rushing out behind it she didn't really know how to handle it.

When she was more or less coherent again, she glanced up at Vareth, who smiled. "That sword we found—the one the revenant had. The Keeper did some maintenance on the enchantments, and sent it along, too, with a new sidearm. I'll give them to you later."

Even if it was the Inquisition, pulling out magic weapons in a tavern was still pretty bad form, Khari guessed. But still... she could have all the ancient magic swords in the world and it still wouldn't—she expelled an unsteady breath, shaking her head.

"Thank you, Vareth. Tell them—no, never mind. I'll tell them. If you don't mind carrying back another letter?" She leaned sideways, putting her shoulder against Rom's arm, her near hand still wrapped up in the cloak.

Vareth smiled. "Not at all."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Image

And the People raised the blades of the fallen soldiers to the heavens
And rejoiced. And Shartan said to them:
"No longer are we hunted! We shall never again
Be prey, waiting to be struck down!
Let us take up the blades of our enemies
And carve a place for ourselves in this world!”
-Canticle of Shartan 9:13
Image

They were each hampered in their own way, but neither took that into consideration when it came to a spar.

Vesryn was just about at full strength again by now, though it was becoming apparent that the physical strain he'd been through the previous had lowered his ceiling of performance somewhat. Not enough to be a major concern. Khari's legs weren't at full strength either, and while both of them knew it, there was no sense giving it any respect. Her opponents in the tourney weren't going to, even before they figured out who she was.

And they were going to, sooner or later. Vesryn was interested to see how much of a disaster would ensue, and who that disaster would be for. The scandal of an elf in their prestigious tourney... it would be something to see. For it to have maximum effect, of course, she would have to win, overcome every obstacle. That meant Vesryn's own training took a step back for the moment, and all of their spars together found Khari pitted against Saraya. A woman who never lost a step. Never slowed.

He'd been wielding a training greatsword for their more recent spars, expecting that to be the most common weapon of her opponents. Vesryn wouldn't be nearly so effective with it without Saraya's help; her training was extensive in all manner of weaponry, and after a few bouts to shake off the rust it was like he'd been swinging the blade his entire life.

Khari's back hit the ground with a solid thud of her armor. Vesryn brought the sword point around to hover above the base of her throat before she could make a move, and the fight was over. One of their longest yet, leaving both of them damp with sweat despite the cold winter temperatures.

Vesryn pulled the sword away and removed his helmet. "That was your best yet. I'd say you're more than ready to wreak some havoc."

Khari heaved a sigh at being felled yet again, but it wasn't more than a moment before she'd turned her practice blade to punch it into the soft sand underneath them and used it to haul herself back to her feet. It was with some discomfort that she shifted her weight all onto her left leg, picking up the right and rotating her ankle until she'd satisfied some internal need. She set it back down on the ground and repeated the motion with the other side, grimacing.

“Sure hope so. It's not like they can reschedule while I wait a few more weeks for the twinges to go away." No doubt she was aware that it was a risk, going into a competition like that still not entirely recovered, but it was one she'd obviously decided was worth it.

Letting go of the practice sword, she dusted off her armor, a sure sign that she was calling it quits for now, too. “You wanna get cleaned up and head to lunch? I was thinking we could grab some and go bug Stel for a while—I've got something to ask you guys."

"I've got no problem with that," he answered. Bothering Stel was his activity of choice after any hard day of training, especially since for some odd reason she seemed to enjoy being bothered by him. As long as he wasn't too distracting. She did always have work to do, after all. "I'll meet you in a few, then."

Vesryn took perhaps a little longer than most to clean up, but Khari knew well enough that he was rather meticulous about his appearance when he could be, probably even more so than Stel was. He didn't take too long, however, and soon met back up with Khari on the way up to the Keep, having replaced his armored outer layers with softer, warmer ones. From the smell, they were hardly the only ones eating, but it wouldn't be difficult to find somewhere private to talk if Khari preferred.

Khari, now dirt-free and wearing a tunic the same color as her eyes with a darker fitted shirt under it, shuffled up the steps beside him. She kept pace despite her much-smaller stature, something that was no doubt automatic by this point. Most of the people she cared to spend time with were substantially taller than she was.

“You reckon this is gonna be the year?" She asked the question as they stepped into the feast hall, taking up a plate. From the way she piled food on without actually sitting down anywhere, she meant for them to take the food with them to Stel's office. “Seems to be the feeling going around—that this is the last one. For the Corypheus thing, at least."

"Ugly bastard's certainly bided his time long enough." Vesryn collected his lunch a little less haphazardly, without quite the same level of appetite Khari had. They started back towards Stel's office together. "I think the feeling is right. Once the winter's well and truly over, there'll be movement. We've stopped him everywhere we can so far. I'd wager a god like him would be getting frustrated to have us mortals gaining the upper hand. The sort of thing that might force a desperation play."

He didn't say it like it was altogether a good thing, because considering the power Corypheus had at his disposal, it wasn't. Desperation was dangerous, and even if it led to his downfall, it remained to be seen how much damage he could on his way there.

She grinned though; the prospect of additional danger had never worried Khari as much as it had thrilled her. She thrived on it. “It'll be nice to finally flush him out of hiding, though. As long as we're ready to pounce when we do."

That thought brought them to Stel's door; Khari knocked a couple times before putting her shoulder to the slightly-ajar panel and pushing it open. “It's us." The announcement was sort of redundant, considering that Stel would be able to see quite well who it was. “Think you can pull yourself away from all the important Inquisitor stuff for a while?"

It was pretty clear that Khari intended to make herself comfortable regardless of the answer—she was already plopping into one of the chairs, saving a sprout from rolling off her plate with a deft tilt of her hand.

Stel obviously didn't mind in the slightest, putting aside whatever paperwork she was doing to join them in the more comfortable seating area of the office. From the empty plate sitting on the tray by the door, she'd already eaten recently. "I'll manage somehow," she said, taking one of the spots on the sofa and curling her legs underneath her. "Training just wrapped up for the day, I take it?"

"It did." Vesryn took a seat in another chair, setting a pillow on his lap to more comfortably position his plate of food. "She got in some good hits. I'm willing to declare her ready for the Tourney."

“Well if Ves says it, I must be." Khari rolled her eyes, but she was smiling at the same time.

Whatever she had to tell them, she wasn't in an obvious hurry to do it, and worked her way through the first half of her plate with light conversation of the kind the three of them so often shared. Only after everything had settled into familiar, comfortable rhythm did she clear her throat softly and glance between them. “So... you guys know all about the Tourney by now, obviously, and how it's only a few weeks out. The thing is, I just got some more information about the events." She stabbed a spear of asparagus and ate it before resuming.

“I won't go into all the details, but the big idea is that in order to win The Tourney, you have to participate in the big three events. That's jousting and the tactical round and the grand melee. And the second one—that requires a team. The competitor and three others, this year." She shrugged, but the casual nature of it was obviously feigned, and she sucked in a deep breath right after, the next words coming out in a rush. “So I was kind of hoping that maybe the two of you would be on my team."

The tactical round, interesting... Vesryn had been wondering what the plan there was going to be. He'd assumed that perhaps Khari's friend at the top of the Orlesian ladder could arrange for some inconspicuous support from his Lions as her team, but it made sense that she'd want to compete with those she worked best with, and trusted the most. He didn't have to ask who the fourth member of the team would be. It did raise a different problem, however.

"I'm going to have to wear an uglier set of plate for that, I'm assuming." It was a rather indirect way of saying that they couldn't compete as themselves. There was no question that they would, but if both Inquisitors and a well-known elven Irregular were her teammates, even the dimmest Orlesian in the crowd was going to figure out who the team leader was. All of the Irregulars had built up some kind of fame by now, and Khari's utter lack of caution in some key moments had led her to more than most.

“It's okay, Ves. I bet you can be plenty flashy even without that shiny bucket on your head."

Stel laughed, perhaps a little too wholeheartedly for the joke alone—maybe it was some inside thing the two of them had between themselves. There were at least a few of those. Her expression sobered relatively quickly, though, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, expelling a breath. "I'm happy to help, of course, but can I ask who knows and doesn't know about this, exactly? Ser MichĂ€el is your sponsor, I know that, but is anyone else aware?"

The question was general, but it was also pretty clear that she was mostly asking about the very obvious possibility. Khari hadn't exactly been spreading the word far and wide even among the Inquisition itself.

“Well, uh... it's you guys, Rom, Leon, Cy, Mick, Marcy, and my clan right now. And probably Rilien, I guess—he knows everything that happens." For all her ordinary obliviousness, Khari didn't miss Stel's implications. “I kinda figured it'd be better to ask for forgiveness than permission on this one, you know? It's a risk, but I'm kind of counting on the fact that Lucien won't let them, uh, execute me for this." She cleared her throat, setting the rest of her food on the coffee table. It would seem her appetite had abandoned her.

“But if something does go wrong, then the disguises give everyone else—Leon called it 'plausible deniability.' Worst case scenario, this was something crazy I did on my own with some hired mercenaries who will disappear into thin air, and I just took advantage of the fact that the Inquisition was visiting Orlais anyway." She shrugged.

Ves found the deniability plausible enough. Plenty of mercenaries never even saw the people they were being paid to fight for, as that relationship was typically only between the leader of the company and the client. The three of them could easily have been instructed to show up ready to fight at a specific location and time, to meet this mystery woman fighting in the Tourney. Do their jobs, get paid. Lots of mercenaries wouldn't blink twice at that, or the chance to fight in the Grand Tourney itself.

"And you're willing to risk the punishments that fall between 'execution' and 'walking free?'" he asked her. "I know Lucien is on our side, and not one to be swayed by pressure, but there are only so many rules he can bend or break or change in a short period." As they'd seen with Julien, the Orlesian system was not particularly kind, fair, or efficient, and Lucien could only show so much favoritism to the Inquisition before he would be risking too much. If things went wrong, Khari could potentially be out of action for their most important and hopefully final confrontations with Corypheus.

Khari pursed her lips, which paled under the pressure, but she also nodded. “This was never gonna be easy to do, but... if I wait, I might be dead by the time the next chance rolls around. I figure the odds of ending up shut away when people are needed to fight are less than the chances of being taken out against Corypheus." It was a brutally-pragmatic assessment of the situation, and she delivered it like one—for once there were no halfhearted handwaves or ebullient optimism.

“And this... I've got to do this. Got to try it, at least. Whatever happens."

Stel nodded slightly, but it was easy to read the worry on her face. Subtle, but obvious enough to anyone who'd spent much time around her. "It sounds like you've thought things through," she said carefully. "It's just... there are a lot of ways this could go wrong, Khari. Are you sure there isn't some other solution? Maybe one that isn't so—" a hum cut off the sentence, like she was looking for the right word.

"I don't know. It sounds silly to say at this point, but I just don't want anything to happen to you. You're—you're my best friend, you know?" Stel folded her hands uneasily on her lap, expression pinched.

Khari smiled, a smaller one than her trademark jagged grin—it didn't even flash teeth. “I know." It inched a little wider, then faded. “And I know I've got a lot to my name now that's not this. People, other goals—they're all important. I wasn't planning to forget it. Just—I can't let myself keep putting it off or waiting for exactly the right low-risk, high-reward opportunity to come along. People like me don't get those." She glanced between them and shrugged. “None of us ever have, I bet. So if I wanna do the big thing that might change the world... I gotta take the big risk that might change my life."

Stel must have been expecting that answer, or one close enough to it, because she answered with a resolute nod. "In that case... I'd be honored to help."

"As would we," Vesryn added, more seriously than he usually spoke to Khari. Considering that Stel already threw in her support, he trusted Khari could discern he was talking about Saraya. He'd been... silent wasn't the right word, but significantly quieter when it came to relaying her thoughts lately, and Saraya had been far more tentative in giving them.

But he could sense them now, clearly enough. "I know she and I haven't always agreed with your goals, but... that was a long time ago, when neither of us knew you half as well. You've fought for this your entire life, and you deserve this chance. We'd be happy to lend a hand."

The grin bloomed over her face again. “Awesome. I've got the best team ever—can't drop the ball and lose now." A pause, and then somewhat more seriously: “Thanks, guys. I mean it."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Talisman
The city was abuzz with excitement, perhaps moreso than any other tourney that Marceline could remember had. Of course, this was also the first time in recent memory that the reigning Emperor was actually a chevalier himself. That, along with Orlais finally being at peace with itself had a noticeable effect on the proceedings. Even Michaël had a hop in his step, though his excitement came from more than one source. She leaned into him as they walked the white cobbled streets of the city. They, being them and the rest of the Inquisition, had arrived in Val Royeaux recently. The Inquisition obviously had garnered an invitation from the Emperor-- though the plans that they had in mind overstepped simple invitations.

The thought must have made its way onto her face, because Michaël noticed and placed a sturdy hand in the small of her back. It will be fine, the smile on his lips told her, and she was inclined to believe him. There was a lot that could go wrong, but he had faith, and she had faith in him. She returned his smile and wordlessly accepted that everything would turn out for the better. If not soon, then later. Change always took time, after all.

The tourney's events were planned to be held at a variety of locations across the city, but the main locus of activity was to be the proving grounds, an arena located deep within Val Royeaux. As she understood it, most of the area surrounding the arena was cleared to allow for the contestants to set up their tents and to provide safe storage.

Perhaps understandably, Khari was having some difficulty containing her enthusiasm. She drank in the sights like they were water, eyes unable to remain on any one thing for too long. Even the parts of Val Royeaux that were not directly involved with anything to do with the Tourney were decorated for it, bright banners and streamers advertising anything and everything that could possibly be related to the event or the influx of visitors it welcomed.

As they drew near the arena itself, her focus narrowed quite obviously to the array of canvas tents, many of them brightly-colored or striped according to the owner's lineage or allegiance. Even the well-armed Inquisition blended here, among the knights and their auxiliaries. Horses were stabled at one end of the large field about the arena, necessary as they were for the jousting portion of the Tourney.

The advance group the Inquisition had sent ahead had already prepared what would be their tent, though it lacked the obvious russet and gold, since the point was that no one was meant to identify a competitor with their organization. They'd have to see to their disguises before entering it; before they did, though, more private lodging had been arranged at the palace itself. Still, Khari had wanted the lay of the land before anything, and she studied it now with eagerness tempered by what was clearly only fully hitting her now: the sheer scale of it all.

“Somehow, this is a lot more people than I was expecting."

"Almost overwhelming, isn't it?" Leon settled a large hand on her shoulder and squeezed, probably in a way that was meant to reassure her. "It won't matter when you're in the ring, though. Then they'll all just be noise."

He let his hand drop away and addressed the group at large. "Why don't we go assume our disguises and get set up? Meet back here in an hour?" Naturally, a few of them had additional formalities to see to, Marceline among them, that would require the extra time. But it would be equally important that their competitor be allowed time to acclimate to her new surroundings before the contests began in earnest tomorrow.

Since Marceline and Michaël were sponsors of their particular contestant, they could forgo donning disguises. Instead, their time was spent handling more official business, registering and securing official lodgings. Fortunately for them, they had all of their documents and paperwork in order, and the process was relatively painless-- minus the fact that some of the papers were suspect. Eventually all the papers were signed and they were free to leave the palace and return to their tent at the proving ground.

An hour after they'd parted, the group rejoined at the same spot, this time able to head with confidence towards the tent set up for them. The custom of mask-wearing, and the tendency for masks to be so characteristic, worked in their favor, since for the humans among them at least going unrecognized was just a matter of wearing different ones than they otherwise would have. As part of Khari's false paperwork and history, Marceline had tied her to a loose edge of MichÀel's family tree, distant cousins with the surname Gérin. Given their obscurity, it wasn't at all difficult to conjure the necessary papers for a hitherto-unknown Katriane Gérin.

The Academie credentials were harder, but as long as no one looked too closely, they'd hold. They only needed to serve for the length of the Tourney, in any case. The family's masks traditionally resembled wolves, and the slate grey and gold of their colors wasn't too difficult to replicate, either, so the disguises carried the themes appropriately.

Khari herself would have to remain helmed at all times, given the vallaslin and her ears both. The t-shaped opening in her helmet allowed her to speak mostly clearly, at least. The rest of her armor was plain, taken from Inquisition stock since at least a few of the people in attendance here knew her trademark appearance quite well. The cloak must have been from elsewhere—green and gold, and made well enough to belong to wealthier nobility than she was really meant to portray.

“Okay, so. We're here. That's our tent. This is really happening." She paused. “This is really happening, right? Because it feels kind of like I'm dreaming, I've gotta say."

"Somehow I imagine Romulus looks a little more dashing in your dreams." The comment came from Vesryn, walking at the side of the group. He had the luxury of going without anything concealing his face, though he'd still altered his appearance. His normally loose hair was bound up behind him and actually braided to his head on the sides. It had a dramatic effect on his recognizability, not to mention the drab mercenary's gear he wore. It seemed unlikely anyone would pick him out as the self-proclaimed champion of the Inquisition.

"Go easy on the names," the Inquisitor advised, from Khari's side. If he had any reaction to Vesryn's jab, it was concealed by his mask, along with the rest of his face. Unlike Vesryn, Romulus was very recognizable, with facial markings of his own, and an image that had been replicated across most of Thedas by now. His role in the competition would be done in a full face mask and helmet, and his gear had been altered to also assume the mercenary look, with particular care being given to conceal his marked hand.

"I think everyone looks wonderful, for what it's worth." Their smallest elven ally behind them, Brand, looked like he was just happy to be along, but his skills with information and crowded places were bound to be valuable. He was practically invisible without any disguise at all. "A perfect... dignified shabbiness. A scrappy underdog."

"Well, this scrappy underdog thinks we should probably have this talk in our tent," Estella put in, smiling slightly underneath the half-face mask she wore. Simpler than Khari's, as she too was meant to be a mercenary here, and no Argent Lion at that. Like Romulus, she wore a heavy leather glove over her marked hand, hers without fingers.

Leon lifted the flap first, stepping inside the generically-appointed canvas shelter. "There are basic wards against sound escaping and such," he warned, "but any more than that and people might have thought we had a bit too much to hide, so do still be careful with what you say. A good eavesdropper would be able to find a way around them." He glanced once at Brand as he said it, then shrugged.

"But since this is probably the last time we'll all be in one place for a while, I think we should nail down the details of this plan. The first event on your docket is the joust, and the day after is the team round. Then you'll have a day to recover before the melee. It's a long time to maintain a cover in a situation like this, so we'll all need to stay alert and careful."

"You need not worry on our end, Michaël and I will divert any questions regarding you away," Marceline answered. She could spin a tale well enough to satisfy anyone's curiousity without delving into too many details. If not, well, then she would just have to avoid some of the more inquisitive types.

Michaël chuckled, undoubtedly already imagining her talking at length about nothing in particular. "Do not let it take up all of your focus though," he added, "I'd hate for you to catch something in the jaw because you were to busy worrying if someone saw your ears," he said with a grin.

Khari nodded as much as the helm would allow. “It's not really that part I'm worried about." She didn't elaborate though, instead walking the length of the tent once, eyes cast down at her boots. “There's still some things to decide, aren't there? I know we brought my horse down from Skyhold, but there's supposed to be someone around when I'm actually jousting, right? To help with the lances and stuff?" She pursed her lips. “And what do we know about the team round scenario? Anything? Who are the people to watch for, anyway? People set books and odds for this stuff, don't they?"

It was quite a lot of questions at once. Leon took it upon himself to tackle them.

"Such an arrangement is normal in the joust, yes. If you don't mind, I'd... like to handle that myself." His voice sounded just a bit thicker than usual, but it was subtle. He didn't elaborate on it.

Whatever caused it, Khari picked up on it, her pacing coming to a hard halt. She swallowed audibly, nodding in several quick, shallow motions.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Wouldn't want anybody else." The moment stretched for a heartbeat too long, until she forced herself to start moving again and the atmosphere settled.

The other items in the list were somewhat easier to tick off. "The team scenario won't be known in any detail until you're thrown into it. But I double-checked, and your team does have the right number of people. I should point out that magic is not expressly forbidden, though it tends to be frowned upon, and anything trademark or particularly unique should be avoided for the obvious reasons. You've also been appointed a healer for the duration, to ensure that magic worked upon you in that capacity doesn't give you an unfair advantage. But you should... take care not to injure yourself if possible."

There were a lot of reasons for that, obviously, but unfortunately the integrity of the disguise was one of them.

"As to favorites... only one of them is familiar to you—and not in a good way, unfortunately."

Khari clearly struggled for a moment to think of a chevalier she both knew and didn't like. The answer hit her like a wall; behind the helm, her mouth twisted into a scowl. “You're fucking kidding me. Him? Really? All the chevaliers in Orlais, and it really has to be Blancheflor?"

Vesryn laughed, obviously not as bothered as Khari was. "Maybe stick to the weapons when you're beating him. He's most likely to recognize you if you punch him, right?"

“Actually it was a headbutt." Khari paused, assessed the statement, and then sighed.

“But point taken."

A in no way contained grin plastered Michaël's face. "I'd say it gives you an edge, you've already drawn first blood," he noted with an accompanying chuckle.

"Welp, shall we get to some last minute prep?" He asked, cracking his knuckles.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
So far, so good.

Khari had made it through the first two rounds of jousting more or less intact. Though she'd had a couple lances broken on her, it wasn't anything that would do more than bruise, which of course wasn't the point. Really, she'd always known this was going to be her weakest event; she hadn't had all that many opportunities to practice. She could ride, of course, and she'd been working with lances to the extent she could, but Skyhold sure as shit didn't have a tilting area, and so putting all the components together was the work of a couple days in Kirkwall and last minute work yesterday.

She was lucky to have made it as far as round three, but she refused to show so poorly that she had no shot at the overall win.

Which was why, despite having a pretty good idea that she was about to get her ass handed to her by this next guy, she was still letting Leon strap her onto her horse. She had to get out there and do whatever skill or luck allowed—even if she'd watched this Caron guy wipe the floor with the last knight he'd jousted.

Her breath was shuddery; her heart unsteady in her chest. Her nerves jangled together like mangy tomcats squalling and swiping at each other in a dirty back alley, and dammit, she was going to have to do this anyway. It wasn't even the danger or the prospect of this particular defeat that was doing it. It was just the thought that she couldn't let her dream end here, like this, with a whimper instead of a bang, taken out of the competitive point totals before she'd even been allowed to do the things she was good at.

“Don't suppose anyone's got any last-minute sage wisdom, huh?" She shifted slightly in the saddle, tilting her head so the slit in her helmet allowed her to see her friends.

"Don't die," Ves suggested, and not for the first time. He'd been watching almost all of the tilts, not just Khari's, to better study her potential opponents. Or rather, to let Saraya study them, since that was where the majority of his riding skills came from. He'd been helpful thus far, for the most part.

He stepped to the other side of Khari's horse while Leon worked, giving him a pat on the neck and staring down the lane at Caron, getting ready on the other side. "And don't try to outmuscle this one. You won't. He's brute-forced his way this far, and doesn't seem to care where his shield is most of the time. If you trade body shots, he'll come out ahead. Personally, I'd aim high, and make sure my placement is perfect before worrying about power. Somewhere near the gorget." He glanced back at her. "At the very least, don't worry about him trying to do the same. A crushed arm or ribcage seems more likely."

The only trouble with that was, Khari couldn't be totally sure she had that kind of precision in her. It was exactly what was missing when she practiced the individual pieces of jousting without really being able to practice it all at once. Still, it was probably really good advice; she nodded.

“Don't die, aim better than him. Got it." She pushed a breath out between her teeth, grimacing when some of it caught in the confines of the helmet and blew back at her. She was really learning to hate this thing. Not that she had a problem with helmets generally, but the emphasis on total concealment here was not her usual reason for wearing one, and the almost complete close-in was irritating.

She shifted her left leg so Leon could adjust the straps on her shin, pulling her shield into place herself with her free hand. It was basically strapped onto her arm; one less thing to remember to grip. The downside was, Caron wasn't the only one who sort of forgot it was there sometimes.

The last few straps in place at her legs, Leon lifted the gold-and-grey striped lance near his feet up to Khari. It was one of a large number they had, since one of the acceptable ways to earn points was to succeed in splintering one on an opponent. The other, of course, was to knock them off their horse.

"He has better reach than you do," he said, patting her armored knee with one large, gloved hand. "So you're going to need timing as well as aim. One other way to go might be to try and get your lance under his. Aim for the armpit, take some force out of his hit and even the distance a little."

Stel didn't really have a lot to add to the strategy portion of the discussion, it seemed, though she did grin under her mask and pull something out from her sleeve. A handkerchief, by the look of it. Dark blue; not quite her usual indigo, but close enough that Khari could identify the object as a favor. Reaching up, Stel tied it around Khari's right wrist, winking under her mask.

"Good luck, my friend."

Khari had only half a second to grin back before the horn sounded, signaling that it was time for the riders to line up. She forced out another exhale in a shortened burst, nodding and swallowing. Like some kind of conditioned response, the sound had pulled her head back into the game, and further from her friends as a consequence. She waited for everyone to step clear; only Leon would remain in the list area itself, since he was serving as squire for this exercise.

The horse beneath her moved smoothly with the direction of her knees alone, approaching the near end of the list, which consisted of several even stakes driven in a straight line into the ground, their tips painted chevalier red and yellow. At the other end she could see Caron—he really did look quite large. His horse was tall and sturdy, too, something which only increased his advantage. Khari, being small and swifter than she was strong, had opted for a lance on the short end of things, on the rationale that it was easier for her to handle and quicker to adjust. Caron had obviously taken the other approach. His light blue and white one looked heavy, and a good two feet longer than hers at least.

The crowd applauded, as was customary at this point. Both riders swung their horses so as to see the Emperor's box, where Lucien did indeed sit, observing the proceedings. Not for the first time, Khari wondered if he might not be in the least suspicious that she'd do something like this. It was probably good that there wasn't a lot of time to think about it. The riders bowed in their seats, then wheeled around, arranging themselves on their ends. Khari was closer to the audience on Lucien's side; Caron rode the opposing side.

She shifted, tensing in her seat and leaning her weight just a little forward, stepping harder into the stirrups and readying her shield. Her right hand squeezed the handle of her lance; she tried to time her breath to coincide with the start signal.

Exhale.

Inhale.

The horn sounded again, and with a sharp “hya!" she urged her horse forward. Already keyed up by her own nerves, he leaped into a gallop immediately—though not as smoothly as she would have liked. It took her a second to feel that her shield was in the right spot and start bringing her lance around.

Too late; she nearly bit her tongue with the force at which Caron's lance collided with her shield. The sharp sting of pain radiated up her forearm to her shoulder; Khari grit her teeth as the joint wrenched, nearly leaving the socket. She angled the shield just fast enough to stop his lance from shattering; her own hit only air as they passed. She was forced into a backwards lean, but kept her seat, finishing at a canter and then turning her horse back around to reset at her end. The crowd's volume had swelled momentarily at the hit, but died back down quickly when neither rider earned the point.

Her shield arm was still feeling the force of that hit; Ves hadn't been wrong about the force Caron could apply. Khari flexed her fingers and hoped it didn't go numb. She approached Leon a bit shaken—she'd felt air between her seat and the saddle on that one.

"You all right?" Leon spoke quietly, re-fastening a few things that had come loose with the sheer force of the pass. He looked up at her, though, letting his hands work automatically while he studied her with what must have been a furrowed brow under his mask. "You look a little stunned. Well, ah—" he gestured broadly to indicate her body language, rather than her facial expression.

“Yeah, I'm—I'm okay." Khari had to pause for breath midway through the sentence, grunting slightly when her effort to lift her shield back up into the ready position immediately failed. Sure enough, the limb was going insensate. Handing her lance to Leon, she used her free hand to loosen the straps and shift them up somewhat on her arm before tightening them again. Hardly a substitute for actually actively using it, but at least she wouldn't be a total sitting duck on the next tilt.

Leon frowned openly beneath his half-mask. "If you're certain." He clearly hadn't failed to notice her improvised solution, and while it technically counted as being in control of all her equipment for rules purposes, the subtle reproach in his voice made it obvious that he wasn't entirely satisfied.

Much as she valued his advice, Khari probably valued him more for this: the fact that all of that aside, he wasn't insisting. He knew how important this was for her. And she had decided already that it was important enough not to let this setback end the round for her. She had to get herself enough points to have a fighting chance at the rest of this.

Taking up the lance again, she nodded slightly, guiding her horse back out onto the list. This time when the horn sounded, she eased into the pace a little more, narrowing her eyes and trying to see the weaknesses Ves and Leon had pointed out to her.

And all of a sudden, there it was. Emboldened by her disadvantage, Caron dropped his shield slightly in an attempt to hit her early, like last time. Khari's hand tightened on her lance, and she followed the path she could see. Tilting her lance, she aimed high and precise, placing the very tip of the wooden instrument between Caron's sternum and shoulder.

The impact came with a crack this time—her lance splintered on his platemail, large shards of wood tumbling to the ground and leaving her with less than half of what she'd started with. Caron's aim wavered with the hit, his lance slipping low and catching unluckily between her leg and the saddle. It came out of his hands, the point of it digging into her relatively unprotected inner thigh, close to her knee.

“Fuck." The word was a low exhalation; gravity pulled the lance away and it fell heavily to the ground, but there was already a smear of blood decorating her saddle. She had no way to know how serious the wound was; she couldn't see it from where she was, and her own tendency to push pain to the very periphery of her awareness was not helping. But the slickness of the leather suggested the lance might have nicked something important.

The crowd-noise was nothing but a low buzz at the edge of her senses as she rode back to reset again.

"Khari." Leon was still aware enough of the surroundings to speak quietly, but he regarded her with undisguised concern. "You've got to forfeit the next pass. That's going to need a healer immediately." He was already inspecting the wound himself, sliding her foot back out of the stirrup and setting her shin over the crook of his elbow to get a better look at the damage.

But Khari shook her head before he'd even finished. If she forfeited now, the match would go to Caron and she'd lose the opportunity to earn any more points at the joust. She threw her broken weapon-stump to the side of the ring, already working to untie Stel's favor from her wrist. It was long enough to wrap around her leg; it would have to do for now.

Leaning slightly over, she tried to tie it on herself, but a numb hand and the other shaking from adrenaline were not helping matters. Her whole body was shaking, actually; she hadn't realized until just now. Her breath, too, little shudders echoing around in her helmet and drowning out so much of the other noise.

“Leon—Leon please, can you—?" She gestured with the hand that still clutched the blue linen. One more pass—she just had to make one more pass without letting him score a point on her, and she'd be the winner. Three tilts, that was the rule. She could make one more. She could.

She might as well have sucker-punched him. Actually, that probably would have been easier for him to accommodate, if the stricken look in his eyes was anything to go by. There was a very slight shine to them behind the mask, his jaw flexed where he clenched it. "Khari, no. This isn't a battle; the point isn't to risk your life. If you let this bleed—" The stain was already beginning to run, blood dripping down the side of the saddle and off the toe of her boot. "You've got to trust that what you've done already is enough. That what we'll be able to help you do tomorrow is enough. You can make up the points." He pressed one gloved hand over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding more effectively than a little strip of fabric would be able to do.

"You can't make it up if this wound gets worse. Your legs still aren't at their best, and you know you're going to need them for the rest of this. Please. Don't ask me to help you hurt yourself." He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "I can't. I won't."

Khari wanted to insist. To hold him to the implied promise of the kind of person he was. The kind that let other people make the big, important decisions in their own lives. Who didn't try to force anything on anyone in his personal relationships.

But she was being a heel. He wasn't trying to force anything, except maybe her continued good health. And she was making him feel shitty for doing even that much. She wanted to tilt again. She'd seen the hit last time, and she really believed she could make it happen again. She wanted to prove it to everyone else, too. Every little fight here felt like the big one, and she wanted to win them all and show the world that she could.

Her lips parted, but when she tried to speak the first time, she failed. Even more than she hated the idea of forfeiting, she hated the idea of making him feel that way. For fuck's sake, Leon was her friend. More than that—he was family. And family was trying to look out for her, and she was making him feel bad about it.

Gods, she was an asshole.

“Okay. Okay, I'll forfeit. I'll—" She blinked, swallowing past a hard lump in her throat. Trying to make this feel like it wasn't the same thing as surrendering was really fucking hard, and she really wished she didn't have to do it.

But if she was anything, she was an elf of her word, and she looked up to where the officiants sat, making the hand signal for forfeiture. They called the match, and the win went to Caron. It sat bitter and hot in her belly, like an ember. Maybe she could make something of that later, but right now... Khari pressed her lips together, feeling herself sway sideways a little further than she'd meant to in the saddle. She leaned her good hand on Leon's shoulder for support.

“I'm going to need some help getting down, I think."

And maybe a healer wasn't a bad idea after all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

0.00 INK

#, as written by Talisman
Behind him, the crowd roared as undoubtedly a young chevalier ate another lance. MichÀel's mind was elsewhere however, and his intended path taking him there. There may have been an urgency to his stride, a worry on his shoulders, but for the life of him he wouldn't let Khari know that. Marcy knew, she could read everything he felt, even through his mask. Though it couldn't have been too difficult, he hadn't hidden the the hiss between his teeth when Caron's lance dipped low. Marceline had let him depart without a word, only a knowing nod.

It didn't take long with his quickened pace to reach Khari's tent. Instinctively he reached out to the tent flap before he hesitated. He tossed a cursory glance around him to ensure that there were no prying eyes before he poked his head in. He quickly scanned the inside before trying to catch the eyes of Leon in order to get some information. He'd seen that Khari was dripping blood, and for her to forfeit, it couldn't just have been skin deep. It'd take a lot for her to just give up, even if it was the wisest option at the moment.

Leon was not typically difficult to find, though in this case, the number of people in the tent was not helping. As it happened, he was still beside Khari; he'd anxiously looked up when MichĂ€el half-entered, but his brows furrowed—obviously he was expecting someone else.

"They should be sending us a healer," he muttered, as much to himself as anyone else. Tightening his grip on the fabric between his hands, he tugged, reinforcing the makeshift tourniquet he'd just tied around Khari's leg. The plate armor on that side was gone already, the pieces discarded to his left. "Anyone have a potion in the meantime?"

The question overlapped with Khari's loud “Fuck!" Her grip flexed on one of the wooden supports of the cot he'd put her on. Her face screwed up into a grimace; she forced herself to breathe through her nose.

"I've got one." The little elf, Brand, had slipped in the tent behind MichÀel, and he approached Khari now, offering a potion with a distinctly Orlesian label.

"Let me see that," Rom grabbed it from his hand, inspecting the bottle. He popped the cork and sniffed. The Inquisitor had been in the tent ever since Khari's match had concluded, staying close but out of the way. He'd been staying quiet as well.

"I know my potions, too, ser," Brand objected. "I got a good one." Rom was apparently satisfied, as he relinquished the potion to Khari. Brand backed away from the cot, glancing at the more senior members present. "I'll be outside. Keeping an eye out."

"Not to cause further problems," Estella said, breaking into the conversation from her spot a little further away, seated in one of the plain wooden chairs the tent was furnished with. "But... exactly what are we going to do about this? Even assuming you put the helmet back on, the healer will do a better job if they know you're an elf, and a clever one will probably be able to figure it out whether we tell them or not."

This thought did not seem to have occurred to Leon, at least not in the heat of the moment. He grimaced. "Well... we really only need them to stay quiet for the duration of the Tourney. Bribery is always a possibility."

"Marcy and I brought a decent purse with us," MichÀel said, stepping into the tent more fully, though careful to stay out of the way of more important personnel. He lingered near the mouth of the tent, arms crossed with a hand rubbing the beard at his chin. "Half now, half after the Tourney?" he offered. Marcy had thought to get some shopping done while in the city, but... Well, their need was elsewhere right now. He'd make it up to her somehow, but later. He glanced at Khari and then back to Leon, "We may need their... services later. It'd be convenient to have one in our pocket for the time being," he noted. He found himself wishing that they could use their own personnel for this, but that was too much of a stretch. Even if they'd come to Val Royeaux with them, their healers were rather unique.

Leon grimaced. "Assuming the idea even works, I can take care of it. No need to dip into personal funds here. Just... please be aware that we're going to have to negotiate something before the healer leaves the tent, and that something might involve a bit of strongarming." No doubt it was rather hard to plan when the most important element in the equation was entirely unknown to them.

Not that they had a choice, in this case.

Further discussion was precluded; the healer in question arrived not a few moments later, standing politely in front of the tent flap before admittance. Once it was pulled aside, his eyes swept the assembled before landing quite quickly on Khari. The way he froze allowed a tense moment of study for all involved.

He must have been Riviani or Antivan by heritage, given the mid-toned brown of his skin. His face was slightly weathered, though nothing about him suggested age over thirty, so a life in the sun was the most likely cause. He blinked, dark brows arching towards his hairline.

No immediate recognition was apparent—the surprise could only be directed at Khari. The expression morphed to confusion, then suspicion, but in the end it settled on something a bit more difficult to place, his mouth a compressed line and brows knit together. "Excuse me, but if you could clear slightly more space around the patient, I'd appreciate the room to work." Antivan, then, from the accent. It rolled over the r's and lingered on vowels in a way that suggested a lifetime spent quite a ways north.

Leon didn't vacate immediately, instead keeping pressure on Khari's wound until the man had reached her and could immediately take over the work.

Khari made a sound somewhere between a grumble and a groan. “The patient's got a name."

The healer was already crossing the remaining space, eyes down on the potions suspended from his belt by leather loops about their necks. "And I'm sure it's a lovely one. I'm equally sure it's better if I don't know what it is."

Rom wasn't quick to clear the space he was occupying, but he did so eventually, all while examining the healer unlucky enough to get sent to them. "Are you freelance?" he asked. "You're a long way from Antiva."

"So I am." The healer smiled a bit crookedly and handed Khari a potion. "Drink this, please."

“What's it for?" The answer didn't appear to concern her too much; she was already uncorking the bottle.

"The pain. I'm not a spirit healer; this is going to hurt a bit." He was already inspecting the wound, wincing in what might have been sympathy when he got a better look at the gouge. His hands lit a soft green; he passed them over the injury a couple of times while Khari swallowed whatever he'd given her.

Whether by design or coincidence, she did visibly relax, some of the tension leaving her muscles. The cot creaked softly underneath her as she leaned back into it.

The magic in the man's hands flickered a couple of times before the color shifted towards the yellow end of the spectrum. "They had to scrape together most every decent healer in Orlais to cover this event. And some outsiders. And probably some healers that aren't even decent. I'm local for the moment, though—just moved to Val Royeaux a little while ago, actually." Apparently, speaking did not detract from his work so much that he felt uncomfortable doing both at the same time.

"I'll not ask where any of you are from."

"That's... perhaps the wisest decision for the moment," MichÀel noted with a passing glance to Leon. The less information they gave the healer would perhaps be for the best-- for both parties.

It was unclear if Leon caught the glance; he was studying their unlucky mage with an unreadable expression. He didn't seem to disagree, though, and volunteered no information himself.

"I'm sure it's... quite an adjustment to move to," Estella said, probably to keep the conversation flowing. There would be an awful lot of tense silence, otherwise.

MichÀel's attention was drawn away from the conversation by Brand, who had reentered the tent quietly. The elf tugged subtly at his sleeve, looking at the healer work but with his attention split elsewhere. "Might have a problem," he said quietly, not even loud enough to be heard by Khari or the healer. In fact, the conversation there helped to mask his. "Mysterious hooded lurker outside, don't think he came with the healer. Definitely interested in our tent. Probably knows something he shouldn't by now."

"Ah dammit," MichÀel cursed under his breath. He looked up from Brand and shifted his head to try and catch Rom's eyes. Once he managed to catch his attention, MichÀel gestured for him to approach. He was never for the cloak and dagger, that was Marcy and Larissa's wheelhouse, and between all of them in the tent, Romulus was a much better resource to lean on than he was.

Once he was close enough, he leaned forward and spoke softly, so as to not interrupt the other conversation going on. "We have prying eyes," he said with an indicative nod towards Brand. "Think we should find out if they've seen something they're not supposed to?" He asked Brand and Rom. He couldn't do it on his own. He didn't have any delusions toward himself, he wasn't subtle like they were and this would require subtlety. However, he could still be useful, if used right.

Rom only responded with a nod, and was the first one out of the tent, leaving Brand to shrug at MichÀel. "This should be interesting." The others stayed behind with Khari, not needing to know what exactly was going on. The three of them could certainly handle one eavesdropper, and any more would draw more attention than they wanted.

The activity outside hadn't lessened any, the tournament still going strong and people still coming and going and passing by all of the other nearby tents. Rom waited in the street for them, peering at strangers from underneath his mask. Brand jerked his head sideways at him, indicating the left side of the tent.

The hooded man in question had noticed the exit of three people from the tent, no doubt, and by the time their eyes were on him he was already walking at a brisk pace away from the tent. Barely restraining the urge to break into a run by the looks of things.

MichÀel glanced at Brand first, then gestured toward Rom and hoped that they knew what to do from there. For himself he angled himself away and at their mystery man. He aimed to follow the man at his brisk pace and though he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, it wasn't exactly his forte. However, it was for the other two with them, and hopefully while the man tried to avoid the obvious fellow following him, he wouldn't notice the other two.

The field was a chaotic mess of tents, colored canvas interrupting the landscape and their eyelines at various intervals. Knights, squires, servants and healers all moved about with purpose, the metallic clank of armor and occasional horse-noise giving the area a music MichÀel was long familiar with. It was a controlled sort of chaos, but more than enough for one person to get lost in.

Their eavesdropper took a sharp right, ducking behind someone's black-and-yellow tent; by the time MichÀel rounded the same corner, a flicker of dark fabric was all he could see around the next.

"Shit," MichÀel muttered under his breath, though he never dropped his pace. In fact, he quickened it toward the last place he'd see the cloak. As he proceeded, he tossed a glance around his shoulders in search of either Rom or Brand, but he couldn't find them either, which he found more comforting than not. Maybe one of them still had the man in their sights. Regardless, MichÀel ducked his head and took a hard step around the next tent, his eyes immediately scanning the next row.

"This way, ser!" The call came from Brand, on MichÀel's left, poking his shaggy head out from behind an olive green tent. He used the title without any trace of the teasing manner he'd used on Rom, and was already starting a backpedal, urging MichÀel towards him. "He's this way!"

With Rom out of sight, he could only assume that the Inquisitor was in pursuit of their fleeing eavesdropper. It wasn't as though Brand could say that out loud; they hadn't settled on any code names for Khari's mercenary help just yet, and yelling out a strongly Tevinter name in Val Royeaux wasn't the best approach.

They took off on Rom's trail, darting around mounted knights returning from their jousts, their squires and servants attending to them as they went. One horse was gargantuan enough for Brand to duck entirely under rather than run around. Before long they caught sight of the dirt kicked up at their heels. Rom was right on the eavesdropper's tail, arms outstretched to take him down. Quick though he was, he couldn't outrun the Inquisitor.

Unfortunately they went down in the midst of a group of servants at the front of another large tent, knocking down several people in the process. A chorus of angry and surprised shouts went up, and within seconds the chevalier inside had opened the tent flap to investigate the commotion. Rom struggled to pin the hooded man down, but an elbow thrown back caught him in the face.

It ripped his mask off, tossing it to the ground. Rom had enough awareness to abandon the eavesdropper in favor of the immediate problem. While the hooded man scrambled to his feet and tried to take off again, Rom rolled over and grabbed the mask, his hood concealing his features from the people all around him well enough while he struggled to put it back on. Brand skidded to a halt in front of the watching people, who shouted and swore in their native tongue at him and Rom still on the ground. That left it to MichÀel to snag the eavesdropper before he could get away again.

The commotion and ground fighting had let him close the distance, and by the time the hooded man found his feet, MichÀel was there. With his big paw, MichÀel seized a large handful of the strangers collar and cloak. He was by no means a small man, and what he lacked in subtlety more than enough made up for in strength, and it looked like delicacy had flown out of the window regardless. MichÀel growled low at the man in his hands before he quickly turned toward the chevalier who had just exited. "My apologies ser, just dealing with a troublemaker," was all that he offered before turning to start to drag the fellow in his grip away-- hopefully somewhere secluded.

"Very sorry," Brand added, tugging Rom up as soon as he had his mask on. "Very sorry, ser," he repeated. The pair of them followed in MichÀel's wake, Rom uttering a string of nearly silent curses on the way.

"Let go!" The man in MichĂ€el's grip thrashed, his hood falling down to reveal a head of curly auburn hair and pointed ears—his slight stature made more sense now. He wasn't much bigger than Brand. "I've done nothing wrong—you can't do this!"

The protestations drew several disapproving eyes, but as soon as the hood had fallen, most of the offense and concern in the surrounding populace had faded as well. Several of the most immediately involved outright scoffed. The chevalier scowled, opening his mouth as if to chastise someone, but closed it again with a shake of his head, waving them off with an inpatient gesture.

The reaction was no doubt disheartening to the eavesdropper, who didn't seem to struggle so much anymore. The sullen downturn of his mouth remained, and he breathed heavily through his nose, chest rising and falling more gradually as his breathing calmed. Though he walked well enough where steered, he certainly didn't go out of his way to accommodate MichÀel, dragging his feet as if to slow their passage as much as possible.

"There's witnesses now. Someone will notice if I disappear."

MichÀel cast a couple of glances around him, mostly at other individuals. While few spared looks their way, it was clear that their attentions were tied up elsewhere, and probably mostly only looked at them because of the oddity of it all. He grinned, though it was his usual half smirk. "Honestly, I think you're the least of their concerns at the moment," he answered with a half-hearted shrug. "But you're in luck, I'm not in the business of making people disappear." He didn't make it a habit of murdering strangers for no good reason. At worst, they'd just have to ensure that the elf kept his mouth quiet for couple of days.

"We do have a couple of questions though, and would enjoy honest answers," MichÀel answered, his smirk dropping into an inquisitive frown. They needed to know how much he knew, and how much of a danger he was to Khari's operation. There were many ways this could go wrong for her, and he'd hate for it to all fall apart because of a pair of loose lips. She'd put in too much work to be undone by chatter.

He steered them away from the congestion and activity of the proving grounds and into a secluded corner. He checked around him to make sure that no one was in their immediate vicinity and then asked, "So, why were you being suspicious around our tent?" he asked with an arched brow.

"Standing in public space is illegal now, is it?"

"Depends on where," MichÀel stated with a waggle of an eyebrow.

That earned him nothing but stony silence, the elf's glare baleful. This close, it was easy to tell that he was hardly more than a child, still gaunt in the manner of an adolescent whose growth up had outstripped his growth out. He couldn't have been more than fourteen.

"I know what a spy looks like," Brand added, quietly. "Or rather, a wannabe spy, or maybe someone who was asked to be a spy and didn't really have any choice. All of those things look a lot like you. Trust me, I've been doing this a lot longer than you." He gave the elf a pat on the back, as if to comfort him. "Question is, who's spying on us? Are they afraid to face Katriane GĂ©rin in a fair fight? Come on, who put you up to this?"

The softer approach seemed to mollify the youth somewhat, though his shoulders bunched up a bit, fingers curling into the rough fabric of his tunic. "It's not—it's not like that, okay? Just... I was supposed to walk around, see if I could hear anything interesting. There's dozens like me around, acting like stable-boys or servants or pages or all the other invisible people. You pick something up, make like you're bringing it somewhere all quick, and nobody looks twice at you." He had the grace to look a little ashamed. "Except this is my first time trying it. My, uh—my friend said that sometimes if you hear something good, you can sell it to someone who cares. That's all I'm doing, I swear!"

MichÀel was inclined to believe him. It sounded like fairly typical tactics for the Game, and no matter how many times the emperor changed, the Game would remain. "And your friend, is he another invisible like yourself?" He asked, absently stroking his beard.

"No. She's just—" He shrugged. "Just someone who gave me a tip, that's all. Hard to find work sometimes. Gotta take what you can get. Big event like this—it just makes sense, right?" The elf dropped his eyes and shrugged, shifting his weight and curling his toes into the ground. "Didn't really count on being chased down by a bunch of crazy people. Er... no offense."

"None taken," MichÀel chuckled. He held no illusions that any of them looked especially sane chasing down a elf kid for apparently no reason. "Oh," he added, and began to fish through his pockets. "Ah, there. Here you go kid, for you to forget anything you may or may not have heard," he said, taking the boy's hand and depositing a handful of coins into it

"And if you hear anything that might interest us, try to remember us then," he said with a wink.

The erstwhile spy's eyes went wide; he closed his fingers over the coins, disappearing them into a pocket or up his sleeve or somewhere with surprising deftness for such a clumsy eavesdropper. "Uh, sure. You got it, ser."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella's borrowed horse shifted slightly underneath her, no doubt picking up on the expectant tension of the moment. It wasn't Nox—though it was unlikely that anyone would recognize her by her horse, it wasn't impossible, considering he'd been a gift from Lucien. And in general it was better that the Inquisition's steeds remained in the stables for the duration. If there was one thing that whole mess with the spy the other day had prove, it was that they really were being observed pretty much at all times.

Truthfully, it was the opposite of relaxing. This—the group round, conducted outside the city and under only the judging gaze of their blue-robed assessor and the few spectators willing to ride this far outside the city for their spectacle—was actually a bit of a relief in comparison. The air was nice and fresh, at least, the small castle ahead of them on the landscape rather picturesque. Or it would have been if the point hadn't been to breach its defenses.

Estella was not at all surprised to learn that Lucien had designed the scenario. It bore a striking resemblance to one of the major events in the Valmont-Drakon conflict in the Exalted Age. It was both ironic and quite on-the-nose, but more importantly, it wasn't anything that any of the competitors would have lived through. No unfair advantages from experience, and also no possibility of reopening fresh wounds.

Instead, their group of four was tasked with assaulting the east gate and seizing a flag that represented a capture point. The win conditions were asymmetric: Khari's team won if anyone laid hands on the flag. The other team, with the positioning advantage, only counted as victorious if the invaders were routed and the point safe. Considering that they had walls at their disposal, that seemed fair to Estella. This was supposed to be a simulation of something that had actually occurred in the battle it was based on: a small group had used the distraction of the main assault to sneak in through a side gate with a bit more vulnerability—and only a cursory guard.

Squinting at the horizon, she saw the red flag go up on the castle's battlements. The defenders were ready, then.

"So," she said, directing her attention to Khari. "What's the plan here?"

Khari glanced once at the examiner, who was quite stonefaced and non-reactive before she shrugged with a soft clank and nudged her horse forward. “We have to enter from the east, right?"

"Breach must occur along the southern half of the east wall, to account for where the other fighting is taking place in the scenario." The answer was immediate, clinical, and crisp, quite the feat on a trotting horse as he was.

A hum issued from underneath Khari's helmet. “Well... then let's take a better look at what we're working with here. Don't get too close, but they know we're coming, so I'm not too worried about them seeing us. Just, uh... stay out of arrow range, yeah?"

They wound around to the eastern side of the castle; though apparently unused, it was in fairly good shape. The masonry looked solid, though the top edges of the walls were starting to crumble in a few places, the crenelations scattered at the base where they'd fallen. Nothing that made too significant a difference in height. Maybe a foot and a half.

The gate itself looked to be a simple one: a stone arch with a squared-off top. The part that actually lifted was thick wrought iron in a grid pattern, no doubt one of those that rose up vertically and had pointed edges speared into the dirt at the bottom. Just about impossible to force open from the outside.

“Course they couldn't give us a nice set of barred double-doors. That'd be too easy."

At her side, Ves studied the wall and the gate through the visor of his helm. He'd brought the spear and shield for the exercise; it was not the best for assaulting, but in the event any of them needed a place to regroup and recover behind, the bulwark of his shield was as good as any castle crenelation. The rest of them were better suited for leading the attack.

Rom looked eager to get to it, if his posture on the horse was anything to go by. There wasn't much else to go on, as his face was entirely concealed behind his masked helm and the hood over that. But he was eyeing the wall, that much was obvious. No doubt already looking for a way up it that wouldn't lead them straight to the defenders' weapons.

"And easy's no fun, right?" Estella studied the walls herself, though she doubted there was much she could say about them that Khari couldn't figure out just from looking. She wasn't exactly a slouch in the strategy department, but she hadn't studied it in the same historical, wide-ranging way her friend had.

Squinting, she tried to get a sense for where the people were. "I think they've got at least one archer posted already," she observed, catching a glint that might have been the sun off a polished helm. "How should we get close?"

Khari considered this, the green eyes just barely visible in the slit of her helmet shifting amongst her friends thoughtfully. “Considering how small these teams are, any flanking maneuver's gonna be an obvious trap. So I think that's what we'll do: Ves and I will charge the gate, like the shiny distractions we are, and then Stel—er, StĂ©phanie and Renaldo will approach from the side, far enough down that they don't see you right away." She cleared her throat, throwing a glance at the assessor, who was watching them intently but didn't show any demonstrable expression at her slip of the tongue.

“But, uh, like I said, they're probably expecting that, so one of you should let yourself get found. Draw the attention for a bit, let 'em think they're clever for discovering the ploy, while the other one gets the gate open. Trap within a trap." She seemed somewhat proud of the plan, actually, if the confident tone of her voice was anything to go by.

“Assuming you guys think you can make it up the walls at one of the crumbly parts. Looks like there's some ivy south of the gate. If you help each other over and then split up, I bet you could do it." There did indeed appear to be a few vines in places further down the wall from the gate; though they were fairly thin growths and probably not enough to support someone's entire body weight alone.

She hesitated. “Actually, I take that back. If it was me, I'd have someone guarding there. If you can get over the wall somewhere else, do that instead."

"Just don't break your ankles," Ves warned, half-jokingly. "Their weapons won't cut, but as far as I know you can't blunt the ground." If he had any objections to being target practice as his part of the plan, he kept them to himself. It didn't seem likely, though; he volunteered for those sorts of jobs when the stakes were much more deadly.

"Noted," Rom answered, without any of the accent a name like Renaldo might imply he would have. "We'll get it done." He tilted his masked helm sideways at Estella. "Think you can lead them on a chase? I can take the gate."

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. I guess we should probably split up here, to make our approach less obvious when you two do the distracting thing?"

“That's the idea, yeah. If you can't make the gate, though, don't stick around too long. I dunno what supplies they have on that side, but even if you can only snag a rope or a ladder or something, prioritize staying, uh, alive." Not that they were at much risk here, but the point was obvious enough.

Turning to Ves, Khari gripped the hilt of her sword and freed it from her back. “So I'm thinking that shield of yours is big enough for us, but not so much the horses, so we'll be hitting the ground at the end of our charge. Should be fun."

Stel was out of earshot too soon to hear Ves's response, if there was one, but truthfully she wasn't too worried about them. They were both very good at what they did, and the real worry was going to be whether she and Rom could pull this flanking maneuver off quickly and smoothly enough.

They rode parallel to the wall for a while, urging their horses into rapid canters in the hopes of delaying only minimally for positioning. Once she judged that they were about in the right place, she pulled hers to a stop. There was a natural ridge in the landscape here that should help cover their approach a bit, but she couldn't see anyone on the walls, so that much caution might not even be necessary.

Better safe than sorry, though. They ran close to the ground, following the ridge as far as it would take them and sprinting over the short distance of completely open terrain until they reached the base of the wall. Per Khari's advice, Stel chose a spot with no obvious climbing aids, but the whole thing was old enough that the stones were far from smooth, many of the gaps between them missing the mortar that had once been there. Not much by way of hand and footholds, but better than nothing.

Stel grimaced slightly. "You're better at this than me. Think you could go first? I can boost you." If he could lend her a hand up from the top, she'd have a better shot at making the climb the first time, and they needed to be fast as well as quiet here.

Rom nodded, pointing out his preferred spot on the wall, one with enough weaknesses that they would both be able to make their way up. Estella's boost got him about halfway up, and before long they were both scaling their way to the top, careful as they needed to be and quick as they dared. Rom led the way to the top, cautiously grasping the edge of the wall with fingertips.

He'd barely pulled his head up over the crenelation when he sharply took in a breath and ducked. An arrow whistled right past his helm, sailing through the empty air behind him. "Shit," he hissed under his breath. "Archer's not covering the gate anymore." No doubt it was a waste of their time to loose arrows against Ves's shield until the quiver was empty.

Rom took his own shield into hand, getting ready to vault up. It wasn't nearly as large a bulwark, but with any luck it would be enough. "This needs to be quick," he said, before immediately pulling himself up over the edge and onto the wall. The first arrow smacked against his shield, the magical dull causing it to bounce off rather than pierce. Blindly he reached a hand back to pull Estella up after him.

Well, that was bad news. If she came up right after him, any chance of the defenders thinking it was just one flanker were slim. Still, there wasn't much choice; Stel pushed up with her legs and latched onto his arm, walking herself up the wall to make the pull easier on him. Rolling over the crenelation, she landed behind him.

A quick glance informed her that they'd staged the place like an actual castle, meaning that there were the same kinds of supplies stacked against this side of the wall as they had in Skyhold, more or less. They might still be able to get the gate open, but if this became four on two, that wasn't the best chance.

"Going to try that distraction now," she said, breaking off from where Rom was, but not before calling a small ice dart to her fingers and hurling it at the archer. He strafed aside in enough time to avoid it; it smashed against the wall behind him instead. Estella headed for the stairs, hoping to draw most of the fire and attention.

If she was really lucky, she might find some kind of backup solution to the problem in the process, but for now she needed to keep moving.

Rom took the brief lull offered by the ice dart to charge for the archer, who at least appeared to be isolated on this section of the wall. Rather than try sneaking an arrow around his shield the archer dropped the bow in favor of dual short swords instead. They crashed into each other just as Estella lost sight of them.

An arrow whizzed by just over her shoulder; it was pretty clear at this point that things were not going according to plan. It seemed like the best thing to do would be to find some way to get Khari and Ves over the wall, but Estella wasn't sure how she was going to do that when she was working this hard just not to get hit.

Carefully, she funneled a little of her magic into making herself a bit faster—she was going to need every advantage she could get.

Another of the archers had abandoned that course, and was now charging for her position with a battleaxe in both hands. Grimacing, Estella adjusted her trajectory, calling a little fire to her hands and shooting it for the ground near his feet. It forced him to a stop, at least, losing his momentum and allowing her the opportunity to get further clear. Maybe...

The capture point wasn't far away—it looked like the chevalier himself was guarding it, shield in one hand and sword in the other. Reaching to her hip, Estella unsheathed her sword while still in motion, the familiar weight of the weapon in her hands slightly stranger due to the tingle of the blunting magic the tournament-appointed mages had applied to it.

He raised his shield to deflect her ice projectiles—unsurprising considering that elemental magic like this was not her strong suit and never would be. More surprising was that he had to dig in a bit to do it. Perhaps she'd been improving after all. The chevalier shouted something to his comrades; she had a feeling they were all going to be over here quite soon.

The temptation to use her mark was high; she'd be able to position herself right behind him before he could so much as track the motion. But ti would also obviously give them away, so she was going to have to try this the hard way instead.

At least it would give Rom a fighting chance at getting the gate open quickly.

An arrow struck her in the back of her right shoulder, bouncing off her armor and falling to the ground. One wasn't enough to take her out, and Estella dove to the side, avoiding the follow-up. It thudded into the dirt behind her at the same time as she regained her feet and lashed out aggressively at the chevalier. He turned the blow aside with the shield; she scraped a bit of frost off the metal face of it in the process.

His counter was fast, but Estella ducked under it, jabbing for his ribcage. The catch was less quick that time—she was turned aside only by the rim of the shield and it left him more off-balance than her. Thudding footsteps alerted her to the presence of his reinforcements, though, and she disengaged, jumping back and reorienting herself so that she could see all of them, even through the restricted peripheral vision of her mask.

Fortunately, it looked like she'd bought enough time. The gate was halfway open, allowing Khari and then Ves to duck through underneath it.

“Bunch up!" Khari's shout carried across the distance; she lunged forward into a sprint as if to make good on her own suggestion.

The other chevalier called for his group to cluster as well, and they reformed around the flag. Generally better-armored than the Inquisition's group, two of the four had a shield. The dual swordsman and the man with the battle axe took flank positions.

Khari, in typical Khari fashion, threw herself at the center of the formation with an overhead slash, forcing the chevalier to raise his shield to block. It left a very small opening on his right side.

Rom was on it in an instant, fully prepared to follow up on Khari's aggressiveness. His blade slipped underneath the shield, the magical dulling of the blade providing enough force for the chevalier to know he'd been hit, and he backed off defensively from the pair of them. The battle axe came for Rom's side, but it met Ves's shield instead. He'd positioned himself on the flank, guarding against attempts to surround them as they pushed in. The battle axe slid off the face of the shield into the dirt, allowing Ves to kick back the wielder of it and follow up with a spear thrust that earned him a point against the enemy.

Estella took a swipe at the dual-wielder on her end, but the close-in positioning wasn't making life easy. Her blade was knocked aside, and the retaliatory blow from the second sword clipped her hip. It wouldn't have done much of anything in a real fight, but it counted as a hit against her. She probably couldn't take any more of them before the officiants declared her dead.

Grimacing, she flung another small ice spike from her free hand, mostly sideways. It clanged into the shoulder-guard of the chevalier's shield-carrying partner, giving him his first strike.

He clearly hadn't been expecting it; Khari seized the opportunity and slipped her blade in between him and the dual-wielder next to him. It clanged against the armor on his ribcage, signaling another point.

But then he did something rather unorthodox. The shield arm came down, clamping the sword between his elbow and his torso. Khari, meeting with unexpected resistance, stumbled slightly, and the chevalier took the opportunity to bodily check her with his shield, hitting her square in the chest and sending her to her back.

He would've taken the opportunity to attack Khari while she was at a disadvantage, but Rom was quick to interrupt any attempt. He threw himself somewhat recklessly at the chevalier, attacking downwards with his backwards-turned dagger. The blade didn't quite reach its target, and the chevalier wasn't caught off guard. His shield caught the bulk of Rom's chest as they collided, and with one smooth motion he was carried up and over the chevalier's back on the shield's face. Tipped end over end, Rom landed flat on his back in the dirt on the other side.

He did at least manage to grab hold of the shield as he went down, tugging the chevalier partly off balance. Rom earned a sword slash to the abdomen from the other sword and shield fighter for his trouble. Ves seemed to have taken the axe wielder out of the fight with another clean hit, but he wasn't going to be able to turn in time to reach Rom, or make a play for the flag.

Khari, though, capitalized on the break in the line, throwing herself forward from the ground. The chevalier was trying to correct his balance, recognizing the immediate danger of Rom being on the wrong side of the line, but before he could set his feet back underneath him, Khari was tangling up his legs with her own and driving an elbow into the back of his knee.

“Rom! Flag!" The chevalier went down, his shield clipping the other man with a shield, sending him into the dual-wielder trying to strike Estella. Those two kept their footing, but they also weren't in any shape to be stopping Rom, if he could make a move quickly.

He didn't need any extra encouragement to get off the ground. By the time he was on his feet the shield fighter was angling to strike at him, but Ves was able to cut across, their shields slamming together. Not surprisingly Ves came out the better of the pair, having applied much more force to the clash than their opponent had been prepared for. It was all the time Rom need to bolt for the flag and pull it free from the ground with his shield hand.

That was the match, and to their credit, the other team immediately disengaged. Sheathing weapons and stepping back in most cases, though it took a little longer for Khari and the chevalier to untangle themselves, but when she got to her feet first and offered a hand down to him, he accepted it, pulling himself to his feet with a slightly-muffled 'congratulations.'

Estella breathed a heavy sigh of relief, sheathing her sword and letting her magic dissipate. Her muscles slackened, losing the fraught tension of a fight.

Well. That had been... something. If this was what it was like with only eight people on the field, she was rather glad Khari was the one who had to handle the grand melee.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Two more days of this, and it would be over. Rom couldn't remember another time where he'd felt quite like this.

He wanted this for Khari, very badly. This was where her efforts had led her ever since she was a girl, swinging a stick in the forest and dreaming of a different future. The battles they'd fought together were important, on a scale far larger than a knightly tournament could ever hope to be, but this was her mission. Her cause. And he'd never once believed it was a lost one.

Still, there were so many things that could go wrong, at any moment. The disguises were testing their patience. The prying eyes everywhere didn't even know what they were looking for, but if they happened to see the wrong thing, it could all be undone. Not to mention the events themselves. The joust had been difficult to watch, and he'd preferred to do it from the stands where Khari wouldn't pick up on his nervousness. The castle assault was easier, as they could do it together as a group.

And now, finally, they could take their masks off, and be the Inquisition again. Their presence was expected for the feast before the final day, whereas the absence of one unknown knight sitting in eighth place wouldn't be too unusual. The party itself wasn't going to be as extravagant as the one in Halamshiral either, though it would have its own kind of difficulties. Rom was in the process loosening up, but these sorts of things were always going to be uncomfortable.

The late evening air was comfortable enough for forgo cloaks, considering how many people were around and how much activity there was. Rom was also feeling somewhat warm from the drink by now; he was finding drinking to be easier than eating at the moment. Their table was packed with those of the Inquisition that had come, making the immediate area comfortable, but all around them the chevaliers were getting rowdier the longer the night went on.

Khari, usually one to take full advantage of any opportunity for celebration, was unusually quiet to his left, mostly intent on eating the food in front of her. She didn't look any more appetized by it than he felt. She was also going very light on the wine, a tension evident in the lines of her shoulders now that she'd swapped the heavy armor out for a thick winter tunic.

When a throat cleared behind them, she turned sharply, halfway out of her seat before she sat again, one foot on either side of the bench. It was the elven boy from earlier, shifting from foot to foot with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

"Er... Inquisition?" His eyes narrowed into a squint, shifting from Rom to MichÀel across the table, though he refrained from making any observations aloud. "I've been... asked to deliver a message. A friend of mine would like to see you. Specifically the Lady Inquisitor and her, uh, friend. Elf with red hair, she said."

"Does this friend of yours have a name?" Michaël asked, somehow keeping his tone genuinely curious rather than prying. The fluttering of eyebrows and wry grin that accompanied him was most likely aid by the half filled second drink sloshing in his hand.

"Kestrel, ser. She said you'd know it."

"We do." Estella furrowed her brows, frowning slightly. Her apprehension was clear enough, though she didn't seem to be on the verge of panic or anything so urgent. "I'll talk to her. Maybe let's not take everyone, though—we should probably be as discreet about this as possible." She glanced between Khari and Rom, standing from her spot on the bench across the table from them.

"Would you take us to her, please?"

The boy nodded, a little wide-eyed—perhaps it had something to do with the obvious importance of his company. They were hardly the entourage of a random chevalier at the moment, after all.

The party was still in full swing around them, making navigating through the crows something of a task, though it also allowed them to move around more or less unnoticed. Their group, small as it was, would have drawn a fair amount of attention were things around them less boisterous and distracting. After escaping the press of the partygoers, however, their guide picked up his pace a little, leading them to what seemed to be a small tent at the outskirts of the competitors' encampment. The soft glow of a lantern was visible within, staining the plain canvas in a warm yellow, the edges flickering slightly. Their guide pulled open the canvas flap, ushering them inside.

"At this point, I can't say I'm particularly surprised to run into you, Inquisition. Though—this is bold, even for you." Kestrel spoke without much by way of preamble, blinking yellow-green eyes at them from beneath a mask. A plain one, more akin to what the help wore than a noble's. She sat in an ordinary wooden chair, no more adorned than the rectangular table she'd propped her feet on, forcing the chair to its back legs. Clearly, she did not believe she was in any danger here.

Her eyes met Rom's first. "Lord Inquisitor. I don't believe I've had the privilege."

"Kestrel," Rom answered, inclining his head a little. It was true that they'd managed to avoid each other in the Winter Palace, leaving Rom to hear secondhand of her activities. From what he'd heard, Rom expected she might even approve in some way of what Khari was attempting here, if indeed she'd figured that out by now. And he wasn't going to underestimate her and assume she hadn't.

"I hope it's all right that I came uninvited." He didn't want to cause any trouble with her, but on the off-chance she intended any of it for Khari or Estella, he didn't want to be useless at a party table surrounded by chevaliers.

She shook her head immediately. "Of course—that's quite fine. I wouldn't want the whole Inquisition in my tent, I'm sure you understand, but this is no excess." Her tone was almost wry; based on what he'd heard, she was at best a tenuous ally, so perhaps she'd planned to receive a little extra company.

Whatever the case, she shifted her attention so that it encompassed all three of them, then waved a hand, dismissing the messenger who'd brought them. "Go get something to eat, Alain. I'll be fine here."

He nodded, sharp enough to perceive it as a request for privacy, and ducked back out of the tent.

Beneath the half-mask, Kestrel pursed her lips. "I know about Katriane." She let that sit for a moment, crossing one ankle over another. "Heard a whisper about a few slips of the tongue during the group exercise, no? A 'Stel' here, a 'Rom' there?"

Khari winced, mouth pulling into a deep frown. “Shit. How busted are we?"

"You aren't—yet. If you had been, you'd be having this conversation with some very pissed-off people with titles. Or rather, the Inquisitors would be having that conversation. You would be in prison, at best."

Estella's lips pursed; she crossed her arms in a way that suggested defensiveness, but her tone was free of any accusation. "But you think it might not take too long for someone else to put the pieces together?"

Kestrel shrugged. "I know more about you than most people do, but not that much more. If I was able to find out what that judge heard, or one of the other competitors includes the details in his story about it, well... there's also the fact that some of the members of your group around tonight haven't been around to watch the events—in particular the one who has loudly proclaimed her enthusiasm for all things chevalier." She raised a dark eyebrow at Khari over her mask.

"I'm quite certain it's only a matter of time."

It didn't come as too much of a surprise to Rom. It was one of the objectives here for everyone to find out that Khari was an elf, but preferably after she won, to better make the statement. Deception obviously wasn't her specialty, but he'd hoped they'd be able to keep things together just long enough. Maybe they still could.

"Do you have any suggestions?" he asked, trying to avoid sounding hostile. He figured even if Kestrel didn't agree with what Khari was doing, she would find some amusement in seeing their plan actually work, and cause a stir. "Or is this just a warning?"

The elf grimaced. "My suggestion is that you withdraw from the Tourney and go home. If no one's exposed you by tomorrow, it probably means they have some other plans for the information, and I don't think you're going to want to play into anyone's hands like that. Katriane withdraws, and I doubt anyone will bother to pursue."

“No." The word seemed like more of an involuntary outburst than a considered position. Swallowing thickly, Khari shook her head. “No. I'm not stopping now. Not when I've got a real chance. If you've got some other advice, I'm listening, but I'm not giving up."

A hyperbolic sigh escaped Kestrel, but there was a subtle smile playing at her lips, too. "I figured you might say that. Really the only other advice I have is so generic as to be useless."

Khari's face twitched into a grin. “Be careful? I get that one a lot."

"Just so, I'm afraid." Kestrel paused, humming softly. "Now, on the off-chance you make it to tomorrow morning without discovery, I'd watch the other competitors in the melee itself. And I'd say your friends should put their eyes to use watching the stands. Just a thought."

That didn't sound promising. A grand melee had a lot of possibilities to begin with. Rom's mind immediately went to the possibility of Khari's opponents teaming up against her, at least those that knew who she was, if indeed the knowledge got out. As for those in the stands... he supposed magic could be used subtly to interfere. No doubt that kind of cheating would backfire if caught out.

It was a useful warning, at least. "We'll be sure to do that," he said. "If there's nothing else, we should be getting back, before our absence becomes an issue." If indeed anyone cared that the Inquisitors were gone.

"Best of luck." Kestrel tipped her hat, a trace of irony in the motion.

From there, everyone filed out of the tent and back into the chilly evening air. Khari looked unusually troubled, brow furrowed heavily over her mask. She didn't say anything directly, though, instead shifting her cloak a little more tightly around her shoulders and striking back down the path Alain had used to get them here in the first place.

It was still mostly unoccupied, and the few people they did pass didn't look to be paying them much mind. Khari stopped suddenly, though upon reaching the edge of the crowd and firelight, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance and slightly to the left.

She'd locked eyes with someone. A second look at the mask proved it a familiar one, if only because the single encounter they'd had with it was so memorable. ThĂ©odore Blanchflor, flanked as before by his siblings, was regarding their group evenly, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't close enough to speak to, an enthusiastic knot of dancers and a bonfire in the way, but it was nevertheless unmistakable that they—or specifically Khari—had his attention.

Rom was close enough to see the muscle in Khari's jaw jump as she gritted her teeth. “You know, normally I'd consider it a good thing that the bastard can clearly see me now, but..."

Rom's expression remained stony, as neutral as he could keep it. It was just one more thing to be nervous about, but clearly Khari had enough stress already. "Shame he won't know who's pummeling him tomorrow," he said quietly. There was no telling what would happen in a grand melee, but he was willing to bet Khari would be seeking Théodore out at some point. He thought for a moment about advising against that... but he wasn't Khari's teacher here. She knew more about these events and how to handle them than he did.

"Best to leave them be for now, though."

She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. No good starting a scene. Might give people more reason to look too close." A gust of air escaped her, and she shook her head, turning away from the Blancheflors and back towards her companions. “Anyway. I think it's time we figured out where they're hiding dessert. Isn't Orlais supposed to be famous for pastries and stuff? It'd be a shame to leave here without any."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
This was it.

Beneath the layers of armor and fabric, Khari could feel the film of cold sweat on her skin, giving her whole body an uncomfortable, clammy feel that was a lot like being sick. The churning feeling in her guts seemed to go right with, even though it was moving slowly up into her chest like a plant pushing its way up through soil to sunlight. She'd sown it a long time ago, she figured, when she buried her dream in the deep-down-dark part of herself that she once hadn't shown anyone.

By now the audience was starting to filter in and the competitors gathered at the edges of what had once been the jousting ring. It was cleared of all the equipment, now, reduced to nothing more than a bare, sandy pit for all three hundred of them to try to claw their way out of. The dull hum of the crowd talking amongst themselves was lost in her ears—she was too taken by the vast empty ring and the colorful arrangement of pennants, one for each of the competitors, fluttering in easy reach of the dozens of officiants. By the time the match was finished, only one would still be flying.

She looked for a moment towards the Emperor's box. Lucien wasn't there yet, but she was willing to bet it's where her friends would be sitting when they made it up there as well. Better or worse, they'd see everything. Somehow, that made it both better and worse.

Khari had fought quite literally for her life on so many occasions she was losing track. She'd fought for causes she cared about and for people that mattered to her. But never once had she fought so directly for this. And never once had she been half so afraid of doing it. Her hands flexed in their gauntlets, the molded leather over her palms creaking softly as she squeezed her fist together. Her life wasn't even really at all that much risk here: it would take a terrible, very unlucky accident or a serious effort to kill her for any of the magically-blunted weapons wielded by her opponents to manage much more than broken bones.

But still it felt like if she lost, there'd never be any coming back from it.

She sucked in a breath just as the horn sounded, signaling five minutes remained until the melee began. Pivoting on her heel, she faced her friends, forcing a smile under the helmet so her voice would sound right when she spoke.

“Well, here goes nothing, right?"

"You're going to do great." Stel grinned and stepped in to hug her, the awkwardness of armor apparently not bothering her in the slightest. "Whatever training all these guys have had can't come close to some of the things we've been through, I'm certain of it." She sounded it, too, almost a bit much for Stel, who was usually quieter in her assurances.

Leon's smile was smaller, but when he stepped in close to clap her on the shoulder, he leaned down to speak quietly next to her ear. "No matter what happens today, I'm proud of you. You've earned this. So go get it." Though his grip was weaker than Khari knew it to be, she could feel the squeeze he gave her through the leather at the joint of her mail. When he straightened, his eyes were a little glossier than normal, though the mask allowed no further hint as to why.

She couldn't have seen it even if it did, because her own vision had blurred, hot prickles stinking behind her eyes, though she refused to let the tears get the better of her. Heedless of the armor in the same way Stel had been, she threw her arms around him. As much as her presence here could only be attributed to a whole bunch of people working together to help her, she knew Leon had probably made the most difference of all. Being taken seriously by someone like him was not only one major source of her confidence, but of her skill.

She'd never been alone the whole damn time. Not since these people, at least. No—not since Bear. Whatever else was true, he'd put her on the path to the Inquisition. To her friends and her sense of home.

When she won this thing, it was going to be for all of them, too.

Khari gave Leon one last wordless squeeze and stepped back. “You guys better head up. I'll see you on the other side." One way or another.

"Not getting rid of me that easily," Ves protested, offering her a little grin. His expression soon sobered, however. He stood at a further distance than the others, and didn't offer a hug or a clap on the shoulder or anything of the sort. In fact he seemed only to study her for a moment, standing there in her armor. "You know, it feels right. Seeing you here, doing this. I'm sorry I ever thought you needed to be anything else."

“Don't be." Khari grinned under the helmet. “I figure I needed that, too." Ves and by extension Saraya had pushed her when she needed to be pushed, forced her to really consider her reasons and realize the strength of her convictions. And while she hadn't seen it at the time, she was beyond grateful for it now.

He let that linger for half a second before a smile returned, and he glanced to the others. "But she's right, we should get going. I hear we have good seats for the show."

He led them off, and then only Rom remained. He wasn't hiding his own nervousness so well anymore, though he was obviously trying. Still as a statue and just as quiet, that was his way whenever he felt his emotions needed bottling. Even with the mask they were easy enough to see, spilling over the top.

"Brand's already in the crowd," he said, taking a step closer now that the others were gone. "I'm going to be, too. We've got your back."

“Always making sure I don't get my dumb ass killed, right?" Her voice cracked softly at the end; his emotion was contagious. Shit, she was a sentimental mess; at the worst possible time, most likely.

But damn if she didn't wish the mask and the helmet were gone. She reached up anyway, settling her hands carefully on either side of his face. “The good in me's got this, you know." She swallowed. “And the good in you has everything to do with it. I want—I want you to know that." He probably already did, but it felt right to say it. To acknowledge it.

“That's the difference between us and killers."

He leaned forward, the mask touching against the crown of her helm. He didn't say anything, just letting the moment pass in silence. When he pulled away, he looked less nervous than before.

"Have at them," he said. A thought seemed to occur to him, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "And, uh... have fun."

“Oh, I'm gonna."

Expelling a gusty breath, Khari took a step backwards, then another, giving a little wave before turning on her heel. The participants were entering the ring, now, and already she could tell the beginning of this was going to be a fight for elbow room. While the arena was more than big enough to hold all of them standing and then some, no few of these people had even bigger weapons than she did: swords, axes, spears, big shields—the works.

More than that, though, with their armor enchanted to turn red after they took too many hits, everyone was gonna want something to put their back to, which meant space next to the fencing was especially valuable. People were already jostling for it, about as aggressively as they could while still having some semblance of manners. The occasional clang of metal hitting metal signaled a scuffle or jostle that didn't quite keep it on the right side of the line; the officials were already watching the field like hawks.

Khari didn't push too hard for one of those spots. She figured there was a lot of advantage to having them, but also that everyone who didn't was going to be going there first, making the people in the good spots bigger targets, too. She knew she wasn't as good at holding a position as moving, so she wanted to start off as strong as she could, and try to survive the mess with her head above water, or however the saying went.

The rustling and soft clanking died down pretty quick when the Emperor stood up, though, everyone in the ring turning almost at exactly the same time to crane their necks up at Lucien.

When he spoke, it was with the same pleasant warmth as usual, though admittedly with considerable gravitas added. Probably partly because he had to project enough to be heard by an entire arena full of people, and that wouldn't have been easy for anyone.

"Welcome to the close of the Grand Tourney," he said, spreading his arms a little to indicate their surroundings. "I have to say it's been quite an interesting experience, being here again. I've been both spectator and competitor before, but having one thrown in my name puts it in a much different light." Lowering his arms, he folded them comfortably behind his back, seemingly entirely undisturbed by the sheer number of eyes on him.

"More than anything, it has given me a sense of pride. To see that the young chevaliers of the country I love have so much to recommend them. That they bring so much skill, honor, and will even to an exercise like this reminds me that for all we've lost over the last years, there are still so many talented, hardworking people willing to put blood and life on the line for our homeland. I hope you've been as impressed as I have, because it really is something to behold." He inclined his head to the field of combatants, a motion of deference to their efforts.

"Let us keep them no longer from their last chance to show us what they're made of." He resumed his seat; the motion was a clear signal that the event was about to begin in earnest.

Khari reached back to grip the hilt of her sword, pulling it free from the scabbard on her back. A damn inconvenient place to keep one, but better than having it possibly tripping her up here. The collective rasping of just about everyone else doing the same was more of a rumbling growl than the serpentine hiss of just one, ringing echoes fading several seconds later. She took a deep breath, turning herself slowly around to get an idea of who was where.

Pretty much everyone was surrounded on every side, so strategy just had to be picking a direction and committing to it. And trying to be as conscious of her positioning as possible. When her rotation ended, she came face-to-face with some guy with a huge axe. Everything in his body language screamed his intentions: he was going for the smallest target on the field and he meant to do it right away.

It was actually kind of reassuring.

Bringing Inga around to her front, she took a double-handed grip on it and leveled it outwards, angled slightly up. Firming her feet against the ground, she shifted onto the front part of her feet, bending her knees and dragging one leg back through the dirt so it was braced behind the other. Setting her teeth together, she waited.

The seconds dragged, distended, sharpened, like the string on Stel's lute being pulled too tight. She could feel the start horn through the ground half a second before the sound reached her ears.

The chevalier with the axe didn't even get it all the way up for its heavy downward arc before she was under his guard, swinging her hand-and-a-half for his midsection. It collided with a harsh clang; she used the rebound to help her lunge to the side, under his arm and around to his back.

Her second hit must have been enough; his armor turned red, and she immediately reassessed her positioning. Like she'd figured, it was chaos, the noise alone almost enough to drown out her thoughts.

Really, though, thinking didn't have much to do with it. A flash in the peripherals of her helmet was all she got—she threw Inga up in a hasty block, knocking aside the incoming blade by instinct. The chevalier who'd struck at her wasn't expecting it to be rebuffed; they staggered backwards, trying to regain their balance on the loose sand of the ring. Khari followed them back, sweeping low to take their legs out from under them, and follow up with a cleaving blow to the chest.

Two down. Not that she was dumb enough to be counting.

Already, there was much more room than there had been half a minute before, the initial clashes resolving themselves and nearly halving the field. Most of the people that left did so from the middle—the edge-dwellers had one less side to guard, after all. Khari understood the change only as more space to swing, more strides to run, a few seconds longer to catch a breath between foes.

She was readying a blow for the well-shielded man in front of her when the chevalier's armor turned red. He stumbled to the side, revealing the other who'd stepped up behind him and delivered the finisher. Khari locked eyes with him, registering only that the magnolia flowers on his mask were familiar before he turned away and brought his shield up to counter a hammerblow from some other guy who had to be nearly as big as Leon.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Khari moved on, too, smashing her way closer to the section of the wall she'd picked. It looked a little less stable than some of the others, the lines not as firmly-drawn, and that was her in. She was doing pretty well so far, but this was going to turn into an endurance match eventually, and she was going to need to start conserving some of her steam if she wanted to make it to the very end.

Hitting people from behind wasn't her favorite thing to do, but she did it anyway, taking the first fighter in her way out before he even knew she was there. The second caught on faster; she had to tuck into a roll to avoid the heavy spear that whistled by overhead. The dirt yielded under her, momentum carrying her back to her feet with a bit of a boost from her free hand. She had to strafe aside from the swift arc of a sword right after, lurching to the side and landing hard on her left foot.

A jolt of pain shot up her leg; she grunted and shifted her weight, batting aside the next hit from the sword and stepping in, ramming her helm into the chevalier's chin. The ringing blow dazed him long enough for her to get at the back of his knee, and a blow to the side of his head with her pommel did the trick after that.

Slowly, she pushed her way towards the fence, cutting a swath through everyone else trying to do the same. By the time she reached it, she was breathing heavily through her nose, the thrum of exertion warming her limbs until her sweat was anything but cold. The exhilarating buzz of the adrenaline was normal; the dull ache in her left leg was not.

It sharpened when someone behind her stabbed their spear into it, pulling a pained hiss from between her gritted teeth. The leg gave out, and Khari found herself buckling. She threw herself sideways with her good leg so she landed on her back, sword still ready. It was all that saved her from the follow-up. The spear tip screeched along Inga's blade instead, leaving the ancient steel unblemished but Khari's arms shaking. She kicked out with her legs, tangling the spearwoman's and bringing her to the ground, too.

She didn't land half as well, awkwardly trapping her weapon underneath her arm. That was all it took—Khari pushed herself back up and struck again. Her leg protested with every step she took to position herself against the fence, blinking fiercely to keep the stinging sweat out of her eyes. Her breaths echoed back at her against the helm; her face was sticky, disheveled hairs plastered to her cheeks where they'd fallen loose in the fight.

A disturbance to her right forced her back into it—that guy from before with the flowers was backed up into another section of the fence, three fighters with shields working together to keep him pinned.

Of course, that put their backs in a pretty vulnerable position.

Khari didn't think too much about it—she just took the opportunity that presented itself, bringing Inga back up and striking the one closest to her with a heavy diagonal slash across the back. He must have taken a few already, because his armor turned red after just one. His sudden disappearance surprised the one in the middle, and flower-mask capitalized, slamming their shields together and hacking at his side.

The last in the alliance, a woman with a shortaxe, broke off before she could fall victim to the same, but her attempt to escape was cut off by someone else—the big guy with the hammer again.

Just like that, Khari realized there were only three competitors left on the field. It was her, flower-mask, and hammer-guy. Only the aching of her arms, the hard rasp of her breath and the shooting pains in her leg gave her any indication how long it had taken to reach this point, but as soon as the realization struck, she noticed the hush that had fallen over the crowd. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

She swallowed.

Now what?

By some kind of silent consensus, they all backed the hell up, leaving themselves standing in a rough triangle a good ten feet away from each other. Khari shifted her eyes warily between the other two, not totally oblivious to the fact that one really logical way to go here was to knock out the little one so the two more obvious contenders could have a go at each other unimpeded.

But there was also the fact that she and flower-mask had helped each other—sort of. And even though she was pretty sure she knew who he was now that she had five seconds to actually think about it, there was sure as hell no chance that he knew who she was, or he'd have let that other guy take her down the first time.

For once, she wasn't totally sure what the right play was, and she hesitated.

In the couple of seconds that took, hammer-guy decided to take his chances, and lunged for the bigger threat, charging for flower-mask and hauling his hammer up and over his head in the kind of swing meant to pulverize shields.

With a shout, Khari leaped in, too, faster over the ground than the encumbered giant. He'd committed to his charge, and so when she swung low, he couldn't really do much about it. With a ringing clang, her blade collided with the back of his leg, hard enough to throw off his balance. Flower-mask stepped in, strafing sideways at the last moment and striking decisively at hammer-guy's back, sending him to the ground in an impact heavy enough to throw up a cloud of sand. The whole thing was smooth like they'd done it before, and the silvery plates of hammer-guy's armor flashed red. He was out.

Somehow, it didn't surprise her at all that it had come down to this. ThĂ©odore had been sitting pretty at the top of the rankings since the jousting. Much as it rankled her to admit it, a person didn't usually end up that arrogant without something to back it up, either—Khari knew she couldn't afford to let her fatigue overwhelm her for even a moment. Though there was no longer any need to watch anything but him, there was also no room for even a slight miscalculation, no flow of the field to lean on to get herself into or out of positioning.

Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed all the exhaustion and pain to the side, locking it down in the part of herself that ceased to matter at times like this. She'd learned to keep her wits about her even when the Haze descended, but it forced her to let go of some things, too: her doubt, her fear, her weakness. Her instinct for self-preservation and her aversion to pain.

Setting her teeth, Khari charged.

Her first blow clanged off Théodore's shield, but the deflection wasn't perfect. He probably hadn't expected her to have so much left. She forced him a half-step back, trying for a head-blow on the backswing. His pommel caught her in the stomach instead, hard enough to disrupt her footing, and when she stepped back, he went forward. Khari lashed again, Théodore parried, his motions precise and firm. Straight-on seemed to be a dead end, so Khari moved, sidestepping and going in for a different angle, testing his defenses, trying to wear them down and force a mistake. She kept herself fluid, planting whenever she landed but shifting like a bent sapling until she needed to change positions again.

The assault built, more of her weight and strength behind each successive hit. She was baiting him, trying to get a rise, trying to get just a little too much out of one of his reactions, anything that would give her a gap to exploit. But Théodore was stalwart where Khari was mobile, as practiced at resisting such blows as she was at delivering them, and at each moment, each beat, he exerted only as much effort as necessary to protect himself, and no more.

Her frustration built with her strength, and it wasn't long before she was the one leaving unnecessary gaps in her form, sacrificing them for just a little more speed or a slightly different angle, bending and twisting and strafing when parrying became impossible or her positioning too awkward.

Once, she didn't quite manage it, and the punishment was swift: Théodore brought his shield up for a block, and Inga bounced off too hard, leaving Khari exposed. She twisted out of the way of the slash he aimed for her exposed hip, but in doing so, opened herself up to a hard bash from the kite shield. It planted her hard on her back, jarring her helm against the ground.

She was damn lucky it wasn't her head. Scrambling to her knees, Khari braced one of her feet behind her and thrust as she rose. The ferocity of the counter finally caught him unprepared, and her blade met his chestplate and screeched as it was forced to scrape across the steel. She had no idea how many hits either of them had left, but she wasn't counting on any more chances to protect her from the loss.

Following through on the blow, Khari body-checked him, and he staggered back, releasing his sword and grabbing for her arm instead. Her eyes went wide; not strong enough to resist the momentum, she toppled over with him, and they went to ground. Somehow, all of her best fights ended this way.

It meant she was damn well prepared for it. Abandoning her heavy sword, useless at this proximity, she immediately went for the pin. Théodore's leg got in the way; he planted his knee under her sternum and turned the leverage into a roll. Grimacing, Khari went for her sidearm, pulling the knife free of its sheath even as the weight of the armored man above her started to suffocate her, the knee digging into a part of her armor that was chain instead of plate. Sensing the end, both of them scrabbled furiously, raining blows and seeking to find the spots that would count enough to end the match.

It happened much too fast for her to really register at first: Théodore went for a head blow with his free hand, gauntlet curled into a fist. Khari drove the blunt knife for the unprotected side he opened to attack.

Her hit struck first; his armor flashed red.

He didn't pull the blow fast enough.

The hit, right up under her chin, knocked her helmet loose. Loose enough to expose parts of her jaw and lower lip, and she was momentarily blinded by the interior—the eyeslit was pressing into her left brow now, she could feel it.

"You." Théodore's voice was a hard whisper. She thrashed, but felt him grip both sides of the helmet anyway, lifting it off her entirely. His weight disappeared at the same time; he stood rapidly, backing several paces away and tossing her helm to the side.

Well, shit. This was not how this was supposed to go.

Dimly aware of just how quiet the arena was, Khari pushed to her feet, dusting herself off. A strange sort of calm settled over her, evening her breathing and settling the pace of her heart. It was done now, after all. The part she'd been most afraid of. Taken out of her hands, almost literally.

“Me."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Truthfully, it hadn't taken Lucien all that long to recognize what was going on here.

The Inquisition had accepted his invitation to attend the Grand Tourney, something he'd known at once would appeal most of all to the fire-haired elf in their midst. He hadn't quite counted on the fact that it already appealed so much that she'd made plans to enter. Long before he'd sent them the letter, most likely.

That she was never among the crowds at any of the events she'd have enjoyed was suspicious, but it was possible—however unlikely—that she'd simply not come at all. His suspicion was all but confirmed when a mysterious distant relative of MichĂ€el's had entered the tournament, a woman of strikingly-small dimensions but no lack of ferocity. Seeing her fight in the melee had removed any lingering traces of doubt from his mind. He'd fought beside her. She'd saved his life.

No one forgot what that looked like.

Impartial as he ought to have been, then, he'd found his fingers tightening on the armrests of his seat every time she looked to be in danger, teeth clenching as she twisted out of the way of a blow, a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized partway through that she'd started to favor her left leg, just a little.

He could admit if only to himself that his heart was in his throat during her fight with Ser Blancheflor. That young man had everything Khari hadn't: a family with a history of distinguished service, a natural knack for the arts and the build to facilitate that knack, not to mention access to the finest instructors at the finest military academy in Thedas.

For all that, she beat him.

The moment of relief was short-lived, his muscles relaxing for not more than a second before her helm was torn away, her secret exposed without doubt or preamble to all those looking on. For moments, there was only stunned silence, the spectators processing the incongruity of what they were seeing: a face lined with charcoal ink, the patterns spiky, almost like the delicate skeleton of a bird. Ears with points sharp and long enough to rise prominently amidst the loose red curls that had escaped her plait.

An elf.

An elf had fooled them all.

As if on cue, the murmurs and outrage began, the members of the crowd most affronted making themselves known at loud volume. Already, the nobility closest to Lucien's own place were looking to him, clearly expecting him to do something. But for the moment, he remained silent.

He wanted to see what she would do, with all that poisonous scrutiny turned upon her.

It wasn't clear that she knew what to do, exactly. For a while, she seemed preoccupied just getting her bearings. Then she almost looked concerned that Ser Blancheflor was going to try attacking her again in spite of his obvious disqualification. He did not, though he didn't leave the ring, either. Then she looked at the officials, and then glanced up towards Lucien's box, where her friends were as well.

A sidelong glimpse next to him revealed Michaël and Lady Marceline looking not at all surprised in the least. Marceline watched with piqued interest through pursed lips, while Michaël leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and a slight smirk upon his lips. He stole a glance toward Lucien for a moment before returning his gaze back to Khari. If anything, the man looked proud. Unsurprising, considering his obvious role in the situation.

By this point, the discontent in the crowd had swelled; no small number of slurs were hurled amongst the generalized shouting, and the oddly-impassive expression on Khari's face morphed into an unsurprised frown. Squaring her shoulders, she marched to where her sword lay in the dirt and picked it up, scooping Blancheflor's one-hander up as well. That, she extended towards him, hilt-first.

It took several long, drawn-out seconds for the gesture to earn a response, but it did: the young chevalier reached for the blade and accepted it back, sliding it home into its sheath with a decisive click. With a subtle shake of his head, he finally left the ring.

Unfortunately, not everyone was going to take this unexpected turn of events quite so well on the chin.

"Arrest her." The order, clear enough to cut through the rest of the noise, issued from one of the officiants. "She has entered without sanction and dishonored the crown."

Lucien thought that was rather something that he ought to be deciding, but there was no mistaking the illegality part. Several of the chevaliers remaining ringside moved forward to do just that. Pursing his lips, he was clearing his throat to stop them when Khari herself reacted.

“Dishonor?" She sounded oddly incredulous. Taking a step back, she pointed her blade at the approaching knights. “You can call me whatever the hell you want. Shit, you can even arrest me. I came here prepared for that. But don't you dare—" she spat the word—“say I've dishonored anything. I fought by every single one of your rules, gave everything I had to every single match I had, and I won your melee. Fair and square." She tilted her chin up defiantly, still holding her adversaries at bay with the edge of her sword.

“If you think I've dishonored you, then you damn well better say it like you mean it. And you better be willing to fight me for it the way chevaliers are supposed to." She waved the blade to gesture at the crowd, then stabbed it hard into the sand. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.

“If any damn one of you has anything to say about my honor, you can say it to my face, and then you can say it to my sword! What's it gonna be?"

The smile crept onto Lucien's face almost without him noticing. But it was there, he realized, laughing under his breath when the crowd erupted again. He had to note, however, that the men moving to restrain her had stopped. She'd hit the right nerve, and he wasn't quite sure she knew it. Now that honor had been staked so explicitly in the matter, the rules changed.

And he knew just what he was going to do about it.

Lucien stood, pulling in a deep breath and shouting to be heard over the tumult. "Enough!"

He was almost accustomed to the immediacy with which he was obeyed.

Letting his eyes fall squarely on Khari, he spoke to her in lieu of the rest. "You claim your honor is untainted. But your actions have flown in the face of the rules of the Grand Tourney. You fabricated an identity to enter, competed under false pretenses, and now claim victory. The honor you impugn is mine, and I accept your challenge."

The quiet that settled then was charged with tension. Shock, probably, from a good number of those present. Khari felt it, too, if the way she gaped at him was any indication, blinking as though she couldn't quite believe what was in front of her eyes. “You—I—but you're the—you're the Emperor! I can't fight you! ...Can I?" The tone of her voice oscillated wildly between disbelief, horror, and something like anticipation, there at the end.

Lucien fought the urge to laugh. It would hardly fit the gravitas of the moment, and there was a certain weight to it. She'd made a bold move in doing this. But unless it was handled very carefully, she might not have a chance to make another like it. It was true that he could declare her absolved right here and now, but what he could not do was guarantee her safety after that, or that her claim to the win here would be taken at all seriously by anyone.

And little as they'd been able to speak, Lucien still understood that legitimacy was what she wanted most of all.

So he schooled his features, letting himself look down at her in the way he'd been taught an Emperor should. "You no longer have a choice," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "As the challenged, the right to choose the terms is mine. We fight with swords, to first blood. Take one hour to rest and be healed, and wear no armor when you return."


Lucien spent his own hour in consultation with a few people he thought might be able to help with the situation, explaining his plan first to his father and Violette. If the situation got out of hand, their own authority and the respect they had would be instrumental in making it go the way he intended it to. He could only hope that Khari herself would be cooperative, but it was going to be interesting without being able to say much to her at all.

Precisely fifty-five minutes later, he'd divested himself of all the cumbersome marks of status, including the plainer circlet he wore in advance of his official crowning, and stood in the dirt of the ring, Everburn held loosely in one hand.

Khari was on time for the appointed hour as well, the platemail gone. It left her even more strikingly small, particularly compared to someone like Lucien. The sword she carried seemed to be enchanted as well, the blade tinged an eerie green. It looked to be a little lighter than his own, but only a little: it was shorter, but shaped a bit more stoutly.

She came to a stop a polite eight feet or so from where he stood, licking her lips in a way that seemed nervous. The curiosity was clear from this close, a sure sign that she didn't really understand what he was up to. Unsurprisingly, she was willing enough to fight anyway.

Glancing only once at the crowd, she bowed to him at the waist. “Death before dishonor."

She meant that—he had no doubt. Lucien returned the bow. "Death before dishonor," he echoed, pitching the ritual words a little more warmly. He set his stance, anchoring his feet to the ground in long-familiar motions, and leveled Everburn outwards. She liked playing the aggressor, and that was entirely fine by him.

In that, she didn't disappoint. Whatever reservations she might have had about this duel did not slow her motions, and she covered the ground between them swiftly, bringing her sword around in a heavy horizontal stroke. She swung like she meant to kill him with it—halfway wasn't even on the table.

Exactly how he wanted. Though she was quick, experience had long since taught Lucien where to place his sword to deflect an all-out strike like that, and Everburn was in the path of her sword in plenty of time, parrying with a deft hit to the middle of it. He took a swipe at her in retaliation while she recovered, a little more defensive in his own tactics. He wanted to get a sense of her before he committed to any sort of strategy, and just watching her fight others was nowhere near the same as fighting her himself.

Khari reacted quickly, bending to the side so that the strike met air instead of flesh, jumping back and resetting herself only a moment before she launched forward again. In a few ways, her techniques were textbook, ripped from the same pages he'd studied at the Academie. But for the most part, they were much less conventional, no doubt blending elements from each of those who'd taught her something over the foundational realities of her build and her personal strengths.

It was certainly a unique combination. Little time passed before Lucien was thoroughly enjoying himself, working to anticipate her actions and guide his own accordingly. She was much stronger than she looked, with an impressive quickness and an utterly astounding tenacity—part of him wondered if she even felt things like fatigue or what had to have been lingering pains from her earlier fights, healing or no. She didn't hold back, and that was good—what he needed to do here was make it abundantly clear to everyone watching just how good she was. For that, he was going to need everything she had.

Slowly, Lucien asserted control over the flow of the match, adjusting his guard to bait her into attacking from one angle rather than another, letting his slower, steadier footwork guide their trajectory over the field with concessions both forced and volunteered. She was good—far better than anyone he'd sparred in a while. But she was also coming off a week of near-constant physical exertion, and young, and still developing into the warrior she would become. His reflexes were no longer quite so sharp as hers, but they didn't need to be. He could check his blows, exert as little effort as possible, defend rather than attack—all of which he did, slowly increasing the pressure on her with more ripostes and retaliations.

He pushed, trying to get as much out of her as she was still able to give.

At first, she responded in exactly the ways he expected: as his defense made increasing demands of her, she poured ever more effort into her attacks, each hitting harder and faster than the one that came before. She kept herself light on her feet, springy and pliable, lacking armor to weigh her down in the slightest.

But gradually, it seemed, she caught on, frustration beginning to seep into the edges of her form. She let her sword scrape a second too long against Everburn, left herself a little too open going in for a low slash. When he didn't take full advantage of the lapse, her next hit was a lunge that brought her in close.

“You gonna fight me or not, Lucien?" She had the sense to growl it at him instead of shouting it, but the point was clear enough.

"Trust me," he replied, low and urgent. He fully intended to fight her—but not until the point had been made. Not until everyone in the crowd could see what he did not doubt.

He brought his sword around to force her back, then went on the attack for the first time since the match had begun, sweeping low for her legs.

Khari scowled, but she hardly had time to complain when he attacked, skittering backwards with a quick series of steps, then throwing herself back into it, their blades clanging heavily once, twice, thrice before she disengaged and went high instead, aiming for his chest.

She nearly caught him off-guard; Lucien's block was hastier that time, and his face broke into a temporary smile. That—that was it. That was exactly what she needed to do. Abandoning the slow build, he retaliated in kind, aiming an aggressive overhead swing for her shoulder.

Khari ducked and rolled, the blade catching on the neckline of her tunic and just barely missing her skin. If anything, it goaded her, and the moment she was back on her feet, she was swinging again, focus sharp and conversation entirely abandoned.

The clash grew more pitched after that; Lucien stopped checking his blows and providing openings because she genuinely pushed him to it. He could tell she was tiring, but to her credit she wasn't showing it much. His rear foot slid back in the dirt after a particularly hard parry, one that forced him to grit his teeth or risk biting his tongue. Only the advantage of sheer physical strength hauled her off him before she could swing again and hit this time.

When the second attempt came in anyway, Lucien saw his opportunity. He blocked, taking a hard step forward and circling his arm. Everburn's guard caught the blade of her sword at just the wrong angle, and the strength in Lucien's arms tore the weapon free from her grip. Angling it upwards, he pressed the blade lightly into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, drawing a thin trickle of blood from her skin. It hissed where it touched the blade, but did not burn her flesh.

Lucien exhaled a haggard breath, drawing in another deep one immediately after, his lungs working like a bellows. Despite the chill in the air, his hair was sticking to the back of his neck, dampened by sweat. With a slight smile just obvious enough for Khari to detect, he pulled the sword away.

"I'm satisfied." He said it loud enough to be heard by the onlookers as well. "You fought with the honor you claimed. Anyone who wishes to deny that may deny mine as well."

That was the thing about duels: if both combatants acquitted themselves well, they could both leave with honor intact, no matter who won and who lost.

Considering that to challenge her victory here was now to challenge him as well, he was hardly surprised that no one took him up on it.

"The assessors will tabulate the scores as normal," he continued. "But the record will change: the competitor who won the melee is Kharisanna Istimaethoriel." He reached over to grip her shoulder and give it a brief squeeze, speaking much more softly.

"And history shall not forget it."

Khari's eyes welled; she swallowed thickly and met his own. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to speak. She'd taken a half-step forward before she stopped herself, probably remembering that hugging him all of a sudden would look quite strange.

She found her voice, at least, speaking in a choked whisper. “Thank you. Thank you, Lucien."

"I didn't do anything worth mentioning," he replied. "That was entirely you."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
Despite the fact that Khari finished second overall at the tournament, they spent the first night back at Skyhold in celebration.

Rom had been somewhat worried that Khari's mood might be sullen due to losing to Ser Blancheflor of all people, but it quickly became apparent that the worry was unfounded. For good reason, too. She'd beaten him in the melee after all, and won what would be a far more memorable and lasting victory than he could ever hope to.

Just leaving there alive was a victory itself, the one that Rom was perhaps most relieved to have. Had anyone other than Lucien been presiding over that fight... he didn't want to think about what someone like Celene or Gaspard would've done in that situation.

The cheer in Skyhold's great hall was making it impossible to linger on what could have happened, so caught up was everyone in what had happened. All of the Irregulars were present, as well as just about anyone around and able to fit into the hall. They dragged in extra long tables and benches to fill the space, giving Khari a seat at the head of the central one, Rom situating himself on her right.

He wasn't sure how to describe what he was feeling. Relief didn't quite cover it, but that was perhaps the most prominent feeling. A great deal of pride lurked in there as well.

"Does the Grand Melee's Champion have a speech prepared for us?" Vesryn asked from down the table, as soon as there was a lull for his voice to carry down to the end. He put some emphasis on the title he applied; normally he reserved it for himself, but Rom supposed tonight it could only belong to Khari.

From the way her eyes went wide, Khari did not have a speech prepared. She looked torn between being touched at Ves even asking and quite possibly wanting to throttle him for the same, a combination that contorted her features until she just looked incredulous. She huffed once, then again, looking out at her assembled friends, companions, and the dozens of people she'd fought beside in the past, and harrumphed.

“Yeah, okay. I've got a speech." Clearing her throat, she grabbed the nearest glass, which looked to still contain half of Estella's brandy, and downed it in two large gulps, slamming it back down on the table and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The legs of her chair screeched a bit against the stone floor as she stood, doing better than a throat-clearing to draw attention anyway. She coughed anyway, shifting a bit in her straight-backed stance. It wasn't completely different from the one she wore when there was a much more physical challenge in front of her. “So, uh—" Rom was close enough to hear her throat work as she swallowed. “I guess by now, you all know what we're here to celebrate, so I promise not to tell the epic story of how awesome I am too many times tonight." She flashed a lopsided grin, earning herself enough laughter to bolster her a bit, clearly.

“I don't think I have to tell any of you how much of a... a big deal this is for me. You've all heard me shouting about being a chevalier for years now. And if you've got half a brain in your head, you figured out just how fucking hard that was gonna be." She paused, a slight frown marring her face before she continued. “And I'm not there yet, obviously, but a big thing just happened, and it was more than pretty much anyone ever thought I was gonna be able to do. More than I thought I was gonna be able to do, some days."

She pulled in a deep breath, releasing it slowly through her teeth. Her face was beginning to turn a shade of pink, especially around the tips of her ears. “Thing is... the reason I could do any of that was all of you." Clearly unsure what to do with her hands, she used them to make a vague gesture at the room. “I mean, literally in some cases, since I needed a team for the team round and all, but I mean more than that. I mean... pretty much everyone here has taught me something, and some of you have taught me a whole damn lot. About how to fight, or how to think, or just... how to be a person. A real one. A good one, probably most days."

Khari bit down on her lip for a moment, eyes dropping to the surface of the table. “So... thank you. What just happened was definitely me being all kinds of awesome. But I couldn't have done it if you guys weren't all kinds of awesome, too. So do me a favor and pat yourselves on the back before you get drunk off your asses in my honor, okay?"

Estella grinned, but it was Leon who picked up his glass, raising it over the table. "To Khari!"

The words darkened her flush to a blotchy red, but she smiled all the same, the force of it crinkling the corner of her eyes. Drinking deeply from her refilled cup, she set it back down with a little less flourish this time, settling back into the chair she'd been given. For once, she seemed content to just take it all in.

And take it in they did. They drank and feasted until they could take no more, and all the while they laughed and shared stories with those unlucky enough to have missed the spectacle in Val Royeaux. Rom never got tired of it. He didn't have to speak if he didn't want to, and at times he stayed silent, just listening and observing in a sort of wondrous awe of the people around him. The drink was stirring thoughts into his head, he knew, but sometimes it just hit him how remarkable it was, this place he'd found himself in, these people he'd ended up with.

He didn't remember the last time he'd felt so at home.

All nights had to come to an end, however, and this one did as well. One by one or two by two they left, congratulating Khari again and saying their farewells on the way out. Many took Khari's invitation to heart, and were well and truly drunk off their asses. SĂ©verine nearly fell on the way out; Vesryn had drawn her into a contest, and despite the Knight-Commander's reservations and protests of having far too much to do in the morning, she could not back down from the challenge. Once started, she proved difficult to stop, and the winner was entirely inconclusive. Vesryn likely got the better of the deal, having a shorter distance to walk to the bed he would collapse on.

Rom was drunk, but certainly not to the point of embarrassing himself. A sleepy, near-permanently pleased look was plastered onto his face, and he rolled it sideways to look at his fiery haired knight. Out of her shining armor, but no less impressive. "You wanna turn in?" He glanced around at the others left. "I know we almost made it to the end of the melee, but we don't have to be the last two standing if you don't want. So to speak." He lightly slapped the bench underneath him.

Somewhat surprisingly, Khari wasn't especially drunk either—enough to perform her duties as center of the celebration, sure, but her expression was still mostly lucid when she turned at his words. “I guess a strategic retreat might be a good option." She grinned, eyes narrowing with the force of it.

Getting out of her chair took a little doing; she paused about halfway up, blinking rapidly and going still, deep breaths marking the seconds until she felt stable enough to push back from the table she'd braced herself on. Most of those remaining were a bit too far into their cups to really notice the departure, but she did wave at Cyrus and Leon, still holding down one side of the table more or less by themselves at this point.

“Mind if I crash at yours tonight? The barracks is kinda... far." Khari waited for the door into the main hall to close behind them before asking. It didn't seem to be all she wanted to say, exactly, from the way her lip twisted after she said it, but whatever the other thing was, it didn't immediately follow.

"Tired from your victories?" he asked, unable to stop a grin. "Need me to carry you?" His restraint was a bit diminished, so after one good look at her he decided it was going to happen. "I think you've earned it, to be honest." Even a little drunk he was still precise enough to sweep her up effectively. One hand was already around her shoulders, the other taking out her legs at the back of the knees and hefting her up in his arms. She wasn't feather-light, certainly, but he was up to the task without too much trouble.

The decision obviously took Khari by surprise; she yelped and gripped his shoulders as her feet came out from underneath her. But then she was laughing, the tension in her body relaxing as she registered her slight change in scenery. She rested her forehead at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, turning her face in towards him, still shaking slightly with somewhat more subdued amusement. “I feel like we have this kinda... backwards? With me being the knight and all. But I guess you can be the gallant one for now." Her breath wisped over the skin at his collar as she spoke.

“I guess I did pretty good out there, huh?"

"So good, I'll let you carry me next time." He let her get the door open when they reached it, as she still had her hands free. From there he just had to carry her down the stairs. The hall was just wide enough for her dangling feet not to skim along the stone walls. He descended slowly, but he'd done it more than enough times to take the stairs blind. Before long they had the door to his room shut behind them.

"I think things are gonna change," he said, still watching the image of her navigating the melee in his mind. "It'll take time, but I guarantee you something: someday soon, someone's gonna stand up for a cause, and they'll say that your example gave them the courage to do it." Not in the shadows, either, clinging to a knife, but in the light of day for all to see, proud and fierce.

He dumped her on the bed and rolled in after her, kicking off his shoes and ending up on his back with a sigh. The ceiling twisted above him if he stared at it too long, so he rolled his head towards Khari instead. "So yeah... you did good."

Khari snorted softly, rolling herself over on her stomach and toeing her boots off until they hit the floor with a thunk, one a few seconds after the other. She couldn't and didn't bother to hide the bright smile on her face at the words, though, pulling in a deep breath and letting it out in a contented sigh. “It's kinda funny. I've been talking the ears off anyone who will listen about how I'm gonna do that stuff for years, but now that it's really happening, I feel like I'm the one that can't believe it."

Propping one elbow on the mattress underneath her, she rested her chin on the heel of her hand and met his eyes, her expression softening into something subtler, warmer. “I've been thinking, you know. Seems like... this is a good moment to be seizing, and all that." Her feet waved lazily back and forth in the air, further evidence of her inability to ever be entirely still. “Embrace changes, or whatever."

She cleared her throat, expelling a short huff. “What I wanna say is... you think—uh." It took her a second to gather the thought, or maybe just the courage to say it. “You think maybe it'd be okay if I, y'know, moved my stuff in here? And myself, also, obviously."

He'd always been a very private person, something he felt he both struggled and benefited from. In his past he sometimes felt like his sanity depended on being able to spend time to himself, apart from the world in every way. His position had afforded him the opportunities to do that when other slaves never had the chance. Being Inquisitor was no different. There were times when the weight of things or the craziness of it all made him want to retreat here, this place that no one could disturb without his permission, and the thought of giving that up, his one bastion of solitude, was frankly frightening.

But she had come to know him almost as well as he knew himself. Maybe better in some ways, considering that her influence had only ever helped him, especially when he couldn't figure out how to help himself. She knew when not to disturb the silence, and when it was needed. When not to touch the stillness, and when to give things a push. She already did belong here, as far as he was concerned.

"The sooner, the better," he said. His arm tugged her gently towards him.

That prompted another grin, and Khari went easily with the pressure of his grip, tilting her head a little to kiss him, just a momentary touch of lips. “Tomorrow, then. For now, though... I think I could go for a little more celebrating. How about you?" The almost-challenging arch to her eyebrow left no ambiguity to her meaning whatsoever.

He returned the grin. "As though you have to ask."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Kurokiku
Image

When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me
And the taste of blood fills my mouth, then
In the pounding of my heart
I hear the glory of creation.
-Canticle of Trials 1:7
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Khari pounded up the stairs at full sprint, uncaring of who was in the way or why. She blew past a patrol on the wall, calling out a halfhearted apology over her shoulder for just a second before fixing her eyes forward again, to where Leon's tower door grew closer.

Finally. Finally, there was a chance.

Her practice armor clanked with every step, uncomfortably chafing where it didn't fit so well as her real battle set. It was meant to be heavy and cumbersome, so that was hardly surprising, and she ignored it with little effort, turning aside just in time to avoid barreling into Reed on her way in, slamming against the door and turning the knob at the same time.

“Leon!" Her voice was too loud for the usually-calm atmosphere of the Commander's office. She couldn't be bothered to give a shit—not right now.

“Dragon! The scouts found a dragon!"

At first, it wasn't even entirely clear where he was; her shouts were not answered with either his voice or any kind of motion. It only took another moment to spot the problem—Leon lay on the other side of his desk, sprawled over the floor, blood oozing sluggishly from a gash in his temple. The matching smear on one of the corners of the desk, still shiny and wet, made the cause of the injury quite clear.

Even at the volume and fuss of Khari's entrance, he remained utterly motionless.

Shit.

Oh shit, no. Nonono.

“Leon?" A spike of cold fear lanced Khari's chest; she ran across the leftover space, dropping heavily to her knees at Leon's side. Yanking at her gauntlet, she forced it off without loosening any of the fussy straps and tossed it to some corner of the room, bringing a shaky bare hand to his throat, trying to feel for a pulse. She couldn't feel it, not at first—but she wasn't sure if that was just her panic numbing her to it or because it was really gone. He was warm at least. That was good, right? Warm meant alive. He couldn't have been here for too long. The blood was still wet. He had to be fine. He had to.

Something fluttered weakly under her fingers, and Khari nearly lost her balance when she slumped with relief. The tension left her as fast as it had come, but not all of it. He was alive. That was good, but... he looked like shit, and he'd obviously fallen unconscious somehow. This wasn't an afternoon nap. And the head wound—she grimaced.

Potions. He had to have potions around here somewhere, right? She knew he didn't like taking too many of them, but also that he basically had to at this point just to stay alive. There had to be something that would do for this wound. Standing on shaky legs, Khari searched quickly, motions clipped and minimal as she pulled open drawers and cabinet doors, rifling through Leon's belongings. Normally, she never would have—for all she knew there was private or confidential stuff around here, but that wasn't as important as helping him.

“Come on, come on. Potions. Where the hell do you keep them?" She nearly growled with frustration when the lowermost drawer of his desk yielded nothing, and she moved to attack the next cabinet, pulling out a couple bottles of liquor and then a couple more of lyrium. One of them missed the counter she'd been trying to set it on and crashed to the ground with a glassy shatter. Khari didn't even look at it, too preoccupied with the flash of red she saw at the back. Yes, that. Thanks to knowing Rom, she also knew what potions looked like, and what colors and smells meant what.

Snatching it up, she hurried back to Leon's side, using her bare hand to turn his face towards her where it had lolled to the left. The bones of his face were so prominent now—it felt like there was just a layer of paper-thin skin stretched over them. Carefully, she uncorked the potion, tipping it slowly into his mouth and holding her palm over it to force him to swallow.

Not now. Not today. Not when hope had just come back to bite them again like the demon it was.

Several long seconds passed, but Khari could feel him swallow under her hand, so that had to be a good sign. Sure enough, the bleeding, sluggish as it was, seemed to stop entirely within a few minutes, and the breath against her fingers grew stronger.

It took about five minutes in total for Leon to come to with a soft groan, violet eyes foggy when he cracked them open. One of his hands found its way to her wrist, easing it away from his face. "Khari, what—?" His voice rasped, the edges of the words lost to the stone-slurry of his muddled delivery. The remaining hand found the injury on his head, his fingers coming away sticky. He grimaced.

She squirmed; the urge to sag against him in relief, maybe wrap her arms around him and squeeze was just about too much to handle. But he was clearly not in good shape, and she'd been a patient in the infirmary enough times to know that the responsible thing to do here was not crowd him. Still, the smile she gave in response was a bit wobbly, and she turned her wrist around in his grip so she could clasp his hand.

“You fell, I think. I was coming to see you, and—" She gestured vaguely, letting their positioning fill in the details. A shudder crawled up her spine, the full weight of the event sinking under her skin like lead. “I thought you were—" The emphatic shake of her head smothered the last part of the thought. She couldn't make herself say it.

Even so, it was obvious that Leon understood her. Pushing himself up into a seated position, he sighed heavily, taking several deep, slow breaths in a row. "I think I blacked out," he said. "I don't remember falling, or the impact, so it must've..." His hand, knotted and abused with years of barehanded combat, tightened around hers. It was oddly cold.

"Thank you," he said softly, resting the other atop her riotous curls for a moment. "Do you think you could help me stand? I'm afraid I can't—manage it on my own just now."

That question didn't even need answering. Not with words, anyhow. Still feeling a little unsteady herself, Khari clambered to her feet, bending a bit and using her grip on his hand to shift his whole arm over her shoulder so he'd have plenty of support to lean on. Together, they got Leon's feet underneath him so he could stand at least mostly. She wasn't exactly tall enough to support him at his full height, but they managed.

“Chair?"

A soft hiss escaped Leon, who tensed momentarily around her before nodding. "Yes," he said, once the spell had passed. "Thank you."

He leaned heavily on her as they shuffled back towards the desk chair, lowering him as carefully as possible into the seat. A heavy breath left him then, halfway between a pained sigh and a relieved one. He swallowed several times. "If you can hand me the rest of that potion, I'll be all right. You said you'd come to see me?"

Khari passed over the half-full bottle from the floor without protest. If he'd noticed the mess she made looking for it, he hadn't said anything, so she figured he understood her reasons. The question did remind her of her original goal, though she wasn't entirely sure she was willing to bypass the rest of this just yet. Settling into one of the chairs across from him, she sucked in a breath.

“Leon... you're awfully calm for a guy who just passed out from nowhere." Her lips thinned, paling from pink to white under the pressure. Should she really be bothering him about this? He was so private, and a little bit proud, too, she thought. Not the kind of person who wanted anyone else to trouble themselves over how much he was suffering.

Normally Khari wouldn't care one whit about that, especially not with his health at stake, but what if asking just made him feel worse? He was already in such terrible shape. Her teeth clenched hard enough they nearly creaked, and she expelled a harsh breath from her nose. “This isn't the first time, is it?"

His eyes dropped to the desktop. They'd faded, it seemed, dulled to the color of a bruise where they'd been a more vibrant wisteria before. It might have been a trick of the light, but just as likely not. The rings underneath them were almost the same color. Leon looked like he'd already gone ten rounds with a dragon and lost. Or maybe a despair demon instead.

"No." The admission was stark for him, blunt. So was the follow-up. "Please don't ask me how many. I don't know. Usually I can get to a chair or something before it goes completely. They pass quickly enough." He shrugged, halfhearted at best. "I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind." That was almost a plea, from him, the slight plaintive note at the end of it an appeal to her mercy more than any sort of authoritative request or command.

She swallowed hard and nodded slightly. Maybe... maybe it still wasn't too late. And she had news anyway. News that would help him. “Western Approach." She blinked, trying to get her thoughts in the right order again. A lot harder now than it had been ten minutes ago, to be sure. “They found a High Dragon. The scouts, and some weird Orlesian scholar guy, I guess. They've got a plan to bait it and bring it to ground, but obviously we need to be there and make it happen, so. I was coming to tell you."

Leon did not immediately react to the news. At least not much. His face was difficult to read, still haggard but largely without expression beyond the obvious fatigue weighing him down. "One more," he said after a moment, finding her eyes and holding them with his own. "Suppose that I only had one more fight in me, before I give out. Should I... should I really risk it on this?"

Khari had no problem letting her facial expressions do a lot of the talking for her, and the scowl she wore now was probably pretty eloquent. “What—what are you talking about? One more? You can't possibly—" Know that.

Could he?

Leon shook his head slightly. "Unless this really is a solution, I think... I think my next is my last." He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, the wood squeaking softly with his weight. "I was thinking perhaps it would be better if it was Corypheus. If I just... did it then."

He was talking about dying.

The weight of it hit Khari like running smack into one of Skyhold's walls, all unyielding stone and sudden stopping. Her eyes rounded. Something about this was—not surprising exactly, but just—too much. Leon had been spending who knew how much time trying to decide which battle he was going to die in. How much longer he could afford to hold onto his life before it wasn't worth clinging to anymore.

As someone who could now consider herself a pretty smart strategist, Khari understood cost-benefit analysis. She could see the parameters. The most important battles were in the future, but at some point his body would become too weak to serve him, even with the rage of dragon blood hot in his veins. He was trying to choose the optimal moment.

Her hands clenched into fists. “Stop it!" Leaning forward, she slammed both of them into the surface of the desk. “Stop talking about this like it's inevitable! You don't get to do strategy with your own life! You don't!" She stood, leaning over the desktop to get in his face. “You don't get to give up. I won't let you."

He actually flinched back from her, grimacing under the weight of her scowl. When he spoke, his tone tried for placating, but the obvious weakness in it didn't allow for the same sturdy mildness he used to have. It ended up cracking. "Khari, I have to be realistic about this. I can't just pretend I'm not dying. The Inquisition—"

She wasn't about to let him get away with that. “Fuck the Inquisition!" Her own voice was a snarl. “Fuck being realistic. Not one person here is asking you to do this. Not one of them thinks you have to be the Commander right up to the point of dying at the most useful time! You're the only one who thinks that, and it's because you've already given up on living!"

His face blurred momentarily, but she blinked away the tears, too angry to let them stay. “You listen here, Leon. You never gave up on me. Not once. You do not get to sit there and expect me to give up on you." He'd practically beat the sense back into her after the whole Durand fiasco, and if that was what she had to do to make him see sense, then she would. Sick or not.

Reaching forward, she snatched up part of his tunic in her hand and curled her fist around it. “You might be dying, but you're sure as fuck not dead yet. Start acting like it!" He wanted to live. He'd told her so.

Khari was gonna make damn sure he remembered.

"Nothing's ever easy with you, is it?" Leon's throat worked as he swallowed, and he reached up to grip her hand, gently prying her fingers away from his tunic. His eyes were misty; a tear escaped the corner of the left one, then another on the right, sliding down the contour of his nose.

“No." She tightened her jaw, biting off the syllable, but already her fury was deflating. “Leon. Please. If you have to gamble your life on something... gamble it on living. At least try. I don't want—I can't lose you like this. I can't." Unvarnished by noble sentiment, that was the truth of it.

Screw blood. Screw race. Leon was her brother and her friend. And she didn't want him to die.

He exhaled a shuddering breath, but then his head dipped, perhaps the closest thing to a nod she was going to get.

"All right, Khari. Have it your way." He managed an awkward smile.

"We'll go slay a dragon."

“Hell yes we will."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
It was a long ride back to the Western Approach, but Rom didn't need much convincing to take it.

He'd been among the first to know of Leon's condition, the first to learn of his worst fear and greatest enemy: time. Now that time was running out, but they still had grains of sand left in the hourglass. Fitting then, that they'd come to this desert to refill it. Rom never knew how it was that he could help Leon, but it turned out he'd be able to make good on his offer. He could kill what needed to be killed, with the knowledge that it would save his Commander. His friend.

And he was good at killing. Man or beast. He was no dragon-hunter, but he could already feel his mark tingling, brighter than usual. Almost in anticipation of the use he was certain it would see. Unless the dragon was old and worn down, he doubted there would be many places his blade could sink in.

"How much farther is it?" he asked Rhys, who rode at the head of their column, guiding them to their destination. It was already further into the Approach than they'd ever needed to go when battling the Venatori and the Grey Wardens here. That struggle seemed like ages ago now.

"Over a couple of more dunes I'd say," the elf said, standing in his saddle to get a better view over the horizon. A lot of good that it would do, seeing how deep the dunes were this far into the Approach. Before he sat back down, his partner Rashad leaned over and told him something in Qunlat. Though he had been with the Inquisition for a while now, his trade tongue was still shaky and used Rhys to translate whenever he could.

Rhys chuckled lightly to himself and agreed, before turning to repeat it to the rest of the party. "As a forewarning, our dragon expert is... well, he's a bit eccentric. 'Course, you'd kind of have to be to think camping out in the middle of the desert watching for dragons is a good idea, but there you have it." He turned with a smile and pointed over the next dune. Expectedly, once they crested it, their expert's camp waited on the other side.

"Sounds like he'd fit in well at Skyhold," SĂ©verine said. She looked uncomfortably warm in her armor, but considering their reason for being here, wearing it was sensible.

The campsite itself was quite small, consisting of little more than a small canvas tent and a fire pit. It looked like the kind of setup designed to be packed up on short notice and moved. The sorrel horse standing in the shade of a large rock must have been the method of transport—the desert had rendered it lean, but it seemed to be doing well for itself otherwise.

A dug-out fire pit with an iron a-frame set over it for cooking was for the moment cold, but their scholar sat in front of it anyway, seemingly preoccupied with a notebook, at least until their voices reached him. He glanced up, dark eyes under a mask with ashes smeared around the eyeholes, probably to stop the sun from blinding him with glare off the silver. It made him look a bit raccoonish. He was otherwise dressed sensibly for the environment: lots of loose fabric for sun protection. When he stood, stowing the book in a bag at his waist, he leaned himself against a staff, smiling at the Inquisition party with the air of someone who'd most definitely been expecting them.

"Inquisition! It's an honor. Frederic of Serault, at your service. Please, join me for a bit—we've some information to cover, I expect." He gestured vaguely around the fire pit, which lacked seating of any sort, suggesting that the sand itself would have to do.

“Introduction to Dragons, is it, professor?" Cyrus sounded somewhat amused, for all the danger, but then it wasn't like anyone had much choice about the latter. He slid down from his mount first, glancing at Khari, and then Leon.

She seemed to understand the wordless point, and followed hastily. There was really no way not to be obvious about the fact that the Commander needed a bit of help, even if it was just someone standing there to make sure he stayed standing after he landed. Khari served that purpose just fine, and Cyrus held the horse still, just in case.

Leon seemed mostly steady—definitely better than he'd been in several weeks, at least. But even then, he did land a little too hard on his dismount, grimacing and leaning heavily on Khari for a bit. The cane he'd taken to using to get around at Skyhold was missing now, replaced by a staff that would do him a little better in the desert, at least until the time came to fight.

Once everyone was settled, the horses left to Rhys and Rashad, the professor sat again as well. He got right to business, whether because he sensed the need or because he was just inclined to do it. "So," he began, setting his hands on his knees. "Rubis—that's what I've been calling her—has been keeping to this area over the past couple of years. I've tracked her patterns of behavior, and you're in luck. Spring is a particularly active season for her, and she tends to eat in large quantities around this time, enough that she'll scavenge if such resources are available. Statistically, she prefers to eat quillbacks when possible, but I've also found evidence of varghest consumption."

"And this is... definitely a high dragon we're talking about?" Leon flexed his hands, creaking the thin leather gloves over them. His gauntlets were still tied to the saddle of his horse.

"Assuredly," Frederic replied. "Rubis has only grown larger since her appearance here; I believe she is now quite possibly the largest dragon to be recorded, but of course for now I can only approximate her dimensions. That's where you come in, no?"

"Feel free to do all the measuring you like, once we've killed her." Rom didn't allow any amount of scorn to creep into his voice. He held no ill will for the dragon; on the contrary, it would be saddening to see her dead. Though she was a great and terrible creature capable of inflicting destruction anywhere she flew, she did nothing wrong save for existing, her only mistake so far being that she was discovered by this scholar, an error that would lead to her end.

"Not that I don't share the Inquisitor's confidence," SĂ©verine added, "but how are we to bring the creature down? Some sort of trap?"

"That's the idea, yes," Frederic replied. "As I said, she eats... quite a lot at this time of year. In preparation for mating, you see. I suggest you present her with an opportunity to feast, and ambush when she attempts to do so."

"She won't see us as she flies in?" Leon sounded skeptical. "The landscape isn't that conducive to hiding, especially not from something airborne."

"Actually, her vision's not especially good," Frederic replied. "You ought to be more worried about how you smell than anything. Fortunately, I already know how to deal with that. I've prepared several decoctions that should let you not draw her notice. At least long enough to get you close."

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth here, professor Frederic, but, uh... you seem to know a lot about this dragon. Why are you helping us kill her?" Khari no doubt felt similarly to Rom about it, if her reaction to the one other they'd seen together was anything to go by. She didn't seem outright suspicious of the scholar's motives, but perhaps a bit of concern was understandable.

"Truthfully?" he replied. "I'd rather it wasn't necessary. I feel there's still much to learn from her. But your Inquisition keeping this area clear of bandits and the like has made several years of productive research possible, and moreover I fear that if things are left much longer, worse will become of her than death."

"Please explain." Leon's tone was too weary to convey any surprise.

Frederic sighed. "The Venatori," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I understand they have a lyrium-infected dragon? I've had to deal with small groups of them before—but the last didn't burn all their correspondence. I believe they mean to convert Rubis into another of the same. And that, well. I couldn't stop that. Death seems a mercy for her, compared to such a fate. So I contacted your garrison at Griffin Wing, and here you are."

Rom hadn't faced the corrupted dragon at Adamant Fortress; he'd been too busy chasing down Pike and being thrown bodily into the Fade. But he had come face to face with the beast at Haven, and he knew full well what it could do to hurt them. The thought of Corypheus having two at his disposal was... disconcerting, to say the least. Saving Leon's life was motivation enough, but knowing the Venatori had their own plans for the dragon was all the justification they needed to take it away from them.

"We'll do what we can to make it quick," he promised Frederic. "For whatever it's worth."

SĂ©verine stood, hefting up her shield. "Anything else you can tell us? Any signs of damage on it, from earlier battles?"

"Not that I've observed," Frederic replied, after a short nod to Rom. "Like all of dragonkind, the scales on her underbelly are softer than those usually exposed, and of course the eyes and inside of her mouth are vulnerable as well." He paused, blinking quite deliberately before he amended. "Not that I recommend the last. Very powerful fire breath, you understand. Quite capable of cooking you in that armor, I should think. If you've alchemical or magical means of resisting that, I do suggest making liberal use of it."

SĂ©verine shrugged. One wouldn't have thought she was about to fight a dragon. "Templar training is not without its uses... but yes. Probably best to avoid the fire."

Rom stood as well. "We should get to work. Lots of hunting to do, and not much time." He looked to Leon. It was honestly hard to imagine him being up for another fight in his current state... but he of all people knew what magic and alchemy could do to the body. And he'd only experienced a taste of it. "We'll send for you when we're ready. We won't take long."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Leon stood in the shade of a large, exposed sandstone slab. It was part of what must have once been a building of some sort, perhaps a temple, though its exact purpose was rendered unintelligible given all of the damage it had weathered. The uncorked glass vial, realistically no more than a few ounces, felt as heavy in his hand as if it were made from lead.

He hadn't been lying to Khari. He truly felt that unless this really worked, he was about to enter his very last fight.

The others had spent most of the afternoon hunting quillbacks and dragging the corpses to this spot, chosen because it afforded more cover than anywhere in the bare desert, while still being far enough from anyone that there was no risk of collateral damage. He suspected that the professor planned to find somewhere close by to watch, but no doubt he was smart enough not to interfere directly, so that was fair enough. They were about to end years of research, even if there was realistically little choice in the matter.

Leaning heavily on the staff in his other hand, Leon shifted deeper into the shade of the slab. Half a dozen quillbacks later, the sun had set almost completely on the desert, bringing a chill to the air that would never have been possible under the burn of daylight. He could hardly feel it through the layers of armor and linens. No doubt SĂ©verine and Khari were more comfortable now, too.

He watched carefully as everyone took their hiding spots, marking each in his own mind just so he'd know where they'd be coming from. Dusk was apparently a habitual feeding time for the dragon—Rubis. Hard to think of giving a creature like that a name with such a texture of fondness, but perhaps it just went with the territory of following her around for so long.

It was hard to keep track of exactly how long they waited; the landscape changed in front of his eyes as the shadows grew longer and deeper, the sand shifting from orange to deep red with the fading of the light. A harsh breeze kicked up grains of sand, a few stinging the side of his face, but the stone protected him from the worst of it.

Leon felt her before he spotted her approach. Perhaps it was something in his blood recognizing kin, the magic that had soaked so close to his bones over years and years of calling upon it. It was invigorating, like a spike of adrenaline direct to the heart, spreading over his skin like needles of frost. Her shadow passed overhead; he craned his neck until he could see her, circling the clearing. Her head bobbed up and down like a hound scenting the air—most likely that was exactly what she was doing.

He saw it the moment she committed to her landing, and then there was no longer any time to wait. Lifting the vial to his mouth, Leon downed it in a swallow, the thick taste of copper sliding over his tongue, lingering bitterly even after he swallowed. And then he was alive, senses sharp and an almost-forgotten strength back in his limbs.

Once more.

The dragon landed, kicking up sand and stretching her neck towards the nearest dead quillback. Her eyes glowed like embers in the dark.

He dropped the staff, and charged.

Khari was just as quick on the ambush, only she shouted as she broke cover, immediately drawing the dragon's attention to herself—and away from everyone else. Though the sand had a way of slowing things down, she was light over the surface of it for someone in so much armor, bringing her enchanted sword around and down in a bid for an early hit on the dragon's snout.

Unfortunately, Rubis was too quick for that, lifting her head well out of the small elf's reach. She was easily as big as the lyrium dragon had been at Adamant—perhaps larger still. Undaunted, Khari redirected her momentum and went in for her front left leg instead.

Romulus immediately went after one of the wings. While there wasn't anything vital to attack there, damaging the wings enough could keep the dragon on the ground permanently, where they actually had a chance to fight back against it. He sank his blade into the relatively thin membrane there and tore through it several feet, leaving a bloody hole for the air to pass through when Rubis lifted the limb on reaction. She swiped blindly with a leg in his direction.

SĂ©verine stepped in the way, catching the claws across her shield with a horrid screeching sound. The force threw her back, but she kept her feet under her and stayed upright, bringing her heavy flail around to smack and bludgeon against the leg. It had more success than a slashing weapon would have, but still the damage was negligible.

Leon took advantage of the ample distraction provided by his friends, lowering his shoulder and barreling into the dragon's back left knee. She roared at the impact, the joint buckling enough to interrupt her attempt to gouge Khari with her claws and lean her entire frame towards him. The sound indicated a solid impact, blunt like SĂ©verine's flail and similarly not enough to do any lasting damage.

She kicked back against him, talons scraping over his chestplate with a furious screech, but it lacked the momentum necessary to punch through the armor outright. Leon dug into the sand, skidding backwards and carving deep furrows in it with his feet. But he didn't topple over, and the moment she'd spent focused on him was one in which someone else could act.

Cyrus, for one, took advantage of the opportunity, moving in on the opposite flank from Romulus and stabbing both falcata down into the membrane of Rubis's other wing. Her violent reaction tore one of his blades from his grip, flinging it somewhere Leon couldn't see, but he kept hold of the other, redoubling his grip and dragging it free, flinging drops of blood from the edge to the sand.

Rubis shrieked, the sound building until it was almost deafening, echoing inside their armor and helmets. With a great heave, she jumped away from them, landing several meters to the left, but still grounded. Whether she could even take flight anymore was hard to say; her wings both bore great bleeding tears, and she held them aloft and away from her body as if to protect them from further damage.

Khari gave chase, only to be intercepted by a heavy swipe of her front claws. The attempt to roll out of the way was only partly successful, and she flew no fewer than ten feet through the air, crashing into the sand with a heavy whump.

Rubis's jaws opened, neck arching back before she lashed out in Khari's direction. Again SĂ©verine was there to intercept the blow; a blast of bright light illuminated the darkness in front of the dragon's face as her fangs came down. Judging by the way she recoiled and turned her head away for a moment, it had partially blinded her. It wasn't enough to hide SĂ©verine from the next bite, jaws snapping shut on either side of her shield with the dragon's head turned sideways. It was just wide enough to keep the teeth out of SĂ©verine's sides, but there was no escaping the clutches of those jaws without help.

Romulus attempted to provide it, grappling up onto Rubis's lower neck in the moment it was available to him. He'd sheathed his blade, likely knowing it wouldn't be much use against anything on the dragon's back. He went to work with his mark instead, pressing his palm against the dragon scales at the back of her neck and unleashing energy. The blast was enough to tear off scales and send a spray of dragon blood into the air.

In the moment it seemed only to enrage her. She reared back, throwing Romulus off and onto his back and simultaneously lifting SĂ©verine up at least ten feet into the air by her shield arm.

They needed to force her to let go, before she decided breathing fire was the thing to do. Leon would have ordinarily tried to weight her down himself, wrestled her head to the ground with whatever means he could, but though his instinct demanded he try, he knew he simply wasn't currently strong or fleet enough to succeed.

"Cyrus! Can you climb? We need to force her head down!" It hadn't escaped his notice that, magic or not, Cyrus's balance was extraordinary and practiced.

For his part, Leon hurried to the front, throwing the full weight of his body into a kick aimed for the back of Rubis's foreleg. She was holding more weight on one than the other at the moment, and he aimed for the load-bearing side, hoping to throw off her balance and interrupt her attempts to chew through SĂ©verine's shield.

The kick alone didn't quite do it, but he followed up with a pair of heavy punches, the reinforced steel bands around his knuckles landing in exactly the same spot, right at what looked like the tendon he needed. The precision paid off, and the leg collapsed underneath her, sending her shoulder to the ground.

A low whistle signaled Rubis's incoming tail; Leon braced for impact, unable to get clear in enough time.

This time, Khari got in the way, swinging her sword not at the incoming limb, but hard towards the ground, plunging her blade into the sand. The spikes at the end of Rubis's tail slammed into the metal with a hard clang, uprooting both the sword and its wielder, but also taking the momentum out of the strike.

Cyrus, meanwhile, had taken Leon's advice, pulling himself astride the dragon's back by reaching up her collapsed shoulder and grabbing the spike there with his free hand. His face was twisted in intense concentration; he pulled his legs under him upon reaching the base of her spine.

It was about then that she finally got her feet back under her, too, though, and the violence of her lurch back to a stand nearly threw him off, balance notwithstanding. He doubled down on his grip on the spike, keeping his center of gravity low and close to her body, before seizing the opportunity provided by a moment of stillness and rapidly ascending her neck, using more of the spikes as handholds. No doubt they'd have sliced his hands to ribbons but for his gauntlets.

When he reached as far up as he was going to get, he stabbed his blade just behind her jaw with all the force he could muster. He was probably trying to cut something that would force her grip on SĂ©verine to loosen. Once the blade had pierced the smaller, less-tough scales at the hinge of her jaw, he swung himself to hang from the side of her neck, torquing his body in an attempt to pull her downwards with their combined weight.

It worked, at least partially. They started to lower, the stab from Cyrus's blade clearly having some kind of effect, but Rubis jerked her head sideways before they could safely reach the ground. Her clamp on SĂ©verine loosed at the same time, resulting in her being thrown sideways and taking Cyrus with her. They smashed into the ground in a heap together, which looked more painful for Cyrus given the way SĂ©verine in her armor came down on top of him.

Rubis stomped a foot down and fixed her eyes on the pair of them, nostrils flaring in more than one sense. A quiet curse escaped SĂ©verine, and she seized Cyrus by the collar, hauling him up and throwing him along with herself behind a nearby pillar. Or rather, the remains of one. It was all the cover they had when Rubis unleashed an inferno from her gullet in their direction, temporarily causing them to disappear from Leon's sight in the fire.

Only a moment passed before it was cut short, however, as Romulus drew his blade again and plunged it into the dragon's flank, which she'd left exposed for the fire attack. He hit something important, obviously, as Rubis ceased her fire breath and lashed back with a front leg, hitting Romulus hard and separating him from his weapon. He landed in a puff of sand some distance away.

That, for the moment, left Leon alone with the dragon. She clearly noted it, too, lunging for him with impressive speed for a creature so large, swiping at him with one massive foreleg, claws hooked to catch him. He backpedaled furiously, both of them kicking up sand as he scrambled to avoid the hard crimson of her talons.

One of them caught his leg, pitching him onto his back, and she growled low in her throat, with a sound like two boulders being crunched against each other. Her second foreleg came down heavily over his body, pinning him to the sand firmly enough that his armor started to whine where the plates were pressed too hard against each other. All it would take was one joint to buckle, one side to give, and he'd surely be crushed to death.

She'd left his arms free, though, and he grabbed one of her toes with both hands, pushing back up against the pin with all the strength body and blood could muster. His arms screamed at him, pain lancing up through every nerve ending when the sheer force of the Reaver magic and dragon's blood began to shred his muscle fibers, too weak to support the force with which his instinct compelled him to push.

Rubis's rumbling grew louder, building as she bore down with more of her weight. Some combination of pain and fury bid Leon respond in kind, and he did, a snarl tearing free of his throat as he kept pushing up, the center digit of her talons loosening where it had speared into the sand, lifting inch by inch from where it banded across his chest. The little bit of give let Leon breathe again, black spots receding from his vision with fresh air in his lungs, and he bore upwards with everything he had left, until it was just enough—had to be enough—and he slid himself out from underneath her pin, armor scraping against scales and sand. He rolled to his feet, aware that he could not stop or he'd fall.

With a roar of his own, Leon launched himself forward, wrapping both arms around her foreleg and stomping, hard, on one of her protruding knuckles. She tried to lift the limb, to shake him off, but he held tightly as he could, pulling ragged breaths in through gritted teeth. He wasn't sure who was up, who was in any shape to help, but it had to be now. Rubis reared onto her haunches, exposing her softer underbelly.

It was Khari, helm gone and blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, who got there first. Darting in quickly, she took the remaining several steps to gather her momentum, thrusting her heavy blade forward with all the strength she had.

The enchanted sword flared with some inner light, its green hue brightening for a moment before dying down again, the front half of the blade now deep within the dragon's body. From the way Rubis went slack so quickly, she had to have found something vital, and when she wrenched the blade free, it released a cascade of blood nearly the same color as the dragon's scales. Khari was drenched in it, only just managing to get out from under the massive body of the beast before she was crushed beneath.

Rubis stilled completely where she'd fallen. Her death had, at the last, been a quick one.

“We're alive, right?" Khari sounded unusually weary, perhaps understandable in the circumstances. She was also definitely favoring her left leg again, now that Leon could see her move. “I'm alive. Is everyone else alive?"

“Technically, I suppose." Cyrus was only just emerging from behind the pillar SĂ©verine had pulled him to. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and his limp was even more pronounced than Khari's, probably due to the gash on the outside of his thigh. It looked like something had unluckily slipped around the armor there.

SĂ©verine emerged as well, armor and mangled shield blackened from the dragon's fire. It looked to have singed off some of her hair, and there were no doubt some burns that needed treating, but she was otherwise in one piece.

Romulus offered a half-hearted grunt of confirmation from where he sat in the sand. He looked dizzy, to say the least, the blow he took from the dragon likely leaving him with a concussion.

"Leon?" SĂ©verine called, her concern apparent.

It took him a moment to blink away the last of the effects of his rage, and truthfully he almost wished he hadn't. He lost all grip on Rubis, tumbling to the dirt without the ability to catch himself. What he'd done to himself was becoming clear: neither his arms nor his legs would respond to his commands, muscles and tendons ripped beyond the point of function. The blinding pain was replaced with a sort of numbness that felt more cold than anything. Even when he gained the wherewithal to speak, his words slurred heavily, his head swimming in the same dizzy way he recalled from his few adolescent benders.

"Can't... move," he mumbled. "Sorry to make you... carry me again."

But unlike the last time, he retained the barest hold on consciousness now, and it was enough to get him back to the camp and astride his horse, fortified with enough potions to get him to the healers at Griffin Wing, at least.

He wasn't dead.

Hopefully that meant something good for his chances.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Not all of her dreams were nightmares.

Like anyone, Saraya had known love. Hers was lucky enough to endure through immortal ages, decades beyond counting, in times that were both peaceful and prosperous for her. Her feelings for her husband and the son she had with him were complicated, no doubt a result of the way their relationship must have evolved after what she did. But what she did had originated from a place of love. It was among other things, but Vesryn knew that love was the strongest of them.

There was one dream she came back to often, one that was particularly hard for Vesryn to figure out. Most were memories, clear cut and static, unchanging. This one, though...

Exhaustion. Peace.

Those were what he felt, more than anything. The sun was warm, shining through a break in the forest's canopy overhead, a bright and clear day beyond the trees. He lay at the side of a pool, clear water lapping and licking gently at his fingertips. There was a waterfall just barely in sight. Impressive in height but lacking in strength, it rained more than fell, its waters even turning to mist by the time they could descend to the pool.

He felt as though he could lay there forever, and indeed he planned to. His arms and legs refused any order he gave them to move. He felt only the rise and fall of his chest, once breathless but finally starting to still as a deep calm settled in. He lay there until it felt like the soft, wet ground itself would swallow him whole.

An elf's face appeared above him. Dashingly handsome. He'd always been weak to those eyes. To his dark curls, his full head of them. They smiled in the same moment, happy to see each other. It felt like it had been some time. He lowered himself, and their lips pressed together, the elf's weight a comfortable and familiar feeling atop his body. Vesryn's arms moved, hands finding the elf's shoulders, his neck.

And then he was gone. But not far. He heard the elf sloshing around in the pool, let his head loll to the side and saw him there, standing under the waterfall, mist raining down on him. He beckoned Vesryn. Come closer.

His legs were unsteady, wobbly, weak for some reason. He couldn't be bothered to figure out why. The only thing that mattered was getting them under him, and making his way to the waterfall.

Little beads of water formed from the mist in his hair, on his forehead, rolling down his cheek, down his neck. Dripping from his fingertips. The ground under his feet, the base of that pool, was mostly rock, slick in spots from mossy growth. He almost fell, but his balance, honed over years immeasurable, held.

He reached, trying to grasp the elf's extended hand...

And then Vesryn woke, and the world returned to him in a cold, painful rush.

It was early, dark still. Stel lay asleep at his side. Sometimes when his dreams were most intense he would accidentally wake her, but this one was thankfully calm. It always ended there, with the reach, but sometimes the details were different. Sometimes he sat at the pool's edge instead of laying flat on his back. Sometimes he slipped on his way in and had to put a hand down. Sometimes Saraya's husband was... less clothed.

It felt like an intrusion on her privacy, these dreams, so he tried not to linger on them. Saraya always withdrew as best she could when he and Stel were more intimate. It was the least he could do not to pry into memories that were long past, as painful as they were beautiful.

He knew he wouldn't get back to sleep. Not today. Silently he slipped out from under the covers, sitting at the edge of the bed and watching Stel for a moment. He didn't linger long, soon fully clothing himself and sneaking away. He needed to be outside, needed to surround himself with something other than the stone walls of Skyhold's interiors.

The day proceeded much as normal, once it came around. Those who left to help Leon had returned victorious. They didn't take the most obvious trophy from their kill, that of course being the head, but from what Vesryn had heard the man who located it was quite fond of it. Probably wouldn't have sat too well with him. They did bring other parts, useful parts. Proof of their triumph, not that they needed any.

In the afternoon he was due to practice with Khari. He began to gear up as usual, debating with himself. He'd donned his greaves and his boots before he made up his mind, and couldn't be bothered to remove them again. Carrying the rest on his back, he made his way to the Spymaster's tower. He found his sparring partner already inside.

"So," he said, offering a smile as he set down his gear. "I heard you struck the killing blow. Khari, the Dragonslayer."

“That's me." She grinned back at him, eyes lighting at what must have been the memory. “Had to take like... three baths before all the blood would come off." She'd already set her sword to the side, on one of the racks along the edge of the floor, and was testing the weight and heft of various practice blades. No doubt Leon's continued confinement in the infirmary was on her mind, but she seemed to be otherwise proceeding quite as usual.

“Now normally I'd never believe you were jealous of me, but this time, I could kind of see it being a possibility." She arched an eyebrow as if to ask him, giving another blade a few experimental swings.

"Jealous?" he scoffed at her, somewhat theatrically. "What a ridiculous idea." He had his own matters on his mind, and he didn't doubt they were showing visibly, but then again, Khari wasn't typically the sort to pick up on those things. Unless she'd been paying closer attention to him than he gave her credit for.

He took a seat on the bench at the practice ring's side. "I may have never killed a dragon, but I'm fairly certain Saraya did at some point, so..." he shrugged, as though to say it was the same thing.

He was going to miss this, honestly. Before the Inquisition he'd never had anyone he could call a rival. It was... an invigorating experience, especially once it became a friendly one. "Listen," he said, shifting tones quickly, "I'm not going to be training today. I wanted to ask you about something instead, if you don't mind."

She might not have picked up on his preoccupation right away, but the news that he wouldn't be stepping into the ring to spar her certainly jarred something loose in her head. All at once, her eyes were fixed on him, the practice blade held loosely in her hand and forgotten. She cocked her head to the side, obviously deciding it was something serious, and stowed the sword before joining him on the bench instead.

Pulling her legs up underneath her, she crossed them, draping her arms over her knees and slouching forward slightly. One arm came up to brace her cheek on a closed fist, making it easier for her to look at him partway over her shoulder. “'Course I don't mind. Shoot."

"Do you have a plan?" he asked, though he felt like it wasn't the right way to do so. "Or... a next step in mind, anyway. For when we're done here, with Corypheus." He was mostly curious about how she'd be continuing with her personal goals, how she'd continue trying to help their people, but of course she had other things in her life to take into consideration.

They all did, by now. "Lately I've found that I'm without much of a plan at all."

She considered this for some time, knuckles migrating until they half-covered her mouth. A furrow appeared between her brows, but she didn't look all that uncertain. Perhaps she simply needed to figure out how to put the words together. “I'm not sure exactly." The admission came easily, accompanied by a slight shrug. “I guess a lot of that depends on how things look when the dust settles. For the Inquisition. But... I'm not a chevalier yet. So I guess I'm just going to find some way to keep trying for it. Might ask Lucien what he thinks."

A short pause, and then: “If we're still here, though, then this is where I'll be, too. At least most of the time. It's where all the most important people in my life are, after all."

It occurred to Vesryn that good things simply took too much time. At least, it felt that way right now. What could he hope to do or accomplish in... six months time? Would he even have that long? What could any of them hope to do? These things couldn't be forced. If they could, certainly someone like Khari would have found a way to force them further by now. She certainly seemed to be trying it anyway.

"Here is... good, yeah. Can't think of anywhere better at the moment." He was acting strangely, he knew. Then again, he didn't really plan on getting through the day keeping it hidden from everyone. It was just harder this time than the last. This time... there really wasn't any escape, was there?

Khari narrowed her eyes at him, something akin to realization dawning over her a moment later. “You're... not letting yourself make plans, are you? Is it back? The stuff from before?" She straightened in her seat, pursing her lips. Whatever else she might have said was clearly bitten back—no doubt she wanted confirmation before she said anything else.

"As of when I woke up this morning, yes." It made the exit from the dream particularly painful. "I... haven't told anyone yet."

She hadn't expected that. Her expression contorted—eyes rounding, lips parting slightly—before she got it back under control. “Wait... no one?" The implication was obvious, but curiously for Khari, she skipped over spelling it out and moved to the next thing in sequence instead. “What do we do about it this time? Don't suppose the same thing from last time will work again?" The technical details were lost on her by her own admission, but she seemed to understand that much at least.

"Sadly, that's not something we can repeat." They'd known going in that it would only buy them time. Vesryn had been hoping for a great deal more of it before needing to confront this, but sadly they weren't that lucky. Or maybe they were. It could've only bought him a few days, after all. They were dealing with things that no living person was familiar with. Fumbling blindly in the dark.

"Cyrus or Harellan might be able to come up with something. They've been working on it already. I expect there will be more urgency once I let them know." His eyes settled somewhere in the pit, where they'd spent so many hours training together. "I need to tell Stel, too, I just... couldn't. I feel like she was just starting to get used to this. Not having this hang over us."

Khari grimaced, leaning all the way back against the bench with a huff. “Fuck. I hadn't even thought of it like that." One by one, she used the thumb of her left hand to crack all of the fingers on the same side. “You gotta do it though, Ves. You can't keep it from her. That's not fair." She chewed her lip; no doubt she knew that any solution to his problem would be well beyond her ken, unless it came down to needing to muscle their way in someplace they weren't supposed to be. Or killing something big and nasty like a dragon, as it turned out. Still it seemed that she must be scraping her thoughts together anyway, turning them over in a way that was clearly causing her some distress, from the pinched expression and the tension she held even against the back of the bench.

“I fucking swear, you know? Just when one of you's out of the woods it's something else. Someone else. I fucking hate this."

"On that, we can all agree." Maybe it was fitting that Saraya, who had built him from what he saw as nothing, would be the eventual end of him. Or maybe it was just fucked up. Vesryn figured Khari would describe it closer to that way.

"I do need to tell her," he agreed. He couldn't keep it from her. He'd have to keep himself from her, because she would know soon enough otherwise. "I think I just needed to tell someone else first." He stood, picking up his gear again. He honestly wasn't sure why he'd brought it. Maybe because taking it back would've taken him back to Stel too soon.

"I don't intend to stop fighting this time, but our training will have to be put on hold. To be safe." They wouldn't want a repeat of how this had happened last time, after all. "Saraya's perfect record against you will have to remain intact."

Khari snorted. “I guess I can suck it up and deal with that." She stood, too, stretching her legs back down to the ground and flowing back to her feet with hard-earned grace. For a moment, she frowned, shifting her weight. But a soft “fuck it" followed, and then she stepped into his space, heedless of his gear, and slid her arms under his for a brief, quite armored hug.

“The minute there's anything I can do, you let me know, Ves. I'm here for you." She squeezed briefly, then released him, flashing a smile that looked a little less easy than the one she'd worn before the conversation took its solemn turn.

Saraya could read her every move in combat, but that surprised her as well as Vesryn. He didn't even react in time to hug her back before it was over, but he smiled instead. It wasn't unwelcome, after all. "Thanks, Khari." He decided it was best to leave while he still had the courage. And before he did anything else too friendly.

It didn't take long to get anywhere in Skyhold, so it didn't take long to make it back to the main keep. Stel, not surprisingly, was still hard at work. There was still time before she was supposed to practice with the rest of them, and she never wasted a moment. "Sorry I disappeared this morning," he said, setting down his gear. "Just needed to be outside, and I didn't want to disturb you."

Though she'd kept writing as he entered, she looked up as soon as he'd spoken. It seemed as though she'd been halfway to a smile, but something made it falter instead of reaching fullness, and she set her quill back in its native inkwell. "That's all right," she replied, pursing her lips. "Any particular reason you needed to be out, or was it just the fine weather?" Her tone suggested that she doubted the latter.

"I might've just looked out a window if it were winter still." His smile also stopped halfway, and then disappeared. He didn't feel like dancing around it. Already it was heavy, like a steel cloak around his shoulders, dragging down his posture, putting an ache in his back.

"It's... back. The pains, the deterioration. It started this morning."

Stel accepted this with silence first. The placidity of her expression was not intentional, he knew. Neither was it reflective of her true feelings. But whenever she was confronted with something she wasn't sure what to do with, that happened first: she hid her deliberations behind tranquility nearly as convincing as her mentor's. Her eyes fell to the surface of the desk, and then she swallowed, the sound audible in what had otherwise become complete silence. The fingers of one hand curled around the edge of her desk, her knuckles paling until they were white.

"I told myself I was going to take this on the chin," she whispered, her voice cracking softly. "I convinced myself that I had to, because me going to pieces wasn't going to help anything, and my focus should be on helping but I—" He could see the shudder move through her, deep like it was trying to shake her apart. Maybe it did—when she looked back up to him, her eyes were bright with tears. One blink, and she was shedding them.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry. I don't think I can—" She raised her free hand to her mouth, not quite soon enough to stifle the first quiet sob.

For a moment he froze, her sob lancing him like an arrow. He felt stunned by it because he didn't immediately know what to say, what would make this better. If he'd had any skill in subtlety he'd have considered hiding it from her for this very reason, unfair and wrong though it would've been. They risked their lives so often, nearly died so often, but this one thing hanging over him felt so... inevitable, compared to the rest. Inescapable. Impossible to fight against. Red lyrium dragons and red templar behemoths were easier to confront.

But he was at her side as soon as he could get his legs to move, kneeling, prying her hand from the desk so he could take it in his. "I don't know what's going to happen," he said, his voice uncomfortably thick. "I refuse to think of anything as inevitable. Not when minds like your brother's and Harellan's are helping us. All I know is..." He swallowed, looking down at her hand a moment. "I'm going to keep doing what I do best. I'm going to keep fighting, keep doing what's right. And I'm going to keep loving you. No force in this world or the next is going to stop that."

"I know," she murmured between her fingers, leaning forward and down to press her brow into his shoulder. "And I know n-nothing's inevitable, but— Drawing her hand away from her lips, she slid it around to the back of his neck instead, tangling her fingers in the hair at his nape. Her breathing still shook, but she seemed to be going to great effort not to dissolve any further than she already had.

"It's going to hurt you again. And there's not—not going to be anything I can do. I just—I—" Another irregular breath washed over his collarbone when she exhaled.

She was right about that. If this was anything like last time, it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. If it ever did get better. He believed that it could—he wasn't about to throw away all hope—but he wasn't about to think that it was likely.

"Now you're just being silly," he said, forcing a smile as he curled his other hand around her back. "If you think there's nothing you can do. I need you as much as I need anyone, if I'm going to fight this. For far more than just your magic." She was his other half as much as Saraya was. He felt what she felt almost as strongly. They had come to share pain, but the opposite was also true. He drew strength from her, just as he tried to lend her his. And he had a feeling he was going to need all of it this time.

Stel lifted her head away from his shoulder, meeting his eyes with bleary focus. Retracting her hand, too, she smeared the tears away from her cheeks, and dried her fingers on the hem of her tunic, visibly attempting to compose herself. Gradually her breathing steadied, and she nodded slightly. "I'm doing an awful job at any of the rest of it right now, I'm sorry." Clearing her throat softly, she shook her head as if to chase away some unwelcome thought.

"I—yes. Of course. I'll be here. Always. Whatever you need." There was a delicate tremor in her hand when she brought it to rest against the side of his face, but she managed a wobbly smile, too. "Thank you, for telling me. I was dreading it, but... I'd rather know. So we can face it together."

"I can't imagine a world otherwise anymore. I suppose that's what love does to a man."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
It had been about a week into his recovery that Rilien and Cyrus had administered the modified Reaver tonic to Leon. Cyrus hadn't felt especially comfortable doing so that soon, given the absolute mess the Commander had made of his own body during the fight with the dragon. But, as the tranquil had pointed out, allowing him to recover from that was a consideration that had to be balanced with the increasing risk that the new tonic would prove too demanding on his weakening body if his was left to decline much longer. Or that he'd simply... die.

Cyrus had never had to think about those kinds of things before. Not with respect to a friend. He found it disconcerting. Fortunately, Rilien had no such compunctions, and so they'd administered the dose three days prior. The immediate reaction had been... not much. Pain, as far as Cyrus could tell. But the fact that it wasn't immediately fatal was promising. Obviously.

Mounting the steps to the infirmary, Cyrus pushed open the door, shedding his lighter spring cloak and hooking it over one of the open spots near the entrance. He left his boots on, though, sliding past the staff at work until he came upon the door to Leon's room. Commander's privilege, to be granted a space to recover that was at least mostly private. Probably a necessity anyway.

Cyrus knocked twice as a courtesy, but when no one immediately told him to wait, he simply entered instead, a greeting halfway to his tongue when he spotted Asala by the Commander's bedside. Despite himself, that brought him up a little short, forcing him to reorient his demeanor to something a bit more... reserved. Funny: he hadn't even thought of himself as especially relaxed around Leon, but it was clearly so.

“Commander." He greeted his friend with a small nod, then moved his eyes to the healer. “Asala. How's he doing?"

"He is healing, physically at least," Asala answered. She passed her hand, enveloped with a pink magic, over one of his extremities for the last time, as she let the magic fade. "He is stable, and his body is stitching itself back together quite well. I've been balancing magical and his natural healing so as not to put any undue stress on his body," she said, though she still wore a tight frown. "Other than that," she glanced back at Cyrus, "I'm afraid I cannot say."

"I've felt better," Leon added, looking almost amused at being discussed as though he were not present. "But... I've felt worse. And since I never expected that to be true again, I'd say there's some reason for optimism."

Asala simply smiled and offered a comforting, though gentle pat on his leg.

That was... all quite good news, especially the last part. Cyrus felt himself relax, just a little. “Good." Inexpert at hiding his emotions, he could not keep the relief from seeping into his tone. Plenty of reasons for relief, even if the prognosis was still in some ways quite uncertain. “I'd thought if you were feeling up to it, we might head down to the Herald's Rest for something to eat. I'm sure it would reassure some of the others to see you up and about."

He let the question hang implied. If Leon still wasn't mobile enough, they'd have to find something else to do, but that would be no burden on Cyrus.

Leon considered that for a moment, then smiled a little. "Well if you're offering to take a break from hermitage for my sake, I almost can't say no. I think I'd be capable of it, if my healer gives her permission." He glanced at Asala. Unlike some of the others, Leon was actually the kind of patient that listened to the advice of the people treating him. At least usually.

"If you feel that you are up to, then I will not be the one to stop you," she acquiesced with a nod. "The usual still applies however. Take it slow and try not to overexert yourself. And if you feel that something is off, please let me know immediately," she offered.

"Of course." Leon returned the offer with one of his mild smiles, dipping his chin in a nod. "As always, thank you for your help, Miss Asala. We'd be rather lost without it." With a slight sigh, he shifted his attention back to Cyrus. "Could you hand me my cane? I should be able to walk under my own power if I have it."

“Not a problem." It didn't take long for Cyrus to locate the implement, and he handed it off to Leon, remaining where he was in case the Commander needed additional assistance reaching his feet. Even as they made to exit the room, he took care to walk at Leon's side, rather than slightly in front or behind, just in case of any mishaps.

But his concern proved to be unfounded, as the cane really was all he needed to make it down the stairs and then across the bailey. Progress was slow more due to the number of people who stopped to congratulate Leon on his recovery than anything. And Cyrus supposed this was warranted: though he certainly didn't look the picture of health yet, the fact that he was alive at all was something to celebrate. For the Inquisition as an organization... and also for his friends personally. One former Magister's apprentice included.

It struck him that he wanted to express this, but the words that were so quick to form thoughts were slow and heavy to his tongue. He ended up silent until they'd just about reached the tavern, at which point he finally managed to scrape together something to say. “I'm... well, it's sort of stupid to say I'm glad you seem to be doing better, isn't it?" How other people expressed the same sentiments so easily and naturally was beyond him.

Cyrus bit his tongue and pulled open the door to the tavern.

"I don't think so," Leon replied, warmth in his tone. "I can see why you'd think so. It's a bit obvious, as far as declarations go. But sometimes telling people obvious things achieves more than just making the declaration." He half-smiled, passing by Cyrus to enter the Herald's Rest. He leaned heavily on his cane, but even his speed in motion was much improved over a fortnight ago.

He didn't finish the thought until they'd settled down at a corner table, and the cane found itself against the back wall. "I'm happy to be reminded that you cared, even if I'd never forgotten. Here's something else that's obvious: I wouldn't be here if not for you, and you have my deepest gratitude." For all the lightness of the tone he used to speak, Leon's expression conveyed the utmost seriousness, particularly where he held eye contact with Cyrus.

Well. That was... the demonstration had cemented the principle, to be sure. Cyrus almost felt embarrassed by the admission, a slightly-uneasy feeling settling in his chest. The instinct to downplay it was there, to dismiss his usefulness as a matter of luck or little import or something, but it just seemed like the wrong thing to do with such genuine thanks offered. So he tried for the same. Obvious but true.

“You're welcome."

Leon's soft huff, almost a chuckle, seemed to confirm that it was the right answer, so to speak, and they both settled in a little easier, giving their orders to the waitress when she came by and nursing their drinks in the meantime. Leon ordered water rather than alcohol, probably in deference to his condition and Asala's health advice regarding overexertion.

It wasn't long, though, before they once again had company. Corvin and Hissrad had entered the tavern but a moment before, and diverted from their course to greet the commander. The young elf clapped Leon's shoulder, albeit carefully, sparing a lopsided grin for Cyrus as well. "Good to see you up and about, Leon. You had us all on-edge there for a while, eh?"

"I didn't intend it, I swear," Leon replied, a bit of dry humor entering his tone. "I'll do my best not to repeat the performance."

Corvin's grin stretched a little wider, and he nodded once. "Sounds like a good plan to me." He nodded to Hissrad, and they returned to their business.

"You're already starting to look better Commander," Aurora noted. A glance over revealed both her and Donnelly, her arm linked with his. Apparently they had already been in the Tavern when Leon and Cyrus entered, if the seemingly occupied table behind them was theirs. Corvin and Hissrad were probably what drew their attention the the pair.

"Congratulations," Donnelly added. "It's good to have you back. Make sure he doesn't overdo it, okay Cyrus?"

It was all very... congenial. Cyrus nodded, a bit uncomfortably, but then struck upon something to say and relaxed. “Of course. I'll make sure he doesn't go too wild celebrating his returned health." Obviously not actually a risk with Leon, but it seemed fine to joke about, anyway.

Donnelly laughed at that. "Good to hear. Let us know when we need to adjust the drill schedules so you can lead them again, Commander."

"That's a while off," Leon replied, just a touch of melancholy in the words. "But thank you. I will."

At that point, their food arrived, and the others politely took their leave so Leon and Cyrus could eat. Leon did so with enthusiasm, though it would take a lot more to make him lose his oddly-delicate table manners.

That said, not everyone was so polite as Aurora and Donnelly were.

No sooner had the tavern door opened again than a familiar voice was calling their names. “Leon! Cy! Just who I was looking for." Khari, naturally, plunked herself in the chair next to Cyrus without so much as by-your-leave. He'd mostly learned to appreciate her directness, even if it did still occasionally surprise him. Too many years with people who wouldn't have dared, especially if they looked like her.

Reaching into a pocket, she withdrew a pair of objects and paid them down on the table with something of a dramatic flourish. When she lifted her hand away, they proved to be what looked like necklaces—both on thin silverite chains. Of greatest interest, however, was the fact that the pendants were reddish and shiny in a way that seemed vaguely familiar.

“Busted up one of Rubis's talons. Too big for anyone to wear the whole thing, so I figured we could share. Since we did it together, and all." She hooked her thumb around a similar chain at her own neck, lifting another piece of talon out from under her shirt. “No forgetting it now, huh? Already gave Rom and Sev theirs."

Leon had stopped eating as soon as she appeared, and now stared at the necklaces on the table with a faintly gobsmacked look on his face. Clearly, Cyrus wasn't the only one who didn't always know what to say. glancing once at Khari, then back down to the crafted mementos, he reached forward, picking up the nearer one and running his thumb along the surface of it, where she'd smoothed down the jagged edges of whatever break she'd engineered in the claw.

A fond smile eased onto his face, and he expelled a breath from his nose that was almost a laugh. "Which part are we meant to be not forgetting? I do recall an awful lot of injuries and a fair amount of trepidation more than anything else. Nearly being hors d'oeuvre for a dragon's evening meal?"

Cyrus smothered a laugh. Khari didn't bother.

“Well, the 'nearly' bit's pretty important, but I was thinking more along the lines of how great we were. Not just any five-person team can go toe-to-to with a dragon and beat her, you know. That's one for Inquisition legend. And I figure they double as proof, in case anyone tries to call us liars." She grinned, eyes narrowing with the force of it.

Cyrus picked up his own, sliding it over his head without hesitation. Beneath his shirt, it clinked softly against Asvhalla's token. This one, though, he had to say he preferred. Reminder of heavy injuries or not, it was also one he definitely felt he'd earned.

Leon evidently wasn't interested in putting up any sort of fight, either, because he did much the same, the red sliver coming to rest right over his heart. "I suppose I can get behind that." He touched the talon and glanced back at her.

"Thank you, Khari. For everything."

“You're welcome, but thanks are also always accepted in drinks. Just so you're aware."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The hands of spring touched the mountains last. So far they'd failed to touch this place.

Rom was willing to bet they were higher in altitude here than they were at Skyhold. Emprise du Lion, this place was called, though Orlesian rule was nowhere to be seen. It was a frigid place in the Frostbacks, on the other side of the mountainous spine separating them from Skyhold. They'd needed to travel north and around to the other side to find a road suitable enough for their forces, and their allies.

Many had come to see the end of the Red Templars.

The Inquisition's army was mustered in full, a token garrison left behind to secure Skyhold. A detachment of chevaliers met them on the road, led by Violette Routhier and, unexpectedly, Thédore Blancheflor. They'd brought a pair of trebuchets and a battering ram with them, the siege weapons trundling along behind the main column. No doubt the Emperor had plenty of reason to wish the Red Templars expunged from Orlais.

"Lucien regrets that he can't join the battle himself," Violette explained upon greeting the leadership. "But his Advisory Council is rather insistent that fighting reds weeks before he's due to be married is poor form even for him. He sends his regards."

Kirkwall sent its regards as well, in the form of the Queen's Companions. The cavalry unit was able to make good time around the Waking Sea to join them, led by their bold commander, the Baron William Alston. Rom thought he recalled writing a letter to him once, but in truth the names blended together after a while. He had no idea how Estella seemed to keep them all straight.

Rom doubted the cavalry would be all that useful at first. The Red Templars would know they were coming, if not exactly when, and their defenses weren't going to be accessible to horses. Suledin Fortress was where they'd chosen to occupy, an ancient castle high in the mountains, one that had fallen out of use once the Orlesian Civil War broke out. From what Rom understood, it was going to require quite the siege. That meant they might be here a while.

"It's just up the road," Lia said to the small party that accompanied her. According to her reports there was an opportunity here if they moved with some precision and speed before the bulk of the army arrived.

SĂ©verine let a hand fall near her flail, clearly tempted to draw it. "Should we be expecting trouble?"

Lia shook her head. "I doubt it. There's no one in town but the mistress during the day, and the Reds didn't bother putting a watch on her before, so..."

Alban Poulin was who they were due to meet. An Orlesian noble, the only authority in the town of Sahrnia. More of a village, really. It came into sight around the next snowy bend, on the edge of a lake that was still completely frozen. Suledin Fortress was visible in the distance, but it was too far out for them to risk being seen just yet.

Sahrnia looked abandoned more than anything. Some houses had collapsed entirely, others had merely caved in from the weight of snow on their rooftops, left uncleared all winter long. Here and there were the remains of campfires, cowering in the corners of structures still standing. Pitiful fires burned in a few sparsely placed braziers, barely surviving the wind that occasionally knifed through the streets. But there were still signs of life. Bedrolls and sacks of belongings, scraps of food probably. Signs that at night, people returned here, in their attempts to survive the cold and their captors.

“Well, this place has gone to shit." Khari sounded more concerned than outright rude, though as always, she wasn't too delicate with her words. “You think they make these people work the mine or quarry or whatever?" It was hard not to think about the other captives they'd encountered of the course of the long fight against the Red Templars: sickened, dying people turning pallid and deathly just from exposure to the corrupted lyrium. Some went fast, some went slow, but they all went, in the end.

“I'd hardly be surprised." Cyrus drew his hood a little further up where it had started to fall from the force of the wind. His voice was muffled by the thick scarf around his mouth and nose; he squinted against the brightness of sun off snow. “It wouldn't be hard to keep an operation going even in this weather. Not with the heat that lyrium gives off."

Rilien, apparently unperturbed by the chill despite the fact that his exposed ears were beginning to turn red, shifted his attention to the conversation at that. “The conditions are favorable for the task. The cold suppresses the worst of the effects. Anyone harvesting it would last longer here than in a warmer clime, however unpleasant they might find it."

Asala frowned deeply, the sorrow she felt for these people etched deeply into her flushed features. Her cheeks were reddened due to the cold, but her ears were protected by a piece of leather lined with fur tied across her forehead and the rest of the chill was warded off by a thick cloak, and undoubtedly thick clothing beneath. It was still as odd as ever to see her asymmetrical horns however.

"We need to help these people," she said, her eyes drawn to a particularly lonely flame. She didn't say it as a plea, but rather solidifying it as a fact. There was concern on her face, but a certainty in her eyes.

"That's why I thought we'd leave the army behind for a bit." Lia's expression was settled into hard lines, her demeanor grim. She shook her head. "Reds and their hostages..."

"You've returned!" the words came from a middle-aged woman emerging from the largest of the houses still standing. She wrapped a large fur cloak around her shoulders as she stepped into the cold, shielding her from the wind. She took in the sight of those accompanying Lia with something approaching awe. "I am Mistress Alban Poulin. It's good to finally meet you, Inquisition."

A decorative circlet, made of bronze or some similar metal, rested on her head, but that wasn't what drew Rom's attention. She didn't look well necessarily, but she lacked the signs of red lyrium sickness or corruption that one would expect after so long a period of captivity.

"Knight-Commander SĂ©verine Lacan," the templar greeted her in turn. "I'd introduce the others, but there are a few too many to go through. Rest assured, we're here to help. The army is further back on the road. I understand something can be done about the quarry first, though?"

Poulin nodded, eager to explain. "Yes. The Red Templars take the prisoners there every day to work for them, mining red lyrium. They're there now. Most of the Red Templars have fled back to Suledin, expecting your approach, but they leave a token force to keep the prisoners working. I think they need all the red lyrium they can get." She looked over those present again, no doubt finding some inspiration there. They were formidable, after all. "If you strike the quarry soon, and swiftly, you might be able to save them, and you'll cut off a group of Red Templars from retreat. They won't dare sally out of the fortress, if you have an army with you as you say."

"Do you have any information on the quarry's layout or the specific number of troops in the reduced guard?" Leon sounded like he doubted it, but it was probably worth asking anyway, just in case.

Estella, beside Rilien, exchanged a glance with the spymaster that could have meant anything. It was difficult to say for sure given how good she was at hiding what she was thinking, but something about Poulin appeared to be bothering her.

"Oh, uh..." Poulin hesitated, as though she didn't expect to be asked. "Thirty? Fifty maybe? I can't say for sure. The quarry is very deep by now, they've been blasting deeper into the hillsides for months. I think they were expecting more to join their cause, but they never arrived."

SĂ©verine scoffed. "That's because their last attack was a disaster for them. This battle will be much the same, and this time none of them will escape." She took a cautionary look around, as if she expected the enemy to be watching them at that very moment. "We need to send word back. We'll need more men to take down that many."

Leon nodded, turning immediately to Khari. "Can you run back to the main troop? We're going to need an additional squad. Captain Pavell's, if they're ready to go."

Khari snapped to attention immediately, giving Leon a rather lackadaisical salute. “You got it, Commander. Back in two shakes."

With her departure, the conversation shifted back to Poulin. Estella was the next one to step in, her brow faintly furrowed. "I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, Lady Poulin, but you seem rather... hale, for someone whose entire territory is presently saturated in red lyrium."

It was hard to miss the nervousness that crept into her then. "Ah. Yes, well... I haven't been among the miners, necessarily. Or... in the quarry itself."

Rom had his arms crossed. "You've been here since the Red Templars occupied the region, no?"

Poulin licked her lips, shifting uncomfortably. "Look, I know where this is going. I had no choice. There were no soldiers, no chevaliers, no Inquisition here when the Red Templars came knocking. I was forced to make the best of an absolutely awful situation."

“Which means someone else got the worst of it, I take it." Cyrus didn't sound especially impressed, to say the least.

"What was I supposed to do?" she responded, not trying to avoid being defensive. "If I tried to refuse them, they would simply kill me and take what they wanted anyway."

"They seem to have taken plenty of this place," SĂ©verine noted. "What did you agree to?"

Sighing, Poulin seemed to shrink before them. Not difficult, considering the size of some in the Irregulars. "They paid me to look after the town and its people, including those they brought from other villages. None were allowed to leave, so I had to get by on any supplies they were willing to part with. In exchange for my service, for keeping these people alive as long as I could, they did not force me to work in the quarry."

Not an easy thing to deal with, Rom was certain. Especially for someone with no ability to fight, and the responsibility of leading a town to weigh her down. But it was also a choice that helped supply the Red Templars, and that couldn't be ignored.

"This should be dealt with later," he said. "I imagine she'll be here still, after the siege is done. Right now we have more important things to do."

Another attempt at freeing prisoners held by the Red Templars. With any luck, this would be the last time they had to do this.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
The march to the quarry was undertaken mostly in silence, or at least as much silence as the passage of so many people would allow. Their number neared sixty, more than Leon would have preferred to move for a raid this size, but given that their opponents were red templars, having a numbers advantage was all but required for a chance at success. Even if it meant there was little chance of making it all the way there without detection. Since they could not strike quietly, they would have to strike swiftly, and everyone kept a march pace more akin to a jog than anything.

The Irregulars in the number went at the front; they could reliably be depended upon to absorb a great deal more aggression without cracking, and having a strong initial push capable of breaking a red templar line was going to be crucial. The regulars went behind, their captain traveling up and down the column to relay the occasional instruction, or in some cases trade quiet jokes with a few of the particularly-uneasy. It was not an ordinary battle against ordinary men they would be undertaking, after all. Some unease was to be expected from those who faced the strange less frequently than the elite troops in the front.

Leon was beginning to count himself among them again, in a way. It would be many more weeks, perhaps even months, before he regained his former conditioning: his decay had eaten away at too much of his body to be overcome so quickly as this. But he was no longer infirm, and walked, ran and fought under his own power once more. Given that, he couldn't allow himself to miss the opportunity before them.

Though it bothered him less than some, he could already feel the oppressive atmosphere of a massive red lyrium deposit. It warmed the air in a feverish sort of way, coaxing sweat from his skin that sat cold under his layers, sickly and uncomfortable. The air was thick with it, not a smell or a taste exactly, but a weight that almost made breathing a conscious labor instead of the automatic process it was supposed to be. His boots crunched through the snow, the sound refreshingly crisp by comparison, the bite of cold occasionally slicing through the heavy haze, a reminder that it was not nearly so warm and humid as it felt.

It wasn't long until the quarry lay before them: more a sudden absence of more visible snow and slope ahead, as the landscape dipped into a blast-formed crater, rimmed by decrepit, greying wood fencing and the occasional slapdash watchtower, red pennants dropping until picked up and snapped by one of the sharp gusts. None of them looked to be manned. Most likely their arrival was already anticipated.

He stopped, gesturing with a hand for the others to do the same behind him. Listening was difficult over the driving wind, which echoed hollowly in the quarry itself, amplifying the noise. It looked like there were a few different routes down: one was straight ahead, a narrow walkway made of wood and iron sloping downwards until it disappeared from his line of sight. The east side of the quarry had a natural path carved into the side of the crater, worn smooth with the passage of workers' feet. It was even more narrow than the wooden structure. The last was infeasible: another wooden path had been destroyed, a large gap blasted into the middle.

"Seems like they've already holed up further in," he observed. "We're going to have to watch out for traps."

"Wouldn't want them to make it easy for us now." Vesryn's face was concealed behind his helmet, but everything about his mannerisms were a little more tense lately. No doubt a result of the return of his unique troubles. He refused to be left behind, though, even if fighting was going to become steadily more impractical for him over time.

SĂ©verine's flail chain clinked softly, the metal ball at the end of it swaying back and forth with anticipation. "What do you think? Split up, or push together?"

“Seems like the faster we can get more people down there the better." Khari sucked her teeth, squinting ahead at the crater. “But I don't like the chances of too many people managing that ledge. Looks kind of narrow." She shrugged, returning her eyes to Leon. “Hard to say without knowing what they've got set up for us down there."

She had a point—he couldn't deny that. Since the reds had taken refuge further in, there was really no predicting what they were about to encounter, but much longer deliberating about it and they were going to have worse problems. Deciding quickly, Leon moved his attention to Rilien. "Take everyone with ranged weapons and enough grace to negotiate that ledge. Go down that way." At least this way if the rest of them were ambushed, those taking the slower path down would be able to add support from wherever they were.

"The rest of us go down the walkway. Captain Pavell, when we get down there, I want the regulars in squads. Sweep everything and be careful. You and half of them are with us. We're going directly in." It wouldn't be an easy fight by any means, and dividing their strength already was an unfortunate but necessary precaution. The sweeping teams would be able to rejoin in relatively short order if things proved to be clear.

From there, they'd just have to be adaptable.

The orders went down the line, and everyone formed up. Leon tightened his gauntlets, nodding to Khari, Vesryn and SĂ©verine. The four of them, heavily armored and used to taking abuse, would be the very point of the formation. The others would follow just behind.

Though he almost feared sabotage on the walkway itself, there was none to be found; the thunder of armored boots drumming against the wood blended with the creaks of the structure, unused to the strain they were putting it through. It held, however, and Leon's feet touched ground first, crushing more snow beneath them. It was packed down here, though, the prints fresh. It hadn't been long that the reds were drawn in. That was heartening.

Their destination was an inset cave entrance in the side of the quarry, no doubt opening into further mining tunnels and the like. It was currently barred, thick slabs of wood thrown over the entrance to give the Inquisition something to throw themselves against and slow down.

"Asala. Can you do something about that door from here?"

"Hmm," she hummed, taking another inquisitive glance over at the barred door. "It may take more than one pass and it will not be quiet, but it should be doable," she said, before she looked at him expectantly, waiting for the order to begin.

"Quiet's out the window anyway. Do it."

On the order, both hands emerged from beneath her cloak already emanating a pinkish energy. A few gestures of her fingers were all it took to form a barrier roughly the size of the entrance they were attempting to break down. She inhaled once before forcing the barrier forward, crashing into the barricade. There was enough force behind the blow to make the wood scream in protest, but like she predicted it did not bow in the first blow. It subsequently took a series of them to finally splinter the wood enough to allow them passage. With a deep exhale, she glance back to Leon and awaited the next order.

It was an obvious one, requiring no more than the forward motion of his hand. The Inquisition moved, numbers narrowing to push through the cave entrance.

Inside was a system of scaffolding, designed to allow miners access to all heights of the soaring cave walls in the mountainside. Red lyrium crystals protruded at odd angles from large chunks of the wall, but this was no object to the templars that lay in wait.

The arrows fell first. "Shields!" For his own part, Leon ducked his head, grimacing when one rang against the side of his helm but pushing forward anyway. Aside from the archers on the scaffold, there was a clear line of reds across the narrowest point of the room, a shield wall that needed breaking. Of little use against the distant bowmen, Leon charged the line, crashing into the part of it he'd judged most likely to give. He succeeded in forcing two of them to take hard, hasty steps back, before a trio of spears from behind the shield wall forced him away.

Khari was right beside him, a heavy swing of her sword knocking aside one of the spears. It flew harmlessly over his shoulder, nearly torn from the grip of its wielder. But as they always did, the reds recovered quickly, and she was forced to put space between them when a shadow detached itself from the gloom beneath the scaffolding and made to stab her in the back. Her sword met the lyrium arm with a shriek, and Khari rolled to improve her positioning, opening up a spot at Leon's flank for the assault against the line.

Corvin slid in to occupy it, sparing Leon a lopsided grin from beneath his helm—just a momentary flash of teeth through the gap. His longsword had substantially more reach than Leon's arms alone, and he found the poorly protected neck of one of the spearmen, helm warped by a protrusion of lyrium crystals on his shoulder. He fell, and the elf methodically moved on to the next.

Cyrus had elected to begin the hard climb up the scaffolding to deal with the archers, swinging up onto the lowest level just long enough to press himself against the wall as a short volley flew by him. In the time it took the templars to draw again, he was swinging himself up the next ladder, intent on those highest up. Rilien led a small group of the fleeter regulars at the same task on the other side of the room, but in the meantime the arrows fell thick and fast.

They would not have to worry about a particular section of the scaffolding however, as one of Asala's barriers caught a corner and with enough effort and force managed to leverage it free from the wall. It stood freely for a moment, the archers at the top tumbling off before it finally reached the point of no return and the entire structure collapsed to the floor below.

It made her a target almost immediately, something she had been aware would happen, as before the scaffold even hit the ground, a pink dome hovered above her. Arrows plinked harmlessly off of the dome as it provided protection not only to her, but those within range to huddle underneath its protective shadow. She was not satisfied standing still either, as she began to march forward with the rest of the force beneath her shield aiming to get at least most of them to the front lines.

Vesryn smashed into the reds on Leon's left, covering his other flank. If his condition was slowing him down at all, he wasn't showing it. His spear was of limited use in the confined space, but even still he was able to keep it up above the mess, occasionally stabbing cleanly through a red's throat, often one of the back rankers that didn't expect it.

Even with the ferocious strength the red templars arrayed against them possessed, they lacked the numbers to hold the Inquisition's finest for long. They were too well shielded and armored for the arrows to have much effect, and the archers didn't have long before they were being dealt with besides. SĂ©verine was at the point of the spear for their eventual breakthrough, a cluster of red templars giving away and tipping over. Her true templars tore through the line, Inquisition regulars behind them. Rapidly the order of the enemy began to break down, though far fewer of them sought retreat than a conventional enemy would have.

Those that remained, the Inquisition systematically dismantled. A pair of less-warped soldiers fled, their instincts perhaps still intact enough to send them back to the rear chambers for protection. The passage at the back of this room was narrow; no doubt some similar deathtrap awaited them the next time it opened up.

The last of the red templars in the room fallen, Leon counted the number at no more than twenty. It was well short of Poulin's estimate—there had to be more further in. Sparing a moment to glance over the troops, he found several wounded, but few dead. They'd done well.

He considered keeping Asala back on triage, in case any of them were bleeding out, but the standard alchemy provisions they all had should do for now. He trusted someone to mention it if they were in need of more urgent care. "The wounded stay here," he said, gesturing to one of the walls. "Keep to the cover, just in case."

From there, he fixed his attention forward, stepping over the fallen line of red templars and heading towards the passage before them.

It was not barred at the previous one had been, although—it looked like one of the fleeing templars had dropped something as they made their way back. Leon squinted in the relative dark, trying to make out the shape. Was it... sparking?

"Blast charge—get down!" Corvin shoved Leon back and himself forwards in the same motion, acting opposite his own advice and sprinting towards what must have been a lyrium explosive.

Leon dove for what cover was available, putting some scaffolding between himself and the blast. He saw Corvin hit the floor, curling his body around the charge, then heard the unmistakable bang of combustion and the shrill scream of rending metal. The ground beneath them shuddered enough to feel through his limbs, vibrating up into his spine. Pieces of the passage entrance broke off under the force of the charge, and the ceiling above them trembled before holding steady. The blast sent Corvin flying backwards; he landed hard amidst the corpses of the red templar line, and did not move.

"Cor!" Estella was first to her feet, running to her longtime friend and dropping to her knees next to him. It was impossible to see exactly what state he was in from Leon's vantage; the Commander scowled and stood.

His eyes found Rilien's first. “Check for more of those."

"Asala! Asala, please!" Estella looked up, trying to find their healer amidst the room's many familiar faces.

She needn't search for long as Asala had already been on her way. She came to a sliding stop on her knees, the healing magic already alight in her hands. "Stel," she said calmly but firmly, stealing a glance up before continuing to work. "Can you keep him stable?" she asked, her hands going to Cor's midsection, undoubtedly where the most damage had been.

"I—yes." She leaned forward over her friend from the other side, getting promptly to work.

From a better angle, the wounds were grievous. The heavy steel of Corvin's breastplate had been all but shredded beneath the blast, a large hole in the middle surrounded by warped, melted metal. The amount of blood visible suggested damage deep to his internal organs. It was probably only the armor itself that had saved him from being blown apart, and even then... survival might only be a temporary condition.

Leon would simply have to trust that they'd do anything possible. There was little time to stay and worry in this situation, and he ruthlessly quashed his own concern to the extent that he was able. Time enough to consider it all when the quarry was clear and they could stop to breathe. As soon as Rilien had returned word that they were clear of any other unexpected explosives, he gathered the troops, and they pressed on.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Three days after they took the quarry, the siege against Suledin Fortress was well underway. Frankly Khari felt it was kind of dragging, but sieges had a habit of doing that. In a way, it was better than the alternative, at least for the regulars. They'd taken their captains injury pretty hard in morale terms—not surprising. Cor was a likeable guy, and he more than any of the rest of them was the one who'd been among the individual troops, getting to know them and training them and all that. She figured it had to have hit his fellow Lions the hardest, but they were mercenaries, more used to the idea of losing friends and comrades.

But he seemed to be stable, even if healing was inexplicably slow. Asala was good at what she did, though, and pretty much everyone knew that, so the mood was picking up again. Meanwhile, they still wailed away at the fortress with Lucien's trebuchets, and waited for... well, she wasn't sure, exactly. An opportunity, maybe.

At the moment, most of the command team was gathered in one of the large canvas tents they'd set up upon arrival. Khari was actually kind of surprised she'd been invited to participate, strategy training with Leon or not. She still had a sense of her own position in the Inquisition, though, and stood a few feet back from the map table that hosted most of those who were actually in charge. She'd contribute if there was an opportunity to say something useful, but she wasn't going to insist otherwise.

Lia was in the process of walking the others through the situation. "It's a huge fortress, too big for the reds to properly man. They've actually given up a few sections of the wall, here," she pointed to a spot on the map laid out on the table in front of her, "and here. These aren't feasible to attack, the terrain is awful, but here on the east side there's a drain, a hole allowing a stream to pass under. The metal's rusted and weak. Could provide a way in to an undefended area of the fortress, but sending any more than a few would be a huge risk. No easy way out once they're in."

She looked tired. She'd been at work almost nonstop since the siege began, taking only a few hours of rest. No doubt she was taking Cor's injury harder than most. They were both from Kirkwall, after all, and friends since well before the Inquisition was founded.

SĂ©verine seemed to sense it too. Her tone was softer than usual. "And what would a small group hope to do, once inside?"

Lia shrugged. "Well... the north gate has the lightest defense of the ones we'd be able to push through, though it'd be a long trek through some manned parts of the fortress to get there. Could always go after Hawke, too, probably somewhere in the keep."

"Would they stop fighting if we killed him?" Rom asked, arms crossed, brow creased in thought.

SĂ©verine shook her head. "I doubt it. Most are too far gone to lay down their arms. Those that aren't are likely too afraid of the rest to do it. Still, it could throw them into disarray."

Leon was frowning down at the map. He didn't disapprove of the thought—Khari knew him well enough to say that. But he clearly had some reservations nonetheless. "We need something decisive," he said. "If we're going to take the risk, it ought to be for something that has a realistic chance of helping us break the siege."

"But what, though?" Stel replied, a touch of frustration creeping into her tone. The dark circles under her eyes spoke to little rest for her either, probably because she'd been helping Asala keep her friend alive. "Sometimes it seems like they're barely human. They don't seem to eat, I'm not even sure they sleep. I'd say we should destroy their supplies and starve them out, but I don't think there's any such possibility."

“Not for food, perhaps, but I think you've the right idea." Cyrus spoke up from his sister's elbow, glancing around at the others before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “They're very dependent on their lyrium. We could steal it out from under their noses and have them out of the keep in another couple of days maximum, I'd guess."

Khari considered that for a moment, kitting her brows and deciding it was worth piping up. “Or we could kill a lot of birds with one stone castle." She crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “We all know lyrium explodes. Why not blow the stash up instead of just stealing it? Bring the keep down on their heads if we're lucky. I bet Ril or Widget could work up some charges for it."

Rilien considered the idea for several second, then nodded. “That is well within our capabilities, yes. Perhaps destroying the lyrium in combination with slaying their leader would be most effective."

"If that's the plan, we'll need a team." It wasn't too hard to predict what SĂ©verine was going to say next. "I will lead it. If this is where we take down Carver, I'm not sitting out."

"I'm in, too." Ves had been lurking at the edge of the room, listening, but spoke up now, loud and clear. "You'll need more than one shield, if the reds catch on to you."

Stel looked a bit like she'd bitten into something sour for a half-second, before her face smoothed out again. "Much as I'd like to join you," she said quietly, "I probably shouldn't. The last time I was around any quantity of red lyrium, it... didn't go well." Which made sense. Mages were even more sensitive to it than ordinary people.

“I'll go, too." Khari couldn't say she felt any hesitation in volunteering, even. These fuckers had messed with the people she cared about long enough. And she felt like she owed as many of them an asskicking as she could dole out. Revenge for what that damn behemoth had done to her legs.

“You will need someone who can set the charges." Rilien didn't do great around red lyrium either, from what Khari knew, but he had a point, and Widget wasn't exactly a combatant, so he was probably the better choice of the two people who'd know what to do.

"I'll go as well," Leon said after a long moment. "This needs to end, and I can handle more red lyrium exposure than most." He glanced between the Inquisitors. "That would leave the two of you in command of the siege, unless Romulus planned to come as well?"

"I'm better put to use inside those walls than back here." Rom sounded pretty sure of it. He definitely had more practice sneaking than he did giving commands, at any rate. He gave Stel an apologetic look. "Sorry. Feels like I'm leaving you with the hard job."

Stel sighed slightly, a wry smile tilting her mouth. "Who, me? I'm just running an entire siege. Nothing to write home about." There was a touch of genuine uneasiness in the statement, but she shook her head as if to banish it. "I'll be fine. All of you just focus on coming back alive, please."

SĂ©verine took stock of the group that had volunteered. "Six should be more than enough. We'll just have to hope Carver hasn't surrounded himself with knights, hiding in the keep." She turned to Lia. "If we need a quick escape, what's our best option?"

The way Lia hesitated implied there wasn't a good one. She surveyed the map. "If you can lose pursuit, then back the way you came would be best. If not... some of the walls will have deep enough snow on the other side to throw yourself in. Might not break your legs."

"That reassuring." The Knight-Commander didn't seem especially bothered, however. "We'll wait for nightfall before moving in. Don't stop the trebuchet crews, we need to keep them focused on the army. Just... maybe tell them to aim for the walls, and not the interior."

"Duly noted."



Night fell, and as promised, the siege didn't relent. They didn't bother igniting the stones that the trebuchets were lobbing at and over the walls, so now there were just periodic whooshes of heavy objects flying away into the darkness, followed by thunderous booms a few seconds later, when they smashed against the walls or interior structures of the fortress. The walls had to be weak by now, crumbling in places. Still, unless they caved entirely, assaulting them or the gates head on was a violent proposition. The goal was to preserve the lives of their troops, not throw them away.

Occasionally something would come back at them out of the darkness. Spikes of red lyrium, typically. The horrors inside had grown bolder in the darkness, sometimes climbing to the battlements and launching projectiles into the air. They could get some remarkable distance on them, outranging any Inquisition longbow. It only took a few seriously wounded for the Inquisition to learn its lesson, and shift their forward troops back.

The infiltration group left fully geared along a path Lia and the other scouts had watched for them, one that cut low through an icy ravine carved into the mountainside. It wasn't the easiest trek in the dark, but the moon came out halfway through, the light catching on the ice enough that they didn't need torches.

"Here we are." Lia pointed to her left as the path ended and they climbed uphill back into deep snow. She spoke in low tones, for obvious reasons; the east wall of Suledin Fortress was dead ahead. Already they could hear the soft trickling of the stream coming down from the mountain, icy water flowing under the wall.

The grate was as rusted as Lia said it was, but they still needed to get through it. It was a lot quieter here than in the army camp, though the occasional cracks of boulders on stone were much louder now that they were on the receiving end. Hopefully not too close to the receiving end.

They crossed the gap to the base of the wall quickly and quietly, leaving Lia at the end of the cover while they pushed on ahead. SĂ©verine was closest to the stream, and knelt to examine what they were dealing with.

"Not sure what the best way through will be. Romulus, maybe you should—"

She was cut off by Ves's boot smashing against the grate, the thin iron pipes snapping off at their edges. The majority of it fell into the stream, and Ves was quick to fish it out and toss it back into the snow, where it landed with a quiet thud. Wordlessly he lowered himself down and in, sliding his shield to the other side and crawling under to get through.

SĂ©verine shook her head. "Fair enough. Let's move." She pushed in after Ves, disappearing from sight.

Khari was next, finding that her small size made it probably a little easier for her to move around than the others, though it was still nowhere near tall enough for her to stand upright in. Her armor occasionally caught on the stone, scraping softly until she shifted out of the way, and she wrinkled her nose in irritation. Fortunately, her footwear was more than enough to keep the icy water out and away from her skin—this was hypothermia weather. It wasn't often her clan ventured anywhere near here because it tended to stay this way for most of the year.

They emerged on the other side to find what might optimistically be called a copse of trees, except most of them were dead with the cold, closer to petrification than life. A few stubborn conifers held onto their needles, knotty bark defense enough against the harsh chill. Khari took a second to brush herself as free of grit and stone as she was going to get. The area was quiet—no sign of any reds anywhere.

"Stay where the snow's not if you can," Rom advised, for obvious reasons. Snow was a rather loud surface to walk on. They moved under the trees first, where there was at least a little less. After that were pathways that had clearly been tread often, with how much the snow had been either packed down or cleared altogether. The reds weren't actively manning these sections of the fortress, but they were definitely still patrolling them.

They worked their way up, having studied the drawn up layout of the fortress before they made their way inside. It wasn't long before the sounds of voices reached their ears, orders being shouted and received. Quiet the red templars were not, barring those few among them the troops had taken to calling shadows. They were lucky enough not to run into any of them here.

The first patrol they came upon was at the base of the fortress's main keep. The structure itself was massive vertically, extending up along an outcropping of the mountain, several levels they would undoubtedly need to ascend, no doubt with resistance. For now they positioned themselves on either side of an interior gate, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps. Two pairs were lighter, normal sounds of boots in the snow, but the third was heavier. A knight.

SĂ©verine commanded silently, gesturing to Rom, Rilien, Leon, and Khari that they'd be on the takedowns. Rom and Rilien for the normal troops, leaving the knight to Leon and Khari. They crouched low at the wall, waiting for the patrol to pass through. Only when both soldiers and the knight had done so did Rom make his move, darting out in unison with the Spymaster and leaping on the soldier on the left of the group. His blade flashed up and found the throat before they were even on the ground. Rilien went low, slashing for the other soldier's knee with a frost-enchanted dagger. The first strike left him hobbled, and the second found his throat, dropping him to the snow.

The swift attack occupied the knight's attention in front of him, leaving Khari and Leon a window of opportunity to strike. She went first, using Inga's superior reach to lash out where he couldn't do the same. The knight raised an arm to block, metal meeting metal with a clang, and he took her blade in both hands, attempting to wrench it from her grip. Khari grinned, and let it go without a fight, throwing him off when he met much less resistance than expected. It would have been a dumb move if she was fighting alone—but she wasn't.

The overbalance turned out to be fatal. Leon, moving in from the knight's blind spot, tripped him, and the heavy treads became a heavier thud as his back hit the ground. A hard stomp liberated Inga from the templar's grip and may well have fractured part of his elbow. It wouldn't matter anyway: Leon picked up Khari's sword in a smooth motion and stabbed it down into the gap between helmet and breastplate, wrenching it to the side before flipping the blade and tossing it back to her hilt-first.

She caught it with raised eyebrows. She'd never actually seen him use a weapon before. Not that she was surprised he knew how. “You've been holding out on us, Leon."

There was a movement under his helmet that might have been a smile. "Only by omission."

SĂ©verine had been watching ahead with Ves while they worked. "Looks like we're still clear. Let's keep moving."

The bodies were quickly dragged to the side of the wall and out of sight, the blood covered with some extra snow. It wouldn't buy them much time if anyone came this way, but every few seconds could count in these sorts of situations. They pushed through the door, keeping a tight formation, and found themselves in what initially looked like it had to be the red lyrium supply. A few seconds more examination showed otherwise.

The red lyrium appeared to be growing out of the walls of the keep on their left side, behind several large caged-in areas. Shards of it were littered too haphazardly around the ground for it to be such a valuable supply. To add to that, there were no guards. Just these cages, all seemingly empty save for the huge chunks of red lyrium inside them.

And then in the last cell, the red lyrium shifted and moved, pieces of it cracking apart almost as though they'd grown into each other over a prolonged period of stillness. A few seconds more and Khari could identify something alive, something massive, the red lyrium growths attached to its very body. There was a foot, red lyrium having replaced the missing toe nails, and the length of the leg it was attached to had to be five times Khari's height, at least. A hand settled down in the snow, shifting the entire figure's body to better face the intruders outside its cage.

And there was its face, wickedly scarred and mutilated from what had to be an old battle wound, criss-crossing across its singular eye. The scarring extended to the eye itself as well, leaving it discolored and somewhat milky, but from the way it eventually settled on them, it had to be able to see, if not particularly well.

“What the—?" There was something familiar about the creature's form, red lyrium aside. Something occasionally glimpsed from a distance through the massive trees of the deeper Graves. Was this really...?

“Red lyrium giant." Rilien's flat tone confirmed her hypothesis. “This one was in Kirkwall." His hands had drifted to the hilts of his knives, but he did not draw them.

Khari's jaw clenched. She didn't really want to fight it, either. Not because of the challenge—everyone knew she lived for those. “Bastards." The word referred to the Red Templars, of course. “Giants aren't normally violent. Just... big. This is..." She grimaced. It was kind of like the feeling of having to fight the dragon, only with even less good reason.

"Wrong." Ves finished the sentence for her. Of everyone in the group he was closest to the bars holding it back. It didn't look like they should be able to keep it there, if it wanted to escape. Khari could even see its massive club on the ground behind it, made all the more deadly by the shards of red lyrium growing in spikes out of it. Maybe there was something with the amount of red lyrium in there, weakening it or making it dormant.

"They're keeping it in reserve," SĂ©verine concluded. "Holding it until we're able to break through, no doubt. I don't want the army fighting this thing, half blind or not."

Rom's eyes were locked on its singular one. Damaged though it was, it was easy to see that it was in some amount of pain. Probably constant. "So what do we do? I don't know if there's an easy way for us to kill it."

"We should free him," Ves proposed, as though it was the obvious thing to do. "Trapped behind bars, twisted into something he isn't, driven to kill from constant pain. Free him, and I'll bet he takes his club to the Reds. If he breaks out of the fortress and runs into the army, at least it's not in a confined space on the enemy's terms."

Leon had been silent up to this point, squinting at the giant, his eyes occasionally moving to the wall behind it. "I think... the lyrium stores may be on the other side of that wall. Perhaps that's why he stays? No doubt withdrawal would be painful, but he would understand that the pain is least here." He did not sound pleased to have figured this out.

“I'd say let him go, too, but... what if he's staying here because they can control him? Then even if we let him out, he'll go straight for the army or something?" This red lyrium stuff was well beyond her. She didn't know the first thing about how it worked, but it seemed like they had to have some way of controlling the giant, or it would be too great a risk to keep him here.

“It is not so direct as that, from what I have observed." Rilien shook his head. “The red templars are wary of fighting close to it. Given that we plan to set explosives on the other side of this wall, the logical thing to do is release it."

That was apparently all Ves needed to hear, as he was already working on unlocking the gate. The entire cell wall seemed to be part of it, the only way they could conceivably fit the giant inside in the first place.

SĂ©verine and Romulus stepped back out of the way as the gate swung open, allowing the giant to exit if he wished. He looked confused at first. No doubt he expected different people to be the ones to eventually let him out, probably in a much more painful process. Eventually, though, a hand slowly reached for the club behind him, grasping the weapon and pulling it to the front. He began to crawl, on hands and knees, away from the red lyrium growths in the wall.

Once he was clear of the gate he actually had room to stand up, and did so, ascending until he towered above all of them. His head lolled down, looking between all of them. If he remembered Rilien at all, he didn't show it, instead seeming to regard all of them as uninteresting. In fact, he didn't seem to have any interest in doing anything besides standing up. Likely he didn't want to stray too far from the lyrium. Still, at least he would be out of the worst of the blast they were about to make.

Khari released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Rilien's observations aside, there was something plenty daunting about facing down the giant without drawing weapons. But it seemed for now at least that it had been a good decision. “O-kay. Let's... maybe get moving now."

It still kind of seemed like a bad idea to wait around for the giant to decide what he wanted to do, and no doubt someone would notice he was out of his cage in short order.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
One last push. That was all that was left.

The traitors had been reduced to this, cowering in a frozen fortress waiting to die, pitifully seeking to take as many with them as they could. SĂ©verine's templars had been reduced to a pitiful number in the south, but after this, all would know that they were still the rightful sword-arm of the Chantry. Still capable of defending the people from horrors like this.

They left the giant behind, wrapping around the edge of Suledin's inner keep towards the entrance. Perhaps there were others they could sneak into, but none would be as close to the supply of red lyrium they needed to destroy. It was about to get bloody, but with any luck the surprise of their attack and their skill in working together would see them through.

Two guards stood at the door, one on either side. More would be inside. Already SĂ©verine could feel her stomach turning from the strength of the lyrium shards inside. She couldn't imagine what Rilien was putting up with. It wasn't like he'd ever complain, though. She glanced back, eyes making contact with the others through the slit of her helmet.

"This is as far as stealth takes us. We get in, secure the supply, set the devices, then we fight our way clear. Understood?" Preferably that way would take them through Carver, but SĂ©verine was resolved not to be picky when these five other lives here were in the balance.

"Sounds like fun," Vesryn said, trying to shake something clear of his head. Some dizziness, perhaps. SĂ©verine had been tempted to request he stay behind, but couldn't find the words. He wanted to fight to make a difference while he was still capable of it. She didn't understand what he was going through, but that much at least make perfect sense to her.

"You take the right, then. I'll take left. Khari, Leon, you're first through the door. We're right behind you."

They rushed out from cover, catching the door guards by surprise. Certainly they weren't expecting a sudden attack from within the fortress, when their enemies seemed to be camped out of range of even their horrors. SĂ©verine's flail smashed into the already dented helmet of the red on the left, taking it clean off. The second pass of her weapon crunched in the man's skull. Vesryn's spear lanced up high, punching through the other's throat. She collapsed, clutching at her neck. Khari and Leon crashed into the double doors and burst them open, falling upon the first red templars they found inside. Romulus and Rilien followed in after them, with SĂ©verine and Vesryn bringing up the rear. She closed the doors behind them for good measure. Might buy them a few seconds.

The lowest level of the keep was a courtyard area, a cobblestone path surrounding frozen dirt in a large rectangle, with stairs leading to the upper levels in the back corners on either side. There was an elaborate multi-tiered fountain in the center, the statue at the top of which had long been destroyed. Already a few enemies had been cut down, but the noise was impossible to hide, and more were coming swiftly down the stairs, archers and one horror setting up to rain projectiles down while the others closed in. They wouldn't want to remain here any longer than they needed to.

Fortunately, Rilien was nothing if not efficient, and he was the one in charge of setting the explosives on the red lyrium. As if by some internal sense for its location, he broke away from the group with purpose, heading into a room on their left. The door was closed but not locked, and he slipped quietly inside, a mere shadow on the wall next to the noise the others were making. No doubt he'd be out as soon as possible.

In the meantime, Khari was already moving forward to engage the oncoming foes. It was easy to see why: the more time they had to settle their positions, the harder it would be to push through them later. Her sword came down hard on one templar's lyrium-encrusted arm, severing it at the elbow. That was enough to give even one of the reds pause, and in her moment of recoil from the pain, the green blade flashed, punched into the soft skin beneath her jaw and withdrawn in a fast, precise single motion.

Leon crashed into the line next to her, fending off another red trying to get at her flank. The first heavy blow knocked the templar's helm right off. The second snapped his head back with such force that his neck broke, and he fell. Leon flexed his fingers once, as if shaking off a twinge, and dove back into the melee.

They were being closed in on too quickly. Thankfully the red templars they were initially faced with lacked organization, and they were easily able to cut them down. The archers were a nuisance they couldn't immediately deal with, but most of them were well-armored enough that the archers needed exceptionally well placed or lucky shots to do much damage. SĂ©verine didn't know what was involved in the process of setting the explosives, but she was willing to bet that Rilien would work quickly.

No sooner did she have the thought than a heavy rumbling reached her ears, and her feet. A red templar behemoth smashed through the railing a floor above them and dropped down into the courtyard, the weight leaving cracks in the stones where it landed. SĂ©verine figured there were more of them somewhere in Suledin, she'd just hoped none would be in the keep itself.

To add to that, a familiar figure stood atop one of the flights of stairs, observing the Inquisition intruders through the narrow slit of a full helm. Carver hefted his red lyrium greatsword in both hands, slowly descending beside his soldiers. This was going to get a lot messier.

"Romulus, Khari, I need you on that behemoth," she ordered. Of all of them, they had the weapons most suited to killing. Her own abilities could help, but if Carver was here, there was simply no way she wouldn't face him. Vesryn could guard Rilien's back well enough until he returned, and Leon could likely float where he was needed.

“You got it!" Khari kicked her latest kill off her sword and reoriented herself. It was hard to say for sure under the helm, but it was a fair bet that she was grinning madly. “Been waiting to kill one of these fuckers." No doubt at this moment the fight in Kirkwall was fresh in her mind—when one of the behemoth's kin had nearly taken her life, and then nearly hobbled her permanently.

She met this one head-on, the blade of her sword squealing against the massive red lyrium spikes making up its left arm. It swung for her with the faster, spearlike limb, but she turned aside, and the blow whiffed by her abdomen instead of connecting. Several heavy, ringing collisions followed, chunks of red lyrium splintering and flying in all directions as she chipped away at it with her enchanted sword. While it survived the blows, she didn't seem to be making much headway.

Romulus didn't have a physical weapon that could do much to the behemoth, but he had his marked hand, which was potentially even better. Of course, he had to get extremely close to use it, and the behemoth wasn't making that easy. It was dangerous to even get close to, especially with how much it was throwing around its great weight, and it periodically caused small bursts of red lyrium shards to uproot from the ground, with only a second's warning. For the moment, the Inquisitor was stuck looking for an opening, and making sure no other red templars threatened Khari's back while she dealt with the behemoth head on.

Carver didn't wait long to engage, and threw himself directly at SĂ©verine, who met his charge in full. His sword smashed into her shield, rattling her arm, but she successfully turned it aside, landing a blow with her flail on his shoulder, which he managed to get in front of his face. It did less than she'd hoped, enabling Carver to spin out of it and bring the pommel of his weapon up into the facemask of her helm. SĂ©verine was jarred back, forced to lift her weapon hand to adjust the helm so she could see again. The time spent was all Carver needed to make another swing, this one crashing heavily onto her shield as she got it up, and forcing SĂ©verine down to a knee under the weight of it.

The weight bearing down on her was lifted when Leon intervened, stepping in close while Carver was distracted to take a swing at him. The Red Templars' leader avoided the strike, but doing so forced him to give up his positioning—and his chance to strike again at SĂ©verine. He aimed a slash for for Leon instead, sword whistling dully through the air. A grating clang—the Commander deflected with the back of one of his heavy gauntlets. The collision still forced him a step back, a soft grunt escaping him as she shored up his feet.

Khari seemed to be attempting to drive the behemoth back in the direction they'd come, but herding something as large as one of those was no easy task. She had to take three steps and three swings for every one of its, and tireless as she was, that was no trivial amount of work. The reckless fury of her initial swings quickly streamlined into something just as brutal, but much more efficient; she worked methodically to draw it into heavy blows, darting around them and striking at whatever weaker parts of itself it left exposed.

One particular effort was especially good: the behemoth stabbed forward for her midsection, but she twisted to the side, and the blade-arm caught in the stone wall, slipping into a gap between slabs and punching right through the mortar. This or something like it must have been part of the plan, because Khari seemed prepared. “Rom, now!"

Romulus threw aside the red templar he'd been killing to take advantage of the opening, going for the behemoth's backside. His mark was already crackling with energy when he got there, and he barely had to place his palm on the monstrosity's lyrium-encrusted lower back before there was a blast of energy. It sent chunks of red lyrium rocks soaring into the air and showering down on their heads, like some kind of red hail. The behemoth roared in what had to be pain and rage, the area on its back now appearing significantly softer and more vulnerable, if it were to be hit.

It wouldn't be held in one spot any longer, though, as it brought its massive club arm down on the other. It was apparently too thoroughly lodged to be removed quickly enough, so the behemoth snapped it off at the end, a grunt of pain the only indication that it was bothered by the now-shortened limb. The arm swiftly came free and whipped around, bludgeoning Romulus away. He skidded on his back across the hard frozen dirt, but didn't appear to be too injured.

SĂ©verine had risen back to her feet, and she charged Carver again, slamming her shield into his side while he was occupied with Leon. The hit knocked Carver flat onto his back, and SĂ©verine followed up with a downward swing of her flail, the weight behind it sending his guard aside with a clang. She descended on him, bringing the rim of her shield down towards his throat, but he abandoned his blade in time to catch it with his bare hands. They were close enough that she could clearly make out his eyes underneath the helmet, red-tinged and focused.

His strength was enough to throw her attempt backwards, and a hard kick caught SĂ©verine in the chest, throwing her onto her own back and giving Carver time to get his sword back in hand. More red templars came in from the side to attack Leon and give their commander time to get to his feet. Vesryn intercepted one of them, but they were appearing faster than they could be killed.

Khari was still working the behemoth backwards, strategically giving ground and getting them both into the hallway beyond. A flash of white could only be Rilien's reappearance. Whatever words they exchanged were too far to hear, but there was little mistaking the way they both broke into a sprint immediately afterwards, diving under the confused creature's arms and rolling to their feet.

The reason was obvious: a moment later, the first tremors shook the floor, a split-second of warning before the first thunderous bang split the air and shook the castle to its foundations. A second followed hard on its heels, and then a third, a massive plume of flame belching from the open doorway into the storage room. It caught the behemoth unprepared, the first explosion taking it to a knee. The second blasted a chunk of masonry into its center mass, and the third bathed it in the fire, which funneled into the hallway, reaching the arch they'd come through and spewing several meters into the courtyard. It looked like the back of Khari's armor was scorched, but fortunately the damage to their allies was no worse than that.

Both of them crashed into the red templar line, falling in with Vesryn to keep the reinforcements off Leon.

The morale of the red templars had been flagging before, and with the utter destruction of their lyrium supply, no few of them simply stopped fighting, looking on at the destruction with expressions that were difficult to read. Not the kind of abject horror SĂ©verine expected... more of an emptiness. No matter what happened here, this was the end.

The roar of rage from outside only cemented that, footfalls heavier than the behemoth's growing quieter as they carried the giant away from the keep. Even from here they could hear the first massive crash of its club coming down on someone unlucky enough to get in its way.

Carver wasn't done, but the timing of the explosion gave SĂ©verine enough time to get back to her feet, and she met him head-on again, her friends cutting through soldiers and horrors and shadows around her. No amount of corruption would overcome her own honed templar abilities, and when Carver's sword met her shield, he found the bulwark white hot and ready to lash out with a righteous fury. There was a flash of blinding light and a crack of metal. When she could see again, SĂ©verine's eyes fell upon the shards of Carver's shattered sword as the pieces scattered around their feet. He stared at them a moment, until her flail redirected his gaze.

Her swing took his helmet right off, sending Carver stumbling back. SĂ©verine barely recognized him. His looks had been boyish once, she remembered, sometime before his sister had been killed. He looked twice his years now, with lyrium lining his facial structure, plates of it over the skin where his cheekbones and jawline were. Half of his hair had fallen out. Some of his teeth as well, though SĂ©verine couldn't be sure it wasn't just her flail that had done that. The sight of him gave her pause. Something about just how tired he looked. Tired or not, he threw himself back at her, attacking with fists now that his sword was gone.

At last, Leon reappeared, free to assist with the intervention of their companions. No doubt Carver's strength was formidable with the enhancement of red lyrium, but Leon wasn't entirely without supernatural assistance himself, and the chunks of lyrium embedded in Carver's skin began to hiss and smoke, the Seeker's particular talent for destroying it manifesting in curls of red-black burnoff and the unpleasant sound of sizzling skin.

Leon blocked a heavy punch, turning it aside with his palm and delivering an uppercut right to Carver's chin, snapping his head back and sending him staggering. He lashed out with a blind haymaker; turning it aside was almost trivial for Leon, who was no doubt exhausted by this point but the much more experienced pugilist. Planting one of his boots at the center of Carver's chestplate, he shoved hard enough to topple the off-balance red templar entirely.

SĂ©verine advanced on him, flail whooshing with each circular pass through the air. Carver was quick to roll onto his feet in a crouch, but he looked as though his head was no longer in the fight. His eyes darted around, to the dead behemoth, to his dying red templars, to SĂ©verine's boots taking slow steps towards him.

His hands pushed off the ground, and he turned and ran, sprinting up the steps three at a time.

"I'm going after him," SĂ©verine declared. The others would have to handle the clean up. Carver was not getting away this time. He was not going to organize anything that would hurt anyone else, ever again. If there was some secret exit to the keep that SĂ©verine wasn't aware of, she was going to follow him there, and make sure he didn't make it out.

She followed him up to the upper levels of the keep, barely hearing sounds of catastrophic destruction in the distance. Stone crumbling and collapsing. The red templars here were in too great of disarray to slow her much; any that did found her shield and subsequently the ground. Carver didn't seem to be making for any exit she could imagine, instead just going up. She caught enough glimpses of him to stay on his trail.

She passed an armory, and outdoor forge, sprinted through another courtyard, maybe a place of worship once upon a time. Still Carver ran up, and SĂ©verine's legs burned from the stairs, hefting the weight of her armor up higher yet. There were no red templars here anymore; all were on the lower levels or the outer area of the fortress. Up here it would've been quiet if not for the sound of armored boots on stone, and the pounding of SĂ©verine's heart in her ears.

She ran through the war room, a familiar map of the fortress and the surrounding areas on the table inside. There was also a gauntlet and a pauldron, crusted with red lyrium, tossed aside on the floor. It was the first thing to make SĂ©verine slow.

"Stop," Carver said, his voice coming from outside, on the balcony. "Just... stop for a minute. It's... it's almost quiet now."

Cautiously she stepped through the door, finding Carver seated with his back against the railing. It was a breaktaking view, the balcony overlooking the entire fortress below. The giant had smashed another of the red templar behemoths and destroyed the entire front gate, leaving a gaping hole in the defenses. The defenders were in a disorganized panic, still trying to recover from the giant fighting its way free. SĂ©verine couldn't see it anymore, but she felt it was safe to say it had fled, away from both armies and into the mountains. The Inquisition was coming, the Queen's Companions leading the charge through the breach into the fortress. Chevaliers and templars and Inquisition regulars moved in behind them.

"This is what we've been reduced to," Carver said. "Mindless beasts, slaves addicted to our own chains." He swallowed thickly. "It takes everything, piece by piece. Your hands fight for the Elder One. Your legs take you to his enemies. Your mind can only think of what might please him. Your tongue forgets all words but his."

"Don't act like this wasn't your doing," SĂ©verine spat back at him. "Like Kirkwall wasn't your crusade. You chose this."

He was silent for a long moment, and then he nodded once. "I chose it once. For Bethany, you know? Do you know how she died?"

She studied him, still expecting him to make a sudden move, maybe try to throw her over the railing. The fall would certainly kill her. "She died the night the mage rebellion began, didn't she?"

"Yes." Whatever else the corruption did to him, it didn't stop tears, as one slid down the side of his face. "Not by a templar's hand. It was the First Enchanter himself. Killed her in part of some blood-magic fueled madness before he could be put down. Her body couldn't be recovered because it had become... part of him." Even seeing what she had of the Red Templars, the thought made her shudder. She was fortunate to have only heard of the First Enchanter's fate, and not to have seen it herself.

"I had nothing left," he continued. "And I let myself believe a lie, that the red could make the Order stronger than ever before, strong enough to contain the mages, protect them from themselves. Then there was only the song. The lyrium enslaved us to his will. Whatever our ideals were before... it doesn't matter. Those were the first things the red stripped from us."

He unbuckled his chestpiece, pulling off his armor as best he was able. For a moment SĂ©verine thought to help him, but still she couldn't manage to make herself move within arm's reach of him. Corrupted though he was, he'd looked impressive at the head of his army in Kirkwall. Here, now... he was broken. It was plain to see, even with how twisted his eyes were.

"Sometimes," Carver said, barely above a whisper, "Sometimes, at night, in the cold and the quiet, I can remember who I was. What I believed in. But then the morning comes, and the sun and the song burn it all away." SĂ©verine had to imagine right now was one of those moments. When the will to fight for Corypheus melted away.

He met her eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry about Cullen. He was a good man. Gave me more chances than I deserved."

She wasn't sure where the tears had come from, but there was a hot sting in SĂ©verine's eyes. She pulled her helmet off, blinking them away. "He did the same for me."

They were still for a moment, Cullen letting his head rest against the stone railing, SĂ©verine standing still as a statue, debating putting an end to him. The handle of her flail was heavy in her hand, and it seemed like it would take a monumental effort to swing it down. She didn't want to believe him, to believe that the red lyrium had enslaved the very thoughts of all these templars, many of whom had experienced such horrors at the hands of magic. So many of them were not so different from her, wanting, really believing that if they just did something a little different, a little more brave, they could make a difference. Without people like Cullen, without Leon, SĂ©verine could see a path that led to her sitting here, defeated and broken and corrupted, instead of Carver.

"Come back with me," she said, not knowing the words had been in her. "Come back to the world and we'll face this like honest templars. If justice for you turns out to be death, then... face it standing up."

He considered that for a moment, and then he did stand, though it took him great effort, and the leverage provided by gripping his hand against the railing. A cold breeze came in over the balcony. It seemed to give him some relief.

"Thank you," he said, "but there can be no coming back from this. Bethany would never forgive me for what I've become. The man I was would never forgive me."

She nodded, understanding that much. Even the things she'd done for Meredith still haunted her, years later. She would never dream of trivializing them, but compared to Carver's acts they could only ever seem minor. She didn't know what to do or say to Carver here; she only knew that the fire she'd had was out. The burning need to be the one to end his life. She no longer cared for it.

He understood that, too. "Thank you, SĂ©verine. For putting an end to it."

He threw himself over the railing.

SĂ©verine's eyes shut as he disappeared, but the sound of his body hitting the ground far below was unmistakable. She didn't need to look to know he was dead. A shaky breath escaped her. Her flail fell from her hand. She sank into a nearby chair, letting her shield slide off her arm, running her other hand over her face. The night air seemed to give Carver relief, but to her it simply felt cold.

It was done, dealt with. The goal she'd striven for for so long. Cullen was avenged, the Red Templars crushed. Why did she feel so empty?

A heavy sigh, amplified by the interior of a helmet, alerted her to Leon's presence in the doorway. It was hard to say how long he'd been there. Long enough to see Carver jump, it seemed, because he didn't ask what had happened, instead lifting his own helm off his head and setting it aside. He regarded the lyrium encrusted gauntlet on the floor for a long moment before turning his eyes to her. They looked sunken in the light, evidence perhaps of the toll the last four days had taken on him, still not fully recovered from his ordeals. But they were also clear, bright, evidence that he was no longer staring down the end of his life. At least not any more than the rest of them were.

"This is when the real work begins," he observed, shifting his attention over her shoulder to the view. His brow knit. "Not to belittle what we've done so far, or what it cost, but for the templars, for the Chantry—this is the beginning of the ordeal, not the end." It would take more than the elimination of the reds and their lyrium supply to restore the faith that had been lost. In them, and even in what they stood for. If it could be restored.

"Perhaps that's why it seems so unsatisfying." It sounded like a personal musing, but he could just as easily have been talking to her, from the words alone.

"I wanted to think of them like demons." She wasn't surprised to find that Leon had followed her, nor that he'd made it up here so quickly behind her. "Consumed by their red lyrium, made into monsters. Gone. To be forced to see the people underneath still there, fighting a battle they can't win..." She was reminded of the young red templar that had helped them in Kirkwall, only to succumb to the song in the end. It was horrifying knowledge, the thought that every red templar they'd fought against might have had a good person trapped inside. Someone that could've helped them rebuild after all this.

"Whatever they became, they were still our brothers and sisters. We had conflicts over magic, but none of them ever wanted to serve Corypheus. And yet they did, without even knowing his name." Below, the battle was concluding. The last of the red templars fell. SĂ©verine could only hope those that managed to surrender could recover from the poisonous lyrium. That not all who fell to this were lost forever.

"I won't let anything like this happen again," she resolved. "Not while I have the power to do something about it."

Leon smiled a little at that, an expression that did not reach his eyes, which were obviously melancholy. "I believe that," he said quietly. "I believe you can do it. And I'll do everything in my power to help. Whether that's as Commander of the Inquisition, or Lord Seeker, or just a friend of yours. Seems as good a way as any to spend a life I didn't think I'd have." He expelled a heavy breath.

"So... don't forget to count on me sometimes, if you can manage it."

"You can count on that. I think I'll need all three." It was a terrifying thought to acknowledge what was next. That this would, in all likelihood, be the last battle she fought. That her entire life was about to change again, and that the responsibilities would only become greater.

She'd risen to every challenge so far. She'd rise to this one as well.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by AugustArria
Sophia didn't remember the last time she'd felt elated and overwhelmed all at once.

That was the only way she could describe it. The sheer thrill of finally securing what she'd wanted for so long. She had family again, really and officially for all the world to know. Sophia Drakon was her name now. It was not just any family she'd married into. It was not just any man she'd married. It was one of the oldest names in Thedas. When it came down it, of course that had little to do with why she'd wanted to marry Lucien, but there was no running from the fact that these things came with him, just as her own world, smaller in relative size though it was, came with her.

Val Royeaux would be as much her home now as Kirkwall was. Perhaps Lydes, too. She didn't know how much time she'd be spending here, and how much in Kirkwall. She was still Queen there, after all, and while her marriage would help tie the city more closely to Orlais, she knew her Free Marcher people would not go so far as to name Lucien King. Friendship, Kirkwall was willing to have. They were not looking to be absorbed. Perhaps things would change over time, but for now that was the case.

She had to remind herself not to think about it while they were walking through the streets of Val Royeaux, almost perpetually barraged with cheers from the assembled crowds that came out to see them. The commoners were more welcoming to Sophia than the nobility of Orlais were. Her roots and sympathies were about as well known as Lucien's were. Elves too made a decent showing, she noted. Perhaps they'd heard of the way Kirkwall relationship with its elves was evolving. In any case, it was encouraging.

It was also tiring, but her energy today was unnaturally bouyed. By the time their tour concluded Sophia found herself longing for a more casual setting, alone with her closer friends and allies. It had already been arranged, of course, and those invited filed into the royal palace, and were guided into the informal dining room. Sophia wondered just how many dining rooms there were. It was going to take some time to learn her way around this place.

They still had a large group gathered for the dinner. All of their closest friends from Kirkwall were welcome, along with Lucien's Argent Lions and her friends in the Inquisition. From the head of the table she could see all of their faces, an incredible variety of nationalities and backgrounds. So many different goals and dreams, and all of them with the strength and the connections to achieve them. She was honored to have them celebrate with her.

They set to work filling hungry bellies. The food had been perfectly timed, the first dish finished and served as they were settled. Sophia observed with some muted amusement the differences in manners, between those well aware of the location they were eating in, those unaware of how they were supposed to conduct themselves, and those who simply didn't care. The last group was perhaps the largest; they were among friends, after all.

"Will you be staying here long?" The first question of the meal directed to Sophia came from Ithilian of all people. The elf was dressed in a fine forest green tunic, looking as presentable as she'd ever seen him. The half-empty sleeve was hard to miss, though.

"For the time being, at least," she answered. "I didn't intend on becoming Empress just to flee back home the next day. Bran and Varric can take care of things while I'm gone, I'm sure. I know they get along quite well." She was certainly sarcastic about their relationship. Bran couldn't stand Varric's manner, but then again, he wasn't fond of many people. They would, however, do just fine at running the city in her absence.

"And I know we're very much looking forward to some time together, apart from all this." Perhaps a trip to Lydes was in order, if Val Royeaux could stand their absence.

"That, I understand," Ithilian said, almost wistfully. "I'm happy for you. Len'alas." The corner of his scarred mouth turned up in the hint of a smile.

Sophia returned it more broadly. She was surprised to hear him say it, and not offended in the slightest by the rudeness it would normally carry. In the moment, she knew it only as a symbol of how far the both of them had come. She hoped he found the peace he still sought, she really did. And she hoped seeking it took nothing else from him. He had his own title waiting for him in Kirkwall, when it was done.

"Thank you, Ithilian."

"Congratulations to you both," Amalia added from her spot next to Ithilian. She was garbed in wine-burgundy, mostly, her very long hair left loose. It was certainly more effeminate than she usually appeared, even if she was still wearing trousers. There was a pensive look on her face, broken only momentarily by the small smile she proffered them both. Lucien added his thanks to Sophia's, and she nodded, returning her attention to the task of delicately peeling a boiled egg.

Beneath the table, Lucien rested his hand lightly on Sophia's knee, turning to engage Aurora in the conversation as well. She was seated right next to Donnelly, close enough in fact that their arms occasionally brushed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Aurora, but I believe this is your first visit to Val Royeaux? I do hope it won't be the last."

Aurora smiled and nodded, "It is, even in spite of Inquisition business. It feels like we've been everywhere else in Orlais but Val Royeaux," she said with a glance at Donnelly. "Maybe one day, when we don't have Corypheus to worry about, we can return and your lieutenant can show me around a little," she said with a chuckle.

The dinner kept conversation from getting too involved; it had been a long day thus far and just about all of them were famished. The courses weren't overwhelming, and at the end of it they moved into a more open area. Not quite a ballroom, as they didn't have quite so many people to fill one, but clearly a room intended for larger gatherings. Natural light from the setting sun still filtered in through stained glass and skylights, leaving it just bright enough that they didn't need to light any fires or cast any magelights.

Music had been arranged, courtesy of Rilien of course, and spaces were cleared for dancing, with ample seating on the edges of the room for those that preferred to relax. It went without saying that no one would be dancing until the newlyweds had their turn.

"This is more like it," she said, settling her hand on Lucien's shoulder. "Shall we?"

"But of course." With the easy familiarity of practice, he let one hand rest on her waist, sweeping them both out onto the empty spot in the middle of the floor before turning them together and lacing the fingers of their free hands just above shoulder height. They'd of course both learned to dance growing up, but Lucien took the liberty of peppering in a few more twirls and lifts than the traditional version of the dance required. After all—they were among friends, none of whom would care a whit if they improvised for the sake of fun.

He grinned the entire time, the grey of his eyes bright with the same elation that hadn't left her, and when the song came to an end, he shifted his hand up to brace between her shoulderblades and dipped her low towards the ground, hold steady and comfortable. Lifting her back up to the free applause of their audience, he nudged her chin up slightly and kissed her. Just briefly, but certainly enough to earn them more cheering and a few whistles.

"All right, all right," he said, waving a hand to quiet them. "Now the rest of you come make fools of yourselves, too."

Permission granted, many of those present took him up on it, grabbing partners or friends or new acquaintances and joining the two of them on the floor as the music picked up tempo into something less elegant and more cheerful.

Sophia was content to observe on the edge for a moment, now that everyone else had observed her own performance. The Lord and Lady Inquisitors were among the first out, dancing with their respective elven partners. Sophia was more acquainted with Khari than she was with Vesryn, given the former elf's visit to Kirkwall before the siege, and her acquaintance with Lucien. Vesryn looked... different, than she remembered him, after the battle. Out of all the people present he'd struck her as one of the ones who would enjoy a wedding celebration the most, but he seemed distracted. Nevertheless trying to enjoy himself.

Many of the Argent Lions were mixed in among the dancers. Two of the elves, Lia and Cor, whirled their way along the edge of the dance, coming to a stop by Lia's doing in front of her and Lucien when they saw an opening to say hello.

"Your Radiances," the young woman greeted, flowing into a bow. It was hardly genuine, but of course she didn't really need to be. "Congratulations." She straightened, sticking a finger into Cor's hip. "I know it's hard to believe, looking at him, but every word they say about this mad idiot's heroics are true."

Cor raised a hand to his chest in mock affront, but there was a certain tentativeness in the way he regarded them in that moment, Lucien in particular. Like he was wary of something, or at the very least uncertain. "Mostly the 'mad idiot' part," he conceded.

Lucien shook his head immediately. The way the story had been conveyed to him, and to her in turn, it had been a situation where quick action was necessary, and Cor's actions were obviously not the kind of thing just anyone would be able to do. He had to have known he was staring death in the face to even make the attempt. "What you did was incredibly brave." Though one of his arms remained entwined with hers, he reached forward to lay the other on the young man's shoulder. "When I heard of it, I wasn't surprised. But I was proud. As everyone who knows you ought to be."

"I..." Cor cleared his throat, visibly choked up, then nodded a little jerkily. "Thanks, Commander." With a deep breath and a short exhale, he shook the emotion off and found a grin instead. "And congratulations to you both. If I know any two people who can balance all this, it's you." He sketched an intentionally-shoddy salute, then nudged Lia with his elbow. "Wanna go see if you can get your dad to dance? Donny lost a bet with Hissrad the other day, so he has to ask Amalia. Don't think he'll have the guts if they're both standing there."

Lia's eyes narrowed in thought. "Hmm. I think I can do this." She flashed the two of them a smile. "Seeya around, you two! Important work to do."

Eventually, the Lord Inquisitor made a stop to see them as well, though it was up for debate how much of that plan was his and how much Khari's, because she was definitely the more obviously-enthusiastic of the two, stopping perhaps a little bit inside Imperial personal space. Then again, few of the people here would observe quite that norm anyway. “This is probably about your three hundredth congratulations or something, so I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you that this is a great party instead." She grinned widely enough to crinkle her eyes at the corners. “Those clothes look a bit too nice for hugging, so you can both just imagine that I hugged you, and we'll call it good."

"I imagine it was an excellent one," Lucien replied with obvious humor. "And thank you. I hope you've found that your post-history-making life is to your liking?" That story, Sophia had heard in full already; Lucien seemed to be quite fond of it, and for obvious reasons.

Khari shrugged, the gesture obviously affected to look more casual than it really was. “It's all right, I guess. Might be I'm a little interested in doing it again, you know? Seems like a good attitude to have, around these people." She waved her free arm to indicate the room. “Probably none of them more than you two, though."

“Something tells me we’ll be hearing more about your exploits sooner rather than later.” Sophia quite enjoyed it, the way she seemed to live. Very viscerally inspirational. Nothing held back. It was an attitude that couldn’t quite transfer into the world she occupied, as a Queen and now an Empress, but that didn’t mean she didn’t find it inspirational, all the same.

"To make it three hundred and one,” Romulus added, "congratulations. And thank you, for all the help.”

It wasn’t long before they’d moved on, back into the dancers, and Sophia watched them for a few moments as Khari said something to Romulus, and he responded, their words only for each other. “They’re quite taken with each other, aren’t they?” she said aloud, leaning her head to rest against Lucien’s shoulder. “I hope they get to have this someday, too. I hope all of them do.”

Lucien's arm slid comfortably around her waist, and for a moment he rested his cheek atop the crown of her head. Fortunately, she wasn't wearing the literal crown at the moment. "I can't help hoping it comes a little easier for them," he replied; and from the slight angle to his body she could tell he was glancing at Estella and Vesryn, who'd made themselves comfortable with Rilien and a few other members of the Inquisition and the Lions at one side of the room. "But then I'm not counting on it." He shifted, and she could feel his lips press briefly to her hair.

"Shall we go make the rounds? I can't in good conscience leave before we do, but much as I'm enjoying the celebration..." He let the sentence trail off to its obvious end, the meaning clear enough in the intent way he met her eyes. Only momentarily, though; he did clearly intend to make good on his duties as a host.

"Yes, let's." The hint of a smile touched her lips. "I'm sure they'll be understanding." She was enjoying herself, too, but today was a day she'd been awaiting for a very long time, and not all of the things she'd been waiting for had yet come to pass.

The present seemed like the ideal time to rectify that.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by AugustArria
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And as the black clouds came upon them,
They looked on what pride had wrought,
And despaired.
-Canticle of Threnodies 7:10
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Ithilian marched with the army, though he would yet again not be fighting.

He was never going to get used to this, he imagined. It was the same as sailing to Kirkwall, that wretched feeling of knowing those he loved would be throwing themselves into the worst kind of danger, and all he could do was wait and hope that they returned to him alive and whole. His own daughter, trying to chase down the man that took his arm, the man that had scarred Amalia in so many different ways.

No, he would never get used to that thought.

They marched quickly, heading west around the mountains. There was little time for calling allies. They'd been notified and would send help, but the bulk of the fighting here would be the Inquisition's alone. It was growing warmer even at Skyhold, and here on the road it was comfortable. The heat of the sun was perhaps even a little annoying, for those making the trip in armor.

It felt different this time. This was the Venatori's play, their most aggressive move with the most to gain and the most risk. If it paid off for them the Inquisition could well be destroyed in a month's time. If not, the opposite could be true. Either way, this was going to come to an end. Ithilian had to believe that was true of their personal conflict as well. Someone was not going to survive. It was inevitable.

"Not much farther now," Lia pointed out. They were heading south now, making straight for the Arbor Wilds. Normally Lia would be with the scouts ranging ahead, and there she would remain for the battle. This time she'd requested a special assignment, to remain with Amalia and be among the Irregulars that would be the Inquisition's fist in the fight. The place most likely to cross paths with Marcus.

"Not much farther," he agreed. Amalia had been quiet, but that was not unusual for her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

She turned slightly at the question, meeting his eye with both of hers. He could read the answer fairly easily in that moment, but she said the words as well. There were times when that was important. "This will be the last time," she said quietly. "I cannot say how I know this, only that I do." Perhaps it was that it had to be—though she was still strong, still capable, the prolonged fight was more difficult on her mind than her body, he knew, and for all her sturdiness of character, even Amalia had a breaking point.

The dragonhide gauntlets she wore creaked softly as she tightened her grip on the reins of her borrowed horse. Like many of their number, she'd geared up preemptively, now that their destination was within a day's march. "One way or another, it will end here."

He nodded. It was hard not to think of what would happen if the another came to pass. The idea of the Venatori winning wasn't even the most frightening one. If the worst happened, and Amalia and Lia and all the others died in battle, and the Inquisition's army was broken and Corypheus victorious, then he would soon join them, and really nothing would matter then. But if the Inquisition should win, and they were still taken from him... he did not know what he would become. What there would be left to him. He had friends besides them, it was true, but... some pieces simply could not be replaced, and this loss would be one loss too many.

His arm, he could live without. His soul, his reason for continuing... that he could not.

"This feels too big," Lia admitted, lowering her tone. "Too big for someone like me. I wasn't even strong enough to hold a sword when this started, and now I'm trying to finish it." She fell silent for a long moment, and then made sure to pull her horse up alongside Amalia's.

"Trying to help you finish it, rather." It wasn't Lia's fight, not really. She'd never even seen Marcus in person. She'd simply chosen the fight after how much she'd seen it take from the two she cared most about. After her father could fight it no more. "When it comes to a fight... what would you have me do? How can I help you the most?"

"The most important thing is that I be able to handle Marcus without distraction," Amalia replied immediately. "He is clever, and powerful, and even one slip could spell the end of it." Her features hardened, jawline tight; perhaps some memory overtook her in the moment, of some previous battle or slip or wound. Perhaps she was thinking of the last time they'd fought. But whatever it was, it passed, and she clarified. "It would serve best, I think, if you kept your distance. He is not powerless at range, but the greatest danger is when he is close. If you can fire at him freely, do, but it is most important that, even if the fighting is thick, I only need fight him. The more distractions you can eliminate, the better."

All true, no doubt, but also no doubt agreeable to Amalia because it minimized the risk to Lia. There was no way to prevent any risk at all, and even ranged support was in danger of catching the wrong end of Marcus's formidable magic, but as they had both long discovered, it was when that magic was blended with the once-Magister's physical capabilities that it was most potent and effective.

Lia was no doubt aware of Amalia's motives, but they happened to line up with the realities of the situation. She was best put to use from a distance, regardless of what position would be safest for her. Ithilian could tell that it was something she wanted to protest, but could find no reason to. It was understandable; she'd always looked up to Amalia at least as much as she did to him. She wanted to be her equal, but had the self-awareness to know that she was not, and could not occupy the same role in this fight.

"I'll try to keep my distance, then, if the field allows for it." Ithilian had heard the Deep Roads were not accommodating, and that she'd adapted reasonably well to it. Thankfully others had been able to take care of Leta. Lia had been training with Amalia almost every day for months now, ever since their discussion in Kirkwall, but there was no fight quite like one against Marcus. No real way to prepare for that, other than to survive it.

"There was one more thing I was hoping to ask," she said, almost tentatively. "Something we never really covered at Skyhold. When things go wrong... what do you do? What do you use to push through pain, more than you should be able to?" She had to know she was asking the foremost authority on such things. Ithilian had never known anyone able to endure quite so much so evenly, especially without the added benefits of something like berserker training or alchemical effects. But it was obviously something that had to be learned the hard way. Something that Marcus had taught her, indirectly.

"I think..." Amalia trailed off, pushing a loose strand of wheat-gold hair behind an ear. The motion made the scar on her cheek obvious, a white slash, pale against the deep tan of her skin. "The answer to that is different for everyone who must find out." She paused, regarding Lia solemnly. "I hope that you never have to." It went without saying that the amount of agony required for that to happen was not something she'd wish upon most enemies, let alone someone she cared about.

"As for me..." Amalia inhaled; slow, controlled. "There came a time when the prospect of more pain was no longer something I feared. It took... it took time, and suffering, but I came to understand that all pain is temporary. But death is permanent—and to give up on life because of pain is a fool's bargain. I understood that if I did so, I would be defeating myself." She pushed the rest of the breath out, shaking her head as if the words were unsatisfying to her, but then she offered the both of them the tiniest of smiles.

"And there are some things about living that are worth any amount of pain. I try always to think of these, and nothing else."

Lia did not answer immediately, instead remaining silent and thinking on Amalia's words. She didn't get nervous easily, Ithilian knew. From what he'd heard she jumped at the chance to lead the Inquisition's scouts, just as she'd jumped at the chance to join Lucien's Argent Lions, or leave Kirkwall behind for a strange and daunting new city. She didn't hesitate at the prospect of facing red templars or corrupted dragons. But Marcus... she'd seen what the man had done to the two of them. She was nervous about that, there was no hiding it.

"It's a kind of endurance to be admired," he said, breaking the silence, "but maybe not aspired to. If you ever are forced to suffer that much, then Amalia and I will have both failed you as teachers."

"Right, yeah," she agreed, quietly. "Better to just avoid it."

The march continued without interruption, though reports did from in from returning scouts that Venatori had been sighted. Scouts of their own, no doubt reporting to their main force that the Inquisition was coming in full force. It wasn't the best sign. The enemy was ahead of them. They picked up the pace into a forced march, and by the mid-afternoon they'd reached the outskirts of the Arbor Wilds.

The trees were not as massive here as they were in the Emerald Graves, but the Wilds were without a doubt the thicker forest, green and lush with the heat and sunlight of summer. Every few minutes they encountered another stream, and the general denseness of the forest made it difficult to find an appropriate place to make a base camp.

When they did find a suitable clearing, the soldiers worked quickly to set everything up, clearly still possessed of the energy they'd need for the fight. The day's march wasn't going to stop them from facing the Venatori, who had no doubt been hurried as well. Ithilian left his horse alongside Lia and Amalia's two; no doubt they wouldn't be needing them as they moved further into the woods. The Irregulars were called to meet with the Commander in the main tent, to receive their final reports and mission objectives before the battle.

The tent, large as it was, had been the first one erected, and was now nearly full, between the Irregulars, the few like Lia and Amalia who were not usually among that number but had been pulled in for particular reasons—including, it seemed, the elf who called himself Harellan and the little Dalish mage, Astraia—and the command support staff. Still, there was enough room for everyone to at least sort of see the map laid out over the table, and no one would ever have difficulty spotting the Commander, towering over everyone else as he did.

He had the kind of voice that could reach over noise, too, and he put it to use now. Apparently, the three of them were the last people he needed to get the strategy discussion going. "The Venatori are massing deeper in," he said without preamble. "We've had a few independent sightings of Corypheus, so we're proceeding on the assumption that he is in fact here. Their progress is slow—Scout-Lieutenant Signy believes that they've encountered some traps, perhaps defense mechanisms connected to the temple itself. We'll want to be cautious of the same, but I don't think we'll have quite the same level of difficulty." He glanced once at Vesryn, then turned his attention back to the map.

Vesryn looked sickly, though he still wore his armor and carried his bardiche axe. By now everyone in the Inquisition knew of his deteriorating health, though most were still unaware of the cause, Ithilian included. All he knew was that Vesryn intended to continue fighting, until he could fight no more. That alone was inspirational to many of the soldiers.

"Traps or no traps," he said. "We need to find a way inside that temple ahead of Corypheus. We can't settle for chasing him in." He looked to their leaders again. "What's the plan of attack?"

A little surprisingly, it was Khari who answered the question. In sharp contrast to Vesryn, she'd never looked in better health, the prospect of a long, hard battle ahead seeming to invigorate her more than anything. Her armor was polished to a shine, as was the hilt of the enchanted sword just visible over her left shoulder.

“Okay, so. Here's the thing: these trees mean we don't get a conventional battlefield. It's going to be a lot of grappling for space, and positioning will be easier to hold than to gain. So we gotta move fast." She picked up a token and set it down on what seemed to be a very specific spot on the map, some distance to the east of the temple. “This is our high ground. We stage from here. To make sure we can do that, there's already an advance party on the way there to secure it as fast as they can. We're going to be taking all the space we can get vertically, too: archers in trees. Mages, too, if their aim's good enough. Once that point's ours, it's literally downhill from there: we fall on Corypheus's army from that spot and try to punch our way through to the temple." She drew a line with her finger from the token to what looked like a bridge on the east side.

“After we've made a gap, we send the Irregulars through to deal with the actual temple bit, and the rest are going to use the hole in Corypheus's line as a wedge, and separate his people into two halves. Everyone not needed on the hill or below is going to go flank the smaller half so we can get rid of them fast, and then everyone pushes together against the bigger half. If it works... no more Venatori."

"This seems sound, for the Venatori," Amalia noted, crossing her arms and looking down at the map. "But what of the particularly dangerous among them? Corypheus himself, or that dragon he commands?" It went without saying, at least to Ithilian and anyone who knew her well enough, that she considered Marcus just as dangerous—but it was also quite clear to probably everyone in the room what the plan was for dealing with him.

"Corypheus wants the Well of Sorrows, inside the temple." Harellan sounded absolutely certain of it. "He will not waste any time fighting anyone he does not have to in order to get to it. The trick will be stopping his progress, and that, I think, is best left to those who enter the grounds in any case."

“The army's been training a lot, but he'd thresh them." Khari's agreement was sober. “As for the dragon... no one's seen it yet, so it's hard to know exactly what to do. If it comes, we'll need to throw some of our best at it, for sure, even if it's not ideal to split us up."

Leon nodded there, taking over for Khari and addressing the assembled. "The forest is hardly the ideal location for the dragon anyway. If it does appear, we'll have quite a lot of cover to make use of. It's important to maintain our flexibility as much as possible, since it's likely that there will be complications along the way. But as a general strategy, this seems to be the best option. The important thing—more important than anything else we do—is stopping Corypheus or Marcus from getting what is in that Well. If things come to a choice, choose that, regardless of the other option."

"Best of luck, everyone." The quiet encouragement came from the Lady Inquisitor, standing next to her counterpart. She had a face that was difficult to read, but anyone could see the tension there now.

The group dispersed. They had a few moments to prepare before they would be moving out into battle. Ithilian felt... naked, perhaps, was the right word. No bow on his back. No dagger on his chest. No armor protecting him. He carried his old Dalish blade on a hip, but it would be of little use to him in a fight against Venatori in their prime. He couldn't move nearly as well as he used to, even before the lack of arm was considered. Too many old wounds. He doubted even Nostariel could've held him together, had she been with him the whole time.

"I know I'm wasting my breath," Lia said, as the three of them exited the tent. "But try not to worry too much, okay? Everything's going to be fine."

"You're right." His words were soft, almost lost in the camp activity all around them. "You are wasting your breath."

She rolled her eyes, and hugged him tightly. He tried to be prepared for that, but somehow it still surprised him. Every time. He hugged her back as best he could. "Go. Prepare. Focus on the task."

She broke the hug, offering a brief nod to Amalia before she left them to group up with the others. Ithilian watched her go. He hoped it would not be for the last time. But hope was all he could do, and that would never not be painful.

"There is nothing to say that has not already been said." He looked back to Amalia, and settled his hand on her shoulder. "End him, and come back alive."

Amalia's eyes fell shut for a brief moment; her hand found his own on her shoulder, and she squeezed firmly. Not firmly enough that he couldn't detect the slightest of tremors in her fingers. A bracing breath helped her still the shake, and she cracked her eyes open again to meet his own.

"I will." The words might have been a statement, but the way she said them made them something much more deliberate. They were a promise.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
The vantage point she'd chosen in consultation with Leon had proven its worth already.

As it turned out, Cor's advance party had reached it in just enough time; they'd been holding off Venatori since, picking them off as they tried to ascend the hill. The only significant losses to the Inquisition so far had been from magical bombardment, and even then, the trees had proven to be effective shelter from the worst of what the mages threw their way. The arrows and spells that rained down in retaliation kept larger advances at bay, the Inquisition's vanguard able to choose their targets with greater precision.

And now that the main body of the force had arrived to back them up, morale was high. Khari could sure feel it; her blood was practically singing in her bones, the low simmer before the boiling-over that would take hold when she found herself in the thick of it. Crazy as it might have been—crazy as she knew some people had to think her for it—she could hardly wait.

But for now she could keep a cool head. The Venatori were trying one last charge up the hill, in greater numbers this time, not yet aware that the Inquisition had reached the battleground in full. so she and some of the other melee fighters in the group lay in wait, for those lucky enough not to get cut down by the death-dealers in the trees above.

Red-feathered arrows sailed overhead and thunked solidly into exposed fleshy-bits, causing their intended target to falter long enough to catch a blade to the belly or be pushed aside by the front ranks closing in on the Venatori. Those particular arrows belonged to none other than the wild-haired captain herself, choosing garishly colored feathers that struck a harsh contrast against their woodland surroundings.

Easier to find, she’d said. Besides, it looked a lot like Khari’s hair, and she’d figured that it would be a little nod to her leading them into the fray. A stupid, foolish sentiment, but one that’d drawn Zee’s telltale grin into a full-sail.

She’d positioned herself on the hilltop with the other archers and magic wielders, fingers deftly plucking arrows from the quiver strapped to her back. With a cursory glance, Khari could tell that she was grinning wide, hands affixed to the shiny new bow she’d been gifted. An unusual swirl of onyx and a deeper purple. Like holding darkness in her hands.

Another arrow hissed through the air, catching a man just below the notch of his helmet. Left cheekbone. He stopped mid-stride, eyelids fluttering wide, until blood bubbled and poured down his neckline, staining tunic and chainmail alike. Part of his face seemed to sag and distort. Skin puckering and pulling downwards, sloughing off. Poison. Or acid. Something she’d most likely acquired from Ril.

On either side of the arrows' paths pinkish barriers sprung up between the trees. Many of the Venatori found themselves running headlong into a sturdy wall, and those that didn't backed up and reevaluated their routes. Strategically placed amongst the trees were openings to allow the Venatori to funnel in. Asala's hands were alight with magic, and her eyes darted and forth between the length of her magically walls. Undoubtedly constantly controlling the ebb and flow of power to the shields, siphoning power away from the ones with less activity to the ones with more.

The bottleneck allowed the archers and mages to concentrate their fire, meaning they almost had to work to miss. At one point, two tiny, rapid balls of light went careening past Khari, landing in the middle of the advancing column. The explosion that followed burst across her eardrums at the same moment as fire bloomed over her vision, punching a hole in the procession of Venatori and leaving the ones in the front dazed as they continued to stumble ahead.

A quick glance backwards was enough to confirm that Cyrus and Harellan were responsible; they both ducked behind cover a moment later, just in time for another volley of arrows to streak down the hill. But the volume of Corypheus's army was great, and despite all the things putting them down, the sheer number of the darkspawn's forces meant that it was only a matter of time before enough of them pushed up the hill to threaten the archers.

Closer, closer... “Now!" Khari was first out of cover, catching a red-robed swordsman by surprise and sinking her blade into his belly. There was a layer of leather under the robe; not near enough to halt Inga's punch. Dark blood glinted off the blade as she pulled it out again, casting the corpse off with a foot and cleaving into the next.

Leon settled in beside her at the very front of the defense, shoring up Khari's left flank—her weak side. The months he'd spent nearly-dead were behind him now, and the surety of his movement made it clear. His punches and kicks were as precise as they'd ever been, and he felled two soldiers in quick succession before resetting to his place so they could bear down the hill together. She could see the flash of white in the gaps of his helmet: a grim smile.

Amalia slipped between the trees nearby, deftly avoiding the routes Asala had blocked off and picking off any enemies who thought themselves clever enough to try an alternate route through the magical blockade. She was never more than a flash of motion or a whisper of sound, the pitch-black dragon scales of her armor blending seamlessly with the deep shade cast by the canopy above. Lia kept pace with her, using her bow at short range and picking her targets carefully.

A war cry signaled Ves's entrance into the fight. He rammed the pommel of his axe into a Venatori's helmet, brutally smashing the helmet off and spinning the warrior around. A heavy swing followed, cleaving the man at the base of the neck down into his chest. Ves's movements were heavy, deliberate, even a little sluggish. It was a sure sign that he was fighting on his own, without Saraya's help, likely the only way he was capable of it right now. He was sticking close to Stel, whose magic was almost certainly working constantly to keep him up.

Rom picked a spot on Khari's right to carve into, taking on multiple Venatori. He settled for hitting or wounding them before he moved on, leaving the weakened enemies to be finished by the soldiers at his back. The Venatori were quickly realizing the strength of the enemy they were coming up against here, recognizing the Irregulars at the forefront. It wouldn't be long before it led into a retreat, in search of a more favorable location to engage.

To their credit, it didn't take much longer for them to organize it, a horn sounding out from the back ranks. At the sound of it, the rest of them fell back in as organized a fashion as they could. The Inquisition pursued, cutting down many more from behind in pursuit.

But the terrain advantage was lost to them at the bottom of the hill, and more Venatori and soldiers awaited. Khari crashed into the first cluster of them she saw, swinging Inga in a wide arc. She didn't manage to do much more than force several of them back, but it threw off their balance enough for the others to step in and begin the process of carving their path through the defenders.

Leon, still keeping pace, caught one of the Venatori as she stumbled backwards, using their combined momentum to twist her arm out of its socket. She went down, losing her grip on her sword, and he left her there for the soldiers behind, focusing on putting them on the ground or otherwise disabling them long enough to allow the regulars easier targets.

Free of the Inquisition-imposed maze, Amalia hung one row back, quickly ending those left in the wakes of the very front line, and occasionally sliding into a gap to shore up defense, or even to thwart attempts to flank one of her allies. In either case, she stuck close to Lia, working effectively in tandem with the elf's arrows. Further to the left, Estella covered Vesryn's back, letting him choose the path they took through the enemy ranks, the occasional flash of her enchanted sword making her presence easy to track for Khari, who knew it well.

Their progress, rapid down the hill, slowed dramatically on the flat ground, against the full body of Corypheus's forces, or what had to be close to all of them. But slowly they pushed in, the Irregulars at the tip of the spear, fending off enemies on more than one side so as to split their opponents in half.

A cluster of heavily armored Venatori had gathered at the natural chokepoint in the path, intending to put a halt to the advance of the Inquisition's forces. Several spells flew in at them from behind Khari, but they were either caught by magical barriers or dispelled in the air. There were skilled Venatori mages behind the formation it seemed, protecting the otherwise clustered enemies from being disrupted by Inquisition magic.

"Hold up!" Rom called, loud enough that their forces immediately around him could hear him. Those were the ones most likely to charge into that cluster and try to break them up, at least. The reason became clear soon enough; Rom's mark crackled violently as he let the power in it surge to his palm, and a moment later he thrust out his hand, up and towards the Venatori.

With a loud crack a rift opened above the Venatori formation, forcefully pulling everything around it in, effectively wiping it from existence. That included most of the Venatori caught in its grasp, along with a few smaller trees weak enough to be uprooted from the ground. Bark flew off the surfaces of others on the edge, on the sides facing the rift. It was a chaotic, violent display that nearly brought a halt to the fighting as everyone around it observed the effects.

But within moments it was over, and where a wall of Venatori had once been, now there was a gaping hole in the defenses, and the Inquisition jumped on the advantage, rushing in to further cleave the Venatori formation in two. The use of his mark clearly drained Rom a lot, so he was more than willing to allow a few others to go ahead before he pushed himself forward.

Even as the archers and magic users descended the hill, it certainly hadn’t dampened their accuracy. Or the ferocity of their attacks. They swept down and brought up the rear. The press of trees at their sides provided ample room to duck behind should they need to avoid enemy arrows or grab one of their own, steadying themselves for another volley. Another crackle of lightning. They only halted in their steps when Rom called for it—though compared to those elbowing at the front, they were still far enough not to be in the way.

As soon as the whooshing stopped and the sickly green dissipated from view: chaos ensued. Zee approached less like a deliberate, mindful archer, and more like she, too, was carrying a hefty blade in her hands. She’d never been careful, even when she should have been. Awful qualities for an archer, but so it went. She closed in behind Rom and pulled another arrow close to her cheekbone, loosing it into an oncoming Venatori.

It bit deep into his ribs and drooled something foul down his leathers. Greenish liquid. The same bubbling hiss, drowned out by clattering steel and the shouts of men and women at their sides. This time, the Venatori’s desperate shrieks accompanied it, before being abruptly cut off by the sharp end of a blade. She kept close to him, her presence evidence enough that she intended to provide support if needed.

With their opening made, The Inquisition was almost mechanical in their efficiency. At least on the large scale, since people like Zee and Khari were anything but mechanical in their fighting style. It didn't hinder their progress forward, the Irregulars sweeping into the gap Rom had opened and beginning to form the point of the formation into a wedge.

The plan was working just about perfectly, which Khari figured should have been her first clue that it was all about to go to shit. She only caught a glimmer out of the corner of her eye before she reacted, yelping and dragging Zee down by the shoulder. A massive fireball careened over their heads, crashing into the main line still forming up behind them.

Swiftly regaining her feet, Khari deflected an incoming blow almost without seeing it, trying to get a sense of what had caused the disturbance. It took a second, but she could see a black-robed figure receding, and then next to him—

“Corypheus!" She bellowed the name at maximum volume, trying to ensure she'd be heard by everyone who needed to hear her, and thrust out an arm to point in the right direction. They were almost to the temple, but unless someone dealt with him now, he'd have several minutes free and clear head start on them.

Leon obviously heard, barking orders in his much more resonant voice almost immediately. "Romulus, Khari, Asala!" Amalia and Lia had already materialized just behind him—chances were good that guy in the robes was the one they were after. "To me!" His intention was clear—to make a direct assault on Corypheus, and in so doing, buy time for the other Irregulars to infiltrate the temple first.

Even Khari had to admit it was going to be a hell of a thing to try and do. The last time she'd faced Corypheus down, she'd nearly died—and all but one of the people who'd done it with her had died. But this was a thing that needed doing, and damn if she was gonna start being a coward now. Hefting her sword, she fell in next to Leon, sucking in a hard, deep breath.

“Let's do it."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
They were so close to the Temple of Mythal now. Rom could see the walls through the trees from here, across a large gap that had to be a river, a natural barrier to entry.

That meant Corypheus could see it too, and Marcus. A single bridge on a far side of a clearing was their only easy way across to the temple, excellently constructed out of stone and wide enough for at least ten soldiers in full gear to stand side by side. It looked to be in remarkably good shape for something so old, but Rom had far greater concerns at the moment than the architecture.

It was a race to the bridge entryway, one that the Inquisition won. They formed up on their Commander, putting together a wall of shields and bodies between the path across the river and Corypheus. It allowed the rest of the Irregulars to make their way across the bridge while they could. Vesryn looked about to collapse, but managed to make it across with the help of Estella and Cyrus. Astraia, Harellan, and Zee were at their backs, and before long they were clear of the fighting.

Rom turned to find the self-proclaimed god at the head of his Venatori soldiers. There were others at his side, as well. A few surviving red templars and even some Grey Wardens, all slaves to his will. Corypheus hadn't lost any height since the last time they saw each other, still standing at least ten feet tall. "You waste my time, pretender," he said, a fire spell of some sort already lit in his hand. His words were directed at Rom. "Your deaths will not keep me from the Well of Sorrows."

"You couldn't kill us at Haven. You won't kill us now. You're the one dying today." He hadn't been able to find his voice when Haven fell. But thanks to all he'd been through since then, he could find it now.

Corypheus did not seem to care. "Death is a mere trifle to a god. Yet another impossibility I have conquered." He hurled the fire at their formation, and the battle began.

It was a familiar scene for Rom and Khari both: Corypheus hurling powerful spells and taunting them—thinking them powerless. No doubt it rankled her just as much now as it had then, and just as before, she charged to meet the darkspawn head-on. Unfortunately, it wasn't to be, not right away, anyhow. One of the red templars moved to intercept her, and she was forced to draw up short, a frustrated noise loud enough to reach him emerging from behind her helm. The templar nearly caught her with a lyrium spike, the protrusion scraping heavily against the armor protecting her side, but Khari turned her body and the plates held.

It allowed her to bring her sword around for the counterstrike, aimed between shoulder and chin. But the templar turned into the blow as well, and the blade left a dent in his pauldron, but no more. Pulling back, Khari tried again, thrusting forward this time for his less-protected armpit and finding it—but not before a Venatori mage caught her with a chain lightning spell, one that arced over her armor and sped towards the others too.

It did not spread too far before it was killed off by a wall of pink. With the other bodies cut off from its path, the lightning fizzled and just as quickly as it appeared, the wall dropped, Asala's full attention drawn elsewhere. She had a deep-set frown on her lips-- perhaps the closest she could possibly come to a snarl. Her hands danced in the air, alight in magic and conducting a symphony of barriers behind the main line of fighting. Corypheus's fire spells could not connect in full with the formation, the brunt of them fizzling against pink barriers where both flame and shield erased the other.

Between warding off spells, other barriers sprung up in Corypheus's own formation, in an attempt to split his group and single out opponents for their forces to capitalize her. For her part, Asala kept enough wits about herself to stay with the rest of her group so that she did not leave herself defenseless. Her attention was split a great many ways, but by the way her head tilted and her eyes kept watching, she was doing a well enough job of managing.

The mage himself who'd slung the chain lightning suddenly seized up with a shriek, rendered unable to move or cast in what was a dimly-familiar way to Rom. Sure enough, Leon stepped in not a moment later, laying hands on either side of his head and wrenching, cutting off the suffering of burning lyrium in his blood.

Unfortunately, the maneuver left his back temporarily vulnerable, and though there were few weapons he really had to worry about in as much armor as he was wearing, hammers were decidedly one of them. The clang of one colliding with his platemail was followed swiftly by a creaking whine as the metal protested the impact. Leon whirled—there was a distinct crater in the armor at his back, but it didn't look to have quite split or broken at least. When the hammer came in for his head the second time, he caught it in both hands, attempting to wrench it free of the red templar knight who held it. He couldn't manage it, and both men pulled against one another, locked in a struggle that left each of them vulnerable.

Amalia ended the contest before it could drag out too long, leaping onto the templar's back and dragging her knife across his throat. She pushed herself away as he collapsed, landing lightly and ducking back into the fray. No doubt she was trying to get at Marcus, but she seemed patient enough not to foolishly risk herself for an extra few feet of ground.

The Venatori mages were hampered by Asala's barriers, but Corypheus was not delayed long. The next fire spell he unleashed seemed designed for shattering defenses, and exploded against her barrier with a deafening crack, sending shards of the molten magic raining down on friend and foe alike. He pushed through the opening alongside many of his best; Corypheus did not charge necessarily, but the stalking strides of his unnaturally long legs carried him forward swiftly all the same.

Rom went to meet him. He was the one who had to face him, after all, or so he felt. He would do it with Khari and with Asala and Leon if he could, but there was no other enemy on this field that concerned him more than the darkspawn magister leading them. A bolt of lightning flashed past his shoulder, leaving the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up, the heat still almost burning on his cheek even a few moments after it had gone. He closed the distance.

With a claw-like hand Corypheus slashed down at Rom, forcing him to roll underneath the attack and out of the way. He brought his blade around in a backwards stab when he came back to his feet, and it found the back of the Elder One's calf, biting through robe and flesh alike. Honestly, he hadn't expected to be able to wound him that simply, but there it was.

Corypheus hardly seemed to feel the hit, though, and his next slash was too quick to dodge. Rom got his shield up in time, but the force of the blow nearly cracked it, and was enough to toss him aside, skidding across stone and earth until he came to a stop at Leon's feet.

The Commander was quick to bend down and help him to his feet, effectively picking him up by the back of his armor's collar and setting him to rights more quickly than he'd have been able to get to his feet on his own. Leon had to fend off another incoming attack in the process, this one from one of the thralled Wardens; he grimaced and kicked back against the woman's chestplate, releasing Rom and following up with a series of heavier punches.

Once she was down, he took several more hard steps forward, pushing through the line and leaving just enough room for some of the others to do the same in his wake. It was slow, hard going even for him, but finally—finally—they broke through the defenses and set upon Corypheus.

Khari tried first, springing forward with both hands on her sword, the enchantment glowing a pulsing, dark green as if with its own heartbeat. There was nothing subtle about their approach, and Corypheus noticed immediately, loosing his next spell on her instead of the whole group of them. A pair of too-long fingers hovered near his temple, the telekinetic blast lifting her right off her feet despite her best efforts and throwing her backwards into the others. She crashed into Leon, only her awareness of space keeping her sword from landing anywhere unfortunate on either of them.

But there was a moment where Corypheus recovered from the spell, where he was just a little more vulnerable to assault.

Whatever moment they had was ruined by the unmistakable screech of a dragon, one that was all too familiar to Rom. They had one wing-beat on the wind of warning before it swooped overhead, making straight for the temple. Rom looked back to see the group almost at the door, and then they disappeared behind the wall of flames the dragon bellowed down on them, which was enough to leave the entire bridge engulfed.

It wasn't clear if they'd made it inside, but Rom had to believe they did. The dragon carried on into the distance; no doubt it would come around for another pass soon. At least there was no real decent landing spot for it here. It would have to keep to the skies, and there it could only do minimal damage to them. He pulled himself back together, shaking off the hit Corypheus had dealt him, and threw himself back into the fray.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by Talisman
Asala panted heavily as she stole the moment to wipe the sweat accumulating on her brow. On either side of her were the dead of both sides, Inquisition and Venatori alike, yet the fight still raged around them. Corypheus and Marcus both still stood, but as did they. She wanted to toss a glance to the temple behind them, to see if she could see any sign of the others, but that was not a moment she could spare. A Venatori rushed her with a flame spell, one she snuffed out with an ordinary blue barrier, and as soon as she let that spell go, another took its place, a smaller barrier tearing across and smashing the offender in the side of the head, grounding him. He squirmed, but did not rise again.

She inhaled deeply, and then exhaled quickly, stepping forward closer to the others and the battle with Corypheus.

Though Khari was hardly the type to let her injuries slow her down, she was accumulating an awful lot of them, mostly because she insisted on repeatedly engaging with Corypheus, returning to the fracas every time she was wounded or knocked away or he simply evaded her. One of her pauldrons had been blasted away by a concussive spell, and she was bleeding from the shoulder underneath, ribbons of it running down her chestplate. More of it coated her sword, at least some the brackish, too-dark color belonging to the darkspawn magister. She'd scored a light hit on one side of his ribcage, tearing his robes and flaying open the skin to the bone, not that it much mattered. Corypheus seemed to move and live outside of the normal laws about things like anatomy and pain, as if he were more sustained by magic than anything. Most likely that was true, though it was no magic Asala was familiar with.

The elf charged again, barely avoiding getting her legs taken out from underneath her by a well-aimed burst of frost. It did catch on one of her feet, though, and she let out a frustrated growl, stymied just long enough for Corypheus to move backwards, flinging another blast from both hands.

Leon stepped in to cover her, which for him meant taking up the charge in her stead. He was not so easily stopped, and though the brunt of the magic hit him, he stumbled backwards instead of being thrown away in quite the same manner as Khari had been previously. When he recovered, he took several more long strides, winding back to strike at Corypheus.

The darkspawn shifted back, narrowly escaping a grab as Leon adjusted. But more wardens moved in to defend him, and Leon set to work dismantling the line instead.

Not too far to the left, Marcus too was keeping several of the Inquisition's best at bay, primarily fighting from range and striking opportunistically: hobbling a soldier here, firing a spell into someone's exposed back there. He seemed almost lazy in his motions, like he wasn't especially interested by any of the goings-on, though from Asala's vantage she could tell that he was doing a very good job of preventing Amalia and Lia from reaching him. But the way he did it... it was almost like he thought of the whole battle as a game. One that, for now at least, wasn't even that important to him.

Lia's arrows were the only thing occasionally able to reach him, but the lack of effort required on Marcus's part to defend himself from those was minimal while he was undistracted, and it was serving only to frustrate Lia.

"Asala," Romulus was out of breath at her side, retreated momentarily from the fighting. "I have an idea. You see that statue?" He pointed to one at the entrance to the bridge, at least twenty feet of solid stone in the shape of a spear and shield wielding guard, worn down over time but still standing firmly. "If we can get him over there, you think you can bring that down on top of him?"

Asala followed Rom's indication and ran the scenario through her head quickly. Suddenly nodding she looked back at him. "I can, but be careful," she stated. She would have to weaken the legs first, but her barriers could shove it over once they were. With that, she slowly began to back away from the fight, but kept her eye on it just in case.

"No promises." He took off again, shooting down a Venatori soldier with his crossbow on his way over to Khari. He placed a hand on her shoulder, momentarily keeping her from the fight while he leaned in close to speak, likely telling her where they needed to attempt to force Corypheus's positioning. Once he was finished he separated from her, carving his way towards the mouth of the bridge. The fighting was becoming scrambled, allowing a few of the Venatori to slip through, but Corypheus was receiving far too much attention to escape from the fight.

The very same scramble, though, let Khari push her way past the Venatori line without stopping to fight every single person in her way, and then she was making a beeline for Corypheus again. She took a different approach this time, though, evading the spells thrown at her even when they cost her time. Rather than desperately trying to get a good hit in before she was thrown away, she seemed to focus on not losing ground, and sure enough, Corypheus kept space between them, allowing Khari to slowly herd him towards the bridge in fits and starts.

At one point, she was nearly smothered by another large fireball, but managed to drop to the ground just before it cooked her in her armor. The scorch marks along the back of her armor and helmet were obvious, and it couldn't be comfortable wearing it, but still she regained her feet, pressing forward with the same dogged ferocity as before, feinting for the darkspawn in a very convincing manner that kept him backing up.

Romulus was able to get the flank on him this time, Corypheus leaving his back wide open for the dagger that plunged into it. His marked hand lit up and reached higher, mere inches from the darkspawn's corrupted flesh when he was suddenly thrown back across the grounds. Corypheus lashed out with ice magic, spikes of it sprouting from the ground and stabbing out and up at Khari. It was wide enough to skewer some Inquisition regulars and even Venatori as well, so at the very least it would take Khari time to work around it.

"Pathetic," Corypheus said, his tone little more than a murmur but somehow carrying across the chaotic battlefield. The mark on Romulus's hand was crackling aggressively and causing him significant pain. The source became clear soon enough, as the Elder One carried that orb in his hand, using its power to dominate Romulus and keep him downed through his mark. He stalked towards him with quick, purposeful steps, but they carried him right beneath the shadow of the statue.

A pink barrier ignited under the statue, expanding outwardly until it crashed against its spread legs hard enough to send spiderweb cracks through its ankles and calves. Just as quick, Asala killed that barrier and summoned another, this higher and one across the stone's back. She winced and grunted as she pushed it with her all. The cracks along the things legs protested and widened until finall they just snapped. Even so, she did not let the barrier go, and guided it down onto the Magister, using her shield to give it even more force.

The statue fell spear first onto Corypheus, the stone weapon being the first to strike the darkspawn. The loud crack of stone breaking had garnered his attention, but it was already too late as the spear pierced his shoulder on its path to the ground. It carried the magister with it, and pinned him to the dirt beneath it and the shield it wielded. As a precaution, Asala gave one last push on the statue, causing the spear to dig deeper in both Corypheus's shoulder and the ground beneath.

Even with the extra push, Corypheus was incredibly strong, and it was a matter of seconds before he was extricating himself, the statue splitting with a series of heavy, resounding cracks before it all but blew apart, chunks falling away and allowing the darkspawn to regain his feet.

But the seconds presented an opportunity, and Leon was close enough to capitalize, leaping over a fragment of the stone and landing solidly right in front of Corypheus. Before the former magister could separate them with more magic, Leon's hand lashed out and up, closing around his throat, and a punch landed hard on his cheek, Leon's metal gauntlet flaking off one of the red lyrium protrusions on Corypheus's face. The darkspawn's hands immediately seized Leon's shoulders, fire hissing at his fingers, and he curled them into the Commander's armor, warping and twisting the metal. Leon managed to land a second hit, crunching in what would have been the darkspawn's nose if he really had one anymore, the side of one thumb finding an eye socket and pressing, the sucking squelch faintly audible even from Asala's distance.

But then Corypheus's fingers melted the rest of the way through Leon's armor and into his skin with a sizzle. His grip loosened, and with a massive shove and a telekinetic burst, the Commander was hurled away, landing right in the middle of a knot of Venatori and Wardens. Corypheus, blackish fluid oozing from his mangled eye socket, drew himself at last back up to his full height, face twisted in rage.

He wasn't the only one angry, though. With an audible shout, Khari lunged for him, narrowly missing to the left when he leaped out of the way. Clearly frustrated with being thwarted in such a way, though, she pursued. It was clear that she'd begun to learn his movement patterns, because each attempt to evade was less successful, until she finally got him, catching his already-injured shoulder in a downward stroke that dragged the tip of her sword over corrupted flesh. Only the red lyrium stopped it from going much further; the sword caught and skittered over a ridge beneath his tattered robe.

But Khari had done what she needed to. The blade had sliced into one of his tendons, and even if he couldn't feel pain, Corypheus could be surprised by the inability to move his arm, and it clearly stymied him now, giving her a short window in which she feared no magic.

It was plenty. She reset her feet and drove forward with a snarl, plunging her sword into Corypheus's belly and driving upwards with monumental effort. The sword erupted from his back, streaked in dark ichor that caught the light of the sun. When she wrenched the blade back out, what was left of Corypheus's rotted intestines came partway out, too, more fluid spattering to the stone beneath them.

He collapsed sideways into a puddle of his own blood, the vacant stare from his eyes evidence that he was certainly dead. It lasted only a moment before his body seemed to rapidly decompose into that black ichor, bubbling and hissing and causing Romulus to back away a step, the smell obviously unpleasant.

Many of the Inquisition soldiers around them roared a victorious cheer at their greatest enemy's death, but curiously the Venatori fought on like nothing had occurred, taking a few by surprise. It became clear that something was amiss a few seconds later, when nothing remained of Corypheus save for that black liquid seeping into the ancient stones.

One of the corrupted Wardens dropped to his knees and unleashed an unearthly howl, his sword and shield falling to the ground. It sounded not unlike a mage forcibly being possessed by a demon, and the awful transformation that occurred immediately after, but this Warden had shown no signs of having any magic previously. He seemed to darken from within, veins pumping black blood through him, until his skin as well turned black, and then he began to shift shapes. Fingers elongated, limbs as well, until it became clear that he was taking on a very familiar form, one that they'd only just dispatched. Venatori fought viciously to establish a defensive circle around Corypheus until he could return, if that was indeed what he was doing.

Asala's shoulders slumped in despair as Corypheus began to reform himself once again. How could they defeat an enemy that could come back like that? She shook her head at the thought and steeled herself, forcing herself to square her shoulders. They'd find a way, they had to. They always did figure something out in the end. She inhaled deeply one more time, and summoned the spells to her hands, preparing herself for the second go.

A screech in the distance paused her for a moment, and she swung around to catch a glimpse of the corrupted dragon coming back around. A pang of fury shot through her head before she calmed herself and looked back toward the battlefield. Leon was still lost in the grouping of Venatori and Warden fighters, and she hissed a bit in frustration. The dragon was bearing down on them, and she did not have the time to go find him. Instead, she did what she could and moved forward quickly, grabbing Romulus's arm as she closed the distance between them and Khari.

"Get down!" she ordered both of them, throwing an arm over Khari's shoulder and falling to a knee to present an even smaller target. The massive wing beats were upon them by the time Asala threw up a tight pink dome around them. With the smaller size, she hoped she'd be able to feed it enough magic to weather the storm that was surely coming. Moments after the barrier formed, the temperature around them shot up dramatically, as the corrupted dragon breathed its tainted flames on them.

Asala's barrier held beneath the fire, but just barely. Cracks formed in it, allowing some of the flames and heat to seep in, and she could feel them licking at her exposed arms and back. She hissed in pain, but concentrated on the barrier until the dragon passed, where she finally released the spell. The exhaustion hit her all at once and she found herself now leaning heavily on Khari.

"Everyone okay?" she asked the two of them.

Khari groaned softly; she'd accumulated quite the litany of injury over the course of the fight, and however necessary the duck-and-cover had been, it probably hadn't helped. Still, she was remarkably steady under Asala's weight. “Everyone's probably a stretch." She was looking out at the rest of the field as she said it, and it didn't take Asala long to figure out why.

The ranks had been devastated, in no small part by the dragon but also just by the fierceness of the Venatori, surviving Red Templars, and the possessed Wardens. The line was broken and scattered on all sides, but among the corpses the Inquisition's russet and gold was much more common than the enemies' red and black. The smell of burnt flesh hit them like a wall, many of the corpses still aflame. No doubt the blow had been almost as heavy to morale as it was to their bodies: Corypheus instantaneous resurrection and the overwhelming strength of the forces at his disposal... very few of them had gone in expecting anything like this.

To make matters seemingly worse, the Venatori man with the pearl-white mask—Marcus, if what the others had told her was right—had broken away from the main battle entirely, and was now striding swiftly over the bridge. Amalia and Lia appeared to have taken notice, and were now giving chase, but they had to fight much harder to free themselves from the soldiers surrounding them, and he had a considerable head start.

Corypheus's forces entering the temple was exactly what this whole battle was meant to prevent, but in the condition their army was in, it seemed unlikely that they had much of a chance at this point.

"Fall back!" Even Leon's bellowing sounded rougher and more strained than usual. No doubt it was a difficult call to make, but it was also clearly the only option left, unless they wanted to break their entire force on Corypheus's army. It meant all but abandoning those inside the temple to their fates, hoping that they would be able to save themselves and find their own way back to the rest.

Romulus wasted no time in getting back to his feet, his eyes locked on the still-reviving Corypheus. Whatever desire he had to fight him again he clearly snuffed out, as he helped carve a path to the flanks rather than to the enemy.

"Come on, Asala!" he called back to her. "There's nothing more we can do!"

"But..." she muttered as she tossed her gaze to the temple behind them. They'd be leaving the others behind, but a glance around revealed that Romulus was right. There was nothing else they could do. She winced and shook her head, but relented. In a futile effort to feel like she was doing something, anything she lit a spell in her hand and pressed it into Khari's chest, allowing the spirit healing to do what it could for her friend.

She'd have to trust Estella and the others to find a way out on their own.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
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The Lady knelt at his side, saying:
"Arise, Aegis of the Faith. You are not forgotten.
Neither man nor Maker shall forget your bravery
So long as I remember."

At this, his wounds healed, and he stood
And gathered up the ashes, and carried them
To the lands of the Alamarri, away from sorrow forever.
-Canticle of Apotheosis 2:17-2:18
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Sometimes Vesryn's dreams were still his own.

Saraya had powerful memories, powerful emotions, powerful dreams, and they all surfaced when both of their minds were unsconscious. But Vesryn had made powerful memories as well. Some of them were beautiful. Most of them, he thought.

There was the sight of his beloved sitting next to him, looking absolutely absurd with a white lion's pelt on her head, but enduring it for his sake. The first time he'd really put words to his feelings. Not all of them, of course. Even then he'd known he loved her, that she was altogether different and more special than anyone he'd met, but of course she'd only been ready to hear some of that. The rest had to wait. Vesryn had long since learned the value of patience.

There were docks and the sunset in Val Royeaux, a city he wasn't altogether fond of, but somehow her presence there, the subtle marks she left on that place, made it seem welcoming. There was such relief in him then, after all the stress of trying to help someone he knew she cared for. And the admission that came there, after the seed he'd planted, was more than he ever could have hoped for.

As important as she was to him, Stel was not all he dreamed of. He dreamed of Arlathan, of the sight of something both he and Saraya had thought impossible, still standing and still magnificent even after all this time. He dreamed of Skygirl, with the biggest smile on her face after her new teachers helped her cast a petrify spell for the first time. On herself, accidentally. He dreamed of her tears of joy when her favored halla found his way to her, bearing gifts from her clan. How magnificent she looked atop him. A great future awaited her, and the knowledge that he had helped give her the confidence to face it brought him some small measure of comfort.

He dreamed of striving to better himself next to Khari. She set a blistering pace, one that he wasn't sure he'd been able to keep up with. He dreamed of Cyrus, and all he owed him, all the things he hoped to repay him for. Perhaps he already had. But just once he would've liked to call him brother. He dreamed of his years before the Inquisition, seeing lost places and piecing together lost knowledge, with the quiet company he kept in his head. And even in Denerim, with the family and friends he had there... even there, he had good memories.

With the time he'd been given, Vesryn felt he'd lived a good life.

But Saraya's dreams were not so easily denied.

Fear.

That was the one constant, overpowering feeling, lodged in his chest like an arrowhead. The blood had stopped leaking down from his forehead, but he could still barely see, as much of it had dried over his eyes. There was nothing he wanted to see anyway. He felt his feet dragged along the filthy stone floor, he could feel the coldness of the subterranean walls around him. Strong hands gripped him under his arms, hauling him along to meet his fate.

He hadn't felt fear in so long. He'd thought there was nothing left to fear, honestly. Death would be a welcome relief, a chance to move on from this earth that no longer welcomed him. But they knew that, all too well. And they were determined not to give him what he sought. They were determined to force him to linger. As he was dragged along, he thought of a clear pool and a waterfall, and for a moment he almost smiled.

Roughly he was thrown on the floor, and he forced his eyes open. A ritual chamber of some sort. Four mages stood on the perimeter of a circle around him. Designs were carved into the floor, which was made of metal, not stone like the rest. They looked to be branches, wrapped in vines, leaves sprouting with new life all along their lengths. This place was not originally meant for this, but as with everything in this dark time, the elves had converted it to a dark purpose.

"You will drink." The words came from the mage directly before him. At the center of the circle was a short pedestal. The bowl fixed on top of it was filled with what looked like water. Some part of it was water, Vesryn knew, but there was more. Fear gripped him. This had never been done before. Not like this. Not for this purpose.

"End it."

They were the first words he'd uttered in... how long? He could not even remember. He'd thought to see surprise on their faces, but they regarded him evenly, coldly. He'd expected their hatred to burn, but instead it froze. A colder place than this he had never known. The mage before him regarded him with that impossible ice in his eyes.

"It will never end."

A tremendous pain erupted in his back, and he was lifted forward into the air. All of the mages supplied the magic, and it forced him towards the bowl. Maybe years earlier he would've been able to fight them off, but now... there was no stopping this. His head was forced forward and down, plunging into the bowl, and there it was forced to remain. He screamed, the sound muted and only coming out as bubbles. It was only a matter of time before his body refused to obey him anymore, and he took in the water.

It didn't matter if he drowned on it, after all.



Vesryn gasped awake, for a moment unable to breathe. He coughed and sputtered, half expecting a lake's worth of water to come bubbling out of his throat. There was no water. There was no blood, either. His sickness was not of that kind.

He couldn't tell what time of day it was. The darkness made the pains a fraction more tolerable. Stel was not beside him, though, so he had to believe it was daytime. She couldn't always be with them, not when the confrontation with Corypheus seemed so close. He supposed he should have been more worried about that, but he wasn't. She and Romulus would face that together, the Inquisition at their backs. They would find a way to win. Of that he was certain.

For a moment he didn't understand what he was feeling. Saraya was urging him somewhere. Out of the bed, for starters. That was challenge enough, but eventually Vesryn was able to right himself, suppressing the urge to gag, or to collapse altogether. He felt... anxiousness, from her. The kind he recognized as that feeling he might get in his belly, before taking the first step of a long journey.

She wanted to go somewhere far from here, and she needed him to carry her, with what strength he had left in his legs.

Who was he to deny her? He didn't want to die here. A journey of any length would almost certainly be the end of him, but this wasn't how he wanted to go. He wanted the wind in his hair, the sun on his back, a horse underneath him. A weapon in his hands. Armor was a bit much to ask , but clothes at least he could manage.

When he finally tugged his second boot on, he forced open the door out of the bedroom, and was met with the first impossible obstacle: stairs. He leaned against the wall, legs shaking, eyes blurry, and took a single step, trying to lower himself down.

For a moment, he thought he heard whispers, faint and in the distance. And then he fell, tumbling down the steps until he came to rest in a heap at the bottom.

“Shit—Ves!" A couple loud footsteps, and then small, strong hands were on him, gripping his arms firmly and helping him reorient. Khari didn't try to lift him, at first, instead very clearly checking him for major injuries. The heavy breath she let out sounded like relief. “Not gonna ask if you're okay, but, uh—what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He had to fight through a wave of pain after she'd helped him right himself. He wasn't going to wait for them to pass anymore. There wasn't any time for that. "I'm leaving. Help me up."

Getting back to his feet was no easy task, but before long he'd managed it. He didn't bother dusting off his clothes, as he didn't doubt he'd find his way back to the ground a few more times before this was over. "I'm going for a ride. You want to come? I was just on my way to get..." He winced, and then the names almost left him involuntarily. "Estella, Cyrus, Astraia, Harellan. Those four." He blinked, wondering how he was so certain. He'd barely thought this over. "But... you're welcome to come along. I'd like it, really."

Khari wasn't the type to question this sort of thing too much. If a friend of hers wanted to do something, that was fine by her. If it was a difficult something, well—she seemed to like that even better. So though she blinked at him with obvious surprise, it never turned in to any sort of question, and definitely no expression of doubt. Instead, she shrugged, then nodded. “Sure, I'll go. Stel should be back any minute—I can go round up the others in the meantime, I guess. Have Harellan ready the horses, maybe." She paused, then furrowed her brows. “Also, I'm gonna get you my walking stick. Might help with the whole 'stairs' thing." With a brief pat to his shoulder, she was off.

It wasn't more than a few minutes later that Stel returned, either, looking as though she'd been hastening to get there. She found him standing, which looked to relieve her, though nevertheless she didn't stop moving until she was close enough that he could lean on her if the need arose. "I ran into Khari in the hall," she explained. "We're leaving? To where?" That was perhaps more information than the little bear needed, but still an obvious acceptance of the choice.

"I'd tell you if I knew." He couldn't get that much of a sense of this. Right now all he knew was that he needed to collect those closest to him, and the way to do that was to start by going out the door. Saraya was fixated on this. Focused. There wasn't time to make mistakes here.

He took her by the shoulders, lowering his head until his brow touched her forehead. "This is important. I'm not losing my mind, not yet. But this... this may well be the last time. For everything." To ride out, to experience the world, to be with his friends. To be with her.

She raised her hands to his face, smoothing her fingertips along his jaw and nodding slightly against him. "Okay," she murmured. It was obviously not good news, that sense of finality, but it couldn't have been news she wasn't expecting, and she inhaled to brace herself, then continued with a bit more steadiness. "No sense wasting time here, then. Go ahead and lean on me; we'll start down to the bailey while Khari gets the others." She shifted up the extra couple inches it took to brush her lips gently over his, then settled back down on her heels.

It was slow going, but they'd pick up speed once they were mounted. He'd just have to avoid falling off and breaking his neck. Part of him wanted to walk around more, to possibly say goodbye to the people that wouldn't be riding out with him. He didn't know if he'd ever come back through these gates, after all.

But he could feel that Saraya would not have it. She was intent on this, on leaving now, while they still had the time.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
A day and half the night had passed, and still they were on the move.

Estella wasn't sure what exactly it was that drove Saraya to push the pace like this; she suspected it had partly to do with the time remaining before, well... the end. But none of this seemed to be the sort of last ride one would take for the sake of enjoyment or closure, even—though Vesryn's condition prevented them from moving too quickly, it was still obvious that there was urgency in the travel, and she suspected that Saraya had some particular destination in mind.

Given the way they were heading, she might actually even know what it was, though it would take more time to be certain. Right now they crossed the Hinterlands still, tall grasses long enough to brush her feet where they sat in the stirrups. The five horses and one halla were making good time, or at least much better time than their riders would have managed while walking, but for the moment conversation had slowed to a halt. Estella supposed that might be partly her fault; she hadn't been much good for it of late.

Expelling a soft breath, she reached down and rubbed Nox's neck. An Orlesian warhorse was hardly incapable of thing long on the march, especially at this speed; probably she would run out of energy long before he did. She might have already, if the palpable urgency weren't keeping her on edge. Despite the serenity of the surroundings—the way the moon bathed the grass in silvery light, the gentle susurration of it as the night breeze moved through—she couldn't help but feel the sharp bite of anxiety in her gut.

"Someone tell a story," Ves suddenly said, from where he led their little group. His expression was one of near constant pain, but by the looks of it he'd actually grown accustomed to that. Perhaps there were simply limits to what his body could feel, what his mind could process. It seemed absurd that he'd brought his axe along; he was in no condition to even carry it, led alone wield it in battle. But the others were armed, as Ferelden could be dangerous in its more wild places.

"I'm not sure I can handle the silence," he admitted. "How about it, Harellan? Any stories for the road? Could be about anything you like."

"I'd be interested," Astraia piped up. She rode her halla, Athim, with an effortlessness that she lacked while on foot. She hardly seemed to do anything at all to control him, and perhaps that was simply how it was for the two of them.

Harellan straightened; it would seem he'd been dozing or at least deep in thought. Glancing around at everyone's faces, which had for the most part turned to regard him, he hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose I could. Let me see here..." He took a moment to decide; no doubt there were a great number of stories he could have told. When he continued, his voice had settled back into a rhythmic, almost musical cadence.

"In the beginning, elvhen sought both to explore the stillest roots of the Fade and to master the unchanging material world, delicate and stubborn when subjected to magic. Some of them manifested outside the Fade and built cities on the Earth." He paused while the animals did the work of cresting a hill, only resuming once they were comfortably headed downwards again. "However, the Earth was the demesne of its pillars, the titans. It sang with its own harmony, and the elvhen hoped that if they listened to it, great works would unfold and they would make the Earth blossom."

He paused, then resumed in a slightly-darker tone. "But earthquakes shook the cities they'd built, throwing down their work. Intent to tame the land, the People prepared to hunt the pillars of the earth and their witless and soulless workers. They believed their cause just and the death of their enemies a mercy and waged war upon the titans with burning light and wingéd death.

“Titans?" Khari broke in with a furrowed brow. “What's a titan?"

Harellan smiled slightly, the expression almost indulgent. "Well, that's less clear in the tellings. They are called the pillars, and most who've made a study of the legends believe that they were enormous creatures made of stone, whose feet left marks in the earth that eventually became its lakes."

“They'd have to be pretty fucking huge, then." Her mouth flattened.

Harellan expelled a breath, almost a laugh. "An apt enough description. In any case, the war with the titans was long, and for the elvhen, bloody. The titans were resistant to the magic that came so easily to us, because they were entirely of the material world. We could not shape or bend them, as we had difficulty shaping and bending the other things in their realm, and so our power was much reduced." He tipped his head back, enough to take in the sky above them, and the sound of his voice became something almost melancholy. "Many were lost, until from the ranks rose the eight greatest generals the People have ever known."

Almost in spite of herself, Estella found it difficult not to listen—and she didn't really see any reason not to. When he paused there, she tilted her head and ventured a guess. "The Evanuris?"

Harellan nodded. "Just so. It was they who led the elvhen to victory, but not with ease. Each time they battled, they found themselves simply overwhelmed. Each of them fought fiercely, but for different reasons. Elgar'nan struck with fearsome rage, burning in his desire for vengeance. So many of his kith and kin had met their end on the fields of battle that he could not bear the pain, and lashed out with it. But he was repelled." Bringing his eyes back down, he shifted them to Khari for a moment. "Dirthamen was a strategist: he struck with cunning and clarity, seeking to understand the secrets of the titans and exploit their weaknesses. But even he could not find them, and he too was thwarted. June employed new types of magic and devices, Andruil struck with speed and the thrill of the chase. Falon'din fought bravely for veneration and glory; all of them were turned aside."

"They had to have won eventually, right?" Astraia seemed confused by where the story was going. "Can't see how they'd come to be viewed as living gods otherwise."

"And you'd think we'd have a lot more lakes by now," Ves added. "If titans were still stomping around."

“Mythal struck them down." Cyrus's voice was just a murmur, and he looked surprised to have said it, as though the words were involuntary, almost. “Their blood was lyrium, and it sang."

Harellan regarded her brother for a moment, eyes narrowing faintly, and then inclined his head. "Yes. As it is told, Mythal spoke against the war, as she spoke against most, but when the time came and she had no choice, she too attempted to conquer the titans. It was her love that drove her: love for her people, and grief for the lives that had already been lost. This alone overcame the behemoths, and granted unto the elvhen dominion over the earth."

Estella had to wonder about that. Whether it had truly been anything approaching just, to strike down the titans, even if the losses of the war had been great. Would it not have been better just to stop the war? But then, she knew her stories, and the ones this old were rarely complete anyway. Still, the core sentiment was—it was hard to call it nice, exactly, but it was... it resonated. At least a little. At least with her.

"Cyrus?" The name came from Astraia. She'd been observing Estella's brother with some concern since he'd spoken up in that way that seemed somewhat unusual for him. "Are you all right? You haven't talked much about... the temple, the Well, all that."

“I—yes, thank you." Cyrus offered up a thin smile in Astraia's direction, but no further explanation. Perhaps he thought it a bad time for more than that.

"Maybe we save the rest of the stories for the way back," Ves suggested. It wasn't hard to tell from the way he said that he didn't really think there would be a way back, but all the same the group fell quiet again, each left to their own thoughts. Light was beginning to appear over the horizon, heralding the coming of morning.

They stopped only for the briefest of periods, what was needed to rest and feed their mounts, not to mention themselves. The ride itself wasn't overly difficult, and they encountered no trouble on the way from wildlife or bandits or the like, but the sheer length of it with no real rest to break it up was difficult as time went on. When morning did finally arrive, they'd reached the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest, with its looming trees and ominous darkness. It was beautiful, but not in the same way the Emerald Graves or the Arbor Wilds had been. It seemed unlikely they'd encounter any Dalish here, as many of the clans that had lived in the forest were destroyed or otherwise driven out by the Blight, and most had yet to return.

They rode single file along narrow pathways, slowing their mounts to a walking pace in the denseness of the forest. "I'm sure you've all figured out where she's taking us by now," Ves said. It seemed he too had suspected it a while back. "I can't for the life of me think of why, though."

Harellan looked particularly thoughtful, face drawn, as he had for the last few miles. Estella recognized the expression—he had a thought, but was unsure he should speak it. In the end, his face smoothed out and he shook his head, a clear decision in the negative.

“Well... we can be reasonably sure there is a why, at least." Cyrus's hand dropped away from his temple, as though he'd been rubbing at it. “She's never done something like this without good cause that I recall."

A thought niggled at Estella. She couldn't say for sure if it was the same one that Harellan left unvoiced, but if so, she could understand why. There were few reasons she could think of to return to the place where she and Ves had first been joined... unless some part of that joining was something that could, in theory, be undone. If the ancient elves had some way of removing a consciousness from a body, was it not possible that they had some way to remove one of two?

But it was at once too much to hope for and on the other hand too terrifying to contemplate. What that might do to either or both of them if it went somehow wrong... and yet whatever the reason was, it was urgent in a way that suggested at least a chance for something. Estella didn't know if she was reading too much into things, seizing hope that wasn't there because she was too weak to reject it and come to terms with what was going to happen. Maybe that was why she saw suggestion in the people Ves had named, so certainly it seemed almost to surprise him, or so Khari had said. Maybe it had—because maybe the thought had been Saraya's, and she'd suspected she would need them. Mages, all, and experts two. But she dare not speak such things aloud, for fear of what would come if they weren't true at all.

So she held her tongue, only nodding a bit by way of response to Cyrus. "Whatever's going on... I trust her. It seems like that's what needs doing right now."

Ves nodded in agreement. They rode for a short while longer, until the sun was filtering down through the canopy overhead, a few hours before midday. They came upon an old campsite, with a firepit that hadn't been used in years. It was starting to be reclaimed by the forest, but either Ves or Saraya had clearly known where it was. Perhaps they'd stopped here once, a long time ago.

"We can take some time to rest here, I think," Ves said, sounding relieved to give the word. "Maybe an hour or so. Help me down." It was a group effort to get Ves down from the saddle and back on his feet, and when he was there he took up Khari's cane as she'd suggested, leaving him at least slightly more stable on the ground. "Last stretch to the ruin is ahead."

He turned his head suddenly, looking into the forest, but Estella didn't hear or see anything that would've drawn his attention. He rubbed at his forehead, clearly exhausted, but also trying to parse through whatever Saraya wanted to tell him. "Come with me, Stel? There's... I think there's something she wants us to see."

Estella nodded immediately, handing off her reins to Khari and double-checking that all of her equipment was where she was accustomed to it being. "Sure," she replied, making her way to his side. "Let's go."

They walked arm in arm, Estella supporting Ves as though he were someone significantly older, and not someone that had just fought at her side in battle not long ago. There were no paths the way Ves was taking her, and they had to be careful not to trip on hidden roots and rocks concealed by the brush. "It's not far," Ves assured her. Indeed, she could hear something up ahead. Moving water, the sound of it running over the edge of a cliff.

They emerged into a clearing with a shallow pool up against a steep cliff face. Water spilled over the side of it, but its height was such that it turned mostly into mist by the time it reached the pool itself. The sun was bright overhead, with not a cloud in the sky to diminish the light.

"I thought this might be it," Ves said. He was smiling broadly, eyes tilted up at the waterfall. "She stopped here, before the elves found her. She dreams about it often. She was delirious, and had a vision she couldn't quite complete before she was interrupted." He actually laughed softly, turning his eyes to Estella.

"If you don't mind feeling like a fool for me one more time... go stand under that waterfall."

She was sure the oddness of the request must have registered on her face, but it wasn't as if she really minded. Still, if she was going to get wet, it would be better not to risk the damage to her armor. "I think I can manage that," she replied, trying to ignore the way her heart clenched at the sound of one more time. The mood was light, for the moment, at least as light as it could be, and she wanted to preserve it. So she gamely shucked her leathers and chestplate, setting her gauntlets and boots next to them, padding barefoot across the grass to the edge of the pool.

Here she met an obvious obstacle. Being under the waterfall seemed to require being in the pool itself. Well, if she was going to look the fool, she might as well go for it, surely.

The water's first touch was chill on her bare feet, but she found that she adjusted quickly to the temperature, and the wade was rather gradual. Estella trailed her fingers along the surface of the water until she reached the bottom of the spray, scrunching her face against the fine drops that fell from above for a moment. They were a little cold, too, but it suited the summer day. Turning back around, she tilted her head and shrugged, a smile touching her face. "All right. Feeling pretty foolish now. Are you going to leave by my lonesome in here or what?"

"I wouldn't dare." He'd managed to get his boots off as well, though he had to sit first. The control he had over his body looked to be taking an extreme effort, but it was plain to see how important this was to him. To both of them. Fixing a regret of sorts, hundreds and hundreds of years old. It was easy for Estella to imagine what Saraya might have seen, how she might've felt after wandering all the way south across Thedas.

Completely exhausted, as Ves was, and yet seeing the love of her life standing in a pool under a drizzling waterfall, beckoning. So close, and yet requiring so much effort to reach.

Ves would not be denied, and though it took him a few moments, he was soon standing under the water with her. He pushed damp hair out of his face and took one of her hands, his other coiling around the back of her neck as he kissed her. He'd said that normally Saraya would withdraw as much as she could during moments like this, but no doubt she was now imagining Estella as someone else, imagining herself in another time. A pair of loves, split by eternity.

Ves was breathless when his lips parted from hers, and it wasn't entirely from the effort he'd needed to reach her. "When I die," he said softly, "whether that's today or sixty years from now, I'd like this moment to be the last thing I think of."

She felt the same. But it wasn't enough, not just yet. Sighing out a soft breath, Estella shifted her fingers from where they'd curled in his tunic upwards, so that they tangled gently in his hair. She wanted the details to remain with her as vividly as possible. Of all the things in her life she would eventually forget, she refused to let this be one of them. The spray landing atop the crown of her head, the water lapping at her back, the slightly-uncomfortable abrasion of her damp shirt against her skin. And more importantly, the feel of him where they pressed together, the wet-silk texture of his hair, the brilliant emerald of his eyes. All of it was perfect to her, because it was here and now and him.

"One more," she demanded just as quietly, tugging him back down. Just one more. One more memory.

One more crystalline fragment of perfection.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Cyrus sighed softly, the sound almost inaudible under the ambient sounds of the forest. He could hear very faintly the distant waterfall, the gentle hum of life in the Brecilian, but more prominent were the general quiet rustles and other signs of life from his compatriots. He knew they weren't doing it on purpose by any means, but everything seemed so loud to him; even the quietest stirring sent bolts of pain right to his head.

At least the whispers had stopped for now. He hadn't been able to shut them up for the longest time after drinking from the Well, and they only got worse when he tried to think about anything, offering unsolicited advice and information in half-comprehensible murmurs. Harellan had been right about one thing: if it weren't for all he already knew, he'd have had an impossible time trying to interpret any of it. But even like this, when his eyes were closed and his thoughts as still as he could get them, his head throbbed, not so easily ignored. It eased sometimes like ebb tide, only to rush back the moment something provoked them.

The bark against the back of his head was hard and a bit uncomfortable, but the ability to relax into something solid and doze was a welcome one after so many hours of travel. Brief, fragmentary dreams flickered across his consciousness, vague, shadowy scenes playing out over the back of his eyelids, but for the moment they were hazy, almost soporific. It would be a marvelous place to really let himself dream, he thought, full of history and tragedy and drama, but also more tranquil things. Things he honestly would have preferred right now. Old dreams mostly, but also new ones.

Cyrus wrapped his arms around himself, cracking his eyes open and letting them rest on the summer-green canopy. It wasn't just the potential dreams that called him to slumber: fatigue and the heat of the afternoon made it seem perfect for that kind of indolence. Too bad, then, that their task was urgent—and rather more painful to contemplate than any of the bloody history the fade might have shown him here. That was the thing about being personally involved, he supposed.

Sitting up more properly, he surveyed their little gathering. Vesryn and Stellulam had yet to return from wherever they'd wandered off to, but he wasn't about to go and try to find them. Khari had fallen fast asleep under another tree, sprawled out with an enviable lassitude. He wondered for a humorous moment if the Lord Inquisitor minded waking up with her limbs thrown about him. It seemed unlikely. Harellan had seated himself on a relatively flat stone; smoke curled lazily from the end of the wooden pipe in his mouth. It smelled like a lighter blend, something with a bit of refreshment to it. His eyes shifted momentarily to Cyrus when he moved, but didn't linger, and he returned his attention to the forest's interior. The slight haziness of his expression was about the only evidence that his mind wandered something other than the scene immediately before them. Astraia stood for the moment, feeding her halla something out of the palm of her hand. She spoke to him in hushed tones, barely audible. Stellulam had a habit of speaking to animals as well, but it was likely that Athim actually understood whatever Astraia was telling him.

With a small frown, Cyrus rubbed at his temples, then stood, brushing detritus from his clothes and electing to see to the horses. They'd be moving again soon, but for the moment he'd let everyone rest a little longer.

When Stellulam and Vesryn returned, they were damp from head to toe. It seemed the nearby waterfall had been their destination, and that they'd gone in it rather than admire it from the shore. It was obvious to everyone that whatever had happened there was entirely personal.

"Sorry to push you all even more, but we should get moving," Vesryn said, taking his weight off of Stellulam and putting it on his horse instead, so she could get her leathers and gear back on. Understandably the group didn't have the most energy by this point, but the fact that this was the last stretch of the journey undoubtably helped.

"It's all right," Astraia assured him, already astride Athim. "We know how important this is."

"Much appreciated." His eyes settled on the halla for a moment. "Might be better to leave the mounts here. Terrain gets pretty tricky up ahead. This spot is safe, but we'll have to navigate some sylvans and spider nests ahead. Might need to move quickly."

“Dammit." The curse, low and almost inaudible, was Khari's, coinciding with the mention of spiders. Come to think of it, he remembered something about that—of all the things she could face down utterly dauntlessly, apparently giant, eight-legged arachnid monstrosities were not among them. Actually it wasn't totally unreasonable when put in those terms.

Astraia seemed confused, but she dropped lightly back to the ground anyway. "Wouldn't that be easier when mounted?"

"Maybe for Athim, but the horses will struggle a bit more. And besides, in my case it will be safest if I can stay within arm's reach of Stel." Her mark would certainly allow them to travel quickly together if they needed. Having horses underneath them would needlessly complicate things.

Khari's fear, if that was indeed the cause of her moment of reluctance, did not slow the group's forward progress, even if she did keep her sword outside the scabbard and in one hand, the deep green of the blade occasionally catching patches of sun as they moved through the denser parts of the forest. It was not so complete a canopy as the that of the gigantic trees in the Emerald Graves or the even more massive ones near the center of Arlathan, nor were the trunks so dense as in the Arbor Wilds, but it was an impressive forest in its own way, deep and quiet.

Occasionally, Cyrus could make out pieces of rubble about, more intentional than anything accidentally left or disposed of by the Dalish. Overgrown pieces of foundation, or more often loose and crumbling pale stone, nearly fully reclaimed by the ground. But that which was built by the greatest civilization there ever was would not so easily disappear entirely, and stubborn traces of ages long past remained for the keen observer. The voices in the back of his head murmured, occasionally deigning to offer up a comprehensible tidbit of information on architecture or the location in particular; he noted absently that they seemed to be satisfied when he took heed of them, and receded, though there were so many that he doubted he could parse them all given years to try.

Khari stiffened first, aware of something that took the rest of them a moment to catch. But then it was obvious: movement, from deeper within. What started quietly grew loud enough to spear more pain into his temples, and Cyrus hissed softly. Something was approaching—and it wasn't being subtle.

The arcane blade was quicker to his hands than it ever had been—no doubt the result of Harellan's task-mastery.

It soon became clear that it was several somethings, and judging by the conflicting sounds—a low, aggravated growling mixed with several higher-pitched squeals—those somethings were in conflict with one another.

The source became clear enough in a moment, when a massive creature blasted its way through the trees, quite literally shattering the trunks of anything in its way with a club half as long as those trees themselves. It didn't take long for the sick feeling to wash over Cyrus and no doubt all of the mages with them, the origin of that feeling being of course the red that covered what they faced. It was the giant, the poor corrupted creature that they'd encountered in Kirkwall and again in Emprise du Lion. Of all the places it could have ended up, it chose the solitude of this forest. Solitude which was apparently disturbed.

A small swarm of giant spiders gripped it at various points, clinging to its arms and legs, while the largest of them climbed up its back. It grabbed one with its free hand, flinging it sideways against a tree. They were frustratingly quick, difficult for the slow-moving giant to deal with.

Slow though it was, it would cross their path soon, and then they'd have both of them to deal with. Not something they'd want to manage while they had to look after someone as weak as Vesryn.

The best option was running, a consensus that most everyone seemed to come to without consultation. Tsking, Cyrus stepped through the fade, putting himself between the oncoming dangers and Vesryn and Stellulam, who would probably need to help him move. Harellan did the same, and Khari took point, dashing forward with her blade trailing behind her.

They weren't going to make it past fast enough to avoid a near collision, so Cyrus took a chance, flinging several needle-sized flecks of ice towards the whole lot. He couldn't risk using fire, not in a forest that would burn all too readily. As he'd aimed, they hit the ground, bursting forward in jagged spikes that blocked the path of the oncoming giant. No doubt a creature so massive could plow through even that if necessary, but it would take more time, hopefully enough for them to get clear.

Ahead, Khari shouted something unintelligible; another cluster of spiders had burst forth from the opposite side just in front of her. Bringing her sword around, she cleaved down into the first one, splitting its many-eyed head in two. Harellan's lightning followed, chaining into several and dropping those it touched, but there was a small swarm, and they were still oncoming, closing rapidly over the path Khari was trying to form through them. Tremors in the ground and a heavy crack signaled that the unfortunate lyrium giant was breaking through the ice just behind, too.

There were too many spiders for Khari to occupy all at once, and the first one through met a powerful bolt of spirit magic from Astraia, blasting it back where it had come from. The second reached her before she could ready another spell, but she quickly backstepped and slashed down with her staff, slicing the ends of its two front legs off as it missed its leap. Wailing, it leaped again, only to find itself impaled on the staff next. Astraia pulled her weapon free, looking a little surprised with herself as she checked on Vesryn and Stellulam's progress.

Meanwhile, the giant had managed to get its hands on the biggest spider, and it forcefully pierced it with one of the ice spikes in its path. The club smash of frustration that followed utterly squished the beast, but shattered the ice as well, clearing the path to their group. A huge stonefist flew in the opening, formed quickly from the end of Astraia's staff, and smashed into the giant's chest, at least slowing it down a little. She looked focused, determined, even if she was almost certainly afraid. A far cry from how she'd first come to them.

"Stel, get ahead!" she called. "We'll be right behind you."

It was advice that Stellulam took readily, wrapping one steady arm around Vesryn's waist. The mark on her free hand crackled to life, shrouding them in a hazy green shimmer that Cyrus by now recognized well. They took two steps together, putting them quite far ahead of the others, before the light faded, indicating that the Anchor had cooperated as far as it was going to for the moment, at least.

It occurred quite suddenly to Cyrus what they ought to do next. Not even a whisper from one of the voices, just... realization. Like something remembered rather than something learned. “Your left! There's a staircase!" Down, recessed into what had once been a hallway but was now—well, he wasn't sure. Whomever he'd inherited this knowledge from had doubtless died long before the place had fallen into this state of ruin.

Returning his attention to the fight in front of them, he sent another chain lightning into the spiders ahead, finally allowing Khari to plow through to the other side. Harellan was throwing more ice, this aimed directly at the giant's joints, slowing rather than outright stopping him. Humming, Cyrus pulled a pair of barriers to himself and set them up where Khari had been a moment before, pushing them apart with a gesture. A path through the swarm, at least for a little while. “Go!" He gestured sharply with his head, holding the barriers until Astraia and Harellan were both through. The spiders were already crawling around the obstruction by the time he pulled himself through the fade again, nearly tripping over one of them in his haste to be past.

The jump came up shorter than he was expecting. A step forward told him why; there was a flare of pain in his right leg. A bloody gash had opened up just above his knee on the outside; the greenish fluid commingling with his blood suggested one of the spiders. The burning suggested acid or some kind of corrosive poison. Hardly enough time to deal with it now; he hopped back into a lopsided run, setting his teeth so as not to bite his tongue. Crashing sounded behind him, each splintering tree a little closer than the last. Pulling in a deep breath, Cyrus pushed his limbs harder, veering sharply to the left and half-running, half-falling down the stairs. He landed with a heavy thud and a pained grunt at the bottom, grabbing onto the open doorway to more or less pull himself the last few meters to safety.

The door thudded shut behind him, and just in time. Thunderous bangs and crumbling stone were evidence enough of what the giant was doing behind them.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
"Some light, Skygirl? If you wouldn't mind."

They were dire need of it, after the doors were shut behind them, and the giant rained fury on the ground outside. It wasn't moving on either, by the sound of things. Dealing with the last of those spiders, no doubt. Vesryn wasn't sure what the others would do about that. There were other ways out of this place, he knew, so perhaps they'd be able to sneak around it, and not risk anyone getting hurt. The last thing he wanted in dragging them out here on his behalf was to see them hurt. As for his own survival... he wasn't sure he'd make it to see that giant again.

Astraia provided the light, a hovering orb shining silver like a full moon indoors. Vesryn was immediately hit by how much cooler it was down here, chilled almost like winter hadn't quite left the depths of the Brecilian, even if summer's heat had settled over the rest. There was nothing majestic about the entryway they found themselves in, nothing like the Temple of Mythal or even many of the other sites he'd visited in his life.

This was a place of war above all else. A last bastion of an ultimately doomed resistance in the south. No murals were carved onto the walls here, no beautiful mosaics on the ceilings.

In part this place was a prison. It was not meant to be pleasant. Old whispers seemed to bounce off its walls, speaking of its cruelty.

Vesryn had thought it a dark entry into the world of the ancient elves. At first he wasn't even sure it belonged to them, and later he thought that they were not all they were cracked up to be. Now that he was back here... he was glad he hadn't understood it at the time. He might've never dared to venture in otherwise. Never found Saraya.

"Wraith coming," Astraia pointed out. They could see its green glow illuminating a hall split off on their left, just coming around the corner. It met a well-placed spirit bolt from Astraia's staff, the purple-white flash almost blinding in the relative darkness of the ruin.

"You've improved," Vesryn pointed out, giving her should a squeeze.

Her smile was melancholy in return. "Thanks. It feels good, being able to use what I've learned. What you've all taught me."

There were the whispers again, words Vesryn couldn't quite make out. He squinted into the darkness, trying to find if they had a source, but there seemed to be nothing. Furthermore, none of the others seemed to react the way he did. "I'm the only one hearing those, then? Whispers, they sound... afraid."

Harellan shook his head slightly; enough of an indication that he wasn't hearing whatever Vesryn was. Khari just looked grim. Whatever she made of this place, she didn't seem to be inclined to talk about it just now.

Cyrus, on the other hand, took half a step and hissed. Now that there was light, it was obvious that something had happened to one of his legs. With a grimace, he lit his hands with bluish magic, applying them to the wound. His expertise in healing was by his own admission something of a nonentity, but he managed to at least stop himself from bleeding on the ground. Pushing loose hair back away from his face, he glanced around for a moment and expelled a breath. “Charming place, but... no. I'm not hearing anything unexpected." It was a bit of an odd way to phrase the denial, but it answered the question, at least.

Stel and Astraia weren't either, it seemed, so it was just him then. That was... not comforting. They continued on, finding first another way out, as light from above filtered down through a crack in another door. Good to make a note of that. There were signs of others that had been here, though it could've been five days or fifty years ago that they'd come. The armory had been pilfered of nearly everything still usable. They came across a few corpses, one of which was possessed by a demon that had passed through the Veil somewhere. Vesryn wondered if they wouldn't find a rift somewhere here. How long had it been since those were their greatest concern?

Eventually they came to a familiar hallway, as they descended deeper into the ruin. Deeper into the prison. There were shelves all along the wall running on their left, filled with old scrolls still bound up. They were heavily decayed, vulnerable to falling apart just from being touched, as Astraia found out when she tried to grab one.

Her orb of light floated down to the end of the hall, and suddenly Vesryn was hit with a wave of dismay coiling through his chest. "No," he said breathlessly, without even knowing why. It soon became clear, though, as his eyes fell on a pedestal there, in the corner. He remembered a bowl, water he'd drank a long time ago when he ran terrified down here from a similar bunch of spiders. The bowl was still there, but part of it had been shattered, its contents long since released and gone.

"She... she needed me to drink." It was obvious what that meant. "She must've thought there was something we could do down here, but... she'd hoped this would still be here."

Stel stepped further into the room, approaching the bowl and running a finger gently along the edge of it. "And it was the water itself that mattered?" she asked, with the despondent tone of someone who already knew the answer and didn't care for it in the slightest. "Not the vessel?"

"Either way... what we needed was lost." The water he'd drunk from had to have sat in that bowl for hundreds of years, somehow preserved. Whether that magic was in the water itself or the bowl it sat in didn't seem to matter. It was gone now, and without he was very much stuck in this state that was steadily killing him.

"Maybe there's another," Astraia suggested, already leading the way forward. There was only one way, for the moment. "We're not leaving until we know for sure, right?"

She might as well have been walking into an empty abyss, for all the darkness Vesryn felt in that direction. The whispers were growing louder, but he still couldn't make much of anything out. There was only one thing to do, though. Astraia was right; they couldn't give up yet. Leaning on Stel once more, he followed after her.

They went down another left, Saraya taking over as the guide once they had a choice of directions. They passed by the place where he'd originally found her, discarded and forgotten, and went deeper into the prison. The cold chill increased until a fine tremor went through him. He felt weak to it, like it was somehow a magical cold that targeted him specifically. Stel didn't seem to be shivering as he was. Perhaps he was feeling it twice as strongly as anyone else.

They passed by cells that were all too familiar. Cages barely fit for beasts, let alone their brethren, enemies or otherwise. It physically hurt him to be here, this place that personified Saraya's suffering, her shame. They'd locked her here in his mind. At least here there was no blood running along the floor, crawling through the place like vines.

"There's something ahead," Astraia pointed out. Indeed there was. As they left the cells behind they arrived into what had to be a ritual chamber, a claustrophobic cube of a room, with small piles of rubble in the corners. There were eyes carved into the walls, eyes that burned with a fire drawn like the sun itself was the iris.

Fear.

He fell under their gaze, neither Khari's cane nor Stel's support enough to keep him up when his legs so suddenly failed him. He sank heavily to his knees in the entrance of the room, finding patterns of metal in the floor, like branches and leaves. The whispers grew louder and louder, and then all of a sudden they coalesced into a woman's voice. Unsteady with fear, desperate to reach him, trying to maintain control.

Find the runestones. They must find the runestones.

"Find... the runestones?" Vesryn couldn't quite understand what was happening. "She says... find the runestones."

"Look for elemental signs." Harellan seemed to at least have some idea of what the runestones were supposed to be. "Fire and so on, I'd expect." The room was littered with rubble, which presented their first major obstacle; the older elf started shifting them aside with a combination of muscle power and magic.

“Sure." Khari shrugged and started flinging rocks around herself, next to a different wall. Cyrus took the one behind them, more grinding and clacks as he moved pieces of ruined architecture aside as well.

It was Khari that seemed to find something first. “I think I got one!" Slipping her hands along the sides of the large stone she'd found, she lifted with her knees. The stone seemed to be heavy, worked until of a once-smooth elliptical shape. A glimmer of Astraia's magelight caught on the rune engraved on its face; it looked to resemble a flame. “What do I do with it?"

"There," Stel, who'd crouched next to him, pointed at a shadowy spot on the wall behind Khari's shoulder. "There are insets in the wall that should fit." She returned her attention to him while the others continued the search, tilting her head to meet his eyes. "Ves... are you hearing her voice? You said she says to find the stones."

He was, wasn't he? He felt he'd never really heard it before, but yet... it was so familiar. Perhaps because the only time he'd heard it before... she'd been screaming. She was so urgent now, but he couldn't quite make himself focus.

"Saraya?"

There's no time, Vesryn. This must happen now. The mages must let the stones taste their magic.

There were tears in his eyes, though he wasn't sure who they belonged to. Shakily, he relayed her instructions. Astraia was the first to follow through; her runestone's engraving appeared to be thorny vines, angry and twisting. It lit with a white light when she let her magic flow into it. The others did the same. The fire, the lightning, the light of the sun... when all were light, the entire room was bathed in the white glow.

The roots must now taste the blood of a supplicant. All four. They must speak these words: may the first among the Gods have his vengeance.

"Saraya, I don't... I have so many things I want to say, to ask..."

Do as I say when I say it and we may still have time for some of that.

Of all the things she could've said to him, somehow that surprised him the least. It was almost enough to make him smile. He supposed he looked rather strange to the others, having a conversation that they could only hear one side of. His eyes settled on his friends. "There needs to be an offering of blood to the tree's roots. The four of you, the mages. Speak the words: may the first among the Gods have his vengeance."

Khari was obviously not one of the mages, so she ceded her spot next to the fire rune, offering a smile to Vesryn and Stel. “I'll stick close for a bit, huh? You go do your thing, Stel." The others were already hastening to act, perhaps picking up on the urgency, even from the one side of the conversation they could hear.

“May the first among the Gods have his vengeance." Cyrus spoke first from beside the lightning rune, echoed only a half-second later from Harellan beside the light one.

Stel hesitated a moment more, perhaps put ill at ease by the words themselves, glancing back over her shoulder at him—and perhaps almost through him, to Saraya as well. They certainly did not sound promising. But she drew the dagger from the small of her back nevertheless, cutting carefully across her forearm and turning it to let her blood trickle down. She exhaled audibly.

"May the first among the Gods have his vengeance."

When Astraia did the same, the roots of the tree lit up alongside the runestones, and there was a grating sound as the floor shifted beneath them. A small circle opened up in the center of the floor, and out of it rose a similar pedestal to the one that had been destroyed outside. The same as her dream. This was where Marellanas Arayani had died.

Oh, good... there's still water.

Indeed there was, crystal clear and waiting to be consumed in the bowl atop the pedestal. Vesryn eyed it warily. "Saraya... what are we doing here? What's your plan?"

They drowned me on this water, as you well know. You just need to drink it.

"And then?"

Drink the water, Vesryn.

He exhaled in frustration, glancing sideways at Khari. "Help me to it." He made it the few steps to the bowl, staring down into it for a moment. He could almost see the younger version of himself there, looking back. But that fool hadn't even thought before dunking himself underneath. He couldn't afford to think about it now.

Vesryn bent over, and scooped a handful of the water into his mouth.

As before, the difference was subtle at first. Like the walls were crying out to him, but softly, a mile away. Like the world around him was only a veil that had just now become visible and almost transparent, waiting to be torn open if he just reached. He backed away a step. "What now?"

Ask Estella if she can feel me, with her magic.

He blinked in surprise, and then turned his eyes to his beloved. "Can you... feel her? Separate from me?"

Stel frowned slightly, taking a step closer. Reaching out with a hand, she laid it gently on his shoulder and concentrated, her eyes going slightly out of focus. It didn't take more than a couple of seconds before she gasped, retracting her hand as though she'd been burned. "Yes. She's—she's there. It's..." Her lips parted again as she searched for a descriptor, but closed again, followed by a headshake. "It's hard to describe, but yes. You're distinct now."

"What is she supposed to do?" Vesryn asked. "Can she fix us somehow?" The response that came was solemn, gone of any trace of humor that was somehow laced into the rest of Saraya's words, even at a time like this.

No, Vesryn. But she can pull us apart. With help from the others.

"Pull us..." His heart sank. "But you'll die. Won't you?"

Yes. I will. But you might live.

Might. She was sacrificing her life so that he might live. After all they'd seen and done together, after all this time, and yet still with so much time left to them if they could only figure this out. Now the fear gripping his chest was more his own than hers.

"She... wants you to pull us apart," he said softly. "To kill her, in order to save me."

The parts of the conversation Stel had been able to follow had clearly alarmed her, but at the final confirmation, her face fell, brows knitting and a frown overtaking her mouth. Dismay, clear as sunshine. "There's nothing else?" She stepped in a little closer, lips pursed, and settled her hand on his elbow. "Nothing else we can do for you?" Clearly she spoke to Saraya there, though it was his face she searched, as though it might give her some glimmer of hope not yet in evidence.

You have already done everything and more that I could have hoped for. All of you.

Reluctantly, Vesryn relayed her words. Some of their conversation didn't even need words on his end. She could feel what he was feeling, after all. He was afraid, not of the pain or even the chance of dying. He was afraid for afterwards, if this worked, if he lived on and Saraya was gone. At this point in his life he'd lived longer with her than he had without her. Everything he was, everything he was able to do, it was because of her.

There was so much more he wanted to do with her. More he wanted her to see and feel and experience. She didn't deserve to die here, in this cold and terrible place where she knew only memories of pain and fear and sorrow.

"You deserve better than this."

What I deserve is not something you or I or anyone who has ever lived can say with certainty. What I want is to give you a chance at life, and this is the only way I know how.

She couldn't lie to him, either. She did want this, he could feel it. It wasn't right to her, it wasn't right to Stel that she had to be the one to do this, or that any of the others had to help her.

"I wish we had more time." At that, she laughed, a bubbling chuckle that echoed around in his head. He couldn't help but smile, even as he wiped away tears.

There will never be enough time. But please... let me give you more.

There was nothing else to be done. If they tried to leave, if they tried to do anything, he may well fall over and never rise, killing them both. He could not leave this place with Saraya. His only choice was to leave without her... if he could survive that much.

"Okay, Saraya. I guess... I guess this is goodbye."

She relayed the instructions to him, and he to Stel. The runestones did most of the work, Elgar'nan's tools used to pry the very essense of the victim from their body. Stel could ensure that it was Saraya's and not Vesryn's that was taken. The elven mages would then do something with that essence, but they had neither the time nor the hope of finding the resources for that. And Vesryn suspected that she wanted this, too. To finally move on to the next stage of her journey... whatever that might be.

He wasn't the only one who wanted to give one, either. “Hey, Saraya." Khari pushed out a hard breath, squinting up at Vesryn. She certainly wasn't as used to differentiating between them as some of the others, but she was clearly trying her best. “Thanks for all the fights. I learned a lot, and—" She paused, swallowed. “You reminded me that our history isn't all dead stuff and people being sad. So... good luck, okay?"

Cyrus was a tad more abashed in his approach, though a small huff of amusement at Khari's escaped him. “I honestly can't remember if I ever apologized for the way we were introduced. I was... unpleasant, I realize now. So I'm sorry for that, and thank you. For all the things you did for us. My friend and my sister especially. And... for me also, at the vir'abelasan. I will strive to be worthy of that trust."

"Ir abelas, Marellanas." Harellan added his farewell quietly. "Irassal ma ghilas, lethallen ma'athlan vhenas; lath araval ena melana ‘nehn enasal ir sa lethalin. Dareth shiral."

"Thank you for everything," Astraia's farewell was softly given from across the room, where she leaned on her staff. "I don't know if you know this, but... you gave me a lot of inspiration. And a lot of strength, when I wasn't sure if I had any. I'm glad Ves wandered into us that day so long ago. I'm glad we were able to help each other."

Stel still looked halfway at war with herself, but in the end she sighed. "I hope you can feel this, or I'm going to be a fool again," she murmured, then closed the gap between herself and Vesryn to wrap her arms around him. She squeezed, standing on her toes to speak quietly near his ear. "Thank you. I will never, ever forget you, and I won't let anyone else forget, either. You've done so much for us that it doesn't feel like enough, but—but I swear it. You, and your family, and your people too."

"It would seem that, even given the chance to speak... Saraya has no words for this."

None that were adequate, or perhaps none that were needed. Part of Vesryn still wanted to fight it, to turn away from this and figure out how they could both live. But he knew it wasn't possible. And even if she was afraid of what might await her in death, Saraya was ready to meet it head on.

The moment passed almost without Vesryn noticing it, when Stel was about to begin. He braced himself, in case this was the last moment for him, too. He wasn't about to give goodbyes, though. Too much of an optimist for that.

"We're ready."

Goodbye, my friends.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
Estella could tell they were running low on time.

That didn't actually make it any easier to do the thing that was definitely going to kill her friend. Especially not with her own magic. She'd been afraid of just this situation before—that something she might do might have such visceral, personal consequences, and the idea that she was effectively going to destroy Saraya was a difficult one to swallow. Even if she'd volunteered.

Still—at least it wasn't something Vesryn had to do.

"It's probably best if you lie down," she advised, though the benefit would be just as much on her end of things as his. She had no idea what kind of reaction this was going to cause, or how much pain would be involved, but it was a safe bet that it was going to hurt. No other interference with the connection had ever been totally benign, not since Zethlasan started it years ago. Estella could feel a tremor in her hands, but she stilled it, squeezing her fingers into fists and easing them again. Her eyes sought and found Khari's.

"While everyone else works the magic, I need you to be here. This is... delicate, and it might not work so well if he moves." She didn't want to say 'please stay here so you can hold down the person I love most if I hurt him badly enough he thrashes,' but it was the thought, one she hoped Khari would understand without any further explanation.

Once everyone was in position, Estella settled next to Ves's shoulder, reaching out to lay her fingers softly there. Contact made it just a little easier, and considering how complicated this was all going to be, she needed every little advantage she could muster. Truthfully, she wasn't even exactly sure how she was going to go about this, or what it required, but maybe getting a better sense for how things were would point her in the right direction.

It was alien, the feeling of two completely different entities in overlapping space. Saraya had always been enough a part of Vesryn that she'd shared his vital signs, his felt existence. But now it was like... they weren't completely separate, but it was as though two pages in a book that had been stuck together were coming apart, starting at the edges, which curled now in two directions. That was the only way she could describe the feeling it gave her.

Her eyes eased shut, and she focused on that. It took a great deal of careful searching, but eventually she found a starting point: the pain of the connection itself. They were beginning to experience it differently, where before their mutual anchor to Ves's body meant they felt it as basically the same. Shared dreams, shared feelings. Estella pulled in a bracing breath, and began to untangle the weave.

She didn't have untangle for long before the ritual chamber itself seemed to take notice. Likely the mages that had done this originally used the same kind of magic, probably much more confidently... and with much greater cruelty. But the runestones appeared to be part of it, as their symbols flared to life, the magic the other mages were letting flow into them spurring them on. They latched onto the target of Estella's magic, and pulled.

A bolt of panic shot through her—she tried to gentle the pull, but like iron filaments to magnetized stone, the forces at work simply would not be denied, even by her.

Instantly Ves gasped in pain, his back involuntarily arching as his limbs seized up, and fought against Khari's hold. It was a good thing she was there to keep him pinned, or he would've moved far too much already. There were tears already springing to his eyes, and he almost seemed to be choking on his own breath, but he managed to utter a single word.

"S-steady."

Estella made a soft sound, not by conscious choice, expressing her distress perhaps more eloquently than she'd have otherwise had time for, but she did her best to follow the direction, too keep unwinding the places where they were still bound, prizing them apart with the magical equivalent of delicate, dexterous fingers.

A few moments longer and the color of his skin started to seem unnatural. He was turning blue, almost glowing with it, the light coming from within him rather than any source in the room. It grew brighter and brighter, and she could feel that the pain was increasing alongside it. He should've passed out by now, but the spell itself seemed to be keeping him from it.

Estella's vision blurred; she blinked away the forming tears, setting her jaw and clenching her teeth. She couldn't stop, and she definitely couldn't let this be for nothing.

And then the light erupted from within him, not from his throat or his eyes or any specific orifice, but from every pore in his skin. He screamed in pain, drowning out the sound of the magic pulling him apart from Saraya. The light seemed to solidify, floating embers in blue that lifted into the air past her and Khari, collecting and gathering on the ceiling. That had to be Saraya, forced to leave the host that had housed her for so long.

Eventually Ves's screams faded to nothing, and the last of the light left him, until all of it remained hovering above them, illuminating the entire ritual chamber in blue. Beneath Stel's hand, Ves lay perfectly still, his head lolled to the side, his eyes shut as though he were sleeping.

The tense muscles in her body went slack, slumping her shoulders without her consent. She hadn't felt this drained in a long time, perhaps because of the particular combination of emotional and physical tolls. Swallowing, she shifted her eyes to the ceiling, but only for a moment. Her hands were shaking now, and no amount of discipline was going to stop them. Just—she just had to be sure. Estella's fingers sought the pulse point on his neck.

Nothing.

At first she thought she'd just somehow missed the right spot, or that her shaking was making it impossible to feel what was there. But a second, more deliberate attempt sucked the air right from her lungs.

Nothing.

A hard lurch nearly brought up the contents of her stomach. "No." Had she not been careful enough? Had she done something wrong? Had the attempt been doomed from the start? More of them lurked, but Estella shoved them all away, rising to her knees and leaning over Ves. "No, no, no."

“Stel?" Khari's eyes had been drawn by the coalescing light, but the brokenness of Estella's tone must have returned her attention to her immediate left. She shifted, reaching as if to put a hand on her shoulder, but something brought her up short. Ves's state, perhaps. “Stel, is he—"

"Start his heart." That was Harellan, having caught onto the situation perhaps more quickly than most would have. His tone was sharp, urgent. "Quickly, there isn't much time."

Start his...?

Estella shook herself. Start his heart. If Harellan was telling her to do it, it had to be possible. Her magic had to be capable of it. Placing one hand back on his shoulder, she gently moved Khari away with the other to clear herself space to work. Her breaths were short and shallow, panic she didn't even properly notice overtaking her. It was hard to focus on anything but the vast nothing where they were connected, the feeling of the absence of a life where moments ago there had been not one, but two under her fingertips. Start his heart. Start his heart.

Instinct took over; Estella pushed the magic, less concerned with the subtleties and more with the sheer overwhelming need to feel something again. To know that life was in his limbs and behind his eyelids. It washed over him like a wave over the shore, purplish light dissipating like mist. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.

"How?" she demanded, voice cracking beneath the strain. Her vision was darkening, but she couldn't tell why. Her fingers curled tightly into Ves's shirt, and she swayed where she sat, unstable and not sure what was causing it. Everything seemed further away than a moment ago, even her own thoughts. "How do I do it? Help me—please."

A steady arm wrapped around her middle, bracing her against a larger body—Cyrus. He knelt beside her, pressed knee-to-knee and hip-to-hip. “Breathe, Stellulam. Deep breaths, with me." She could indeed feel his chest rise and fall, steady, even. “Focus here for a moment. My magic—you feel it?"

She could only muster the wherewithal to nod. She'd felt it the moment he was beside her: power, vigor, life. A sharp and painful contrast with Vesryn under her hands. Still, it was Cyrus, and if there was anyone in the world she trusted to know what to do, it was her brother. He could help—Cyrus could help. The iron solidity of the thought was enough to slow her breathing, even if she couldn't quite match his.

“Good. Now channel it. From me to you, and you to him. Go on; you won't hurt me." And indeed she could almost feel it being pushed at her, formless unlike the kind released as spells. He was offering it up for her to shape as she desired, to bolster her flagging reserves.

Almost unthinking in her desperation, she seized what was offered. It was an odd feeling, taking in magic from outside, but it wasn't so different from that minimal brush with the fade that all mages shared. Except there was nothing minimal about Cyrus's magic and there never had been. Even just what was passed between them felt like so much more than she'd ever handled at once; so much more than she alone was capable of. She could feel it all over, under her skin, tingling like the aftershocks of a chain lightning spell. No wonder they were so natural to his hands.

Controlling it was a gargantuan task; she could almost feel it fighting her, like it was a conscious thing with desires and needs, one that needed out. Estella shuddered once, but wrested it into the shape she wanted, pulling in a hard, fast breath and releasing the magic on the exhale, willing the life back into her beloved.

Her fingertips actually sparked when they lit this time, the color of the magic changed until it was as much blue as purple, and left her in an abrupt jolt, one that would have pitched her backwards if not for Cy's steady hold on her. The palm she'd laid flat against Ves's chest felt hot; wisps of smoke rose from the fabric of his tunic underneath her skin.

But the superficial burn she'd no doubt left in the same shape on his skin was nothing to her—because she felt it. A flutter first, and then an erratic jump. And then—and then.

A heartbeat.

She collapsed back into Cy's hold, unable to keep herself upright any longer on her own.

Ves suddenly gasped and moved, gulping in the air like it was water and he was dying of thirst. His head lifted and then fell back down to rest on the stone and metal floor beneath them. He blinked rapidly, clearly disoriented and still in a fair amount of pain, but he was alive. Very much alive.

Behind Estella, Astraia released a breath she'd probably been holding the whole time, coming forward and setting down her staff. "Hold still, Ves." She lit a healing spell in her hands, starting to tend to the burn on his chest. The magic was soothing enough that he stopped fighting to move, and the signs of pain etched on his face began to relax.

Soon it was quiet again, the only sounds being the soft trickle of Astraia's magic at work, and the barely audible hum coming from above, where whatever was left of Saraya remained. Ves's eyes were fixed on the light. "What happened? Was... was I..."

“Dead? For a little while." Cyrus's reply was void of all humor; he carefully eased Estella back into a more comfortable sitting position, but he didn't move away, perhaps anticipating that she still required support. The arm he'd been bracing her with shifted to rub gently at her back. “Stellulam restarted your heart."

Estella scrubbed her hands up and down her face a few times. She didn't want to interfere with Astraia's work, and she probably couldn't move much just now even if she wanted to, but she smiled a little. "Cy helped." The words came out slurred and indistinct, fatigue weighing down her tongue and the sheer panic and uncertainty of the minuted prior rendering her unable to find the wherewithal to say anything more illuminating just yet.

"That's..." Whatever word Ves was looking for, he couldn't find it. Unbelievable. Remarkable. Alarming, perhaps. After that he said nothing, and for a moment all of them could simply focus on getting their breath back, and simply being in this moment. Ves was alive, but...

"She's gone." The words were a heavy admittance, like a new weight of some kind had just settled upon his chest. And as if on cue, the light hanging over their heads began to dim. One blue ember at a time faded and vanished into darkness, until every last one flickered out, and only Astraia's magelight remained. "She's gone," he repeated.

With a soft groan as she tried to shift, Estella managed to get close enough to take his hand, watching the last pieces of Saraya fade away. Her breath shuddered; she squeezed Ves's fingers.

"I know," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
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And So is the Golden City blackened
With each step you take in my Hall.
Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.
You have brought Sin to Heaven
And doom upon all the world.
-Canticle of Threnodies 8.13
Image

Apparently Corypheus wasn’t above retribution if the bugling dragon outside their doors was anything to go by.

Most likely, he’d been stewing since their little dalliance in the Mythal’s halls. That scream Zahra remembered so clearly hounding their steps as they disappeared through the eluvian came to mind; pure, unadulterated rage. A fury that she’d thought funny at the time. Appropriate, given all the heartache he’d caused them. But now, it made sense. He wouldn’t roll over. He wouldn’t cease his assault. If anything, his efforts seemed desperate. Frenzied. A man who’d lost what he seemed to think he deserved. A God’s ire, raining down on them. He’d try to tear the entire world down if it meant their destruction—of that, she was sure.

Didn’t mean they’d just roll over and just let him has his way, either. It wasn’t their style. This sure as hell wasn’t Haven. They’d grown since then; they were made of tougher stuff now, and she knew well enough that they would all rather die then see him smug with victory. Fuck that. She could hear the sound of running outside; people crying out to each other, assembling in a clatter of steel and grit. Accompanied by that damned dragon’s shrieks crackling through the sky like thunder. From what she could hear, it was causing a ruckus. Slamming into the walls of Skyhold and sending brickwork raining down. There’d be fire, too.

What she wouldn’t give to see that thing plummeting to the ground.

Zahra swung her bow over her shoulder and filled her quiver with arrows. More like than not she’d end up running out. Who knew what Corypheus had up his sleeves this time. She set several vials into the slots on her belt and readjusted herself, making sure that everything was stoppered properly. It wouldn’t do her any good if she rolled out of the way and emptied acid on herself. An embarrassing way to go. She patted her hip and headed for the door, cracking it open a little so that she could see out into the yard. Chaos was an understatement. The beast looked as if it had smashed itself bodily into Leon’s tower, the remnants baring itself to the open sky. She swore she could see books from where she was, midst the rubble. She hoped


Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Zahra steadied herself, tightening her hands into fists. She looked over her shoulder at Asala, who’d been prepping as well. “There’s just no rest for us, is there?” she tried to smooth the pinched expression to her face, but only managed a curt smile. Strained. “Let’s find the others.”

They didn't have to look long before one of the others found them. Khari, already fully armored, looked to be missing only her helmet, but there probably wasn't any time to find it, when they were being actively bombarded like this. “Zee, Asala!" She was audible from almost halfway across the bailey, despite the chaos around them. Oddly, Khari seemed cooler than most of the frantic people running about around her, trying to find cover or armor or shelter in the case of the non-soldiers among them.

“Come on! We've got to get up to the wall and turn the catapult on the dragon!" She pointed to a spot on the battlements, where one of the siege engines was half-covered in rubble from Leon's tower. From a distance, it was hard to tell if it would even work, but Khari seemed to think it would.

Zahra snapped her head to the side. Khari was easy to spot even if she hadn’t acquired a military voice as of late, capable of cutting through the ruckus just as surely as the dragon. Her fiery hair, a banner. She wasn’t ready to argue with her. It was something at least. More of an idea than she had. Though, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen those things operational. This would be as good a time as any to find out. Cannons and catapults were two very different beasts—and besides, this one looked like it was little more than rubble. She hustled across the yard and passed soldiers in varying stages of dress; roaring to each other to ready themselves.

Another shriek cracked through the sky. She couldn’t be sure where it was coming from until cries were heard in the distance. A moment later and the flapping of wings sounded overhead, the beasts’ shadow slipping over the ground and disappearing past the wall once more. She made sure that Asala was still dogging her heels before crossing towards the wall Khari had been pointing towards. It didn’t take them long to clamber up the stairs and find themselves hustling towards the lone catapult. She hadn’t expected to find Leon heaving great slabs of stone off the wooden slats, face ashen with dust and debris. So, he had been in the tower, after all. A mercy he hadn’t been crushed. It was hard to tell if he was injured at all, with the amount of stone-grime stuck to his skin.

He was alive, that’s all that mattered.

“Leon!” she closed the distance between them and set herself to removing a chunk of rock from its neck, tossing them to the side. If she were being honest
 the mechanism didn’t look promising. Hitting a dragon in mid-flight? An impressive, if not staggeringly difficult feat. One she didn’t have much faith in. But they had to try. Her eyes lit up, mouth tightening into a line. “We’re here to help. How do we get this thing working?” As if it’d known what they were up to, the dragon’s roar boomed closer, raising the hair on her arms. It’s outline shifted behind the clouds; soaring in a wide arc.

Closer.

Leon looked momentarily relieved to see them, though it didn't last long when the shadow of the dragon passed over them. Too high above to attack for now, but it was clearly wheeling back for another pass, and they probably needed to have the catapult operational before that happened. "Help me get the rest of these rocks off. Khari, you know how to work one—find something to load it with and get it set." He paused to heave another large stone over the wall. "We need to keep it from destroying too much until Cyrus and Astraia are ready—and then we need to get back down to the bailey to meet up with the others."

"Right," Asala answered with a determined nod. Her barriers sprung to her hands, and then began insert themselves into the gaps in the rocks, leveraging and wrenching the stone off of them with quick upward swipes.

While the other three worked to clear away the stone, Khari was picking through them for one to load the catapult with. It took her a few tries to get something of about the right size for the bucket. She set it on the crenelations and checked the ropes, springs, and frame, re-securing the restraints just to be sure. By the time the last of the debris came away, she was hefting the payload in. “Wanna eyeball the aim for me here, Zee? You're the archer."

“My arrows are a wee bit smaller than this,” Even so, she rolled out her shoulders and took her place at Khari’s side, hands planted on the base of the catapult so that she could see straight ahead of her. The trajectory of the catapult. Zahra’s eyes were her strength. Her timing was precise, even if the intended target was a huge, fire-breathing dragon bearing down on them like a boulder being thrown through the open skies. Would it try to blast them with fire? Or would it come down with its claws and weight, hoping to crush them?

It only mattered what direction it came in and whether or not it tried to veer off in another direction. From what she’d seen of dragons so far, as strong as they were, they couldn’t just deviate once it began its descent towards them. Not a dragon as large and heavy as this one. They were smart creatures; but she wasn’t sure it’d expect them to try to anchor it to the ground by pelting it with a catapult. That, at least, worked in their favor. Surprise, dragon. Unfortunately
 this also meant they didn’t have many chances; if it noticed them, it would most likely try to disable the threat immediately.

“It’s coming back around.” The flap of wings. It’s bugle, shrieking down at them. A terror with wings. She’d be impressed if she hadn’t seen what it could do. If it wasn’t so damned ugly. Pock-marked and rippled with ridges. Far different than the one’s spotted on the Storm Coast. “It sees us.” Whatever had been distracting it before no longer did. It was baring towards them now. Intentionally so. Striking through the clouds like a sword and descending lower, passing over the opposing wall. “It’s gonna pass over us—we’ll get a shot. I’ll tell you when.”

She fucking hoped so. The timing was imperative, and if it decided to do anything different
 she wasn’t sure what the outcome would be.

The tension held for several seconds, Khari ready to release the catapult on Zahra's mark. They had to wait for it to get right over them if this was going to stand a chance, but not so close that it could cook all of them and the catapult where they stood. Slowly, it resolved into view, and when its underbelly was in just the right spot, Zahra called it.

Khari released, and the projectile flew in a ponderous arc. The trajectory was just a little off, but despite aiming for the dragon's wing and missing, they still managed to strike it in the chest, heavy stone breaking apart against its red lyrium scales with a crack and raining back down over the bailey.

The dragon screeched, changing direction to pull out of its descent. “If we're buying time, this is what we got; let's go!" Khari was the first to abandon the catapult and sprint back along the wall for the stairs.

The rest of them followed, no longer needing to push so much through crows of running people. The time they'd spent on the wall was apparently enough for just about everyone to get geared up, and though several more chunks of Skyhold were missing, the dragon had not managed to drop anymore towers, at least.

As they headed towards the main gate, Zahra could spot Rom, Stel, and several of the others massing nearby. Lia had just come in with a couple scouts, and the iron portcullis shut abruptly behind them. Leon looked to her first. "Captain. You've a report?" He wiped only somewhat effectively at the stone grit and dust on his face, but his only aim seemed to be clearing it away from his eyes, which worked well enough. He had donned no armor—quite possibly his set was in the rubble of his quarters, and no ordinary spare plate could possibly fit his dimensions, meaning he'd have to go without.

Lia was out of breath, having clearly just ran at full sprint from wherever she'd been posted in the mountains back to Skyhold. She also looked a little in shock at the state of their fortress, but she pulled herself together quickly. "Corypheus is coming. Bringing... everything. Couldn't get a sense of their numbers, but it has to be everything." A last ditch attack, it seemed. No more games, no more maneuvering in the shadows. Corypheus was forcing the issue. "Shit, I should've had something set up to warn against the dragon, I didn't think he'd—"

Leon shook his head. "It's fine. We've got measures in place to deal with it, but we're going to need to prepare for what happens when it comes down." Scanning the assembled faces, he found Cyrus's first. "If you can, try to bring it down near the lake. That should keep things far enough away from the fight at the gates that you won't have to deal with any interference." He took a deep breath, then nodded, almost to himself. "Asala, Captain Pavell, Rilien—the four of us will head down to the lake now and prepare to face it. The rest of you will have to hold the gates and find a way to reach Corypheus."

Bringing down the dragon was a stretch, in her mind. An impossibility given its stature; its lyrium-embued hide. But the Inquisition was all about facing the impossible, so she supposed this wouldn’t be any different. Besides, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. The dragon was too much of a threat to allow it to cause anymore damage. Zahra wasn’t sure how they’d manage to ground it permanently, but Leon seemed to have some idea—or else, Cyrus did. She didn’t doubt that they had something up their sleeves. Something that’d make sure they could pit themselves on fairer terms. Or else, keep it anchored on the ground. She crossed her arms over her chest and scanned their faces once more, mouth easing into a smile.

She was glad to see them here, alive. A small relief for what they were about to face, but still. It was enough. A small allowance before they’d have another helluva fight on their hands. One that she hoped would end all of this once and for all. A pirate could hope, couldn’t she? If this was Corypheus’ last ditch effort to tear the world down around them
 then they’d make sure to give him all they had. Make him remember who the Inquisition was, and how he’d made a mistake facing them in the first place.

Slapping a hand onto Cyrus’ shoulder, she rounded towards them and grinned wide. Sweat had already stuck her wild curls to her face, whether from the exertion of trying to get the catapult in order, or the sheer suspense of having the dragon bear down on them and coming out unscathed, was anyone’s guess. A mix of the two, probably. “I’m not gonna say any mushy stuff,” she knuckled at her nose, and arched an eyebrow, “but I bloody well better see all of you at the end of this.” A cough, clearing her throat of any lump that might threaten to choke her up. “Let’s kick Corypheus’ arse this time. Make sure he doesn’t get up again.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
This was going to be an exercise in pain if there ever was one. Thankfully, Vesryn was pretty experienced with pain at this point.

The Champion of the Inquisition stood at the front of the army once more, fully clad in polished armor, tower shield reflecting the afternoon light, spear ready to meet the enemy. The weight of it didn't feel right in his hand, nor did the shield. No amount of training had prepared him for this, to fight the most important battle of all without his guiding light watching over his every move. The timing could hardly have been worse. He wondered if the others would despair if he were to be cut down in the early waves. For the Champion to have recovered seemingly so well, only to be slain the moment the ultimate battle began.

At least he would make for a fashionable corpse.

He pushed the thought elsewhere in his head. Plenty of room for that now. Better to focus on the situation and reduce the likelihood of getting killed. The Commander had already detached from the army, to lead the others in killing that dragon. That left Khari in charge here. Normally the Inquisitors would lead them, but today they had one responsibility only: to kill Corypheus. As many times as it took. They'd yet to have the chance to fight him together. The ugly bastard was in for a surprise, Vesryn figured.

First they had to hold the line, until the dragon was dealt with. Vesryn stood at Khari's side on the front line, where they'd gathered on the far end of the bridge. The position gave them plenty of ground to give if they needed, and an excellent bottleneck to reduce any numbers advantage, and delay the real fighting between armies as long as they could. Vesryn didn't doubt Corypheus had other plans in mind, other ways of attacking the fortress and getting around the defenses, but they had forces ready in reserve for that. The bulk of the Venatori would have to get right through them if they wanted in.

"Nothing like the wait before the battle. In our tower, awaiting the storm. I'm looking forward to it, little bear." He was glad Leon had left her here. She'd already earned the dragonslayer title, after all. And there was no company like hers in a fight.

Though it wasn't her usual one, she'd managed to find a helmet somewhere, an open-faced one with a nose guard that descended a little too far. She cracked a grin at him beneath it, flashing teeth for a split second before she spoke. “After all this, it better be one hell of a storm, or I'd almost be disappointed." Rolling her shoulders, she reached back to touch the hilt of the sword over her shoulder, needlessly confirming that it was there. Her itch to draw it was almost palpable, but for Khari this was rather a lot of restraint. No doubt the weight of command settled on her shoulders at Leon's absence was more ponderous than she'd ever let on. But she'd been preparing for it, in a way. Learning from the Commander himself for years now. It was a far cry from her first uncertain moment in charge—that had been more his than hers, really, as he'd naturally fallen into the role she wasn't sure she was suited for.

Her attention diverted briefly to Romulus and Stel, right at the front with them. “You guys ready for this?"

Romulus wasn't feigning excitement, that much was obvious. Never the most charismatic of leaders, that one. "Pace yourself," he said. "We've got a long fight ahead of us, and there's no way of knowing what Corypheus has kept in reserve."

"We'll take this in shifts as much as we can," Vesryn agreed. "I know plenty of you have been hoping to get a stab at the last of the Venatori, no?" An aggressive cheer went up from the soldiers all around them. "You'll all get your chance." He looked to his Lady Inquisitor, lowering his voice. "Ready for yours?"

Stel flexed her marked hand, green light spilling from between her fingers, and nodded slightly, breaking from her forward stare to meet his eyes. She hadn't faced Corypheus in battle since the day she stumbled out of that rift, not the way some of the others had. No doubt this fact wasn't very reassuring. But her eyes were clear, her face set; if she felt doubts, and surely she did, she was pushing them down and locking them away. "I'm ready," she confirmed, offering a little smile. "It's long past time for this."

Shouts of warning echoed down from the remaining Skyhold towers behind them and on the bridge. Imminent attack, enemy approaching. That was easy enough to see from the dust cloud they were kicking up on the road ahead. The ground shook, in that way it did when massed armies moved at speed. Vesryn closed his mind to all other concerns, focusing on only what he could see through the narrowed slit of his visor.

He saw fire. "Incoming, shields up!" Venatori mages thew it over the top of the rise to rain down on their tight formation. Arrows came along with it, claiming the first casualties of the battle on the Inquisition side. The wounded had to be pulled back out of the ranks quickly, else they'd be suffocated in the crush of infantry soon to come. Their own archers and mages returned the hail of fire, sending precisely aimed arrows and powerful spells back down at the enemy, still out of sight. They hadn't even met and already the air was filled with periodic screams.

A bruiser of a red templar was the first over the rise, carrying a warhammer and already shrugging off a pair of arrows. His eyes were mad with pain and fury, no doubt the song Corypheus had him hear ringing in his ears. A lightning spell bounced right off him, the magic ineffective against his power. He charged right for the center of the line where Vesryn was, and swung.

The warhammer slammed against his shield, and instantly Vesryn knew he'd blocked it poorly. He stumbled backwards into Stel and a cluster of other soldiers, the knight's charge disrupting their line, and the Venatori poured onto them immediately after, trying to capitalize on the temporary disorder. Inquisition regulars were quick to fill the gaps, throwing themselves at the Venatori behind their shields to keep them back. Another swing of the knight's warhammer crushed a soldier's chest in. She dropped like a stone.

Grimacing, Vesryn got his feet under him and speared the knight, driving him back a step as the weapon slid through his midsection. The knight growled and smashed the shaft of the weapon, splitting it in two and leaving Vesryn with nothing but a splintered stick to wield. The warhammer's pommel came up next, right for Vesryn's helm, and he barely got his shield in the way, saving himself a concussion at the least.

A fierce shout cut over the din; even though his view was partly blocked by his shield, Vesryn didn't need to see to identify Khari, nor the heavy clang of a sword slamming into red lyrium. He was given a reprieve from the assault when the knight turned to face his new attacker. Khari's teeth were bared, and she swung again before her foe had fully adjusted to the strange new reality that was such a tiny woman striking at him with the kind of strength usually reserved for much larger people. Her thrust forced him back on the diagonal, two large steps away from the line.

She swung again, this time just barely fended off by the hammer itself. Her sword flared bright green, tendrils of emerald light snaking from the blade to wreath the haft of the hammer and the red templar's arm. It didn't seem to do anything immediately, but then several of the small spikes poking through his gauntlets shattered too, and he took another step backwards.

The hammer came down faster in retaliation this time, but not fast enough to have a shot at hitting her. Quickly, it became obvious to Vesryn what she was doing—each maneuver forced the templar closer to the side of the bridge, where only a lip of thigh-height blocked him from a deadly fall. He seemed to be conscious of this also, taking up a much more defensive posture towards Khari when he ran out of room to swing as hard as he'd obviously like.

But that—the closing in of his body—seemed to be exactly what she wanted. “Stel!"

With a crack and a flash of darker green, Stel appeared on the far side of the knight, her saber stabbing into the back of their foe's knee. She wrenched quickly, getting herself clear, then checked his body with her shoulder.

It wasn't enough force to do too much, but it wasn't the force that mattered. The slight tilt forced too much pressure onto the knight's bad knee, and he staggered to keep his balance, bringing his good leg hard into contact with the edge of the bridge. That did it, and he toppled over the side, snatching for Stel on the way down. But she was already gone with another crack, reappearing just in front of the main line.

Just in time, honestly; there were many more now appearing just within the Inquisition's line of sight. Arrows continued to rain from above in both directions, though Corypheus's army would soon have to stop firing, lest they risk hitting their own. The archers on Skyhold's walls had a bit more leeway, since they could aim for the back of the oncoming force.

Now came a solid line of Venatori, wielding long pikes and spiked shields. Their pace was slower, but they marched in lockstep—even in his madness it would seem their leader has instilled some vaguely-Qunari sense of discipline into them. A round of magical fire came in from overhead, only for every second person in the line to lift their shields, shifting half a step forward and bearing the brunt of the assault while their counterparts leveled the pikes over their shoulders.

The front ranks of Inquisition soldiers backed off a few paces, catching their breath. Vesryn had to discard his destroyed spear and scavenge up a sword from one of the dead. Romulus discarded a dead body over the side of the bridge, one of the last Venatori of the first wave. He fell back in line with the others.

The row of advancing spears and heavy armor presented a serious problem. They would be hell to attack and break through, and if they did they'd just get further from Skyhold, and into a more vulnerable position. Of course, they only had so much ground they could give. Vesryn waited until the spears were just about in range to stab at his shield before he voiced his concern. "What's the plan here, Khari?"

“Back it up! Slowly!" Khari fended off another stabbing spear before taking a measured, careful step back, then another. The control in the motion, and the way she kept herself faced out to defend in the process, gave those closest to her an idea of what she meant, and the Inquisition's front line formed back up, solid but in motion, keeping the advancing pikes from finding the less-protected fighters behind.

“Gotta get 'em under those magic ballistae." That was less loud, but certainly clear enough to Vesryn and the others around her. The siege weapons Cyrus's former teacher had designed no doubt packed a much stronger punch than any ordinary single spell; maybe they could break this line in a way that the ordinary projectiles weren't quite managing.

The first bolt released almost a little too early, streaking down into the Venatori line with a high-pitched whine, and then a heavy crash. It just looked like light at first, several colors swirling around inside indicative of the unformed magic poured into the lyrium molds by the mages on the wall. It crashed into the ground just barely behind the second row of Venatori, into the heart of their formation, splitting one man's shield outright and impaling him without losing much speed, staking his drooping body to the ground almost as he'd been standing.

It didn't last long though, just barely registering in their sight before it erupted, a massive swath of ice splitting out from all directions and bursting upwards into further sharp spikes from the ground, spearing more of the Venatori and encasing others in ice up to their knees, waists, or near the blast zone, up and over the whole of their bodies.

Whoever had launched it had clearly not expected its power, however; several of the Inquisition fighters at the front were pelted with heavy debris or found the ice snatching at their feet. Stel had to actually physically pull one of her legs free—it had been slathered in quickly-freezing magic about halfway up her calf. A few of those even less lucky were sporting new wounds from sharp shards not quite blocked by the front two rows of Venatori bodies.

The victory, important though it was, proved rather pyrrhic in the long run. Though the ice meant it would take Corypheus's forces more time to break through, there was one member of his army that suffered no such limitations.

A dark shadow passed overhead, blotting out the light of the sun for a few seconds. A shriek, grating and almost metallic, rang out over the battlefield, and almost as a single unit, the Inquisition's army looked up. The dull pink belly of the red lyrium dragon bore what looked to be several scratches, not to mention the large scrape from the catapult shot earlier, but it didn't look anywhere near to being downed yet, and it swept down over the wall, releasing a torrent of fire. The red-orange conflagration engulfed the entire left side, reducing two of the magic siege weapons and several of the mundane ones to useless piles of blackened wood.

The screams from the mages and soldiers who'd been operating them were almost as loud, but they did not last long before dying out, and the dragon ascended with a hard pair of wingbeats, opening its maw to exhale more fire on the troops in front of the gate. But even as the embers at the back of its throat flared brightly, it rolled, sensing an incoming attack that materialized only a moment later: a cloud like a smoky thunderhead, streaks of lightning lancing through its depths, just barely clipped the corrupted beast's outside wing. The source passed overhead at much greater height, identifiable only as blue and also dragon-shaped, before both turned and wheeled away from the gate, climbing back into the sky.

Vesryn looked up to see a person clinging to the blue dragon's back, someone very small that the distance did no favors for in that regard. As much as he didn't believe it, that seemed to be Skygirl. It was all a little too much to take in with a single moment.

That was all he was given, too, before a pain erupted in his side. He turned to see the end of one of the pikes protruding from a gap in the plate. The Venatori were embolded by the dragon's attack, and pushed forward much more aggressively, sacrificing some of the cohesion in their line for speed. It was only a moment before Romulus grabbed the pike with his marked hand, obliterating it with a burst of magic and freeing Vesryn to move again. He fell back a few steps, wrenching it out of his side. Blood ran freely over his plate armor.

Saraya wouldn't have been so stunned by the sight. Wouldn't have been taken off guard. But Saraya wasn't with him anymore.

They had no choice but to give more ground, but they had to do so now in a full melee, as the pike wall broke down and Venatori elites charged through instead, skilled and well trained battle mages that were more than a match for Inquisition soldiers. Their line looked near to breaking before a loud crackle erupted from the Lord Inquisitor's palm, and a rift exploded into existence over the front lines of the Venatori forces. At least a dozen of them were pulled into the void and vanished into nothingness, but more importantly it gave them time to back up and reform their line.

"That won't keep them for long," Romulus warned them. He turned, looking back up towards the wall, which was within shouting distance now. "What's the situation up there?"

It was Zahra who’d leaned over the wall, catching Rom’s eye from above. She was crooked between broken bits of stone and fragments of splintered wood. A hole that had been most likely torn open by the dragon who’d just flown overhead. One of many. Grime and dust streaked her dusky features—Vesryn didn’t need to see her to know that they weren’t doing very well up there. The screams, the fire. The general chaos pressing in on their sides. Her voice cut through the clamor of swords slamming against the icy wall. “Things are tight here, Rom,” a pause, as she reached over her shoulder and grabbed another arrow, “fucking dragon poked a hole in the wall, and now the bastards are climbing up.”

There was no time to respond. Several shouts echoed from above, signaling that perhaps, they had less time than they’d thought. Her face disappeared back behind the wall.

The bad news wasn't limited to the walls, however. The main body of the army had finally cut or burned their way through the rest of the ice, and these were some of the Venatori's shock troops: the mages strong enough to stand at or near the front lines, interspersed with more lightly-armed skirmishers and a few out-and-out warriors. They advanced much more quickly than those before, almost reckless in their haste to engage the Inquisition, who were forced to adjust accordingly.

Stel caught a stonefist to the abdomen, powerful enough to double her over, breathless; she only just avoided the axe that flashed for her afterwards. It cut into her shoulder instead of her head, the man behind it bearing down with his weight on the wound and shifting his grip, clearly intending to wrench it out at an angle for maximum damage.

But she set her jaw and shoved, the faint purple glint to the air around her suggesting an application of her magic, one that sent her foe backwards several meters, until he stumbled into one of the mages, taking them both temporarily to the ground. With a grimace and a pained grunt, Stel pulled the axe out of where it had lodged in her leathers, red flowing visibly from the wound and down her chestplate. Clenching her teeth, she changed stances and threw the bloody weapon with a shout, embedding it in a mage halfway through casting some spell. It fizzled away when the woman dropped, not dead but probably not far from it.

On the opposite side of him, Khari was fending off a few of the overeager warriors. Other than a split lip, she looked mostly fine so far, but with magic in the mix now, it was hard to tell how long that would last. With the damage to their defenders on the wall and the heavy loss to the Inquisition mages in particular, the Venatori ones were emboldened, and they didn't care quite so much about friendly fire as Skyhold's troops did.

And there, in the distance, was Corypheus. His soldiers flowed aside for him like water, none of them eager to impede his progress. They weren't going to be able to hold him here, not in their current shape. Vesryn put an arm in front of Stel, keeping her from getting back into the fight for a moment. "Estella," he said, urgently. "Get back inside the gates, try to find a healer for that." Fighting Corypheus would be a great challenge even at full strength. Attempting it after taking an axe to the shoulder was just foolish. "We'll buy a few moments and then retreat back inside. They won't hold long, but it'll be something." This wasn't going to be like Haven, with people throwing their lives away to give her time to escape. Vesryn had no plans to die here, only to help buy her enough precious seconds to be ready for the fight to come. "I will be there."

He could hear her intake of breath, read the expression on her face, even if it was too subtle for anyone who knew her less well. Concern. Reluctance.

But she nodded tightly after a moment, reaching out to squeeze his elbow with enough pressure that he could feel it through the mail there. "You'd better be," she replied, softly, just for him. But then her grip on him was gone, and she'd disappeared into the ranks, hastening back through the gate in search of treatment.

Taking a moment to make sure the wound in his side wasn't also going to need immediate healing, Vesryn adjusted his grip on the sword in his hand. It wasn't his preferred weapon, but then none of this was to his preference anymore. It didn't change the fact that people were still counting on him.

Vesryn took a breath, and advanced back to Khari's side. There was work to be done yet.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

0.00 INK

#, as written by AugustArria
The gates weren't going to hold for long.

Rom was busy just trying to catch his breath. Their forces were holding on the walls now that the dragon wasn't actively harassing them. He didn't know what had become of it, only that it was no longer in the sky raining hell upon them. Those they'd sent out after it, Asala, Leon, Captain Pavell, Rilien, Cyrus, Astraia... if they were successful, they'd have an army to cut through if they wanted to get back inside. They couldn't expect their help here, too.

Bang, bang. Corypheus had something big bashing on their door. Inquisition regulars were bracing it, but it wouldn't be long until it gave way, and the enemy poured inside. Their only choice was to meet them in battle, and hope that killing Corypheus caused him to stay dead, and broke the spirit of his army.

"So called Heralds of Andraste! Emissaries of a false god! Your deaths are at hand."

Corypheus could project his voice with remarkable effectiveness, booming over the battlements and washing over the beleaguered defenders. He was just outside, Rom knew. Probably pacing back and forth, waiting to march inside with his corrupted and brainwashed legion.

"The time for surrender has long passed. I will spill your blood, break your bones, rend your flesh, and over your corpses I will cut another hole in the sky, to claim the godhood that you are unworthy of."

"Good for morale, this guy," Vesryn remarked with a wince, as he passed Rom. He went to help brace the door. Rom didn't stop, moving further into the fortress grounds, searching for Estella. He'd overheard she was seeking out healing. Rom had only a few nicks and scratches so far himself, but that was likely to change once Corypheus was inside.

He found her grimacing her way through a red potion on the infirmary stairs, an empty vial with a few drops of pearlescent blue inside signaling that she'd started with a mana restorative. Rom knew better than most just how hard alchemy could be on the body, especially when the body in question wasn't really accustomed to its effects. The wound she'd taken earlier, the one on her shoulder, looked better, though not like it had seen the attentions of a proper healer.

"I tried to find Donovan," she explained, pausing to take another swallow and making a face. "It's only Milly in there right now, though. He... might have been on the wall." She didn't specify beyond that. Throwing back the last of the potion, she set the bottle down on the stairs next to the other and pushed herself into a standing position, dusting off her trousers. "Doesn't sound like we have much longer. To the front?"

"To the front," he echoed. Her condition wasn't ideal, but none of this was. They'd have to make do. He led the way back towards the gate, passing through massing Inquisition troops and their allies, all gathering their strength before the final storm. "We have to attack him together," he said, glancing back. "Corypheus will want to fixate on one of us, but if we keep his attention pulled multiple directions, we can kill him. We've done it before."

He heard murmured wishes of good luck as they passed. Soldiers that he didn't know the names of, people that had devoted their lives to the cause. To the two of them, and what they'd come to stand for, by their choice or otherwise. Perhaps they'd been just the Heralds of Andraste in the beginning, but by now the Inquisition had seen both of them for the very human people they were. Flawed, in need of help at times, of guidance, but ultimately always willing to bear the responsibility that came with the marks upon their palms. Whether it was his destiny or not, Rom wanted to be here at this moment. He was no blood of Andraste.

He was the son of smugglers and thieves, and he aimed to kill a god.

He stopped, perhaps thirty yards from the gate. Bang, bang. The doors groaned with the effort of staying closed and intact. "If his eyes are on you and the elven orb is in his hand," he added, "don't try to use your mark. He has a power over them, somehow, and he'll leave you immobile with pain." He knew that one well enough from experience.

"Your tricks cease here, Inquisition! Your futile resistance meets its bloody end! Tremble before Corypheus!"

Rom's upper lip curled up halfway to a snarl. He'd never been much of a leader in battle, he thought, but he couldn't help but lift his voice to a shout. "Are we trembling, Inquisition?"

“Fuck, no!" not surprisingly, Khari was the first to reply, taking the spot she'd claimed for herself on the opposite side of him from Estella. Grinning at him, she cupped one of her hands at the side of her mouth and shouted the next part through the gate. “Ugly son of a bitch has nothing on the likes of us!"

From behind Khari's shoulder, wild curls flew as Zahra drew herself up on the balls of her feet. "We'll show you where to shove your bloody end!" She screamed it at the door, eyes wide and mouth set into a determined grin. She looked exhausted. Her little tussel on the Skyhold's wall had rendered most of her quiver empty, save for a handful of arrows. Even so, she seemed to swell with all of the energy at her sides, as they yelled and beat their chests.

At the line just behind them, Harellan chuckled softly, placing a hand on Estella's uninjured shoulder and squeezing. When he drew away, it was with the soft hum of a conjured weapon, flourishing both and pointing the blades at the ground. The two other Lions in the group, Donnelly and Hissrad, weren't far from their friend, either, the characteristic bravery of their ilk probably not allowing them to take safer spots at the back.

Lord D'Artignon and his detachment of household troops, certainly not expecting to fight so soon, had nevertheless prepared quickly once the attack started, and now made up the left flank of the formation, ready to fall on Corypheus's forces in the event they pushed too far into Skyhold.

Even some of those who did not typically fight had taken the field to defend their hope. Further back, their mechanist was loading a crossbow almost as big as she was. Lia's scouts had remained afield, arranged behind the main body, bows at the ready. Signy's entire clan of Avvar, few as they were, threaded themselves among the regulars as well, their black-and-white warpaint a sharp contrast to the silver and russet of most of the regulars' uniforms. Reed stood among those, having survived the collapse of Leon's tower, now commanding Captain Pavell's usual detachment in his absence.

Aurora and what mages survived the dragon's attack on the wall appeared, looking worse for the wear. The woman herself had her clothes singed with ash dusting the armor on her arms, and blood leaked from cuts she'd sustained but otherwise looked to be relatively intact. The same could not be said about her unit. The grim look on her face, edged with a calm fury told them all that they needed to know. Wordlessly, they filtered throughout the main body of the regulars, while Aurora herself chose a spot near the front. It appeared as if Sparrow had made it alive. Her ridiculously large mace bobbed between the remnants of soot-faced mages as they made their way to the door. The front of her dragonhide leathers was smeared with blood and where she walked, a spackled mess of red dropped in her wake, though it wasn't readily apparent where her wound was, if it was hers at all. She grit her teeth, which appeared stained, as well. Her eyebrows were drawn together, murky eyes hard as stone. She glanced over at Aurora once, and took her place at her side.

Bang, bang. The doors wouldn't hold much longer. Already the regulars holding them were showing clear signs of losing the struggle, their feet sliding back against the flagstones. Estella pulled in a deep breath, glancing once at Rom and offering a subtle nod. Gripping her saber, she pulled it from the sheath and turned to face the assembled.

"Years ago," she said, her voice clear even over the collisions. "I made you a promise. Today—today that promise is fulfilled. Today, we will fell this false god, and we will be victorious." She set her jaw, swallowed, and continued. "I don't know if Corypheus is trembling... but he damn well ought to be. Let's show him why."

"Death's all that waits for him here!" Vesryn shouted, straining with the effort of holding the gate. "Let him come and get it!" As one they pulled away, giving up their attempts brace the gate and sprinting back to rejoin the formation. It lasted only a few more seconds after that before they burst open, and a pride demon charged through.

A quickly charged ball of lightning flew from its hands, burning shocks lashing over a swath of the Inquisition soldiers. Corypheus lifted his elven orb and a rift opened at the gate. Screeching horrors spewed forth, falling upon them and hacking into their lines. The sheer force of the attack took them a moment to recover from, but they did recover, and before long they were pushing back.

Corypheus was among the first through the gates after the wave of demons, friend and foe falling away from him where he walked. All save for Rom and Estella, the two he wanted to see dead most. It wasn't that simple on their end, though; that rift needed to be closed, or else the army would have endless demons to deal with in addition to Corypheus's forces.

But even that would be no simple matter: demons on top of Venatori and red templars were a tall order, even for a force as practiced as the Inquisition. Estella sprang forward, clearly intent on at least getting closer to the darkspawn, but her path was swiftly blocked by a despair demon, shooting a beam of ice into the thick of the Inquisition forces. Estella rolled, coming up on its side and slashing, nearly parting its head from its shoulders and winning herself a few more steps forward. The rift still roiled, crystals shifting and rearranging themselves—not weak enough yet, even though the demons it spawned were falling around it, the Inquisition's press forward dropping them one by one. The Pride demon still fought at the right side of the line, but the smaller ones were spawning more slowly now.

By the time she was close enough to hit it with her Anchor, it had collapsed in on itself, dormant for the moment. But they recovered if left too long, and she chose to try and close it now rather than wait for another chance, lifting her right arm towards it. With a crackle and a low hum, the familiar green light streaked towards the rift like it was magnetized; Estella grimaced and strafed sideways to avoid an incoming spear, the connection faltering for a moment.

Vesryn covered her, shield-smashing the Venatori aside and dealing with him with little of the grace all of them had come to expect from the elf. Corypheus turned to attack Estella from behind, intent on stopping her from sealing the rift, but Rom had made a beeline for him, ignoring any other enemies that sought to strike him, trusting that his friends would keep them off his back. He did that now for Estella by stabbing his blade into Corypheus, finding a place to bury it in his lower back and stopping the magister in his tracks. He growled, spinning and swinging, but Rom was already gone, ducking and rolling away.

A loud crack rent the air as the rift shattered into nothingness, Estella's mark having closed it for good. Corypheus bellowed wordless frustration at them, unleashing a blast of raw magic from the elven orb he carried. It threw everyone to the ground around him, both his allies and enemies, and in the space that provided Corypheus used a spell to hurl himself into the air, flying deeper into Skyhold, and higher still, striving for the main keep.

Rom got back to his feet, remaining low in a wary crouch. The others were making good on their progress, and had fiercely fought the remaining demons, Venatori, and other enemies to a standstill, giving their Inquisitors the opportunity to engage Corypheus on their own. He saw the magister blast aside the doors to the keep, and disappear inside.

"Estella! Get us up there." He was already making his way to her. Whatever Corypheus planned to do up there, they needed to stop it.

"Got it." She was already concentrating on the mark again, this time to wash them both in green light. She stepped in close, as the transport necessitated, gripping his armor by the far shoulder, near the neck. There was a feeling like being dipped in water, but it faded quickly. "Step with me."

He did, and all of a sudden the keep stairs loomed in front of them. Estella released him, already taking the first two at once.

Rom moved to follow her, but they both had to stop when the ground suddenly shook with unexpected force, as though a powerful earthquake had just hit Skyhold. He could hear stonework collapsing, distant sections of the fortress falling apart under the strain.

A blast of magic energy erupted out of the keep's roof and streaked into the sky, colored the same green as the marks on their hands. It reached cloud level, and there began another rift, well out of their reach. Rom could see it growing, though, threatening to expand. He knew that sight well enough, from the first time he'd stepped out of the Haven chantry and looked into the sky. Corypheus was trying to remake the Breach.

They didn't delay any longer, sprinting up the stairs when they got their feet under them again and passing through the open doors. Corypheus had forcefully blasted aside the tables and benches, clearing an empty space before the pair of thrones at the end of the hall. The orb crackled with magic in his hand, the energy drifting away and floating up into the sky.

"The blood shed here will pave my way into the Fade," he said, stalking towards them. "I will take great pleasure extracting the life from both of you."

He went for Estella first, firing a heavy blast of force magic that she just barely managed to spin away from. But she hadn't taken more than two steps towards him before she faltered, picked up by the second spell and hurled back into one of the heavy wooden tables. It shuddered under the impact, one of the legs snapping off with the angle at which she struck it.

Rom pulled up instead of charging, waiting for Estella to recover so they could attack together. Corypheus wasn't content to wait, launching a wave of ice magic at him, stabbing spikes that erupted out of the floor in his direction. He timed their approach and leaped over them, nearrowly avoiding being skewered and rolling back to his feet. Corypheus had fade-stepped closer to him in the time that took, blasting Rom's shield away with spirit magic, then hitting him fully with the followup attack, an unnaturally strong swipe of his hand to Rom's upper body. He was tossed away and landed flat on his back, and Corypheus advanced again, charging up some kind of spell with the orb.

A crack followed, one that might have been the release of the spell, except that Estella appeared right beside him in the heartbeat after, resolutely not looking at Corypheus as she'd been warned. She paused only long enough to grab his arm, and then there was another splitting sound, and they were looking at Corypheus's back. Where Estella still held him, he felt more magic, different from the kind in the Anchors. This must be the kind that had kept Vesryn barely on the right side of functioning for a few months—it wasn't completely unlike what the tonics had used to feel like, before he stopped taking them.

"Quick," she urged, "there's not much time." Before Corypheus turned to face them and aimed the spell, or before whatever it was took effect, maybe. Which one she meant hardly mattered.

The magic flowing the from the orb had turned a bright red, not unlike the hazy glow given off by red lyrium. Instantly traveling around the room like this was disorienting, but Rom got his bearings quickly enough to charge Corypheus from behind, throwing himself into a leap that would leave him near the magister's head. Unfortunately the spell did not need to be aimed, as Corypheus lifted it and out pulsed a powerful wave of magic in all direction with speed he could not react to. It washed over him with a heat like fire that did not burn, and left his chest feeling like it was on fire, his organs all suddenly screaming for relief.

He crashed to the ground at Corypheus's feet instead of grappling onto his head, and when the darkspawn turned he brought down a heavy claw like hand with brutal speed. It carved gashes into Rom's shield first, before carrying on to his torso and his legs, leaving bloody rends down the length of him. A blast of force magic tossed him aside, and Corypheus advanced on Estella next.

Alarm was scrawled across her features; frantically she cast about for something to use, something to do to stave off the approaching darkspawn. Her free hand closed over her throne; with surprising strength, she lifted the ornate chair from the ground and hurled it.

Corypheus broke it apart in midair, but Rom's matching seat followed quickly, and that one broke apart over Corypheus's body, clattering to the floor. When he hurled a fireball in retaliation, Estella just barely got clear, ducking behind the stone dais.

"Pathetic. Your desperation is amusing. Flee and hide, it will not save you."

As the fire from his spell cleared, Corypheus followed it with a swift blast a pure arcane force, shattering the dais that was Estella's cover. Momentarily she was gone in a cloud of dust and falling rubble, but then Corypheus had stepped with startling speed to her and snatched her up by a forearm, holding her several feet off the ground and pausing to examine her marked hand. She kicked and twisted, the mark on her hand pulsing wildly, but there was no getting leverage over him, and she was left to hang uncomfortably.

"You are as unworthy as the other. Join him."

He hurled her through the air towards where Rom still lay, trying to rise and battling his wounds. She came down hard on her injured shoulder with a cry, not loud enough to mask the crunch of it breaking, and rolled onto her back, wheezing thinly.

Finally, Corypheus seemed to have no more words, nothing more to spew at them. Rom took this as a sign that he was intent on killing them here and now. He'd stalked halfway down the hall, orb pulsating angrily, when suddenly he gasped as if in shock. Rom looked to find him on one knee, clutching his chest and in obviously pain. A wave of something, like a cool wind, washed over the hall and settled upon Corypheus, and he seemed well and truly stunned by it.

"It cannot be," he said. "I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages... Dumat! Ancient ones, I beseech you. If you exist—if you truly ever existed—aid me now!"

Rom had managed to get to his knees, grabbing his blade where it had fallen on the floor. He looked to where Estella was at his side. "The dragon, it has to be... he must be vulnerable." They had to get up, they had to end him now.

Estella rolled to her hands and knees, wheezes becoming gasps. Something was wrong with her mark—it was still pulsing fast, probably in time with her heartbeat, but from the twist of her mouth and the tears at the corner of her eyes, it was also causing her tremendous pain. She bent forward over her unbroken arm, cradling the hand close to her chest, groaning through gritted teeth.

This seemed to produce some kind of reaction. The orb itself changed, light flickering from red to green, brightening and fading in time with her half of the Anchor. "Go," she choked. "I can stun him, I can—you have to kill him."

With a raw shout, she thrust her hand towards Corypheus, almost as if she were trying to close a rift. But the orb in his hand shook, shuddered, and then tore free, flying over the space between them until her fingers closed over it, digging into the whorls and ridges on its surface. A spear of green light shot from the device, streaking across the room and slamming into Corypheus's chest, throwing him all the way back into the crumbled remains of the dais.

Rom had gotten to his feet, and then he was moving, the weight of every moment he'd lived through carrying him towards Corypheus. First a walk, then a stumbling jog, and then a full sprint, snarling and dropping his blade as he ran. Corypheus was trying to rise when he reached him, but Rom put an end to that with a blast from his mark, delivered with a punch that when combined sent Corypheus flat on his back. He had no power over their marks, not when he was without the orb.

Rom descended on him, planting his hand atop his corrupted, darkspawn forehead, and he let the mark do the rest. The same way it had done for Adan Borja, who had tried to kill someone he loved. Corypheus would kill everything he loved, if given the chance.

"You'll never walk the Fade again," he growled down at him. Corypheus was already groaning in pain. "You'll never be a god. You're nothing at all." His mark placed a larger rift than he meant inside the darkspawn magister. Half of him was already gone, torn away into nothingness, when he forced it to collapse on itself. It exploded outwards, throwing him off of where Corypheus had been, while bits and pieces of their enemy were scattered all over the hall. Rom landed with a thud, and lay still on his back. Above him, through the blasted hole in the ceiling, he could still see the Breach hovering in the clouds, a growing maelstrom.

The irregular sound of footsteps heralded Estella's approach, though they were more a shuffle than anything. The both of them weren't in good shape, but they were alive, and Corypheus was not. "I think..." she said, voice almost swallowed by the open air and strange, eerie stillness. "I think we can use this to close it, if we work together." Her eyes were fixed on the focus itself, head cocked like she was hearing something that wasn't actually audible, but she shook it off and looked down at him instead.

"I'd offer you a hand, but my other one's broken. Let's be done with it, shall we?"

"Gladly." Groaning, he rolled over first and pushed off the ground, getting back to his feet that way. He could tell right away that she was on to something about the orb. He touched his marked hand to it, as she was already doing. Something not unlike the way they'd both been marked to begin with, the way they survived the blast that destroyed the Conclave.

Lifting to orb towards the heavens, it suddenly erupted with a pillar green light, one that reached up into the sky with a thunderous roar. His legs shook; he didn't doubt Estella was having trouble staying upright too, but they fought through it, held it there until it was done. When at last the energy was expended, the elven orb shattered in their hands, the pieces raining down around them as charred hunks of metallic stone.

But the Breach was gone once more, the clouds in the sky already stilling and calming. Outside, Rom could hear the cheers of victory rising from the Inquisition forces.

It was over. It was done. And the Inquisitors were still standing, triumphant together.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Cyrus Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by The Valkyrie
The day after Corypheus's death, Estella still wasn't sure it had sunk in.

The Anchors remained on hers and Rom's hands, much as they'd ever been, even though the artifact that had created them had been shattered when they'd used it to close the reopened Breach in the sky above the keep. The hole in the ceiling and the rest of the structural damage remained, of course; for the moment Leon was working out of Cyrus's atelier, perhaps because Cyrus himself was still here, in the infirmary.

There were enough casualties to overflow into the mages' tower, beds and cots pressed close enough that the healers could only just barely fit between them, never mind chairs for visitors. So she'd sat herself at the end of Cy's mattress, pulling her legs up underneath her and setting his feet on her lap rather than taking up any extra space. Harellan was nearby, she knew; he assisted with some of the healing, but his main concern seemed to be watching over Cyrus, and Astraia who was in the next bed over, though still unconscious.

"You still could have told me what the plan was," she said to her brother, reaching forward a bit to bring her fist down on his knee. There was no force to the 'blow;' it wasn't like she was actually upset with him, though admittedly his risk-taking scared her more than a little. Maybe that was why he'd kept it from her. Much as she didn't like to admit it, that might have been for the best. And they succeeded and survived in the end, so she just didn't have it in her to be mad. "My crazy, reckless brother the hero, huh?"

Cyrus had borne her teasing and gentle assault with the smallest of smiles, until she got to the hero part, where he shook his head immediately. “Crazy and reckless I can agree with, but don't go making me a hero." He glanced over at the sleeping elf across the narrow aisle, then down at his hands. “Astraia saved me, you know. At least twice, by my accounting. I want her to know that." There was something strange in the way he said it, like he was asking Estella to tell her, almost. But of course that didn't make any sense.

Harellan cleared his throat. "Many heroes were made yesterday. Yourself included, lethallan. I can say with great confidence that your parents would be incredibly proud to have the two of you as children. I am certainly proud to be your kin."

She might have asked Cy what he meant with a statement like that, but it just about slipped her mind with what her uncle said after. Coming from someone like Harellan, who knew what he knew and was who he was, having pride to be related to them, to her, was far from a platitude. Not when she considered just who else he could count among his kin.

The familiar urge to downplay things as Cyrus seemed to be doing rose in Estella like old instinct, but for once she pushed it down. Conquered it, and let herself feel just a little pride in herself as well. "Thank you." She hadn't done it alone, of course, but neither she nor he was claiming that, and so she let the words sit without the caveats and qualifications. "I'm proud of all of us."

Turning her eyes back to her brother for a moment, she tilted her head and rested a hand on his leg under the blanket. "Will you keep for a bit? There's a party—I thought I should probably put in an appearance. I'll bring you back some baklava?"

Cyrus was quiet a beat too long for the question, but smiled thinly. “I've survived worse, I think. Though your absence will wound me dearly. I expect dessert when next we meet." His tone was light, and he waved her off with a gesture.

Estella laughed, mindful enough of his condition not to shove him as she might normally have done. "I think that can be arranged. Until then, get some rest. I hear heroics are tiring." She'd argue with him over semantics until he accepted it, but perhaps that would be a discussion for later.

Shifting out from beneath his feet, she set them back down carefully and leaned down to give him a hug. He readily wrapped his arms around her, turning his face in towards her neck and curling his fingers into her shirt. “I love you, Stellulam." His words were just a whisper, a harsh one; his fingers trembled where they clenched.

"Love you, too, Cy." She rubbed his back gently, unable to keep things completely light. The victorious mood was infectious, but at the same time... she hadn't known until late yesterday evening that he'd even survived. The relief was overwhelming in its own way, something she was sure was getting to him as well. Once she'd hugged Harellan, she stepped back. "Let me know if Astraia wakes up, okay? I can bring her something, too." With a little wave, she made her way out of the infirmary and across the bailey, still churned up and darkly-stained from the battle the day before. The Venatori bodies had been burned that morning; she could still smell the last of the ashes.

Mounting the stairs to the keep, she pushed open the door and made her way into the main hall, noise and music already filtering out. She was just entering the long hallway in front of what had once been the dais when she bumped into someone. Instinctively reaching out, Estella steadied the person, only to find herself looking down at Zahra.

"Hello, you," she said, unable to keep herself from grinning. Clearly, the captain had already been at the business of having fun for a while. "Enjoying our victory, I take it?"

Zahra leaned against Stel for a moment before properly righting herself. She took a step backwards and swept her hands out wide, encompassing the hallway. Her eyes were lidded at half-mast but feverishly bright. She’d obviously pulled out all the stops for this particular occasion. Her dusky skin was already splotched with rouge, most noticeably along her exposed collarbone; where her shirt crept dangerously low, though she didn’t seem to notice. Or mind, given her proclivities.

“Hello to you too, lady-of-the-hour.” Her voice lowered into a taciturn whisper. As if she were telling a joke with no punchline. She set her mouth into a wide, toothy grin and straightened her shoulders, planting one of her hands on her hips. It seemed to anchor her in place, or else keep her from falling over. A thick eyebrow rose into her hairline. “Of course, this is the perfect time to empty the stores—the stores of booze. The special stuff. Y’know, the world-saving stuff.” She took a swaggering step to Stel’s side, and slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a rougher hug than the one she’d given Cyrus.

“I’m gonna miss you guys
 you know that?”

Estella laughed, happy to be pulled into the captain's strong grip. "Well, you won't have to miss all of us, right?" Spotting Asala a little ways away, Estella gestured her over. "Word in the infirmary is the two of you will be sailing off into the sunset. Where do you think you'll be headed first?"

A blush was already seeping into her cheeks while she spoke, but Asala didn't seem affected by her own embarrassment. She probably learned how to deal with it by now. "I was hoping we could visit home again, for a little while at least," she said. "After that?" she said, pulling the inebriated Zahra off of Stel and closer to herself, dropping her arms over her shoulders and locking them above her chest in an embrace. "It's up to the Captain," she said with a beaming smile.

Estella huffed softly, tilting her head. That was a bit of a new development, as far as she knew, but apparently it had been a rather long time coming. Or so said the people who knew them especially well. It was certainly nice to see the confidence in Asala and the tenderness in the often-rougher Zee. Probably best not to encroach on their time, though. "No need to be strangers," she said. "You're always welcome to visit us anytime you like." With a small dip of her head, she took her leave, passing further into the hall.

Here the tables had been righted and repaired to the extent possible, several of them sporting rough blocks of wood for replacement legs. If she looked, she'd probably be able to spot the one she'd broken a rib on, when Corypheus had thrown her into it. But she wasn't particularly keen to know, and much preferred the use to which they were currently being put—holding food and drinks for the people who had worked hard and deserved them.

It was bittersweet, to think of how many would eventually be leaving. The advisors, who'd worked perhaps longest and hardest of all, each intended to leave: Marceline to retire to her lakefront property, Rilien to resume his work with Lucien, and Leon to take his place once more among the Seekers of Truth, though those goodbyes would be months out in Marcy's case and possibly as long as years for the other two. Less far away were Aurora and Sparrow's pending departures, to Val Royeaux and Kirkwall respectively, and she knew many of the other mages would scatter without their Captain to promise them safety and with the end of the Breach, which had once been blamed on them. Aurora and Sparrow were at one of the tables, but Aurora looked despondently into her cup, and Estella wasn't sure company would be welcome.

Sparrow seemed a little more sober; Estella waved to her a little when her feet carried her past.

"Stel!" A familiar voice drew her attention to the right. Cor raised a hand to wave at her, inviting her over to another table section, where he sat with Lia, Hissrad, and Donnelly. They seemed to have been there for a while as well, though none of them was in the habit of drinking quite as much as Zahra or Aurora seemed to have already.

Estella readily joined them, sighing a bit as she slid into an empty part of the bench. "Hey guys." She grabbed the freestanding bottle of something at the middle of the table, though there was a lack of empty cups. Hissrad noticed her dilemma and slid his over the table to her, untouched side forward. "Thanks." She poured herself a bit of the wine and took a swallow before turning her attention to the table itself. It looked like there'd been a card game in progress, one that had finished recently.

"Guess this'll be the last time we're all together for a while, won't it?"

Donnelly reached up to rub at the back of his neck. "Yeah. It's been great here, but... we're Lions, you know? I just feel like that's what I'm always gonna be, and right now, Val Royeaux's where I have to go."

She smiled a little sadly, and nodded once. Once, they'd all been the same in that: Argent Lions before anything else, bound by that bond of camaraderie and shared purpose. Part of her always would be—it was only because she'd been a Lion first that she was ever able to rise to the challenge of being an Inquisitor. But she'd taken so many steps toward that new thing that she couldn't retrace them anymore. The Inquisition was her home, in the way that the barracks had been before it.

"I'm gonna stay a little while longer." Lia set down her cup. Her cheeks were a little red, a sure indication that she'd be stopping soon. Estella was already with the Lions when she'd had her first drink, and in all that time she'd never gone overboard with it. "Much as I'd like to go back, I might still be needed here. With Leta escaping..." It was an unfortunate side effect of the damage done to the fortress during the battle. They'd simply found her gone when someone finally thought to look.

"I just want to make sure there's no trouble on your hands before I abandon you, you know?" She grinned.

Estella smiled. "I appreciate that, really." Leta's escape was a little more personal for Lia than the others, probably, given the woman's connection to Marcus and Marcus's to Amalia and Ithilian in turn. No doubt Lia understood better than most just how important it was that someone so closely associated with a man like that not be allowed to go wherever she wanted.

"I'm sticking around for a bit, too," Cor said. "I think I've still got more use here than I do in Val Royeaux, so..." He shrugged, one hand coming up to almost-absently rub at his chest, or rather the maroon tunic over it.

She wondered if that was really all there was to it, but Estella chose not to press. Wiser not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, and it was reassuring to know that at least the two of them would be sticking around. So much was sure to change, and with the group feeling like its bonds were starting to loosen and let some of them free, well. She'd hold onto whoever let her.

"Speaking of Orlesians, though, I think Julien was looking for you earlier. Not to chase you away, but you can see us anytime." He smiled faintly and nodded to where the man in question was standing against the wall just under the hole in the ceiling, speaking quite seriously about something to Rilien, it seemed.

"Guess I'd best see what that's about." Draining the last of her wine, she handed the cup back to Hissrad with her thanks and stood.

Rilien noticed her approach first; not unusual of him. He gave a small nod, the direction of his attention no doubt informing Julien of her presence as well. “You have recovered satisfactorily?" His own arm was still bandaged where it had been burned by the lyrium dragon's fire; she could see the edges of the gauze just peeking out from beneath the hem of his belled sleeve.

"I'm fine," she said honestly. She'd broken her shoulder and cracked three ribs, but of all that only a little tenderness remained. The Lord and Lady Inquisitors didn't really have to worry about lacking for care in terms of healing, and though the mages and alchemists had done their best to prioritize the severe wounds, she had Harellan, who wasn't exactly concerned with the same rules.

Julien gave her a warm smile, then looked pointedly up at the gap in the ceiling. "You know, I saw a Breach form here, and then close. With my own eyes. But it still seems like some dream I had, and not anything real." He took a quick swallow from the tankard in his hand. "Give me an incorrigible idiot or a diplomatic mess to handle or some assassin in need of skewering and I'm right as rain. This, though... this is very much your sort of thing." He tilted the mug in a gesture of toast. "In case you don't hear it often enough—and I daresay you won't—thank you for making everyone else's petty problems possible by saving us all."

Estella couldn't hold back the half-laugh that followed, shaking her head. "You're welcome. I think. Cor said you wanted to see me about something, though?"

He nodded slightly. "I heard about your escaped prisoner. Rilien supposes, and I agree, that she's more likely to flee west than east, which would put her in Orlais. The Crown would appreciate it if you could pass along any worthwhile information you have about her, in case she ends up our problem."

That made complete sense, of course. "Absolutely." A pause, and then: "Speak for The Crown now, do you? I always thought you were a bit too radical for that."

He bit back a grin and shrugged. "I'm not much for crowns in general, but I've a brain in my head. I can do a lot more good standing next to a man like him than I could ever accomplish trying to stand against him. We'll see how much of my agenda I can push, hm?"

"Best of luck, then." Estella had always found it to be a compelling agenda, after all.

"Thank you. If you happen to catch the Lord Inquisitor before I do, please extend Orlais's gratitude to him as well."

“I will see you tomorrow morning for training." Rilien, of course, could hardly be prevailed upon to give her two days off in a row, when she was in perfectly good shape to practice.

She was going to miss it when he wasn't there to keep her in line that way anymore, but by this point, daily work was a habit she'd have trouble breaking. No one could ever accuse him of being an ineffective teacher.

"I look forward to it."

Her tour of the room took her to the very front next, near where the thrones had once sat. There was another table there now, one that must have been moved from somewhere else. The Heralds' Rest, probably. Khari and Rom looked to be sharing the same spot on the bench, the former sitting in front of the Lord Inquisitor, back against his chest, gesturing expansively, probably in the middle of some story about either the last battle or some of those immediately before it. They both looked to be enjoying themselves, Rom possibly moreso than she'd ever seen him enjoy anything.

Estella took an empty stool near them, curious as to what Khari was talking about.

“—and of course you remember this next part. We're all standing there behind the gates, and Corypheus is all 'tremble before me' blah blah blah, and then this one—" She knocked her elbow back into Rom's arm with no force at all. “This one decides he's feeling like a smart-mouth heroic leader, and so he goes 'are we trembling, Inquisition?'"

She laughed. “And of course the answer is no, because who're we, right? Not afraid of any smelly son of a broodmother, obviously!" There was a chorus of agreement from the others at the table, and most everyone followed her example when she paused to quaff a bit more alcohol, already red in the face and grinning, the expression a tad less edged than her usual bloodthirsty one.

Thrusting one hand out at Estella, Khari lifted an eyebrow as if in challenge. “And then this one gives the Stel-est speech there ever was. Stellar? Has anyone ever made that pun in front of you?"

Estella rolled her eyes. "Maybe once or twice, but it's been a while, so thanks for that." Crossing one leg over the other, she waved a hand. "Anyway, don't mind me. What happened next?"

“Eh... the gates opened and there were a buncha demons and shit. Same as it always goes, on our end." She shrugged. “What everyone really wants to know is what happened after you guys disappeared." She widened her eyes dramatically at Estella, but then tilted her head back to look at Rom. “You gonna take over the story? I did a damn good found—foundy—start. I started it well. So you can finish it."

Rom chuckled at her drunkenness. He'd obviously had quite a bit himself, but drink didn't seem to make him much more talkative than usual. He was at least willing to finish her story, though. "We had a good fight, like we always did, me and Corypheus. Only this time I had Estella with me. She'd never had the pleasure of putting up with the ugly bastard's nonsense blabbering while he's trying to kill you." It was a disturbing habit, to be sure, a sign that he took far too much pleasure in the violence he caused, in the superiority it made him feel.

"He got us pretty good at first. At one point I was down and Estella," he shifted his eyes to her. "You broke our chairs. I was just starting to get used to that one, too."

"Technically Corypheus broke them," she replied with a broad smile. "With his face." Slightly inaccurate, but in the right spirit, at least.

He waved a hand dismissively. "It was a big target. We'd have ended up broken too, I'm sure, but then his dragon died, thanks to our friends down at the lake, and that stopped him cold. And then." He laughed a bit at himself, maybe for the attempt at being dramatic. "Estella reaches out with her mark, and rips that damn orb out of his hands, and blasts him with magic from it. Sent him clear across the room." He gestured with his hand to indicate the travel distance, start point to finish, and then his tone became more subdued.

"After that I just ran across the room, jumped on him, and..." He reached out with his marked hand, grasping at empty air, and made a soft noise imitating the explosion. A very clean way to describe something that had been extremely gruesome. He withdrew his hand, wrapping it around Khari's midsection instead while he took another drink from his cup.

"And then we picked ourselves up off the ground and closed the Breach," she finished with a short nod. "Destroyed the orb in the process, so that green scar in the sky's all that's left of it for good, now." She pointed upwards, drawing most of the eyes to the skyscar in question. It was right over their heads at this angle, after all.

She wondered how Harellan felt about the focus being lost. They weren't exactly common objects, after all. Perhaps something she'd have to ask him when they trained next.

“The Lord and Lady Inquisitor, everyone. How does Zee say it? Big damn heroes." Khari slid her arm over Rom's where he held her, humming in a way that sounded both contented and slightly sleepy. Given how late it was getting, that was hardly surprising.

Estella tapped the table and stood. "I'll see you all later. Maybe tell them the Tourney story again. I know I never get tired of that one." But Rom and Khari's obvious enjoyment of each other's company had reminded her of someone she had not yet seen tonight, and very much wanted to, so she spent the next few minutes searching for Ves.

It was a bit of a slow process; several people stopped her to offer thanks or congratulations, which she returned with as much warmth and appreciation as she could, even as she felt fatigue beginning to wear her down as well. Only after some number of these encounters that she honestly lost track of did she find him, standing rather quietly on the edges of the celebration, his back to one of the hall walls. If she had to take a guess, she'd say he was observing more than participating, something which was hardly like him.

When Estella reached his side, she tilted her head, letting a little of her confusion show through. "Hey," she said gently, "I kind of expected to find you holding court over half the room by now. Is everything all right?" She knew it wasn't, of course, not with recent events so fresh. But she meant to ask whether it was something other than the obvious, and she figured he'd understand.

"I thought I wouldn't hover over you for the night," he said, wrapping an arm around her as she drew close. "I just can't seem to make myself enjoy this. I know I should, but... I wish I could've held on to her a little longer. I wish she could've seen this." In terms of the timing, it was entirely possible Ves wouldn't have been able to make it through the battle, with Saraya causing him as much pain as she had. But the point still stood, and Saraya had passed on without being able to see them defeat Corypheus once and for all.

"Better not to linger on that, I suppose." He cleared his throat, possibly fighting the feeling of it choking up on him. "I've been thinking. You know I'm not leaving you, or the Inquisition, but I really ought to return home sometime. To Denerim. Thought I'd deliver my next update on my deeds to my parents in person." And they were remarkable deeds, for a city elf from the Alienage. "Think you can spare a few days, once everything is cleaned up here?"

Estella leaned easily into him, looping her near arm around his waist in turn. "Of course I can. Anytime you want, you know that." She turned her head to rest her brow at his shoulder. "There's a lot of stories to tell them, I expect." She looked forward to meeting them, too—getting to know the people who'd brought him into the world, even if just for a short visit. Part of her ached to know she'd never be able to do the same in reverse; never know what either of her parents would have made of what she'd become. But she'd take Harellan's word for it, and Ves already knew her family anyway.

"For what it's worth... I think she can see this. I really do." Estella couldn't claim to know what happened to people after they died, but... she believed she'd really talked to her father once. Surely it wasn't so outlandish to suppose that even now, their missing friend was watching over them, and knew what they'd just achieved.

"I think so too. I'm sure she's proud of the fact that, one more time, the Inquisition did the impossible."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by AugustArria
As Astraia woke, her first thoughts were the same as her last. She needed to move, she was in grave danger. Sheer terror coursed through her, the last image she remembered being the horrifying outline of a bloodied, corrupted dragon hungering to kill her.

She moved without even knowing where she was, and it instantly caused her great pain. Her insides ached, her head throbbed, the arm that she shifted felt like it had been stabbed repeatedly. Her heartbeat quickened until it matched the pace of Athim's gallop, each breath making things worse.

"Astraia. Astraia! Hey, you're okay, just—agh!"

Her eyes shot open, and she saw lightning magic arcing from her right arm. Ves was in the act of recoiling away from her, shaking out a burned hand that had touched her. It took her a second to cut it off, to stop the flow of self defense, to acknowledge that Ves wasn't a dragon, and neither was Stel nor Khari. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm..." An aching pain forced her words into silence, and she groaned, trying to hold herself still. She remembered... very little. Trying to dredge up the energy for one more spell, trying to hit the dragon's wounds and keep it busy, and then nothing. Pain, weightlessness, and nothingness.

She paused, taking a few moments just to breathe, hoping she'd be able to get it under control and cool off. It looked like just a minor burn she'd inflicted on Ves. No doubt one of the other healers could see to it. Her eyes sought Stel instead, who was next to him. "What happened? The dragon, it... I thought I was dead."

"It was a close call, the way I heard it," Stel admitted, her mouth downturned in a soft frown that didn't quite square with the situation. "I think you'd have to ask Rilien or Leon for the exact details, but... you managed to hold off the dragon for a while, and then Cy—" she cleared her throat. "He kept it at bay a while longer, and by then the reinforcements had arrived. They were able to slay it, thanks to you."

The infirmary was quiet aside from her visitors; quieter even than it usually was, when she worked with the other healers in here. Nearly all the other beds and cots were empty. Stel settled into one of the chairs beside Astraia's, letting out a soft sigh. "It's... been a few days. Since the battle. I'm glad you're all right. Asala said you would be, but..." she smiled a little wryly and shrugged. "Always nice to get confirmation."

So the dragon was dead. They actually killed it. And... and she was in the infirmary, which was quiet and peaceful and that meant that Skyhold was still standing. "We won?" she concluded, not really believing it yet. It was possible this was just a pleasant dream, aside from the side-splitting pain. Or maybe she was dead already, and they were breaking the news to her slowly. Maybe they were all dead. "We beat Corypheus?"

“You're damn right we did." Khari was a little closer to the foot of the bed, sprawled on a chair, one heel propped on Astraia's footboard. She gave a lopsided smile and crossed her arms low over her middle. “Loads of people are talking about our brave dragon-rider, by the way. You're kind of a big deal around here, so don't be surprised if people start treating you like it." There was no small amount of warmth in the words, even if they were a bit teasing, too.

She half-smiled, the expression on her face before she even realized it. Dragon-rider. No, that wasn't real yet. That wasn't going to feel real probably ever. Part of her never wanted to do anything like that ever again. The other part... she refused to consider that part.

"W-what about the dragon, though?" she asked, unable to stop a bit of worry from seeping into her tone. She didn't want to expect that Cyrus would be here when she woke up, or Harellan. They were both quite busy very often, more important than she was by quite a bit. Still, if they'd known she was going to wake soon, she really did think Cyrus would've been here to see her. She checked the other beds nearby, in case she'd somehow missed him. "Where's Cyrus? Is he... he's all right, isn't he?"

"He—" Stel took another, more deliberate pause there, concern seeping unimpeded onto her face. She stared very hard at her hands, clasped on her lap. "We're not sure where he and Harellan are. They vanished a few days ago, not long after the battle, but we have no idea why. I'm pretty sure they went through the Eluvian, but I haven't been able to figure out where, either." She pressed her lips together, expelling a breath through her nose and lifting her eyes to Astraia.

"I think it must have been something they planned. Cy, he told me that he wanted you to know that you saved him. At least twice, he said. He was—he was definitely grateful, Astraia. I don't know why he couldn't wait and tell you that himself, but..." Stel blinked, holding her eyes closed a little too long.

"I don't..." She struggled to make anything come out, her eyes falling to where her toes shifted under the blanket. They felt strange, distant. She wondered if she hadn't almost been paralyzed. "I don't understand. They're gone?" The nod from Ves supported what Stel told her, but it didn't make it any easier for her to grasp. "That doesn't make any sense. They wouldn't—he wouldn't..."

She coughed once, softly, and then more followed from the first, wracking her with pain that took a moment to subside. If she'd had more energy she might've tried to use magic on herself, but she also guessed that she'd been given the best possible care while she was out. Her thoughts were a mess of confusion, her emotions just as scattered. She was thrilled to be alive, to have done something that directly contributed to the Inquisition winning the battle. She'd worried that Cyrus might've died, and she was glad to hear that he was okay, but... she found that against her better judgement, she was immediately questioning what she'd come to learn. About him, about Harellan, about the things they'd said to her. They'd planned something, planned this, whatever this was, and she'd had no knowledge of it.

"Did either of them say anything to you?" Ves asked the question gently, cautiously. "Before the battle, or maybe sometime earlier?"

"No, I don't—well." She exhaled a sigh, reaching up and wiping the first unwanted tear that tried to escape her eyes. "Harellan and I would talk sometimes, after we'd finished training. He'd listen to whatever was on my mind, didn't usually talk about himself. He mentioned he had plans, but I didn't think they would be anything different than what the rest of us had. You know... ideas of where we want to go if we aren't staying here."

Ves nodded, seeming to find that unsurprising. He looked sideways at Stel. "You said Cyrus was acting a little strangely, right?" It seemed to be an invitation to elaborate, for Astraia's benefit.

She nodded, brows knit. "I don't know. At the time I just thought he was relieved that we were all alive, but now that I think about it he seemed distressed about something. I think... I think maybe he was trying to say goodbye, but it was almost like he couldn't. I remember that Harellan broke into the conversation right when I was going to ask if he was okay." Stel shook her head slightly, grimacing.

"I'm not sure what to make of it, but it doesn't feel right. I can't believe they'd just... leave us. Without even telling us why. I mean, they're—they're the only family I've got." Astraia could see her throat work as she swallowed.

“So don't believe it." Khari looked vaguely disturbed by something, and her tone was firm, but honestly a bit kinder than usual for her. She wasn't very good at being gentle, exactly, but she was trying. “We don't know anything, so let's not assume the worst, okay? For all we know they could be back tomorrow. Maybe they went to chase down Leta through the eluvians or something." She sighed, a bit of frustration creeping through. “It was dumb of them not to say anything, but Cy's done some pretty dumb stuff before. Doesn't mean he doesn't care or whatever, right?"

"I'm with Khari on this one," Ves said. "Cyrus has never been the best at, well... people skills. It is strange that he didn't tell you anything," he glanced at Stel as he said it, "but maybe they wanted to keep you from it. Keep all of us from whatever it is they're doing. They know we'd want to follow." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and creasing his brow in thought. "I just hope they're not in any trouble they can't get out of."

Astraia didn't know what to make of it. Didn't know what she was supposed to be feeling. Cyrus was... he was important to her in a way that she didn't fully understand, and certainly had failed to express. Harellan had inspired her in a different way, helped awaken a part of her she didn't know existed and started the process of forging her into someone that she was proud of, not ashamed. She wanted to believe that she was important to them, too, enough that they wouldn't just leave her behind and not come back.

All her worry could have been just for nothing, pointless fretting. But in her gut she felt that this was serious. It wasn't at all like Cyrus to do something dangerous without his sister being aware of it, and Harellan... he was a mystery she hadn't even begun to crack, one she'd been intrigued by ever since she'd started working with him.

"I don't want to be in this bed anymore." She decided it suddenly, and started to push herself out, sliding her legs sideways and fighting through the pain.

"Easy now, your body's been through a lot." Ves reached out as if to restrain her, but stopped halfway when her eyes met his.

"I'm not just... going to sit here. I'm fine, I can do it." She finished the sideways turn, though her bare feet couldn't quite reach the floor. Her eyes found her staff propped against the wall in front of her, apparently having survived the encounter with the dragon more cleanly than she had. "Hand me my staff?"

“Sure." Khari at least didn't intend to stop her; it was well-known in the infirmary that she was a rather terrible patient, mostly because she refused to stay in bed, too. She pulled her leg down from the footboard and stood, retrieving the staff and handing it to Astraia top-first. “We going somewhere in particular, or just out?"

"Out." She planted the butt against the floorboards, using it to steady herself while she got to her feet, though Khari's help was also welcome. There was a small bout of dizziness, but it passed quickly, and the uncomfortable twinges in her legs and chest weren't more than she could deal with. "I just want to look around. See what happened."

There were a few places she had in mind to look first. But she didn't expect any answers. Disappointment was an old acquaintance, one she'd foolishly allowed herself to think she'd gotten rid of for good.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
The Exalted Council, it was called.

The atmosphere in Halamshiral was less festive than when they'd arrived to stop the assassination attempts at the start of 9:43, but Orlesians treated most things with similar flair, and the Winter Palace was immaculately prepared to receive the guests arriving from all over Thedas. Naturally the Emperor and Empress made the biggest splash and drew the most attention, and the arrival of the Fereldan delegation drew up the most ire, but the Inquisition's arrival had no small amount of fanfare of its own. They were quite popular among the people right now, considering their recent victory over Corypheus, the fulfilling of what had become their purpose.

Rom had heard that even Tevinter sent a group to attend, something of a surprise arrival, and a promising sign of cooperation. The Inquisition did have dealings in their territory after all, and no doubt the Imperium wanted to ensure their interests were not threatened here by whatever the southern nations agreed to.

The main street leading up to the Winter Palace was kept open for their mounted procession by Orlesian soldiers in blindingly polished armor and masks, holding spears aloft bearing banners and flags of the Empire's blue. Rom couldn't recognize any of the Orlesians watching them ride through, given their love of masks, but it made identifying the Fereldans and other outsiders among them painfully easy. He resisted the urge to ride faster. He still felt like a fool in the attire he'd settled on, despite it not being quite as fancy as what he'd adorned his last time at the Winter Palace. Brand had insisted he looked dashing, but he hadn't been able to tell if the elf was being facetious or not.

Halamshiral was in large part an elven city, and there were many of these represented in the crowd as well. Some of them seemed to have come for the express purpose of catching a glimpse of Khari, who, in quite the reversal from the last time she rode this route, was now among the most recognizable and infamous members of the Inquisition. She seemed to have none of his reservations, not about the crowds and not about the somewhat more formal style of dress. Probably because it wasn't actually a dress this time.

She paused in the middle of basking in her newfound attention to catch his eye and grin, then leaned over to tug the edge of his embroidered collar into place. “You look good, Rom. Soak it in while you get the chance. I don't think too many people on the other side of the High Quarter gates are gonna be this excited to see us."

Though even as she said it, the gates drew near, and standing off to one side of them, apparently arguing with the guards, were two very familiar faces.

One of the faces belonged to Zahra—it was easy enough recognizing her even though it’d been a few months. She wore a heavy buccaneer’s coat in regal-red, though she kept it draped over her shoulder. Leathers in dark tones, and a billowy shirt with sleeves cuffed at her elbows completed her ensemble. Khari’s gifted ironbark bow was strapped to her back and her rapier swung at her hip with every irritated inflection. She was mere inches away from the guard, mouth pulled into a scowl. Although hilariously shorter than the person she was speaking to, she didn’t seem to have any problem invading his space, thick eyebrows drawn down.

“We’re Rom and Stel’s friends, dammit. What’s the bloody problem?” she poked a finger into his chest and only seemed to retreat when another familiar figure took a step forward. The guard seemed taken aback, but remained vigilant in front of the gate. If anything he didn’t seem as if he knew what to say. Though, he was determined not to let them through. The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease a little, but she did not completely relent. “We’re not leaving until you let us through.”

The other face was, of course, Asala's. It was easy to pick her out, as she towered over both Zahra and the guard. She noticably stood straight, without the timid hunch that usually accompanied her publicly. Also noteworthy, perhaps even more so, she wore the garb of a privateer, much in the style of Zahra. A white wide necked shirt with poofy long sleeves rolled up to the elbow and leather trousers. An assemblage of tasteful jewelry rested around her neck, while her broken horn sported a copper cap shaped in such a way that it extended the horn to its original length.

She watched Zahra speak to the guard from a step back, arms crossed and a frown on her lips. Obviously she wasn't any more happy to be denied entrance as Zahra, though she probably wasn't as comfortable arguing the point. Asala was more than happy to let Zee do it though. Asala was the first to notice th Inquisition's party, immediately lighting up and waving toward them with a wide smile.

With a slight grimace, Estella, already riding near the front of the group, maneuvered her horse around a few others and approached the guard. "Your pardon, ser," she said, the title probably a bit more lofty than the guardsman had actually earned. Probably didn't hurt her chances. "I apologize for the misunderstanding; these two are indeed friends of ours. They'll join up with our party; we'll of course assume all responsibility for their presence." She offered a mild smile.

It took the man a few seconds, but by now their faces were fairly widely-known. The Inquisition was of enough interest that portraits had circulated over time, no doubt smoothing interactions like this one, especially since neither Romulus nor Estella gave off quite the air of automatic authority that most nobles did. When recognition did click into place, he gave one last skeptical glance at the two obvious privateers, but then dipped his head. "As you say, Lady Inquisitor."

And just like that, the way was open. Stel paused just long enough to pull both Zahra and Asala in for quick hugs before remounting and sliding back into the file.

Zahra puffed one final, “Finally,” before stepping around him and to Estella’s side. Her hug was always a rougher affair, bringing her slightly off the ground, before she settled back. She tossed the guard one last cheeky smile, before joining the rear, just behind the horses rump. She held out her elbow for Asala and tipped her chin up, grin wide of which Asala accepted with her own smile. If anyone fit in less than a Qunari in these parts, it was certainly her. “Still a fancy place, sers and ladies—how do you do it all day?" She paused, and scratched at the back of her neck. "Thanks for saving us. Would've been stuck there all day.”

"Glad we could help," Rom answered, though of course Estella had done all the work, sparing anyone else the need to do it more bluntly and less efficiently. "I didn't think we'd see you again so soon. Figured you'd be off sailing along Rivaini coastlines."

Zahra lifted her shoulders in a shrug and pulled Asala closer still. "Maybe we just missed you more than you thought." A toothy grin wasn't far behind. Perhaps, it wasn't too far from the truth. They had spent quite a bit of time together, saving the world and opening wounds, ebbing and flowing like the sea. She laughed softly and pushed errant curls behind her ears. "Maybe that's truer than I'd like to admit."

"This seemed too important to miss," Asala added. "And we did miss you," she continued with a smile. Asala wasn't afraid to show it.

"Well we're glad you're here, at any rate. I hope you won't get too bored, though, we've got nothing but meetings ahead of us." Important meetings, sure, but still... not Zahra's usual idea of a good time. She most definitely wouldn't be taking part, either. Too likely to cause a scene.

"We will be fine," Asala insisted, drawing Zee a little closer. At least there was someone to keep an eye on her.

It wasn't long before they had entered the palace grounds and dismounted, finally free of the need to have crowds kept back by rows of armed guards. Inside it was as Khari predicted: the excitement of the eyes on them was replaced by a variety of things, and few of them felt pleasant. Animosity from some, perhaps with a bit of jealousy mixed in. Others had more of a hunger, Orlesian nobles that wanted to use the Inquisition for their own ends, no doubt wanting to play on the connections the organization already had in the Empire. Of course, most of them could hide their intentions well enough behind their masks, something that irked Romulus to no end about this country.

There was one group that wasn't wearing masks, all save for the woman leading them, and Rom quickly identified them as a Tevinter escort, high-ranking guardsmen escorting... of course. The narrow silver mask gave him a second's pause, but he did soon recognize the woman striding towards them as his former domina, Chryseis Viridius. She'd put a great deal of effort into her appearance for the occasion, strings of small jewels woven into her blonde hair. Her attire was still more mages robes than Orlesian-style dress, easy to move in if she had need to, but the tailoring was impeccable, even if the color was a near-black grey that did nothing to help her stand out.

"Imagine my surprise when the Archon named me the Tevinter Ambassador to the Inquisition. I'm not sure the Magisterium fully understood the irony of the situation, though the old man certainly did." When last Rom had seen her Chryseis had been devoid of must of her sharpness, her energy, but she seemed to have regained it now. She looked... healthier, perhaps was an appropriate way to describe it. "In any case, it's good to see you all alive and well. You have my thanks for dealing with the deranged monsters at the head of the Venatori. Corypheus should've accepted death when it came for him the first time, and as for Marcus, well... I'd rather not hear his name ever again."

"A thought we share," Estella agreed, though only with a slight pull of her mouth to the side. It was sort of hard not to discuss him at least by proxy, not when his apprentice was still the third-most glaring name on their list of missing persons that really ought to be found. And perhaps the most dangerous to leave to her own devices. "It's nice to see you looking well, Lady Chryseis—I admit we weren't expecting Tevinter to send anyone at all." So polite were the words, and so suffused with Estella's usual mild warmth, that it was honestly impossible to tell if she meant them truly or not. Perhaps she did, to a point.

"Though... I suppose we did make a few waves in Minrathous, so perhaps it's not wholly unexpected."

Khari snorted. “We killed a Magister, broke into another one's house, and destroyed a bunch of stuff." She ticked the items off on her fingers, probably referring to Contee rather than Alesius when it came to the killing. “Personally I'm wondering if they sent you with an invoice."

Chryseis hmmed thoughtfully. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. All I recall is taking action against the Venatori, who are far less welcome in Minrathous now that their leaders met their ends." It was true that she'd taken no involvement in the Contee business, and if her home and power had been restored to her, it had to be true that the Venatori were falling out of favor in Tevinter. "Where is Cyrus?" she asked, sharp green eyes searching for him behind her mask. "I can't imagine he would miss this."

It wasn't the first time Estella had needed to answer the question, and she was getting better at it, in terms of showing less distress each time it was asked. It was doubtful she felt any less, though—on the contrary, her concern only seemed to grow as more time passed without contact of any kind. "He left," she replied, perhaps a touch too quietly. "For parts unknown, after we killed Corypheus. It's been a while since we heard from him."

Chryseis frowned openly at that, but Rom could tell that she'd picked up on the sensitivity of the topic, and despite narrowing her eyes slightly at them, she chose not to press the issue. "That's unfortunate, I'd hoped to speak with him. Interesting developments in Minrathous I thought he might take an interest in. No matter." She glanced over her shoulder to the Winter Palace itself, where a large formation of guards flanked either side of the main entrance. "I shouldn't keep you any longer; you have an Emperor and Empress to meet, after all. Best of luck with the Council. I imagine I'm mostly here to listen and report back on the proceedings. If you want something done right, yes?" Her eyes landed on Rom when she said it, restraining mirth.

It might've made him wilt to hear such a thing from her once, obviously referring to his bungling of his duties at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Instead he was able to take it as the humor that it was, and forced a small smile back. "Lady Chryseis," he acknowledged, nodding. He didn't feel any more was necessary. Talking to her was never going to get much easier.

The Inquisition's party bypassed the guards without being stopped, a large-enough number of famous faces among them to mark them out without the need for formal identification. They'd all been here personally before, after all—and there was little mistaking how close some of their number were to the palace's current residents.

"Ah, there you are. Please, come save me from politics for five minutes." Strange as it was to think, the rather jovial remark could only have come from the Emperor himself, with that particular accent and pitch. Less strange was the fact that rather than occupying the throne room, he and the Empress were mingling freely among the guests in the entrance hall, flanked only by one slightly exasperated-looking chevalier. Ser Violette—Vi, as Khari preferred.

Lucien wore a broad smile, one that only grew as the group approached. Estella didn't even hesitate before stepping into his personal space for a hug instead of bowing, though even that was a touch more dignified than the running tackle from their first time in Halamshiral. "Lucien!" She drew back, tilting her head up and grinning. "It's still strange to see a crown on your head, I have to admit."

"Still strange to wear one," he replied, stepping back a bit while Estella shifted her affection momentarily to Sophia instead.

Where a greeting of some sort to the Empress would have been, though, Estella found herself abruptly silent, realization dawning quickly over her face. The reason, quite obviously, was the telling shape of her gown. "You're—" The Lady Inquisitor fumbled with her words for a moment, a soft noise of possibly delight escaping her. "You could have said so in your last letters, you know—either of you! Congratulations!" She hovered a bit uncertainly in front of Sophia, as though with the intent to embrace her too but an uncertainty as to whether she ought.

The Empress removed all doubt when she went to hug Estella herself, embracing her warmly. "I thought you could use a pleasant surprise. And thank you." Breaking the hug, she still held Estella's shoulders for a moment. "It's... a lot of things. Mostly just exciting." Rom thought he also detected some relief there. As he understood it this was something the Empress had been pressured towards for quite some time, and finally she could actually do it in the way that she'd always hoped for.

"Congratulations, Your Radiance," he echoed, with a small bow. She looked for a brief moment as though she wanted to correct him on his formality, but no doubt both of them were tired of that by now. And Rom didn't know either of them the way Estella did.

"Thank you. And congratulations are in order for all of you as well. I wish the circumstances were less stressful, but... we'll do our best to ensure you can keep doing the work you've been doing. It's still very much needed."

"We think so, too," Estella replied, "but we understand that it might not be something we can do in the same way. Your support means a great deal to us."

The Emperor offered the group a smile at that. "With a group like this, the how doesn't really matter so much. You'll figure things out and chart yourselves a worthy course forward, of that much I'm quite confident." Something drew his attention towards the inner part of the castle, smile fading and a sigh passing through his nose.

"I fear, however, that our break from politics is coming to an end. The Fereldan delegation will want to begin talks as soon as possible. They're a bit further from home than we are. And a bit more, how should I put this...?" He glanced around, then lowered his voice. "You'd think someone spat in the Arl's ale, to see him glower." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, we'll give you a few moments to collect yourselves before things get underway."

"Do brace yourselves," Sophia warned. "Fereldans can be worse even than Marchers. But unlike their favored pets, they often lack the bite to match their bark."

"We'll do our best not to let either get to us." Rom bowed briefly again. "Thank you for the warm welcome."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel Character Portrait: Non-Player Characters

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#, as written by Yonbibuns
Politics had never been Zahra's forte, and she hadn't particularly gotten better over the years—not even having spent so much time in its midst's, not so long ago when she served the Inquisition. It made her head swim and her skin itch. She felt bad for anyone who had to be subjected to it all the time. Namely: Rom, Khari and Stel. Neither of them seemed to like it but it was a part of the job description. An unfortunate one, though with the support system they'd acquired over the years, it never looked like they struggled to maintain their foothold.

She was proud to call them friends. Though in times like these, she wasn't sure how to make herself useful. Beyond trying to make this thing go as smoothly as possible, which never seemed to happen... all she could do was make it known that she was there, if she was needed. Glancing around the room at the others, it was clear that the negotiations weren't going as well as they hoped they would. Tension hung like a heavy blanket over their hearts. Lips tugged into firm lines. She could feel it. She'd heard how things had been going. It was the waiting that made her squirm. Always had. Sitting in one place, not knowing what was going on was torturous.

She'd perched herself on the corner of a nearby desk. Parchments and books pushed off to the side a little to allow her enough room. Her left leg was crossed over her knee, and her elbow was propped over it, chin resting into an upturned palm. She stared at the opposing wall and narrowed her eyes. Her thoughts whirred with the most recent information—though she couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. The eluvian. The dead Qunari. Cy... she hated mysteries. There was a pit in her stomach. A curious emptiness. Whatever this was, it was important.

The room itself looked like an office, decorated with chairs, books and the large desk. Large enough to accommodate them all, though it still seemed to feel stuffy. Rilien seemed quiet as ever, possibly plucking up the likeliest scenario in that nogging of his. He'd always reminded her a little of Cyrus. Quick as a crow, with eyes just as sharp. Brand was at his elbow, looking a little grimmer than usual. Marcy and Khari were not far away. While she'd missed them sorely and had been happy to see them, now wasn't the time for reunions.

Rilien's eyes had remained fixed on the door for most of the time they'd been here. Ostensibly, there was a break in the negotiations, but from the hushed tones in which he'd spoken with the Emperor just a few minutes earlier, things were a tad more complicated than that alone.

Khari was a little less quiet, sprawled in a chair with her legs propped up on what was almost certainly an antique coffee table. She looked a little sour; no doubt she'd have preferred to go through the mirror with the others, but it had been important to keep people behind in case of any further developments here. She was the keeper of some little bit of green crystal—apparently it allowed for conversation over long distances. Some sort of magic. Stel had the other, but thus far the connection remained unused.

She sighed deeply for the third time in as many minutes, only to be cut off by a soft knock on the door. Khari straightened in her chair, shooting Rilien a glance.

He, of course, betrayed nothing of any feelings he might have about all this. “Enter."

The door opened to admit a guardsman of stout stature; he glanced once at the assembled and addressed himself to the Tranquil. "Bit of a row going on outside, serah. One of your lot insisting on seeing you. There was a fight with a servant, you see, and—"

Rilien was moving before the man had a chance to finish, gesturing for the rest to follow him. Lady Marceline would surely be able to handle anything that came up while they dealt with whatever this was. A chance to do something, at the very least.

The guard hustled to catch up with the elf's pace, pointing out the exit they wanted. Khari jogged slightly in their wake, lips curled in a way that suggested she was looking forward to whatever this was about to be. Perhaps the word fight had provoked it.

Their exit put them out in a small courtyard, where another guard, this one in much fancier armor, scowled at two elves. The woman was vaguely recognizable to Zahra—one of those faces you see and don't quite register, but nonetheless feel an indistinct familiarity with later on. From the russet-red and brown she was wearing, she was the Inquisition member. The other one—the man—wore the colors of the Winter Palace staff: blue and gold.

No sooner had the group made their entrance than the guard turned his attention to them. "Inquisition? This servant claims your soldier attacked him."

"Bloody hell—I just asked him what he was taking from our supplies. He fell down on his own damn time."

"Slow down, please." Brand's eyes narrowed, moving rapidly for a moment, darting here and there. Taking in details of the scene they'd stumbled on perhaps. He had a quick mind, Zahra knew, quicker than his tongue even, though he seemed to know when to hold that, too. He looked to the servant. "You first. What's your name, what were you doing, and what happened to you?"

The man looked a bit surprised to be addressed by another elf instead of one of the humans now on the scene, but he cleared his throat, tugging self-consciously on his tunic sleeves. "I'm Orrin. I was moving the barrels of the supply wagon like the manifest said, when this woman comes out of nowhere and gets up on my face. Says I'm stealing Inquisition property and tries to take it off me." His mouth dropped into a frown, as though he were affronted by the very notion. Zahra had seen enough of servants to know that some of them took a great deal of pride in and responsibility for their work.

Rilien folded his hands into his sleeves, addressing the Inquisition soldier. “And you?"

"Ilya, serah. I dunno the first thing about any shipping manifests, but I doubt any of them call for stashing these things in random storage rooms. Looked bloody suspicious to me, but then he got all defensive about it not being my business. Seemed like my business what some Orlesian was doing with anything off the Inquisition carts."

The barrel at issue still sat between them, more properly an earthenware vessel, sealed at the top with cork and wax. Rope had been tied around the middle to make it easier to lift; it almost looked too heavy for the likes of Orrin to be lifting.

Zahra idly scratched at her jawline as she inspected the earthenware vase settled between the two in question—didn't look like anything out of the ordinary, though she wasn't exactly sure what the Inquisition had brought here, either. She squinted her eyes at Orrin and took a step to his side, rounding until she stood in front of the vase. She'd never been a very good judge of character, if the people she usually dealt with were anything to go by... but the lad had an honest look about him. Shoulders squared off. Offended.

Of course, it could've been a ploy. Or maybe, he'd been doing something he wasn't even aware of. Orders were orders, and servants were meant to follow them without question. Maybe Ilya's gut-feeling to check out what was being moved hadn't been completey unfounded. "We best take a look at the manifest then." She arched a thick eyebrow at them and turned her attention back to the vase, digging her fingers under the lip of wax until she could properly wiggle the cork off.

The smell greeted her first, assailing her nostrils. Pungent. She wrinkled her nose, and felt her eyes starting to water. Unexpectedly strong. Zahra slid the cork over a few inches so that she could see what was inside. No doubt everyone else could smell whatever it was by this point, too. She glanced up at Ril, still keeping hold of the cork so that it covered half of the opening. "Powder? I don’t know."

Maybe he'd have a better idea.

Rilien stepped forward, showing no sign of being bothered by the odor. It was mostly strong charcoal, and maybe a few notes of rotten eggs. Sharp, though. He ran two fingers along the inside lip of the vessel, smearing the dark grey substance over his fingertips with his thumb when he drew them out again. A tiny line appeared between his brow, and he gripped the vessel by the neck, tilting it sideways so a small amount of the powder spilled out into the grass.

“Move the pot away." He pointed at a spot a considerable distance from them, and Khari obliged, helping Zahra lift the clay vessel well clear of the area. Rilien motioned for everyone else to back away from the area, though the guard and both elves angled themselves to see what he was doing anyway. Withdrawing one of the knives from their sheaths at his waist, Rilien took a piece of flint from... somewhere else and struck the two against one another, throwing several sparks down onto the powder and taking a step back.

The result was instantaneous. Bright fire, in a plume about half a foot high, flashed, eating through the powder on the ground and leaving a heavy scorch mark in the grass. “This is gaatlok. Qunari explosives."

There was a brief moment of surprise at the flash of light caused by the explosive powder, but when it passed, Brand was the first to notice that the servant elf, Orrin, was no longer with them. "Hey, wait!" He took off at a run after him before the elf could slip out of sight entirely. Brand was short and not especially athletic, though, making his chances of catching the suspect middling at best.

While the explosion hadn’t been expected, it was Brand’s exclamation that forced Zahra into motion before she even had a chance to question what was happening. That wee bastard was running away. So much for an honest face. She huffed a breath and pumped her legs harder, breaking into a sprint, curls flying. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She passed Brand and felt herself gaining on the elf.

The distance shortened between them until she could reach out a hand and try to grab onto the back of his shirt. Close. So close. Her fingers clawed at the air, and then she felt her foot drop. Momentary panic filled her. Then, confusion. She’d been so focused on his retreating back and the zigzagging of ridiculous courtyard statues and shrubs, that she hadn’t noticed that the path she was running down dropped into a rectangular pool. A fountain. With lily-pads, flowers.

He’d obviously known it was there, because he was in the process of jumping while she staggered and fell. Her hand dropped lower, and she tried to grab at his wrist instead. Her fingers didn’t close around him at all, though she felt something entirely different in her hand. Felt something rip, rather than heard it. The water splashed around her as she lost her momentum and sailed clear out of the pond, catching herself on a nearby pillar.

She spotted Orrin disappearing through a door. Fuck. She huffed and leaned bodily into the pillar, trying to catch her breath. Trying to find him in a place like this would be a pain. She scrunched her eyebrows together, and turned over the thing crumpled in her hand. A piece of paper. Torn in half. Pushing herself away from the pillar, she began her trek back to the others. Her mouth twisted into a small smile, half embarrassed. Her sopping boots squished as she walked. “Couldn’t catch him either,” she breathed out through her nose, and lifted the piece of paper, flapping it in the air, “looks like one half of the manifest.”

Rilien, as unruffled as ever, took it from her and smoothed it out with his hands, eyes scanning quickly down the list she'd retrieved. “It would appear that at least six barrels of this type came in with the Inquisition's supplies." He paused a moment, letting that sink in, then immediately turned to Brand. “Get as many agents together as you can. Search for these barrels. Remain beneath notice."

Shifting his attention to Khari, he continued. “Contact Estella. If the Qunari have access to eluvians, there could be more of these anywhere. We need to know where, before they are used." When she'd nodded and turned away, Rilien's attention landed last of all on Zahra. “We need to find Orrin."

Qunari explosives, eluvian mirrors, and one dead Qunari. How many people were involved? How had the vases even been smuggled into the Inquisition's supplies? The implications made her head spin. But they didn't have time to speculate, not if whatever plan had already been set into motion.

Zahra nodded and inclined her head towards the small pond she'd been unfortunate enough to step in. "He went this way."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
When Khari had heard that someone in the Inquisition got in a fight with someone else, she'd been pretty excited. It was the promise of something to do, outside of sitting around and waiting for the field team to come back with Cy's sorry ass in tow. Unfortunately, it hadn't quite panned out like she wanted. Sure, exploding powder sneaked in by Qunari spies was plenty interesting, but she was still just about as useless as a fireplace in midsummer. All this creeping around trying to find the spy before someone else found out there was a spy was definitely more of the kind of thing Ril and Brandywine did than her.

So here she was again, feet kicked up on some of Lucien's furniture, basically waiting for marching orders or something to swing a sword at, which at the moment amounted to fiddling with Stel's fancy Tevinter crystal and trying not to fidget too much.

When the crystal flashed and warmed in her hand, she nearly fell out of her chair. Shit—how did this work again? Right.

Clearing her throat, she tapped it twice with her index finger, grinning almost despite herself when her friend's face resolved on the screen. “I hope this is good news, because we don't have any for you yet."

Stel looked rather grim in the crystal, dirt smudged across part of her face and her mouth pulled down into not-quite-a-scowl, though she made an effort to return Khari's smile. "The opposite, I'm afraid." She shook her head. "There are more Qunari here, and more barrels of that gaatlok. We just fought some of them, but the leader left the way we'd come. The eluvians here... Khari, we need to warn everyone. I think they were planning to get most of the centers of government in Thedas, nevermind us."

She paused, as though about to say more, but her face contorted, pain scrawled across her features for a moment before she suppressed it. "Also the Anchors are still getting worse. It's... a lot. Nothing new from you?"

Well, damn. That really was the opposite of good news. Khari swallowed, something in her guts going tight and uncomfortable, more for the part about the Anchors than anything. Threats to the world were sort of their business. Something that was hurting Rom and Stel this much, this close—that was rarer and honestly a lot scarier.

“Not yet. Ril, Zee, and Brandywine are still looking for that Orrin guy. Me and Marcy are basically just sitting on our hands. We're pretty sure we found all the barrels, though. There were six of 'em, all set around the palace. Some of them even had blast charges already set. Getting those disabled was a pain in the ass, but Widget's here, so we managed okay." Grimacing, she squinted at the crystal, as if that would make Stel's image any clearer.

“Anything else we can do to help you? You said the leader came back the way you went in, right? Should we be expecting a drop-in?"

Stel shook her head. "I don't think so. There was another mirror back that way—a locked one. If we plan to stop this at the source, we need the password to it. Something that spy probably has, if you can find him. We'll take care of getting warnings to the people on the other side of these mirrors in the meantime, but the faster you can get us the password, the better. The Anchors are... not stable. We think if we can get through that mirror, we can solve both problems at once."

Fuck, Khari wished she were with them. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to plaster that feeling all over her face. It wasn't the fact that they were probably going to end up charging into some huge group of Qunari by themselves, either—though that did sound pretty great. Less great was the fact that her best friend and the person she loved were suffering that much and she was sitting here completely useless to do anything about it, or even just be there for them.

Khari forced her jaw to relax so she could talk. “They're looking as fast as they can, Stel. Once they find him, I'll beat the password out of him myself if I have to." She knew that wasn't exactly the kind of thing Stel would be happy to hear, but Khari needed to say it. Needed to resolve it. Because damn if the thing that killed them was her hesitation to inflict a little well-deserved pain.

She licked her lips, voice dropping so that it was quiet, probably not quite quiet enough that Marcy couldn't hear, but as close to private as she was gonna get in here. “Rom's, uh—he's okay? For now?"

Stel's expression softened; she smiled a little and gave a small nod. "He's no worse off than me. And as you can see, I'm still okay. We've got to get going now, but I'll keep you updated if anything changes. Promise."

The door swung open rather abruptly. It struck the opposing wall and nearly bounced back into Zahra’s rouge-splotched face. She caught it with the flat of her boot and made a noise in the back of her throat. Her thick eyebrows were drawn together and her mouth was twisted into a scowl. Seemed as if her boots were dry at least. Whatever good spirit she’d been in hours before had all been smothered away. She didn’t seem to notice Khari talking to Stel at all, as she stomped into the middle of the room and tossed her hands into the air, gesturing in angry swipes.

“Those sonnuva
 mongrel fuckers, the lot of ‘em!” she took a seething breath through her teeth and shook her head, curls swinging, “they found the bloody whelp before us, and they refuse to let us speak to him. None of our fucking business, they said.” She finally managed to calm herself down, letting out a heavier breath. She crossed her arms over her chest and swung her gaze to the ground, seeming to look somewhat apologetic. “Sorry. Ril’s trying to see what he can do, but right now, they’re not letting us get close to him.”

Oh hell no. “Not while our friends' lives depend on it, they aren't." Khari stood, pocketing the crystal and curling her hands into fists. Only a few of those calming breaths Leon had been trying to get her to use kept a lid on her temper, and she swung around to face Marcy.

“This is kinda your cue, right? Because I'll punch an Arl in the face if I have to, and I don't think we want that."

"I do believe that would cause... somewhat of a stir and officially, I cannot condone it," she said with a tight frown. In spite of the dry attempt at humor, she still looked serious, and even a little bit frustrated with the situation. It took only a moment for Marcy to push herself off of the desk she was sitting on and flatten out the wrinkles in her dress before making her way toward the door. "Not our business?" she repeated Zee's words with a glance at the woman. "We'll see about that," she added evenly, though a furrow was beginning to form in her brow.

The scene Zee led them to was hardly the brawl it probably would have been if less-cool heads had prevailed, but tension was obvious in the air nonetheless. Rilien's status was apparently enough to warrant the Arl's presence, and combined with five of his closest guard friends, he looked like nothing so much as the forbidding iron gate in a stone wall of resistance.

Rilien, of course, was as unfazed by this as he was by everything else, maintaining a polite but not excessively deferential distance from where Teagan and his men stood, no doubt blocking direct access to wherever they were holding Orrin. "As the elf was found in my guest quarters, I am sure the Inquisition will recognize my right to question him first. I should like to know what, if any, sensitive information he might have uncovered in the course of his unpermitted entry. Surely whatever you have to ask him can wait, can it not?" The suspicious tone of his voice suggested that he wasn't entirely sure that was true, and wanted to know what made their need to speak with the servant so great.

"I am afraid it cannot, at least, not for long," Marcy stated apologetically as she pulled up to the scene at hand. She stopped to stand beside Rilien, an arm crossed over her chest, resting the other which currently cupped her chin. She held the gaze with the Arl for a time, looking like she was thinking about something, and then glanced toward Rilien for an affirmation. "I believe we may already know the answer to the question you wish to ask him my lord," she said, turning her attention back onto the Arl.

She seemed to have steeled herself, like she decided on something internally. "We have already discovered that the rogue you have in your custody has smuggled in several barrels of Qunari explosive into the palace under the guise of our supplies. There is a chance that he was scouting for opportune locations to place more, to cause the most amount of damage as possible."

Even Khari could see the risk of Marcy being so forward with the information, but undoubtedly it would come to light sooner of later. Someone just doesn't sweep barrels of gaatlok under the rug and pretend like it didn't happen. Marcy must have figured it would have been better to hear it from their mouths rather than from someone unaffiliated with them. "We also have reason to suspect that the attack isn't solely localized here, but other places of import as well. I believe there are more pressing questions that need to be asked than what he was doing in your quarters my lord."

"If that is what he was doing, then my questions are all the more pressing," Teagan countered, managing to look and sound both alarmed and irritated at the same time. "And if these explosives truly came in with your supplies, you can grasp I hope why I do not trust much to your competence."

Khari crossed her arms, mostly so she could occupy her hands squeezing her biceps instead of something more productive but less nice. Brand was having difficulty holding still, but doing so on the edges of the group rather than in the thick of it. Rilien, on the other hand, just spoke as placidly as ever. “Your objections are noted, my lord. However, this spy claims to be Orlesian—a member of the Emperor's household. You can no doubt see why his remaining in your custody would be irregular at best."

"Not as irregular as remanding him to you."

"This affects more than Ferelden alone my lord, and the Inquisition already has proven experience in dealing with threats to Thedas as a whole," Marcy continued. She paused for a moment, letting her head subtly tilt toward one side. "I fear that this may be more of an Inquisition issue at the moment than a Ferelden one, unless you wish to take responsibility for your nation for something that could have been prevented," she asked with a single arched brow. The implication in Marcy's words were clear. Let us take the blame if something were to go wrong instead of Ferelden.

"I do not doubt you have your own questions, and you will have a chance you get your answers. All that we ask is that you allow us to get ours first," she continued, but softer this time.

"My agents will remain in the room." It was the Arl's turn to cross his arms. "If you ask a single question that they interpret as probing after information about Ferelden, you will be ushered out immediately." Scowling openly, he gestured to the men behind him, who parted to allow access to the door.

"Fix your mess, Inquisition. If you can."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Estella Avenarius Character Portrait: Marceline Benoit Character Portrait: Zahra Tavish Character Portrait: Vesryn Cormyth Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Asala Kaaras Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by AugustArria
Rom could still feel the mark burning in his palm.

It was a phantom pain now, seared into his mind from the sustained and excruciating agony he'd dealt with up until it had been removed. Every time he looked down he was surprised to see it gone, to see his hand the way it had looked before he'd given himself away at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The way his hand had looked when he was a slave, a spy and a killer, nothing special about him at all. He was different now, he knew, but still he couldn't help but feel diminished. The thing that he had used to forge his own place in the world, and then to save it, was gone.

Estella had to be feeling something similar, but he knew she had other things on her mind. Much more personal thoughts. To find her uncle and her brother, only to lose them to an eluvian and parts unknown, sealing the path behind them so she could not follow... he couldn't imagine what that was like. Vesryn seemed confident they could track them down, but Rom knew by now he was good at projecting that even when he didn't feel it. Harellan, Cyrus, and Astraia would be nearly impossible to find if they wanted to stay hidden. The Inquisition's foremost experts on magic were gone, and with that magic they could cover their tracks.

Of course, it remained to be seen if the Inquisition as a whole would remain, and no doubt everything that had happened here would influence that. Two things had become clear to Rom: first, that there was still a need for an organization able to do what no single nation could alone, after what Harellan informed them of. Second, that they were not so impregnable as they'd seemed before, and that some restructuring was perhaps necessary.

It was late by the time they arrived back at the Winter Palace, and Rom was weary, but he led the way in silence beside Estella as they headed back towards the meeting chamber, where they were no doubt awaited.

They were interrupted one hallways short of their goal by a familiar voice. “Thank the fucking Maker." It wasn't too many people who'd say something like that, especially not, perhaps, with a tone of such genuine, profound relief. “You're alive."

Khari approached at a jog that looked more like a poorly-contained sprint, slowing only a little before she collided with Rom, strong arms banding around his back. “Lucien and Sophia are keeping everyone distracted by talking about very official business that doesn't actually matter, but Teagan's getting cranky. Crankier." The update was perfunctory; Khari pulled back and held him at arms' length for a moment, brows knit.

“You guys don't look too great. What happened out there?"

"We took care of the Qunari plot, and a lot of Qunari along with it. At the end of it we found Harellan and Cyrus." He glanced sideways at Estella, He wasn't sure how she'd want it described, but somehow he imagined she wouldn't mind him taking over the duties of explaining for a moment. "Harellan's not quite who we thought he was. He has Cyrus under his control from when he drank from the Well of Sorrows, and he has... some pretty destructive plans. But they were able to remove our marks." He'd taken hold of Khari's hands, but now he turned up his left one, to show her the unbroken skin there, no sign of the unearthly green light remaining.

"Astraia went with them," Vesryn added. "They disappeared into an eluvian, sealing it behind them. Hard to say where they are now."

“Huh." Khari blew out a long breath, also glancing towards Estella, then briefly over the rest of them. “I... have questions. But this probably isn't the right time or place, so." Her thumb brushed over his unmarked palm. “Meeting first. Then rest, I think. We'll take care of everything else after that." She grimaced and turned to look over her shoulder, in the direction they'd been going before she'd stopped them. “You want the full honor guard cause we're badasses, or to slip in all discreet-like? Cause if it's the second one, me, Ves, and Asala should probably stay here while you three head in." Himself, Estella, and Leon, no doubt.

Estella just looked tired at this point, fatigue clear in the bruised-looking skin beneath her eyes. It was carried in her body language more than anything, though, and that she masked, forcing her spine straight and her shoulders back. "We've just prevented the destruction of every government seat in Thedas. Even if some of the agents responsible were spies in our ranks, we're no more culpable than anyone else. And we fixed it. They can live with it if we don't downplay that and go in with bowed heads." The set of her jaw was a stubborn one; she tilted her chin up a little as if in preparation to stare down the world leaders who'd sit so far above them inside.

"We're not theirs to chastise. If the Arl can't handle that, he'll need to learn."

Khari's eyes lit up, a fierce grin splitting her face. “Fuck yes. Honor guard it is. Help me out here, Ves?" Khari straightened, too, relinquishing Rom's hands to pat down a few of her wilder curls and adjust her cloak. The green one with elaborate gold stitching, he noticed. Checking that all her gear was in the right place, she turned on her heel to stand in front of them. But the doors at the end of the next hall were double, so she needed an extra pair of hands for the right effect.

"All set?" Vesryn checked behind at the rest of the group. When no one made any claims otherwise, he and Khari pushed open the doors in unison, letting Rom and Estella lead the Inquisition party in.

And that they did. Estella timed her pace to Rom's, so they were moving almost in lockstep. When they reached the table at which Rilien and Lady Marceline were sitting, she did not immediately take a seat. "I think everyone will be relieved to know that the Qunari situation is resolved," she said, voice firm enough to make it clear that she was not shrinking away from the words. Not much harder, though—Estella didn't have that in her personality. "In total, we stopped nine instances of the plan called 'Dragon's Breath,' and the Qunari officers responsible are dead. Our information indicates, however, that this was meant only to be the first strike in a more protracted offensive, which will likely now become a full-scale war."

She expelled a breath through her nose, leaning forward slightly to rest her hands on the tabletop in front of them. "Their method of travel through the fadelike realm known as the Crossroads has been rescinded, however, and so if they wish to bring a fight to your doorsteps, they will have to do so the long, difficult way."

The Emperor leaned forward a little in his seat, clasping his hands together beneath his chin. "Quite the accomplishment for... what has it been? Eight hours? I fear we've little to show for our time, by comparison." It wasn't hard to detect the rebuke in that, which was certainly not directed at the Inquisition.

Arl Teagan made a discontented noise, but it was clear enough even to Rom that he had to be very careful about what he said here. Their success at stopping such a large-scale problem before it really became a problem was nothing to scoff at, especially with the limited resources they'd had to do it. No doubt it looked even more impressive to people who didn't know about the helping hand they'd had on the other side of the mirrors.

"No one denies their effectiveness." The Arl sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. His eyes narrowed down at them—his displeasure was obvious enough, but there was also something approaching respect there. "In fact, it is the thing about them that might be most problematic. Lest we forget, however, the instance of this Qunari plan that almost happened here came so close to success because of a spy in the Inquisition itself. If nothing else, your organization has outgrown its ability to self-monitor, and I understand this is not the first time a dangerous agent has been found within your ranks, either."

Normally Rom would be inclined to let everyone else do the talking. Most people were better at it than him, after all. A few years ago he'd have spoken to this group with his head bowed, hands clasped somewhere, speaking softly and clearly. The practice he'd had came on a throne, which he did not have now. The Emperor, Empress, Banns and Arls, Orlesian nobles, even Chryseis herself all sat above him, looking down as if in judgement. His heart was pounding rather rapidly, but he still managed to lift his chin, cast his eyes up to theirs, and speak clearly. He wasn't about to let Estella do this alone.

"I think a few things have been proven, my lord. The first being that the Inquisition is still a necessity for Thedas, an organization equipped to handle threats beyond any of the assembled nations. But you also speak the truth; our size has become a weakness that can be used against us, and worse, against all of you." He paused to take a breath, finding he was short of it. Some combination of his weariness and the stress of the situation, perhaps. "But there has to be a compromise we can find. I would suggest first that our regular standing army may no longer be necessary. Our soldiers are volunteers, and all left lives behind to join our cause. Many will be able to return to those lives now that the lands they came from have been made safe of the threat of Corypheus."

"I think that is a sensible place to begin," Empress Sophia said, turning to look across the room at Arl Teagan. "Would you be willing to accept the Inquisition's continued existence if its army were to return to their homes?"

In fairness to him, he considered it at some length, mouth pursed. Perhaps the sour expression was just the one he wore by default. "It's a start, but not quite enough. The Crown's most pressing issue is not even so much their size as their location. They sit on an..." He paused; it was clear he was very measured with his next words. "Important border. And on the Fereldan side of it, no less. Considering the well-known fact that their diplomatic ties to Orlais are stronger, I'm sure you can see why this is a problem even if they have only information-gathering capacities remaining."

It was a more difficult conundrum. Skyhold had been the Inquisition's home for years, and they'd only been able to use it because no one else was. The landscape was not exactly replete with abandoned fortresses, and no doubt even if it were, any that they could choose would encroach on someone's territory.

"We would be willing to move," Estella said carefully. "But there is presently nowhere we could move to."

At that point, the Emperor cleared his throat; the attention of those present swung immediately to him. "Actually, that may not be entirely true." He paused a moment, considering them with a warmth that could not be mistaken for judgement, even if he did tower perhaps the most of everyone in the room. "If you were to move well within the borders of Orlais, with a few provinces between your base of operations and Ferelden, I take it the Bannorn would be satisfied?" This was directed at Arl Teagan.

The Fereldan man nodded, suspicion warring with genuine curiosity in his expression.

"In that case... you may have Lydes. I think the castle would be well suited to your purposes, and the lands around it enough to sustain you. I might be biased, but I daresay it yields quite nicely with sufficient management."

"Truly?" Estella looked a bit dumbstruck, as did a few of the others in attendance. It wasn't every day a monarch offered someone his personal property, after all. "But—aren't you...?"

Lucien huffed softly. "If you were Orlesian, what you have done would be rewarded in much the same manner. Land and holdings for heroism. We've operated on the system for ages; I see no reason not to employ it here."

"With respect, Your Radiance, such arrangements usually leave the recipient bound to the throne from which the land was issued. While the offer is both generous and appreciated, part of our strength is that we are not currently so beholden." Leon kept both his face and tone neutral, but the point was obviously important.

And obviously expected, if the way the Emperor nodded was any indication. "That is quite so. And were I a monarch granting land to his vassals, it would be a problem. But as a rather ordinary man giving a gift to some friends of mine, the same rules do not apply. There will need to be treaties, of course, but we can construct those in due time. I invite our Fereldan counterparts to take part in the process, that they might bear no fear of Orlais securing more of your loyalty than we ought."

That seemed to put some ease back in the Arl's shoulders—they'd been growing increasingly tense as the conversation continued. But clearly Lucien had fended off his biggest concern with the last concession, and he nodded, looking almost surprised to find himself doing it. "That seems to be... quite the equitable solution, if the Inquisition desires to take it." His attention reverted to Rom and Estella, as if to ask the obvious question.

In every aspect it had to be a more favorable deal than the one they currently had. Skyhold was remotely positioned, and expensive to keep supplied. Lydes would be much better positioned for trade, and they would have far more resources of their own to make them not so dependent on deals such as the one they'd established with Arlesans for food. Not to mention they'd have significantly fewer mouths to feed and pockets to fill.

And the weather would be nicer.

Still... it was hard to give up Skyhold. The place that had nurtured them back to health after the crushing defeat at Haven. The place where Rom had freed himself, fallen in love, and beaten a self-proclaimed god. His little corner of that castle had become a precious space, one where he had watched himself steadily improve as a person. He had to remind himself that his progress, his success, was not tied to that place, and it would not revert or vanish if he were to give it up. Likely no one would claim Skyhold except for the snow when they were gone, but the snow had taken care of it long before they'd arrived.

Ghosts and spirits would always whisper there, of the things they'd done, the battles they'd won, and the joy they'd found.

Estella had already voiced her opinion even before the answer was provided, but he wasn't about to declare it alone. "I'm ready to move on if you are," he said quietly.

It took her only a moment more to nod firmly, then shift her eyes to the assembled. "We accept," she said, fingers curling into the wood at the edge of the table as if to steady herself. "And... thank you." She looked particularly at the Orlesian Emperor and Empress when she said it, before bowing her head. The closest to graciousness that fatigue would allow, no doubt.

"Then it will be done," Lucien replied. "The details in due time. For now, I think we might adjourn. It has been a long and trying day."

Rom couldn't argue with that. Bowing to the lords and ladies present here, he took his leave, the Inquisition party behind him. When they were clear of the prying eyes, he partly sagged into Khari, knowing his weight would be welcome there. "They have beds for us here, right? I think I need a few days of sleep after this."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Romulus Character Portrait: Leonhardt Albrecht Character Portrait: Kharisanna Istimaethoriel

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#, as written by Kurokiku
Khari yelped, ducking away from a heavy swing. The scrambling required to do that put her on her ass, though, and with a muffled curse, she waved a hand to concede the match. Some days, she'd have been happy to make Leon work for it and actually pin her, but today was not such a day. Especially since she was also not armed with anything more impressive than her fists. With a huff, she got back to her feet, dusting grass and dirt off the seat of her pants and scowling up at him.

“Everyone should know how to throw a punch, he says. Too bad you don't actually gimme a chance." She crossed her arms and tilted her chin back so she could actually meet his eyes properly. Stupid Leon and his stupid huge self. Huge, punchy self. It occurred to her that in her case, the sword really was compensating for something. Just not anything funny.

He shrugged, entirely too nonchalant for the broad smile he was wearing. Since Corypheus was killed and the thing with Cyrus as resolved as it was going to get for now, he'd seemed a bit lighter, somehow. Maybe it was because he'd been able to send so many of his people home after nearly five years with nothing much worse than a hell of a lot more life experience. It probably felt good, after all the letters he'd had to write to people's homes when they were lost.

Spreading his arms wide, he took a single step back. "How about a free one? Go on: take your best shot." His eyes glittered with mirth. Definitely lighter.

Khari wasn't going to say no to that. Cracking her knuckles, she bared her teeth in a rather vicious grin. “Hey, if you're offering." Curling her fingers the way he'd taught her, she took a step and thrust forward in the same motion, aiming for the dead center of his chest, which was a ways up, for her. She didn't really think she was going to hurt him, but she wasn't going to aim for any weak spots, either. Just in case.

A completely unfounded worry, as it turned out. Leon let out a breath that sounded like amusement, one of his arms lashing forward to catch her at the wrist. Her momentum neutralized, he stepped in and bodily lifted her off the ground, throwing her over one shoulder like she was just a sack of grain. Or potatoes or something. "You can avoid telegraphing with a sword, but not your own hands. It's really quite remarkable." He used the same mild tone to inform her of this as he did to talk about tea or whatever was growing in his garden. "Now—how are you planning on getting out of this predicament?"

“You absolute shithead. Of course I was telegraphing; it was a free punch!" Khari struggled, but of fucking course Leon's arm was basically made of iron—she still hadn't figured out what the hell those Anderfels Chantry people had fed him when he was a kid, because now he was all into veggies and still didn't have to exert effort to lift her entire person. And she wasn't a waif, despite her height challenges.

She made her dissatisfaction with this situation known by beating at his back with her fists, kicking at his front too. Not a lot of leverage, sadly. On the other hand... “Put me down or I swear we're both gonna find out where you're ticklish, and I know you don't want that."

"Negotiation. I'm impressed." Or maybe more intimidated by the threat, because he did put her down, and gently at that, rather than letting her fall from his height, which he'd been known to do when he threw her in a spar. "Though in fairness, I don't think most of your future enemies are going to be quite so easily daunted."

“Yeah, well." Khari balled her hands and set them on her hips. “I don't plan on fighting any of my future enemies without my sword, thank you very much." At least not the hand-to-hand specialists among them. Talk about stacking the deck in his own favor. Her brows knit, then, and she pushed a hard breath out of her nose. “Which future enemies are we talking about here, anyway? Cause I'm pretty sure Lucien's endorsement means that my future chevalier enemies are all obligated to come at me from the front, and I'm not worried about that."

It wasn't that she thought she was the best fighter ever now or anything like that. Khari knew very well that she could still lose, especially if she was careless. She also knew there were people in the world who were just better at this than her, and would win against her more times than they'd lose. The proof was towering nearly a foot and a half over her head, after all.

He gave her a strange little smile at that, shaking his head faintly. "Well, not those, no." He gestured towards the fence rail, moving to lean against it himself, crossing one ankle over the other and his arms across his chest. Despite this being the main bailey of Skyhold, they were practically alone outside right now. There were still a few guards on the wall, and the scouts were around, and Ril's people, but... with the departure of the army had gone most of the daily activity, enough that Skyhold was starting to feel a little empty. It wouldn't be long before the rest of them moved either, down from the mountains and into rolling Orlesian plains. Not that far from the Dales, honestly.

It was obviously a place in transition, but honestly Khari was glad of it. Skyhold didn't feel right like this, still only patched up after the battle and missing so many of the people who'd made it home. Not all of them—not by a long shot. But enough of them that she didn't want to remember it like this. A new home, new memories... she was perfectly okay with that. But she didn't want to think of Skyhold and be reminded of the days after, when things were slowly unraveling. It just didn't feel right.

She followed Leon to the fence, hopping up to sit on the top bar. It closed the gap in their heights just a bit, though she figured she'd always look slightly ridiculous next to him. Not that she minded.

"I actually meant the future enemies of the Inquisition, should any show themselves. While I agree that a Commander should keep all of her options open, it seems unlikely that most of them would concede to threats to, ah, tickle."

“Hey, I'll have you know that tickling can be torturous if the other person wants it to—wait, what?" It took a second for his use of the pronoun she in reference to the Inquisition's Commander to sink in.

Khari could be pretty dense, but she was fairly sure she knew what Leon was implying. He wasn't the type to yank her chain about something like this. “You—I—what?" She stared hard at his profile, demanding explanation that way when the words wouldn't quite come.

Leon chuckled, entirely sanguine, it would seem. He turned to meet her glare with something much warmer, making an ambivalent expression and shrugging. "It's not ser, but it's something, isn't it? Something you've earned. Something you deserve." She'd known already that he would not be staying forever, that eventually the transition would take him away as well, put him in that group of people who'd left, though perhaps not quite so completely as some of the others. It wasn't too hard to guess where he'd go, after all: he was still a Seeker, still a Chantry man, at a time when effective, experienced members of that group were in low supply and high demand.

“I—but—" It had been a while since she'd struggled this much just to form words. She'd known he was going, but she'd never really thought of what would happen after that. “Leon... I dunno. It doesn't feel right. If it's not you." She was honored; humbled even. But that definitely wasn't the main thing she felt thinking about it.

Reaching over, Khari grabbed the hem of one of his sleeves, leaning sideways so her cheek was smashed against his bicep. Seriously, shouldn't human beings be softer than this? She was crazy jealous, even if she knew she was pretty built, too.

"It will," he assured. "Give it time. Truthfully, I expect it won't be much more than you already do—the paperwork is already drastically reduced. But..." He shifted, pulling away a bit so he could settle his hand on her head. "Even if it were the whole army, I wouldn't choose anyone else. The others agree, you know."

Khari, usually a font of confidence even if it was mostly put-on, still wasn't entirely convinced. “This better not be some excuse for you to leave us and never come back. I expect visits, Leon. Regular ones. Wherever you're going can't be that far from Lydes, right?"

His brow knit, as though he were perplexed by something. "Of course I'll visit," he said, quiet voice rumbling over the words. "You won't be rid of me that easily, Khari. I've few friends, and not a one of them like you."

She released a quiet ha at that. “Utterly shameless, you mean?"

Leon laughed, full-throated and easy. Clearly he remembered the last time he'd called her that. "That," he said, as though it were a concession. "And also utterly singular. Never change, Khari."

“I'll do my best to stay this awesome forever." She grinned up at him, rather ruining her own attempt at solemnity, and then hopped down off the fence. “I—thanks, Leon. I've gotta do some thinking about this, but... thanks. Really." It meant the world to her that he thought so much of her, but it was a lot to take in. Expelling a breath, she reached up to pat his elbow. “See you for dinner?"

"Of course. Until then."

From there, she mostly just let herself wander wherever, contemplating the future. It was sort of a weird exercise—what had once been monolithic and so very distant was now... right in front of her and a lot messier than she'd thought it would be. Better, honestly, but messier, too.

Unsurprisingly, she found her way back to Rom's room. Their room, really, though some part of her was still getting used to that. Khari had messed around now and then in her roving days, like pretty much everyone did, but she'd never really had anyone be part of her life in quite the way Rom was. Not that it was a bad thing—in fact he struck her as the perfect person to talk to about this. His opinion mattered, and he'd give it honestly.

Pushing open the door, she caught sight of him immediately and grinned, pausing and crossing her arms, leaning sideways into the frame and letting herself appreciate the view for a moment. She doubted he'd mind.

The view was of his rear, for one, trousers shorn off at the knees and rope-bound loosely at his waist. He performed push up after push up, until the muscles all along his bare back and arms strained with the effort. He stopped just before giving out, not pushing himself too far, and rolled over onto his back on the floor mat, breathing heavily. His eyes wandered to Khari in the doorway, and he grinned back. "I trust you're enjoying yourself... Commander."

That was going to take some getting used to. Fortunately, the rest was easy. “Oh, I'm having loads of fun. Really. I think the visual feast that is the Inquisition is just sadly underappreciated by our detractors." Letting her arms drop, Khari stepped into the room, taking a seat on the couch. “So, uh... Commander, huh? I guess you knew about that."

Rom slowly picked himself up off the ground, wiping his face and neck with a nearby towel. "Leon made sure we were okay with the decision before he settled on it." Dropping the towel, he sank down onto the couch next to her. "You've been one of my advisors for years already, so there's not much change in it for me." He hesitated a moment. "I'll, uh... I'll miss Leon, though. When he moves on. This whole Inquisition really was quietly built on his back."

It really had been. Not that Leon was the kind of guy who'd ever want any credit for that. “It's... it's a lot to live up to." Khari scooted over until she was nestled into Rom's side. “I mean, it's not a whole army anymore even, but this—I gotta say I never thought I'd be leading anybody. Not for real, you know?" Small groups were one thing, when her strategies had all been cleared through Leon first. But to be that person, that everyone else went to for the expertise? That was pretty hard to imagine.

"I think you'll be great." He lifted his arm and draped it over her, his left hand settled on his thigh. It had already been marked when she'd first met him. He didn't seem too broken up about losing it, especially since keeping it would've killed him, but she did catch him glancing at his palm every now and then. "You've always been good at remembering what you're taught. And you've been taught a lot. We're all here to help, too. Anything you need."

“Heh. Guess I really don't have anything to worry about then, do I?" Though she was never going to be happy about Leon leaving, the idea of being the Commander was getting nicer the more she thought about it. She still had her own goals to meet, but this could only help with that, too.

Breathing out a short sigh, Khari turned her face in towards Rom's shoulder, resting her cheek in the slight dip between it and his chest. “What about you, Lord Inquisitor? You ready for the bright and beautiful future?"

"I hope it turns out that way." He seemed contemplative, unwilling to be blindly cheerful. "I don't really know how we're going to handle this situation with Harellan, and Cyrus. We have to stop him, obviously, but... we don't know when we'll see him again. Or where. Or what to do when we find him. Somehow I doubt he'll make for an enemy as straightforward to fight as Corypheus."

He had a point about that, she knew. Honestly, it was a problem she'd have to think about a lot more closely than she'd ever thought about the logistics of fighting Corypheus. That was the kind of thing she'd left to other people before. Not if she was going to be Commander, though. “I've said it before, and I guess I feel like I should say it again. I've gotta believe we can win, Rom. We've done so much already. Each of us, and all of us, you know?"

She felt a squeeze from his arm, his lips briefly kissing the side of her head. "I'm gonna miss this place, too. But I'll never forget it. What we started in Haven, and what we finished here. And now we get to start again. A new adventure."

“I'm always ready for an adventure."

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