Previous Part

21st of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Bartholomew’s POV

The last few days since I received word that the Enansal sisters were returning have progressed unbearably slowly. If Arlinani is really coming back soon then it’s time I settle some things, I would not have her return to more trouble than she left with. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure how to settle the animosity I had cultivated between the Tevinter mage and Suledin.

What has weighed on my mind more than that however, is the assassin living in the basement. I will not allow her to come back without making sure he poses no threat.

When I push out into the sun bathed outdoors, I find an unusual occupant in the training yard. Bartholomew stands shirtless, striking one of the training dummies with bare hands. Strange, from my understanding the man is nocturnal. Like one of the cats of prey on the plains. Still, it saves me the trouble of having to track the shady fellow down later.

I make my way down the steps, approaching the yard as I speak, “An odd method of training, how often do you find yourself slapping your enemies to death?”

The man stops, and laughs once loudly, like a bark, “Not slap. Weaken.” He strikes the neck of the dummy with the side of his hand for emphasis. “What brings you out here today?”

I shrug, “I often employ the services of our stuffed friends here- but that’s not why I came. I’m here to apologize.”

He frowns pensively, reaching down for his tunic. “Apologize for…?” He leads as he dons the shirt.

I move a few steps over, to stand in the shade of one of the trees, speaking as I walk, “It was unworthy of me to berate you when you revealed your intentions here to me.” I stop, turning to look at him, “While I do find you distasteful, and your work ignoble, you’re a comrade now, and should be treated as such.”

“I…” the tired looking man is clearly taken aback, “Thank you. I apologize f-”

I quickly raise my hand with palm facing forward, “Of course, this is only the case if you are our comrade.” I move a few paces towards Bartholomew, each step slow and measured, “If you are ever given a contract for anyone in the Striders, you tell me before you do anything.”

He nods thoughtfully, “Alright. I can do that. Though… If I happen to get a contract for you, know that means someone has found you. In which case, I might be able to help you out.” He extends an arm, and I raise an eyebrow at the right hand he presents me. He quickly remembers that my own is indisposed, and offers his left instead.

I make no move to accept the gesture, “You told me that you were a man of duty, so forgive me if I don’t trust that offer. I expect you to pursue the contracts given to you. All I ask is that you tell me if your duty threatens anyone here, so that I may fulfill my duty, and kill you.”

He grunts, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Ah, nobles. Never cease to amaze me.” He turns to retrieve a belt lined with knives from the ground, and turns back to address me once it’s in his hand, “Are you Tyvas Van Markham? Or are you Tyvas, of the Silent Plainstriders?”

I squint at him, unsure of his point, “If the question is rhetorical I ask that you spare me this game and speak plainly.”

“If you’re truly a man about duty and honour and whatever else the sons of nobles tote, you’d leave the Plainstriders and present yourself to your family and die. If, however, you are Tyvas of the Silent Plainstriders…” He moves to walk past me, “You would have taken my offer.”

I grab his arm, tugging him to a violent stop. “Decide.” I snarl, “If you want to stay then you come to me if your, ‘work,’ endangers anyone here.” I release his bicep, “Otherwise, you leave or I kill you right now.”

He laughs lowly, sunken eyes looking at me directly, “I accept your deal, Tyvas Van Markham. Just remember who you are, and what threat you present to the people here.” He resumes his path to the mansion.

I don’t stop him this time, occupying myself instead with holding back the insults I wish to throw at him. It would mean nothing. This is the closest you can get to resolving this. His acceptance of my ultimatum does nothing to ease my discomfort with his presence here. I wouldn’t trust him to clean the stables, much less keep his word in this matter.

Truthfully, I had hoped he would refuse.

Previous Part

19th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Sam’s POV

Suggested Listening

Yet another afternoon spent trekking across the wilderness, praying desperately for the death of the man that gave me life. The twists and turns my life takes. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be stuck in the Free Marches for nearly a month, waiting for my father’s passing so I may return home to my human lover… Well, I didn’t see this coming, that’s certain. Another sidelong glance at Samahlen, and she’s still quiet as a mouse. I again recall the fuzzy memory of her creeping back into our room the night before, curiosity demanding an answer. Still, I stay my tongue, the equally fervent demand of trepidation, the source of which I can’t place my finger on.

The camp’s borders appear sooner than I had anticipated, the typical sounds of daily life here falling away to a morose hush. An uprooted sapling near the center of camp sends my heart stuttering, taking in the signs before me. He’s finally gone. Curiously, a dull ache takes up position in the center of my chest. The very occurrence I have been hoping for, and yet the sense of mourning is still there. Distant and vague, but still present. I very nearly wish that my last words to him had been kind ones, that the family I had spent long nights as a girl wishing for had taken form in his final days. The satisfaction of my actions is pushed aside by a cacophony of emotions - guilt, shame, loss, and perhaps most disturbingly, a small flicker of relief. A child should not feel joy when they learn of a parent’s death. My hand reaches for Sam’s, clasping palms, an attempt to keep myself rooted. I’ve never been a pious daughter. This is just one more thing for him to be dissatisfied with.

Sam’s hand squeezes back after a beat, and I finally meet my sister’s eyes, steeling myself. “Looks like we finally get to go home.”

“Just about.” She answers with a sigh. “I think there is just one last thing we have to do.” Sam points to the fledgling tree, roots bare save for a few clumps of dirt, reaching out like the bleached bones of gnarled fingers.

I nod my response, eyes scanning the few people that scurry about, heads hanging and mouths set in hard lines. Ashathim breaks into view, striding towards us with purpose. She’s hardly the picture of mourning, her usual stoic expression firmly in place.

“Are you two staying for the burial?” Surprisingly, her tone carries much less venom than our previous encounters. Perhaps she is upset.

“If only to be sure he won’t pop back up out of the ground.” Sam quips, the first nearly genuine thing I think I’ve heard her say all day. “Don’t worry your gray hairs, we’ll be gone once it is all said and done.”

“Yes, well,” The Keeper puffs, “it would be for the best.”

Sam chuckles flatly, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“I want to see him.” I interrupt, eyes focused on Ashathim. She seems taken aback, and I can’t be arsed to remember whether or not it was considered rude to view the dead before we put them in the ground. Not like they can object.

“I-” She stammers, actually stammers. Creators, this is not the same woman. “If you must.”

Sam tugs on my hand, dragging my attention away from the Keeper. “Are you sure you want to see him?”

I feel my brow reach for my hairline, surprised at her objection. “I did just say that, didn’t I?”

She inhales deeply, adding to my confusion. “Yeah, just… you go on ahead.” What has gotten into her?

I shake the thought from my head, reminding myself of my own unexpected reaction to his death. “Alright.” I turn to Ashathim, “Show me.”

She simply turns to lead the way, clearly uncomfortable. I trail after her, discovering that they had not yet moved him from the tent I presume he took his last breath in. When she pushes the flap to the side, the stench of death hits me, strong enough to send me reeling back a step, gagging. Ashathim watches with a scrutinizing stare as I recover, her eyes cold. When the taste of rotting flesh no longer weighs heavy on my tongue, I cover my mouth with my hand and step into the canvas enclosure with watering eyes. The bloated, purple face of Din’anel greets me, glassy eyes staring at nothing. I gingerly move closer, unable to look away. His hair is a matted, greasy mess, oils created as the heat of the tent does its best to slough the skin off of his body. The skin stretched over his chest is a jarring sight, every rib visible beneath the paper thin skin, starkly contrasted by his sunken belly. The hands at his side are curled into fists, the tips of his thumbs a faint blue to match his dry, cracked lips. Something is off about his stare, and it isn’t until I find myself standing right before him that I realize just what. What were once the whites of his eyes have morphed into hateful, angry red, the molten gold of his pupils brighter against the backdrop of blood. I gasp involuntarily, the motion sending the taste in the air to the back of my throat, and I stumble from the tent, gagging once more.

“Seen enough?” The Keeper spits, the absent malice making another appearance.

I push past her, no room for a response as I spew the contents of my first meal at the side of the tent. This was not a natural death. Memories made hazy by time come rushing to the forefront of my mind, the frayed spine of the book Mamae had left with me, all the plants and their various uses. Blood lotus. The name cements the realization, and I look up at Sam, pacing in her place across the way. Din’anel’s screaming face, telling her over and over to just leave, that she amounted to nothing. My sister killed our father. The tongue of the flames licking my side, squirming away from the pain just to be pushed back into place. My sister killed our father. The violent hatred in her eyes when she learned the extent of his cruelty.

Time seems to have slowed as I right myself and nod at Ashathim. I manage to weakly mutter, “How much longer until we can start?”

My sister killed our father.

As the last haunting notes of the eulogy are sung, and the final shovel of dirt dumped at the base of the sapling, I’m left with anything but a sense of finality. We’re all killers, but to help along a dying man… Unease. Unease is all I can find. Am I even able to cast that stone? Creators know I would have done the same, if I were not so craven. Even near death, I still feared him enough to be content to let him die on his own time.

When the others move to head back to camp, I linger, staring at his grave. The tree likely won’t grow. It will wither and die, corrupted by the circumstance of his death. Corrupted by the rot in his soul. Sam fidgets beside me, shifting her weight between her feet.

“So… That’s it then, yeah?”

“Now we go back to the tavern, pack our shit, send a raven back home, and get out of here.” I respond neutrally, doing my best to not convey my thoughts with my tone. “We should get started on that.”

“The sooner, the better, if you ask me.” She mutters. “I don’t think I can handle another day surrounded by these people.”

Sin - Part 8 ~

Arlinani’s POV

19th of Bloomingtide, Mid-Afternoon

Each footfall that carries us closer to the camp only makes the thoughts in my mind scream louder, the images of Din’anel’s corpse and lifeless eyes creeping into view despite my efforts to push it away. My lips press hard together, poorly attempting to keep this plague of thoughts from being too obvious. But knowing Arlinani, she has probably noted my uncharacteristic silence during most of our walk towards the Clan. I am too afraid to speak up and start a conversation, too afraid that I may let something slip and reveal to her where I was last night. What would she say? What would she do? Knowing I had killed our father. But no one would find out. The corpse only carried minimal signs that it was poison--unless someone knew what to look for, he was just an old bastard who died from the illness that had been threatening him. And that is how it’ll stay.

The camp begins to crawl into sight, my heart quickening ever so slightly in my chest as I raise my eyes from the ground. Even if I did not know what had happened, the hush in the air is clear. Today is not like the other days. I swallow a lump of fear in my throat. No one knows how it happened. And if I am wise, I can keep it that way. I quickly put the mask in place, observing the signs about the camp that my father is dead. A small tree being prepared for the funeral service. People wandering about, avoiding eye contact with us. I glance curiously towards Arlinani, watching her expression shift as the realization dawns on her of what exactly has happened. To my surprise, one of her hands reaches out for my own and clasps it tightly. I hesitate before giving her own hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to offer some comfort for an action that was my doing.

“Looks like we finally get to go home.” She finally says weakly. I give a soft sigh in response, glancing back towards the camp. If he had it his way, we’d still be stuck here…

“Just about.” I say quietly with a solemn nod. “I think there is just one last thing we have to do.” I gesture with my other hand towards the tree in the center of camp. My sister gives a nod in response, her eyes scanning the people among the tents as they move about. Beyond us, the Keeper strolls into view. Despite the event of my father’s death, Ashathim hardly looks too beat up by it. Perhaps she has her own mask she wears.

“Are you two staying for the burial?” The Keeper asks, almost politely. This is the most civil she has been in some time.

“If only to be sure he won’t pop back up out of the ground.” I say, putting on a smirk as she looks at me. “Don’t worry your gray hairs, we’ll be gone once it is all said and done.”

“Yes, well, it would be for the best.” The Keeper responds, looking flustered. I give a hollow chuckle, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I mutter.

“I want to see him.” Arlinani interjects, surprising both the Keeper and myself. I try to think of some sort of response to dissuade her, to keep her from even the chance of recognizing what I had done, but I cannot find a reason that would be enough.

“I-” The Keeper begins, finding difficulty to find her own voice. “If you must.”

I give Arli’s hand a slight tug, pulling her attention away from the Keeper. A desperate attempt to prevent her from seeing his corpse. She had been given the same lessons from Mamae as I had--the chance that she might recognize the signs left on his corpse... “Are you sure you want to see him?” I ask in a lowered voice, attempting to keep the nerves out of my voice.

“I did just say that, didn’t I?” Arli responds, her brows raising as she looks towards me. She knows something is wrong, but I can’t… I suck in a deep breath, giving a defeated nod. Nothing I can say will keep her from this, at least not without giving myself away.

“Yeah, just… you go on ahead.” I respond carefully, finding the idea of seeing his body once more a repulsive thought. Those damned eyes. I repress a shudder at the memory of it, the shattered red glass around golden orbs. My sister shakes her head as she turns to face Ashathim once more.

“Alright, show me.” She demands from the woman. The Keeper turns to lead the way, Arlinani following suit as her hand drops from my own. I bite my lip as I watch her leave. Part of me wants to run forward and catch her, keep her from seeing him. I could likely convince her to leave if I really tried, but... You’re a coward, I remind myself. I fold my arms over my chest, looking away from the tent my father’s corpse occupies. Nervous energy prompts me to move away from the spot I stand in, eager to occupy my time with something other than my thoughts. My feet carry me back and forth, eyes burning into the grass beneath me as I pace.

A coward’s weapon. The thought refuses to leave my head, just as it had burned into my skull the night before when I first entered the tent. Maker’s breath, it was going to be ingrained there until the end of my days. No better than Cillian. I grit my teeth together, trying to think of anything else. Anything other than the way it burns through your veins, consuming your every thought while it sucks away your life--and I had chosen that as my weapon of choice against my father. I had hoped that his death would bring some peace of mind, some closure to years of torment. But the old bastard will haunt me, even now that he is gone. Or maybe it is this place, this Clan. Whatever it is, I am plagued by restless thoughts, doubts, memories... Home, you’ll be home soon. It is just the shock of it all, that’s it.

All I have to do is make it through one last day of this place and we can go home.

A tree marks the grave where they lower his body, the corpse soon covered in earth as the funeral nears a close. Every muscle in my body feels tense as I watch the dirt fall around the tree roots. Part of me is afraid that he’ll actually crawl out from the dirt and come back to torment us more than he already has. But I made sure the poison was mixed perfectly. I made sure it would be final. Andraste’s tits, I had seen his corpse before leaving in the night. There was no way he would be coming back despite my fears.

I almost feel at peace to see the last shovel of dirt fall into place. Almost. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, looking away from the tree. My eyes land on Arlinani as she looks towards the funeral, an expression of almost unease upon her face. And here I had hoped his death would be better for both of us. Did I… Did I make a mistake? The doubt consumes my thoughts briefly, eyes narrowing at the gnarled sapling that now marks my father’s grave. The others move away as the service comes to an end, leaving Arlinani and I both standing in front of the tree. Silence fills the air where the eulogy once did, leaving me to the less than pleasant thoughts consuming my brain. I fold my arms as I study the branches. He doesn’t deserve a funeral like this.

“So…” I begin to say, eager to fill my mind with something other than what has been consuming it most the day. “That’s it then, yeah?”

“Now we go back to the tavern, pack our shit, send a raven back home, and get out of here.” Arli says, her tone fairly neutral despite the circumstances. “We should get started on that.”

“The sooner, the better, if you ask me.” I mumble with a scoff. “I don’t think I can handle another day surrounded by these people.”

Previous Part

23rd of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

I grip the corner of the wooden crate I’m crouching behind, dropping my head between my knees. The constant rocking of the wooden hull had finally gotten my stomach swaying similarly. Stupid boats. Stupid river. A few months ago I wouldn’t have thought that my first time on a ship would be spent cramped below decks as a stow away, but it turned out that most people want to be payed to take passengers down the river. Toss that, I had thought, stowing away will be much more exciting- and cheaper.

It was more stupid than anything. I won’t be able to stand straight anymore with all the skulking I’ve had to do, and my stomach quickly brings up whatever dry grains I pillage from the sacks below deck. Maker, just let me get off this wooden monster soon.

I chance a glance through the small hole in the side of the ship, pressing my eye against it to see if we’ve made it any closer to the city I spotted earlier today. On the other side of the small opening I see that the ship is close to smacking against the docks of the capital, soggy wool thrown over the side of the landings to protect them and the boat when it presses up against them.

Finally. I open the lid of the crate, clambering up and inside to wait for the sailors to start unloading.

When the crate stops moving I wait a few minutes- at least, I think I do, I kept losing count. You’d think it’d be easier to concentrate when you’re in the dark. When I can no longer hear the heavy boots and coarse speech of my salty escorts, I push on the lid of the crate.

It doesn’t move. The sailors must’ve placed something else on top of it. Cramped in with the blankets that are stored with me, I push against the lid, harder, groaning with the effort. It still doesn’t budge. I push my fingers against the wood, dragging my nails across the grain, fighting the urge to scream.

I squeeze my eyes shut, for no real reason, it’s just as dark behind my eyelids as it is in this blasted crate. Think, stupid, think. I can’t cast any magic like this, and even if I could the crate wouldn’t care about a healing glyph.

A few more moments spent listening to my own breathing in the stuffy space and I stumble on an idea. Bracing my hands and feet against the walls of the box, I throw my weight with what little room I have to the side, with no noticeable difference. I swing in the other direction. Still no change. A few more and I can feel the box shift around me. I maintain the momentum, tilting my cage a little further each time.

The whole crate falls to the side, it’s lid and the heavy sack that laid on top of it falling against the dock, bright sunlight spilling into my hiding spot in their place. The noise was enough to attract the attention of someone, I can hear footsteps and a short shout. I quickly crawl out, climbing to my feet and running- but mostly stumbling- down the boardwalk. When my feet are a little more secure beneath me, I look back at the docks I just cleared and see no one following me.

I’m quickly consumed by the crowds of working people, fishing poles and nets lining the entire walkway. I ignore them, eyes on the stone buildings that lie close beyond them. Nevarra City. I hope, at least. I lost track of the days spent in the belly of that river barge, I could rightly be anywhere on the Minanter River.

The heat is familiar enough, probably still in Nevarra. I make it between the buildings, stealing one more look at the docks before turning out of their sight.

My cheek meets suddenly with hard metal. I stagger backwards, rubbing my face, preparing to shout at whoever ran into me. When I look to whatever oaf I collided with, I see instead the sigil of a flaming sword.

The Templar folds his arms across the crest, dark eyes looking down at me, “Watch where you’re going.”

I press my lips tightly together, nodding rapidly at the man. When I start to walk past him he takes a step to stand in my way.

“Hey… you a mage?”

I freeze. How does he know? Templars can’t just tell, can they? I swallow down hard, trying to speak steadily, “No.”

The Templar smiles, an ugly expression that shows off more gums than it does teeth, “That so? Strange, underneath all that dirt it looks like you’re wearing Circle robes.”

Now it’s my turn to fold my arms, an instinctive attempt to hide the clothes.

“Thought so,” He laughs through his nose, “No Chantry to protect abominations anymore? Well, lucky for you I’m not in the mood for running anyone through right now.”

I look up at him, brows turned down and the distaste for him scrunching my nose for me. He pays the expression no mind, instead deciding to scratch his chin as he thinks.

“I’m feeling generous,” He starts, still scratching, “Seeing as you’re putting everyone in this city in danger, I think it’s only fair that you pay a toll.” He motions to the small coin purse fastened to my belt.

I make no move to give him the coin, but I also know enough not to say anything. Smug shit. I’d roast the prick in his stupid armor if I could. Unfortunately, I can’t even light a candle, much less summon any kind of magic of real consequence. I settle instead with clenching my fists, staring at him from underneath my eyebrows.

His smile quickly spoils into a frown, “You want to keep me waiting?” He places a hand on the hilt of the sword at his side, “I could cut you down and take it, if you’d like, no one around here would even bat an eye.”

I shut my jaws tightly together to stop what I want to say, using my hands trembling with anger to take the purse from my belt, holding it out to the Templar. He snatches it with a metal encased hand, winking at me before turning away down the street with his prize.

Every muscle in my face tightens with rage and embarrassment. I fight back tears and curses both, but one slips through, “Nug humper…”

The man stops as other passersby continue walking past him, turning back to look at me darkly, “What’d you say?”

Judging the distance the Templar put between us, I suck back as much air as I can take, slamming my foot against the ground.

“I said you’re a slimy nug humping shite bag, you limp cocked jerk!”

I turn quickly on my heel to sprint away, the image of the Templar’s expression wide with shock plastering a smile on my face as I run through the unfamiliar streets.

Previous Part - Next Part

17th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Suledin’s POV

I make my way across the mansion foyer, tired of delaying. When I was told The Serpent’s Fang wished to speak with me I was able to infer that it wasn’t for a job; Suledin has always been happy enough to let the job roster handle the delegation of tasks. He seems much more interested in robbing people than managing them.

Whatever the man wants, it can’t be good, he does not seem the type for trivial visits. The moment I reach the wooden doors of his room, I bring my fist down against the grain with a knock.

“Come in.” His muffled voice barks from the other side of the door, still recognizably irritated. Steeling myself for whatever his tone indicates, I step into the room. The faded blue walls reflect a dour light on the room, rivalled only by the expression on Amilicar’s face. He looks at me silently from his desk as I enter his view.

I tip my head slightly in his direction, “I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Your Tevinter friend told you, did he?” He asks, sounding unimpressed, “Good, since that is the matter of discussion. Who gave you the authority to recruit people?”

“I recruited no one.” I respond, already annoyed with his presumed authority, “I merely brought the man here, whether or not he remains is a question I could not care less for.”

“So you brought an unknown man here? To our headquarters? That’s just as bad. What if he was an enemy agent? You say you don’t care if he’s still here, so you don’t care if he ran off to tell his masters our location?”

“I was hardly in a position to refuse, the man is a mage, and he was determined to follow me either way. The only way I could have prevented that would have been to slay the man in the street.”

He sighs heavily, “You could have cut him down, there are many dark alleys. In any case, why didn’t you talk to Helena or I about this man? Maker’s breath, I ran into the man in a hallway.”

“I left a note, on the roster.” I feel my brows tense, “And it is not my ability to kill the man that is in doubt, it is my willingness. Unlike yourself, I am no thug.”

“You’re right, you’re not. You’re a young noble kid trying to play hero. You have to drop all these ‘morals’ your parents taught you, Maker knows they didn’t follow them.”

I spit, “I recommend you don’t presume such things, Amilicar. You don’t know me, and you don’t know my family.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I do know your family. I was in the service of the van Markhams, under the direct command of them, in fact. I saw firsthand their cowardice.”

“You say that as though it means something to me.” I hear my own voice raising, “Am I destined for the same? Is every highborn destined for it? Is every poor man destined to be a thief?” I laugh loudly, pressing two fingers against my temple, “But I forget myself; You are a thief.”

“Ever hear that saying ‘you are judged by the company you keep’? Look around you, Tyvas, everyone here is a thief or a murderer, most of us both.”

I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword, eyeing the polished pommel, “I refuse to resign myself to being the same.”

“Then you had better re-evaluate what you’re doing here. That will be all, van Markham.”

I swallow back the anger at being dismissed like a child and make for the door, unwilling to prove him right. When my hand touches the handle, I turn back to look at Suledin, “You claim to hate those that abuse their power, yet with what little you have you wield it sure as any tyrant.” I squeeze the cold metal tighter in my hand, “I’m not the one who is here for the wrong reasons.”

He looks at his desk darkly, “Get out of my office.”

“As you command.” I sneer, walking out and leaving the door open behind me.

Ma vhenan,

Send our love to the rest of the Striders, save for Felix. I’m sure that smug shit hopes I never return - he was my opponent in the race for the council seat. I don’t doubt my arrival will ruin his day. In fact, don’t tell him when we’re returning. Keep things interesting.

You have a name among the clan now, though I can’t say it is a pleasing one. I finally spoke with my father, and it did not end well. He spat insults until he was red in the face, and told him I was with child… Your child. The stares and clucking are worth the look on his face, may he rot for eternity believing his precious bloodline to be ruined. Of course, if I actually were carrying your babe I would find a better way to tell you. So, no, we aren't going to run off into the sunset, burdened by a tiny person. Put away your bag, stop packing.

I have to thank you for your letter. I needed to hear those words, needed someone to tell me I’m not insane. I stopped drowning in whiskey the night I wrote the first letter. I’m so tired of running, of hiding from the darkness that plagues me. Sam played a large part in getting me to stop, the other half being the idea of coming home as a sloppy drunk and seeing the disappointment in your eyes. I’m not sure I could bear it.

If the tale I spun does not kill him soon, the illness will. He grows weaker with every trip back to camp, but I do get my stubbornness from him, so only time will tell. I haven’t seen this man as a parent in such a long time, he may as well be a bitter stranger, lying among his own excrement and yelling obscenities. Does it make a monster of me to hope his death is near? The wish is not driven by pity or a want to see his suffering end, but so that I may return home.

To you.

Ar lath ma,

Arli

I nearly have the words memorized by now, reading them has just become a comforting exercise. I run my thumb along the length of raised ink where she wrote her name, wondering where she was when she penned it, what she felt. To think that she misses me as much as I do her… It’s hard to find any comfort in the thought, instead I’m reminded that I should be there with her- for her.

Instead I’m here, arguing with anyone and everyone. What would she say to that?

I fold the letter in my hand, tucking it away and instead looking up at the window of her room. The yard behind the mansion is shaded by the building, the stone of the fountain I sit on cool when compared to the bricks that bake in the sunlight. The court seems more derelict than usual, the faded beauty of the cracked garden columns somehow lessened without Arlinani at my side.

I had already written her back, before I had left the chantry after receiving her letter a few days ago. I wished her well, and shared the troubles of my new status as wanted by the crown. I did not want to trouble her unduly, but she deserved to know, and sooner rather than later. I did not however tell her how much the joke she played on her father had set a gnawing concern in my stomach.

She was jesting about a child, of course, but the idea of building any kind of life…

Irresponsible. She deserves better. I have nothing. Am nothing. What sort of life could I provide with the end of a sword?

The blade is all that I know and all that I have. I look to the weapon in question clipped at my hip. A sword which was once a promise, that someday I could recover, that I could get my name back- that the man who wielded it was worth something.

Where does that man stand now? Next to killers and criminals, because no one else will take him.

Tyvas’s POV

17 Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

A heavy knock pounds against the wood, must be the van Markham kid. “Come in.” I bark, not bothering to hide my discontent.

He slowly enters the room, looking around before tilting his head slightly in my direction “I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Your Tevinter friend told you, did he? Good, since that is the matter of discussion. Who gave you the authority to recruit people?”

“I recruited no one.” he answers irritatedly “I merely brought the man here, whether or not he remains is a question I could not care less for.”

“So you brought an unknown man here? To our headquarters? That’s just as bad. What if he was an enemy agent? You say you don’t care if he’s still here, so you don’t care if he ran off to tell his masters our location?”

“I was hardly in a position to refuse, the man is a mage, and he was determined to follow me either way. The only way I could have prevented that would have been to slay the man in the street.”

I sigh “You could have cut him down, there are many dark alleys. In any case, why didn’t you talk to Helena or I about this man. Maker’s breath, I ran into the man in a hallway.”

“I left a note, on the roster.” he furrows his brows “And it is not my ability to kill the man that is in doubt, it is my willingness. Unlike yourself, I am no thug.”

“You’re right, you’re not. You’re a young noble kid trying to play hero. You have to drop all these ‘morals’ your parents taught you, Maker knows they didn’t follow them.”

He spits, “I recommend you don’t presume such things, Amilicar. You don’t know me, and you don’t know my family.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I do know your family. I was in the service of the van Markhams, under the direct command of them, in fact. I saw firsthand their cowardice.”

“You say that as though it means something to me.” his voice raises as he continues “Am I destined for the same? Is every highborn destined for it? Is every poor man destined to be a thief?” He laughs, rubbing his temple “But I forget myself; You are a thief.”

“Ever hear that saying ‘you are judged by the company you keep’? Look around you, Tyvas, everyone here is a thief or a murderer, most of us both.”

“I refuse to resign myself to being the same.” he says, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Then you had better re-evaluate what you’re doing here. That will be all, van Markham.”

He turns and walks towards the door, tilting his head to me “You claim to hate those that abuse their power, yet with what little you have you wield it sure as any tyrant. I’m not the one who is here for the wrong reasons.”

I look down at my desk. “Get out of my office.”

“As you command.” he sneers, swinging the door open as he leaves.

He’s right.

Cassian's POV

16 Bloomingtide 9:40 Dragon

Papers have been piling up, reports of suspicious caravans being traced to a noble house, the contents of the caravan after they were...liberated, and all the other boring things I have to put up with. I step out of my office to get some air, Maker knows the papers will still be there when I come back. As I shut the heavy wooden door, I notice an unfamiliar figure. One of Helena’s agents? No, doesn’t seem the stealthy type, with all that brawn. I didn’t hire him, so it must be….

One of Arli’s strays, even when she’s away she finds ways to torment me

I sigh and call the man over. “You, come here.”

He spreads his palms wide as he approaches, a cocky grin on his face, “How can I be of service?”

“Well, you could start with explaining who you are and what you’re doing here.”

He chuckles and bows, “Cassian Renoldus. Mage, and occasional jester.”

“And what exactly is your joke? Trespassing?”

“I specialize in juggling,” he rights himself up, “and I was nearly invited here. Join the rebellion, down with the highborn tyrants!”

“Nearly invited? So in other words you shouldn’t be here.”

“Quite the contrary. You want me here, you see. Talent is hard to come by these days, something I’m just full of.”

“I don’t think we need a jester, so you should leave before I nearly kick you out myself.”

“Temper, temper. You’re forgetting the other half of my talents.” he says as he opens his palm, sparks flying between his fingers.

“Another mage, huh? No one sent you to Helena then?” I sigh “Of course they haven’t. You can find her by your bunk in the basement, probably torturing goats for information or something.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman.”he says as his hand shakes “So, quick as that, eh? From ‘Get out of my house’ to ‘Oh, go find the insane lady that dwells in the basement’ in only moments. It’s almost impressive, actually.”

“I’m hoping she’ll experiment on you.”

“Your cleverness knows no bounds, ser. Fortunately my charm will win you over eventually, may as well crack open now.”

“Go be ‘charming’ somewhere else.” I say as I start to walk away “But first, who sent you here?”

“Ah, followed the van Markham around a bit, impressed him with my magical prowess, and here we are.” Damned Tyvas, he has no authority to be doing this. “You know,” he continues “There are wanted posters all over town, Suledin Amilicar. Perhaps we should do something about that.”

“No, being feared by nobles and merchants makes my job much easier.”

“Those posters were a great aid in my search. Any enemies will likely find the same.” he shrugs “Your call, of course. I prefer to keep my identity hidden.”

“I’m sure you want a poster, just so you could admire yourself in it.” I continue walking away. “Tell the van Markham kid that I’d like a word with him later.”

9:28 Dragon, 11th Harvestmere

The last three years, I've watched over Paloman and his son. I'm usually been sitting in their mansion, or walking through the streets of Minrathous. But there are days, that start like any other, but change dramatically with an ambush or some kindo of attack. It's days like this where I wonder why Paloman and his son need a bodyguard. Otho is a very powerful mage. On my fourth day, I was knocked down, and Otho killed four mages on his own. Julian, Otho's son, is a gladiator who used his magical prowess to improve his already honed combat skills.

" ... So he runs at me, I dodge to the side, and his head goes straight into the wall!!" Julian laughs.

I realize I'm not listening to his entire tale. Julian and I are about the same age and have become good friends over the years. He has even taught me a little about how to fight and we spar regularly.

"Yeah that's funny," I reply to him, trying to pretend I was listening.

As we arrive at the Paloman mansion, I notice the door is open and that splinters lay on the ground around it. I approach the door cautiously and look inside. Tables ware flipped and shards of broken glass lay around the entrance hall.

"Father!?" Julian yells into the house as he pushes anxiously through the door.

"In here," a pained voice replies. I follow the voice to its origin, Paloman's office. Otho is leaning against the desk, his hand holding his stomach, where blood is seeping.

"Otho! What happened?! Maker, I should have been here!" I exclaim.

"No! You may have been killed. It was two of my old apprentices. They resorted to blood magic so I exiled them from Tevinter. They attacked me in revenge. I need you to catch them before they regroup and gain followers," he explains. Otho places his hand on my shoulder. "You have to stop them. Do You understand?" I feel a sense of purpose and righteousness.

"I understand. It will be done," I reply. I walk away as I hear Julian asking Otho about what happened, but it all seems to fade as I walk away.

It is time to kill Maleficar.

I track the Maleficar through Tevinter and into Nevarra. The journey seemed quick even though it took over three days. Everyone is forthcoming with information and the investigation takes little to no time.

The Maleficar's home is in south east Nevarra. The ramshackle house sits on a hill in a field. Its windows are shattered and boarded up. The sun creates a perfect silhouette of the house and it looks like something out of a painting. It is almost picturesque. It is hard to believe blood mages would live in such a place like this.

No matter. They'll die just the same.

The Maleficar look exactly as I imagined they would. Their blood red eyes look insane, and their crooked devilish smiles show yellowed broken teeth. Their long boney fingers grip jagged bloodstained daggers. Pale dry skin clings to their bones. Red robes hang off their limbs and hoods cast a light shadow over the faces of the monstrous men.

This is my calling, destroying these evil people... No. Not people. Monsters. A smile spreads across my face as I pull my blade from it's sheath. I fling myself forward swinging my sword in a wide arc in front of me. It connects with the first blood mage's chest sending crimson blood sprouting across the room. The second charges me, his jagged dagger raised over his head like a savage. I pull my shield from my back and use it to block the attackers advance. The blood mage slams into it, and with a single thrust, I fling him across the room. The wall cracks as he collides with it and slumps to the floor.

The first Maleficar comes again from behind, leaping on my back and knocking me on all fours. I flip over putting all my armored weight on his chest. I feel his bones snap under me and I turn so I'm straddling him. His devilish smile is still wide across his face. In a fit of rage I slam my gauntlet into his face. He laughs. He's taunting you, I hear in the back of my mind. He's a monster. Make him pay! I hit him again but he's still laughing. I hit him again, and again, and over and over. I keep hitting him even after he goes silent. I keep hitting him after his skull caves in. I keep hitting him until my fists are raw and bleeding under my gaunlets.

I stare at the pulp that was once a man's face. I breathe heavily through my gritted teeth, my fists clenched and shaking. I slowly calm myself as I look around at my surroundings. It's quite clean in here for the lair of two people who sacrifice blood for power. No altars, no magic artifacts, it just seems like a normal low-end home. A thumping pain forms in my skull as I observe the room. I squeeze my eyes shut to try and focus but the pain gets worse. I open my eyes and look back down at the blood mage.

Now reality bleeds through. The 'blood mage' is a middle aged commoner. His raggedy clothes ripped where my blade cut through. His head is obliterated from my gauntlets, and my armor is drenched in blood. I spring to my feet in horror, and stumble away from the body. I turn to the other 'blood mage'. It's a young elf, no older than nineteen. She is slumped against the wall, trembling with fear and pain, her broken body a result of my rage towards an enemy that never existed.

I rush to her. Whatever energy she has left she uses to shift away from me, her eyes round with terror.

"I-- I--" I stutter. I cant find the words. "What have i done?"

I realize I could never have done this. Paloman must have tricked me. He had to have used magic on me to make me see enemies where there were none.

...Right?

Bloom in the Wastes - Part 2

17th of Bloomingtide, Afternoon

”It is called ‘prairie-fire’, love. Grows further outside of town where those beasts lurk.” The barmaid says as she runs the rag over the countertop, eyes more preoccupied with her task than myself. “Locals round ‘ere say you can eat the flower, but Maker forbid you go for the rest of it. That’s the way to an early grave.”

”Prairie-fire.” I repeat, once more studying the red bloom in the palm of my hand. The contrast between my grey skin and the bright hue of the flower is startling. “Is it valuable?”

”Valuable?” The woman gives a shrill laugh, amused by the very sentiment. I have to make a conscious effort not to scowl at her. “Sure, ‘bout as valuable as rocks to some folks.”

I feel my stomach drop as the words sink in. My eyes drift down towards the flower once more, disappointment crossing my face. I had hoped… no, it was a silly thought. Trying to sell flowers for coin. The very idea of leaving the Anderfels was foolish enough. And yet I couldn’t shake the idea…

”Y’know, though…” The woman interrupts my somber thoughts, a sympathetic look on her face. I must look particularly dejected for her to try to help me. “The healer in town may be willing to toss some coin o’er for a collection.”

The tall grass dances with the dry Nevarran breeze, the desert landscape only broken up by the patch of red flowers that sway in the midst of the grass. The color stands above the rest of the foliage, a waving beacon in the wind that stops me where I stand. I blink as I watch the prairie-fire before me, half expecting it to vanish before my very eyes. Some trick of the heat after so long of exploring. But the ruby flowers remain where they gather.

A reminder from the Maker? I tilt my head to the side, strands of long hair slipping between my horns. I find my legs again, pushing myself forward towards the patch of red in this sea of grass. Beyond the rustling, the only sounds around are that of my own heavy steps and the padding of Sigmur beside me. I stop short of the prairie-fire, reaching out and gently running my thumb across the red petals. In two years, I hadn’t seen the plant since that town in the Anderfels. Yet, here it is. In another nation, in another life. The chances of finding it here within only two hours of exploring beyond the mansion seem beyond a coincidence. A reminder of difficult times. A reminder to be humble.

I waste no time settling myself onto the ground, searching in my pack until I find the worn journal that rests among the other contents. The pack has become significantly lighter since I joined the Silent Plainstriders, no longer needing to carry my life within the bag. For the first time in all my life, I actually have a place to call home that doesn’t involve constant wandering from job to job. I hesitate as I stare at the journal in my hands, the pattern that once marked the leather cover barely distinguishable. A gift from Sig. He spent half his coin on it… And yet, he never knew a home.

I swallow a lump in my throat, flipping through the pages of the journal to distract myself from distant memories. Over half the pages are full of sketches, notes, and the occasional pressed flower. The pages slow as I find the one I’m looking for. Prairie-fire. Anderfels, Drakonis 9:38. A series of roughly jotted down notes follows the title on the page, descriptions of the plant, the uses that the barmaid had told me. On the opposite page is a sketch of the plant itself with just enough space for something to be added.

Sigmur leans up against me as he watches my actions, his weight nearly toppling me over. I raise an eyebrow as I glance towards him, chuckling softly at his lolled out tongue. I reach one hand forward and carefully pluck one of the red flowers from the stem, holding it between my fingers and analyzing the petals. Once more, the stark contrast between my skintone and the red of the bloom comes to mind. Just as it was two years ago.

The mabari by my side reaches his head forward, nostrils flaring as he sniffs at the plant in my fingers. I give him a playful nudge before setting the flower carefully on the blank bit of the pages in my lap. I close the page around the petals, the journal refusing to close entirely from the small intrusion between the paper. With nothing but myself and Sigmur around to press the journal closed, I resort to the method I’ve used for quite some time.

”What in all of Thedas are you doing?” Sig asks as he stops in front of me, large frame blocking out the light from the campfire. I crane my head upwards, bangs getting into my eyes as I look up at my brother. An amused grin spreads across his face as he looks at me, the smile creating wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. “Are you sitting on the journal I gave you?”

”I… Maybe.” I respond, ears feeling warm as he starts to laugh. My mouth bops open and closed as I try to find some words to explain. “Don’t laugh! How else am I supposed to do this?”

”You look ridiculous!” He continues, booming laughter filling my ears. He settles down besides me as my ears grow even warmer, lifting one large hand and ruffling my hair. I scowl and try to fix the pieces of hair scattered about, untangling those that wrap around my horns.

”I just want to press flowers…” I grumble, folding my arms. Sig wraps one arm around my shoulder, squeezing me as the reflection of the campfire dances in his brown eyes.

”Then press flowers, Myra.” Sig says, his tone fond. “No one can stop you from doing what you love.”

The lump in my throat from earlier seems to have returned, eyes stinging as I recall my brother’s voice in my head. He always gave me a hard time for sitting on a journal in order to press flowers--nearly every time he caught me doing it. But there was always affection in his voice when he taunted me, always an arm around my shoulder. That’s what big brothers are for.

Sitting here in the sun of a country I barely knew, next to a dog with the same name, there was nothing I want more than to hear Sig’s voice again. Nothing I would not give to hear his teasing words and to feel his arm squeeze my shoulders. I stare at the prairie-fire in front of me, trying to swallow the ache in my throat as I watch the flowers dance in the breeze. A reminder not to forget where I came from. Not to forget why I’m here.

I pull the mabari hound tight against my chest, burying my face in his fur as I give him a gentle squeeze. I won’t forget why I’m here, Sig.

[Previous Entry]

19, Bloomingtide

Where has the time gone? My nights and days seem to blend together, unrecognizable. Day in and day out, it’s the same thing. Well, mostly. The contents of my letters and records change from day to day, but it’s the same routine. The same song and dance. Well, I suppose that’s a poor comparison, because I can’t dance. I guess I never learned. Too busy learning to read, write, count, shoot, and all the things I was usually hired to do. No, dancing has never earned me a single coin. Though, that could be because I never learned. Maybe I should learn.

I’ll add that to the list of things I’d like to do in my life. Though, I’d hate to put it at the bottom, because the list simply grows and grows. At this rate, I’ll never quite get to it. Where would a better place be to put this? Between scaling the Frostbacks and sailing the Waking Sea? No, I’d love to do both of those things. Or, perhaps between visiting my parents and camping out in the Ferelden countryside for a few months. Or how about between blighted “now” and “never”?

Because no matter what, the words at the top of that list reads “Plainstriders”. And that’s never going away. Or at least it seems like it. I’m like a caged bird. A squat, red bird who collects coins and sings a pretty song about the coins for the rest of the birds. Quite the hamfisted metaphor, I know, but I’ll be damned it it isn’t accurate.

I open my eyes, the candle’s light flickering in one corner of my eye. I lift my head from my hands, and the full light of the candle takes me. In an effort to relieve my vision, I cast my eyes down towards my desk. My damn desk. If I were a bird, this is where I’d be expected to roost. I run my hand over it, looking for where I left my quill. I’m always losing that. Perhaps I should start carrying a quill in my hat, but that means I would have to start wearing hats. I knew a man who did that once, yes I did. Older human man, ran a warehouse out of Denerim. It was a tight operation, one that ran like a device crafted by a master smith. The exact opposite of this place. Well, at least in my little part of the cage. Oh yes, the other birds think it runs all nice and smooth. If only they saw my desk on these late nights. They’d know just how chaotic it is.

The surface of the desk scratches against my hands, rough. I wonder what kind of wood this is? Did it come from here, or was it imported? Probably the former, but it’s nice to wonder about the possible journey this desk undertook. Imagine it. Start by the sea in Ferelden and sail into a port in Nevarra. Or, start in a tiny village in Orlais and make the arduous journey by wagon. I wonder.

Not that I’ll ever know, much like it seems I’ll never know where my quill is. I grunt, the sound only the pleasured or frustrated make, and push a pile of books aside to the floor. They fall with a clatter, and the sound rebounds across my room. Some poor sod below is going to hear that. A sigh escapes my lips, and my head retreats back to my hands. Did the last coin-master have this much trouble? Probably not. Katerina Osler, that was her name. I met her once or twice. Human woman, not particularly pretty, but to hear it told, sharp as a tack. Had to have been to steal from the Plainstriders so long without getting caught. But she got caught eventually. Yes, they might as well have caught her putting the gold in her own pocket. When they pulled me on and I saw the books for the first time, they looked good. Not in a visual sense, but rather in a crafty, underhanded sense. She balanced everything so perfectly. A bit to this place, a bit to this place. Such small amounts to such obscure sources.

There’s no way no one without intimate knowledge of the financial workings of the organization would even see what went wrong. Of course, once someone does figure it out, it all comes out, slowly. The scam relies on the illusion of normalcy. If someone were to look a bit deeper, spot the first imperfection, they’d start to question the illusion, see that the figurative, fine silk cloth the master of coin had laid in front of them was actually wool that was full of holes. By blind luck, someone figured it out. From what’s been relayed to me, coin was tight one month, and the old leadership asked for the books to find where they could cut corners. Apparently, her choice of siphoning funds that month had been in the form of a payment for weapons to a small smithy outside the city. Well, upon further investigation, they found that neither the weapons nor smithy existed. Clumsy, but that’s what you get for assuming no one is going to call you out. Actually, clumsy may be the wrong word. More like, arrogance. Arrogance that you could never be caught. Arrogance that you are assuredly running the show.

So, they threw her out. They let her live, which is good for her, I suppose. And they brought me in. During that time, I was just a contact, one who helped get supplies to the Plainstriders. I guess I must have caught someone’s eye, because they raised me up, for better or for worse. And lately, I feel it is worse.

I wonder what happened to Katerina. If I were thrown out today, I’d hit the road. I’d do everything on my list, and there’s be a smile as big as the sun on my face. Sadly, I must do my duty. I gave my word, and by my ancestors, I’ll keep it. And I do believe in the cause, it’s rather nice. Men and women should not be bound by station of birth. It’s just so… restrictive. Some days, I just want to cast open the cage and fly.

Next Part

I pick up one of the pebbles littered on the soft grass, tossing it up in the air to watch it hang in front of my eyes. The rock spins slightly as it floats, shivering just below the tree line that surrounds the forest clearing I sit in. I reach forward to push sharply on the rock’s edge, sending it spinning even faster in place. With a sigh, I lean my head back on the massive log I’m sitting against.

With the sound of a moored ship creaking in the harbor, a heavy burlap cloak emerges from the forest. The dark fabric approaches in slow bursts, as though whatever lies beneath it is dragging itself forward. Today, the creature is nearly three times the size of me. Sometimes, it can fit in the palm of my hand, other days it is impossibly large, but the cloak always seems just big enough to cover whatever writhes beneath it.

I turn my head to watch as it consumes the end of the log, perching on top of it. As it groans into place I stick my tongue out at it, “Your lumbering arse gets slower everyday.”

The creature shifts beneath the cloak noiselessly before speaking, a toneless sound that echoes like it comes from the other end of a long corridor, “Where are you going, Sister?”

I pluck the levitating pebble from its place, and start working it between my hands like soft clay, “Nevarra City. You ever hear about the Silent Plainstriders?”

“You’re too old for children’s tales, Sister.”

“Har, har.” I mock laughter, throwing the pebble at the cloak where it bounces off harmlessly, “I heard apostates are all good there, seems like a decent place to find a teacher, yeah?”

Its words, same as always, gurgle slowly from underneath its cover, “You don’t need them. I can teach you magic. Make you powerful.”

“Can you make me invisible too?” I scoff, “Templars’ll chop my head off if they catch me, need a safe place.” I look up at it, scrunching my mouth as I speak, “Besides, you’d make a shite teacher.”

“I know magics lost to all but me.”

I start pulling the soft grass out of the ground, assembling a pile of blades in my lap, “Then find someone else to show off to if you’re so desperate.”

It creaks mournfully, “You are cruel, Sister.”

“And you’re annoying.” I begin twisting the pieces of grass together, “I don’t know why you’re so against it, Nevarra City’ll be more interesting than the tower, don’t you think?”

“It will be more dangerous.”

“That’s not going to matter for you, you baby.” I inspect a blade of grass before tossing it aside, finding it unfit for my sculpture, “If I die you can just find someone new to bother.”

The creature compresses downward, widening over the log as it sighs, “I do not want to.”

“Then you’ll just have to trust me.” I hold out the small grass creature I have constructed, shaped to look like a tiny person. The cloak leans forward to observe it, the hot breath emanating from inside beating against my hand. After a moment, the grass creation shudders in its place before abruptly standing. It wastes no time jumping off my palm and onto the ground, racing towards the forest. The cloak rumbles brokenly, like the sound of an old floorboard with an especially heavy foot pressing down on it. It’s a noise I’ve come to recognize as something like amusement.

I look up at the creature, pointing in the direction the grass man disappeared, “I bet he’s going to the capital too.”

The cloak straightens suddenly, snuffling like a Mabari hound searching for game.

“You’re waking up, Sister.”

Prologue

16th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Suledin’s POV

The dilapidated mansion has been rather underwhelming, a crumbling reflection of what once must have been a sight to behold. Certainly an interesting choice for a base of operations. Are they - we - squatting? What occurs when the owners come to reclaim this mongrel? And sleeping in the damp basement, Maker what a cruel jest. ’Yes, yes, leave your comfortable homes and join us in our unkempt residence.’ Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s been years since I’ve had the luxury of a bed to call my own, let alone the extravagance of home. I suppose this will have to do.

I trace my fingers along the haphazardly slung paint, a crudely drawn mockery of the Nevarran heraldry, if memory serves. The foyer’s windows stream in light beautifully, the architect responsible for the manor’s design more than competent, if the structure is any indicator. The same can’t be said for the additions that have been made, graffiti splattered with no particular direction, clutter and dirt running amok. The members I’ve come across so far seem welcoming enough, though I like to believe I don’t have a scroll pinned to my back that reads: ’Tevinter, play nice.’ I suppose my wardrobe may give it away if a person is well traveled, but the lack of open hostility is refreshing.

I’ve apparently spoken too soon, as a gruff, “You, come here.” is called. I turn to find the source of the beckon, an aged man of similar build to myself. The scowl he wears seems to disagree with my sentiment. He speaks with authority, perhaps a member of the leadership that I’ve managed to evade for the past two days?

I approach him with a friendly grin, spreading my palms wide before me. “How can I be of service?”

“Well, you could start with explaining who you are and what you’re doing here.”

With a chuckle and a dramatic bow I answer, “Cassian Renoldus. Mage, and occasional jester.”

“And what exactly is your joke? Trespassing?” The dark haired man quips, tone flat.

“I specialize in juggling,” I right myself, still wearing the grin, “and I was nearly invited here. Join the rebellion, down with the highborn tyrants!”

“Nearly invited? So in other words you shouldn’t be here.” Someone’s in a hurry to turn down good help.

“Quite the contrary. You want me here, you see. Talent is hard to come by these days, something I’m just full of.”

“I don’t think we need a jester, so you should leave before I nearly kick you out myself.” This must be Amilicar. Commanding, brash, and I suppose the illustration bears some resemblance.

I click my tongue once, lift a hand and smirk as lightning jumps between my fingers. “Temper, temper. You’re forgetting the other half of my talents.”

“Another mage, huh? No one sent you to Helena then?” He heaves a sigh, clearly annoyed with my very presence. “Of course they haven’t. You can find her by your bunk in the basement, probably torturing goats for information or something.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman.” I drop my hand with an involuntary shake, pads of my fingers tingling. “So, quick as that, eh? From ‘Get out of my house’ to ‘Oh, go find the insane lady that dwells in the basement’ in only moments. It’s almost impressive, actually.”

“I’m hoping she’ll experiment on you.”

“Your cleverness knows no bounds, ser. Fortunately my charm will win you over eventually, may as well crack open now.”

“Go be ‘charming’ somewhere else.” He retorts, tone conveying that he does not in fact, find me charming. “But first, who sent you here?”

“Ah, followed the van Markham around a bit, impressed him with my magical prowess, and here we are.” I pause, running my thumb beneath my chin. “You know, there are wanted posters all over town, Suledin Amilicar. Perhaps we should do something about that.”

“No, being feared by nobles and merchants makes my job much easier.”

“Those posters were a great aid in my search. Any enemies will likely find the same.” I shrug, rolling my head on my shoulders, “Your call, of course. I prefer to keep my identity hidden.”

“I’m sure you want a poster, just so you could admire yourself in it.” Quaint. He takes his leave, calling over his shoulder, “Tell the van Markham kid that I’d like a word with him later.”

“Nonsense, the resemblances are far from perfect.” I resume my ruminations, albeit with something new to chew on. Dissent in the ranks, it seems. Interesting.

Sin - Part 7 ~ Sin - Part 9

18th of Bloomingtide, Late Night

There is an uncharastically cool chill in the air for Bloomingtide, the cold breeze prompting me to wear my mother’s red cloak that I favored after all these years. My fingers have a slight tremble to them as tie my horse’s lead to one of the trees far from the edge of camp. But I know the trembling is not a result of the chill in the air. I press my lips hard together as I give the horse one last pat on the neck, taking comfort in the presence of another creature before turning towards the camp.

By this point, I have the general layout of the camp memorized. It will be easy to get through the tents and into one that my father occupies. Easy. That is the last word I would use to describe the way this feels. I had been unable to think clearly since running into Temyra, unable to find peace of mind as I struggled with the reality at hand. And somehow, in the frenzy that had been my thoughts, only one solution had presented itself. Only one way to protect us both and get us home.

My feet carry me silently around the border of the camp, eventually creeping past the tents that line the perimeter. It doesn’t take long to make my way past the makeshift structures and towards the one I intend to visit. Luck is on my side--it seems as though everyone is asleep for the most part. There is no one wandering around the camp to see me move through. No one to witness my late night visit.

When I finally arrive outside his tent, a spike of fear stops me in my tracks. My hand lurks over the tent flap, trembling worse than before. If I do this… I’ll be a coward. The daughter of a cruel man who used a coward’s weapon. And yet, I can see no other way to go home. No other way to end his cruelty once and for all. After everything he has put up through, after the scars he gave Arli, there is no way I’m letting him keep us here longer. I push through the tent flap as silently as I can, turning to make sure it shuts behind me. The hood of the cloak covers my head as I stall, eyes on the fabric as my hands tug the opening shut.

“Malaven?” A voice croaks behind me, startling my gaze towards the source. My father’s own golden eyes are pointed in my direction, but even in the dim candlelight, I can see how unfocused they seem. Even though he is looking directly at me, he likely cannot see me. I turn to face him head on, a shaking sigh leaving his lips. “Malaven, is it actually you?”

I glance myself over, wondering just how much like my mother I must look for him to mistake us. The cloak. It dawns on me as I lightly touch the fabric, tugging slightly at the hood around my face. The old bastard is delusional. Deciding better against answering, I move further into the tent. I pull the wooden chair closer to his bed, scrunching my nose at the scent of illness. It is almost overwhelming enough to drive me out, but there is something that needs to be done first. One hand hovers over the contents in my pocket, lingering above where the glass vial sits.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Din’anel’s voice says hoarsely, almost a whisper. A sigh heaves my chest, resting both elbows on my knees as I study his face. I could wait him out, let the illness take the toll on his body until he is no more. But… how much longer would we be forced to stay here? How much longer would we have to suffer the judgement of the Clan? No. I’m not letting him keep us here any longer. I won’t let him call the shots anymore.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the vial, watching the clear liquid swirl around from the momentum. A lesson from Mamae. How to make poison. A bit odd to be mistaken for her the night I planned on actually applying the lesson. Even after I had sworn I would never use it. I knew the effects of the weapon, knew how it burned from the inside out. My eyes squeeze shut as I try to justify it once more in my head, seeing the scars that mark my sister’s torso. There is no justification for what he did. I open my eyes, my shoulders feeling heavier with each passing second.

My eyes scan the tent for the pitcher of water my father has been drinking from, pouring a cup once I find the proper utensils. His foggy eyes watch my every move, coming in and out of focus as I uncork the vial. Both hands quiver as I look between the glass of water and the small glass vial, jaw clenched. Despite everything he has done… this is still my father. For all his vile words, wretched ways, he is still the man who helped raise me. I nearly drop the poison from how violently my hand trembles, a shaky breath escaping my lips as I stare at him. He looks so frail. Nothing like the man who drove me away. And this certainly doesn’t look like the man who was capable of tormenting my sister.

“Fuck.” I mutter harshly, tilting the content’s of the vial into the cup. I re-cork the bottle and pocket it, making sure not to leave any sort of evidence behind. I lean forward and cup one hand behind his head, helping lean him up so he can drink from the cup. He is at least aware enough to take the cue, some of the contents of the cup spilling down his chin as he attempts to drink. It’ll be enough for the poison to work. I use the cloth Arli and I had first seen him with to wipe the dribble from his pale skin. Normally, helping him like this would be humiliating for me. But knowing where it leads...

“Th-Thank you.” He mutters weakly before a series of coughing consumes him. I lean back into my chair, setting the cup down on a small table. Both elbows rest once more on my knees, eyes glued to the ground. I refuse to look at him as the coughing fit continues. Cillian’s brown eyes fill my mind as my mind wanders through a memory, briefly lost to that night years ago. The sight of his back as he turned to leave, every muscle of my body burning from the inside out--

“It has been so hard w-without you, Mal.” His voice breaks the silence, weaker than previously. My teeth clench tighter together as I struggle to keep my eyes facing down. You can’t even look at him. You are a fucking coward. My hands clutch together as I attempt to keep my breathing steady. “You always were… were…” Another series of coughs consume his voice. I tug the red cloak tighter around myself, unable to move from my seat. I had told myself I would see this through to the end. Wait to be sure that the poison really set in and he was actually dead. “...always were better with the girls than I was.”

My head snaps up to look at my father, the words taking me by surprise. Of all the things to mumble about on his death bed… I hardly expected to hear any sort of confession out of him. My brows furrow as I watch him struggle to find words.

“I’m so… so tired, Malaven.” His voice seems to grow quieter, eyelids blinking rapidly as his chest rises and falls quicker. “I tried to be… be better than my father. But, I-I…I never had the patience.”

My eyes sting as I watch his breathing become more difficult, ragged breaths beginning to replace his hoarse voice. Not having the patience isn’t a fucking excuse. I can’t find my own voice as I watch him begin to grow worse, his eyes going wide as the poison continues to do its work.

“I… I’m ready to… to…” Din’anel mutters between each shaking breath. I can hear the strain in his voice, even as it grows quieter with each passing second. His chest heaves as he attempts to get air in his lungs, eyes practically bulging as he is unable to do so. I can see his lips moving with each gasping breath, but barely any sounds comes out. I rush my hands through my hair, the hood falling back as I watch the life struggle to leave my father. The next few seconds are agonizingly long--as though time itself decided to slow so that I can really remember this when it is all said and done. And then… his body quits fighting and falls limp, head lolling to the side. I suck in a gasp at the sight of his glassy eyes. The bright gold of them is surrounded by broken blood vessels, disturbingly bright red where the whites of his eyes once were.

I blink as I stare at the body before me, hands trembling as I stare. I half expected him to start breathing again, to sputter back to life and jump to his feet as though it never happened. It would be just my luck… but he remains still, unnervingly so. My throat feels tight as I look away with a trembling breath. The ground is suddenly much more interesting to me, eyes burning into the ground beneath my feet.

“Y’know…” My voice is a whisper as I finally find it, jaw clenching. “I used to look up to you. You were… you were my father. You were this larger than life person who was supposed to be there for us. That’s what fathers do. But you… You turned out to be something else entirely. You were always telling me to be someone I wasn’t, telling me to act a certain way. And it just kept getting worse…” I trail off, looking up at the corpse once more. The red surrounding his lifeless eyes makes my stomach churn, but I can’t find the will to stop talking now that I know he can’t talk back. This time, he’ll be forced to listen to me.

“You told me I didn’t deserve to be happy. That I didn’t deserve to be loved. All because I was different than you expected?” I scoff softly, though the fire I had felt these past few days seems to diminish. “Who does that to a child? What sort of stupid bastard says those sorts of thing? And then--then--you go on and… and torment my sister!? Because you were too pathetic to control your fucking anger.” I shake my head and cup my hands over my mouth, trying to fight back the lump in my throat. I lean back in the chair and take in a deep breath, the rancid smell in the air reminding me of the corpse beside me. I push myself to my feet, hurrying towards the front of the tent and rushing from it.

The air hits me like a punch in the gut, air rushing from my lungs. Both hands cling to the cloak as I wrap it tightly across my torso. I’m not sure what the hollow feeling in my chest is. I certainly don’t mourn the bastard. At least, I shouldn’t. Not after what he did to both of us. If anything, I should feel at peace. I should be happy. We’re finally free from his torment. There is no chance he’ll come back, and yet… All I feel is hollow. Numb. There is no overwhelming relief. No joy, guilt, sorrow, accomplishment. I had expected something more than, well, nothing.

I practically sprint from the camp, desperate to be anywhere but here. Coward. No better than my father, no better than Cillian. That’s all I am. A coward who can’t even face a corpse.

Previous Part - Next Part

14th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Cassian’s POV

I approach the merchant’s stall, grateful for the awning that protects the wooden booth from the high sun. The humble cart would be enough to convince me that the merchant was as he appeared, but I had been told that he peddled more than just carpets, though the exact information I was sent for remains a mystery to me.

The merchant gives me a many gapped smile from behind the table, “What can I do for you, friend?”

I wonder if he greets every customer this way, or only uses it when he’s expecting customers of a different sort. I nod towards him, “Friends are hard to find on these plains.”

The merchant shrugs emphatically, his beard brushing against his exposed chest, “You just have to listen closer, you’ll find that this city is not so silent.”

“As you say, friend. Unfortunately I have business elsewhere, but your words have put joy back into my stride.” I say, finishing the secret exchange.

He nods with a pensive frown, “Perhaps you will buy from me another day, huh? Ah, but your cloak is all crooked. Here, let me help with that.” He leans across the stall, tugging on the edges of my cloak, and slips what feels like a sealed envelope as he does so.

“There,” He exclaims, looking pleased, “Now you don’t look like a vagrant, huh?”

I nod once more in his direction, less amused with his words than he is. “Thank you. Have a good day, ser.” I bid him, turning away to leave the market square.

Two right turns, and still he persists. I don’t need to bother with the third, confident enough now that the man in black is deliberately following me. I make a left turn at the next junction, heading back to the outskirts of the city. Lose the crowd. No witnesses, just in case this turns sour.

Myself and the man in black soon find ourselves alone in the tight corridors of the mostly abandoned lower district, home now mostly to cats and drunks. I turn once more at a tight angle, pushing myself up against the wall of the sanded building. I draw my sword from beneath my cloak, carefully and slowly, so that the scrape of steel cannot be heard in the empty streets. I hold the sword at my side, and wait for the man to turn the corner.

The moment his booted toe enters my sight I push out with my back foot, shoulder first, slamming it square against the man’s chest. He falls heavily on his rear, hand catching himself, and the staff previously slung on his back clacking against the ground. Before he can reach for it I press the tip of my sword against his neck, using the flat of it to push his chin so that his focus is on me.

“Five words,” I tell him, “You have five words to convince me not to kill you.”

He laughs, and I’m not left wondering why for long. The ground suddenly erupts around me, shards of stone clinging to my limbs at lightning speed. It takes only one tug to realize that I’m completely immobilized.

The man stands, brushing the dust off of himself, “Now, who told you mages couldn’t ‘do magic’ without their special sticks? Whoever came up with that idea doesn’t strike me as too bright.”

“Are you thick?” I spit, “I said five words.”

He walks to where his staff fell, bending to pick it up. “Tevinter. Brevity is not one of my strong suits.” An extravagant gesture of his wrist releases me from my prison, “I am, however, a damn good mage, a mediocre tracker, and a fantastic juggler.”

Dispelled of the notion that the man intends to kill me here, I relax a little, but continue to hold my sword in my hand.

I sigh outwardly, “As you say, but at the moment your only talent seems to be inducing headaches. Why are you following me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is there some other group of rebels I should be looking for? Is there a different ‘Tyvas van Markham’ whose face is plastered all over town?” He rolls his eyes annoyingly, “Your organization should really start sending better liars on their errands.”

I work my teeth against each other, “Speak plainly, mage, I have no desire to stand here and listen to you pass wind.”

“If it’ll make you stop squeaking…” He bows, but his eyes remain on me, “Cassian Renoldus, Tevinter and mage extraordinaire. Heard about the Silent Plainstriders, traveled long and far and,” He makes the gesture of a flapping mouth with his hand, “you don’t care about the details - I want in.”

The tip of my sword drops to the ground, “You’ve done a poor job of making me care what you want.”

“If you prefer, I can bind you in earth again, rummage through your things, and go find them myself. It makes little difference to me, warrior.”

I chuckle humourlessly, “I would invite you to try, but you seem cowardly enough to do it.” I sheathe my sword, “Very well then, I will take you there. Though I warn you, you will be killed if the Striders find you lacking.”

“Fair enough.” He agrees with a chipper tone, “Off we go, oh fearsome leader?”

“No. You walk ahead of me. I will instruct you from behind.”

“Care to pull my hair while you’re at it? Nothing better than a commanding man.” His eyes linger on me uncomfortably.

I flex my jaw wordlessly, before turning to the side, gesturing down the street and clearing my throat, “Walk.”

“Guess that’s a no.” He mutters. As he leaves the alley, he brushes up against me- deliberately, I’m sure.

Maker, help me.

13th Bloomingtide

It’s a little before midnight when we finally make it into Nevarra city. My legs feel heavy and stiff as I climb out of the carriage. Kaffas, too long on that bloody road without movement. I look around at my surroundings, its quiet aside from the occasional drunk off in the distance, the air smells of smoke. I give my farewells to the caravan and everyone there visibly relaxes as I walk away. I set off looking for an inn for the night. I’ll look for the Plainstriders in the morning. I set off heading for the slums of Nevarra. Along the way I pass by the large walls and gates of what could only be the Alienage. The sight of the guards outside the gate barring the way gets my blood boiling but I keep going. You’ll just make things worse by killing them. It’s not their fault, it’s the powers higher up, and peoples own ignorance. I do my best to calm down heading further into the slums. Would hate to be a human in this light they wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing in some of these alleys… good to know.

I come across a small inn called the drunken wyvern, located down a dead end street. not a good place for information but it’ll be relatively safe until I get a lay of the land. I open the door, go inside, and take a look at my surroundings. The inn is small couldn’t have more than five rooms. The air smells like a mixture of fire, old ale, and charcoal. The innkeeper a short portly man, who seems to be doing his best to hide his receding hairline, is just finishing cleaning the place up for the night. “I’ll be right with you, I’m just finishing up here,” he says without looking up. “Alright what can I do f—“his eyes narrow when he notices my ears. “We don’t serve knife ears,” he says with an accusatory tone. I get quick flash of anger me and I grab him by the throat and pull him close. “I’ve had a very long day and now you’re going to serve me or else you’re going to look pretty fucking funny trying to give my description to the guards without a damn tongue.” His eyes widen as I draw one of my daggers seemingly from nowhere my cloak. “So what’s it going to be,” I ask brandishing the dagger in front of his face. His eyes dart between the dagger in my hand to my face, weighing his options. “FINE,” he exclaims word dripping with malice, “you can take the far room as far from everyone as possible”. “That’s fine” A small smile creeps up to his mouth thinking he won a small victory but frankly I’m too damn tired to care right now. I open the door to my room and it’s a small room with not much else than a bed and night stand. Once I’m in there I undress, and try and wash off as much of the grime from the road as I can with the basin on the nightstand. After locking the door and putting a knife under my pillow I collapse on the bed tired from the journey.

14th of Bloomingtide

An inhuman roar….a women desperately pleading…the echoes of screams…red…

I wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing, knife in hand, and ready for a fight. Seeing that the room is empty and the lock still in place I relax sheathing the knife. I sit down on the bed hand reaching to the simple iron band I carry on the string around my neck. Well if all goes according to plan today I might be a step closer to being able to see you again…hopefully. My eyes briefly well up before I quickly blink it away annoyed at the moment of weakness. Kaffas. Getting up from the bed I start to do as many of my exercises and stretches as I can given the small room I’m in. Once I’m finished I get dressed and get my gear ready for the day, sharpening my blades to a fine edge. Once I’m ready I throw on my cloak and leave the room heading out in search of the striders.

I start to by asking around the dark corners of the city seeing if anyone’s heard anything about the Striders, being extra careful to hide my face and especially my ears. Most of the rumors seem to end with people vanishing in the outskirts of the city but no one seems to know where they’ve gone. I start exploring the outskirts of the city pretending to be on the hunt for alchemical ingredients; which isn’t so far from the truth as my poisons are running low. There isn’t much on the outskirts, the usual farmhouse, stable, but one mansion seemed to stick out. It was a relatively unassuming mansion, tan exterior with a large fountain in the front courtyard obviously abandoned. It would be a decent place to slip into if one wanted to escape. Figuring that's where the Plainstriders are hiding I head back into the city to start the next stage of my plan.

I start in the slums of the city asking if anyone else has been asking about the Strider’s other than me. Most people just gave me a confused look but one beggar in a back alley mentioned a guard came through the previous week pressing people for info. “The thing that confused me was he didn’t seem to be trying to find the Strider’s so much as just asking about them, probing for information and he kept threatening everyone he talked to,” the beggar tells me. Shouldn’t guards trying to put down a political movement not learning about it? This seems like someone was pulling there strings just need to find out whom. “Here’s a few silvers for the info and if you hear anything else find me at the Drunken Wyvern. I’ll pay for anything more you find out,” I say as I put a few silver pieces into his hand. Time for me to go have a word with these guards.

At about ten that night I find myself in some backstreet in one of the poorer districts of the city. apparently the guard in question has a patrol route down this section of the city. There’s barely any light in the alley that I’m standing in but I can see just fine. It’s starting to cool off a bit so I pull my hood up and draw my cloak closer to me trying to try and keep warm while I wait. No more than half an hour later I see faint torch light dance across the wall in front of me. Peeking around the corner briefly I confirm that it’s the guard and he matches the description I got. I silently pull out one of my throwing knives from my back. This one is coated in a deathroot extract, not enough to kill but more than enough to stun him long enough to pull him into the alley. As soon as he’s within sight from the alley I hit him in the side of the leg with the throwing knife and grab him muffling his cry of pain. I pull him into the alley extinguishing his torch in a barrel of rainwater. “Now you’re going to tell me what I want to know otherwise things will get extremely uncomfortable for you,” I whisper into his ear before I throw him onto the ground. “Do you have any fucking idea who I am?” “Not the smartest are you” I say as I grab the knife still embedded in his leg and give it a twist. His cry of pain is muffled by my hand as I hold it over his mouth. “Now are we ready to listen?” He gives a bit of hesitation before trying to spit at me. Once again I clamp my hand over his mouth and push the knife into his leg a little further and twist it a little harder. “Now listen everyone talks eventually the only thing that’s up to you is how much of you will be left to walk away,” I say looking into his eyes giving a quick twist of the knife for added impact. I see a brief flicker of fear in his eyes. “Wh-what do you want to know?” he stammers out after a moment’s hesitation.

“Last week you were asking about the Plainstrider’s I want to know why”

“It wasn’t my idea it was one of those Mortalitasi. He’s been sending me around trying to find dirt on the Strider’s”

“Give me a name!”

“Alaric Petras”

“Where can I find him?”

“He lives up in the palace I don’t know where I always met him outside”

“Good, now get the hell out of the city if I ever see you again I’ll kill you,” and with that I left, leaving him alone in the dark. I have to move fast, I doubt that guard is smart enough to leave and if he won’t his first move will be to warn the mage. The mage has to be taken care of tonight.

Back in my room I prepare for tonight’s hit. I quickly take off most of my weapons and the few bits of armor. I quickly dishevel my appearance and do my best to make myself look like a simple elven servant using a few peasant clothes I nabbed from a clothes line on the way over. I take with me only my holdout knife which I hide in my boot after coating it in magebane just in case. I climb out the window of my room into the street below, drawing up the hood on my cloak I head to the palace. Once I’m near the main gate I take pull back my hood and walk through the gate without any incident. Once inside I stash my cloak in some bushes just inside the gate making sure no one saw me. Once I’m confident that no one will stumble onto my cloak I make my way to the servant’s entrance hunching my shoulders and keeping my eyes down. “What’s your business here, elf?” one of the two guards by the entrance asks me. “I’m a new servant I was hired earlier today to collect the chamber pots m’lord,” I say keeping my eyes on the ground. “Ha-ha you mean you actually agreed to do that job. Have fun,” he replied doing his best to mock me.

“Thank you m’lord”

Maker if this is the most I’ll have to deal with it’s a wonder how people don’t get assassinated here on a daily basis. I make my way inside and proceed down to the kitchens. Once I’m in the kitchens I hurry over to the cook, a large red-haired hag with a large scowl on her face. “You there who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?” she says as soon as she notices me. “I don’t know I was told to come down to the kitchen to get something to eat for someone named Alaric Petras, but I don’t know where he is or where his room is,” I stammer out trying my best to sound like a frightened servant on his first day. The cook’s eyes narrow a bit as she eyes me up and down. Feeling satisfied I’m telling the truth she commands a couple elves to make up a plate. “Alaric lives up in the west wing on the third floor I would hurry if I were you he is not a patient man,” the cook tells as she hands me a small tray with an assortment of food on it. “What room would he be in ma’am,” I ask “He’s in the corner room on the northern side of the palace”

I quickly take the tray and hurry towards the west wing every so often asking some other servant I pass by for directions. Once I’m outside his door I take a quick look around making sure there’s no one else around to see me go in. I make a quick rap on the door and listen. I hear some grumbling and someone heading towards the door. “What” he exclaims as soon as he opens the door. Alaric is a couple inches taller than me, with a large hooked nose, and messy

“I was told to bring you up a plate of food”

“What? I didn’t ask for any food. Figures always get what I want wrong when I ask for it but when I don’t ask for it they send food anyway. Fine, fine just leave it on the desk then get out I’m in the middle of doing some work.”

I quickly move inside and close the door behind me quietly sliding the deadbolt into place. Once the deadbolt is in place I take a bit of sleeping powder out of the pouch in my pocket. Alaric has seated himself at his desk and is looking over some papers on his desk. I quietly walk over to the desk and place the tray of food down on an empty corner of the table then throw the sleeping powder into Alaric’s face. Alaric slumps back in his chair completely unconscious. unobservant prick isn’t he. Once I’m sure he won’t wake anytime soon I start to go through any and all papers and documents he has looking for anything that mentions the Silent Plainstriders. After giving everything a thorough look over I don’t find anything about the Striders. there must be something around here somewhere. I quickly go through the drawers of his desk when I notice one of his bottom drawers is a bit too shallow. Setting everything in the drawer aside I start to inspect the bottom and find a small lock. now why would you need that. I start searching Alaric careful not to wake him. Around his neck I find a small key on a string that I carefully remove from his person. I slide the key into the lock and open up the false bottom. Inside I find several documents about the Silent Plainstriders as well Alaric’s journal talking about how he was going to blackmail the Striders into furthering himself politically. Why do all these fucking idiots insist on writing down their plan, but then again it makes my life so much easier. Good news is he only ever employed that one guard, guess he was trying to keep this on the down low. Well I guess that means I get to kill you. I can't help but smile a little bit as I walk up behind Alaric putting one hand on the crown of his head and another on his head and give a twist, snapping his neck. I quickly I pull his chair back a bit, and tip it over onto its back to make it look like Alaric fell back in his chair, breaking his neck on the bookshelf behind him. I carefully put everything back the way it was before I entered the room. I eat a bit of the food on the plate to make it look like the servant who brought the meal had already left when the “accident” occurred, and I grab everything that mentions the Plainstriders including the journal.

I slip out into the hallway closing the door behind me and start to head for the second floor. Once I’m down the stairs I start looking for a way to get out of the palace. I can’t use the same servant’s door in case those same guards are there. They’ll think it’s weird that I’m done so fast and probably report it and with a dead mage they’ll probably start to think it wasn’t an accident. Bloody humans always ready to blame everything on the elves, it’s an inconvenience. I find an empty room and I hop out the window onto a first floor roof below it. Keeping low I quietly move across the roof till I’m near the opposite side of the palace from the servants entrance. I quietly drop down from the roof behind some bushes and head towards the main gate. I grab my cloak that I had stashed earlier and put it on, hiding the servant clothes as well as my ears. Taking up a brisk pace I make my way towards the main gate. As I approach the gate I see a single guard at the gate. “Where are you headed to so late,” one of the gate guards asks looking right at me. Stumbling a little bit I look at the guard, “wh-wha- I was j-just headed home,” I say slurring my words.

“Are you drunk?”

“Wha- no I only had a few drinks, I’m fine” I say grabbing onto the gate wall for support.

“Ahh, Get out of here before you make a bloody mess”

“Th-thank you misher”

Maker these guards are horrible. As soon as the guard is out of sight I stop stumbling around, and start a light jog towards the inn, using as many back alleys as possible. Once I’m at the inn I climb into my room through the window. There, no one saw me leave and, no one saw me come back. Nothing to trace the murder back to me. Now at least I’ll have something to present to the Striders when I meet them. taking the documents out from under my cloak I hide them under the mattress of the bed. I take off the servants clothing and hiding them in my pack. I’ll have to make sure I burn these tomorrow. Using the basin in the room I wash off the poison on my holdout knife, dumping the poisoned water out

Previous Part

17th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

I shield my eyes from the low hanging sun, the fervent breeze whisking away the sweat that gathers on my nape in the heat. Nevarra must be sweltering. The pitiful merchant’s square is rather busy for it’s size, squabbling and bartering a constant thrum in the background, sporadically broken by someone’s brat squealing as he chases the birds that gather to feast on crumbs. I find an abandoned stall, making a seat of the aged good barrels as I tear into the latest of Tyvas’ letters.

’Arlinani,

’I will admit, you had me worried for a moment. I’m glad you’re determined to destroy my reputation in lands other than Nevarra. That was a jest. I am jesting.

’You might be happy to hear that I managed to recruit someone to our organization. A Qunari from the Anderfells, though, like myself, she was seeking us out intentionally. While I was in the city she… recognized me.

’I did not mention it in my last letter, I did not want to worry you, but it seems that my work has drawn the attention of the crown. You were right; I was thoughtless. There are posters advertising my capture. I cannot help but worry what this newfound infamy means for me- for us.

’But don’t fret too much, I am being careful.

’The Qunari- Myra- seems a decent enough woman. She brought a great hound with her, like the ones in Ferelden. Tel’then has been avoiding it with ease, and the kittens’ mother fusses tremendously when he nears their home in the yard.

’The halls at home are sorely wanting for your presence- and I can tell Helena is missing you two. She must have noted my own melancholy as well, she invited me out to drink with her the other night. The woman has a fearsome constitution for alcohol, and all but forced me to match her drink for drink. You would’ve laughed at my state, I think. Still, it was a welcome distraction for the both of us. I have never wished for the death of a stranger but… come back soon.

’Yours, in all matters,

’Tyvas’

The idea of him ‘dragging home strays’ in my absence provokes a small chuckle. Suledin just can’t catch a break. The posters, though, are troubling, and I can imagine the scolding Helena is prepared to give at my overlooking an official leave of absence - and proper goodbye. I take no solace in my less than savory methods of keeping our identities obscured being proven as the correct course of action, not when everyone but myself finds a target painted on their back.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, brow furrowed, and lost in my worries, I startle at the feet entering my field of vision just beyond the parchment in my hands. I back into the barrel and send it rolling, my free hand reaching for one of my daggers when a boisterous laugh stops me.

“Aneth ara, Arli.” A ghost stands in front of me, muddy brown eyes lit up with amusement. The champagne hair I remember from our youth has darkened with age, but the crooked smile that always appeared when I fumbled something or another hasn’t changed at all.

“Dirin?” I find myself blinking in surprise, hand hanging loosely by my hip.

“The one and only.” He cracks, gesturing to my defensive stance, “Still thinking about attacking me, lethallan?”

"That depends." I mirror his expression, an impish smile tugging at my lips.

"On?" Dirin still has the temperament of a jester, evident in the playful tone of the voice made baritone by time.

"Why are you here?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, the ripple of corded muscle in his shoulders yet another new addition to his person. I admit, my old friend had grown to be a handsome man, the lanky limbs and large nose no longer disproportionate as the rest of him caught up. The fluttering of any romantic emotions remain back with my childhood, though the sight of him brings a few pleasant memories to mind.

"I was charged with trading," he turns his gaze away and pauses a beat before continuing, "and I've heard the rumors, same as everyone else. Wanted to find out if they were true."

“You doubt my treacherous ways?” I sneer, the playful banter exchanged for bitterness. “Or did you come to berate me for smearing my good name?”

"It's not like that, Arlinani. You should remember I harbor no hatred for shemlen." Dirin releases me at the sharp look I give him, grinning sheepishly with his hands raised. "Sorry, humans."

"Then why do you care?"

"You were my friend." He seems shocked by the question, heavy brow lifting in surprise. "Am I not allowed to check in on you? Ask if you're happy without the People?"

"I've been here for two weeks, Dirin. You're being nosy, and you could at least admit it."

"Well, the idea of you shacking up with some high born human certainly smacks of scandal." The grin stays firmly in place. "You could admit that."

"The only reason it even came up is that Din'anel wanted to pair me off with someone in the clan." I sigh, "The last thing I wanted was to have every single one of you know who I'm bedding."

Dirin laughs at that, "A simple 'no' wouldn't have really done the job, would it?"

"You know it wouldn't." I murmur darkly, chafing at the apparent lack of a remnant of concern.

He sobers, the toothy smile finally wiping off his face. "Ir abelas. It is easier to forget than to remember."

"Not so easy for me." Finally, I'm allowed past him, my words pushing him into silence. The lull is only momentary, as he pivots to call after me.

"Arli…”

My steps waver, rooted in place by all the things I want to say. I should probably walk away, ignore his protests, bury any lingering resentment. I don’t.

“Why did no one stop him?” I murmur, turning to face him.

He scrubs his face with a dirty palm, discomfort clear. “Ashathim… Ashathim threatened to throw Atisha out. She confronted the Keeper once, and the rest of them were too frightened, terrified of being thrown to the wolves.” His expression darkens to match his tone, one of disgust. “Standing alone against a mage - it would have been suicide.”

“So I was left to suffer alone?” I demand, voice raising.

“I never said it was right.”

“When will it end? Are there other children shaking in their beds?”

Dirin shakes his head vigorously, “No. A few of us have made certain of that, myself among them.”

“So what changed?” I shift my weight between my feet, stifling the urge to pace.

“We saw what happened to you and Samahlen. We listened to the tales, the things they say but don’t follow. The da’len are too precious to allow any more to fall to cruelty.”

My indignation leaves me on an exhale as I grip the locks at the back of my crown. “Thank you.”

He shrugs, rolling a hand over the rough fabric of his doublet. “I couldn’t help you, but I thought-” The sheepish grin makes another appearance, “I figured I could ensure it didn’t happen again.”

“So I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving? We could use someone like you back in Nevarra.”

“That I can’t do. They need me.”

“Right.” I concede, shuffling my feet. “So, want to take a meal? Catch up?”

The smirk widens, “Of course.”

“Oh, I knew.” Dirin chuckles, cheeks flushed with his third ale.

“Nug shit.” My nerves buzz, albeit not with any vice. I’d missed my friend, partners in crime that we once were.

“I did! I kept waiting for you to try something, alas, my young heart was broken.”

I grin across the table at him, “What a shame.”

“A shame indeed. Here you are, snatched away by another man, off running some bandit crew, when you could have stayed and been under your father’s thumb for the last three years.” He pats my hand, “I’m glad I didn’t give you reason to stay, lethallan. You needed to get away.”

“That I did.”

“And, of course,” He stretches his long arms out behind him, winking, “If your noble drops the ball, I’ll be there to teach him a lesson.”

I chuckle, glad that any sort of tension had drained away hours ago, the dynamic between us settling into something nearly familial. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”

Dirin downs the last of his ale, standing with his arms spread wide, “Come here.”

I oblige, stepping around the table and finding comfort in the embrace. He plants a wet kiss on my cheek, grinning as I wipe at my face.

“Write me some time, eh? I have a feeling we won’t get another chance for a visit.”

I nod, and he gathers his things, heading back to the place I’ve never called home. As I climb the stairs I slip my hand into my pocket, fingering the folded parchment. Home will always be with the Striders.

[Part 7] (http://www.reddit.com/r/Plainstriders/comments/34sa3z/deception_part_7/)

[Bartholomew's POV] (http://www.reddit.com/r/Plainstriders/comments/35occz/a_place_of_light_part_5/)

12th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

I paced my quarters, waiting for Ash, Godic and Kinta to make their appearance. I had sent Ash and Godic out to meet the caravan Kinta was on, hoping their presence- rather than mine, would make the party seem of little importance. It had been nearly an hour and a half since they left, and the ticking of my Dwarven clock was making me more nervous by the second. That caravan held nearly all of the intelligence we had been able to gather on the Jewelled Talons, and I was eager to have it in my hands.

Of course, the Jewelled Talons would be twice as eager, a fact which made me anxious. They had been shown to have no mercy, their cruel actions taking minimal prisoners.

“Fuck it.” I mumbled to myself, picking up my cloak, “I’ll meet them in the town.” I strapped my staff to my sash, and flung it over my shoulder. I made it up the stairs to the foyer, and then stopped suddenly with a scream of shock and fear.

My worst nightmare had come true. Kinta, with a large gash across her face, blood pooling on her shirt, she was barely breathing. She was carried by Masarian, who was stronger than he looked. Before I could even open my mouth to speak, he began, “Ash found me. A few of your other agents too. They were attacked. I’ve managed to begin to heal her wounds-she was stabbed in the kidney.”

I opened my mouth, and choked, “Get her to Selena.” Masarian nodded in return, and carried her up the stairs. Behind him, a small group trailed in. Oma, who had taken up fruit selling, had a dwarf leaning on her, his injuries thankfully lighter than Kinta’s, Godic, limping on a friend of Ash’s who I recognised, his other arm hanging loosely at his side, and Ash, a nasty cut to her forehead, her arms around a female dwarf and a female Elf, both with various maladies. “Up to the Infirmary!” I yelled at everyone, silencing Ash when she began to protest.

I felt numb. These people had placed their lives on the line for the Silent Plainstriders, for me, and they had been badly injured. I did not even know how many other people were on the caravan. How many people died for me?

Looking about the corridor, I caught the eye of a man with buzzed, dirty blonde hair, half-hidden by a worn cloak, walking towards the front door. “You, quick. Come and help.” I commanded, my goal clear in my mind. Find the remains. Find what is left. Find the Talons responsible. Slaughter them.

“Yes?” He asked calmly, almost too calmly, “Is there something you need?”

“Yes.” I called behind me, my jaw firmly set, “Caravan attack. There might still be foes out there.”

“Lead on then.” He replied. Ignoring his reply, I set out from the mansion, walking quickly through the City streets. As we approached the market district, I turned to the cloaked man. Assassin perhaps?

“Helena Pentaghast.” I introduced myself bluntly, hand outstretched. Manners be damned, we had shit to do.

“Bartholomew Comstock. I’ve been sent by my Guild to watch the Plainstriders and deal with them if they threaten my organization's activities in the city.” He replied, tilting his head to the side.

I let out a barking laugh. Really? With a shake of my head, I asked, “What are these activities then?”

“I can’t tell you here, in public like this. I would hope however, that you have an inkling of what I do.” He said, opening his cloak for effect. Nice knife collection.

Any colour in my face drained quickly, my heart pulsating with anger. I clicked my fingers, frost forming over my hand, “And I hope you have an inkling of what I can do. Who approved this?” I barked.

“Why your Ambassador, Pentaghast.” The assassin replied with a frown. “We’re being watched. Act casually and keep a calm pace.”

I nodded, a frown on my face, and strode forward, my cool hands wrapped firmly around my staff. We reached the Plains quickly, and I could see the remains of the wrecked caravan, timber still smoking. I began to run towards it, as if it would make a difference to the level of destruction. My stomach heaved as I reached it, numerous corpses of dwarves who did not survive the skirmish left on the ground, their weapons and possessions scattered around them. I could not even bring myself to count them, wincing in complete shock.

I began to search around the van for any clues. "Take anything suspicious, we need to find them." I yelled to Bartholomew, my voice terse. Behind me, I heard the man whisper a prayer to the dwarves, gentle and calm. "I did not know that many brothers were assassins." I said, curiosity guiding me. I looked down and saw the twisted remains of Gerda Cadash, Godic's cousin. Closing my eyes I began a prayer of my own, visions of Godic's pain, physical and mental, in my mind.

“No, not a brother of the Chantry by any means.” Comstock replied, moving towards me. “This wasn’t an ordinary bandit attack. Bandits are a vicious sort, but this seems more in line with mercenaries. There’s something going on, isn’t there?”

I swallowed hard, and looked directly at the man, who had an expression of mild curiosity on his face. My voice was monotone, speech rapid, "Yes. We are under attack, a group of nobles, a group with money. Money to pay assassins." I slowed and narrowed my eyes at him, thoughts swirling around my brain. "I will believe you were not paid by them, but if it is revealed you are..." I froze a scurrying nug without thought, killing it with a crushing prison. "You can expect that."

He spat at the ground, his distaste written on his face. Interlaced with fear. Good. “Disgusting that you would kill an innocent life like a nug like that.” And some people aren’t? An animal won’t be missed. I made an amused expression as he threw his hands in the air, “The person watching us is most likely a part of this group. Not one of their… better agents if I am to assume. If you can find…” He grunted, lifting some sacks out of the way. He is fast, not strong. Useful information. “Give me names and what those names look like, I can help you against this… group.”

I scowled, "If we can find our stalker, he might be a help." I picked up a piece of semi-burnt parchment on the ground, Selena, family name unknown. "Any parchment, gather it." I shook with anger and fearful concern. Have they burnt any others? Or have they kept them all?

“Fear the night, for the…” Bartholomew’s voice rang through my numb fog, “The Silent Plainstriders must be… Here.” He handed me the parchment, but I could not even bring myself to read it.

“Thanks.” I said flatly, putting it in my pocket. Taking care not to step on any of the poor Dwarves sprawled on the ground, I shifted to what was the back of the caravan, trying to find any lock boxes. “The safes are gone.” I muttered, no metal to be found. “Ugh. We should try to find our friend.” I turned, and saw a red rag on a tree, scroll attached. I ripped the rag, and began to read.

I hope you enjoyed our party, sorry the refreshments are gone. As are your friends. Goodnight Kinta. xox.

“Arrgh!” I screamed in frustration, tearing the parchment in half. Tears began to well in my eyes, memories from that morning and beyond tearing at the inner walls I had built, rage threatening to spill over. She’s bleeding, her shirt soaked, Masarian’s face- angry, tired-

My companion looked over the plains, considering our next course of action. Taking a knife from his cloak, he turned to me, “I say we go find our mutual friend.” Grinning, he continued. “Shall we?”

I was grateful for his intervention, preventing me from internal collapse. I nodded, and took my staff from the clips on my back, “We shall.”

I led Bartholomew through the Plains, staff crackling with ice. I scanned the trees carefully, watching for any sign of movement. I feel a tickle against my ear, and then I hear, “Two of them, off to our left. Assassin’s most likely, judging by how quiet they’ve been.” I nodded, and quickly turned to bind the two men, the force of my anger behind the blast of mana.

“Go!” I cried, flicking my staff again to keep the spell. I hit my staff against the ground, focusing beams of entropy towards one of the men. Twisting the image of him in my mind, I trapped him in a crushing prison. It will not be long.

The other man broke free of the bonds, and began to run, realising our intent. Bartholomew threw his knives, the second hitting the man in the back of the leg. As it connected, Bartholomew tackled the man, and he fell, screaming in pain. I ran over, Bartholomew already holding the man, dagger at his neck.

I opened my hand, paralysing the man, and spat, “Who are you?” He shook his head, and I placed a hex on him. “Two minutes. It feels like burning, doesn’t it?”

“James! My name is James.” He cried, scared- Just as he should be.

I thought of our injured men, the threats we had been sent- my own injury, the scar which still had not healed. “Good, James. I am Helena. I assume you have been looking for me?” I asked, amused with his fearful expression. There is nothing sweeter than revenge. I thought, the image of my injured compatriates in my mind.

He nodded his head quickly, “I… I can tell you stuff! Just- arrgh!” He cried, the glyph brightly shining at his feet as the energy surged, his insides truly on fire- well, ice really, but freezing feels like burning after so long.

“Are you as barbaric as him, Helena? Stop the glyph.” Bartholomew ordered, moving his dagger to the man’s thigh. “Release him from his paralysis and whatever else you put on him.”

“Fine.” I said, angrily, eliminating the glyph with a wave of my hand. “He stays paralysed though. And if he runs…” I turned to the boy, face lined with anger. “You can see your friend over there, can’t you, James?” He nodded, eyes wide, and I continued, “What do you have to do with the Jewelled Talons?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maker, she’s fucking insane!” He cried at our assassin. I could see the sweat on his forehead as he fucking begged to the man who showed him some mercy. He has better luck with Bartholomew than me.

“I might be insane, but I am the person with the magical stick.” I said, casting ice from the end of it to prove my point. “Now. What. Do you. Have to do. With the. Jewelled Talons?”

Bartholomew smiled, giving the frightened man’s shoulder a rub. “Yes, she gets quite emotional. But you of all people should know insanity. I mean really…” He pressed the dagger against his thigh, where I knew an artery to be. “You shouldn’t have gone after me. Now answer the question please.” The man has a reputation?

“Assassin!” James yelled, almost wetting his trousers, “It’s only been a year! They pay well!”

“You aren’t exactly a good one.” I said simply, rolling my eyes, “What do you know about the Silent Plainstriders, James?”

“I- I- They are enemies of the Talon cause!”

“Good, and what is that cause?” I asked, desperate for more information.

“Ignore that question. Tell me, the name of your partner and the name of the one who sent you on this job.” Bartholomew enquired, ignoring my question. Who’s the senior officer here, Comstock? Moving his dagger to the armpit, he asked, “Yes, you know what this is, don’t you? Answer the question please.”

“My partner was Henry! We were sent by Cordell.” He said, swallowing hard.

“Van Markham?” I asked quickly, crossing my arms. James nodded quickly. Another for my list. Felix did not mention him.

Bartholomew smiled sweetly at the boy. “Good lad. I think that’s all we need.” Before I could even stop him, the man took the dagger and thrust it through James’ chest. “May the Maker take you into his embrace and bring to a safer home, free from fear and insanity that this dark world has shown you.” And this man has the gall to agree I’m insane.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled at the assassin, throwing up my arms in frustration, staff dropping to the ground with a definitive thud. “We could have gotten so much more.”

He stood, turning towards me, face ghostly pale. It was clear that he worked at night, there was no visible tan to his skin. “No, not much more. He’s told who to kill, given a list of the target’s features and possible locations. He knows who hired him though, and that’s all we really need.” He pointed towards Henry, his body crumpled on the ground. “Check their bodies if you’re looking for more. I doubt they will though.” With those words, Comstock moved to the edge of the clearing, waiting for me.

I kicked the dry soil with my slipper, grunting in rage. Looking at James' still form, I noted a slip of vellum in his jacket pocket, I took it, along with all his other possessions, and put them in my pocket. I did the same to his friend. I'll look at these at HQ.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I approached Bartholomew, "Is this the last of them? What can you see?"

He shook his head, turning towards me. “We’re fine. But keep your guard up, especially back at the mansion. The Jewelled Talons may strike there as well. Maker forbid if you have your bed or desk near a window, that’ll just make their job easier.”

I turned to him, lips pursed in thought, finally, I simply said, "I live in the basement."

Bartholomew blinked quickly in surprise. “Oh.” There was a pause between us, the Plains still. “Shall we head back?”

"Sure." I replied, turning back towards the city gates.

"Here." I barked at Bartholomew, gesturing to my office door. I stalked in, sitting down at my desk chair with a sigh. "Close the door?" I asked, beginning to rummage through my papers for blank vellum. Looking up at the assassin, I asked, “I might have some names, if you are interested.”

He sat down across from me, taking his cloak off in the process. There were more knives on his belt than I could bother to count. Around 10, 11 perhaps? I thought automatically, training kicking in. “I wouldn’t be a very good assassin if I wasn’t interested in killing someone.” Bartholomew replied, loosening his knife belt.

I gave a quick, harsh laugh, "You speak the truth." For once. I picked up my quill, and began to write, "There are two kills, and one tail, do you understand?"

He nodded. “I can do that.”

"Good." I went to hand him the parchment, but lifted it at the last moment, "There is one more condition to these names. You extract as much information as you can from them. Names, dates, places, search them afterwards."

“Right.” Comstock replied, standing up to take my parchment. “There is one thing you should know. If these names are nobles or other high ranking officials, I’ll need to bring back proof of their deaths. Just the way I work.”

I pursed my lips, considering his ultimatum. Why does he need this? For the guild or for himself? Who are the Guild? I noted to set Alex on him, her skills were unique. “Fine.” I finally agreed, “But I would like to see that proof too.”

He nodded. “Of course. I don’t keep these proofs for myself.” His gaze drifting towards my desk, causing me to cover the papers in front of me. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I would like to trust you. Please do not give me a reason not to.” I replied sincerely, giving him a smile.

Standing up from the chair, Bartholomew returned my smile. “If all goes according to plan, the targets will be dead and the tail will have been followed.” I nodded, and looked down to the paper strewn over the desk, the assassin’s voice breaking through my revery. “The Jewelled Talons are the movement that can and will put an end to the Plainstriders if given the chance. Don’t trust anyone, and be wary of the shadows.” Pulling on his hood, he looked directly at me. “Especially the ones you love.”

I let out an involuntary gasp, and looked directly to the bed, covers still messed in places. Abassi. I thought, the worst possible scenarios coming to mind. A pool of blood, head severed. Imprisonment, the worst crime a man could commit. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the visions, but they kept coming. But not just Abassi, Ash, Alex, Kinta, Selena, the Council, Godic, Felix. All these people- they could die for you.

I broke into a cold sweat. “I need to check on Kinta.” I muttered, trying to calm myself, “And Godic, his arm looked horrible.” And Abassi I stood up, steadying myself on the table, and walked towards the stairs on wobbly legs.

The infirmary was full, all of the beds taken, any one who could sit was on a chair instead. Ash sat, holding Alexandra’s hand, while a young boy, one of the apprentices from Perendale, stitched her head wound. Ash wobbled slightly, the alcohol given for her pain sinking in.

Alex gave Ash a pat on the shoulder and walked over to me, her expression angry. “Why were we not fucking there?” She hissed, folding her arms. I opened my mouth, but she continued, “They are the closest thing that I have to a damn family, and they almost bloody died. Why was I not called back? I could have helped! And you-”

“I am sorry Alex.” I choked, numb with despair.

Alex shook her head, and gave a sigh. “I understand, just-” She stopped mid sentence, and went back to sit with Ash, stroking the girls shoulder gently.

Standing back, I took in the scene. The dwarves lay helpless, their injuries varied and numerous. It almost made me feel ill. The pain they were in was mostly my fault. She’s right, I thought, looking down at Alex. Why did I not send her? Why did I not go myself?

Masarian looked up from the Elven girl, who was coughing up blood, “She has a cracked rib.” He said simply, patting her on the leg. “I’ve managed to fix it for her, but she will still have some pain. Your friend with the battle axe, he’s asleep, but his arm will take some time to heal, it’s broken.”

“Kin-?” I began, Masarian quickly cutting me off.

“Selena is with her and another Dwarven girl. She’s- She’s not in a state you want to see her in.” I gasped, and he hushed me, “She will be okay. Selena is an excellent healer. Go and get some rest, you look haggard.” I nodded, and gave him a false smile, fear hiding behind it.

As I reached the door, I heard Alex’s trembling voice. “Did you get them?”

Turning around, I nodded, “Yes, two of them are dead.”

“Good.” She replied harshly.

I reached my rooms, where Abassi already sat on the sofa. Walking up behind her, I gave her a quick hug, “I’m glad you’re safe.” I choked out, fighting back a tear.

“Are you okay, Lena?” She asked, stroking my arm.

“Yeah.” I replied distantly, “It’s just been a difficult day.”

Part One

14th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Tyvas’ POV

Sweet-smelling smoke fills the grand room, obscuring the features of two men seated at the far end of a long wooden table. I can barely pick up their words, the voices hushed in secrecy. I find myself choking on the vapors, billowing from the open doors like the nostrils of a high dragon. Still, I creep closer, intent to discover the purpose of this meeting.

"The Renoldus woman? She has no true power, the Publicanium grants her nothing." The first man’s voice is not remarkable in the least, it could belong to any man of any race.

"She is ambitious, Carsten. Can you safely say she won't be able to worm her way into the Magisterium?" The faceless man drags on the pipe, releasing a stream of scented smoke before he continues, "Cille will be dealt with before she can cause any lasting damage." The second man’s voice is deep, carrying a sinister tone - the exact voice one would expect from a villain. Between the pipe and his tone, I would swear he was straight from the pages of a children’s storybook. Shit. This is-

I startle to consciousness, fingers tingling with an electric charge. Despite the lack of any evidence, my mind continues to grasp at straws, filling in the blanks with my suspicions - and dramatic nugshit. Carsten - the only name I ever received, and not a full name at that. The woman that confirmed Cille’s death being no accident offered some semblance of explanation, naming Carsten as a reluctant accomplice. Reluctant to risk his skin, maybe. With a weighted sigh I summon a brief burst of lightning, watching as the blue light dances between my fingertips. The scent of ozone leaves the dingy room, the charge that gathered while I was plagued by dreams dissipating in an instant. As my head clears along with the air, the bustle of bar goers beyond my borrowed room’s door leaks through. Time to get out and about if I’m to make any progress today.

One might be surprised how much they can learn, if enough time is spent among the destitute. Secrets are eagerly handed over, with the right charm and a sufficient amount of coin. Who is sleeping with whom, where to locate some stashed poisons, even the names of a few infamous rebels. Suledin Amilicar, Samahlen Enansal, Helena Pentaghast, Tyvas van Markham. The wanted posters around town were close enough in their resemblance, rumors filling in the gaps.

The hooded man I believe to be one of the Silent Plainstriders has been wandering the marketplace for nearly an hour, unaware of my presence in the crowded square thus far. He approaches a merchant, and I sidle up at a nearby stall, browsing the wares.

The merchant greets the frowning man with an eager smile, “What can I do for you, friend?”

“Friends are hard to find on these plains.” Says the man. One.

“You just have to listen closer, you’ll find that this city is not so silent.” Comes the scripted reply. Two.

“As you say, friend. Unfortunately I have business elsewhere, but your words have put joy back into my stride.” I smile to myself at the man’s response. Three. Found you.

I tune out of the conversation, handing over a few coins to the woman operating the stall in front of me, slipping a modest silver necklace into my pocket as the pair go about their exchange, the merchant fussing with the Plainstriders’ cloak. The man I suspect to be Tyvas van Markham - if the descriptions have been as accurate as the rest of my purchased information - turns away, presumably heading back to base. I linger in the circle of stalls, chatting and smiling while I count his steps. Just before he can slip out of my sight, I say my farewells, trailing behind.

Van Markham twists and weaves through the streets, either an attempt to shake me or assessing how well I’m glued to his heels. A cheshire grin is glued to my lips, I’m enjoying the game of cat and mouse. The question remains as to whom is prey? He leads the way outside of the city proper, the buzz of the crowd dropping to a distant hum. Dilapidated buildings provide a lovely backdrop, the stench of cheap ale and excrement turning up my nose. The cloaked man ducks into the mouth of an alleyway, stepping over a stray cat. I shrug to no one in particular before I step around the corner, my question answered in an instant.

Something blunt slams into my chest, sending me straight to my arse. My left hand keeps me somewhat upright while my staff rolls out of reach. In any case, the blade beneath my chin discourages a retaliation, forcing my focus up to the furious face of the van Markham man, slate eyes nearly buried beneath his brow, the animosity clearly written.

“Five words,” he spits, “You have five words to convince me not to kill you.”

I laugh up at him, an amused sigh escaping me as I encase him in stone up to his shoulders. “Now, who told you mages couldn’t ‘do magic’ without their special sticks?” I chuckle as I bring myself to my feet and brush off my clothing. “Whoever came up with that idea doesn’t strike me as too bright.”

“Are you thick? I said five words.” The man is positively seething. Humorous, considering his position.

I stoop to retrieve my staff before shrugging as I reply, “Tevinter. Brevity is not one of my strong suits.” With a flourish of my hand his cage melts away, crumbling around him. “I am, however, a damn good mage, a mediocre tracker, and a fantastic juggler.”

The pointy end of his blade remains pointed in my direction. “As you say, but at the moment your only talent seems to be inducing headaches. Why are you following me?” He asks with a sigh.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is there some other group of rebels I should be looking for? Is there a different ‘Tyvas van Markham’ whose face is plastered all over town?” I roll my eyes, scoffing. “Your organization should really start sending better liars on their errands.”

A horrid noise sounds out from van Markham’s mouth as he grinds his teeth. “Speak plainly, mage, I have no desire to stand here and listen to you pass wind.”

“If it’ll make you stop squeaking…” I bow low, keeping an eye on him, “Cassian Renoldus, Tevinter and mage extraordinaire.” I right myself before I continue, “Heard about the Silent Plainstriders, traveled long and far and,” I press my fingertips together on one hand, mimicking a flapping mouth, “you don’t care about the details - I want in.”

“You’ve done a poor job of making me care what you want.”

“If you prefer, I can bind you in earth again, rummage through your things, and go find them myself. It makes little difference to me, warrior.” Southern nations and their prejudices…

He laughs hollowly, “I would invite you to try, but you seem cowardly enough to do it.” He finally puts his weapon away. “Very well then, I will take you there. Though I warn you, you will be killed if the Striders find you lacking.” I imagine you would enjoy that privilege.

“Fair enough.” I say lightly. “Off we go, oh fearsome leader?”

“No. You walk ahead of me. I will instruct you from behind.” My, my.

“Care to pull my hair while you’re at it? Nothing better than a commanding man.” My eyes trace his form, admiring.

He stares, baffled and still bristling. After a moment he moves from the opening of the alley, pointing down the street. “Walk.”

“Guess that’s a no.” I mutter, brushing against him as I pass.

Somewhat Graphic Content follows. - Aki

12th of Bloomingtide

Suggested Listening

“Alexander! Alexander, where the fuck are you?”

Panic. Distress. Anxiety. Whatever word you want to use, it’s running through my head at the moment. The feeling, that is, not the bloody word. My mind is as far away from childhood vocabulary skills as it has ever been. Right now, my focus is on the raging fire before us. The orange and red licks at my heels as I sprint through the blazing plains, eyes darting in every direction for the closest thing I have to a loved one on the road--Alexander Hamlin, a human boy from Val Royeaux. Maker only knows what brought him to this kind of company, but he’s all I’ve had for the past five months. The bastard is practically my brother, but at the moment, he’s gone. Gone, gone, gone--Olli, you prick, why did you let him get out of your sight?

’He’s perfectly capable.’ I think, my mind trying to rationalise everything that’s going on.

“Alex, you son of a bitch! Can you hear me?” I yell out into the night, my voice hopefully carrying far enough that he can hear.

“Oliver! Agh, shit, Oliver!” His voice rings through my ears, and I frantically whip myself in the direction of my voice--he’s north of me, or at least north relative to whatever direction I was facing.

Turning, I find the boy out in the middle of the field, a dead bandit at his feet. He looks bloodied badly, and he’s barely standing. In fact, he’s… he’s shaking, more and more with each passing second, and as I sprint with all I’ve got towards him, he collapses and falls to his knees. I barrel over, arriving just as he slumps face-first into the ground. The dumb bastard ran off with his sword and no armour. I pick him up, and try my damnedest to inspect the wounds. There’s a few long cuts across his body, bleeding, but not terribly. They don’t worry me. What worries me is the deep stab wound in his side; It’s bleeding heavily, and I’m no medic. I haven’t even the slightest clue what to do in this situation, so I do whatever comes to mind.

“Help! I need a fuckin’ medic over here!” I scream into the night. All I can hear in return is the sound of raging fire and the screams of men set ablaze, feeling that hot fire across them as they breath their last.

“Agh, fuck. Olli, look at me.” Alexander’s voice snaps my attention right back to him.

“Alex! What the hell were you thinking, running off without armour?”

“It wasn’t as if the fire didn’t wake the whole bloody camp. I got up to see what was going on, and in the heat of the moment, I forgot is all.”

“You daft son of a bitch... “ I say, my voice starting to waver. Alexander makes quick note of this, a devilish grin spreading across his lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to cry, Oliver. I’ll never let you live that down.” He says, grinning. It raises a chuckle out of me--the ass knew how to lighten me up, and yet the sheer magnitude of the situation was bearing down on both of us.

“No, of course not. As soon as I get you the hell out of this mess, then I’ll cry.”

I’ve got nothing on me but my bow and my arrows. All around us, the fire rages on, taking man and beast along with it, though tonight’s events have me convinced that man and beast aren’t so different. I’m trying my hardest to ignore the screaming and the smell of searing flesh, but it’s all coming in so quickly, and I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I bloody can’t.

’Get a fucking grip, Olli, you shit.’

“Alex, I’m going to find someone who can help. Or at least try and help. You’ve got to promise me that you’ll stay alive, alright?” I say, resting his head on the grass, and standing.

“Heh, I’ll try not t-” He’s unable to finish his statement, as he coughs up blood onto the barren earth. He clutches at his side and grimaces, spitting the excess blood out of his mouth.

“I’ll be right back, I swear!”

As I run off, I hear his voice ring out from behind me.

“Oliver!”

“What?” I say, turning my head over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of him.

“I love you. Always have.”

It’s all I can do to nod and turn away to keep running toward the camp. I don’t have any kind of reaction to that, hell, I don’t know if I could come up with one today. My mind is focused straight ahead: Find a medic, Oliver, find a medic. As I’m running, however, the smoke begins catching up with me. It starts slowly, a cough here or there, but soon, the black smoke fills my lungs, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I’m a hacking, coughing mess, and my vision is slowly starting to fade, as is my consciousness. The world around me is getting darker, the flames disappearing, and in a moment, I’m falling. I’m falling, and the ground is getting closer and closer. It seems like I’m falling for an eternity, everything collapsing down around me.

The world grows darker as the ground grows closer.

’You were supposed to find a medic, Oliver, you were supposed to save him!’

The world grows darker as the ground grows closer.

’He can’t die like this, Oliver, not like this!’

The world grows darker as the ground--

I shoot out of bed, shaking and sweating like crazy. I quickly kick off the sheets are hug my knees to my chest. I can still feel the smoke in my lungs, the taste of it. I can still smell that horrid, ugly scent of burning flesh in the air. I can still see the plains ablaze in the middle of night. But I’m alive. I start chuckling softly, quietly, my laugh growing ever more crazed.

’I’m alive! I’m alive… I’m...’

Alexander.

I start breathing heavily as I turn and get out of bed. I look for my bag, and dig around in it until I can find the flask half-full of whisky, and I drink from it. I slump myself up against the walls of the room, and throw back the whisky. My eyes are wide, my skin is clammy, and my mind is racing. I take a swig from the flask, and look down at the floor, then up at the ceiling.

’It was just a nightmare, Olli, nothing more.’

But then why did it feel so real? Why does it always feel so real?

I can see his bright face the day I first met him. I can still see the way he swung his sword, gracefully and with pride. I can still remember sitting around a fire with him and the other guards, drinking and laughing, just living life for what it was. I can still see him leaving the tent that night, rushing out with his sword and nothing else. I can still see the lifeless look in his eyes when we found him the next day, dead in the field, the grass still charred. I remember holding back tears and thinking about how bloody miraculous it was that the fire never touched him. I remember burying him with a few of the other guards that he and I were close to. I remember the makeshift funeral we had for the man, and I remember hearing the quivering voices of each of us as we delivered a makeshift eulogy.

Even now, I can still hear his voice floating to me.

’I love you. Always have.’

12th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Creak..

Creak..

The wheels of the wagon cried witch each rotation, and it was driving me crazy! I just wanted to sleep, but that incessant noise wouldn't even let me close my eyes for a single moment of peace. Everything else was fine. The sun shining, the wind blowing, and I haven't seen any elves in days. It was peaceful, at the very least. The creaking began to erode away my patience, if it didn't stop soon I was going to go crazy.

Creak...Creak

I raise my blood-shot eyes, looking at the back of the Wagon driver. I raise my hand to tap his back and get his attention, but I realize there is likely nothing he could do about the creaking, unless he was a mage. Those guys can do a lot of things. I wrap a thin blanket around me and try to shut out the noise, desperately wanting sleep to take me.

Creak...schlikt

Wait, what was that? I open my eyes in time to see the body of the driver fall off the wagon, a arrow embedded in his throat. I think I hear his neck snap too when he hits the floor, a fountain of blood pouring from his wound. I don't have much time to think of him, as another arrow goes whizzing past my head a second later. I jump up, attempting to get off of the wagon, but the blanket gets tangled around my feet. I land harshly on my shoulder.

The pain doesn't register to me, as soon enough I haven't something much more to be worried about. In the tree line I see figures moving about. I can see the faint outlines of them, most of them holding bows in their hands, and have quivers on their backs. I see one step out from the tree line and into the sunlight. His pointy ears and armor give away his race immediately. Elves. Dalish ones. Fuc-Schlikt!

"ARGGH!"

I can't hold back the scream of pain when an arrow tears into my leg, pinning my leg to the ground. I'm dead. This is it. I am going to die here...no. Not here! Not like this! Not to some bloody elves! My hand reaches out and grabs the shaft of the arrow, pain coursing through my body at any movement I make. I bare my teeth and pull on the wood lodged in my leg. I try not to scream again.

"ARRRRGH!!!"

I do anyways. However I manage to rip the arrow out, blood streaming from my leg now. It paints my pants a dark red, along with the ground and my hand. I toss the arrow aside, but my strength has left me at this point. I don't think I even managed to throw it a foot. I try and push myself up from the ground, but my arms give out. I land on my face. I try again. If I was to die, I was going to die standing. Somehow, someway, I manage to stand. It hurts like a bitch.

As I rise, I come eye to eye with one of elves. He is missing two arrows from his quiver. I can only guess that he is the one that shot me and the Driver. I stare at him, standing myself up tall on my wounded leg. He removes a knife from his belt, and I brace myself to death.

"Say hello to your mother and father."

The elf says before the knife is plunged into me.

I awake with a start. Wait, where am I? what just happened? I look around, only to be greeted by the entrance to a city.

"W-where are we?"

I say out loud, not honestly expecting an answer from anybody or anything.

"Nervarra."

My head swivels to the side, greeted with the sight of the wagon driver. Minus the snapped neck and wood in his throat. I rub my eyes. It was a dream? I check my leg. Yep, no wound. That all felt so real, but it wasn't. I shake my head and focus on what I came here for. The plainstriders. I heard of them from another traveler, and I have nothing else to do with my life, so I'm planning on joining them. Now All I have to do is find them...

16th of Cloudreach

Thud

The bloody burlap sack lands at the guard’s feet.

“There’s your bloody bandit. I expect the bounty.”

I smile inwardly at that small pun. The guard’s eyes widen and he visibly pales.

“Uhhh right. Let me just go count it out for you.”

I stand in the barracks of the Kirkwall city guard. I feel slightly on edge and I notice that every guard in the place seems to be trying their best to avoid eye contact.

So, they’re starting to suspect I’m not so innocent. Most city guards take at least two weeks before the correlate my arrival with the sharp increase of “accidental” deaths; these city guards did it in one. I suppose that’s a testament to the guard captain; good for the city but it means I have to get out of here that much sooner. I get my reward and get out of there; I don’t need to give them an excuse to arrest me. I make my way back down into Lowtown and into a dive of a bar called the Hanging Man or something like that. Not my first choice in places to stay, but it seems to be the best place in the city to learn all about the filth in this city.

I take up my usual place in the far corner facing the door ordering some of the stew and a glass of water. The tavern carries the same smell of smoke, sweat, and vomit. I mix in small amount of deathroot into the water and take a sip. Still burns but at least I don’t a have to worry about the feverish sleep that I used to get when I first started doing this. I start to eat my meal and listen to the conversations around me.

“Did you hear about those Plainstriders up there in Nevarra?”

Upon hearing the word Plainstriders I start listening intently to the conversation. It’s not the first time their name has been whispered around a table in this tavern.

“Well apparently there’s a small group of people up there in Nevarra fighting for the little guy and really trying to change things”

“Man wish we had something like that around here. Most we got are those Red Jennies and let’s be honest it’s not like they’re going to change anything round here”

I sit back in my chair and consider heading up there to see what they are all about. Eh about time to get out of the city anyway. Worst case scenario I go up there cut out some of the corruption and get paid to do it. There’s never a shortage of bad people others want dead. I hang out in the main room for a few more hours but don’t hear anything else interesting so I retire to my room. I undress and hide my weapons around the room putting the usual knife under my pillow and try and get some sleep.

…screams all around me…. The warmth of blood on my face… begging…

I awake with a start, jumping up into a ready position knife in hand.

Empty. The rooms empty. Just like every other bloody night. It’s been a little more than five years now and I still can’t sleep more than a few hours every night.

I check outside, and it’s about two hours till dawn. I get a drink of water from the pitcher and set about getting ready for the day. I do my morning stretches and work out, then start in on my gear. I put on my “black’s”, loose fitting clothing that’s a blend of grey and black to help break up my silhouette. I put on my black leather jerkin and vambraces. Doesn’t do much in terms of protection but its light and its better than nothing. I clean my two daggers and strap them to my back, handles pointing down. I take my four throwing knives and apply a fresh coat of different poison to each. I strap that to the small of my back. I grab my leather soled boots and put them on. I put on a forest green travelers cloak overtop and pull the hood up over my ears and head out.

I head over to the front counter where the innkeeper has just gotten up and is preparing for the day. I pay my tab, giving him a little extra and start to head toward the eastern city gate. At the gate I hitch a ride with a small civilian caravan who happens to be heading east to Cumberland then north to Nevarra. I pay the driver a paltry sum and climb into the back of the wagon.

1st of Bloomingtide

The first two weeks went by without a problem but just past Cumberland the wagon comes to an abrupt halt. The Air smells of moisture and there’s a fine mist in the air. Why are we stopping? I take a quick glance about the carriage and see the same look of confusion on everyone’s face.

I peak outside the wagon and see four men; all armed trying to shake down the driver. Oh good, I could use a bit of exercise. I hop out of the carriage, throw my hood up, and with an exaggerated limp, I start to walk towards the men. I peek up every so often to size up the group. The lead man has a large greatsword, the one on the left doesn’t have any noticeable weapons but stinks of magic, the one on the right has a longsword and wooden shield, and the one in the back is armed with a bow and arrow. Heh amateurs, putting themselves between their archer and the target. That will cost them. The lead man, not thinking of me as a threat starts to walk towards me, talking about a toll or something, I wasn’t listening. I am too busy watching the other three, the mage looked a little nervous, but the shield guy is watching me carefully. The archer looks to be watching the road only making quick glances towards the caravan, keeping an arrow nocked but not drawn. This will be over quickly.

As soon as I’m within arm’s reach of the lead man, I draw my right dagger and open up his throat before he has a chance to react. A large smile finds its way to my face. I throw off my cloak with a shrug of my shoulders and with my left hand I draw and throw my magebane throwing knife at the mage, hitting him it in his right shoulder. By now the other two have started to react, the archer drawing the arrow and the swordsman unsheathing his sword. I start to sprint at the swordsman, trying to keep him between me and the bowmen at all times. He swings at me with a strike aimed for my head but I duck below it, going left, and hamstringing him. I quickly pick up his dropped shield and start to sprint towards the archer. I do my best to block his arrows but he manages to graze me across the right thigh. When I finally get close enough, I bury my dagger into his heart and give a twist. I look back and the swordsman is trying to stand while the mage is on the ground panicking because he doesn’t have enough power to summon any spells. I go up behind the swordsman slitting his throat, and start walking towards the mage. The mage, upon seeing my approach starts to panic, saying how he didn’t want to do this, he was forced the same excuses I’ve heard thousands of times before. Calmly I walk up to him and say, “There are always consequences to our actions,” as I stab my dagger into his heart. Funny thing to say considering I still have yet to pay for my actions. But I will pay for them eventually of that much I’m certain.

I retrieve my throwing knife from the mages shoulder and wipe off the blood from my weapons and face. I check the bandit’s pockets and find fifty-three silver pieces hand it back to the driver and climb back into the wagon. Now everyone’s scared of you. I take a quick glance around the carriage and everyone is doing their best to avoid eye contact. They should be I’m a monster. With all the excitement over with I take a closer look at my wound. I’ll live but I might need some stitches. I’ll bandage it up till we set up camp later tonight.

Later that night we find a small clearing and stop to make camp. I set up in my usual place away from the others. That’s probably a relief for them after witnessing what I am. I set up a fire and put one of my extra knives in the fire to heat, and sanitize it. I sit down and take a closer look at the wound; you can see the blood through the bandages. I take off the bandage, and clean out the wound with some fresh water. *Ugh I hate this part.*I take the knife out of the fire which has started to glow a dim shade of red and press it to the wound. I let out an audible grunt as the wound gives off sizzling sound, and the smell of burnt meat fills the air. I wash it off again with more water, and cover it with some bandages to let it heal. Another scar for the ever growing collection, great. I take a swig of toxin extract infused water from my canteen. What would you have done I wonder. Would you have spared that mage bastard, or killed him just as quickly. It’s been five fucking years since those bastards killed you, and I killed them, yet…that brings me no peace. Maker I miss you. Oh great now I sound like one of those church nutjobs. Having lamented enough I put a knife under my pillow and, turn in for the night.

Another night another nightmare just like every other night. I awake a couple hours before dawn and do my morning stretches, and exercises. I clean my blades and reapply their respective poisons. I put on my clothes and strap my weapons to my back. I put the cloak back on and pull up the hood. I don’t need to remind everyone that not only am I a killer, but I’m also an elf. Those people have it bad enough without being associated with me. Once everyone had woken up and eaten we once again set out for Nevarra. Unfortunately the rest of the journey goes by uneventfully, but now it goes by in silence…and you can smell the fear.

Previous Part - Next Part

12th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Myra's POV

"Tel'then!" I call softly in the empty dining hall, the words falling limply on the recently cleared tables. If the cat is found once more in the kitchen I'm afraid what the cooks might do to him. Arlinani would kill them if something happened to him- then she'd kill me. Best to find him soon.

Just then, Tel'then skulks out from beneath a table, some scrap prize from the evening meal in his mouth. Before I can call for him, he jumps easily up to the window sill and out into the yard. Brilliant.

In pursuit, I head out of the hall and through the back door into the training yard, illuminated by the diffused red glow of the setting sun. Tel'then is nowhere to be seen, but the sight of Myra in the centre of the field quickly catches my attention. She has her axe with her, guiding it through the air in a fluidly violent performance. She soon stops herself, suddenly bringing the axe head slamming down into the dirt.

Her hound, sitting near her position, notices me then, barking loudly and scrambling towards me. I don't have much time to prepare for his assault, and try to keep him from pushing me over as he paws at my chest.

I manage to calm him down enough to keep him from jumping further with a hand on his head. I look up to Myra, who watches from afar with axe still in hand. "Good evening, Lady Meraad." I greet her while her hound still shuffles beneath my touch, "You haven't perchance seen a kitten, have you?"

She swings around the axe to rest it lazily on her shoulder, “There are a few who live around here, though they usually scatter when Sigmur shows up. I get the feeling you’re looking for a particular one, however. I admit, I was a bit distracted to notice kittens.”

"That's quite alright," I chance another look around the yard for Tel'then before addressing her again, "and may I say that you wield your weapon with grace?"

She blinks once before exchanging which foot bears her weight, “I, uh… appreciate that. Most people don’t see a Qunari with an axe and think to comment on how she wields her weapon.”

"I don't have many talents, but I should like to think that I can appreciate artistry of the blade, at least." I say, continuing to scratch Sig behind the ear, "How are you and your hound settling in?"

“Ah… as well as you could expect.” She smooths back her hair, disturbed from the training, “I’m afraid time on my own has not helped my people skills much.”

I laugh lowly, "I think you'll find that is a common deficiency among the Striders. But if anyone in particular gives you trouble I would let the council know."

“Trust me, if anyone gives me trouble, I’ll let them know.” She brings her axe back down to grip it in both hands, punctuating her words.

I nod slowly, moving towards the fence to lean against it, "I understand. I know how tempting that course of action is."

Her dog, finally finished greeting me, returns to where he was previously resting. Myra speaks as he pads back over, "If you don’t mind the curiosity--you went for a weapon when we first met. You’re a swordsman, then?”

It always seems so hard to believe. I've long since stopped holding it against people though, so I answer plainly, "Very observant. Yes, I am trained with a sword."

She speaks with a small smile, “Well, seeing as you’re not the only one who appreciates artistry with a blade… You wouldn’t mind showing me what sort of technique you use? That is, if you don’t mind.”

"I do not mind." I answer lightly, making the short trip back to the stable to find a suitable training sword. When I find one that is slightly less abysmally balanced than the others I return to Myra, speaking as I walk, "Anything in particular you're curious about?"

“Nothing that won’t be answered in a moment. Want me to grab a training axe or do you trust me enough not to hit you?”

"I trust those wide swings, my lady." I say as a light taunt, "I don't think I should have much trouble avoiding them."

“Such confidence. We’ll see how you feel in a moment.” She says, grinning. She makes mock bow, which I return more earnestly, and continues, “Gentleman take the first swing, Markham.”

The axe head comes down once more, and I dance out of the way just in time for it to slice the space I previously occupied. Her attacks are slow, as I predicted, but she recovers from them with alarming speed, leaving little opportunity to make any meaningful strikes of my own.

"Hold a moment?" She asks through her panting, releasing her axe with one hand so she can clear the hair from her face, made wild and loose over the course of our fight. Her hound continues to watch with lazy curiosity.

I swallow down my own dry throat, "We may hold indefinitely, if it please you." The sun has almost entirely abandoned the yard, at the least allowing the sweat that had developed as I fought to cool.

She leans against the handle of her axe, the blade of it nested firmly in the dirt, “For the time being, that would please me very much. You’re far quicker than I had expected. I suppose you were right to be confident.”

Having no poled weapon of my own against which to lean, I settle for seating myself on the ground, "Truthfully I am not very agile. I simply try to be efficient. A well placed step or twist can avoid a blade as well as a leap away, only they're much quicker to accomplish."

She continues smoothing down her hair, “Admittedly, I am far more used to fighting darkspawn and beasts. The sort of things that don’t think those things through. The change of opponent is refreshing. I could learn a lot from someone with your mind.”

My hand reaches instinctively for my neck, "That is kind of you to say. I'm sure your knowledge of beasts will prove useful to the Striders as well."

“I have a proposal.” She straightens up after a moment. “Why don’t we do this again? It is nice to have someone to spar with. Might help me adapt better for a fight, if it comes to it out there.”

"It almost always does." I say, laughing. "I would be happy to oblige."

“Good. Gives me something to look forward to.”

I use the sword to brace against the ground, standing once more, "For now, I'm afraid I still have a cat to locate." I start back for the stable to return the blade before leaving, "Have a pleasant night, Lady Meraad."

“Yeah, I think I will. Pleasant evening to you as well, Markham.”

Having exhausted all of the places I could think of to locate Tel’then, I return to my room, defeated and lacking a kitten. I thought for sure he’d be outside Arlinani’s room… I walk through the threshold leading in to my room, sitting down on the mattress to remove my boots. When I find a seat, the usual groan of the bed frame is accompanied by an annoyed chirp. I turn to see Tel’then curled on my pillow, one eye half open to look at who disturbed his sleep.

Bloom in the Wastes - Part 1 ~ Bloom in the Wastes - Part 3

Tyvas's POV

12th of Bloomingtide, Evening

The axe cuts the evening light pooling across the training grounds, dust particles dancing away from the metal. As it was every evening I came out here, the training grounds were all to myself. Myself and Sigmur, at least. Beyond the hound, I had spent most my time since joining the Silent Plainstriders alone. It was easier this way--easier to avoid the stares from people I passed in the halls. Easier to fit into the routine that I had known for the past few years. Easier to face loneliness than to face those telltale looks and prejudices.

The axe slams hard into the dirt as I swing it with extra frustration, the reverberation of the hit sending a sharp spike of pain up my arms. For the first time since arriving, dancing has done little to ease my troubled mind. I sigh and pull the axe off the dirt, inspecting the blade to make sure it didn’t take on any damage. I straighten my shoulders to begin the routine once again, but the sight of Sigmur jumping to his feet catches my attention. He gives a deep bark before joyfully bounding across the training grounds. I turn my attention to where he bolts, raising eyebrows at the sight of Tyvas Van Markham standing near the entry of the old stables. The mabari nearly topples the man over in his excitement, large paws pressing on the human’s chest.

“Good evening, Lady Meraad. You haven't perchance seen a kitten, have you?" Tyvas calls out in greeting, his hand ruffling Sigmur’s fur. I swing the axe to rest comfortably on my shoulder.

“There are a few who live around here, though they usually scatter when Sigmur shows up. I get the feeling you’re looking for a particular one, however.” I say, glancing around the area. From what I can see, none of the small creatures are lurking about. “I admit, I was a bit distracted to notice kittens.”

“That's quite alright.” Tyvas replies. He glances once more around the training grounds before turning his eyes towards me once more. “And may I say that you wield your weapon with grace?"

I blink in surprise at his words, the tips of my ears suddenly feeling warm. How long was he watching me practice? I clear my throat before responding, shifting my weight to my other foot. “I, uh… appreciate that. Most people don’t see a Qunari with an axe and think to comment on how she wields her weapon.”

"I don't have many talents, but I should like to think that I can appreciate artistry of the blade, at least." He replies, his unbound hand still occupied with scratching Sigmur behind the ear. The hound’s tail thumps against the ground, his tongue lolled out. "How are you and your hound settling in?"

“Ah… as well as you could expect.” I say, brushing a strand of loose hair from my face. “I’m afraid time on my own has not helped my people skills much.” That and my temper. He gives a low chuckle in response.

"I think you'll find that is a common deficiency among the Striders. But if anyone in particular gives you trouble I would let the council know." He suggests. I give a loud laugh, shaking my head at the idea. I had spent too much time relying on myself to go pester some council with my issues.

“Trust me, if anyone gives me trouble, I’ll let them know.” I say, pulling the axe from where it rests on my shoulder and catching the handle with both hands.

"I understand. I know how tempting that course of action is." Tyvas replies as he leans against the fence. I wonder if that is directed at someone in this organization. Sigmur finally abandons his post by the man and wanders back to where he had been resting. I tilt my head to the side, recalling when I had first met the human before me.

“If you don’t mind the curiosity--you went for a weapon when we first met. You’re a swordsman, then?” I inquire, still curious as to what sort of fighting style he may use.

"Very observant. Yes, I am trained with a sword." He says. I glance down at my own weapon, inspecting it before returning my gaze to him.

“Well, seeing as you’re not the only one who appreciates artistry with a blade…” I trail off, a slight smile on my face. “You wouldn’t mind showing me what sort of technique you use? That is, if you don’t mind.” I mutter, realizing what a strange request that is.

"I do not mind." His tone is light as he replies, much to my relief. The last thing I need to do is ward off the only person I can consider a friend in this place. He wanders off to fetch one of the training swords, returning after he finds one to his liking. "Anything in particular you're curious about?"

“Nothing that won’t be answered in a moment.” I say, shifting the weight of the axe in my hands. “Want me to grab a training axe or do you trust me enough not to hit you?”

"I trust those wide swings, my lady." Tyvas jests lightly. "I don't think I should have much trouble avoiding them."

“Such confidence. We’ll see how you feel in a moment.” I say with a grin, rolling my shoulders to loosen them up. I give a mock bow, nodding my head as I tighten my grip on the handle of the axe. It has been far too long since I’ve had a suitable challenge. “Gentleman take the first swing, Markham.”

Another swing, another miss. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, the ache in my arms worse than it usually is after training in the evening. I give a soft chuckle and hold up a hand towards my sparring partner, shaking my head. “Hold a moment?” I ask, using the same hand to brush the loose white hair from my eyes. The rest of it is either horribly displaced from the sparring or tangled around my horns. Not my best look. But that was what happens when trying to hit a target that is quicker than each swing.

"We may hold indefinitely, if it please you." Tyvas replies, looking a bit winded himself. I give a breathless chuckle, planting my axe in the dirt and leaning against the handle of it.

“For the time being, that would please me very much. You’re far quicker than I had expected.” I reply, giving him an approving nod. “I suppose you were right to be confident.”

"Truthfully I am not very agile. I simply try to be efficient. A well placed step or twist can avoid a blade as well as a leap away, only they're much quicker to accomplish." He explains as he settles himself on the ground.

“Admittedly, I am far more used to fighting darkspawn and beasts. The sort of things that don’t think those things through.” I brush another strand of hair from my face, clearing my throat. “The change of opponent is refreshing. I could learn a lot from someone with your mind.”

"That is kind of you to say. I'm sure your knowledge of beasts will prove useful to the Striders as well." Tyvas replies, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. A silence falls over us as I contemplate the sparring match. Truthfully, I couldn’t recall the last time I had someone to practice with. I hadn’t really tried to talk to anyone for more than one conversation since my brother’s death. It is time to make a change.

“I have a proposal.” I say, perking up where I stand. “Why don’t we do this again? It is nice to have someone to spar with. Might help me adapt better for a fight, if it comes to it out there.”

"It almost always does." He laughs, a contagious kind that brings a smile to my face. "I would be happy to oblige."

“Good. Gives me something to look forward to.” I reply as he uses the training sword to push himself to his feet.

"For now, I'm afraid I still have a cat to locate." Tyvas says as he turns to return the practice blade, pausing to address me once more. "Have a pleasant night, Lady Meraad."

Despite myself, I give a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I think I will. Pleasant evening to you as well, Markham.”

I watch my sparring partner take his leave, the anticipation for the next match already pooling in my stomach. As if sensing my improved morale, Sigmur jumps to his feet and pads over. The dirt scatters beneath his heavy paws as he comes to a stop in front of me. I reach out a hand and ruffle the short fur on his head, smile growing at the way his ears flop from the motion. For the first time in a long time, there is actually something to look forward to.

Previous Part - Next Part

11th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

Helena's POV

I follow the mewling up the stairs, already aware of where I’d find the kitten. I’ve noticed that this late in the evening Tel’then had made a habit of complaining loudly in front of Arlinani’s room. Sure enough, when I crest to the second floor I see Tel’then planted in front of her door, crying at the doorknob that denies him entry. I walk to him, crouching down to scratch at the kitten’s neck.

“I know,” I comfort him, “I miss her too.”

I hear footsteps padding against the wood floor behind me. “Hey Tyvas,” Helena’s voice greets me, “Would you like to come for a drink, perhaps?”

I stand, and Tel’then scurries down back the stairs- headed for the kitchens, no doubt. “Thank you for offering, Lady Pentaghast,” I answer Helena, “But I should retire for the evening.”

“My name is Helena, Tyvas.” she smiles- perhaps veiling annoyance at my formality, “And the night is young, you look like you could use some good wine.”

I raise my hand up, scratching at my neck pensively, “I’m sorry, I did not realize my expression betrayed so much.” I try to return her smile, “I would be happy to drink with you.”

“Excellent. They know us well over at the Thirsty Noble.”

Music plays throughout the tavern, loud enough to be heard over the murmurings of its patrons. Helena had found us a seat, leaving me alone there while she went to grab us drinks. I look over my dimly lit surroundings, undecided if the noise helps to drown my thoughts or force me to retreat to them.

Helena returns with two tankards in her hands, “One for you, one for me.” She declares, sitting down across from me, “The waits should be bringing some potatoes soon too.”

“Thank you.” I take the tankard she offers me, sniffing at the bitter liquid. After considering the sour aroma, I decide to risk a sip. The drink stings my throat as it passes, eliciting a wet cough from me.

She laughs, taking a drink from her own cup, “There are some times when you can tell that we are nobility.”

I take another swig, this time the taste serves only to send a shiver through the muscles in my neck. “It seems there is no real escaping your heritage.” I tell her after recovering.

“I should have bought Dwarven, given the system a real shock!” She laughs loudly, “How are you feeling anyway?”

I look down to the liquid swirling in the tankard, “I’m doing fine, Lady- Helena, thank you.”

“You got it!” She reaches across the table to rub vigorously at my arm, nearly causing me to spill the drink. When she settles back to her seat, her tone is less jovial than just before, “You aren’t, Tyvas. I am sorry Arlinani left.”

“Helena, I’m not-” I stumble over the words, unsure where the statement was going before I began, “I miss her, of course, but I worry about her more than anything.”

“I know. Suledin told me she left, but not why. The pair leaving doesn’t bode well.”

“It is… family business,” I take another chug of the drink in my hand, “Beyond that, I am not sure it is my place to say, forgive me.”

“It is okay, family business is horrible. Right?” She raises her tankard high, inviting a toast.

I match her cup with my own between the table, the impact echoing between us, “To say the least.”

She laughs dryly, “So, how are you actually feeling? Sad, angry?”

“It’s strange,” I drain the tankard of its last dregs, “To think that a few short months ago she was a stranger to me, and now, without her I feel…” I sigh, still unable to articulate the emotion.

She does it for me, “Numb, dull, empty. Like you’re missing some part of yourself that you didn’t know existed.” She reaches across once more to pat my arm.

A noiseless chuckle erupts from my throat, “It’s silly of me. I’ll see her again, eventually.”

“At least you will.” She looks to the window, expression contemplative and longing,“It isn’t silly. You’re sad. More ale? Or maybe some wine? And finally, potatoes.” As if summoned by her, the waitress places the meal between us, and Helena wastes no time to scoop one up.

I retrieve a potato for myself, “The food should be enough, thank you.”

“Nonsense!” Before I can object further she gets up suddenly from her seat, returning shortly after with two bottles of wine and sets one in front of me. I turn my head to read the label: ‘The Crown of the Lion Sauvignon Blanc.’

“Maker,” I breathe, “You don’t expect me to drink all of that, do you?”

“Oh, yes I can. Cheers.”

I follow Helena back out on to the street, unsure if her wobbling in my sight is on account of hers or my own drunkenness. I tried to resist, but she was quite insistent that I keep drinking.

“Hey Tyvas!” She calls out, “Why don’t I take you somewhere else? It always cheers me up.”

I rub at my eyes, the humid night air only adding to my drowsiness, “Perhaps it would be best if we…” I forget quickly what I intended to say, mind muddled by drink. Maker, this is embarrassing. “Alright, lead the way, Lady Pentaghast.”

She smirks, and takes us through a few city streets. We arrive swiftly at a building similar to the tavern we just left. Helena pushes open the door leading inside, “Come on in.”

When I step in, I am not prepared for what greets me. Over the noise of foreign music, half clothed people wander the hot room, taking various customers by the hand and leading them to more private places. Unfortunately, not all of them bother with privacy.

“Helena…” I take a step back towards the door, “What are we doing here?”

“Come on!” She pulls me back in.

Before I can respond, a woman recognizes Helena and wanders over to where we are, “Ah. I see you bought a friend.” She remarks, “What does he require?”

Embarrassment closes my throat, and I choke out my next words, “Nothing! I-”

“It’s okay, I can leave if you like.” Helena’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, and she forces a few cold coins into my palm. She walks away, leaving me alone with the woman who expects an answer from me.

“I’m sorry, I need to…” I turn away from the woman, making for the door again. Helena catches me before I can leave, grabbing me and sitting me down in a booth. My addled brain prevents me from protesting.

Helena speaks further with the mistress of the brothel, but I can’t hear them over the pounding in my own head. What am I doing here? Are the only words in my mind.

I’m not sure how much time passes before a blonde woman saunters over, her attire marking her as one of the employees here. She says something too, but I still can’t hear the words. When she makes a move for where I sit, straddling across my lap, I finally snap into a more full awareness.

I take her by the shoulders, gently moving her off of me and to the side. I stand up, shaking my head, half for communication and half to try and clear my head some.

“Where you going, love?” She asks from my previous place on the couch.

“Ah…” I blink rapidly, head still shaking, “Thank you, it was lovely to meet you.” I stand awkwardly before I remember the coins Helena had given me, still in my hand. I offer them to the woman, who takes them after eyeing me with concern on her face. I nod sharply, trying hard to keep my vision straight, and make another move for the door, hopefully for the last time.

I make it out of the stuffy room, the evening air marginally cooler than inside. After a few paces I hear Helena behind me, hand on my shoulder.

“Already?” She asks, “Actually, I’m sorry. It works for me when I need to forget.”

“Let’s just…” Dark swirls begin encroaching on my vision, “Let’s just…” There’s a sudden rush of air, and a pain on my side. When the darkness clears from my eyes, I’m surprised to be greeted by Helena’s feet, with dirt pressing up against my cheek.

I can hear Helena yell something, and see her hand pass through my vision. I reach out to grab at it, pulling on her tensed arm so that I can stand myself up.

“Let’s just head back, okay?” I finally finish the thought.

“Ok.” She lets me lean against her for the walk, a journey that I won’t remember in the morning.

[Part 6] (http://www.reddit.com/r/Plainstriders/comments/343mlx/deception_part_6/)

[Tyvas' POV] (http://www.reddit.com/r/Plainstriders/comments/34sae4/relinquish_part_v/)

[Suggested Listening] (http://youtu.be/qVv9vTd7hSI)

11th of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

I gathered the paperwork I needed for Felix from the council room. We needed to replace Arlinani in the interim, and he really was the best candidate. I had not told him of his new position, but I knew he would be excited to become “Ambassador Pentaghast”.

It had only been nine days since Arlinani’s departure, and I was actually missing the girl, even her red-headed sister. They might not consider me friend, but their presence was felt throughout the mansion. It was difficult. Despite Suledin's constant reassurances that the pair would come back, both in one piece, I could not help but despair that they would live out their lives with the Dalish, away from the constant stress of the Plainstriders, or come back in a wooden box, ready for burial. It would almost be cruel to hope for more.

Closing the door of the Council Room behind me, I spotted Tyvas at Arlinani’s door, playing with one of those feral mongrels that I had heard Samahlen rescued. I swear my nose has been blocked since they came, bloody flea bags. I thought with a sniffle. Looking up, I noticed the poor man sigh, his face weary.

“Hey, Tyvas.” I greeted him softly, “Would you like to come for a drink, perhaps?”

He turned to me, face grey and lined, “Thank you for offering, Lady Pentaghast, but I should retire for the evening.”

“My name is Helena, Tyvas.” I smiled at him, leaning against the wall, “And the night is young, you look like you could use some good wine.”

Tyvas scratched the back of his neck, a contemplative look on “I’m sorry, I did not realize my expression betrayed so much. I would be happy to drink with you.”

“Excellent.” I replied, “They know us well over at the Thirsty Noble.

The tavern was nearly full, a small Dwarven band entertaining us from the corner of the room. I managed to find a wooden booth for Tyvas and I, then disappeared to buy two of the largest tankards of ale.

“One for you, one for me.” I said, handing the man his drink. “The waits should be bringing some potatoes soon too.”

“Thank you.” He said, sniffing the cup as if I had given him poison. I gave him an encouraging smile, and he downed it, eliciting a large cough.

I laughed, “There are some times when you can tell that we are nobility.” I smirked, then drank a bit of my own sour sludge, resisting the urge to cough myself. Wine. Wine is so much sweeter.

Tyvas tried to drink again, his expression betraying the burning sensation in his throat. “It seems there is no real escaping your heritage.”

Giggling loudly, I replied, “I should have bought Dwarven, given the system a real shock!” I laughed a little at his horrified expression, and continued. “How are you feeling anyway?”

He looked down at the tankard, watery eyes betraying his sadness, “I’m doing fine, Lady- Helena, thank you.”

“You got it!” I called excitedly, giving his arm an enthusiastic rub. With a sad smile, I calmed, continuing my line of questioning. “You aren’t Tyvas. I am sorry Arlinani left.”

“Helena, I’m not-” He began, confusion crossing his brow, “I miss her, of course, but I worry about her more than anything.”

I nodded sadly, “I know. Suledin told me she left, but not why. The pair leaving doesn’t bode well.” At all.

“It is… family business,” He said with a swig, “Beyond that, I am not sure it is my place to say, forgive me.” Family business? They are not coming home. I thought, my heart sinking in fear and despair.

“It is okay,” I replied, with a small smile, hoping to mask my fear for the girls, “Family business is horrible. Right?” I asked, lifting my tankard in a toast.

Tyvas bought his tankard up, the sound of the toast echoing, “To say the least.”

I gave a hollow laugh, “So, how are you actually feeling? Sad, angry?”

“It’s strange,” He replied, draining the last dregs of his tankard, Good job Highborn. I can make a man from you yet. “To think that a few short months ago she was a stranger to me, and now, without her, I feel…”

“Numb, dull, empty.” I finished for him, my voice flat and lifeless, “Like you’re missing some part of yourself that you didn’t know existed.” The hole in my heart wrenched open, and I sighed, leaning over to pat Tyvas’ arm.

“It’s silly of me. I’ll see her again, eventually.” He replied, voice strained with misplaced hope.

He probably won’t, but is it my place to say? I sighed, staring towards the window, “At least you will.” Unlike Lucy. Coming back to Thedas, I gave Tyvas my best attempt at a comforting smile, “It isn’t silly. You’re sad. More ale? Or maybe some wine? And finally, potatoes.” I said, giving the waitress a smile of thanks. I took one of the cheese and meat covered wedges, and ate it, offsetting the funny feeling of the ale.

Tyvas also took one, an amused smile on his face, “The food should be enough, thank you.”

“Nonsense!” I called, jumping up from my seat. I returned with two bottles of The Crown of the Lion Sauvignon Blanc and placed one in front of Tyvas, followed by a glass.

“Maker,” he breathed, the corners of his mouth down turned in despair, “You don’t expect me to drink all of that, do you?”

“Oh, yes I can. Cheers.” I said, raising my bottle in a toast.

We stumbled out into the cool desert night, both unable to walk straight. Suddenly, a thought hit me, one which I blurted: “Hey Tyvas! Why don’t I take you somewhere else? It always cheers me up.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we…” He began, rubbing his eyes. I smiled wickedly, knowing his response would change. After a moment, he gave in, “Alright, lead the way, Lady Pentaghast.”

I lead him through the alleys, straight to the Adventurer’s Sheath. “Come on in.” I said to him with a silly waggle of my eyebrows. I pushed the door open to a room similar to the tavern, albeit smaller. Women and men in skimpy clothing walked around, tending to customers, leading many of them to the back rooms for extra "services". The madam and bartenders stood behind the bar, serving the best drinks they could source to the highest paying customers. The music was quite different- Antivan, if I recalled correctly, much spicier, fitting the feel of the rotten yet sensual establishment.

“Helena…” Tyvas said, stepping back towards the door, “What are we doing here?”

I took his shoulder and pulled him further inside, “Come on!”

The brothel madam chose that moment to come over. “Ah. Helena. I see you bought a friend. What does he require?”

Tyvas’ face turned red with embarrassment, “Nothing! I-”

“It’s okay.” I said to him, with a smile to the Madam, “I can leave if you would like.” I pressed a few sovereigns into his hand, and wandered over to the bar. My eyes ran over the scantily clad women dancing about, humans, elves, dwarves, tempted to take one to bed. Pangs of guilt, however, ravaged my stomach, the memory of Abassi and her warm, light touch, making it easier not to stray. I should have invited her, she might have enjoyed tonight. I thought regretfully, staring at the green and brown bottles of liquor lined along the back wall.

I ordered a glass of Orlesian wine, and then noticed the poor boy trying to leave. I raced back over, and placed the stumbling man into a booth. “How about a lap dance?” I suggested, the Madam pursing her lips to choose who would do it, “Just no red-headed Elves.” I said quickly, patting poor Tyvas on the shoulder.

She called over a blonde human girl from Orlais, who smiled widely at Tyvas, and sauntered over, hips swaying to the slowed Antivan beat. Straddling his body, she began to move gracefully, like a dancer. I gave a discrete cough, and politely looked away from the pair. After a very short time, I noticed my companion leaving. Panicked, I finished my glass of wine, and quickly rose to follow him, mumbling my thanks.

Dashing out into the street, I caught up with the man, “Already?” I asked with a small laugh. I stopped when I saw his face, twisted with pain and longing. "Actually, I’m sorry. It works for me when I need to forget.”

“Let’s just.” Tyvas began, clutching his side, “Let’s just…” SLAM.

“Tyvas!” I yelled. The warrior had landed at my feet, face planted firmly into the ground. I knelt down, and offered him my hand to get back up.

“Let’s just head back, okay?” He finished soberly.

“Okay.” I muttered, letting him lean on me the whole way back to headquarters.

Prologue - Part 2 ~ Bloom in the Wastes - Part 2

8th of Bloomingtide

She called it dancing when I was a child. The graceful movement of her body as she took each planned step, swinging the sword with her as though it were an extension of her arm. I would watch with the sort of a fascination only a child could muster. Every move was balanced, a seamless transition between each pose. Even as a child, I knew it was the sort of routine that had been perfected over years of practice.

Watching her hair whip with each spin, the way her body moved in a fluid motion--I knew I wanted to be a dancer, just like her.

It was my mother who first taught me how to hold a weapon. A mere stick at that age, but it was enough to get me used to having an object in my palms. An extension of your body. That is how it was described to me. And so I studied her every evening when she would dance. I memorized every footfall, every turn, every thrust of the weapon into the emptiness of the air.

I soon began to join her, standing off to the side and cautiously attempting to mimic the moves. I was slow and clumsy in comparison. A rock tumbling down a hill versus an stream of water. But she was encouraging and patient. She explained that knowing the beauty behind a weapon--that was the key to surviving. Understanding that it was more than just for blood or protection. It was an artform, crafted over hundreds of years and passed down generation to generation. Understand the motions behind it and you will understand what it means to fight.

She went down fighting. Whether the dance was a beautiful when she trained, I could not say. I did not witness the final stand of my parents. Their sacrifice had given my brother and me time to flee. The dance changed after that. It was fueled no longer by peace of mind, but why anger. It was a brutal routine, harsh and unforgiving. But I continued to practice, even if the core of it was all gone. After Sigmur died, I stopped practicing. What good was this fool’s chore if those who practiced it kept dying? I was bitter and lost, alone in the hostile country I called home.

It took one close call on a job to make me realize the errors of my way. I had grown sloppy, fueled by my own emotions rather than the intuition and fluidity of battle. After everything my family had sacrificed, I owed them more than to be controlled by poor attitude. Every evening, I go through the motions. I follow the steps of my mother, moving to the same silent rhythm of a wardrum.

That is why I find myself in a dusty old stable this very evening, inspecting the training grounds that these Silent Plainstriders have within their possession. The space is… modest, but not without perks. Plenty of space for multiple patrons to practice. A variety of equipment leans against one of the long walls--everything from training dummies to practice swords. For an organization such as this, it is a well-equipped space. Dust floats across a stream of light that cuts through a hole in the wall. A bird coos from the lofted space above the dirt floor, nested away from sight. I had even seen some kittens scrambling about outside the building. It is a quaint place. Quiet and comfortable. Peaceful. It will do.

With a dull thud, I set my axe against a wall in order to properly stretch. The deep purple fabric that crosses over my breasts pulls taut as my arms reach above my head. I pull a deep breath into my lungs, letting it sit for a silent moment before exhaling. For some reason, this evening I find myself increasingly impatient to get to practicing. I am still not accustomed to being in one place for so long, and even less so when most the inhabitants remain strangers. Dancing brings me peace in a place where I am not entirely at ease.

I reacquaint myself with my axe, lifting it with both hands on the handle and making my way to the center of the building. I scan the building to be sure I am entirely alone, though the only pair of eyes are meet are that of Sigmur. He lays at the far end of the space, tongue lolled out as he keeps an eye on me. Over-protective hound… I return to my task at hand, tightening my grip on the axe before the dance begins.

The first step is forward on my left foot, axe pressed against an invisible foe as I move. Memory turns me to my right, feet spinning around each other as the axe flows. It arcs across the empty space, cutting the light and the dust. The momentum of the axe carries me back around full circle, my arms bracing the weapon and slowing the assault. I control the flow of it--an extension of myself. I grip the handle tighter as I twirl the axe above me, the blade barely missing my curved horns. The metal comes down towards the ground, stopping short of the dirt as my arms tense and hold it in place. My left foot dances forward as I guide the axe through the air in as diagonal motion. As the right foot follows, the blade mirrors the previous swing.

And so it continues--a balanced dance between my core and the extension of myself. Each move is ingrained in my bones, a pattern that I couldn't break even if I desired. By the time I bring the dance to a halt, my chest is heaving as my lungs try to catch breath. A sheen of sweat covers my exposed arms and midriff. My hair clings to the nape of my neck. Pieces of it hang in my face, undone from the ribbon that originally held it in place. Dust and dirt dances across the floor, settling after being disturbed by my footwork. I take a moment to appreciate the serenity of it all, closing my eyes to live in this moment.

[Part 5] (http://www.reddit.com/r/Plainstriders/comments/343lif/deception_part_5/)

[Suggested Listening] (http://www.thehothits.com/video/missy-higgins/curse-on-you/981677)

2nd of Bloomingtide, 9:40 Dragon

I twirled in the mirror, the horror of my appearance written on my face. The putrid [yellow and purple dress] (http://imgur.com/Hh6lTnS), one of the few suitable I could find for this morning tea on short notice, made me look like a literal cream cake-complete with icing.

"Ugh." I muttered, lifting up the shell shaped corset, "How am I meant to sit around all day in this?"

“Well, you could just take it off. Make the party much more interesting.” Abassi suggested flirtatiously from the corner.

I turned towards Abassi, giving her a small smile, "Perhaps I could." I leant in for a kiss, and picked up my matching straw hat, band adorned with purple roses. "I wish I did not have to go."

“You should have taken me. You never take me anywhere nice.” She said, giving me a mock pout.

"I would love to take you." I murmured, voice low. I gave her another kiss, and placed the hat on her head. "We could cause quite the scandal."

“As much as I love this hat, I do have some things to do; unfortunately they’re not you.” She replied, lifting the hat from her head.

"Aww. Unfortunately I can say the same." I pouted. As she got up to leave, I gave her one last kiss, squeezing her hand in goodbye. I sighed, it was nice to have someone for comfort, to hold. The nights felt a little less lonely and sad.

Looking at the clock, I knew it was time to go as well. I placed the hat firmly on my head, and left to meet the carriage.

As usual, Lady Celeste Pentaghast's high tea was one of extreme decadence. Tables laden with sweets and various varieties of tea scattered the garden, sun lounges dotted in groups around them. Thinking of the refugees in the Alienage, and the poor, starving peasants, the sight angered me. My ridiculous dress fit in well amongst the others, ladies strutting about like golden peacocks.

Lady Celeste herself was barely twenty-five and tiny, wearing a gold and black dress which dwarfed her lithe frame. "Lady Helena." She curtsied, fan in hand, "It was lovely of you to come."

I curtsied in return, a fake smile to cover my frustration, "Why, thank you, Lady Celeste. It was lovely to receive the invitation."

"Well, you caused quite a buzz at the Pentaghast's ball. Bringing elves on stage, such a charitable and novel idea."

My cheeks burned. How would she feel if she knew she had just curtsied to a half-breed? "Ah, yes." I replied simply, "They can be fantastic musicians. Their talent is almost innate."

"Such a shame they have to waste it." She tutted. "I see you are wearing yellow, you look utterly radiant."

More like I have yellow fever and might die. "Thank you Lady Celeste, as do you. May you please direct me to the donation bowl? I should like to give my donation." She pointed me towards a table at the back of the garden, and curtsied her goodbye.

I walked up to give my donation, and sat on a cushioned sun lounge, close to a group of Von Sloot girls.

"- I heard one got the Eyes in the thigh. A clean shot." Tatiana whispered, glancing around the garden.

"It's a shame it did not die. An absolute stain on her family." Stefania, the matriarch, murmured, fanning herself. "To think, with the death of her mother. She would be ashamed."

Tatiana hushed the group, with a pointed look at me. I took no heed, taking a shortcake from the tray of a Chantry man. "Thank you." I said to him, his acknowledgement in the form of a nod.

It was their conversation which made me realise that I was in hostile territory. They knew who I was, and they wanted to kill me. I should have bought Abassi. We could set them on fire before they do the same to me. I thought regretfully, ice forming over my hand.

I stood, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling, and picked a cup of tea from a tray. Pinkie out, sipping the tea, I surveyed the gardens. Most girls were in family groups, the matriarch in the middle. A pointed look from Lady Victoria Pentaghast told me that I was unwelcome with the women in my family, or perhaps they were talking about me. Frustratingly, all of my Elven agents had been replaced with Chantry brothers and sisters, none of whom were beholden to me.

For the first time since I took my seat in the council, I did not know what was going on.

"Good morning." A silky voice whispered, approaching me from behind.

I turned to greet her, "Good morning Lady Van Markham, I trust you are well?" I curtsied, a small smile on my face.

"Why, yes. You are a lovely sight." [Hera] (http://imgur.com/ErmpZza) flirted, flicking her long black hair with her fingers.

I blushed involuntarily, a scowl almost crossing my face. "Why, thank you."

"Come." She beckoned, taking my hand. With a frown, I took it, following her around the corner behind a group of greenhouses.

"Hera-" I started, but I was interrupted by her lips crashing against mine. As it broke, I looked into her dark brown eyes, lusty and bright. It was tempting to continue, unlace her dress, write it off as “Working”- Abassi might not even mind; but her voice that morning, teasing and light, floated through my mind, the warmth of her hand as I tugged it goodbye. I took a deep breath and started, "I am sorry Hera. No. I- I cannot do this."

"No?" She asked, menace in her voice.

“No.” I repeated, voice laced with regret.

Strangled laughter left Hera’s mouth, as she pushed me against the wall of the greenhouse. Arm pinning me, she started. “Really? Is this all for some rabbit? I know who you are, Plainstrider.” She spat the insult.

I quickly froze her arm, and pushed her back. “As do I, Talon.” She reached for a thigh holster, and I paralysed her completely. “Dual daggers and poison, right? Well, Hera. Would you like to die here?”

“I won’t.” She spat, her body still incapacitated.

“You’re not doing a very good job of fighting, are you?” I asked, rubbing the mark from her hand on my neck. She has done better than I might have thought. She scowled, struggling against her restraints. “I will regret this, but I will let you leave alive, if you do the same for me. Have we struck a deal?”

“Fine.” She growled. “I doubt your word, however.”

“I would not kill you today.” I clarified with a lofty nod. I re-paralysed her. “I will be gone in less than two minutes, as will those bonds. Goodbye Hera.”

I walked back to the party, barely looking at the scowling girl. As I entered the garden I heard mutters, and cries of horror. They must think I have left her for dead. I quickly curtsied to Lady Celeste, “Thank you for having me, it was a lovely morning. The shortcakes were delicious.” I quipped with a smile. I then ran from the party, icy hands outstretched.

Godic leaned against the fence to the mansion, his dark complexion lined with stress. “The Ambassador’s gone.”

Shocked, I almost dropped the pretty sponge cake I bought for Abassi. “What?”

“She left this morning, with her sister. They’re off to The Free Marches, given the road they're on." He continued, playing with the handle of his war axe. “I’ve asked Ash to follow them. Alex hasn’t been able to get much out of the poor messenger boy. Something about a letter from home.”

I nodded thoughtfully, a scowl on my face, “I will speak to him later. Are Garnus and Suledin aware?”

“Suledin was seen with the sister earlier, I’m not sure about the Coinmaster.”

“Really?” I asked, my mouth set in a thin line. They did not even bother to say goodbye. Suledin did not even bother to give me some warning. I thought, a small pang in the bottom of my stomach. I cared for both girls, thought they might even be friends. Obviously not. “I will set up a meeting. Could you get me the pair? Thank you.” I finished with a nod, striding up the stairs, into the mansion.

[Part 4] (http://www.reddit.com/r/Plainstriders/comments/32j7y8/deception_part_4/)

[Suggested Listening] (http://youtu.be/QGIffWr-fH4)

30th of Cloudreach, 9.40 Dragon

"Dear Viper,

Our search has bought me to the top of Nevarra. We have managed to find a Talons safe house, loosely associated with the Five Belles. We ransacked it, but most people escaped. The others were useless.

Due to the element of surprise, we retrieved quite a few files. The majority of the Nevarran ones are with us, we have found your Healers files too. I also found a scrap of a file on the floor, left during their escape. It mentioned a woman named Lucy, but it appeared she died at the White Spire. I do not know if that information is important to you. Yours weren't there.

There was other Talons information too, including the names of our people and many maps. I'm bringing everything I can on the next caravan.

Keep well,

Nug."

"Kinta's in Nessum?" I muttered, marking it on my map. The files from the Circle of Magi had made it further than I would have thought. A small part of me felt relieved, Selena's papers had been found, she might be safe, and Alexandra's files may have been too. We struck a blow against a major enemy, yet I felt heavy, head fogged with anger. My papers were gone, and they had Lucy’s. What do they want with Lucy’s papers? What are they playing at? I thought angrily, quill stabbing through my paper.

My neck and back ached, a symptom of far too much stress. Glancing towards the bed, I remembered the lazy morning and Abassi's soft, warm touch. "Where is she when I need her? I could desperately use a massage." I muttered to myself, one hand rubbing the back of my neck. I was considering finding her, and a pot of tea, when I heard a small knock.

I looked up from my next piece of mail, a High Tea invitation to see Felix leaning against the door frame, a bashful smile on his face. “Status report.” I barked, ushering him into my office.

“Ah. I really love having you back Helena.” He greeted me sarcastically, hand over his heart.

I replied sharply, “I never left.”

“True. True.” He muttered apologetically, taking the seat across from my desk. “I’ve been investigating the Talons, and you are right. Hera seems to be the weakest link from the list that you gave me. We had coffee just the other day in the High Quarter- she misses you by the way. Mentioned you at least twice.”

“Well, what can you say, I am unforgettable.” I snarked, tone deadpan.

Felix laughed loudly. “That you are, my dear. Anyway, I did not ask her about her involvement with the group outright, just listened to her natter for three hours about her life. She mentioned Victor Pentaghast quite often, along with quite a few others, I have put them in a list.” He handed me a sheet of paper, and I scanned it quickly, before placing it in my drawer.

“Thank you Felix.” I replied sincerely.

Felix gave me a wide smile, “So, how is your life? I’ve heard about you and Oda Creators!” He cried in a mocking tone, “I didn’t know your belief in the Elven gods extended to sex.”

I ignored his childish behavior and gave him a warning look. “Will you be at Lady Celeste’s high tea?” I asked, lifting the invitation at him.

“No, sadly, females only apparently. You have to wear yellow. Support the Chantry.”

“Ugh.” I uttered, shaking my head, “How about Lady Stefania’s Spring Gala?”

“Oh, yes.” Felix replied, a hint of excitement in his voice, “I honestly cannot wait. She always has the most beautiful garden. Oh my! The food is delicious. Stuffed pheasant eggs!” With a glance towards my sullen, disinterested expression, he stopped. “Well, I mean, if we are to work, we may as well enjoy ourselves.”

“How many commoners could we feed with that?” I asked, hanging my head in my hands, “They are so willing to waste so much coin, on food that will be wasted by people whose power is wasted.”

“But is it truly wasted Helena? There must be other nobles, like us, campaigning for the commoners, equality.” Felix said quietly. “We can try to find them.” Hands on his knees, he stood. “I must leave, it was nice catching up- Cousin.”

I smiled at him, “The same to you.”

He walked towards the door, stopping suddenly at the frame. “Also, Helena. There is something I need to tell you.” He turned around with a sigh, his face was lined, anxious, “Your father. He’s ill. It’s the ice death.”

My heart stopped in my throat. “He’s dying?” I asked, my voice strangled.

“I’m sorry.” Felix replied.

An icy sheet clouded my face, “Why would I care for his death? Shallow, vindictive bastard.”

Felix gave me a shallow smile, hurt in his eyes, “That’s the Helena spirit. I wish you well.”

I kept the icy smile until he left, and closed my office door. My heart then sank as I sat back down, I could not say that I cared for the man, but he was my father.

The ice death was common in Orlais, but never in Nevarra. The cold came, creeping on the person, blocking their nose and lungs, cutting off blood flow to the limbs. It was me. I thought, looking at my cool, cold hands, capable of killing my own father. I could not cry, I did not want to cry, but I still felt numb, nerves strained and strung. I did not know why I was upset, the fat pig tried to kill me first, and I had killed so many others for far less.

But he is your family. Said a small voice in my mind. My blood, my Nevarran complexion, my height, even my disgustingly soft stomach and hips, they all came from him. I shook those thoughts from my mind. I did not have family, nor did I need it. Family died with Lucy.

Shaking, I reached for my mug. I needed something, but I did not want wine. Not today. I got up to walk to the door, but my legs were heavy and my mind felt light. I sank to the ground, my mug tumbling along the carpet, and there I sat. I could not think, I could not cry, I could not even feel.

There I stayed, for nearly an hour, until Godic came and put me to bed.

Sin - Part 6 ~ Sin - Part 8

16th of Bloomingtide

What am I doing here?

I watch the grass press under my feet as I walk, lips pressed hard together. My hand itches to grab Falon, hold it close to ward off anyone who may prey on me being alone. Why did I come alone? The thought had been nagging me since I took the horse with me earlier in the day. To face the Dalish alone... foolish. But this is something I must do by myself.

My hands clench and unclench with each step that brings me closer. The path from where we hid the horses each day had become a familiar tangle of trees and brush. I no longer need a guide to get me to the collection of tents. Whether that is a comfort or not, I cannot decide. I catch the distant scent of campfire smoke as I draw closer, nose twitching.

There are eyes on me when I cross from the cover of the trees into the camp itself. The stares have been lessened with each passing visit--but that was when Arli was with me. This time, the stares linger, unwavering as I make my way further into the camp. I keep the mask tightly in place as I meet each gaze with narrowed eyes. Just get to Atisha. I keep my pace steady, eyes straight ahead of me.

Something moves to block my path, my hands immediately landing on the hilt of both daggers as my eyes snap upwards. Andraste’s tits, is that… I blink in surprise at the once familiar face looking down at me, pointed ears jutting out from rich brown hair that is cropped short. His soft brown eyes are narrowed with skepticism, one thick eyebrow raised upwards. His face is covered in matte green tattoos--the ones that represent June, if I recall correctly. I take an involuntary step back, sucking in a quick breath.

“Samahlen.” The elf says, his voice far deeper than I remember from my youth. My eyebrow drops as I fish for his name.

“Geven?” I finally say, shifting my head to the side as I look him over. He is far… taller than I remember. Thirteen years apart will do that. He gives a slight nod, hands dipped in his pockets as he continues to look down on me. Something about that look… it makes my jaw tense. “You look well.”

“You’re still just as short.” He says simply. A smirk tugs at my lips as I give a nonchalant shrug.

“Yeah, well, I had genetics going against me.” I say. I make a move to walk around him, but he easily shifts back in front of my path. Seriously? I give an aggravated sigh and look up towards him once more, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re looking for another makeout session in the bushes, I have to apologize. Not really my style anymore.”

His eyes darken as his face distorts in anger. Must not want to be reminded of sucking face with a harellan. The smirk on my face grows as he continues to glare. “I--no. I am not looking for that.” He hisses. I chuckle to myself, satisfied by his lack of composure.

“In that case, I’m going to walk past you now. Lovely catching up.” I say cheerily, making another move to get around him. This time he reaches out and catches me by the shoulder, giving me a light shove backwards to stop him. I bounce back in surprise, one hand curling into a fist as I look up at him. I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.

“You and your sister do not belong here.” He spits, venom thick in his voice. “You are a harellan, unworthy of our hospitality. Especially as you parade around wearing a mockery of the vallaslin. And you sister--”

“Mind your tone, Geven.” I growl, cutting him off. “Talk ill of me all you like, but I will not stand by and allow you to insult Arlinani.”

“People say she is with a filthy human.” Geven continues. My heart is thudding in my ears, jaw clenched as the anger continues to grow. “And that she is carrying a half-bred disgrace.”

“The only disgrace here are those who would find an unborn child a despicable thing.” I say through my teeth. I straighten my posture, knuckles white as I glare at him. “I suggest you move. Unless you want me to hurt you.”

He raises his eyebrows for a moment, as though estimating how serious I might be. His eyes dance from my feet to my eyes, scrutinizing my expression. The moment lingers, a tense silence beyond my own heartbeat filling my head. His chest heaves, a heavy breath in his throat. I half-expect him to turn and move to the side. Instead, the bastard opens his mouth.

“Your sister is nothing more than a shemlen’s whore. You bo--” I’m not sure what else he has to say--I don’t wait to hear it. I cut him off as I launch my fist into his gut with as much emotion behind it as I can muster. His eyes go wide in shock and pain, the air moving swiftly out of his throat as he doubles over. I don’t wait for him to overcome the shock of my attack, using a swift kick to knock out his knee. His tall form hits the ground with some force. I curl my fists with a snarl, ready to pounce on his fallen form and slam my fists into his smug face. But something falls on my shoulder--a gentle hand. I turn swiftly, ready to fight off whomever else wishes to interfere, but the face looking down at me stops me mid-action.

“Still picking fights, Sammy?” The woman says, the ever present dark circles drawing my eyes to her own soft grey ones. Her pale, pointed ears poke out from the thick black hair that cascades over her shoulders. She even has the same pouting expression that never leaves her face. The breath in my lungs seems to leave me as I look at her. A kind smile warms her face as she looks at me, no doubt amused by my stunned expression.

“D-Don’t talk to that harellan, Temyra.” Geven manages to spit out from where he lays on the ground, fire still in his voice. Her eyes shift sharply, the expression on her face immediately dropping to one of disdain. It is almost eerie how quickly it changes.

“Geven.” Temyra mutters, looking down upon him. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your poison to yourself?”

“How can you be okay with them being here?” Geven growls, pushing himself to his feet. I turn quickly, hands still in fists.

“I thought I told you to cram it.” I hiss. Temyra places her hand once more on my shoulder, moving herself between the two of us before either can attack the other.

“You can’t seriously be protecting these traitorous whores!” Geven shouts, drawing even more attention to our quarrel.

“Tell me, Geven…” Temyra starts, sounding almost amused. “What was the name of that girl near Treviso? Katherine?” Geven’s expression immediately drops, eyes wide with surprise. I can feel the smirk returned to my face, tugging away the frustrated expression from before.

“I… I uh, don’t know…”

“Sure you do. Brunette girl, worked at the tavern…” Temyra folds her arms. “Human.”

The color from his face drains almost immediately, eyes shifting around to see who had heard. He doesn’t even honor her a response, making a break for anywhere but by us. Temyra’s easy laugh follows him as he scurries away, her eyes shining with amusement. A sigh of relief escapes my lips, hands uncurling.

“Is he always this awful?” I mutter as I watch his back move away.

“I think it gets worse with age.” Temyra responds. She looks around the camp, brows furrowing at the others who look our direction. I follow her gaze, pressing my lips together in a hard line.

“As much as I would love to sit here and have everyone stare…” I start to say, smirking. “Let’s find somewhere a little less public to chat, yeah?”

She gives a slight nod, locks of black hair bouncing as she does. With a wave of her hand, she begins to wander towards the far end of the camp. I have to keep a fast pace to follow her long strides. Though, the view from behind isn’t half bad. Were her legs always this slender? Maker’s breath… I give her an appreciative glance over.

“I was never entirely convinced you walked behind me just because you had shorter legs.” Temyra chimes from in front of me. I glance up in alarm, her eyes looking back at me. Ah, shit. She gives a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“But still just as charming, right? Makes up for it.” I respond with a smirk. She simply leans her head back as she walks, eyes on the trees above us. A surprisingly comfortable silence fills the time as we move. Even after not seeing her for so long, it feels like… like it did when I was still here. Comfortable and easy. It never felt like I had to be anyone else when I was around her. There is a sense of longing in my chest as I study her back, reminded of one of the few things that made me happy when I was still among these people. I soft sigh escapes my lips, looking away from her as we walk. Nostalgia and pain. That is all I can expect from whatever conversation we’ll have. Thirteen years…

We distance ourselves from the root of the camp, traveling beyond prying eyes. The forest surrounds us once more, rustling leaves replacing children playing and elves chattering. We always used to run from camp. A pain twists my stomach at the memories. The way her face would mask with a ghost of a smile when I intertwined my hand with hers. The soft feel of her fingers tracing my lips, grey eyes sharp with focus. The urgency in her actions as she pulls me against her--

“Lost in your head again?” The Temyra of here and now says. I snap my gaze to meet her own, craning my neck to look up at her. There is a comforting smile on her face, a curious look in her eyes as she watches me.

“It is just strange, being back here, y’know?” I start to say, my voice soft. “Thirteen years without seeing each other and we waltz back into the forest like…”

“Like nothing ever changed.” She finishes the thought for me, moving towards a tree and leaning her back against it. I chuckle quietly, the sound feeling hollow in my chest.

“But things did change, Temyra.” I respond, her name making the pain in my stomach twist again. “I’m surprised you never left.”

“Yeah… I never did have your guts.” Temyra says with a quiet laugh. A silence fills the air between us, my eyebrows furrowing as I study her expression. She looks far too content considering how we left things. Especially after everything we had been through… Her careless smile begins to make my hands clench, frustration mounting as I study how casually she seems to be handling this. Did she not understand how much she had wounded me when she refused to come with me? You don’t toy with someone’s heart like that, even as a kid.

“You always said you hated it here, that you would never be happy… but you stayed.” I try to keep my voice steady, frustration building under my skin.

“My family--”

“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?” I cut her off sternly. She stammers in surprise, her eyebrows pressing down as her expression darkens.

“I had every right to say no.” Temyra says defiantly. I give a soft laugh, folding my arms as the bitterness fuels my words.

“Yeah, you did. But don’t try to pin it on loyalty to your family.” I narrow my eyes, nostrils flaring as she looks back with the same icy stare. “You despised your family--the last thing you wanted was to stay with them. So why don’t you stop hiding behind them as to why you stayed behind? After thirteen years, I at least expected the truth.”

“I had my reasons.” She responds with an attempt at nonchalance, though it comes off as stiff. I pause as I wait for her to continue, but my expectations are met with silence.

“That’s it? That is all you have to say?” I start with disbelief. A scoff escapes my lips as I throw my hands up, turning away and pacing. “I can’t believe it…” I mutter to myself. From the corner of my eyes, Temyra pushes herself off the tree she leans upon.

“What do you want me to say? That I should’ve gone with you? That I still care about you?” She says with an incredulous tone.

“Fuck no.” I respond quickly, a hollow laugh following. “I’m far past wanting that.”

“I don’t see why you’re so bent over this, then.” Temyra says, softening her tone. “Why can’t we just talk like old times?”

“Maker’s breath, this Clan is maddening.” I growl in frustration. I can’t have a simple fucking conversation--either everyone is insane or a child. I press both hands against my temples as the pacing quickens. “Old times? Do you even remember what ‘old times’ were like for me? I was tormented by my father every day while he poorly snuck around the camp behind Mamae’s back! It was awful. Why would I want to go back to that?”

“Didn’t stop you from leaving your sister behind.” Temyra scoffs softly, mostly to herself. I stop mid-step, eyes snapping towards her annoyed expression. She didn’t mean it like that. My heart thuds loudly, the tips of my ears feeling hot as I try to disregard her words. This isn’t a fight you should pursue. For half a moment, I turn to leave--but the sight of Arlinani’s scars pop into my mind, a fresh reminder that there were people who stood by and let it happen. People like her.

“I’ve made my peace with my sister.” I hiss as I round on her, closing the distance between us in a few short steps. I jam my finger into her chest, eyes burning as I glare up at her. “I said my apologies, voiced my regrets. But you. You stood by and let it happen. The entire fucking Clan did. I may have left but I sure as hell wouldn’t have allowed a child to be tortured.”

“There was nothing we could do! The Keeper--”

“The Keeper is one woman!” I shout. A collection of birds bursts from a nearby tree, the echoing of my voice startling them from their spot. Temyra’s eyes widen as she looks down at me, surprise etched across the face I once loved. “One woman and an old bastard with anger issues would have nothing on a mob of angry Dalish.”

“It wasn’t that simple, we couldn’t--” She cuts herself off, nose twitching as her pouting lips shift into a frown. My chest heaves with each shaking breath. It takes a long moment for Temyra to continue, a mournful look on her face. “Is it me you’re really mad at, Samahlen?”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” The resentment fuels my words, hand quivering as I press it harder into her chest. Her shoulders slouch as the tension that holds her vanishes, eyes slowly shifting towards my hand. She reaches up one of her own, softly wrapping it around my white knuckles and moving it away.

“You have to let go, Sam.” She mumbles softly, giving a soft squeeze with her delicate hands before dropping my own. It falls to my side as she steps out of my range, turning to make her way back to camp. A wave of desperation comes over me, eager to find someone to blame for this building anger that won’t seem to go away.

“Temyra! You can’t just--”

“You have to let go.” She repeats again, her voice as gentle as the smile that somehow graces her face. How can she be so calm!? I can barely think straight as I watch her walk away and leave me alone in the forest. My throat burns with each shaking breath, fingers aching from how tight they curl together.

I can’t let go of this. My feet carry me in fast-paced circles, heavily stamping into the ground. The amount of tension in my jaw makes my head hurt, heart pounding far too loud in my ears. I can’t just move on from this. I wrap both hands through my hair, clutching at the red strands as my eyes frantically dance across the ground. As long as I’m here, I can’t... I lash out one foot at a collection of weeds, watching the plants scatter and break. Not until he dies.

The frantic beating of my heart begins to slow, my back pressing against the tree Temyra had been leaning against. I slowly lower myself to the ground. As soon as I hit the floor, my arms are wrapped around my knees--a feeble attempt to hold back the building emotions in my chest. I blink back the stinging in my eyes, breathing becoming heavier. A few more days of this and I’m going to go mad. Breakdown and hurt someone--myself or someone in the Clan. I need a way out, I need a solution. Something to get us home again.

My eyes focus on the plants I had demolished in my anger. I recognize one of them--knowledge from my childhood, no doubt. Memories of Mamae explaining herbs, their uses, where to find them. My lip quivers as I recall that lesson, a bittersweet distraction from this hell. Blood lotus.

I unwind my hands from my knees, brows furrowing as I try to think of the future rather than the past. But… I’m stuck here. As long as he draws breath, I won’t be free. I won’t be able to let go of all this. Not until he dies.

26th of Frumentum, 9:27 Dragon.

Today I was called in to the First Enchanter’s office. I had placed my research requests less than a fortnight ago. Apparently, as a Circle Mage, I am not allowed to do field work, even under supervision. They have bought animal skeletons, as a substitute.

I had to keep myself from laughing in the Enchanter’s face. How am I to study movement without moving animals? If I wanted to study inanimate objects I would study plants. I made my concerns known, politely, as Masarian showed me. The Enchanter said he would consult the Chantry, but I might have to make do.

28th of Frumentum, 9:27 Dragon.

I was called into the First Enchanter’s office once more, they have found a solution, my neighbour, Helena. I had only spoken to her once since I found the hole behind my armoire. I, well, I have had feelings for her. I have been told that mages are not allowed to liase. She might even be upset if I were to tell her.

She was upset today. She asked the Enchanter why she was not going to Cumberland, as her old tutor had requested. I did not hear the Enchanter’s reply, but I remember her calling about her Father. Perhaps he wishes for her to be closer in Orlais? My family have never been able to visit. Apparently, as a Junior Enchanter, I now have letter writing privileges. I shall write to my parents, our landlord might be able to read to them. I remember her being nice.

Anyway, Helena said she was not upset with me, but perhaps she is? She was nice enough in the library the other day, but it could be her general attitude. She seems, well, short-tempered.

Helena is to help me “move” the skeletons. Apparently she can reanimate them. I have not bothered to ask either how or why, I assume if it is illegal she would be a tranquil already. I Well I look forward to working with her.

(On the next page are sketches of rabbits, their ears in many different positions, and a reference to an agriculture textbook.)

28th of Frumentum, 9:27 Dragon.

I wish I did not think of the tranquils. I now cannot sleep for nightmares of them.

30th of Frumentum, 9:27 Dragon.

A human templar approached me today. His name was Justin. He has cropped black hair, and dark brown eyes. He asked if he could dine with me at the dinner hall, an oddity.

I accepted, I did not have anyone to sit with anyway. We spoke for nearly an hour, eating the night’s stew. He is a new recruit, hailing from Val Foret. He is sad to leave his family behind, especially his dog, Nessie. He seems like he could be a good friend. We are going to dine together again.

Today I borrowed Flowers in the Bloom from the library. The librarian gave me the queerest look when I checked the book out, I am unsure why. It seems to be similar to Pirate Queens. I wonder if my neighbour has read this book also?

(On the bottom of the page are some sketches of flowers and a dog with the caption Nessie)

1st of Umbralis, 9:27 Dragon.

Today was my first day of work with Helena. She seemed happy enough to work, she called me Boss for the whole day. I was quite nervous, and I must have seemed like a stupid person to work for. I accidentally knocked over a whole stack of books, and broke Helena’s mug. She said it was okay, and she had others, but I felt terrible.

Today we took stock of which animal skeletons we have, and we began to set up the workspace they have given me. It has a washtub, two benches, and a few bookshelves, which we began to fill.

For skeletons, we have:

-Two rabbits

-A mabari

-A nug

-An Anderfels Drop Bear, an animal I have never seen before.

After lunch, Helena offered to show me how she could animate the animals. It is through the use of a discipline called Necromancy, I think? I had never heard of it. She puts a Fade spirit into the animal and it moves like a living animal. It was highly confusing, but interesting. I will still be campaigning the First Enchanter for field work. We have not been allowed out of the building since the Summer. I miss the gardens.

I had dinner with Justin again, and he bought me a flower in from the garden. He was really interested in my research. It’s nice to have people to talk to.

29th of Cloudreach, 9:40 Dragon.

I almost spat out my tea. Lucy was so clever, but I remembered how confused she was in the beginning of our relationship, and her relationship with Justin. It took her nearly two months to realise the poor boy was courting her, and our unrequited crush on each other lasted nearly six months.

I remembered when she broke my mug, on the first day we worked together. I was furious, but the worry in her beautiful blue eyes, and the red blush to the tips of her ears calmed me. I felt terrible that I had even thought to yell at her.

The Justin of old, before that happened, was kind, caring, and he was good to Lucy. She blushed when she received the flower, and my cheeks burned with jealousy as I watched across the dining room. I, myself, was known for some of my exploits, so no one batted an eyelid when I began to talk to Luce, except to feel sorry for the poor, sweet, innocent girl.

Justin was the one who suggested our arrangement, odd from the quiet boy who had spent the majority of his years in service to the local Chantry. He came to see me one night, as I was reading. Funnily enough, it was Flowers in the Bloom. I was so angry when I realised someone had checked it out before me.

”Helena.” Justin greeted, leaning against my door frame. His eyes were downcast, a small blush on his face as he realised that I was only in my smallclothes.

”What do you need?” I asked, my mouth firmly set in a line. “I’m sure you can look at a woman in a vest, Chantry Boy.”

Justin took a deep breath, a small smile crossing his face as he looked up, “I- I need to know how you feel about Lucy.” He said hesitantly.

”Why?” I asked harshly, crossing my arms, “What will that do?”

”She has feelings for you.”

I shrugged, ”Well, she’s with you, and she’s happy. So it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

”It does.” He started.

Cutting him off, I began, “So you’re going to dump her?”

”No, I- I’m going to ask, if she consents, if she would like to be with both of us.”

I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. “Really? I- Thank you Justin.”

”It won’t be a problem. I want her to be happy too.” He said, “She speaks highly of you Helena.”

”I’m glad someone does.” I replied with a harsh laugh, “She also speaks well of you.”